Chapter Text
“Enough!” Hashirama’s hands slam down on the table, and the room falls silent. It is as much from surprise as anything, Tobirama thinks; neither of the Uchiha in the room have likely ever heard Hashirama raise his voice in anger, and even he has heard it only rarely. There’s a pause, and then Hashirama lets a breath out through his nose very slowly and says, “Enough. This must stop.”
“If he —” Izuna starts, thrusting a finger at Tobirama. Tobirama bristles.
“No.” Hashirama doesn’t shout this time, but his voice cuts through anyhow, stopping Izuna’s words in their tracks. “There will be no more laying of blame, no more endless he said , none of it. We are building a lasting peace in this village, and it’s one that we as leaders have to model for the rest of those who come to live here. I’m putting a stop to this now, today.”
He reaches down and opens a drawer in the desk. From within, he withdraws a mission request, a moderately girthy scroll marked with a red flag—dangerous, then. “Here’s what’s going to happen: Izuna, Tobirama, the two of you will form a two man team to undertake this mission. You will work as a team in order to accomplish it, neither of you will sabotage it to make the other look bad, and when you return, this petty, childish bickering will be over. Am I clear?”
Tobirama purses his lips briefly, then blanks his expression and says, “Yes, anija.” There’s no point in arguing; even if it were not clear that Hashirama is at the end of his rope, these are orders from their Hokage. Hopefully Izuna will be prepared to respect that, or else Tobirama will be forced to endure his jabs in silence going forward, for he has no intention of disobeying.
“Yes, Hokage-sama,” Izuna mutters. Clearly he understands the situation as well. Good. “Do we leave immediately?”
“The mission is to Kiyowara estate, two days at civilian pace southwest of Keishi. Prepare for six to ten days of mission time, with everything you need to execute a high-risk low-profile escort mission with potential for combat, and return in two hours’ time for a full briefing,” Hashirama says, the mantle of Hokage having slid over his shoulders fully now. “And prepare yourselves to get along for the duration, or I swear, I will have Mitsuko-san sew a giant shirt and you will be wearing it together until you’re friends.”
The worst part is that Tobirama does not doubt the veracity of this deeply stupid threat at all. He just sighs as minutely as he can, bows to his Hokage—and his idiot brother, who are unfortunately the same person—and makes a rapid series of seals to flash back to the Hiraishin marker in his apartment. No point dilly-dallying.
Tobirama knows the location of all his mission gear like the back of his hand—better, actually—and so it’s only the work of some fifteen minutes to be packed and ready. He refills Mochi’s timed feeder and writes a note to leave for Sarutobi-san, his mostly-nocturnal kunoichi neighbour, to ask her to look in a few times and refill the feeder again if Tobirama is gone longer than expected. He says goodbye to his cat, giving her long white hair a few strokes, and then heads to his laboratory to ensure the place is locked and none of the longer-term experimental procedures will explode, degrade, or otherwise cause issues if left unattended. It takes nearly an hour of careful checking and double-checking to be certain, and each step he records what he’s done and what the state of each experiment is. He won’t remember just at a glance, after all, and doesn’t have time to spent staring at each one, narrating as he usually does in order to fix the details into his memory. It’s aggravating, of course; he’d much prefer to have the time to close up his lab properly and ensure that he can recall what he’s done, but a look isn’t enough. Once, years ago, it was, but Tobirama has lost that part of his memory now and no amount of sighing will bring it back.
With his lab squared away, Tobirama locks the door and heads back to his home to retrieve his bag, then walks to Hokage Tower. It’s fifteen minutes at a civilian pace, which is enough time that he’s only a few minutes early, and more importantly has time to settle his temper before he has to deal with Izuna.
Unfortunately, the time to meditate on his walk means that the Uchiha has beaten him to the tower. Dark hair, high collared black shirt, no uchiwa marking now because this is a stealth mission—could be anyone, but the ponytail says Izuna and Tobirama nods politely when the other man looks up.
“Senju,” the Uchiha says, and yes, that’s Izuna’s voice. His chakra, too, when Tobirama turns to that sense for a third confirmation. It wouldn’t do to repeat the incident where he’d mistaken Izuna for the younger Uchiha who functions as a runner within Hokage Tower—once had been bad enough. Tobirama studies his features briefly, wonders if maybe this mission together will finally be enough time to fix them in his mind or if his memory for new visual information is finally gone altogether, and then nods back.
“Uchiha.” He comes to stand beside Izuna, leaning against the wall outside the Hokage’s office, and settles in to wait.
It’s only a few minutes before they’re called in. Hashirama is standing behind his desk, and he passes over the scroll before briefing them briskly. The mission is an escort, as Hashirama had said: a noble daughter and her infant son need to be escorted safely and secretly from the estate of her father, a high-ranking diplomat in the daimyo’s court, to her husband, an equally politically noteworthy up-and-comer, who had made his home in the capital. They’d been attacked in significant force on the initial journey, and their guards had only barely been enough to repel the enemy shinobi; they’re taking no chances for the return. Simple enough, though Izuna and Tobirama will need to be very much on their guard.
“Any further information?” Izuna asks, his tone professional, when Hashirama has finished.
“Not mission-relevant,” the Hokage says. “But the lady and her husband are soulmates, and he is paying very well for assurance of her safety. Ensuring this mission is a success could win us a very valuable ally in the daimyo’s court, so you must succeed.”
“Understood,” Tobirama says with a nod. “We will not fail you, Hokage-sama.”
Hashirama smiles then, breaking through the mask of professionalism. “I don’t doubt it. Now go on, you two.”
They both bow deeply to their leader and make for the window, Tobirama taking the lead in leaping out and across the roofs toward the village gates. They’ll move quickly for the first leg, heading nearly due south to Kiyowara estate; it’s about two days at ninja pace, and then a further two days at civilian pace if nothing goes wrong from there to Keishi, and then a day and a half at ninja pace back to Konoha from the capital. It’s not an unreasonably long mission by any means, but Tobirama should be forgiven for not being particularly excited about spending that length of time alone with a man who certainly hates him.
