Chapter 1: The Announcement
Chapter Text
The thing is one doesn’t choose their family.
It’s a universal truth, like water is wet, the sky is blue, or death eventually comes for everyone.
Right now, Sasuke felt like he was about to join the dark forces in their hellish crusade a little sooner than expected.
He and his friends had been enjoying their day at Itachi’s place, carefree and oblivious, like a herd of gazelles blissfully unaware of the hunter lurking in the grass. They were on summer break, savoring the last sweet moments of freedom before the looming weight of adulthood – college – bore down on them.
Then, the letter had arrived.
His older brother Itachi was standing in the doorframe leading to his bedroom as Sasuke clutched the dreaded eggshell-colored envelope in his hands. For once, the stoic expression he usually sported had disappeared. The slight twitching at the corner of his lips, the tiny furrow of his brow, the minuscule flare of his nostrils – they all pointed to something akin to a natural disaster. Like a volcanic eruption, an earthquake, or the most unlikely of all, a party invitation from Uchiha Madara.
Silence stretched between them for a long while. Neither he nor Itachi spoke, until Naruto –seated across from Sasuke on the bed – glanced between the two in confusion and finally asked, “Why is this such a big deal?”
“Big deal? Idiot, have you not been listening to anything I’ve said these past years?”
The world knew Uchiha Madara as one of the finest detectives Japan had ever seen. With a gifted mind, he had solved numerous cold cases, captured murderers, and arrested notorious drug lords. He was on the revenge list of at least fifteen inmates in Tokyo Prison and had been the target of attempted kidnappings not once, but thrice. Legend said that the Superintendent General of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department had personally recruited him after witnessing his skills in a martial arts tournament.
The employees of the 44th precinct, however, knew better. Made up exclusively of members of the Uchiha Clan, they had an intimate knowledge of Uchiha Madara and his many, many traits.
First of all, Madara was a man with an intense drive. He only ever interrupted his work when he needed stress relief. Stress relief, for Madara, usually meant heading to the DA’s office and yelling at whoever was unlucky enough to be there. He didn’t seem to eat (like all demons from hell), he had a private bathroom (and wasn’t that just the tip of the iceberg), and for all they knew, he slept hanging upside down like a bat. When he deigned to grace anyone with his presence, he constantly seemed on the verge of losing his infamous temper. Nothing ever met his standards. When his detectives updated him on their progress, he was quick to highlight every flaw, tearing into them without hesitation, and leaving them with even more tasks to complete. His viciousness was already unbearable, but combined with his ruthlessness and sense of overachievement, it created an atmosphere of torment. It was constant misery.
“Oh, come on, he can’t be that bad,” Naruto and Sakura had laughed in Sasuke’s face a few years back, when he’d described his uncle to them (more like his great-uncle. He was Sasuke’s grandfather’s cousin, but Sasuke wanted to meet the person who would dare call Madara ‘gramps’ to his face. And Sasuke had long since gotten used to the awkward moments that occasionally occurred when both he and his father called Madara ‘Uncle’ in public). However, they had always held a certain fascination when it came to Sasuke’s unusual family, especially after he had mentioned his uncle’s fancy mansion that included hidden trapdoors, secret passageways and a large hall with weapons collected from different time periods, that was strictly off-limits to any and all clan members.
Sasuke had made it through a year of their excessive begging and pleading, until he had finally taken them for a visit to the precinct so that they could meet the man. “Ask him yourself if you can visit,” he had snapped at them. Both Sakura and Naruto had only smirked at him in confidence, well aware that people always instantly liked them, and entered Madara’s office, much to the disbelief of the collective 44th precinct.
A minute later, they had returned trembling, clinging to each other with deathly pale faces. They had looked horrified.
“So, do you realize now how close you came to a dinner with Satan?” Sasuke had asked them casually. Naruto had only looked at him wide-eyed and whispered, “It was like staring into the abyss”. Sasuke might have felt pity for them, if they hadn’t annoyed him for twelve months straight about this.
Even so, it must be recognized that his family ultimately stayed together. Every Uchiha had, at some point, attempted to charm Madara, whether by inviting him out for drinks after work (which he always declined point-blank), or by asking if he wanted to join their group training exercises (which Madara simply dismissed as ‘incompetent morons flailing around‘’).
Eventually, they had all admitted defeat.
Sasuke’s uncle was just a misanthropic jerk who probably sacrificed kittens to Cthulhu on weekends. As a child, Sasuke had thought it was a real shame that his immediate family wasn’t closer to Madara, since he had found the stuff his uncle did kind of cool. But the older he had gotten, the quicker it had died down.
However, none of that explained the contents of the letter. That their family patriarch demanded the presence of all Uchiha Clan members at a celebration at his estate at the end of summer, where he would introduce his fiancé to his family.
His fiancé.
Naruto smiled brightly. “That sounds amazing, Sasuke. You always complain that your uncle is so withdrawn. See, perhaps he is just very private.”
Sasuke frowned. “That guy got banned from Australia, Naruto. Australia. A place with zero rules and wildlife that is the byproduct of Mother Nature going on a psychedelic bender! He should have felt right at home there.”
With a careful motion, Itachi took the letter and put it back in its envelope. “Just make sure to save the date, Sasuke. And now, chop chop. Shisui is expecting us, and we have to pick up Izumi on the way.”
Sasuke sighed and arduously lifted his legs from where they had been resting on Itachi’s pillow, kicking Sakura in the head by accident, who was sitting on the floor leaning against Naruto’s dangling legs. “Sasuke, do you want to get punched?”, she hissed like an angry cat.
“If that is what will get me out of this event, be my guest,” he groaned, briefly forgetting his group designation as the local cryptic.
They put on their shoes, said their good-byes and eventually set off in different directions. Sasuke dropped in the passenger seat of Itachi’s second-hand kei car, while Naruto accompanied Sakura to the subway station. Sasuke had already closed the door when Naruto told her, “This is funny, my dad told me that one of our in-laws is actually getting married as well…”
✦
The car ride was mostly silent, with Sasuke still in a haze and staring at the meticulously clean dashboard, while seriously contemplating his place in the universe. Itachi was driving with intense focus and not one inch out of line. They picked up Izumi half-way, who came stumbling out the door, pale and almost colliding with a lamppost. Twenty minutes later, they were all sitting around Shisui’s living room table, a large platter with freshly made curry rice steaming in front of them, tempting Sasuke to eat something other than instant ramen or Itachi’s very questionable cooking results. Even so, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to touch the food yet. Neither had Izumi, whose face was at least slowly gaining color again. Shisui’s gaze was fixed on the table, lost in silent reflection, and Itachi had left the room to make a phone call.
Finally, Shisui seemed to remember his duty as the eldest Uchiha present and stood up rigidly, digging up big portions and dropping them on their plates. With a firm voice, that sounded remotely like his father Kagami’s, he ordered them to eat.
After a few minutes, Izumi finally seemed to be able to say out loud what they were all thinking,
“So…who do you think it is?”
Sasuke, who had desperately waited for someone to start the conversation (but unwilling to do it himself because he had a reputation, thank you very much, as an uncaring rebel, carefully built up over the years), waved the question away. “The more important question is why! Why would someone marry that bitter, curmudgeonly evil fossil.”
“Sasuke,” Shisui chided. “He is still head of the family and my superior at the precinct.”
Sasuke only snorted. “Shouldn’t he be retired by now, drooling away in some home?”
Shisui lifted one unimpressed eyebrow. “Given the fact that he can still knock out at least half of our team, including your father, in the dojo, I’ll pay you to suggest that to him.”
Izumi ignored them both. “I’ve come up with some ideas. Given what we know about Madara’s character and his aversion to the entire spectrum of human emotion, there are only so many options.”
Sasuke nodded gravely. “That his fiancé is equally as big of a bitter, curmudgeonly evil fossil.”
Izumi snapped her fingers at Sasuke, “Very good, young one. Though the prospect of a second Madara is alarming – ” A collective shudder ran through the room. “We must consider a second option, boys. Madara’s fiancé could simply not know what he truly is. Imagine, an oblivious sweet young person, lured in by the dangers in the to them unknown world…” “You forgot dumb as bread, if they can’t manage to see what Madara really is,” Sasuke finished Izumi’s thoughts. Izumi mumbled some response and got up to write her and Sasuke’s ideas on the nearby chalkboard that hung above the couch for their weekly Pictionary nights. A crack split the board neatly in half – a remnant of last month’s activity, when Shisui had punched it after Sasuke had guessed correctly from Itachi’s drawing of a car that the solution word was ‘alpaca’.
Shisui’s fingers were folded in front of his chin, his expression the same as when he was looking at a particularly difficult case at the precinct. “Or…or perhaps his fiancé likes it.”
Izumi tilted her head in confusion. Like a little bird. “What do you mean?”
“Perhaps they get off on Madara’s behavior.”
“You mean, someone who enjoys his homicidal urges?”
Shisui shrugged helplessly and Izumi shuddered again, turning back to the board and listing his input. As she wrote down the last word, Itachi rejoined them. Sasuke was by now able to interpret the approximately two hundred different stares his brother had mastered and was surprised to see him confused.
“Itachi, finally. Your food is getting cold,” Shishui exclaimed, before hesitating. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s my boss,” Itachi mumbled. “Tobiram-“ He stopped abruptly. The other three Uchiha in the room had inhaled sharply, Shisui and Izumi shooting him a warning glance that was entirely unnecessary. Sasuke had known of Senju Tobirama for a long time. Every Uchiha had. Before they learned how to walk, before they learned how to talk, they would hear the name Senju.
Sasuke could remember the first time he had heard the cursed name. His father had taken him to the 44th, showing him the place where his family worked for the betterment of society, and Sasuke had excitedly clung to his father’s hand. Auntie Naori had come over, whispering something in a warning tone and Sasuke could distinctly remember hoping to see something cool, like a dismembered hand. But the door had slammed open, leaving cracks in the opposite wall, to reveal Madara instead, who had cursed and used words Sasuke had never heard before. However, before Fugaku could slap his hands over Sasuke’s ears, he had caught very clearly the name Senju Tobirama.
That night, Sasuke had crawled to Itachi under the bed covers, asking with wide eyes who exactly the Senju was. His brother had put an arm around him and told with a serious expression that the Senju and Uchiha had been enemies since the days of yore. As bitter rivals, they fought each other with every means necessary. Nobody knew for how long exactly, but legends said that their feud went back hundreds of years. There was a Senju named Tobirama in the 40-floor building the Uchiha were working in. In the worst division, of course; the DA department.
Senju Tobirama was a lawyer.
After that, every time Sasuke had visited the bureau and spotted the white-haired bastard in his expensive, immaculately pressed suit and neatly slicked-back hair, he had noticed the conceited, snobbish way the Senju looked down on all of them. From his family members Sasuke heard how Tobirama liked to make things extra difficult for them by always delaying arrests claiming insufficient evidence, manipulating support at public hearings or interrupting them when they were about to make a bust. Senju Tobirama was, simply put, the source of everything that ever went wrong in the Uchiha precinct.
His family’s opinion of the man had only gotten worse after Sasuke’s own brother had decided to study law like the Senju, instead of following in the footsteps of his ancestors and become part of the police force like the rest of the clan. Itachi even went ahead to work for the bastard. A decision that had triggered the to date fiercest argument between his brother and father and had elicited the consequent move-out of his brother. They still weren’t on speaking terms and his father turned to stone every time someone mentioned Itachi to him. Sasuke had no idea what the two did when they met each other at work.
“Anyways,” Itachi coughed, “My boss is currently missing. This is the fourth day in a row that he hasn’t appeared in the office. And no-one knows where he is.”
