So I decided to add on to the HashiMada one shot I did, and I plan on making this into a multi-chapter thing even though I have other things that I should be working on instead. I've just lost some of my mojo for Amity… sorry everyone. But I'll have some more time to work on these things since I broke my leg the other day (oops). So anyway, here's this… whatever it is.

Tally ho! Meadie out.

{Adaptability}

{Chapter One}

"Madara! Madara, come here for a minute, would you?!"

The Uchiha clan head glanced up from his papers with a scowl, having learned from prior experience that whenever Hashirama called for him as he busted in the front door like he just had, that something was amiss. Sighing and setting aside his brush, Madara rose to his feet, padding silently down the halls, preparing to scold the Senju for whatever mess he had caused and for ruining the sole streak of productivity that he had managed all day. He stepped through the doorway of their modest living room and froze, dark eyes going wide for an instant before narrowing dangerously at the brunet, who was grinning like a fool with a small child standing at his side.

"What is that?" Madara asked bitterly, Sharingan blooming to life as he folded his arms sternly across his chest.

"Not that," Hashirama insisted in a whine, brawny hands landing on the boy's narrow shoulders, "he. This is Kise-kun. Uchiha Kise-kun."

The shorter man assessed the child critically for several long moments, crimson glare studying the boy's pale skin and onyx eyes – ringed with weary shadows from tears and exhaustion – and short hair in a heady coffee brown, nearly black. His back was rigid as he offered his clan head a stiff bow, and Madara noted the way his shirt hung loose around a waist that was too thin from malnourishment and a spine that was too bony. "Kise, huh?" he questioned after a beat of silence, his tone brimming with the irritation that he could not convey with his expression alone. "Son of Uchiha Sora, yes?"

"Hai, Madara-sama," the boy answered in a meek voice that seemed trapped in his throat. "My father was Kisuke; he died in the war before I was born. Just before you signed peace."

"I recall," the pale shinobi asserted flatly. "Why is he here, Hashirama?"

Ignoring his lover, the Hokage dropped to one knee to smile tenderly at the child in front of him, grasping small hands that barely spanned the widths of his palms and holding them snugly, pleased when tension melted from Kise's slender body. "I'm going to talk to Madara for a minute, so why don't you go look around your new room and I'll call you for dinner? Just follow this long hallway around to the right, and your bedroom is on the left, right next to ours," he said, gesturing his directions and nudging the child along.

"Hai, Hokage-sama."

"No, no, no, Kise," the brunet hushed the boy, brushing short, dark hair from his brow. "You can call me Hashirama if you want, or dad. Whatever you like, okay?"

The little Uchiha nodded and tottered off, unsteady from fatigue, fingers trailing absently along the wall as he vanished around the corner. With a sigh, the Senju stood, turning to face Madara, whose chakra was roiling dangerously in the limited space.

"'Your bedroom'? 'Dad'? Are you out of your damned mind?! What is going on?!"

"Wait, wait, calm down," Hashirama said quickly, attempting to close his arms around the shorter man in a forceful embrace and stroking down the length of his back. "He's six years old and has no one left, Madara. His mother died last night. She had been ill for a long time, but I still couldn't save her. We can't leave him to his own devices, he's been struggling thus far as it is! You saw how thin he was! And he's a good, clever boy, Madara, from your clan. Please… this is our chance to protect something precious. We can give him a good home, and not one father, but two. Please, love. Let him stay."

"Damn you, using your guilt to force this on me!"

"No! Madara… dearest, please."

Ceasing his struggling against the brunet's grasp, the Uchiha sighed, prying himself free as he soothed his chakra back down to a mere ember that flickered beneath his skin, rather than the bonfire it had threatened to become. Frankly, he was reluctant to accept the burden of responsibility that caring for a child would bring, but he considered it carefully for several long moments, deep in thought. Raising a boy of Uchiha blood as his own would surely placate the elders regarding the issue of an heir – or so he hoped – as the stubborn old coots had yet to acknowledge his refusal to marry. With Izuna's passing, the possibility of clan leadership remaining directly within his bloodline had perished, along with his beloved otouto. He had wished for another chance, to salvage his brother's life and provide for him an existence that would have long since been possible if not for his own stubborn pride. And before him now stood an opportunity in the form of an orphan, a colossal obligation that would shackle him with a responsibility that he was unsure he was prepared to bear. The looming possibility of failure was suffocating, and the Uchiha clan head struggled to surpass it.

