summary: Hashirama coaxes a young Uchiha through the first awakening of her sharingan.
It begins with a small Uchiha girl bursting into his office one Summer evening. Like her namesake, she is a ball of navy blue clothing, a high collar, and unruly black hair that covers her eyes. She can't be much older than four, with chubby baby fat on her cheeks and hands like a wispy willow.
Even without the paper fan embroidered on her clothing, her appearance would have given her away.
From where he sits at his desk, Hashirama's tightly wound shoulders loosen and the grip on his kunai softens. While peace is his ultimate goal, old habits die hard. And left alone to his own devices, running Uchiha children frighten him more than he likes to admit.
Though the fear is quelled with a deep grounding breath, and the adorable blubbery toddler face.
"Madara-Sama, Madara-Sama!" She squeals in a voice not unlike hot embers popping from a fire.
She looks distraught, and her chakra feels off.
"Hello little one, your leader is not here. He left for a mission a week ago, and will be back by the end of the month. But maybe I can help."
He makes his way around his desk, letting kneeling as the child hesitates, but approaches him nonetheless.
Clearly she was looking for Madara, and like most villagers know, the advisor to the Hokage typically stays by his side. But issues on the border of the Fire Country demanded his attention, and without much choice, Hashirama was forced to run the village alone (and with a younger brother who thought he knew everything).
In the two seconds that she hesitates, its clear deciding whether or not to settle or wait. But apparently her situation is so dire that a Senju will have to do.
"Sakana is dead!" Given the gravitas in her voice and her agonizing announcement, Hashirama half expects Sakana to be a close relative. When the girl lifts her arm to show an upside down gold fish in a bag, he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling.
There's room for both humor and empathy in his heart, but the severity of her emotions gave no indication that the deceased is--was a fish.
For the life of him, he cannot figure what she thought Madara would do about that.
"He was my best friend!" Her shrill terminates into a long, agonizing wail as she holds up the bag.
"I understand, I'm sorry your friend is dead. Perhaps we could go and burry hi--"
Tiny fists rub at her eyes furiously, the action forcing her messy mop of hair out of of her face.
And then it clicks. Why she was looking for Madara in the first place.
Her eyes, which he assumed were dark and beady moments before the fish died, have taken on a blood red shade, with an intricate kaleidoscope pattern forming around the pupils.
On instinct he looks away from her, recognizing the Mangekyo immediately.
He wonders just how traumatic the death of a fish is for a little girl, but figures if it was enough to waken the advanced stage of her kekkei genkai, it was devastating.
While he stares at the ceiling, the girl makes her way into his chest, burrowing her tiny head into the fabric of his clothing. Her tiny fist ball into his clothes as she sobs like her world has ended.
"I kept on feeding him because his mouth kept on opening. I thought he was hungry but he died." She hiccups against his broad frame, "and now he's gone and my...and I got the sharingan and I don't know how to turn it off!"
He can feel the bag thumping against his body, and considers healing the fish.
But failure to bring it back to life would probably make her activate her Susanoo. And given her concern, it seems she wants as little to do with her sharingan as possible. And he can't blame her--the enormous output of chakra isn't healthy for a head as small as hers.
"Little one, i'm so sorry about your fish. I understand you really must have loved him."
The girl responds with a nod, whimpering as she grabs onto his clothes tighter.
"But you have to calm down or your eyes won't turn off," he mutters into her thick hair, caressing his fingers gently through it, "and then you'll get a headache. Is that why you wanted to find Madara, to help you turn it off?"
A watery, "Yes," is what he gets.
Hashirama adjust himself on the floor, white and beige robes spilling on the wood as he positions himself so the child can sit on his lap.
Her eyes still spin furiously with the pattern of the Mangekyo, and large red eyes meet his warm brown ones. This is perhaps the first time he's let himself stare into an Uchiha's eyes unguarded--Madara aside.
There's something so innocent and scared in those eyes. Something about the way she's shared her greatest trauma--no matter how small--with Hashirama is very reminiscent of his time with Madara at the river.
"If you want to turn it off, you need to calm down," he instructs gently, remembering his late night conversations with his friend about his clans techniques, "can you do that for me? Take some deep breaths?"
Bottom lip quivering, she nods.
"Good, and after you do that, we can go burry your friend, okay? We'll find a plot of dirt and I'll use my special jutsu to grow pretty flowers over it okay? And a small bonsai tree too."
"Will the," she hiccups, "Will the Hokage be mad that you're stealing his techniques?"
He chuckles, basking in the innocent of children. He never did announce himself as the Hokage to her, did he?
"I'm sure he won't mind. I hear he's nice."
"Even if he's a Senju?" She asks, skeptically, "Tobirama-sama doesn't like us and says mean things about our clan."
It's one thing to be subjected to Tobirama's prejudices at the dinner table every other evening. It's another thing to see how it frightens a tiny child incapable of hurting a fly.
He swallows hard. Maybe he is being to lenient on his brother. Maybe he should listen to Madara.
"Especially since he's a Senju. And Tobirama is only one Senju, not all of them. But the Hokage's a nice one, and really strong, and he said I can use his jutsu. Alright?"
She nods, her eyes adjusting to their original coal-like darkness.