He lets loose a small breath as they pass the gate with a nod to the guards—a Nara and an Uchiha, today—and take to the trees. Beside him, Izuna glances over at him and says, “What are you sighing about, Senju?”
“Nothing,” Tobirama says, lighting briefly on a tree branch before pushing off again.
“This is going to be a long mission if you’re gonna be a surly asshole the entire time.”
Tobirama purses his lips. “I apologize if my preference for silence offends you, Uchiha-san.”
“Do what you want,” Izuna huffs, and mercifully focuses on running.
The day passes in silence, which suits Tobirama just fine. They’re equally able to maintain a quick pace, stopping only for a short break in the mid-afternoon to rehydrate and eat while the hottest part of the day passes, and then they go on again. They’re making good time, and Tobirama expects they’ll arrive at Kiyowara estate around noon the following day, if his sense of their distance from Konoha and the cluster of familiar chakra signatures there is anything to go by.
Around dusk, they find a small gap in the trees with suitable undergrowth to set up a camouflaged shelter, which Tobirama wordlessly sets about doing while Izuna collects wood and uses a small katon to light it. “Can you tolerate spice?” Izuna says as he pulls out a tiny aluminum pot from his pack and sets about making dinner.
“... I don’t prefer it,” Tobirama admits, tying off a knot on the tarp he’s hanging. “I can tolerate it, however.”
Izuna snorts. “I’ll go easy on you, then, Senju.” He assembles the meal quickly, putting together a fast instant curry from dried ingredients, and Tobirama draws a dish from his own lightweight mess kit in order to receive his portion once he’s done setting up the shelter.
“Itadakimasu,” he murmurs, and Izuna echoes him, sitting down beside him with his own food.
The first bite proves the meal surprisingly edible, and not too spicy, though Tobirama can imagine how it might have easily been so. He hesitates for a moment, thinks of Hashirama’s disappointed expression if they come back from this mission still at odds, and says, “It’s good.”
“... Thanks,” Izuna says, after a second of surprised delay. “Madara can’t cook for shit, so I had to learn.”
Draw a kunai, draw a katana, Tobirama supposes. If he hasn’t put his foot in his mouth instantly he might manage some conversation. “You didn’t have servants?”
Izuna shakes his head and finishes chewing his bite of curry before he says, “Tou-san didn’t like having other people in the house all the time.”
“Hm.” Tobirama takes a considering bite of his food, then quietly offers, “Chichiue had no interest in doing the housework, or in wasting our time on chores when we could be training.”
“That sounds about right,” Izuna snorts. “Everything I’ve heard about Senju Butsuma makes him sound like a sanctimonious asshole. Of course he couldn’t be bothered with doing the dishes every once in a while.”
Tobirama bristles, then forces himself to relax. Izuna isn’t wrong—Butsuma was condescending, and didn’t lower himself to menial tasks. He was more concerned with the business of war… at all times.
He makes to reply, but Izuna says abruptly, “Sorry. That was rude. I know he was your father.”
“Thank you,” Tobirama says. He clears his throat. “I understand why you feel that way about him, but I ask you not speak badly about him in front of me.”
“Sure,” Izuna says, his voice a bit quiet. “So long as you do the same.”
Tobirama shrugs. “I have no such negative impression of Uchiha Tajima to express.”
That draws a startled noise out of Izuna, and Tobirama glances over to see him looking at him with wide eyes. “You hate the Uchiha, though,” Izuna says, sounding quite confident that this is a fact. “Of course you think our dad was an asshole.”
Tobirama frowns, then shakes his head. “I respect your clan,” he says. “I believe your father was… mercenary, even cruel, but not more so than chichi-ue, or more than was understandable for the time. I do not have to agree with the policies and strategies of our fathers in order to see why they felt such things were necessary, and respect their dedication to the protection of their respective clans.”
Everything falls silent for a few minutes, and Tobirama wonders, a bit belatedly, whether he’s said too much. He knows such sentiments are what have caused his own clan to consider him cold and unfeeling, a stone statue with a blade in hand more than a man. Maybe Izuna, with his heart of fire, will feel the same. At least such disgust for Tobirama’s nature is something he’s used to, and should be easier to deal with than Izuna’s eternal irritation at his existence and anger at comments that Tobirama never meant to be taken as insults.
But after a while, Izuna says, “I see. Well, that’s… interesting.”
To that, Tobirama has nothing to say. He doesn’t know what it means, and a glance at Izuna’s face—fine boned and still unfamiliar, though that much is normal—doesn’t illuminate him. So he stays silent, finishes his dinner, and holds out his hand in a silent demand to Izuna to surrender his also-empty dish to be washed. Izuna rolls his eyes and does so, then goes to put out the fire while Tobirama uses a small suiton to swirl water over the dishes and the cooking pot, cleaning them sufficiently for now. With darkness setting in and his chore finished, Tobirama ducks into the small shelter to set out his bedroll. Izuna does the same, then says, “I’ll take first watch.”
“Fine.” Tobirama removes his armour and his faceguard and lies down. It’s still fairly early, but he needs the sleep; he drops off almost instantly.
He’s woken some hours later by Izuna, who’s only a shadow against shadows in the blackness of the night. Tobirama suppresses his irritation at his terrible night vision not for the first time and touches a hand to Izuna’s shoulder, then forms a hand signal for all clear against it. A moment later, Izuna presses an affirmative against Tobirama’s shoulder in turn, and then goes to lie down in silence; his breathing suggests that he’s asleep quickly, the same as Tobirama had been. Tobirama doesn’t bother to crawl out of the shelter, since he won’t be able to see regardless, and instead sits up on his bedroll and uses Izuna’s soft and steady breathing as a focus to sink into meditation, stretching his senses to keep careful watch for any chakra nearing them, or for any sound in the night.