"Madara," Hashirama cooed gently, drawing him from his thoughts as tanned thumbs traced the shadows beneath his eyes. "He's not a replacement for Izuna. You will never have to protect him on your own; I'll be here always. There's nothing to fear."

He snorted, tossing ebony locks from his eyes with a pointed shake of his head, straining to conceal the impact of his lover's words from his features. "Fear? No. But what do you expect me to do with the brat?"

"Act as a father."

"Gods, Hashirama… when have I ever been even the least bit fatherly? I don't know what the hell to do with a kid."

The Hokage offered a sweet smile and brushed a chaste kiss across the pale shinobi's temple, paying no mind to his disgruntled huffs of indignation. "This is new for all of us, even Kise. So just try to be gentle for now, and you'll surely grow fond of each other and it'll all work out as it should. I'm already quite fond of him myself, actually."

"I refuse to be called 'dad'," Madara spat in vague acceptance.

"Thank you."

Frowning and waving the taller man aside, the Uchiha stalked off to his study, calling unapologetically over his shoulder. "Fetch me for supper, I have work to finish."

"Hai," Hashirama sang in response, "I love you."

Madara simply grumbled, slamming the door behind him.

{{{Adaptability}}}

Dinner was an awkward affair, at best, as Hashirama did his utmost to spur conversation between the two Uchiha that sat on either side of the small table in heavy, impenetrable silence. Occasionally the tension would fracture when Kise would politely ask for an additional helping of rice or miso, his tone solemn and brittle and his eyes carefully refusing to meet Madara's; though the Hokage was pleased to see that the child managed such a decent appetite. The elder of the pair, however, said nothing at all, his gaze scarcely rising from his food, save to cast the infrequent yet persistently haunting glare to his tan-skinned lover.

"So," Hashirama offered once the silence had started to make him squirm, "do you have your Sharingan yet, Kise?"

"No, sir."

"Ah, of course not. You're young, and you weren't raised through war. There is no need for you to have awoken it yet," the brunet hummed, voice soothing like the scent of earth drying beneath the sun. "I'm glad. Aren't you, Madara?"

He grunted ambiguously in reply, tucking the last of his rice between his lips and settling his chopsticks carefully back on their rest. "Thank you for the meal. I'll be in my study," the Uchiha mumbled in his dark baritone as he rose and excused himself.

The instant his clan head was gone from the room, Kise sighed heavily, shoulders bowing as if weary from bearing some great burden. "He's scary," he murmured, and the Hokage was immensely pleased that some of the childishness had returned to his voice.

"I know," Hashirama replied with a chuckle, reaching to tousle the boy's dark locks. "But it'll be alright, I promise. You don't have to be so formal."

"Does he hate me?"

"Of course not!" he exclaimed as if the words burned his heart. "Madara just… he's not good with change. He doesn't know how to act when he's forced to adapt quickly, so he ends up acting very childish himself – slamming doors and locking himself in with his books and shouting and frightening people away with his chakra. He'll come around eventually, don't worry. I know he has a reputation within the clan and the village for being spiteful and unpleasant, but Madara is just… Madara, I guess. He has a kind soul."

Kise nodded sagely, thin lips pulling into a frown as he poked at his rice, finally abandoning the task to fold his hands in his lap. "Mother always said that he was a good man who wanted to protect the clan, even if he was hated for it… that he was strong because his heart hurts a lot."

"That's a pretty way of putting it. Your mother was a smart lady."

"Hai."

"You know," Hashirama began carefully, softening his tone, "I was a little older than you when I lost my mother. She had been ill for a long time, too. Even though she and I both knew that she would pass on sooner than later, it still hurt when she left. I know how sad it is, and it's alright to feel that sadness, Kise."

"Hai."

"Good boy. You can tell me anything and I'll always listen – we'll never let you be alone again. Madara and myself both, we'll look after you from now on."

"Thank you. But, um…" Kise fumbled for a moment after lowering his head respectfully, struggling valiantly with his words. "Are you sure that I can call you d—dad?"

A broad grin unzipped across the Hokage's face as he fought to contain his excitement; though not well, as the child beside him arched a curious brow, blatantly reaffirming his Uchiha blood with the simple action. "Certainly," the brunet assured, failing to suppress a chuckle. "I've always wanted to be called 'dad', even though I wouldn't go around calling Madara that. Not yet, at least. Besides, I think 'father' would suit him better, don't you agree?"

