Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto

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Intricate

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There wasn't a second in which she regretted crossing the quiet Uchiha camp up until now, when she found herself at the foot of their leader's residence — a low edifice spread on a vast area, but unnaturally lurid when compared to what she was used to seeing in the Senju district. There were always hundreds of servants and shinobi alike rustling to and fro. This home appeared empty… and abandoned. Mito's gaze ran over the dark shoji-style windows and her heart spasmed wistfully.

The front door was guarded by two shinobi on duty, of course, but the expression on her face must've been eloquent enough for them to not mind her presence. When she showed them she was completely unarmed and coming in peace, they let her in. The dark colours of the interior was very different from Senju's vibrant red and blue. Her attention was immediately fixed on the royally set long chabudai table as if for at least a dozen people. She didn't find a dozen, though, she found one.

"What do you want?" Madara snapped, draining his fifth or sixth cup of sake? Maybe seven? His Eternal Mangekyo glowed angrily as he glanced at her approaching figure. It stupefied her a little, but she quickly came to her senses and bowed low in respect.

"I came to thank you for conceding. The treaty will save and better many lives." She paused, eyeing the dishevelled appearance of her host and the countless vials and plates on his lonely table. "I believe we won't have to sacrifice things we love from now on and that is good."

"Yeah," Madara scoffed, taking the vial with the beverage and filling the contents of his cup cheerfully, his eyes running over in a cutting, straight line as if to check if there wasn't anyone with her in the vacant hall they were in. "Tell Hashirama and his brother I'm all for it. Now that I have nothing left to sacrifice."

Mito's stern features broke into a grimace of sadness. Her eyes blurred as she looked down, some sort of shame catching up with her. She hadn't thought about how much more Madara's lost and how much he's been through before accepting that treaty.

Hashirama was kind, but his methods were not. Not always. Mito knew her husband and his brother had no other choice but to force the treaty at this point. The bloodshed had become inevitable and the tension between the clans already unbearable, the strongest among the shinobi had to take over and establish a hierarchy of some kind.

Mito shifted silently to the other side of the table and sat across, quickly brushing the tears that welled up in her eyes with the sleeve of her exquisite floral kimono and met his hostile glare. He had positively thought she'd already be on her way to the Senju residence. The scattered kunai daggers and shuriken around him did not exactly mean a warm welcome, but she stayed anyway.

"Where is everyone?" She asked quietly, gathering her hands together on the table.

"I sent them away."

Mito nodded and the pause extended a little. Then she took another breath, "Mind if I join you?"

"You already did." Madara retorted quickly, glancing at her disapprovingly.

His harshness brought a timid smile on her lips as she reached for the closest vial and grabbed a cup, her mind busy fabricating a continuation for what she truly hoped would be a conversation. Her host was in the foulest of moods and it was understandable, but she didn't want to spend the night pouting and bickering. She had come here out of instinct, she wished to be here, and wished to alleviate Madara's days of mourning somehow. By keeping him company? She never had a plan actually, only good intentions.

Maybe the subject was too sore, but she decided to give it a try. He wouldn't kill her on the spot, at least not for talking with him.

"How about you have a... a sister now? You've never had one."

Mito saw that the thought amused him, in split second there was a tic of a smile on his face. She knew it was ridiculous, that's exactly why she said it out loud.

"Sister, huh?"

Mito smiled at him. "What do you think?"

Madara had a worn-out look when he was absent-minded as he was now and he remained silent after her question, unknown to her thoughts flashing through his mind. Those weren't pleasant thoughts, he wouldn't appear as tormented if they were. The minutes rolled one after another and she kept her eyes on him, following his every move with a strained expectancy — did she make matters worse, did she have to leave him alone, was she annoying him or not… his silence was starting to bother her and she was not a woman easily bothered.

"Might be fun." He spoke, at last, raising his cup to an imaginary toast as if to make her drink with him.

Her lips curved in a warm smile as she raised her cup as well. Challenge accepted.

They dried their cups and Mito had to squint a little at the tingling, bitter sensation that went through her along with the warmth the alcohol caused inside her. She had never allowed herself to carelessly drink like that in ages. Court women, especially wives of respected clansmen were expected to behave and that meant remain honourable, vigilant and reasonable at all times. It was tiresome, but it was her reality.

She refilled her cup with a devilish smirk.