The hours before dawn pass quickly, and soon birds begin to sing. Tobirama opens his eyes to find that the faintest light has begun to creep in, and he leans over to nudge Izuna.
“Morning,” Izuna says after a moment, coming awake blessedly quickly. “Anything?”
“No,” Tobirama murmurs. “All quiet.”
“Great. Porridge?”
Tobirama shakes his head. “We should get moving.”
“Alright.” They make quick work of packing up camp and eat a fast breakfast of ration bars and some berries scavenged from a nearby bush, then begin to run once again. A few hours will bring them to the estate, and Tobirama wants this mission done with. He has a headache, which is normal, but not worth spending extra time and prolonging the period for which he needs suffer it outside of the comfort of his own home. At least it doesn’t seem about to progress into a migraine.
It’s hot that day and the forest is a rich bright green around them, smelling of moss and sun-warmed earth. The foliage is thick, enough to keep the beams of bright light from striking at Tobirama’s sensitive eyes and making the pain clutching his skull worse. Izuna keeps quiet, and after last night’s near-disaster of a conversation Tobirama is more than happy to do the same. Instead he focuses on speed, letting his feet touch only lightly on the branches that they dark across. Fire Country is lush and lovely, and not for the first time he thinks how little he envies the citizens of Wind or Earth Countries. While he might wish sometimes for a little more access to water, the Naka runs strong and the temperate, occasionally humid nature of the forest is enough that his suiton are strong. He’s grateful to live here.
As midday approaches and it warms up even further, Izuna draws even with Tobirama and flashes him two rapid hand signs: rest-interrogative?
Tobirama hesitates a moment, stretches his senses to find Hashirama’s distant swell of verdant chakra and gauges the distance. They should be nearly at the estate by now. Require - interrogative ? he returns.
Izuna shrugs. Distance; ETA-interrogative?
Unsure; imminent , Tobirama signs.
Izuna nods. Require-negative; continue , he replies, and Tobirama nods back. They press on.
It’s early afternoon when they break out of the trees onto a road, and by silent consensus land together and take up a more normal walking pace as they approach the estate. It’s a secluded place, but there are some home and farms along the way as they draw in closer which surely support the lord who lives here and his servants. There aren’t many people out, and those who are don’t take much notice of them; they move on quickly, headed for the sprawling house at the end of the road.
“You’ll take the lead?” Izuna asks in an undertone, when they’re only a minute from the wall around the estate and its gate, minded by a single samurai.
“If you wish,” Tobirama says.
“All yours.”
Ahead of them, the samurai on guard straightens and lays a hand on the hilt of his katana. “Who comes?” he calls in a stentorian voice.
“Shinobi of Konoha,” Tobirama says. “We have been contracted by your lord to undertake some work for him.”
A look of recognition passes over the samurai’s face. “Right. Enter, then. The lord is expecting your arrival.”
Tobirama nods, and the samurai opens the gate for them, letting them enter a tidy courtyard. Ahead there are wide paper doors, slid open at present to allow the warm air into the front room of the manor, and they’re greeted by a servant there and led deeper into the house. Finally, they come to a receiving chamber, where an older man in an elaborate kimono is sitting, a young woman in equally fine clothing at his side. She has a baby in her arms and resembles him, so this must be the woman they’re to escort. Tobirama makes another polite bow, then kneels on the tatami across from the lord.
“Welcome, shinobi-san,” the lord says, with a nod of his head. “Thank you for coming so promptly in response to my request.”
“Konoha is pleased to assist you, Kiyowara-dono,” Tobirama says.
“I assume the two of you are quite capable, to be only two against could be a significant force?”
“Yes,” Tobirama says. “I am the brother of Senju Hashirama-sama, the Hokage, and my comrade, Izuna-san, is the brother of Uchiha Madara-sama, their clan head. We are considered second only to our brothers in martial prowess, which makes us amongst the strongest in our village. We anticipate no difficulties in keeping your honoured daughter safe.”
“Excellent.” The lord nods to his daughter, who makes a slightly awkward bow over her knees; in her arms, the baby makes a displeased noise. “Kiyomi-chan and Mitsuo-kun are prepared to leave whenever you wish.”
Tobirama shoots a glance over at Izuna, who makes a small hand-sign in his lap: now .
“Leaving as soon as possible would be good, in that case,” Tobirama says, turning his gaze back to the lord. “We will be travelling off the road for the sake of stealth, and will need the daylight.”
“I see.” The lord looks again at his daughter. “Fetch your things, musume.”
“Yes, tou-sama.” The woman rises, makes a bow to her father, then steps past a screen into another room. There’s a few minutes’ delay, passed in silence, and then she returns, dressed in more practical clothing and with the baby in a sling tied to her chest; in her hands are a medium-sized backpack and a smaller bag, the latter clearly meant to go over her shoulder.
“We can assist in carrying your things,” Tobirama says. “Is this all?”
“The rest of her things are being sent in a caravan,” the lord says. “Your assistance is appreciated, however.”
Without Tobirama needing to ask, Izuna steps forward and takes the larger bag, simply holding it for now. Tobirama has a storage scroll and will seal it once they’re gone from the manor. For now, he rises as well and bows again to the lord. “We will see your daughter safely to Keishi, Kiyowara-dono.”
“I do not doubt it, Senju-san,” the lord says, and then his mild expression sharpens. “Or else I will ensure that news of your failing reaches the ear of every noble of any importance everywhere in Fire Country, and beyond our borders beside.”
Tobirama resists the urge to roll his eyes and instead simply says, “Of course.”