Sasuke tried to find it in himself to care that Senju Tobirama was gone – if only for his brother’ sake – but gave up on it quickly. Were he alone, he might have celebrated the fact that the stupidest, most idiotic Senju of all was missing. He had been living in a Tobirama-free world for four days and not even been able to appreciate it.
There was a similar carefully controlled expression on Izumi’s face and Shisui had at least the decency make an effort and seem worried. “Ah, hm, I am sure he is alright. This has happened before, hasn’t it?”
They all knew that it hadn’t. Senju Tobirama was an even greater stickler for rules than Itachi. Perhaps that was the reason why Itachi had decided to go against forty years of family tradition and risk the wrath of his father.
“Anyways, Itachi, have you looked at our guesses about Madara’s fiancé,” Izumi rambled on. “What do you think?”
Itachi stepped next to her, his plate of curry firmly in his left hand and a spoon in his right. He looked at the board with a thoughtful expression before he said, “You forgot one possibility.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it is simple. Madara is by all standards a man that would repel the usual suitor,” he said in a matter-of-fact-tone. “Nevertheless, there is one thing that is generally considered attractive by societal standards. Very attractive, in fact.”
Sasuke’s eyebrows flew high and disappeared under his bangs. His first instinct was to yell at his brother that the words attractive and Madara should never again be spoken in the same sentence. A baby deer had probably just keeled over dead somewhere. Gods.
Shisui looked similarly off-put. Only Izumi had gone quiet. She was slumped over, eyes wide and hands pressed together as if in prayer. “His fiancé is trying to steal our inheritance,” she whispered after a long moment.
It went quiet in the living room, only the low whirring of the AC interrupting their thoughts. Sasuke cursed internally, mentally congratulating his brother for finding what was indeed the most likely option.
Here’s the thing. Madara was a bastard. But he was a filthy rich bastard.
Their great-great grandfather Indra had acquired a vast amount of wealth in his time. No-one knew exactly how and given Indra’s character, no-one really wanted to ask. Indra had lived a long, long life. He never had any children, so he had decreed that he would distribute his fortune equally amongst his many relatives. Indra had never given any indication of deviating from his plan until he had named Madara as the sole heir to his fortune while drawing his last breath, ensuring an entire generation of family conflict, distrust and the almost-destruction of their clan. For kicks.
“Well, it would be Madara’s prerogative to give it away to someone other than the family”, Itachi mused, caring little for the fortune Madara was hoarding like a dragon.
"Speak for yourself," Izumi said with a snort. "If I have to suffer his tyranny every day until he finally decides to bite the dust, I had better be driving a Porsche by the time I’m retiring."
“It would probably tear apart our family for good this time,” Shisui pondered, looking decidedly worried. “Do you really think he is the type to get a trophy spouse?”
“What is the alternative? That someone actually likes him,” Sasuke countered. None of them could respond to that.
“You know, there is one person that most certainly knows what our uncle is up to,” Itachi suggested thoughtfully.
Shisui slapped his forehead, “Of course, why haven’t I thought of that. He’ll know for sure.”
Sasuke groaned quietly and slipped a little further into his seat. He knew who they were talking about, and he knew who they would have to call. Shisui already had his phone out, scrolling eagerly through his contact list. A smug smile spread on his lips, and he presented Sasuke with the phone. “Go on, Hot Topic.”
“Oh, come on, I don’t want to talk to him.”
Itachi gave him a look that reminded Sasuke disturbingly of their mother. “Sasuke, you have been pestering me with this question since we learned that Madara is engaged. Now, help contribute to the search.”
Sasuke glared at him, certain of the fact that his brother was just as curious as he was but unwilling to admit it, lest he proved that he was actually a human being once in a while. The Uchiha had always been a stoic bunch, but his brother had ascended to entirely new heights.
“Fine,” he hissed, pressing the calling button. It rang five times before a melodic ‘hello’ greeted Sasuke.
Sasuke coughed slightly, “Uncle Izuna? It’s me, Sasuke”. Immediately, he held the device away from his ear, just in time for the squeal of delight to not shatter his eardrums.
“Mini-me, what a surprise. Why is my emo version calling me today of all days?”
Sasuke glared at his brother once again. That was why Sasuke always drew the shortest straw when it came to contacting Uchiha Izuna, which usually only happened when they needed something from Madara by proxy. Izuna was in many ways like his older brother Madara; arrogant, lordly and convinced to be of bluer blood than the rest of them – the only difference being that he conveyed it with a charming smile, good looks and undeniable charisma. And Sasuke was the spitting image of Uchiha Izuna in his teenager years. The resemblance was uncanny and Izuna greatly enjoyed pointing it out at any given moment. He was like a cockatiel; enamored with his own reflection. Which was why he was always willing to listen to Sasuke’s pleas.
It had been especially bad when Sasuke’s family still attended what Uncle Izuna referred to as so-called 'family reunions.' Sasuke would rather drive nails into his eyes than endure one of those insane functions ever again. They usually involved Madara’s mansion, a ton of alcohol, a totally exaggerated number of lanterns with their family crest everywhere, and gasoline. That wouldn't have been so bad, and Sasuke would have greatly appreciated any chance to drink free alcohol in his early teenage years. But eventually, Izuna himself would always show up, bringing with him a 'healthy dose of arson.' What Izuna usually considered to be party entertainment was troubling and, truthfully, probably against the law. Which was a real problem, given their occupation. Reunion days always seemed to coincide with a sudden outbreak of illness among Sasuke’s immediate family, after Fugaku had overheard a call during which their insurance company told Madara that they wouldn’t cover the monthly replacement of fire extinguishers anymore. Anything was better than attending a party thrown by a fifty-something-year old man whose entire code of ethics seemed to be guided by TikTok trends.
Shisui and Izumi both gave him an encouraging thumbs-up.
Sasuke rolled his eyes and drew the phone back, turning it on speaker, “Not much, just wanted to know how my uncle is doing.”
“Sasuke, you are too sweet,” Izuna’s voice cooed in his ear, falsely saccharine, “I am doing so well, thank you. I am currently at a cute little beach in Italy, enjoying the many treats this country has to offer.” An audible slurp grated on his ears of what Sasuke assumed was from a ridiculously over-priced cocktail.
“Yes, well. Are you attending Madara’s party? He’s sent us invitations.”
“Of course I am, silly,” Izuna purred in a low voice, and an image of a large cat stretching lazily in the sun as it eyed a nearby bird suddenly appeared before Sasuke’s inner eye. He had the sense that his uncle knew exactly why he had called. “I assume you are coming too. Is there something you or our other relations need, nephew?”
He enjoyed his little mind-games, Izuna.
Sasuke unconsciously sat up a little straighter, quickly glancing at Izumi and Shisui who motioned for him to go on.
“I was just wondering – what would be a suitable gift –”
Suddenly, a loud groan interrupted the call. It was so visceral and soul-wrenching that Sasuke could instantly relate to it. A bit confused, he looked at the phone, as if it would magically offer up the sound’s origins.
‘What on earth’, Shisui mouthed silently in confusion.
They could hear Izuna muttering something, probably to someone close-by, and the clinking of ice cubes in a glass. A few moments later, Izuna was back.
“Sorry about that, little clone.”
“Are you with someone right now?”
“Yes. In fact, and you simply must forgive me for that, I must tend to my companion immediately. He is not doing too well, you see,” Izuna said cheerfully.
“But-“
“Buh bye. Buy some moisturizer or you’ll get the same face canyons you father has.”
The phone died.
Izumi cursed in a manner that would have her mother wash out her mouth with soap. Sasuke slammed the phone on the table, crossing his arms in frustration. Shisui looked at it with obvious disappointment.
“Do you think Uncle Izuna really needed to leave or that he simply didn’t want to talk to you?”
“I don’t know, but Izuna usually at least listens to what Sasuke has to say,” Itachi said thoughtfully.
Izumi was already scrolling through the Instagram app on her phone. When she had finally found Izuna’s account, she held it out for them to look. Under the current subscriber number (which had now officially passed 200’000 followers, somehow – Sasuke wanted to ram his head against the wall), a picture showing the deep blue sea had been posted, in the center his uncle winking at the camera and holding two fingers crossed in a heart.
“It doesn’t show anyone else who might be there,” Shisui muttered. Sasuke squinted to read the text beneath the picture and immediately stopped again when he spotted the words ‘demure’ and ‘slay’. Itachi turned towards him, brows furrowed in question, when Sasuke got up to find that good spot of wall to ram his head against.
Shisui had already moved on, “This is a dead end. There has to be another way we can find out who is marrying Madara.”
But none of them could come up with a single idea. They spent the rest of the evening brooding.
✦
“The identity of who might be Madara’s fiancé has become quite the source of endless speculation at the office,” Shisui told Sasuke and Itachi a week later.
They were sitting in a park near the police building, huddled together. It was Shisui’s and Itachi’s lunchbreak. Izumi had not managed to come, still working on rewriting her entire report from scratch because Madara had found a typo in it. Shisui had described Izumi’s scolding by Madara in front of the entire 44th with the air of someone who had survived a war crime.
“Really, you haven’t found anything,” Sasuke asked, having long since given up on the pretense that he didn’t care. “What kind of detectives are you?”
His brother flicked him against the forehead in chastisement, but Shisui only shot him a deadpan glance, immune to Sasuke’s snark by now. That was the problem with having Shisui as a relative. “It is not so easy, cousin. Madara hasn’t let anything slip so far. His calendar doesn’t have any engagements written in it that aren’t strictly work-related, there have been no suspicious phone calls, and no pictures have popped up on his desk.” He paused. “Plus, what are we supposed to do? Ask him about it?” Anyone who tried would probably end up incinerated (which was a real possibility, because the only person better at arson than Uchiha Izuna was his big bad brother, Madara).
“The DA doesn’t know anything either,” Itachi muttered. “They have been needling me with questions.”
“Seriously?” Sasuke was surprised. The DA, minus Tobirama, normally tried to stay out of anything Madara-related.
“They find the fact that Madara is getting married very unsettling.”
“Well, they are not wrong,” Shisui mumbled into his half-eaten onigiri. “That is about the same vibe in the office. Everyone’s preparing for a second Indra.”
They all fell quiet after that. It was frustrating. A week since the announcement, and they had learned next to nothing about this mysterious fiancé; all they knew about was the simple, but beautiful engagement ring that had been sighted on the fourth finger of Madara’s left hand, turning their nightmare suddenly much more real.
They had almost finished their lunch when Izumi finally joined them. She wore a murderous expression on her face and scanned their surroundings three times before launching into a rant about the pointlessness of the report, the injustices of the Japanese syntax structure, and the utter irredeemability of Uchiha Madara. Shisui only patted her on the back in sympathy, telling Itachi and Sasuke with a grave voice how he had been at the end of Madara’s ire only yesterday, when he had been too late to a meeting.
“Two minutes. I was late two minutes. And it wasn’t even my fault. The elevator broke down. But Madara didn’t care to hear my explanation,” he said, abandoning his typical (and for an Uchiha very atypical) cheerfulness. Izumi eyed Sasuke’s half-eaten dango and he handed it over without complaint. He was a badass, not the Antichrist.
He received something that might resemble a muffled ‘thank you’ through a mouthful of fried dough and after a few minutes, Izumi seemed to be able to breathe normally again. “Something could be gained through my pain, however.” She inhaled deeply, flicking back her hair and said, “I saw how flowers were delivered to Madara’s office. And I mean really nice ones. Red long-stemmed roses. And, I managed to catch a look at the card. All gibberish, unfortunately.”
“What do you mean, gibberish?”
“I mean, there was no way a sane person could ever decrypt those characters. It looked like a wrecking ball fell into a box of crayons.”
Shisui made a frustrated sound. “So, still no name?”
Izumi’s shoulders sank. “No, I am afraid not.”
A collective sigh was the response.