"Let's play a game," Mito suggested, carelessly sipping from the sake and pretending to not notice the exasperation on his face. She carefully deliberated this next move in her mind and was beyond curious what would happen if she just... sets things in motion. "Come on. Word association."

"Not in the mood," Madara announced, pouring more sake into his cup. He appeared highly uninterested in amusements of any sort, that is, if they didn't involve drowning in alcohol.

Mito scrutinized his tired features, the slightly strained veins and darker circles around his eyes — eyes that were forever mysterious and frightening to her. She never understood the whole intricacy of this perfect weapon and how delicately it was connected with the wielder. It was somewhat rousing uneasiness in her to stand on the table across a man who had spent all his life exploring the powers those eyes offered and using them cleverly. For torture. And killing.

In those times… only the strongest survived. And so he was, standing across her in a kimono of fine black satin and currently consumed by an absolute determination to self-destruct by both inebriating himself and exhaust himself to death with that painfully burning Mangekyo. As she thought about it, was he aware of it in the first place?

"Senju," Mito spoke out, solemnly, after the long and quiet pause, and he sharply looked up to her with narrow eyes.

Madara frowned, taking the kunai dagger off the pillows next to him and absently starting to carve up the chabudai with indefinite motions. The beautiful wooden surface groaned under the pressure he applied and Mito tilted her head a bit. Did he mean to chase her away with his intimidating silence? It wasn't quite working, she was still very much calm and unbothered as before.

"Uchiha." He murmured, making her lips twitch with a little smile.

She took her cup again. Well, that was a little self-explanatory, but she had to dig deeper and use wider terms in order to burn through, all the while being well-aware of the dangers in her game.

"Shinobi," Mito announced, stealing a glance at him. The word didn't bother him in the least, the reply coming right away, without a drop of hesitation.

"Leader."

Mito looked down at the transparent content in her regal cup, slightly stirring it with a thoughtful expression. She had to be very careful to not give the game away because it already looked like an interrogation. His motions became harsher and the wood creaked badly when he dug a forceful pattern into it, seemingly the thoughts in his head inciting some kind of anger.

"Happiness." She tried, to divert his attention a little, and he stopped as if to think a little over the word and the continued again. His reply came too quickly to be a sincere one… or at least not a reply he would give in other circumstances.

"Duty."

"Konoha."

Mito shot out the next word that came on her mind, biting at her lip a little. He was starting to get annoyed by her choices, so maybe she deserved that suspicious look he gave her, finally focusing his attention back on her.

"Sacrifice." Madara was staring at her with intrigue, to where she was headed to.

"Brother." Mito left the cup on the table, not failing to notice the little tic of his eyes, the little sting that changed him for a millisecond. His breaths shallowed and he leaned forward a tad, with readiness that she didn't see before. Maybe she could ask away now, she'd get whatever she liked to hear.

"Pain."

Mito enveloped the cup with both hands and took a quiet breath, lingering in the silence for a while.

"Mito." Her mouth formed the name clearly, but dared not face him as he replied with a little delay.

"Woman."

So that's where he put her. It wasn't a surprise, but she still felt somewhat bitter about it. Not because of the category itself, but because of the tone he used.

"Truth."

She met his eyes. It was his turn, it seems, and he has had enough of her interrogation so he reversed the battle with a cunning spark in his eye. He wanted the whole truth, the core reason for her late visitation. They both knew she wasn't going to remain hidden behind her questions. If there was one thing that Madara hated fully, that was playing coy. So she owed an explanation.

"Sorry," Mito uttered, feeling the lump rising in her throat. What else was she supposed to say after the recent battle between him and Hashirama? What was she supposed to do, let both clans proclaim peace and have Hashirama and his brother celebrate their victory with mead and food, while all she could imagine was Madara's form against the setting sun, standing over the hill where his brothers lay buried?

"Lie." He continued, with a huff. Of course, he didn't believe her. It was a pathetic attempt to fix things. But she had something else on her mind now and now was the time to use it. Still, it took her a while to reply to this one.

"Sister," Mito said slowly, bravely holding his surprised eyes.

His sister? After all this time they spent together and all the glances he knew she cast at him. All the gatherings where she had to pose as an obedient wife but didn't because she knew he liked it. He liked when she was as fiery as her hair, it was in his eyes. And Hashirama… he never suspected anything. Or maybe he did and was too good at heart to punish her for it. She'd never know.