Mercifully, Kiyomi-san keeps her goodbyes with her father brief. She slings her bag over her shoulder, and then they’re out of the manor and back on the road. Dressed-down as she now is, Kiyomi-san doesn’t attract much attention, and they make their way back past houses and farms until they come to a place where they’ll be able to take to the forest. Tobirama steps off the road and into the eaves, and leads the way some ten minutes into the brush before holding up a hand to call a halt and says, “Izuna-san, please pass me Kiyomi-san’s bag.”
“Ah,” Izuna says. “You have a seal?”
“Yes.” Tobirama withdraws the small scroll from the holster tied to his leg, and in the work of a few moments, the bag vanishes.
Kiyomi-san makes a small noise of surprise. Tobirama looks up and says, “No need to worry, Kiyomi-san. Your things will be easily retrieved.”
“Of course,” she says. Her voice is soft and sweet, and as she speaks she reaches up to cradle the back of her child’s head. “Mitsuo-kun’s things are there.”
“How old is your son?” Izuna asks, stepping closer to peer at the baby. He’s wrapped close to his mother’s chest, but not so close that he can’t turn and look at Izuna with dark eyes and make another indistinct noise.
“A year,” Kiyomi-san says, and smiles. “He’s a good boy, and doesn’t cry much, but I apologize in advance if he bothers you, shinobi-san.”
“It won’t be a problem,” Izuna says, and grins a little. “I like babies.”
Tobirama can’t say the same. He likes children , when they are old enough to think and ask questions, have personalities of their own. Babies… he doesn’t mind them, likes them well enough, but he has much less experience and that makes him nervous. Few parents trust them with their children as it is, never mind with their infants .
“I’m glad to hear it,” she says, smiling back at Izuna. “Should we get moving?”
“Yes,” Tobirama says, stepping forward. “I can carry you for some time, if you would like.”
“Oh!” Kiyomi-san looks surprised, but then she nods. “Okay. That would make the travel easier. I don’t mind walking, but haven’t done so much of it…”
“We were prepared for that,” Izuna says in a warm, easy tone. “I can take your smaller bag, if you’d like to have Mitsuo-kun on your back?”
“Alright.” There’s a moment where they shuffle things around, Izuna taking her small pack and slinging it across his own back, and then he accepts the baby when she pulls him out of the sling and cradles him while she adjusts the sling. With careful hands, Izuna slides the baby back into the sling, now held safely against her back, and then Kiyomi-san turns back to Tobirama. “I’m ready now, shinobi-san.”
“Tobirama is fine,” he murmurs, and offers her his back, kneeling so that she can climb on piggy-back style more easily.
“Thank you then, Tobirama-san.” She clambers on a little awkwardly, and Tobirama tucks his hands under her thighs to secure her while she wraps her arms around his shoulders. He ignores the faint flinch when he touches her; it’s an intimate touch, and he knows he can be unnerving. He doesn’t begrudge her some distaste. Then he rises smoothly to his feet and looks over at Izuna.
“Onward then, Senju,” Izuna says, and the two of them take to the trees once more.
Their pace is much slower now than it had been while on the way to the estate, of course. Tobirama and Izuna can share Kiyomi-san’s weight by turns, but carrying someone is still a significant burden and will reduce their stamina a great deal if they don’t pace themselves. As well, they only manage two hours of travel before Mitsuo-kun begins to cry, and they need to stop so that Kiyomi-san can check on him. As it turns out, he’s hungry, and they’re delayed a half-hour while she feeds him, a large kimono top draped around her shoulders for privacy while Tobirama and Izuna stand guard. They manage to travel a while longer after that, with Kiyomi-san now on Izuna’s back, but it begins to grow dark and they’re forced to stop again and make camp.
Tobirama sets about unsealing supplies while Izuna makes another fire, as he had the previous night. Tobirama passes Kiyomi-san’s bag over to her, and she goes about changing Mitsuo-kun’s diaper, while Tobirama unseals another scroll and draws out a larger tent and collapsable cot, brought specifically for the sake of their civilian charge. He also unseals additional rations which he passes to Izuna, who starts making miso soup while Tobirama sets up the shelters.
“Shall I hunt?” Tobirama asks quietly, once he’s finished.
“Might be nice,” Izuna admits. “Have you got it?”
“Not a problem.” Animal chakra is slipperier, harder to get a good sense of, but with so few people around to distract his senses Tobirama has no doubts about his ability to hunt several birds, and darts out of the camp to do just that. A half hour later he returns with three small game hens strung on a bit of ninja wire, already plucked and gutted so that Kiyomi-san needn’t see that work done, to find her and Izuna sitting by the fire sipping soup and talking quietly.
“—soulmate,” Kiyomi-san is saying when Tobirama comes into earshot, and he suppresses the instant urge to turn around and walk right back out of their camp. “He’s such a gentle man. I have his intuition for people; I believe he got an ear for musical pitch from me.”
“Those are lovely gifts,” Izuna says quietly, sounding a bit wistful. “I wish I’d gotten to meet my soulmate—I think they were a civilian, my gift was just an enhancement to my sense of taste. But it faded when I was eighteen, so they must have passed.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Kiyomi-san exclaims. “That must be terrible, to be alone.”
Izuna shrugs easily, as if his confession hasn’t rooted Tobirama to the spot, as frozen as the statue people accuse him of being. “It’s sad, yes,” he says, “but not as bad as if I’d met them first, then lost them. Or if they were a ninja from an enemy clan, and I’d been forced to fight against them or their family.”
“I’m back,” Tobirama says, perhaps a bit too loud. Kiyomi-san jumps, but Izuna just turns and glances over his shoulder. No surprise he knew he was there, really; Tobirama hadn’t tried to be more quiet than normal.
“Nice catch,” Izuna says, breaking off from his conversation. He makes a grabby-hand gesture for the birds, and Tobirama passes them over. Izuna makes quick work of spitting the birds and begins roasting them while Tobirama comes to sit down.
