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Tajima looks up as the shoji slams open and his eldest bursts into the room.
A quick glance is enough to confirm Madara isn't injured, but the depth of his flush can really only mean one thing.
Intense embarrassment.
"Otousan!" Madara thrusts a very familiar scroll under his nose. "How could you!"
"Isn't the more appropriate question, how could you?" A raised eyebrow is rebuke enough for Madara to mind his manners, and Tajima gives silent thanks for the habits of respect.
Raising a son who is far stronger than he would be very difficult otherwise.
"I - I just thought - " Madara bites his lip, chewing on it, but he doesn't look away and Tajima meets his gaze, Sharingan to Sharingan. "I thought this was something worth trying."
"And to go behind my back, to arrange it without consulting me or the elders?" The question is pointed, but Madara doesn't flinch away from it and Tajima approves.
"I've held my tongue while they've sat in council with you for long enough, father, I already know what they would think of this proposal." Madara's chin tilts up, pride and determination in a single gesture. "I needed something else, to convince a different part of the clan."
"So you did," Tajima holds out his hand and Madara places the scroll into it. His eyes travel swiftly over it as it unrolls, reading the new additions and discarding all the exclamations which were clearly not written by Butsuma. "And it appears your friend has done the same."
"The craftsmen, the farmers... they don't want this war, otousan. It doesn't benefit them, and they don't feel the need for revenge that most of the shinobi do." There's a most unusual note in Madara's voice, a pleading tone that Tajima hasn't heard in years.
Not since the day Madara first gained the Sharingan.
"I wanted to show you I wasn't the only one who wanted peace, that I can gather followers of my own and that a portion of the clan will support my call for it."
"And now you have, you and your friend both." Butsuma's notes say as much, describing a similar situation within the Senju, a clan that's split in two just as the Uchiha are - between the young who wish for peace, and the old who clamour for blood. "So what will you do?"
"I... I don't know." Madara looks down at the scroll but he doesn't seem to see the words, gaze unfocused and far away. "I would have brought this to you when I felt it was ready, I want to tell you that."
It makes no difference though, and they both know it.
"Then I'll tell you what to do." Tajima briskly rolls the scroll back up and slaps it into Madara's palm. "Take that, write it up neatly, and send it to your friend."
"You mean - ?" Madara can't seem to believe his ears, and Tajima chuckles softly, placing both hands on his son's strong shoulders.
"I mean that you should follow your heart." He smiles into eyes as red as his own, heart almost bursting with love and pride in the man he's raised. "You've won the clan from me - congratulations, Uchiha-sama."
"Otousan!"
"You're the clan head now, and this is your proposal to advance before the elders." Poor Madara, so panicked, but Tajima is a shinobi born and he knows when to withhold mercy - better a trial by fire than leaving Madara to brood. "Now go."
This is still his house, clan head or no, and Tajima ruthlessly shoves his son out onto the engawa, vastly amused when Madara creeps away with the scroll like a child with a handful of stolen mochi.
Now it only remains to see if Tajima's conspirator has done equally well.
Still, he knows Butsuma the way he knows few other men, and there's a measure of trust in that.
Madara will face Hashirama at the peace negotiations, he's sure of it.