"Red." Madara went on, with a sparkled curiosity. That one was broad and versatile, she had to be careful with the answer. Make it as ambiguous as was his inquiry. Or maybe not as ambiguous. His Mangekyo was making it hard to surround the real thoughts in her head.

"...fire."

"Peace." His hand curled in a fist, but he wasn't angry, just wired with tension. It was always obvious when he was tensed, he was far more impulsive than Hashirama would ever be. Mito tilted her head a little.

"Love." That was the only thing that she associated peace with, there was no other word she could've chosen.

And then he paused, his eyes shifting up and down her form, then to the table and the carvings he just did. He was hesitating, but it didn't take him long. "Hashirama."

Oh. Her smile was condescending and she couldn't help the puff from escaping her lips. Not that it hasn't been obvious throughout the last months, but… maybe he liked torturing her. There was only one reply for her and he knew her exact preference very well, but still needed her to say it.

"Madara."

Mito's eyes were blurred when her gaze fell on the table and stared at a point in it bitterly. Then she looked back up to Madara, who was very much confused and thanks to those glaring eyes appeared way more belligerent than he likely was in that moment.

She slid her palm against the table's surface and slowly pushed away the cups and vials in front of her, eyes never leaving his as she climbed over and crawled her way to the other side until she didn't find herself a few inches away from the chain-like rings in his distrustful eyes. Hashirama told her one night because she asked. She thought the Mangekyo was developed with age. She was wrong. Nothing of great power was acquired without a high price.

The revelation that your heart has to shatter in pieces for you to advance in your studies, advance in the techniques of your kin… it left her pondering for days. It was cruel and cursed, and Madara knew it. It was all there, in his eyes again, even now when he looked at her with this hostile certainty, as if she was about to encroach, take advantage of his weakness, tear at him, steal from him, hurt him.

And she didn't dare breathe, saddened by the severity of his defences. He had reconciled life was pain and suffering, it didn't bother him anymore. It only bothered him that he had to accept that he had to live by surviving and not as a winner. And reconciling with that wasn't in his style. Which is what scared her the most.

He did try her and she gave him the truth, she gave him the answer he sought and now he knew her intentions fully. It was her turn to ask of his.

"Hashirama." She whispered a little shakily and with a raise in her intonation, almost turning the word into a question.

"Revenge." He replied firmly, peering into her eyes as she took a shaky breath, the tears threatening to gush over with every passing second. Her lips formed the last word she was interested in slowly and quietly — she wasn't in a hurry to hear the answer. "...fight."

"Death."

So there was no turning back, then. He had set his mind on it and nothing could change it. It was useless to beg him and do all those trivial things anyone in her place would've done. She was tired of convincing, of negotiating, of talking and discussing.

Mito leaned in, hands up in her hair when she pulled the hairpins and let it fall loosely down her face and back in a waterfall of soft crimson. The motion distracted Madara for a second, eyes sharply detecting the change in her appearance with a slight alarm to his face.

Mito was so used to seeing hatred on his features that the genuine surprise on them was something of an entirely different dimension. The hostility switched it rapidly, though, and restored his nonchalance with a scoff.

"I thought you were smarter, Mito. " He ignored her pending form and reached for his cup once again, pretending that she wasn't in front of him. "Don't do things you'll regret afterwards."

Mito was completely unaffected by his words, the tears streaming down her face for a while. She couldn't believe she had kept all this to herself, for months.

"I was arranged to marry Hashirama, you know. We are mutually benefitting from each other. But I never really... " She sighed, smiling to him, a grotesque combination of happiness and sadness at the same time. "I-" Her breath hitched a little, with the realization that she would say something so vague and something so true at the same time. A very intimate confession that she never imagined would leave the halls of her lonely mind. "I like you."

"Mito, you're drunk. Get back home and leave me alone—" Before he could finish, she had gotten off the table and ensconced in his lap, her quivering breath shattering sorrowfully as her lips touched his.

Her ivory-skinned hand hurried to quickly set itself in-between, against his chest, and stop him from speaking out, since he was about to, and when he obeyed to silence, she leaned her forehead to his, closing her eyes to the wondrous sensation of being so close. He was so full of antagonism that she could feel it through his skin — the tension, the doubt, the internal battle whether to give in or not.

If they were going to fight to the death, then she would lose in any possible scenario. She'd either lose Hashirama, whom she admired dearly, either Madara — who was by some terrible accident the rightful owner of her heart or both. Which would mortify her soul until the rest of her life. She did not know what was to come, but at least she had this moment.