✦
Life moved on, somehow. Sasuke went to the movies with Naruto and Sakura to watch the sequel to Icha Icha paradise, where Sakura and he had to physically restrain Naruto from running over to their old high school teacher when they spotted him in the front row. They visited several bakeries and tried new pastries, Naruto somehow charming all the shop keepers with an easy smile and his friendly nature into giving them free samples. In the evenings, Sakura pulled them into some shady clubs with a fake ID, where they danced under the wild lights. His friends even managed to get Sasuke to join in on a shopping-spree once, during which Sasuke and Naruto fulfilled more of a decorative function as they were coerced into carrying Sakura’s bags for her (Sasuke only came because Sai, that annoying friend Naruto and Sakura had made when he had considered himself too cool to hang out with them, had offered to go in his stead).
However, the threat of the upcoming wedding hung over Sasuke like a storm cloud. Especially because his friends seemed to be just as interested in the Uchiha Madara’s love life as the rest of his family, constantly poking and probing Sasuke for information and complaining almost as much as Shisui and Izumi when he told them they had nothing.
It was on a rainy Monday evening when Sasuke finally had an opportunity to advance their investigation into the identity of the mystery fiancé.
He was sitting with his mother in the kitchen, stomach rumbling as he longingly looked at the dinner that was already prepared on the stove. But he knew better than to try and steal a bite. His mother didn’t look dangerous, but she had been part of the police force just like his father until she had given birth to Itachi, and was to this day the record-holding champion of the police marksman competition.
Uchiha Mikoto looked at the clock a bit worriedly before she took pity on her son and handed him a banana to snack on.
“Is Dad still at the precinct,” Sasuke asked, carefully peeling the fruit.
“Yes, this has been happening more and more recently. He was supposed to be here an hour ago.” She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead before sitting down next to him, looking resigned. Sasuke grimaced obviously at her in protest but left it at that for once.
“Why?”
Mikoto sighed, “Madara insists. But it is taking on ridiculous proportions. And it is always Fugaku who has to stay behind.”
Sasuke frowns, “Do you think that Madara is punishing Dad? Shisui told me that most of the squad prefer Dad over him by now. They want him to take over as Captain.”
“Oh, no. I think that if he knew that, Madara would have a much worse reaction.” Mikoto sighed and got up to get the pots that are left heated on the stove.
“Well, it is no use. I don’t want you to starve, just because Madara-“
The sound of Fugaku’s keys jingling interrupted her and shortly after, their front door opened. Mikoto set down the pots on the table with a relieved expression, just when Fugaku entered the kitchen. But he wasn’t alone. Like an evil spirit that appeared when it was called three times, Madara walked through the entrance that connected the hallway with the kitchen.
The birds have stopped singing, Sasuke noticed absent-mindedly as he stared at the sudden intruder. Madara hadn’t changed at all since he last saw him a year ago. He still wore his thick tresses of black hair ridiculously long and Sasuke knew that if he didn’t tie it up in a high ponytail, the wild mane would reach down to his waist. His lips were twisted into his usual scowl. The creepily intense focus in his dark eyes hadn’t changed either, and Sasuke felt eerily analyzed. As a child, he’d been convinced that his uncle could read minds.
Mikoto must have felt similarly uncomfortable, and she hurriedly motioned for him to sit down, her smile forced.
Their clan head waved her off. “I am just here to get something. Your Uzumaki friend, Kushina, left it here. A book about calligraphy, I believe?” Sasuke’s jaw slacked in surprise, as did his mother’s, but Madara didn’t provide any further explanation. Fugaku rubbed the bridge of his nose, leaving a visible red imprint behind. He looked like he was getting a migraine.
Since when does that evil bastard run errands? For someone outside the family no less?
Mikoto was the first one to break out of her stupor. “I- of course. I think I know what book you’re talking about,” she disappeared in the adjoining living room and left Fugaku and Sasuke behind with Madara. Fugaku still hadn’t sat down and stood stiff as a board, staring intensely at the opposite wall.
“You may eat,” Madara drawled after a while.
“No, it’s fine. I am not hungry,” Sasuke lied, ignoring his stomach rumbling in protest. He was decidedly not imitated by the ancient fossil. Which was starting to sound ridiculous, even to his own ears, he mused as he observed Madara. The nickname, not the fact that he was indeed very much relaxed in his uncle’s presence.
Madara must be around sixty by now, and he still didn’t look a day over thirty-five. His face sported some wrinkles, yes, but they hadn’t extended over the lines of the corners of his eyes. His eyebags were perhaps a bit more pronounced than before. But otherwise, Madara really hadn’t aged. The comparison was especially cruel when one saw Madara standing next to Sasuke’s own father. Uchiha Fugaku was forty-two and wore his age more than clearly. The years hadn’t been as kind to him as to Sasuke’s mother, and definitely not as they had been to Madara. The stress lines (that Izuna had called ‘face canyons’ so lovingly) had gotten even deeper over the past few months. Probably ever since Madara had started to keep his father post working hours.
Perhaps that’s how he does it, Sasuke narrowed his eyes at his clan head. Perhaps he is syphoning my father’s youth to keep himself young. It seems like something he could have learned from Uncle Izuna.
“Oh? The Tokyo Institute of Technology,” Madara interrupted his thoughts. Sasuke didn’t understand for a short moment before he followed Madara’s line of sight and saw that he was looking at Sasuke’s acceptance letter that was pinned up on their fridge.
“Ah, yes, I got in,” Sasuke answered, a bit surprised that his uncle deemed something like this even worthy of notice.
“Hn,” was the only answer he received and Madara went back to his usual scowl.
Sasuke quickly glanced at his father, but he simply looked irritated. When he received no visible reaction from him, Sasuke relaxed a little, a slight feeling of pride warming his stomach without permission. That lasted for about five seconds and ended abruptly when Madara said,
“Didn’t get into Tokyo University like your brother, eh?”
His father inhaled sharply and clenched his jaw. Sasuke shrunk into his chair, shriveling into himself like a dying plant. An unfortunate reflex he still hadn’t learned to suppress whenever someone compared him to his genius brother.
“No”, Saskue finally managed to get out between gritted teeth, and it came out weaker than he had hoped for. In that moment, Mikoto returned, holding a book in her hands. When she saw them all together, Fugaku looking like he had swallowed a whole lemon, Sasuke’s shriveled form and Madara, who was still looking at Sasuke’s acceptance letter with mild interest, she managed to connect the dots quickly.
“There you go, Madara-sama. I think this is Kushina’s book,” she pressed the book a bit too forcefully into his hands.
Madara merely glanced at it before he shook his head. “No, that’s not it. I will look for it myself.” Without waiting for her permission, he entered the living room, followed by Mikoto who seemed like she dearly wanted to cuff him for his impoliteness.
Fugaku, unwilling to leave his wife alone to deal with his boss, followed them quickly. Sasuke sat in his chair for a few more seconds, trying his hardest not to feel sorry for himself. It wasn’t like him to wallow in self-pity, but his relationship with his father combined with his own failure when compared to Itachi’s brilliance had always been his Achilles’ heel. And while he disliked Madara greatly and would give anything to kick him enthusiastically in the shin just once, the child desperate for approval in him cowed at the fact that an Uchiha even more talented than his brother and father had called out the fact that Itachi got into Japan’s top university and Sasuke didn’t.
Anger and shame bubbled in his stomach, and they whispered a reckless but tempting idea of vengeance into his ear.
He got up and sneaked to the front door, easily locating Madara’s uniform jacket. Listening with one ear in case his uncle returned, he patted down the material and found Madara’s cell phone. It was the only real proof the Uchiha clan had that Madara was actually an old man, because who on earth still used a flip phone? The password was easy to guess, and Sasuke entered Uncle Izuna’s birthday date – the only person Madara openly showed affection for.
The home screen lit up and illuminated Sasuke’s triumphant smile, as he looked for the picture app. It quickly disappeared however, the longer he searched.
Does this…does this phone not have a camera?
Sasuke turned and twisted the device in his hands to find any clue but came up empty. He stared at the phone for a while, feeling a little lost in the grand scheme of things right now.
No, he had to stay focused.
He opened the message app next, after having to fiddle with the buttons a while. The first contact was simply marked ‘SH’. After closer examination, Sasuke noticed with a sinking feeling in his stomach that all of Madara’s contacts were saved as initials. ‘UI’ must mean Uchiha Izuna. He went back to the messages and opened the chat with ‘SH’ who had asked Madara if they were still on to meet at the dojo the next morning.
Feeling petty, Sasuke wanted to cancel the meeting and tell this SH to go fuck himself. He tried to type in the message, but quickly had to admit defeat when he didn’t manage to crack the code of how to use the buttons – they had three to four letters marked next to the numbers zero to nine.
He was running out of time.
Beads of sweat started to form on his temple as he opened the contact app. He squinted a little and finally – after six long weeks – he found something that helped the Uchiha clan in their investigation of Madara’s love life that may or may not cause the destruction of their entire clan. When he heard a commotion in the living room, he quickly turned off the phone and put it back where he found it, reentering the kitchen just in time with his parents and Madara. Madara was holding a book and swiftly said his goodbyes without thanking Mikoto for her help.
As soon as he was out the door, Mikoto complained to her husband about Madara’s manners. Fugaku simply put a comforting arm around his wife, while looking at the medicine cabinet in contemplation. They never had any alcohol in the house, and he was probably figuring that cough syrup was the next best thing.
Sasuke quietly excused himself and went to his room, texting his group chat with Itachi, Shisui, and Izumi about what had just happened, including what he had found on Madara’s phone.
Then he called Sakura to tell her about Madara’s phone. She straight up did not believe him when he told her about the buttons and hung up with a scoff when he insisted that it didn’t have a camera.
It was close to midnight when he finally got dinner.
✦
The next day, Sasuke accompanied Shisui to the 44th.
“Come on,” Shisui smiled, leading him through the maze of desks, heading for Izumi’s place. She shared the office table with two of Sasuke’s least favorite family members; Inabi and Tekka. He couldn’t suppress the instant swell of pity he felt for her. Izumi waved at them and motioned for them to come over, turning her wheelie-chair toward them.
“Any news,” Shisui asked, leaning his hip against her table. Out of the corner of his eye, Sasuke spied Tekka and Inabi continue scribbling on police reports a little too casually.
“No, not yet,” she sighed, resting her chin on her hands. “The system is still scouring the database, but it takes forever.” Sasuke glanced at her computer and immediately understood why. While most other Uchiha in the precinct had modern sleek flatscreens, Izumi was stuck with an ancient contraption that resembled a solid box. “Stupid Senju – I’m stuck with this relic because of him,” she cursed, hitting the computer once for good measure. “He complained to the IT that our precinct is burning through new tech too quickly after I broke my last one.”
Shisui put a hand on her shoulder and frowned, “This shouldn’t be so difficult. There are only so many people that Madara would deem worthy of his attention.”
“Oh, we are starting early today with the Madara-talk,” Sasuke’s Auntie Naori sauntered over from her desk. Her purple hair was turning grey at the crown, and she was clutching a cup of watery coffee in her hands like it was her first born. Kagami came over as well, together with his nephew Yashiro. Naori’s younger brother Naka followed quickly. He had to be around the same age as they assumed Izuna to be. As their first cousins, Naori and Naka had both grown up alongside Madara and Izuna, and Sasuke’s grandfather Hikaku. Hikaku came from a different branch and was already retired as the oldest one of the five. He lived a quiet life at the outskirts of Tokyo, away from the rest of his family, although he dropped by every three months to attend Izuna’s disastrous family reunions.
At one point, Naori and Naka might have expected special treatment from Madara as his first cousins, much like Izuna clearly received. But if they had ever hoped for that, they must have quickly woken up to the sobering reality.