“What about yourself, Tobirama-san? Have you met your soulmate?” Kiyomi-san asks once he’s seated.
Tobirama lets out a slow breath through his nose. He would rather not discuss this, but saying so would certainly raise Izuna’s suspicions. “I do not know who they are,” he says, which is honest enough. “The gift I got from them is very strong, but as I have no training with it, I do not use it. It would be dangerous.”
“What is it?” Izuna asks from where he’s coaxing the fire larger with his chakra.
“I would rather not say,” Tobirama says, more bluntly than he probably should.
“... Ah,” Izuna says, his expression closing off. “Right. Whatever.”
Tobirama clears his throat and looks away from Izuna. So much for the growing rapport between them. He turns back to Kiyomi-san instead. “Suffice to say, Kiyomi-san, a shinobi’s soulmate is often more difficult to find than a civilian’s. We have many more obstacles in the way.”
“I am coming to see that,” she says. “Well. I’m very sorry to hear it.” Then, inexplicably, she reaches out and tucks Mitsuo-kun into his arms. “Here, hold him.”
“I—ah.” Tobirama fumbles for a minute, more clumsy than he’s ever been in his life, then firms his grip and carefully cradles the baby’s head. Mitsuo-kun is still awake, and looking down into his face Tobirama decides that not remembering anyone’s face does have one benefit: he gets to enjoy beauty anew every time. The baby has soft, round cheeks, and liquid black eyes that look up at him with wonder, a feeling which Tobirama returns. Unbidden, the hand not wrapped under the baby comes up to stroke Mitsuo-kun’s cheek.
“Ba,” says the baby.
“I see,” Tobirama murmurs.
By the fire, Izuna snorts. Tobirama jerks his head up, affronted, and snaps, “What, Uchiha?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Izuna says, sounding amused. He waves his hand carelessly, then turns the spitted birds. “Just funny to see the dreaded Senju Tobirama go totally gaga for a baby.”
“I was not gaga ,” Tobirama says. “He— I—”
“It’s fine!” Izuna says. “Seriously, I’m not making fun. It’s cute.”
He is making fun, but Tobirama is not going to start a fight. He’s not . “Kiyomi-san,” he says stiffly, “you should take your son back. I am unused to holding infants.”
“Alright, Tobirama-san,” she says. She does take him, although he thinks she might just be humouring him, and he tries not to regret the loss of the small warmth that had briefly rested in his arms.
He had perhaps been a little gaga, not that he’s going to admit as much to Izuna, even on pain of death.
Tobirama sighs and rises to fetch his dish from his mess kit, then serve himself some soup while he waits for the meat to be finished. They’ll need to be vigilant tonight, but his suspicion is that if there is to be an attack, it will come tomorrow, probably in the night.
Eventually, the remainder of the meal is prepared and they all eat a small second course of roasted meat, the leftovers of which Tobirama seals into a stasis seal that Mito had helped him design last year. Kiyomi-san retires to her tent shortly after, and soon her voices comes through the canvas, singing a lullaby to Mitsuo-kun.
“She’s less fussy than I expected from a noblewoman,” Izuna says in a soft voice. He leans back on his hands and tilts his head to regard Tobirama with dark eyes.
“Yes,” Tobirama acknowledges, when it seems that Izuna is waiting for an answer.
“...You’re so fucking weird,” Izuna sighs in response.
Tobirama tenses. “I apologize.”
“That’s not—seriously, not everything I say to you is meant as an insult.” Izuna says. “It was just an observation. Do you not have normal conversations ever? Make small talk?”
“No,” Tobirama says. “Few people desire or enjoy conversation with me. Including you, as far as I understand.”
“Maybe I’d enjoy it more if you calmed down and stopped taking everything the wrong way.”
“I am calm,” Tobirama says. He is. Mostly. “You also routinely take things I say to be more insulting than I intend them to be, so I don’t see why you should take such offence when the misunderstanding flows both ways. Part of anija’s intent in sending us on this mission together was to smooth such difficulties, I believe.”
Izuna purses his lips. “I guess you’re right. Well, whatever. We can play nice in front of the Hokage from now on, but that doesn’t mean we have to like each other.”
Tobirama lets out a slow breath. Yes, tolerance is enough to ask for. He does respect Izuna and his clan, whatever the Uchiha chooses to believe about him, and if that respect can be returned and the enmity between them comes to a rest, he will call this mission a success in all ways. “Indeed,” he says. “Shall I take first watch?”
“Sure, whatever.” Izuna rises from the ground then and stretches. “You going to do your weird sensor meditation thing from inside the shelter again tonight?”
“No, I’ll sit by Kiyomi-san’s tent.”
“Mm, right. Alright. G’night then, Senju.” Izuna turns toward the shelter, then pauses. “And, hey—sorry for prying about your soulmate. I do get not wanting to talk about it.”
“It is fine,” Tobirama says, nods his head politely, and goes to find a comfortable place to kneel for his weird sensor meditation thing as Izuna had put it. Dusk is falling, the fire burning low, and Tobirama expands his senses, watchful.
“Hashirama-sama?”
Hashirama looks up from his desk. One of the Senju elders, Yoshiaki, has paused in the doorway in his office and bowed. “Yoshiaki-ojiisan,” he says with a smile. “What a pleasant surprise! Come in, come in.” He gestures to the chair in front of his desk, which the elder takes with a satisfied sigh. “What can I do for you today, Honoured Elder?”
“Ah, I came to ask if you’d seen your brother recently,” Yoshiaki says. “I have been searching for him these past two days.”
“Oh!” Hashirama frowns. The elders rarely take an interest in Tobirama’s comings and goings. “Unfortunately he’s out of the village at the moment.”
The elder blanches. “When is he due back?”