"I have no knowledge on matters of the heart," Madara spoke out, his voice bordering on disgruntled and succeeded in bringing a wide smile on her lips. "I don't know what you're asking of me."

Mito opened her eyes and backed away just a tad, her hand caressing his face thoughtfully, determined to remain silent. It vexed him, as she suspected.

"Hashirama is soft and it makes him weaker. He has his way with women." He went on, his intonation suggesting the said group was something he generally distanced himself from. She understood his pursuit of power and the objectification of her sex. Men of many clans had similar aspirations and women were not part of them. In fact, their close presence was only endured because of their abilities to bring heirs to the clan. "What do you not like in him?"

He was so angry that she knew she had to seize the moment to restore the balance again, lips brushing against his once, then a second time. Then she parted them open and felt him sag under the pressure she applied, her tongue slipping against his eagerly. And for the first time in what seemed to be forever, he touched her. His hand absently slid around her waist.

She was merciless, to attack him in his most weakened state, in the heart of his home and at his lowest of spirits — completely alone and defeated — but when would she have a chance to break through if it wasn't now? She couldn't think he'd tolerate her in any other situation.

And then she backed away, reminding him of what he's done. His anger flared and he recoiled from her so that they could be apart again. The mirthless smile danced on Mito's lips when she reached for the shoulder rim of her kimono and loosened it, hands drowsily pushing the cloth a little bit down so that her white neck and shoulders were now revealed.

The silence extended, and their breathing became a little ostentatious. It didn't bother her, but she couldn't say the same about him.

"What's the matter?"

Why are you looking at me like that?

Her sad eyes wrinkled when the thought ran through her head. Madara looked like he was in no way feeling obliged to respond in any way, staring at her with the full force of accusation. The only reason she was still alive and breathing was that he respected Hashirama, she mused, and killing her would destroy the thin-iced peace they established not long ago.

No one dared get as close, no one but her. She had the protection of her clan, the inviolability of being the Hokage's wife and the strength of her persistence. She didn't think he wanted to kill anyone tonight, by the looks of him, she thought he needed something that he wasn't aware of. Growing up with no mother and no sisters cut off that tie and he didn't even realize it could be a problem.

"What's the matter?" She repeated.

She was no slave, a companion or a concubine. She was a shinobi. That had to go somewhere in his list of things that bothered him. With all that death and destruction… didn't he stop and think, sometime in the darkest hours of the night, that it was pointless? All this blood and pain, this constant, tiring cycle of dominating over the rest, proving your worth, conquering? Even so, even if it was in his veins and war was all that he saw and all that he knew, and living within it was the only way to truly be himself… didn't he stop and think of the cost of that kind of life?

Didn't he think of the variations? The other ways? Maybe… but they were all things that he didn't abide. Things that he left in the periphery and excluded from his sight for it was only meant to ravage and consume, and eradicate.

Mito reached out for him and fisted his kimono, bringing him over her body, now lying back on the table. His eyes glowed menacingly as he hovered over her with a kind of absence of the mind.

Didn't he think about what peace means? What it feels like? Mito breathed in, pulling him closer for another kiss as her legs wreathed around his waist, her kimono revealingly sliding up almost to her hips. His gaze was steady and judgmental, but she didn't mind him, replying to his stare calmly.

She wondered about his chakra levels for a moment, it's been hours since his Mangekyo had activated, but she said nothing. In some very distanced way, she was aware that her body went through ever-increasing heat waves. Her attraction for Madara had never wavered, ever since she saw him, but she had set her mind at some sort of peace when it came to him, that she couldn't have him, even though he was always so close.

They were apart by many circumstances, including his indifference towards her. Well, at least she believed to be invisible until one day they didn't meet by the Naka River, where she had gone at an earliest of hours to wash herself. She spotted him then, when she was sitting by the bank in her lurid nagajuban robe, almost transparent against her fair skin, and combing her long, red hair with slow and repeating motions.

Upon noticing him she stopped, surprised, and some strange sadness washed over him. He asked her to continue and pretend he's not there, and she obeyed, of course. Even though she belonged to Senju, she was well aware nothing he ever said was denied, he was known for his quick temper and deadly eyes.