Sasuke actually liked Auntie Naori. She was a calming presence in the office, despite her misplaced fondness for power games, and she always managed to keep her younger brother in line. Over the years, she’d broken many men’s hearts, a fact she gleefully shared with Itachi and Sasuke whenever they had asked her as children, when she had come over to babysit.
Soon, Sasuke was surrounded by family members.
Izumi took a deep breath and carefully looked around for Madara. He had left with Fugaku for the interrogation room an hour ago, but that didn’t mean much.
When she was certain that they were gone, she paused dramatically, waiting for tension to build. Unfortunately, that didn’t really work when it came to Uchiha. Stoicism was part of their DNA thread, and they could set world records in acting apathetic out of spite. She had to admit defeat quickly.
“We finally have a name.”
They all froze for a moment. Then Inabi exclaimed, “What?” at the same time Naka said, “No way,” and they all glared at Izumi, waiting for details. She smiled smugly at all of them, but before she could exploit her family’s rare moment of weakness, Shisui interrupted her. “Actually, it was Sasuke who found the name,” he said proudly.
“How on earth did you do that,” Tekka asked, sounding unwillingly impressed. Sasuke smirked, capitalizing shamelessly on Izumi’s moment of triumph. She still owed him for that time she had ratted to Naruto and Sakura about his affection for Shiba Inu puppies. “Oh, it wasn’t all that hard. Madara came to our house yesterday and it took only five minutes of idle snooping around on his phone when he wasn’t looking.” Obviously, he wasn’t gonna mention his problems with Madara’s dinosaur-device.
“Come on, what’s the name,” Inabi asked impatiently.
“Well, according to Madara’s calendar, he is meeting someone named Mito tonight at a super fancy restaurant,” Shisui revealed to his co-workers. “You know anyone named like that?”
They all shook their heads, puzzled.
“I called the restaurant earlier today, but the reservation is under Madara’s name. Izumi has started looking though the database, but – well, you know.” He sighed and pointed at Izumi's computer, which had now started spitting out a string of meaningless code. A chorus of ‘damned Senju’ echoed through the room like a group prayer.
“The database has only found two women with the name ‘Mito’ in Japan, and I couldn’t tell you which one of them seems more unlikely to get married to Madara.”
Naori looked at Izumi’s screen and crossed his arms with a frown. “Hn, unless Madara is a secret gerontophile and enjoys having an ninety-seven-year-old woman in his bed, this one’s out.”
“Yeah, I bet a sweet old lady like that could do a lot better,” Yashiro muttered to Sasuke.
“The other Mito has been in Antarctica for the past three years. On a research trip,” Kagami said. “That’s impossible. Madara hates the cold.”
“Mito, hm,” a raspy voice repeated from behind them. Sasuke turned around, and as the group of Uchiha around him parted, he came face-to-face with one of his cousins. A scarred face stared down at him, gaze haughty and arrogant - just like Madara’s.
“Obito,” Sasuke said quietly, not overly enthusiastic to see him.
“Obito, back from Kyoto? How was the case,” Kagami greeted the thirty-year old enthusiastically.
“Easy. Caught the perp and he confessed immediately,” he said, not even looking at him, but keeping his eyes trained on Sasuke. He was still wearing his jacket and had a traveling-bag in one hand. “Why are you guys searching for women named Mito?”
Sasuke lifted his chin, unwilling to succumb to Uchiha Obito of all people.
“I looked through Madara’s phone yesterday. The old man’s calendar said he was going to meet with someone named Mito.”
Obito’s lips curled into a mean smirk. “Hn. If that is in fact true, it would be quite surprising.”
“Are you calling me a liar,” Sasuke scowled, but was quickly cut off by Izumi. “Why is that? Do you know who that is,” she asked with glowing eyes.
“Of course,” Obito drawled, casting her a look of contempt. “I am surprised that you haven’t figured it out yet. It’s hardly that difficult.”
Kagami must have the patience of a saint, because he merely clapped his hands in delight and implored Obito to continue.
“Mito is from the Uzumaki family. A woman Madara has been holding a grudge against for decades.”
“Wait, Uzumaki,” Sasuke exclaimed, thinking of Naruto’s mother Kushina, who was also his mother’s best friend.
“It would make sense, then, that you couldn't find anything about her in the database,” Naori said broodingly. “The Uzumaki family is very private.”
“But if Madara holds a grudge against her, then why would he invite her to dinner,” Naka wondered.
“Doesn’t matter, she’s still our best candidate for the mysterious identity of Madara’s fiancé,” Shisui said, arms crossed. “She’s from an old, powerful family – exactly the kind of thing I imagine could be interesting for Madara.”
“Not only that, but Mito is their matriarch,” Obito said, stepping up to Izumi’s desk. He raised a condescending eyebrow. “Now, can you come to a conclusion on your own, or do you need me to guide you through the process?”
Inabi looked like he wanted to say something decidedly unfriendly but was held back by Tekka, who simply shook his head.
“This could mean that Mito is either his fiancé or he means to ask her for her blessing to marry one of her family members.” Shisui proposed. Kagami put an arm around his son, squeezing his shoulder affectionally with a wide smile on his face. “Excellent idea, son.”
Sasuke rolled his eyes at the display but immediately stopped when he saw Obito doing the same. Their gazes crossed, and they both glared at each other.
Sasuke and Obito had never really managed to warm up to each other. Sasuke mainly because Obito had adopted some of Madara’s worst tendencies after growing up in his care following his parents’ death at the age of ten. And because Obito was one of only two people in existence with the universally renowned skill to upset Itachi (the other being their father).
Obito hated Sasuke simply because he seemed to hate the entire world.
His cousin eventually turned away and went back to listening to the discussion between their family members.
"Gods, I can’t believe this took us six weeks," Naka muttered, taking a long sip of his coffee.
Izumi had meanwhile managed to find a picture of Uzumaki Mito, and she whistled lowly through her teeth. “Well, if Madara managed to snatch that, I might have to reevaluate my entire opinion of him.” She turned the computer screen toward them, so that everyone could see her face. Surprised, Sasuke had to agree with Izumi. Uzumaki Mito was a beautiful woman, with deep red hair and piercing eyes. He studied the picture, easily spotting a clear resemblance to Kushina. Naruto, however, shared none of her features.
Gods, I could be related-by-marriage to Naruto, he suddenly realized to himself, shock paralyzing him for a hot minute. He didn’t know how to feel about that.
The bell of the elevator startled them all, and Naori shooed them all back to their desks. Izumi hastily tried to delete the picture and started panicking when her computer froze. Desperately, she looked around for help, but everyone had already returned to their desks, pretending very hard to do their paperwork. She short-handedly yanked her computer out of the circuit, shoved it into her desk drawer, and slammed it shut.
Sasuke stood next to Shisui, feigning to be very interested in something his cousin showed him.
Madara walked in once the doors opened, his long hair smacking Fugaku in the face as he left the elevator.
He stopped in his tracks to frown at all of them. Nobody dared looking up. Sasuke cursed inwardly. Of course, the bastard would notice that something was wrong immediately. When he didn’t say anything and walked over to Naori’s desk, Sasuke could hear Shisui exhale a little.
“Naori, I need the crime statistics immediately. Also, I want the written reports on the uniformed officers' training progress. As their Seargent, I assume you have taken daily notes.”
“Yes, of course,” she said with a pained smile, opening her drawer to pull out a heavy file. “I could have sent you an E-Mail, though. Less work and much easier to keep record.”
Madara only let out a sound of derision, taking the file from her. It was then, when Sasuke spotted it at the same time as Naori.
“Oh, a book about calligraphy, Madara? I didn’t know you were interested.” She pointed at the book that was tucked under his arm as he briefly looked over the files.
“Hn. I couldn’t care less about calligraphy. This is for someone else.”
They all waited anxiously for him to continue but Madara didn’t elaborate. Obito stood up then, a calculating look on his face. “I remember you once saying that Mito of the Uzumaki family was a master-calligraphist. This book wouldn’t be for her, would it?”
Slowly, very slowly, Madara turned around so that they could all get a good look on his face. He studied Obito for a few moments, before nodding.
“You would be correct.”
“Oh, so the mysterious fiancé you have yet to tell us anything about is an Uzumaki?”
Sasuke couldn’t help but be a little impressed. Only Obito ever confronted Madara directly like that.
Madara remained silent, his gaze unreadable, offering no hint of his thoughts. The air around them grew heavier, charged with unspoken sentiment. A sense of unease crept in as the quiet stretched on, thick with a tension that none of them dared to break. A few Uchiha shuffled in their seats.
Then, Madara slowly started to smile. It was a horrible, mean grimace. A loud laugh escaped him, that made them collectively recoil. “Six weeks since the announcement and that is what you come up with, Obito? Once again, you prove to me that your talents of deduction are weaker than Itachi’s loyalty to the clan, detective.” Obito jerked back as if he’d just gotten punched. Fugaku made a noise like a squished bug at the back of his throat. Everybody else didn’t dare move.
“My, my, I expected nothing and am still disappointed.” Madara stopped cackling. “Back to work everyone. I want those reports finished by noon, seeing that you had enough time to launch a failed investigation into my private life.” With that he disappeared into his office. Obito stood frozen for a while longer, eyes wide and face pale, before he turned around and stormed out.
They watched him leave awkwardly, Kagami sighing sadly. Sasuke looked at the wooden surface of Shisui’s desk in discomfort.
That was why he would never really be able to hate Obito. Even though that guy was a jerk, he probably had gotten the shortest end of the stick in the entire Uchiha clan. Madara was terrible to all of them, but he was downright cruel to Obito.
Kagami had once told them, voice so secretive that Itachi and Sasuke had to lean forward to understand him, that as a child Obito actually used to smile. But it seemed that living with Madara had drained any goodness right out of him.
“I hope he drives his car against a wall,” Izumi hissed as they all got back to work.
Chapter 2: The Party
Notes:
Here comes the second chapter. Took a little longer than expected because work got in the way. Enjoy!<3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The night the Uchiha clan had collectively dreaded for so long had finally arrived.
Forced into his best suit by his mother, Sasuke stood next to Itachi and Shisui in the ballroom of Madara’s fancy mansion. Indra really had possessed exquisite taste. Pity it had gotten canceled out by his awful personality.
The ballroom had never seen an actual ball, as far as Sasuke knew, but it was perfect for this event. Dozens of lights from chandeliers flickered above them, illuminating the entire crowd in a warm glow. Several tables were groaning under the weight of hundreds of plates with finger-food that ranged from local cuisine to the most extravagant European dishes. There were no waiters (Madara probably unwilling to let strangers into his house), so several pyramids made of champagne flutes towered above them. It was the only room that could house the entire clan and all additional people that were invited. And there were a lot of non-Uchiha in the mansion right now. If Sasuke listened really carefully, he could hear Indra rolling around in his grave.
“Is that the Sarutobi family,” Shisui asked. Itachi squinted. He cursed his eyesight, which was getting weaker with every passing year. At this rate, he was going to be the first member in his family to need glasses. “Yes, it is,” he said surprised when he finally managed of make out the blurry dots at the nearest champagne pyramid. Sasuke craned his neck until he could indeed spot Sarutobi Hirzuen with his son Asuma.
“Your father is friends with them, right, Shisui?”
“Yes, but they are close with the Shimura, and that means Danzo,” Shisui muttered, his eyebrows drawn deep in a frown. “Madara hates them for that on principle.”
“And right he is for that,” Auntie Naori said as she floated over to them, wearing a stunning purple glittering dress and holding a pearly-colored drink. Izumi and Naka followed close behind her.
“Anyone got eyes on Madara’s fiancé,” Izumi asked.
“No, but you won’t believe it. I saw some people from the Nara, the Akimichi and the Yamanaka families here,” Shisui said.
“This is crazy,” Naka frowned. “I just saw someone from the Izunuka Clan talking to the head of the Aburame family.”
