#&&. ❛ THOUGHTS ❪ caught in a reverie . ❫ // tobirama

[seizasa]

V. tag dump 1/18

[seizasa-a]

N. tag dump 1 !!

[raendown]

This follower milestone gift fic is for @nobodysperfect2133 with the prompt word woolage.

Pairing: HashiramaMadara Word count: 1268 Rated: T+ Summary: In which only one man in the whole world has the sense to properly appreciate Madara's hair.

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KO-FI and commission info in the header!

The Man, The Myth, The Legendary Mane

Madara’s hair did not bother Hashirama. It bothered lots of other people though. 

It bothered his enemies for pretty obvious reasons, the inherent taunt of all that long tangled mass streaming behind him in battle like a vivid declaration. You can’t touch me. The amount of times he’d watched someone try to get a hold of it couldn’t be counted even if Hashirama used all of his fingers and toes but he never really worried. No one ever got close. Madara did always like to say he was dancing and Hashirama often thought that yes, that sounded right. He danced out of reach, danced across the thirsty earth, danced to the tune of battle drums with hair that streamed like ribbons. 

It bothered Izuna for more personal reasons. Mostly because he was far too old to still be crawling in to bed with his brother after a nightmare and certainly far too old to be complaining about waking up with a mouthful of hair the next morning. Also partly just because he was a little brother with all the bratty trappings that came with such a title. Anything Madara liked he was determined to find fault in for no reason other than teasing his most precious person. Their bond was just like that and though Hashirama could never understand it he supposed it was fine as long as they both came away smiling every time. 

It bothered Tobirama because literally everything about Madara bothered Tobirama despite the fact that they had finally managed to settle down in to some form of bickering friendship. As far as Hashirama could tell the only valid reason Tobirama had for disliking Madara’s hair was the way it always seemed to create its own breeze, shifting loose papers with every step and turn, and Tobirama despised the very notion of untidiness. If either one of them had ever so much as considered the option of just tying it up out of the way they’d never said anything. Anyone else watching them could be forgiven for not believing they were actually friends - and honestly Hashirama wondered sometimes. 

It bothered the council of advisors and the elders of the Uchiha clan and just about anyone else that Madara had taken to hiding away from behind the wild bush of his own hair. Creating his own little shadowed alcove was so convenient, he said once, the perfect place to hide his scorn for others’ words. Lectures about his hair were much preferable to even more lectures about how he should respect his elders and supposed betters. Hashirama didn’t really agree with the spirit of it all but he did have to give the man that one.

Sometimes it felt like Hashirama was really the only one in the world who liked Madara’s hair. It was messy and wild, forever tangled in such a way that one wouldn’t be surprised to find sticks or lost pencils hiding within, and when weighted down with water it actually fell longer than Hashirama’s own. Those weren’t really the true reasons he enjoyed it, just qualities, but he’d long been of the opinion that one had to take all of Madara’s qualities as a whole to really understand him rather than picking and choosing pieces to be loyal to. No, the reasons he enjoyed Madara’s hair had a lot less to do with the hair itself and much more to do with the man underneath. Hashirama was an honest person. He could admit those kinds of things. 

“You’re staring again.” Madara’s voice broke him out of his reverie and Hashirama offered one of his infamous smiles. 

“I’m not sorry.”

“S’there another twig or something? Get it out and get back to work.”

“No, no twigs.” 

Shuffling the papers on his desk, Hashirama dropped his eyes back to the work he’d been trying and failing to concentrate on for the past hour or so. He really should get this done. These all needed to be reviewed as soon as possible. Unfortunately his mind was far away from the latest proposal from his sanitation committee, much more interested in the sway of Madara’s hair as a soft summer breeze from the open window gently flirted with a loose bunch of strands. 

“I swear to god if you make one crack about a brush I will stab you with your own paperwork.” 

Hashirama coughed in an effort to clear his throat. “Ah, no, no I wasn’t going to- ahem.”

“The fuck do you keep staring at me for then?” Madara demanded. 