Yet she saw neither that day, at the very edge of the sunrise, when he had walked down the path from his clan's residence, perhaps wandering or escaping another sleepless night. He was tired as she had never seen him before. Sitting not far away from her, he set himself to watch, careful and quiet, like he was witnessing something that would distract him, something out of this world.

Mito caught herself looking back at him as she combed her hair gently, a little unsure and a little curious. Madara was not passive and certainly not the type to observe. And she was right, his eyes did draw intriguing lines over her form, but his features were still like carved stone and his eyes, as dark as they were unreadable. Her marriage never allowed her to think or bode ill of any of the Senju and she usually avoided drifting off to alien thoughts, but now she couldn't help it.

Mito had seen many from the clan of Uchiha, it wasn't supposed to disturb her, but it did. In the most alarming way. Because he was so very close to her husband, at all times, and so ravishingly handsome that she didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to do with that bare, black gaze, looking at her with something she had never seen on Hashirama. Eyes of reverence. Of mystical wonder. And of something dark, that he carried with him and needed no explanation. Avarice that was coming as if from within, menacing with its silent dominance.

All she did was breathe in the quietude of the morning and try and steady her racing heart, remember her dignified place and mind her words. She repeated to herself it will pass soon, he'll leave soon. He did. And he came back on the next morning. And the next one as well. Sometimes she didn't see him in days or weeks, she couldn't be sure what he was thinking about. Sometimes he came and sat closer, without uttering a word.

He was as skilled in torture as they said.

"You hate Hashirama enough." Mito's breath quivered, a cluster of emotions whirling inside her.

She was feeling guilty for betraying Hashirama, it wasn't the right thing to do when he had always tolerated her and never treated her badly, despite their gaping lack of mutual feelings. And she felt bitter because even if Madara complied, it'd likely be with the sole purpose of revenge against his rival. Watching her by the river… that odd tradition ended long ago. The little tranquillity his morning eyes sustained then, it was dead and gone along with his last brother.

His Mangekyo glowered with a darkness that was beyond repair yet something still happened inside his head, his calloused fingers coming in touch with a lock of her hair, and slowly skimming their way along the softness of it.

"I do." Madara leaned in, but extremely absent. Mito suspected he's wanted to touch her hair for the longest of time. There was something ambiguous about it all, ever since he came by the river to observe, she wasn't sure whether he admired her or her image was just intricated in his vengeful plans somehow. "More than you can imagine."

The sake had dazed him a little, seemed to her, and he remained half-focused on her hair for a while, and then she reached out, her hand tenderly turning his face towards her. She caught his gaze and gave him a small smile, a quiet smile that demanded nothing at all and he furrowed, naturally. His features were pained and pale with exhaustion, and he leaned on her forehead, eyes closing. The relief washed through her, she had always known she was very keen on reaching people. She had always been good at it.

The warmth of his body was most welcome until he didn't suddenly back away from her and the first thing she met was the black of his eyes, which she was glad to see again. Before she could figure him out further he had taken her in his arms and carrying her somewhere away from that bright place. Somewhere darker.

The light outside was dimmed through the matter of the yukumi shoji of the windows when he entered a fairly big bedroom and carefully left her on a pile of at least half a dozen pillows and sheets of the softest cotton she had ever touched. She knew he had made up his mind, for some particular reason she might never know. He had spent the night benumbing everything that made him feel and remember, she could very well be the better solution than the sake. Mito decided to not let the sadness corrode her, though, the fierce kiss he brought down on her was eloquent enough.

"I think it's fair," Mito breathed out in his ear, her words followed by a loud sigh she couldn't suppress. His lips were passing over her neck. "Because I never had a choice and you hadn't too."

"Nothing's fair." Madara countered her angrily, like her words have twisted something painfully in him. "That's just a fabricated excuse for your conscience."

"And what's yours?"

For using me as a tool for your revenge.

"Does it matter? I still inflict damage and my reasons are as selfish as yours."

"But I love you." Mito's half-whisper broke at the end, with her tears just brimming over and fingers brushing through the dark locks of his unruly hair. She swallowed, breathing heavily in the silence. "You're the one who keeps believing hatred is the better half of the same thing. I tried hating you. I tried to see you the way you see me. And I suffered more."

Madara was fazed for a moment, backing away. She slid her hands around his neck and pulled him closer, clashing her lips against his, eager and desperate, but he was mute and something bothered him.

"I don't understand your side of the coin," she wearied, with a grimace of sadness that was lost in the semi-darkness, "but I understand it is different for you, it is perhaps the opposite …hatred saves you the suffering."