The boy nodded after an instant of contemplation, a wary, lopsided smile pulling at the edges of his lips. Hashirama watched the child as he finished his meal, and thought to himself how vibrantly Kise reminded him of Kawarama; certainly not in appearance, but in spirit, more apt to observation than action and tender at heart. His brother had been but a year older than the little Uchiha beside him when he was killed, the warmth of his existence gone in favor of several pieces of icy flesh in a wooden box. Itama had cried, he recalled vividly, and had been scolded for exhibiting behavior so unfitting of a shinobi, warned that spilling tears would do naught but dishonor Kawarama's memory and disgrace him as a true warrior of the Senju. But, Hashirama had countered, what could ever be a larger disgrace then the pointless sacrificing of a life so young and pure – like plucking a bud from its branch before the bloom had even been kissed by the sun? Their father had been beyond displeased with the outburst, but Tobirama had come to his elder brother's aid before the confrontation could escalate to a level that would scar their relationship irreparably. It was in that moment that he felt his determination to secure peace for his remaining family pour into his heart and solidify, like iron in a mold, resolute and untouchable.

Now that such peace had been achieved – as fickle and flighty as it had proven to be – the Shodai Hokage felt that it was only right to laugh at the childish dreams that he and Madara had once shared, of a world unscathed by loss. Loss and death would ever remain, as they always had, part of the cycle of existence. Though now they persisted in a different form, more like the inevitable passing of the tide and less as a brutal wound on one's heart, tirelessly accompanied by memories of small bodies in big coffins and blood-sodden earth. Certainly their peace was not ideal – but it existed nonetheless.

Hashirama dismissed his recollections with a heavy sigh, fixing Kise with yet another radiant smile. "Kise," he began, leaning over the table conspiratorially as if discussing classified tactics of war, "how about you take Madara his tea? He likes to have a cup or two around this time of night, especially when he's working."

"Won't he be angry if I bother him?"

"Don't worry, if he's in a bad mood I'll come save you," the brunet winked, toting the child around as he hastily prepared a pot of potent herbal brew, watching the leaves unfurl as they were bombarded with hot water. "He likes being angry at me best."

Tea tray in hand, the Senju sauntered down the hall with the little Uchiha close on his heels, pausing in front of a door and turning to hand the platter to the child beside him with a kind grin. "Careful now, the teapot is heavy… some ancient thing that Madara refuses to get rid of," he cautioned warmly as he knocked on the doorframe. "Madara, tea!"

"Enter," came the flat reply from within, and Hashirama slid the door open wide, nudging Kise inside and shutting the portal behind him, leaning against the corridor wall so as to listen in on the awkward interaction.

"Hashirama-sama said that you like tea when you work, Madara-sama," the boy offered nervously, placing the tray on the edge of the clan head's low desk with a heavy clatter and wincing at the sound.

"I do," he replied coldly as he watched the child's fumbling movements with narrowed eyes. Raising the offered cup carefully to his lips, Madara took a small sip, apparently sufficiently satisfied with the beverage as he returned to his work for an instant before speaking once more, recalling his lover's instructions regarding how to treat the new addition to their household. "Did you prepare the tea?

Kise shook his head, gaze returning from its wandering about the room to address the pale man sitting regally on the opposite side of the table. "No, sir."

"Of course," Madara scoffed, looking to be far from surprised. "Hashirama always brews it too weak, he can never do anything right. What would people say if they knew that the Shinobi no Kami isn't even capable of making a decent cup of tea? I'll teach you how to do it properly."

The pair sat in silence for a long while, Kise's eyes firmly fixed upon a sword mounted atop a bookcase, the crimson lacquer of the blade's sheath as rich and vivid as the Sharingan. He studied the object with interest for several minutes before noticing that he had been shackled with the elder Uchiha's haunting, scrutinizing stare.

"You are not to touch that," Madara warned darkly, causing the child to wilt beneath the unspoken threat. "That katana belonged to my brother, Izuna. No one is permitted to touch it, am I understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Go to bed, your mother's funeral is tomorrow."

"Um…" Kise mumbled, tugging at the hems of his sleeves and averting his gaze, "she wanted an Uchiha burial, but I don't have any jutsu to light her pyre*."

"I will light it," the clan head asserted, never lifting his eyes from his work. "Now to bed with you. Go on."

"Yes sir. Goodnight."

Madara set his brush aside carefully, brooding in the shadows of the evening while he listened to Hashirama speaking to the boy in warm tones, their voices seeping in from the hall through the thin paper of the door. Before long small footsteps padded off through the corridor, thumping quietly into silence as the Hokage bid the little Uchiha a good rest and slipped into the office, a broad smile etched across his tanned features.

"You did well," he purred happily, settling to close his arms around his dark-haired lover's waist and nuzzling kisses along a pale neck.