“Not for another three or four days at least.” Izuna and Tobirama had left on their mission two days ago, and for all their combined speed, they will be literally babysitting a civilian for a while. “What’s the matter? I’m sure I can help.”
Yoshiaki runs a hand over his face. “Perhaps it will be fine,” he mutters, looking deeply concerned. “But I confess my shock at your sending him away so close to the tenth anniversary of the sealing. Did you forget it would need to be redone?”
Hashirama feels the frown on his face deepen. “Sealing?”
There’s a long pause, and then Yoshiaki says, “The seal on your brother, Hashirama-sama.”
“ What seal?” Hashirama has never heard of such a thing. And from ten years ago? Tobirama would have only been twelve, what—no. No way. “Yoshiaki-san, you will explain yourself.”
The elder swallows. He realizes, it seems, that he must tread carefully. Hashirama can feel his temper stirring, the green swell of the forest’s wrath, and stifles it for now. “By order of your much-honoured late father,” the elder says, “an… aspect of your brother’s ability was sealed ten years ago. The seal must be reapplied every ten years. I assisted in contracting the services of a seal master at that time, and assumed your father would leave the necessary information to you.”
“My father never said anything about this to me,” Hashirama says. His voice is very flat, he knows. It’s the best he can do. “What does the seal do, Yoshiaki-san?”
“It—ah, well—”
Hashirama closes his eyes. “You know your being so reluctant to explain is doing you no favours right now.”
“I… see this, Hashirama-sama.” When Hashirama opens his eyes again, the elder has gone very pale indeed, and shrunk down in his chair. He’s an old man, and looks quite pitiful at the moment. “You must understand, it was by your father’s order. He deemed it necessary.”
“My father deemed a lot of things necessary, very few of which I agreed with, then or now,” Hashirama says. He rises from his chair to plant his hands on his desk and lean forward. “ What was the seal for .”
“It sealed his soulmate gift.”
Hashirama lets out a very long, very slow breath. He cannot, he reminds himself, kill Yoshiaki. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t his idea , and he had no idea that Hashirama has spent ten years in complete ignorance to the fact that his father had commanded his younger brother be mutilated . “I see.”
“... I, well, I do not know entirely why Butsuma-sama was so intent on it,” Yoshiaki says, his voice trembling. “Tobirama-sama’s gift must have been very dangerous. And, ah… although I understand the sealing to have some risks, he has seemed to have no difficulties as a result.”
“Was Tobirama aware that this was done?” Hashirama asks. That’s the only thing he can imagine that would make this… he doesn’t know. Worse, if Tobirama knew and never said? Better, because at least he simply believed he had no soulmate and didn’t realize what their father had done to him? Maybe worse either way, if this had been done to him and he never knew why .
“He… he was, Hashirama-sama. He agreed to the procedure.”
Whatever look comes across Hashirama’s face then, Yoshiaki flinches from it. “I see,” he says again. “Will the seal break on its own if not reinforced?”
“I am unsure, Hashirama-sama.”
“Who did the sealing?”
“Uzumaki Kenzou-san,” Yoshiaki says. “A seal master of some renown, though… somewhat distant from his clan, as I understand it.”
Hashirama knows that name. Mito had mentioned him once, as an exile sent out of Whirlpool on account of his highly unscrupulous and unethical experimentation with soulmate bonds. That man, she’d said, had crossed lines that even Tobirama with his boundless curiosity would flinch from. He has to take another deep breath. “He is considered a criminal by his clan, in fact,” he says bluntly, which draws a flinch from the elder. “If you receive rumour of him, you will pass it to the intelligence division immediately.”
“Yes, Hashirama-sama.”
“As for this seal on Tobirama, you will assemble all you know today and have it brought to my office. Whatever harm may have been done to him, even the smallest bit, I…” Hashirama wants very badly to inflict a punishment. Something, anything, to gain some small measure of justice for the harm he is sure has been done. But he doesn’t know enough yet, doesn’t know what gift Tobirama has that might have led Butsuma to feel this was justified, doesn’t know how complicit Yoshiaki really was, or even what the seal has done to his brother. Until he does, he can do nothing.
“I understand, Hashirama-sama.” Yoshiaki rises from his chair and bows. “I will bring the documents as soon as I may.”
“You will send a runner with them instead,” Hashirama says, with a wave of his hand. “If I see your face again before I have time to understand this, I can’t guarantee I won’t hurt you, and we have yet to see if you would deserve it.”
“I-I… ah. Yes, sir.” Another deep bow, and then, wisely, the elder makes himself scarce.
Hashirama slumps down into his chair again and covers his face with his hands. His little brother. His little brother whose soulmate Hashirama has always believed was dead, or maybe a civilian with a gift indistinguishable from Tobirama’s own natural abilities, or… something. In an uncharitable moment as a spiteful teenager, he’d once wondered if Tobirama had no soulmate, cold as he could be sometimes. He’s always known, though, that there was no way that was true, even beyond the fact that everyone has a soulmate. Tobirama is clever and passionate, and he’s deeply loyal and loving beneath his chilly exterior. Much as Hashirama hasn’t always understood his brother—often misunderstands him terribly, in fact—he’s always loved him and known himself to be loved in return. And he’s always grieved on Tobirama’s behalf, Tobirama who never seemed to care so much about it, that his brother might well never have his other half to hold and cherish the way that Hashirama has Mito.
This… this is beyond anything he could have imagined. He doesn’t know what to do. And, as he often does when he doesn’t know what to do, he scrubs his hands over his eyes to banish the tears gathering there, picks himself up, and goes to find his wife.
She’s in the Tower at least, though she’s in the middle of a meeting with several clerks responsible for… Hashirama isn’t sure, mercantile taxation or something else boring and necessary like that. He doesn’t care. If the Hokage’s not allowed to interrupt his wife’s meetings when he’s having a crisis, what the hell is the point of the hat?