The silence extended a little more and Madara still didn't say anything, he didn't even move from his place, and she wondered what he was thinking about. Did she anger him? It couldn't be, his Mangekyo dissolved namely because of her. He leaned in, finally, and parted her lips, his tongue plied with hers and for a second her mind went blank with the sensation, but it was somehow slower as if the motion was more than demonstrative than genuine.

"I hate you. I have always hated you."

His voice was slightly altered, he expected something of her and she knew exactly what with the suddenness of an insight. Mito almost gasped, at a loss for words. The same side of the coin… it was one and the same for him. He merged them together because they were indeed almost the same. But he spoke like that because he couldn't afford to speak otherwise. The other side was sacred, it was a taboo.

Mito couldn't help the breathy chuckle that escaped her lips and she could sense the way he softened at the sound.

"You can finally show much you hate me, then."

The chilling whiff of air grazed over her bare shoulder and she woke up, the uncomfortable sensation making her blink her eyes open. The sun had not yet risen, the room was still sunk in heavy dusk, but the daylight was slowly crawling its way through. The common sense was slowly crawling back to her mind, she wasn't sure where she was until a few minutes passed and she realized she wasn't in her bed. And the breathing she was hearing wasn't Hashirama's.

The thought scared her, for one brief moment, and she sat up in shock, keeping the soft sheets close to her chest. Hashirama… he would be worried about her… absence. What did she do? She had to go to him… she searched for her kimono feverishly while her free hand groped about, to try and find any trace of her hairpins. The frenzy suddenly ceased when her eyes fell on Madara who was seemingly awake and looking at her.

Mito wasn't sure if she had woken him or he has been awake and just observed her in the silence from the beginning. Something about the way he looked at her told her it was the second. Her lips parted open when she understood how this scene looked like through his eyes and she felt like iron rings clenched her whole body like a vice. The lump in her throat was too big for her to try to speak so she just looked back at him, confounded and sorry. So very sorry.

He was somewhat amused and in pain at the same time, and it was such a heart-rending sight because he was smiling, a barely noticeable smile, but his eyes were glazed over with bitterness. She didn't want to look like she wanted to escape because she wanted to. She tried to escape out of fear and out of obligation. But when she saw the sorrow she was going to leave him to drown in, she changed her mind.

Hashirama could wait. Hashirama was a winner and he already had everything. Madara was the one left with nothing. Mito took a shaky breath and slowly neared, in an attempt to mollify him. He quickly backed away into the dark, the calmness of the dusk unexpectedly acquiring a whole different air when his eyes rapidly shifted into Mangekyo and her heart skipped a beat.

Mito dug her teeth into her lip.

The thread she was walking on was so thin and delicate and yet she was so fascinated that she forgot about her own selfishness for a moment. She hurt him immensely, but then again, her reaction was not something he wouldn't expect to see. Why was he so fractious? A thousand different things went through her mind, things she could say, but she didn't like any of them. It was cruel of her to try and convince him of anything when she had twisted the knife like that.

He was somewhat hunched, his silhouette one with the shadows, but she wasn't feeling frightened for her own safety, she was rather anxious about his peace of mind… or whatever was left of it. Her body was meant to slow down its decay. She could tell the hurry to leave she demonstrated involuntarily was not just an act in the line of betrayals and losses, but perhaps he now considered whether he had to put it in the list as one. Still, she was not the target of the glowing rings in his eyes, he was looking away, likely reflecting on his choices and finding them to be devastatingly poor.

"Madara," Mito made a pause, swallowing, "love of my life," she whispered the words in her calmest tone, and slowly laid back on the pillows, "please come back to me."

His eyes shifted on her for a split second. He didn't trust her, but the fact that she was bare and her hair was loose didn't help either, as she was completely defenceless and within the heart of the Uchiha district. Even though he could kill her anytime, they both knew her words had a stone-heavy impact on him because they confused him and now he was hesitating, which meant she had already won. Hesitation was rare for him.

"Madara." She called again, a little more commanding, and he furrowed, returning to her reluctantly.

The silence extended a little and Mito had to make sure she wouldn't lose him before their time was together was spent. There was no knowing with Madara, the way he responded to outer stimulants was shockingly fast and sharp. She didn't want to be the cause of yet another rupture. Her skin came in touch with his skin and he looked at her, to decode her intentions.