Sasuke drew a little closer to his brother, afraid he might lose him in this sea of people. “What’s this about. Madara hates people from outside the clan and he has never invited anyone who isn’t an Uchiha into his home,” Sasuke mumbled to him.
Itachi only shrugged helplessly. Normally, he would applaud such a move from any of his isolationist family members. It was good to connect with other people, especially as part of the police force. But the fact that it was Madara doing so induced a queasy feeling in his stomach.
Suddenly, Sasuke snapped to attention. A loud groan, knee-jerking and intrinsic, eliciting a feeling of misery and defeat had reached his ears. He instantly recognized it and whirled around, looking for its source, Izumi close on his heels.
A few feet away from them, a man was sitting on a highchair in front of the fancy bar, fingers digging deep into his temple. There were two empty glasses next to him and a bottle of what Sasuke knew was the finest and most expensive alcohol in this mansion. Itachi’s eyes widened in surprise when he recognized the man, and he immediately went over.
“Boss?”
“Senju Tobirama is the mystery man from the phone? What is he doing here,” Shisui whispered. The only reason why he could imagine Senju Tobirama be invited by Uchiha Madara to his home was for target practice. They followed Itachi, save for Naori and Izumi who seemed more interested in anything than talking to Senju Tobirama, and remained at a safe distance.
“Sir? Are you alright,” Itachi asked concerned.
Tobirama looked up, squinting his red eyes just like Itachi had done before. His usually so neatly slicked back hair was ruffled and stuck out in all directions.
“Uchiha Itachi,” he said after finally recognizing him, before grabbing his arm and forcing him into the chair beside him. “Itachi, you are the only sane member in your entire cursed family, I hope you know that. Gods, why is the rest of your family like this?”
Itachi seemed unsure what to say, and if the situation didn’t involve a Senju, Sasuke might have found it hilarious.
“Sir, what are you doing here? This is my uncle’s engagement party.”
“I know,” Tobirama bit out. “The man with the usual social skills of a rock and the charm of a charging rhino is getting married. Anyone would have been a better candidate. Anyone!”
Itachi looked back at them, eyes unusually expressive, but neither Sasuke nor Shisui made a move to aid him. “Can I get you anything. Or do you want to go outside?”
“No, not outside. That’s where the rest of your clan is.”
“Sir, are you- are you hiding?”
“Of course not.” A beat. “Your uncle is here.”
“Yes, it is his engagement party.”
“No, your other uncle-“
“Tobirama,” a voice sing-songed behind them. The Uchiha swirled around, Naori doing so while smirking into her drink. Senju Tobirama’s fingers dug even deeper into his forehead.
“Tobirama, I was looking for you everywhere,” Izuna said, holding his own drink that was dangerously close to over-flowing. He was dressed in a dark blue kimono with sakura petals decorating the seams and seemed perfectly content standing out in the crowd. “Oh, hi Naori. Tobirama, you said we had to stick together in this,” he pouted, “So, what are you doing here, hiding at the bar.”
“Why do you talk like that to Senju Tobirama. And was he the guy you went to Italy with,” Sasuke asked, voice laced with complete disbelief.
Izuna slung an arm around his shoulders and took a deep sip from his drink. “Mutual support, little nephew. Isn’t that right, Tobirama-kun,” he smacked his lips and smiled darkly.
Tobirama only stared at them in horror. “You two look exactly the same. There’s two of you,” he muttered.
“Perhaps I should help you outside-“ Itachi tried again.
“No, the rest of your family is there somewhere. I only had one conversation with someone named Hikaku-“
“Ah, yes, my grandfather.”
“ – and he suggested that we pull out the gas tank and set the hydrangea bushes on fire. Because they do not match the décor. He offered me matches. You are police officers. This is destruction of property! I can’t talk to any more members of your family tonight.”
Itachi seemed at a loss for words. Izuna released Sasuke (who immediately moved a couple of steps away) and walked over to Tobirama.
“Come on, Senju, there is a secret passage that leads to the kitchen upstairs. You can wait in there a little,” he said in a serious tone, which was so out of character for Izuna, who had never taken anything serious in his life.
“Doesn’t the rest of your family know that passage?”
“Only Obito. I’ll make sure he doesn’t go there.” The Senju seemed to have a fierce debate with himself about which was worse, the chance of another accidental meeting with one of Sasuke’s family members or accepting help from Uchiha Izuna. In the end, he chose the latter and the two disappeared in the crowd.
They all stared after them.
“What is going on in the world,” Shisui muttered, picking up one of the drinks left at the bar. Naori glided over to them. She looked incredibly amused. “It looks like it’s going to be a very promising evening.” Itachi looked at her as if he wanted to inquire after her mental state, before shaking his head and sliding off his chair. Sometimes he forgot that Naori grew up with Madara and Izuna.
“Hey, Sasuke, over there are Kushina and Minato,” Izumi suddenly pointed out and Sasuke followed her gaze. And indeed, Kushina’s easily recognizable hair seemed to shimmer across the room. She stood arm in arm with her husband, who smiled warmly at two members of the Nara family. Sasuke recognized his old classmate Shikamaru standing in the corner, looking supremely bored.
If Minato and Kushina are here, then that means Naruto should be here somewhere too. He looked around for a flash of bright blonde hair. Why did the idiot not tell me?
Instead of Naruto, he spotted Obito trying to fight his way through the crowd. His cousin located them and a rare expression of something other than his perpetual grumpiness appeared on his face. Naori grabbed his arm and pulled him over to their little group.
“Oh, thank the gods,” he said, “I just saw Ebisu. He tried to make small talk, Auntie Naori.”
“Oh, I am sorry you poor thing,” she cooed in genuine sympathy.
Sasuke glanced at Itachi discreetly for a reaction to Obito’s arrival, but his brother’s expression was one of perfect detachment. Perhaps his lips were drawn a touch tighter than usual. Obito took one look around before his gaze froze on two people at the other end of the wall, close to Minato and Kushina. Sasuke was surprised to recognize his high school teacher, Kakashi-sensei. The man next to him looked quite similar to him, so that had to be his father.
“What on earth are the Hatake doing here,” Obito hissed. “Madara must have finally lost it.”
“How do you know my high school teacher,” Sasuke asked surprised.
Obito just sneered at him, “You were in Bakashi’s class? Well, that explains everything.”
“Don’t talk to my brother like that,” Itachi said coldly. Gone was the faked politeness. And it was only eight in the evening. Sasuke sighed.
“Or what, traitor. You are gonna run to the Chief Inspector, like the Senju?
“Be careful, Obito, last time-“, Itachi started, his tone reaching sub-zero temperatures, but was elbowed in the guts by Shisui. Itachi looked at him in irritation, but it was already too late, because-
“Itachi.”
Sasuke’s parents had made it through the crowd. They had probably come looking for Naori. Fugaku and Itachi stared at each other, like two deer frozen in the headlight, while the rest of the family tried to avoid their gazes, discovering an entirely new appreciation for barstools and freshly baked Italian breadsticks. Sasuke hastily scouted for an exit strategy, but the crowd had already closed the gap he could have disappeared into. His mother stepped over to him. “Sasuke,” she pulled him into a hug, as if he didn’t come here with them. She looked at Itachi and slightly raised her arms before dropping them again in uncertainty. “Hello Itachi,” Mikoto made a brave attempt at a smile, but it looked distorted.
“Hello, Mother,” his brother said quietly, before steeling himself. “Father.”
Fugaku didn’t try to smile. He didn’t raise his hand in greeting either. Instead, he lifted his chin, and his expression had turned to stone. “Itachi, I am surprised to see you here.”
Itachi didn’t wince or flinch, but Sasuke knew that it must have hurt his brother. Say something, he screamed at himself, anything, but nothing came out and the tension rose, and soon there would be another public shouting-match between the two of them – “Excuse me, you are part of the Uchiha clan, aren’t you?”
They all turned around, encountering a man none of them had ever seen before.
Sasuke felt vaguely as if someone had punched him in the gut when he came face to face with him. This stranger was smiling so brightly, so radiantly, as if nothing in the world would give him greater pleasure than meeting them.
Naori was the first one who caught herself again. “Yes indeed. Hello, handsome,” she said and daintily offered her hand. They all turned their stares to her. Naori usually regarded showing interest in a man below her dignity. The stranger took it and kissed the back of it lightly, making Naori offer him a sweet smile that sent a cold shiver down Sasuke’s spine.
He returned his gaze to the stranger and found himself mesmerized by the man’s long, smooth maroon hair shifting across his back like a waterfall. Itachi had to step on his foot to shake him out of it.
“I am glad. I have been trying to find and talk to as many members of the Uchiha clan as possible,” the stranger laughed as Naori invited him to stand with them, and honest-to-gods dimples appeared on his cheeks. His gaze came to rest on Sasuke and he clapped his hands in delight. “I don’t believe it – you really do look like Izuna. I assume you must be Sasuke then?”
“You know Izuna,” Sasuke’s father asked weakly. He seemed a little dizzy.
“Yes, of course. He recently befriended my younger brother. You won’t believe how happy I was about this. I have waited for a long time for this to happen. A very long time.” He scratched his head sheepishly, and the motion did nothing to dim the air brimming with life around him.
His younger brother? Sasuke reassessed the man before him. As subtly as possible, he tried to analyze him but noticed nothing out of the ordinary—aside from his very expensive-looking suit and the impressively trained biceps that flexed before he lowered his arm again. How old is he?
“I am glad that I finally found you. I am Hashirama. You work with Madara, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Obito said, a little distrustful. He wasn’t gonna fall for this guy’s charisma so easily.
“Oh, wonderful. He talks about you a lot.”
“Oh, great, now he complains about us to people outside the family,” Izumi hissed, eyes sparked with fury. “Has he told you, that he has been keeping me back today because I used the wrong case in one sentence in my arrest report? One? And I had to redo the entire thing. That was fifteen pages! And then he told me that he still expects my presence here tonight.”
“Do you know what he did to me last week? He canceled my over-time because I was five minutes late. And I was only late because I was stuck in traffic! I missed my parents’ anniversary because of this,” Shisui moaned.
“At least you are still considered a member of the family. Every time he sees me, he calls me a traitor, unworthy of the Uchiha name. He doesn’t even use metaphors to hide it anymore,” Itachi added, crossing his arms.
They failed to see how the stranger's grin faltered as the conversation went on. Sasuke chimed in next, because it seemed that complaining together about Madara kept his family from imploding right in front of his eyes.
“Despite all that, he still holds you in high regards, Itachi. He gave me shit two weeks ago because I didn’t make it into Tokyo University, like you,” and for all his brooding bad-boy image, he couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Naka continued, growling into his empty flute, “He made me clean out the evidence room yesterday. When I asked him why, he just said, and I quote ‘It seems that you needed to repeat your lessons from the academy again’. What does that even mean?”
They all looked at Obito, who stood next in line. He didn’t say anything and merely lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah, that’s fair,” Shisui sighed.
They went quiet for a while, Hashirama glancing at them one by one with wide eyes.
“This is it. He and his stupid fiancé are going to destroy our family, aren’t they,” Izumi finally mumbled.
The stranger approached her in concern and opened his mouth to say something, but a pale hand appeared on his shoulder.
“There you are.” Madara stepped forward, effortlessly parting the crowd that made way for him like the Red Sea and pulling the stranger into a kiss. Years later, Sasuke would still be able to pinpoint the exact moment his heart stopped beating.