And bless Mito, bless her so much, she takes one look at his face and says, “The remainder of this meeting can wait until later. Please leave.”
The clerks look at each other and obey without question, because that’s what one does when Mito says please in that tone. As soon as they’re gone, Hashirama closes the door and goes to her. Mito opens her arms, and he folds himself down into her embrace, because he can’t do anything else right now except allow the cracks to show. He can’t break, not now, not when he doesn’t know… anything. But he can bend his head to her shoulder, let her pet his hair, and shed a few tears into the fine fabric of her kimono.
“Oh, my dear,” she says, and guides them to kneel together on the floor. There’s furniture somewhere in the room, probably, but none of it suitable for a cuddle, which is what Hashirama desperately needs right now.
“It—he—”
“It’s fine. Give yourself a moment.” She strokes his hair again. Hashirama sniffles like a child and gives thanks to the gods not for the first time for her patience.
It takes him a few minutes to collect himself again, and when he leans back from her arms she immediately reaches into her sleeve and withdraws a handkerchief. Endlessly practical, that’s his wife; he musters teary thanks and then blows his nose so that he doesn’t sound completely foolish and weepy as he tries to explain the situation. Composure now, further breakdown later.
“What happened?” Mito says, when he lowers the handkerchief.
“I was visited by Yoshiaki-san.” Her gaze sharpens a little at his choice of address, but she just nods. “He… gods, Mito. They sealed Tobirama’s soulmate gift.”
“ What?”
Hashirama nods in agreement with the instant fury in her voice. “Ten years ago.”
“Hashirama—”
“I had no idea, I swear , but the elder and my father… they contracted Uzumaki Kenzou to do it.” Hashirama has to take a deep breath. “Apparently the anniversary of the sealing is this week, and he expected me to redo it . He thought I knew.”
“You would never ,” Mito says, with such absolute confidence that Hashirama can’t do anything else but stoop to kiss her.
“No, never,” he says, when they part again. “But… I have no idea what the seal looks like, what it might have done to him over all this time. He’s seemed fine .”
“You know Tobirama doesn’t like to show weakness,” Mito points out softly. “Even if he were having problems, he would keep them from you to spare you pain. He loves you very much.”
“I wish he loved me a little less then, if his love means he keeps things like this from me,” Hashirama says. His tone is bleak, he knows. He can’t help it. “When Yoshiaki-san brings me the documents, will you look them over? You’ll know better what… what might be done.”
“If the seal is only meant to last ten years, it’s very possible it will break on its own,” Mito murmurs. “Such a thing… mm, it might hold on, if it’s held this long, but if Tobirama and Izuna-san meet with difficulties on their mission, the pressure of his chakra will likely be enough to destabilize it… ah, but lifespans are rarely so precise, except… hm…” She shakes her head before she trails off entirely into academic muttering, and says more clearly, “Only time will tell. Please ensure that Tobirama is brought to me directly when he returns from his mission, if I’m not there to see him return?”
“Of course.” Hashirama stoops again, this time to kiss her forehead. “Thank you, my love.”
“He’s my brother too,” Mito says. “You know I’ll do all I can to see to his continued health. But… there may be complications, I must warn you now. Sealing is a complex art at the best of times—which you know, you’ve heard Tobirama and I in discussion—and the soulmate bond is very difficult to interfere with under most circumstances. That his gift has remained sealed all this time is an abomination but also a feat of significant… ingenuity, let us say, criminal and horrifying as it is. I have no idea how it might have been done.”
“I understand.” Hashirama sighs. “I’m sure you can do it.”
“And I will.” Mito leans up to kiss his forehead in return, then climbs to her feet and offers him a hand up. She doesn’t go into the field any more, but she keeps up her physical conditioning and has no issues whatsoever in tugging him up to stand. “Go back to your work for now, Hashirama. We’ll get to the bottom of this as soon as we can.”
“Yes, okay.” He gives her one last hug, then goes to do as she’s said. A wise woman, his wife. A distraction is just what he needs, and the work of running a village can be an all-consuming distraction if he allows it to be. Normally he makes an effort to keep his head above the water and remember the other things that are important to him, but if he starts thinking about Tobirama again he’s going to end up weeping into housing regulation paperwork, which really will do nothing for his reputation. He’s the Hokage. He’s supposed to be… scary, or something.
The afternoon passes. He works, then works some more, and is finally pulled away from the work by the arrival of a runner. He has a sealed scroll from Yoshiaki, delivered with a bow, and Hashirama sets it down on his desk and stares at it for a long time. Eventually, he decides that he’s not going to get any more work done today, and it’s almost suppertime besides, so he can take the damn thing home and stare at it there instead.
Mito has already returned to their house when he arrives, thank the gods, and he’s able to shove it into her hands and go to sooth himself by making tea the long, ceremonial way, with much care and focus. It doesn’t really work, but at least the tea is good, and he brings Mito a cup when he’s finished.
By then, she’s already opened the scroll and has it spread across the dining room table, peering at the cramped writing that fills it. In the centre is a diagram of a seal, the black sigils spiralling around each other in the centre of the paper, and Hashirama fixes it with a glare.
“That’s it?” he asks, passing her her cup.
“Mm,” she says, and takes a sip of tea before he can warn her—it’s a little too hot, and she blinks at the scald. “Oh. Yes, sorry. This is it.”
“Anything you can see so far?”
“It’ll be a bastard to unravel if it doesn’t come apart on its own,” she says. The harsh language is unlike her; it must be a real puzzle. “But it does seem to have the ability to set a timeframe after which it will unseal unless renewed. I wonder why Butsuma would bother?”
“Control,” Hashirama says, seating himself at her side. “Or… who knows, maybe it was the one tiny scrap of compassion in his body, planning to give Tobirama a real choice some time down the line. Or maybe he just assumed his soulmate would be dead for real by now.”