"I promise you, whatever happens between Uchiha and Senju, I won't ever hold anything against you or hurt you," Mito spoke against his ear quietly, arms wrapping around his. "He will never know about this. Even if he finds out, he'll never believe it. He thinks you're what you show him to be."

"I am what I show him to be," Madara interjected, a little offended and a little uncomfortable by how openly she showed her affection.

"Mm, no you're not." Mito chuckled, slightly heaving up to playfully brush her lips against his temple. The profound complexity of his affection, though, was something she couldn't quite describe because she had never seen anything like it, or heard of it, anywhere else. So the stories were true, then. If you had the love of an Uchiha, you have something magnificent. "Calm down."

"I am calm." Madara snapped, making her flinch a little and raise a brow.

She sighed, shifting over him and kissing him idly, "The Mangekyo… you don't need it here," her hair slid down so she backed away a little, putting it behind her ear, and using the time to look at him inquisitively, "I am not an enemy, you know."

"I cannot be sure... Senju."

"You were sure last night," Mito shrugged, finally winning the round by making him look away in defeat.

Her mind pressed her to think about the future, about what she'd tell Hashirama, the shame she'd have to bear once he knows what she's done, once the servants and the clan knows, every pain she had piled up for herself with this act of rebelliousness… yet she was empty of regret. All she could think was the heat and the way they touched each other, hungrily and desperately. It sunk into her mind as a memory she had to treasure for all the times that were to come.

At last, she understood why he had looked at her that way by the river. She was one of the few things that weren't in his power. So he just watched from aside and did nothing, like her. It has always been an impossible scenario. Until she didn't feel physically sick by the thought of having to celebrate a victory that was someone else's defeat. She had to feel joy that was someone else's grief. And so she left the table, but couldn't find peace in her room or any room for that matter.

Her angered steps led her to the pathway down the River, where she stopped for a moment and the thought came like a lightning to her. Mito was not afraid to cross the village… or enter the Uchiha camp. Matter of fact, she wasn't afraid of anything lately. The sun burned a red line over the horizon when she looked up. The light was almost gone.

The village was quiet, at last.

Her mind was happy, but her heart ached. She had always been firm and reasonable, all her life. But it was different tonight... she didn't want to celebrate with her mind tonight, she wanted to grieve with her heart.

"Thank you." Madara severed through her recollections, making her blink with confusion. It seems like he had fallen deep into his thoughts as well, but had abandoned them quicker than her. His Mangekyo was gone.

"About what?"

"Everything."

Mito smiled down at him, but the sadness quickly overwhelmed her and she leaned her head on his chest to hide her face from him. His heartbeat carved up her memory, leaving deep scars behind. Somewhere deep inside her, she had the feeling that he wasn't strong enough to take Hashirama down. He wouldn't be, when the moment comes. Because of all that blind hatred and all that stupid obstinacy he had. Even now, when Hashirama had offered peace, he had nothing but war on his mind. It wouldn't work. And she would suffer because of it.

"You should go," Madara said, his breath caressing her hair.

Mito obeyed and slowly detached from him, starting to get dressed in the silence, feeling his eyes follow all her motions. She prolonged her stay as much as she could, stealing the minutes, but the sun had almost risen now and her duty called her. Her hair was done in the end and she smoothed out her kimono with a deep sigh. Then a warm smile bloomed on her lips when she noticed a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. It was odd to see him nearly happy like that, she felt like she laid eyes on a phenomenon the world had never seen and will never see again in thousands of years.

With another sigh, Mito walked to the shoji door and pulled it, stepping outside. Then she turned back to Madara again, struggling whether to say the words out loud or not. She did say them, though, with the smile still on her face. "I might never come back."

"You will," Madara smirked. "You wouldn't come to me if I wasn't better at this than Hashirama."

"I shall say nothing on the matter," After her quick snap at him Mito blushed crimson, escaping the room as quickly as she could.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Ok, I hate infidelity and Hashirama definitely doesn't deserve this but let's imagine in this AU Hashirama cares about Mito as much as he cares about the next villager —not too much. I couldn't help this one, it feels like the only way through which that ship can exist. These two are super unconventional and I think they're fairly crack and also would make such a great AU fic in my humble opinion. I've just always imagined that happened sometime after they established Konoha. I love to imagine it happened. Their vibe is so SasuSaku-esque, I love it. Hope you did too.