“Was I? Ah, ha ha, I didn’t mean to!”

“Don’t be daft.” His friend scowled, chin tucking down to glare out from behind his messy fringe. “It’s the hair, you’re always staring at the hair. Everyone else’s got something to say about it; you got something to add now too?”

In his defense, Hashirama really meant to say nothing. Or rather he meant to deflect with something meaningless just as he had a thousand times before. That was the flavor, the rhythm, that their friendship had fallen in to over the years. Hashirama watched and yearned until he was caught and then stepped back out of reach with half formed apologies, never asking for things he was sure weren’t on the table anyway. 

His mouth seemed to have other plans today. 

“Just wondering what it feels like,” he heard himself say. Madara visibly startled at the admission. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It just looks really soft.” Hashirama listened with a muted sort of horror as the words kept falling out, powerless to stop himself. “You’re always hiding in there so it must be nice; I was wondering what it would be like to do that myself.”

“To hide in my hair?” Madara demanded.

Hashirama gave a helpless shrug, finally managing to clench his jaw shut. 

The two of them stared at each other for a very long time. Watching the visible parts of Madara’s face cycle through so many different emotions in such a short amount of time would have been wonderfully amusing if not for the fact that Hashirama was terrified of which one would eventually win out. He might be hopelessly in love but he wasn’t blind to the fact that his friend had a temper - or that he wasn’t afraid to use it on anyone. It should probably bother him more but that, like the hair, was just another item on the long list of things that made Madara so Madara and Hashirama couldn’t possibly love him any other way. 

“You have no tact, Senju, you know that?” 

“Huh?”

Pulled from his thoughts, Hashirama was so busy trying to cover them up he almost didn’t see the flash of pink on the tips of pale ears. Madara slouched a little farther down in his seat, eyes firmly on the scroll open before him, and he grumbled, “Wanna shove your face in a man’s hair you should at least ask him out to dinner first.”

“Oh. Oh! Um. Do you...my place?”

“I’m not tidying up for the likes of you so don’t be expecting that.”

“That’s fine, Madara. That’s more than fine. You know I like you just how you are.” Wild messy hair and all, though he refrained from saying as much out loud. 

When Madara retreated just a little deeper behind his own tangles Hashirama bit his lip trying not to laugh for the sheer joy filling his heart. Well how about that, he thought. Maybe he should have shown his appreciation sooner for all the little details that bothered everyone else but him. 

[sennokami]

Parallelism - Ch.2

Summary: Madara is not an easy man to have - or keep. Hashirama fights that in his own way.

In which Madara nearly enters an arranged marriage of his own.

-

In another lifetime, where their lives lined up better and the timing was right, maybe he could have reciprocated the truth of Madara’s secret – to love him as he deserved to be loved. But they’d still been at war when he married Mito. That was how it always went: like their friendship had a leak that couldn’t be fixed and any goodness they had just spilled out. Their relationship was just a series of closing doors. Word count: 3,583 AN: This is available on ao3 in its entirety under the same title under the pseud selwyn. I also have a twitter, selwynsalt.

-

Hashirama didn’t see Madara again after that. He didn’t even get a letter from him again. He didn’t know if he was disappointed or relieved.

His lips had healed within the night but not before a few drops of blood got on the sleeve of his haori. Instead of washing it or changing, Hashirama continued to wear it. It was in a discreet spot, only visible if the sleeve was straightened out, so no one but he noticed it. And he did. The two little spots of blood always winked at him throughout the day, reminding him of what happened.

Madara wanted him. The abstract had finally become physical. The truth that’d lingered on the outskirts of his awareness had blazed to the forefront and like Madara himself, it refused to be ignored. He thought about it when he walked down the village streets, when he sat at his desk, when he ate, when he breathed. He couldn’t stop himself. Every time he did, he looked down at those two blood spots and wondered.

Had the violence been for him or was that just Madara’s way? He suspected both. Wasn’t that just so typical?

It wasn’t the first time that someone wanted him. But the intensity of this was new.

The knocking on his door interrupted his reverie. “Come in.”