"That was your idea, wasn't it?"

The Senju hummed noncommittally, pleased when Madara sighed and permitted his head to lull back against his muscular shoulder. "I'm proud of you. Though you could have been a bit gentler when it came to Izuna's sword. Kise was just looking, I'm sure."

"The brat was eyeing it like a prize at a festival."

"He's probably just never seen anything like it. It's beautiful," Hashirama soothed, holding his Uchiha a bit tighter. "And he's too young to know of Izuna or his legacy."

"Be quiet," Madara huffed and closed his eyes, though there was little more in his tone than exhaustion. "You've done far too much talking today. Causing all sorts of trouble."

The brunet smiled but said nothing, inhaling the mild scent of katon jutsu and something distinctly Madara as his brawny hands roamed beneath his lover's shirt, caressing scarred, battle-hardened flesh as if it were some precious artifact. His fingers brushed the jade-green gem that hung around the Uchiha's neck and rested daintily against his chest, and Hashirama mused that he had not missed the necklace for a single instant since Madara had claimed it for himself over a year ago. He likely never would – not as long as the stone remained where it was, securely fastening the other man's heart to his own.

"I love you," he mumbled against the pale shinobi's shoulder, scarcely aware that he had spoken aloud. "So so much."

"Don't think I've forgiven you, stupid Senju. I'm tolerating this on a trial basis, and I have no qualms against making the kid someone else's problem," Madara warned, though he still sank affectionately against the Hokage's earthen warmth. "I'll dump him on your brother, maybe… he likes runts, after all. You and he can take the brats and go form some idiot commune."

Hashirama laughed at the idea as he hugged the smaller man to his chest and laid back on the tatami floor, coaxing the Uchiha to lounge against his broad frame. "'Idiot commune'? What would we do in our idiot commune?"

"Whatever idiots do… idiotic things, I guess. How would I know? You're the idiot, not me. Why should I care about your idiot itinerary?"

"Silly," the brunet hummed in contentment, dragging his hands through the mess of inky hair that fell over Madara's shoulders and back, puddling unceremoniously on the ground. It was always surprisingly soft, that wild black mane, especially after being washed and combed thoroughly by Hashirama the night before; and now the strands spilled through his fingers like water, smelling faintly of gardenia. The Uchiha still fussed bitterly about the routine, scolding the Senju for his incessant pampering, yet he always succumbed to the treatment regardless of his protests. Often upon returning from a long mission he would nearly doze in the bath, lithe body at last releasing some of the tension that had kept him alive during his outing, and leant into the tanned fingertips that kneaded soap from his scalp. Hashirama would never fail to be beyond pleased with his lover's behavior under such circumstances – as those moments were as rare and precious and beautiful as flowers that stutter into bloom too early in the season.

"Should I put you to bed?" he cheekily asked when Madara sighed sleepily against the skin of his throat.

"Just be still and shut up," the Uchiha huffed, weakly clapping his palm over the taller man's mouth. He lay motionless for several long moments, allowing his breaths to rise and fall in rhythm with the beating of the Hokage's heart. It was slow, steady – like the pulse of the earth itself sang through his veins, thrumming with confidence and warmth. He mused that his own was likely more reminiscent of a thundering war drum, bloody and ragged, uncertain of anything aside from battle and entirely useless out of its very specific context. And that context certainly never included the raising of a child, Uchiha though he may be.

Madara sighed again as frustration worried at his brows, wriggling free when Hashirama tightened his embrace to nuzzle against his lover cutely. "Let's go to bed," he whined, stealing kisses from the paler man. "But we can't be too loud, Kise is next door now. And I know how you can get a bit rowdy."

Disgusted by the insinuation, the Uchiha glared at the brunet's suggestively arched eyebrow, fixing him with a daring leer and murmuring with purpose. "I'll kill you in your sleep."

"I love you too, dearest.

*Archaeology/Anthropology Nerd Moment*

So I have this head canon where more traditional Uchiha funerals consisted of disposing of remains via fire, due to the clan's affinity for katon usage (think Vikings, funeral pyres). However, upon joining Konoha and assimilating not only into a more Senju-centric cultural system, but also establishing cultural norms specific to Konoha itself via the blending of clans therein, the Uchiha adopt more traditional entombment (burial) patterns as seen post-Founder's era.
Hence the discussion between Madara and Kise about his mother's funeral. The next of kin would traditionally light the pyre, but due to Kise's age and undeveloped katon skills, that is impossible. Instead, Madara offers to do so, which would be seen as a great honor, as he is the clan head.