“Oh, by the gods,” he heard Izumi gasp beside him. Sasuke had to agree with her. This couldn’t be Madara’s fiancé. His fiancé was a spineless coward – the biggest people-pleaser in the world. Or a monster that was just as vicious as their clan head, one that bathed in the blood of his victims and drank from their skulls with him. It couldn’t be this man—whose expression was brighter than the sun, who carried himself with the kind of quiet confidence that made you believe he had never failed at anything in his life, and who clearly spent most of his time in the gym with that physique. He has to be insane, Sasuke concluded, since the man didn’t even seem fazed by the fact that Uchiha Madara had just kissed him. In fact, he seemed almost... pleased about it. There was a gentle warmth in the stranger’s eyes that made Sasuke contemplate walking into the ocean and never return. Maybe he could open a small bookstore in Europe somewhere, fly under the radar. Or better yet, Australia – Madara couldn’t follow him there. He would miss his brother and his friends, but it would be worth it if it meant never having to deal with his relatives again.
“Hashirama, these are my cousins Naori and Naka. Izumi over there is their niece. Fugaku – Hikaku’s son – and his wife Mikoto, and their sons Itachi and Sasuke. Shisui is Kagami’s kid.”
“Pleasure to meet you all. Though you probably don’t feel the same,” he said chuckling.
“What are you talking about? Everybody likes you.”
Hashirama put an arm around Madara’s waist (Sasuke could feel his eyes achieve sentience and trying to pop out of his skull), “Madara, they are convinced that you and I have conducted an elaborate plan to ruin your family,” there was genuine mirth in Hashirama’s eyes and Sasuke wondered if he had judged the man too early. Nothing was more sadistic than taking pleasure in bringing Madara’s wrath down upon all of them.
Madara’s sharp gaze found them. He assessed them one by one before he singled Izumi out correctly. “Izumi, explain.”
“I must admit, I am curious as well,” Hashirama said, his tone decidedly friendlier than Madara’s.
Izumi stared at them, eyes wide with panic. “Well – you see, Uncle – I mean Captain - it’s like – well,” She could observe by the second how Madara was losing his grain-of-dust-sized patience.
“We thought that you might be about to pull another Indra,” Naori finished for her, glass raised in front of her smiling lips. She suddenly had a hunch – one, that had the potential to change everything.
Madara looked at her, a hint of confusion in his gaze. “Speak clearly, Naori.” But his fiancé had already caught on. He was now laughing outright, loud and booming, making every Uchiha but Madara flinch at this very public display of emotion.
“Madara, they are under the impression that I am marrying you for the Uchiha’s money. That I am – how does my grand-daughter call it – a gold-digger,” his shoulders were shaking. “They think that you are about to give your clan’s fortune to me. You told me what happened when Indra showed favoritism to you.” He wiped away a few tears of amusement that had started to roll down his cheeks. “Oh, no. Forgive me for laughing,” he pulled himself together and went back to smiling at them, flashing his perfectly straight white teeth. “It is just – he would never do that. Madara loves his family more than anything in the world.”
They went back to staring at Madara whose face had now started to assume some very angry red spots on his pale skin. His fists were clenched, and his eyes glittered dangerously.
“Not that it is entirely unwarranted, apparently.”
Madara whipped his head around in indignation. “What do you mean, Hashirama?”
Hashirma smiled down at him, a gentle, much more private thing, and squeezed his hip. “It seems that you are quite the merciless drill sergeant.”
Naka threw him a look, that very clearly screamed WHY WOULD YOU BRING THIS UP NOW? and was smoothly ignored.
“Well, I hold them to a very high standard, of course, but that doesn’t mean I am merciless,” Madara argued, a little taken aback.
“Madara, you've had me writing the squad's statistics by hand for as long as I can remember. Excel has existed for years now. It takes at least four times as long and costs me three times the amount of nerves I would usually sacrifice,” Naori interfered, using the momentum for her own gain. This had been bugging her for years. “You shut me down every time I ask. Without mercy, indeed.”
“A paper trail is much safer. Computers can be hacked,” Madara countered easily, throwing her a look that promised Sodom and Gomorrah, but she didn’t back down. If she was right about Hashirama, then tonight would be a turning point for the clan, for the precinct, and for Japan.
Hashirama nodded thoughtfully, “Yes, but if there was ever a mole in the police force, then all those statistics would be in one spot, ready to be picked up. And it doesn’t seem very efficient.”
Madara looked between Naori and Hashirama. “Fine, I’ll take a look at it with IT. But only because Naori believes it would be more efficient, and she has worked here for long enough.”
Shisui’s jaw was on the floor. Madara was actually considering a proposal from them? What kind of wizard was Hashirama?
“And what about the evidence room,” Naka threw in, feeling emboldened by his sister’s success. “I have to clean it about ten times more often than the others.”
“With good reason,” Madara hissed back, “be grateful it isn’t more.”
“And the way you punish every single second I am too late, even though it is never my fault,” Shisui asked hesitantly, but he figured that the cat was already out of the bag – might as well chase it to the street.
Madara looked at him drily. “You are too smart to be asking that.”
“I have to always do my reports from scratch again. Uncle, no offense, but why can’t I simply change my mistake.” Izumi threw a glance at Hashirama, who gave her an encouraging nod. It was unbelievable, the man seemed to actually manage to contain Madara’s temper.
Madara stared at her with an incredulous expression but was distracted by Itachi this time. “I would greatly appreciate it if you stopped insinuating that I am a backstabbing traitor every time you see me. I am doing everything I can to make the relationship between the 44th and the DA run more smoothly. I would have assumed that it is in your best interest as well,” Sasuke’s brother said calmly, though his shoulders were tense, as if prepared for an attack.
Sasuke drew Madara’s wrath to him before that could happen, “I know that I didn’t get to Tokyo University. But Tokyo Tech is still one of the top universities in the country, so- yeah…”, he trailed off when he met Madara’s dark gaze. Damn him. Damn him and Sasuke’s need for approval from the authority figures in his family. A warm hand squeezed his shoulder and Sasuke looked up to look at the grim face of his father.
“There is no doubt that Tokyo Tech is an excellent school. And although I will not pretend to understand Itachi’s motivation to choose the DA over the place where his entire family works, I believe him when he says that he is doing everything he can to make the diplomatic discourse between the two departments easier. I…I am very proud of both of my sons.”
Sasuke swallowed around the big lump that formed in his throat. When his vision became blurry, he stared at the ground, blinking rapidly.
“Perhaps that would have gotten cleared up sooner, if you didn’t always keep Fugaku behind after workhours, Madara-sama,” Mikoto said with a sweet, razor-sharp smile.
Madara remained decidedly unimpressed by their little uprising. He examined them one by one, but Sasuke stared back in determination. None of them could show weakness now.
“Very well,” Madara said quietly after a long, drawn-out moment, leaving Hashirama’s side to stand right in front of them. There was a fire simmering in the depths of his hellish eyes. “Since I need to explain this to you, like children-“
He turned to Naka, who was standing to the far left. “Naka, the reason why you clear out the evidence room so much is because you handle evidence like someone who came fresh from the academy. You mislabel evidence so often that it has become a real problem for the precinct. If Naori didn’t use her own valuable time to fix your mistakes, you might have gotten demoted.” He didn’t give his cousin a chance to defend himself.
“Naori, I will talk to IT about digitalizing the paper trail. But I will have every kind of security possible, and it will be you who teaches the rest of the squad how to use it. And if it is not working smoothly in a week, I will pull the petition again.”
“Izumi, you are talking now about one typo. But six months ago, it was ten. You were almost offered the lead of a task force back then, until they saw your report. Not only did the 44th lose a collar that was rightfully ours because of this, but it set you personally back on your career path. So yes, I will make you rewrite every single miserable report until they are flawless, if that is what it takes to get you to follow through. Because I plan on suggesting you as a task force leader to the inspector’s office again. You’re a decent detective, act like one!”
“Shisui, you are the most promising junior the entire police department has seen in years. But you act unprofessionally. If traffic is the problem, do the sensitive thing and take an earlier train. Nap in the common room during lunch break, I don’t care. But your talent has not gone unnoticed by the chief inspector, and I will not let you throw that opportunity away. If you wish for a more relaxed work environment, may I suggest a cruise ship? Otherwise, pull yourself together, use your talent and keep impressing the Chief Inspector. One day, he might be calling you ‘boss’.”
Madara took a second to take in the stunned faces of his employees in cold satisfaction. Then he moved on to Itachi, a slight curl of disgust on his face. “Itachi – I honestly don’t know what you were expecting. You decided to become a lawyer.”
“It was my decision, Uncle –“
“But,” Madara effortlessly overruled Itachi’s input, “I suppose it is not my business. You were duly warned. I will refrain from commenting in the future, and I will give the same order to the rest of the clan. And-“, he narrowed his eyes, “I trust that you will be easier to deal with than with Tobirama. Besides- “, he once again ignored Itachi’s attempt to speak. “This…contamination will end with you, it seems. Since Sasuke managed to get into Tokyo Tech, a university that has no jurisdictional program. My alma mater, in fact,” Madara smiled darkly at Sasuke, who felt the hairs on his arms stand up. Was that Madara’s version of pride?
“You were born for greatness, Sasuke. Do not disappoint me.”
“And Fugaku, the reason why you are working post-work hours so much at the moment is because I plan to retire in a few years.”
“WHAT,” yelled Naka, Shisui, and Izumi in perfect unison.
Madara shot them an annoyed look. “What did you think? I am about to get married; I want to spend my retirement years with my husband.” He threw a quick glace over his shoulder at Hashirama, who smiled at him, again that little private smile.
He turned back to Sasuke’s father. “It is fairly obvious that the squad wants you to replace me when the time comes. I considered Naori for a while, but I believe she will follow me into retirement soon enough.”
“Hear, hear,” Naori raised her glass at him. She was smirking. “I expect an expanded trip with Izuna and Hikaku to Okinawa, just like when we were young and full of energy.”
“What do you think those two have been planning when they meet up,” Madara said drily. He turned to Sasuke’s mother.
“Mikoto, I assume this is satisfactory. Perhaps you’ll think of returning to the force yourself. There are many young upstarts who believe they can break your record.”
Mikoto stared at her clan head for a while, deep in thought. “You know what, perhaps I will,” she eventually said, smiling more honestly. Sasuke raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Itachi doing the same.
Madara turned to the last one in the group. “And Obito-“, he clamped his jaw shut.
Obito stared at him, chin raised proudly and back ramrod straight.
The tentatively relaxed atmosphere snapped back into sharp tension. Sasuke looked between Obito and Madara and could feel the familiar feeling of discomfort creeping in, like every time he was in a room with the two together. However, that was when Hashirama decided to interrupt their little family moment.
“Oh, you are Obito,” the mega-watt beaming intensified again by at least a hundred. He stormed forward and enclosed a startled Obito’s hands with his own, a far too familiar gesture for the two.
“I am so glad to finally meet you.”
Obito seemed too overwhelmed to defend himself against that sort of physical contact. “You are?”
“Yes, of course,” Hashirama exclaimed loudly. “How did I not notice it before? Madara showed me a picture of you when you were younger, but you had longer hair back then. You looked like a miniature version of him.”
“Hashirama, get back,” Madara tried to remove Hashirama’s arms forcefully. Sasuke noticed with no small amount of glee that his esteemed clan head seemed to have trouble with that. “I told you a million times, we aren’t as physical as you and your family. You’ll give him an aneurysm.”
“Oh, but it is so nice to finally meet him. I’ve been begging you for weeks to invite him over.”
For the first time, in all the long, long years Sasuke had known their unmovable, larger-than-life patriarch, he seemed a little sheepish. A light hue of vermillion decorated Madara’s cheeks.
“And I told you that it isn’t a good idea.”
Hashirama shook his head. “You still haven’t given me an explanation why.” Madara opened his mouth and then closed it again. He seemed a little lost.
What a time to be alive!
“Because he hates me,” Obito finally spoke up. He stared at Madara, open and hostile. There was no backing down this time.
Hashirama blinked at him. “No, he doesn’t.”