“Possibly.” Mito reaches over and touches the back of Hashirama’s hand briefly, then turns back to the scroll. “Sit, drink your tea. Maybe make some supper. I need to read this.”
“Of course.” Hashirama is by no means a gourmet chef, but he’s picked up a few things. He’ll make miso eggplant and some grilled fish, maybe, he thinks he saw a few fillets in the fridge. But first he’s under orders to drink his tea, so he does that, then rises and leaves Mito to it so that he can’t spend any more time staring at the copy of the seal that has prevented his brother from knowing his other half for almost half their lives. Gods, what if Tobirama’s soulmate is dead? Hashirama can hardly think it.
Dinner takes a while, and by the time he returns to the dining room Mito has rolled up Yoshiaki’s scroll and pulled out a blank one to make her own notes, which she puts aside when he comes in balancing a collection of plates and dishes fairly precariously. With her help, he gets everything laid out on the table, then sits down with a sigh.
“This looks wonderful,” Mito says, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, husband.”
“Anything for you, my love.” Hashirama takes up his chopsticks, mutters an, “Itadakimasu,” and digs in.
There’s silence for a few minutes as they begin to eat, until finally Mito says, “You must be dying to ask.”
“I really am,” Hashirama bursts out. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to be rude. We can finish eating first.”
“It’s alright. He’s your brother , Hashirama.” She chews another bite of eggplant, then says, “I can’t be entirely sure, but… it’s not good.”
“Ah.” Hashirama puts down his chopsticks. His dinner is half-eaten, but his appetite, what little he had to begin with, has fled. “Please, Mito. Don’t sugarcoat.”
“I cannot know for sure what the nature of the damage is because I don’t know the nature of his gift—the symptoms of the suppression would be related. However, I can say that the seal master did warn Butsuma clearly that the seal would cause progressively more damage the longer that it was left, and that after about a ten-year period the symptoms would begin trending toward fatality, likely twelve to fifteen years after the sealing depending on the specific symptoms, what treatment Tobirama received, and his innate vitality.” Mito pauses and takes a sip of her tea, which has surely gone cold by now. She must have forgotten about it while reading. “Whether they told Tobirama all of that, I don’t know. He’s a seal master as well, and likely would have been able to guess as much if he looked into it in the years since.”
“So my brother will die if we don’t get this seal off of him,” Hashirama says. He feels… absent from his body. “And it has been causing him increasing harm of some unknown kind this whole ten years.”
“Yes.” Mito touches his hand again. “I’m sorry, Hashirama.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?” Hashirama whispers. “ Why? We could have helped .”
“Possibly he didn’t know if it could be removed. Or… whatever gift he has is truly dangerous and he decided it was worth it.” But even Mito doesn’t sound like she believes those things. She knows as well as Hashirama why Tobirama kept this secret: because he can’t bear to show a weakness, even to his own brother. He can’t bear to have anyone know that he’s capable of being hurt, that he has a vulnerability. He cannot ever stand to ask for help, even when he desperately fucking needs it.
Hashirama can’t let himself be angry about this right now. He’ll get angry when Tobirama is home, and safe. When this seal is off his body, and they can begin the search for his soulmate. Hopefully they can begin the search for his soulmate, if they’re even still alive. “Would he have known if his soulmate died? If the seal suppresses the gift?”
“I don’t know,” Mito says, sounding regretful. “We can’t be sure until it’s off.”
“Right.” So that’s a problem for when Tobirama is home too. If they are dead… well, he seems never to have expected to meet them, at least. “And… is the damage done to him permanent?”
“Likely,” Mito says bluntly. “Depending on what it is, healing jutsu might help, but it’s more likely that his chakra pathways have been distorted in such a way that it would be difficult to correct any physiological symptoms in a lasting manner. The physical damage would only return over time, because the chakra damage would be difficult if not impossible to heal, and it’s the chakra damage that would be harming his body.”
“Which would probably only mean he suffered more as he went through cycles of being healed and then becoming sicker again, and possibly more painfully than the first time since it might happen more quickly,” Hashirama says, nodding. He’s seen some similar cases while studying healing; some people’s chakra pathways are naturally distorted, or become so, and it can cause all sorts of issues depending on which pathways and how they’re twisted. Again: he’ll need to examine Tobirama properly in order to know more. Damn it. His brother hates going to the hospital. He avoids the place like the plague.
Which, of course he does: if the medic-nin had ever gotten a proper look at him they’d have figured out something was going on.
“Damn it,” Hashirama mutters. “This is the worst.”
“I know, dear.” Mito squeezes his hand. “We’ll get to the bottom of it, I swear. When is Tobirama due to return?”
“A few more days, so long as nothing goes wrong.” He can’t even think about the regular hazards of shinobi life right now. But Tobirama is Tobirama, and he has Izuna with him; there’s very little the two of them together couldn’t theoretically handle, except for a ninja of Hashirama’s own caliber, really. And the odds of that are vanishingly small, so they’ll be fine. They will be fine.
Frustrated, Hashirama rubs a hand over his face and then stares down into his dinner, which he really has no desire to finish it. He can put it in the fridge and eat it when he’s inevitably hungry at midnight, maybe?
“Hashirama.” Mito’s face is calm when he looks up to meet her dark, steady eyes. “They will be fine.”
The echo of his own thoughts is oddly calming, and he lets out a breath.
“Eat dinner with me, and then we’ll go to bed. This all must wait until Tobirama is home, and we have a village to run in the mean time. You know your priorities,” she says.
Hashirama wants to yell, My priority is my baby brother! and run out into the woods due south until he finds Tobirama and can hold him safe. But that would be foolish, and very rude to his wife beside, so instead he just sighs again and picks up his chopsticks. She’s probably right, he’ll feel better with some food in his stomach, and… and. And all the rest can, must , wait.
He hates waiting.