I DONT GO HERE BUT madara vocal chord damage?
“You completely overused the Gouka Mekkyaku,” Mito says, very prim and annoyingly correct. “Have you let Hashirama look you over?”
He shakes his head, signs Haven’t had the time and remembers that Uzumaki signs are very different from those of the Uchiha. Still, she seems to understand.
“Well, he doesn’t seem too busy now. There’s a shop I wanted to visit with Touka anyhow; I’m sure Hashirama will have time for an old friend,” she says, and the way she says old friend sounds like an innuendo. Madara coughs delicately and winces at the grating pain in his throat. Mito rolls her eyes.
“Madara, drink some water. Steal some of Tobirama’s honey lozenges. Do something. You won’t get better just sitting here. I know you’re not going to ask Hashirama to help.”
I am, he signs, scowls at her. She gives an inelegant snort.
“Fine. You better be able to hold a conversation with me later on. Away with you, Touka’s coming over in a bit.”
Asking Hashirama to heal his throat is a blow to his pride, but he’ll be damned if he lets himself be layed low by something so easily preventable.
Tobirama, the bastard, looks at him like he’s demanding the Senju fortune. Piss off, Madara signs in his tongue, the only Senju sign he knows. Tobirama turns a very satisfying shade of mottled red.
Hashirama is, well, Hashirama. That is to say, he fusses and dotes on him and sits Madara down on the edge of his (very comfortable) bed, tilts his head back with his (very warm) hands and leaks soothing chakra beneath his skin and into the scarred tissue. Madara sighs in relief as soon as he’s able.
“Have you been using the Gouka Mekkyaku again?” Hashirama wonders, not a single accusatory note in his voice, nothing but kind concern for a friend in his expression. Madara nods and rakes a hand through his hair.
“I want Izuna to perfect it by winter,” he says, clears his throat and swallows. “He should be able to keep himself warm.”
“He’s very capable,” Hashirama soothes. “He really does take after you. It’s lovely, having you here, you know. This alliance is a wonderful thing.”
“That it is,” Madara offers, and gazes out the window at a pair of civilians strolling through town. He turns to Hashirama.
“You may have to spend some chakra on me again, old friend,” he ribs, and Hashirama makes a face.
“Madara, we just got back from that mission in Wind,” he complains. Madara scoffs.
“Is the great Senju Hashirama so afraid of a few bruises? No, we’re going to spar later, you and me, like old times. Don’t keep me waiting.”
He gives a warm smile, genuine and softer than he has, perhaps, ever given anyone else, and Hashirama is well aware of this. He knows Madara well.
“Don’t expect me to go easy on you,” he teases, and that settles it.