“Yes, he does,” Obito insisted, voice purposefully detached “Ask him.”
Hashirama whirled around, now staring back and forth between the two of them.
“But Madara talks about you all the time,” he protested, sounding very confused. “He showed me one of the murders you solved just last week.”
“I told you, it’s complicated,” Madara muttered from behind him.
“Complicated? You’ve been insulting me for years, you belittle me in front of our clan every chance you get, and you have turned pointing out my inadequacy into a sport.” Obito gave up on pretending to be nonchalant about this. His fists were clenched by his sides, and he snarled, using every inch over Madara he had.
“I belittle everyone, you are no exception,” Madara dismissed with a casual flick of his hand.
“And the insults? The screaming? Admit it, Madara, you despise me. Even the others have noticed – you always behave like a miserable bastard, but you are a monster when it comes to me,” Obito was breathing hard.
Madara looked a little offended, shifting from one foot to the other. If this was anyone but Uchiha Madara, Sasuke might have believed that he actually seemed uncomfortable.
Finally, he mumbled something.
“Sorry,” Obito hissed. “You have to speak up, because you know, I am deaf on one ear.”
“You used to find it funny,” Madara repeated a little louder. He was on the defensive. Obito had pushed Madara into the defensive. The rest of the family followed their conversation with bated breath.
“You used to find it funny when I insulted people. You told me so yourself,” Madara repeated when Obito didn’t say anything.
Obito stared at him with an incredulous expression, before he could finally find words. “Not to me,” he finally said with a raised voice. “It was fun when you did it to people who were jerks. And I was ten when I said that. I can’t even-“ Obito snatched Shisui’s drink and downed it in one go. Shisui just patted him on the back.
“You don’t get to give me attitude. It was you who left,” Madara said, his tone apathetic.
Obito let out a raging howl. “I was seventeen. You were an adult. I was a fucking teenager.”
“I did ask other people about what I should do. I tried.”
“Who. Who did you ask?”
“My father.”
Obito stared at him. “You father left you once in a forest to see if you would find your way home.”
“And since then, I can hunt rabbits with nothing but a stick and an iron will to live,” Madara shrugged.
Obito made a weird screeching noise – like a bug that had gotten stepped on.
“How about-,” Hashirama suggested gently, “if Obito comes by for a visit on Sunday, hm? This seems like it deserves a little more time to explore. We can even make Mitarashi dango. Madara told me that it is your favorite, Obito.”
When Obito just sent him a murderous glare, Hashirama pushed Madara lightly. He gritted his teeth but eventually relented. “Obito…what he said,” he said, tone carefully neutral.
They all turned their gaze to Obito. “Fine, old man,” he eventually said in the same neutral tone.
“Hn.”
“Hn.”
They both looked firmly in opposite directions. Fugaku, who still had a hand on both of his sons’ shoulders, drew them in a bit further.
There was an uncomfortable silence for a while, before Naori pulled herself together and addressed Hashirama, “So, what do you do, Hashirama?”
Hashirama turned to her, casually swiping one long smooth streak of hair behind his ear. It had to be even longer than Madara’s. “Nothing too exciting. I am a doctor.”
“Oh, do you work for the police as a forensic specialist?”
“No, I am a surgeon at the hospital.”
Which gives him a life-long expertise on how to cut people open without detection, Sasuke thought, starting to finally see at least one reason why this man might appeal to Madara. His gaze crossed Izumi’s, and he could tell that she was thinking the same thing. “What made you decide to become a surgeon,” she asked sweetly.
“Hm, I just wanted to help people. There are so many people out there who are just unlucky, and it is our duty as fellow citizens to help those who can’t help themselves.” Hashirama’s dimples deepened. Sasuke caught Naka fake-puking into his drink, safely out of Madara’s field of view.
His mother, however, looked at him in interest. “And how did you meet?”
“Oh, that was long ago. As children actually,” Hashirama’s gaze became dreamy, filled with nostalgia as he looked down at Madara. He had to be at least two inches taller than him. How on earth did a man like that endear himself to a man whose ego was so big it warranted its own currency?
“We used to play at the same river. He was skipping stones when I saw him. And failing spectacularly to get them across the river, I might add,” he laughed. Madara crossed his arms and glared at all of them. “Lies,” he declared.
“Oh? Then why do I distinctly remember a lot of yelling as your rock slowly disappeared into the waves?”
“Because your brain is rotting away from breathing in the pollen from all those plants you’re crossbreeding. Which is illegal by the way.”
Hashirama simply waved away Madara’s comment, laughing loudly. Sasuke was starting to think this might be a dream.
“Anyways, I wasn’t feeling too well one day – I’d just lost two of my younger brothers in a car crash. And then Madara appeared. He managed to make me laugh for the first time in days – he made me feel hopeful for the future again.” Hashirama gently took Madara’s hand.
“…how nice,” Fugaku said, lips slightly pursed.
“Anikiii,” Izuna popped out of nowhere, throwing himself like a monkey around Madara’s neck. “Congratulations on your marriage. I am sure you’ll live a long, happy life together,” he cheered, knocking their heads together.
“Izuna, finally. Where were you? I was forced to talk to these buffoons alone. They tried to make small talk with me.”
“Madara,” Hashirama chided, “most of them are my friends.”
“And none of them seem to understand the sentence ‘Now excuse me, I have business to attend to’. They are almost as annoying as you, Hashirama!”
Hashirama’s head slumped down, a dark cloud appearing over his head. He looked positively depressed. As if Madara had just killed his favorite puppy. “You are always such a harsh critic.”
Shisui stared at the man in concern, “Sir, are you alright?”
“Shisui, don’t fall for this farce. He is an excellent manipulator,” Madara warned him. Izuna released his older brother and drew back a little, as Madara started to poke his fiancé in the side. “Stop this, Hashirama. You’re embarrassing yourself. I’ll throw you in the garden pond, if you continue this charade.”
Hashirama slightly raised his head, and now the rest of the Uchiha could see the flicker of a smirk flash across his lips. “It’s just…I hope I’ll make it to the other side.”
For a moment it was so silent, they could have heard one of the needles from Naori’s elaborate hairdo drop. Then Madara was yelling, his voice echoing like a storm. A mix between threats, that ranged from instant arrest to the incineration of the illegally crossbred plants, vicious insults and a challenge to resolve this once and for all rained down on Hashirama.
Hashirama only laughed and there was a spark in his eyes that told Sasuke that he wasn’t any less enthusiastic than Madara. He was just proposing that they all should go outside, when Mikoto sniffed the air.
“Do you smell smoke?”
Madara whipped his head around to look over the assembled mass. He zeroed in on some dark silhouettes moving quickly in front of the glass doors leading to the vast gardens of the estate. “Who of those insufferable, idiotic, incompetent idiots had the idea to give Hinabi matches?! I specifically locked all igniters in the house away. Stay here, I’ll be right back.” He turned around and marched towards the entrance to the gardens, once again having no trouble getting through the dense crowd.
As soon as his big brother was gone, Izuna dropped the smile. “If you don’t pull out of this wedding right now, I’ll tell your granddaughter that you and your ex-wife had an arranged marriage,” he said.
Hashirama just shrugged. “The entire family already knows that. It was one of the first things I told them when Mito and I announced our divorce.”
“Ugh, you’re impossible to blackmail.” Izuna complained.
“You were married to Mito-sama,” Mikoto asked surprised. “I am friends with Kushina.” They started an amiable chat about the Uzumaki clan, as the four youngest Uchiha drew closer together.
“So that explains how Madara knows Uzumaki Mito,” Shisui murmured. “What do you think he was trying to do at the restaurant? Getting advice on how to handle a marriage with this guy?” “More likely that he threatened her to never contact Hashirama again,” Izumi said. Sasuke wasn’t so sure about either of those two options. He wasn’t really sure about anything at this point anymore, really. His mother and Auntie Naori had just started laughing loudly at a story about how Uzumaki Mito had and Hashirama had gotten stuck together with fake blood from a practice dummy during an exam in college.
“You know, when I hear you talk about Uzumaki Mito, I get the distinct feeling that you might not be ready to marry my brother just yet, Senju,” Izuna interrupted Mikoto and Hashirama loudly.
The entire collective – Sasuke, Itachi, Shisui, Izumi, Fugaku, Mikoto, Obito, Naka, and Naori – let out an unholy noise when they registered which name Izuna had just spoken. Hashirama remained unfazed. His smile and friendly demeanor had disappeared, but he radiated an aura of serenity so powerful, it kept the Uchiha from following their first instinct to grab the next sharp object in reach.
“Izuna-kun, I understand your hesitance when it comes to this union, especially given our fathers’ hatred and our clans’ long bloody history. But Madara and I have made it quite clear on several occasions that we are not backing out of this marriage, despite several objections. It will take time for you and Tobi to get used to this, but my family – and that includes my ex-wife, whom I still deeply respect and care for – should remain a separate matter.”
Izuna glared at him before staring off to the side.
Tobi? As in Tobirama?
“Senju,” Itachi repeated. His face was unusually expressive. “Madara-sama is marrying a member of the Senju clan?”
“Its leader, I am afraid,” Senju Hashirama chuckled, but there was a strain to it. “I never understood this ancient feud between our clans. No-one remembers when it started or why it started. Perhaps it really was a murder. Or perhaps it was because one got caught cheating at a game of dice. Or who knows, maybe they simply had a bad day. Honestly, who cares at this point?”
“Madara does,” Obito stated very slowly.
The Senju simply shrugged in return. “Used to perhaps. But we actually talked about ending this silly feud as children already. However, our fathers caught wind of it and Uchiha Tajima gave Madara an ultimatum. His family or our friendship. Madara chose the Uchiha.” There was no accusation in his voice.
“Was that before your marriage with Mito-sama was arranged,” Naori asked quietly.
“Oh, long before that. No, Madara and I didn’t cross paths again for many, many years after we last met as children. I reached out to him several times when we were teenagers, but we never met again. We went to different schools and different universities, and it took quite some time until we were both back in Tokyo. I’d married Mito and he had taken in Obito, and we both had a wonderful family to take care of. I would sometimes stumble upon an article that included Madara after an especially spectacular bust. But I honestly thought that Madara had written me off and would never want to resume our friendship again.”
“But Obito is right. Our clan will have trouble accepting you,” Naka said. “Senju aren’t all that popular with us.”
Again, Hashirama took no offense. There was even a hint of a smile curling around the corners of his lips.
“And yet we are standing here, having a decent conversation, wouldn’t you say? None of you has tried to attack me yet. Well, except Izuna-kun, but honestly, Tobirama isn’t any better. And it is nice that Madara has such a fierce protector.” He smiled at Izuna, who looked like he wanted to do nothing more than clasp his fingers around Hashirama’s neck and squeeze.
“My clan has already come to accept Madara as my fiancé, after he attended one of our weekly family game tournaments. A few rounds of intense monopoly and a promise that my grandkids can have their own pet doves from his falconry, and he managed to win them over.” Hashirama said cheerfully.
Sasuke caught Shisui’s gaze and mouthed ‘monopoly?’ at him, who only shook his head in defeat.
The crowd shifted next to them and then Madara was standing next to them again, the cuffs of his suit slightly singed.
“Idiots, the whole lot of them.”
“Did you manage to put the fire out?”
“Yes but they had to use the drapes.”
“The drapes?”
“Our insurance has stopped covering for our fire extinguishers again. And I had just made a new deal with them.” Madara rubbed the back of his nose in annoyance. “Also, I didn’t see your brother, Hashirama. He left the party!”
“Oh, I think he just had to retreat for a while. This is all a little overwhelming for him.”
Madara looked like he really wanted to say something, before thinking about it and reaching out to ruffle Izuna’s hair. “Well, Izuna is here. What have you been talking about.”
“Our family feud.”
“Oh, that.”
Izuna snorted. “Yes, that.”
Madara lazily waved his hand. “That is not pertinent here.”
It was too much. Those words! This day! This entire situation!
“Uncle, you had every Uchiha recite the crimes committed against our clan by the Senju at the age of five.” Itachi said with a twitching eyebrow. “You made us write entire reports. I had to hold a presentation in class!” He couldn’t even remember how often he had gotten berated by a clan member or gotten in a fight in his father when he brought up that maybe, just maybe, this entire feud was a little exaggerated. “It is surprising to hear this from you since it was you who insisted that we remember our mortal enemies.”
Madara narrowed his eyes at Itachi. “There is a saying, young Itachi. A capable hawk hides its claws.” A talented individual remains modest, Itachi translated in his head. Or better said, a man of honour doesn’t strike a man already fallen. He stared down, sufficiently chastised.
Madara addressed all of them, “Any further superfluous comments you would like to share with me? I await at your leisure." And that signaled that they had reached the end of their unique, singularly strange family moment. No-one was really in the mood to push this miracle too far and drive Madara to commit familicide after all. So, they all stood there, mouths kept shut. Madara just looked at them imperiously, before Hashirama pulled him away, babbling about introducing him to an old friend of his. There were some quiet exhales when they finally left, and shortly after, Mikoto and Fugaku excused themselves as well.
It was silent for a long time.
Sasuke’s mind was still spinning, and he finally remembered the drink he was holding in his own hand, chugging it back in one go. The fuzzy liquid slid down his throat, offering only a pitiful amount of alcohol—nowhere near enough for what he’d just been forced to endure. He grabbed the bottle Senju Tobirama had left on the counter and poured himself a shot of the amber liquid into his champagne glass, before emptying it. Then he remembered that since Madara was getting married to Tobirama’s older brother, he would soon be related to him by marriage – that warranted another shot.
“Sooo, should we do this again,” Shisui finally spoke up when Sasuke’s mind had just entered that sweet slippery state of haziness.
“I think Madara might actually murder us if we ever try that again.” Naka looked at the bottle in Sasuke’s hand with envy. He pulled it a little closer.
“That’s not what I meant. I mean should we, you know, talk like that more. At a later point. With each other.”
Izumi twirled a loose lock of her hair around her finger, staring absent-mindedly into space. “We talk to each other all the time, Shisui.”
“Yes, but you know. About stuff. Real stuff.”
Again, a long moment of silence. Then everyone vehemently shook their heads. Except for Obito. His gaze was drifting over the crowd, eyes unreadable. But for the first time since Sasuke could remember, there was no shadow of bitterness or anger clinging to him. He just looked a little lost quite frankly. Then, with a jolt, his cousin suddenly came to life and disappeared into the crowd.
Shisui and Itachi looked after him in question, but Sasuke had a feeling he knew who Obito was making a beeline for. He had spotted his old teacher and Guy, the teacher who oversaw the sports teams at his high school, in that direction. He rested the cool, empty glass against his forehead.
Whatever that was, he was staying as far away from it as possible.
“Well, I’m off too. I need to find a quiet place to process what the hell just happened,” Izumi said, shaking herself like a dog that had just gone through a cold shower. “I’ll join you,” Itachi followed her. Their little group dissolved, and Sasuke wandered aimlessly around, not sure what to do now. Izuna fell into step next to him, a grim expression on his face. “I am borrowing this. You aren’t even of drinking age yet,” he said, snatching the bottle and pouring the rest of the liquid into his glass.
“I’ve been drinking champagne the entire evening.”
Izuna just muttered something and shrugged his shoulders as he threw his head back to take a few deep gulps.
“You’re a terrible police officer,” Sasuke commented, rolling his eyes.
“Special circumstances allow for special measures, little Doppelganger,” Izuna said. Sasuke was sure Izuna had just consumed at least a third of the bottle, but his uncle seemed as if he could fall into a handstand at this very moment and still walk in a straight line.
“We will need a lot of this, when the day finally comes and my brother marries that tree-hugging buffoon.”
“I can’t believe you’re letting him go through with it. He’s marrying a Senju.”
Sasuke was expecting for his uncle to announce a long, elaborate scheme, but Izuna just sighed and snatched a cocktail glass filled with shrimp from a random guest’s hold. By the creepy dead-eyed look and offended gasp of the man, he could be a Hyuuga.
“My brother is set on this.”
Sasuke grabbed a shrimp from the glass. “Uncle Madara usually listens to you. If you’d object…”
Izuna shook his head, his long ponytail following the motion. “Not this time. When it comes to Senju Hashirama, my brother has always acted out of sorts. I am afraid, there is nothing more we can do. The Senju will be part of our family, whether we like it or not.”
Sasuke couldn’t hold his curiosity back. “And that merits a spontaneous vacation to Italy with Senju Tobirama because…?”
Another sigh. “A common enemy makes for strange allies. We decided to declare a temporary truce and find a way to break them up. But we came up empty – those two are simply forces of nature – and mostly got drunk. It was the only logical conclusion. And if get drunk, why not in Italy?”
Sasuke glanced at Izuna, who had pulled a fan out of seemingly thin air and was now fanning himself with a solemn expression.
“I had to concede defeat a long time ago, I am afraid.”
They parted ways when Izuna saw Kagami and Sasuke decided to get some fresh air. He had just stepped out onto the veranda, when he was ambushed from both sides in a flash of blonde and pink.
“Sasuke, there you are, finally! We’ve been looking all over for you.” Naruto grinned at him brightly, and even though they were not related by blood, he reminded Sasuke a little of Senju Hashirama in that moment. He turned to Sakura, who was nursing her own glass of champagne.
“How did you get here. Do your parents know the Senju too?”
Her smile was mischievous. “You remember Karin, that awful cousin of Naruto’s? Well, she is currently lying sick in bed, and since I can almost count as a red-head, Naruto gave me her invitation and no one asked too many questions.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Naruto looked vaguely apologetic. “Sorry, dude. When I found out that your uncle was marrying Mito’s ex-husband and that we were going to their engagement party, I tried to call you, but it didn’t go through and I don’t think my messages did either.”
“Yeah, this place doesn’t really have reception. It’s perfect if you ever need to disappear. Don’t know what Madara does here all day, though.”
“Well, we know what he will do here all day in the future–“, Sakura giggled, swaying slightly from left to right. It appeared she’d already indulged in a couple of glasses of champagne herself.
“Please, don’t ever conduct that image of my uncle again, Sakura, or I may have to get you thrown out.”
“Noooo,” Naruto pulled Sakura into a one-armed hug, “don’t do that. We’re going off to college soon. We have to spend as much time together as possible, while we still can!” There were actual tears forming in Naruto’s eyes.
“Yeah, Sasuke, don’t be a grinch and let us love youuu,” Sakura added, aiming for a mocking tone, but missing the note and sounding a little weepy.
“Exactly. Even though it was funny what you said, Sakura,” Naruto was laughing while the tears threatened to spill over. They were leaning against each other now, supporting each other like two trees with their branches intertwined, tears rolling down their cheeks as they smiled stupidly.
Perhaps it isn’t the worst, he thought suddenly, surprising himself. Talking about stuff. Expressing your feelings.
He thought about how Madara and Senju Hashirama had found each other only at the ripe age of sixty-something. Hashirama had said that they both had built fulfilling lives, but something told Sasuke that there was more to that story. They hadn’t talked in, what, forty years? And then he remembered the loaded moments whenever his brother and father had spoken to each other in that a cold, delicate code of passive-aggression, making the entire house feel dark and depressing. And how many years had Obito spent clinging to his resentment?
He grabbed a nearby champagne bottle and threw an arm around both of his friends. They abruptly stopped crying and stared at him, eyes wide.
“Anyone wanna see Uncle Madara’s weapons room?” His oldest friends blinked at him rapidly. “I thought that was off-limits,” Naruto said carefully.
Sasuke just shrugged, “There is a hidden trapdoor under the stairs that leads directly to it. Madara will never know.” Naruto and Sakura broke out into cheers. No one stopped them as they staggered inside, grabbing fistfuls of finger food and scooping up three glasses along the way. Naruto snatched a tissue to blow his nose with an ear-splitting honk, his face a disgusting mess of tears and snot.
In moderation, though.
✦
The first rays of sunlight were shily peeking over the horizon, when the ballroom had finally emptied. Madara settled down on the bench next to the pond, his future husband following suit. A family of ducks were huddled together, beaks hidden underneath their feathers, sleeping peacefully.
He let out a weary sigh. “They resent me,” he moaned. He didn’t have to specify who exactly he was talking about.
Hashirama – the idiot – had the gall to laugh at him. “That’s not true!”
“Oh yeah? You heard them complain. That ungrateful pack of –“
Hashirama took Madara’s hands in his own and raised them to his lips to kiss them gently. Damn him, Madara thought, cheeks reddening, damn him and whatever magic he wields that allows him to do this to other people. Thankfully, it was still too dark for Hashirama to see just what kind of affect his gesture had.
“They respect you. And they misunderstood you. You love your clan – your family – more than anything in the world. They deserve to know that.”
“They should trust me, instead of making assumptions. I have made the 44th one of the top precincts in Tokyo. In the entire country. All of them have great careers ahead of them. And yet, they would like for me to – to, what? Put gold-stars on their reports? Hand out candies every time they make a successful bust?”
“Oh, I think that would be entirely too much for an Uchiha. But perhaps a little praise here and there?”
Madara’s expression must have truly been threatening, because Hashirama retracted hastily, “Though I think your talk will have satisfied them for a while.”
Madara leaned back against the backrest. After a moment, he muttered, “Obito always used to get it, without me having to make any grand statements.”
Hashirama mercifully didn’t mention the current state of their relationship and hummed in acknowledgement. “It will be nice to have him over. I have so many questions for him. He will probably know lots of stories about you.” Mischief was sparking in his eyes. Madara shoved him, before falling silent. He was already dreading next Sunday, and not only because he knew that a conversation with his foster son about the past would ensure a brutal blow to his pride. “Just keep in mind, he is probably the one who internalized that anti-Senju rhetoric the most from the clan. Except for Izuna, maybe,” he simply muttered in response.
“Ah, it can’t be so bad. We all get wiser with age. Izuna and Tobirama even went on vacation together. That is more than I ever dared hoping for.”
Madara was convinced that their brothers hadn’t gone away together for the simple pleasure of each other’s company but for once did nothing to curb Hashirama’s optimism.
“If you say so.”
“It’s true. That counts for you too. It was you who reached out to me, after all.”
Madara snorted. That was hardly because of any wisdom he had gained over the years. He had simply heard one day from Naori, who had heard it from Mikoto, who had heard it from Kushina that Mito was getting divorced. It hadn’t even taken that long for him to reach out, because…
Hn.
What exactly had made him write that message?
Hashirama leaned against him and Madara enjoyed the solid warmth pressed against his side.
For a moment they just sat there together on that bench, watching the sun climb over the woods that surrounded the estate.
“Come on,” he finally got up, bones aching in protest. He was far too old to go an entire night without sleep. “I need to check if any of my relatives have to be treated for alcohol poisoning. And I think my nephew and his little friends never made it out of the weapons’ room.”
Together, they walked back to the house as the pond glittered in the sunlight behind them.
Notes:
That is it for now, folks. Thanks for joining my on this ride. I've contemplated writing a scene with Hashirama's and Madara's wedding, but that is an endevor for the future. Right now, I am working on a different Hashimada project - I'll say this much; it includes a branch, a cowrie shell, a robe, a bowl, a jewel and a very, very displeased Madara.
PS. For some reason it doesn't accept that this story is finsihed (chapters 2/2), but I don't have time right now to take a look at it. But as for now this work counts as finished:)