Toka entered and Hashirama immediately perked up. She’d gone out with Tobirama in a mission to court the Hyuuga in the north. If she was here then his brother wasn’t far behind. She knelt. “Hokage-sama.”

“Toka. My brother?”

“Tobirama-sama is on his way back to Konoha. He asked me to go ahead with his message so you can begin preparations immediately. The diplomatic envoy was successful but the Hyuuga have new demands."

“Go on.”

“They want to meet the founders of Konohagakure in person. And they want to be on neutral ground.”

He frowned. That wasn't how he'd imagined it. Konoha was willing to host everyone interested in joining, to let them have a taste of what was possible. Even the skittish Shimura had finally relented once they experienced it. “Their safety is guaranteed."

“We told them that. But bloodline clans have always been jumpy."

Hashirama sighed. Of course. The infamous jealousy of the two doujutsu clans in Fire was the one joke everyone else could agree on. Not that it wasn’t unwarranted. If one knew the right buyer, a single Sharingan eye could easily go for five hundred thousand ryo. God only knew how much a Byakugan went for.

“Is that it then? They want me and Madara to meet them on neutral territory before they’re willing to discuss this further?”

“Essentially.”

Well… it would be a welcome break from the drudgery of the office – an opportunity to go out, stretch his legs, and do what he was actually good at.

With Madara.

God. With Madara.

There it was again - the appearance of dread where there should've been none. Just a few months earlier, Hashirama would've been giddy at the prospect of traveling with Madara to negotiate the involvement of another clan. Now, he couldn't help but feel a brief flare of nervous anticipation. After weeks of complete non-communication and whatever that day was, they’d need to act as one team. He could already hear Tobirama in his ear: get your act together, you’re both leaders and you need to act like it.

Easy for him to say.

“- kage-sama? Are you listening?”

He blinked. “Ah, what?”

“I was saying that this should happen pretty soon,” Toka said. She stood up, grunting. “They’re jittery. They’ve been moving south lately. I think it’s because of that new village that’s supposed to be forming in Cloud. They want the Hyuuga. A lot.”

He gestured for her to elaborate.

“It’s unconfirmed but some of them might have been picked up. For their eyes. We don’t know a lot but when we offered to help, they said they already had it handled and the eyes were safe again.”

It wasn’t a lot of information to go on. The Hyuuga were as tight-lipped as the Uchiha were. At least Madara could offer some additional insight since he and his clan were in the same boat. Maybe they’d even get along - that was a nice thought.

“Then we should begin immediately,” Hashirama said, his mind made up. His inner Tobirama was right. Their duties as leaders came before the heart. He and Madara would just have to adapt.

-

Madara didn’t answer his summons until it was late. He appeared just as Hashirama was on his last candle and considering going home. The only sign of his arrival was the whoosh of hot air and the heaviness that he always carried around with him. Hashirama cupped his candle to protect the flickering flame and looked up.

“You came.” He sounded surprised to his own ears. A part of him had been nervously expecting silence. It would be bad. But it would be Madara.

From the window, Madara unfolded like a bird of prey. His eyes swept over the entire office before settling on Hashirama. It was the strangest thing – a part of him acknowledged him but the rest of him was firmly locked away. It was like being on the other side of a battlefield with him again. Being seen, but not accepted.

Greasy queasiness coiled inside Hashirama. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know. But it felt like he should’ve known. Or that he should’ve handled it better. Or anything other than this.

“The Hyuuga are coming.” Madara slowly stepped closer. Hashirama made no moves. Madara stopped next to the corner of his desk. He looked ready to leave if anything happened. Hashirama could imagine what was going through his head. Probably the same thing he was thinking.

Do we talk about that?

“They are,” he confirmed. The Hyuuga were somewhat safe to talk about. And hey, when they were still fresh from the truce, Hashirama built his friendship with Madara back up using the village as their common goal. Maybe the Hyuuga could be that common goal this time.

“They want us to meet them.”

“They do.”

“I think it’s a bad idea,” Madara said. He slowly settled on the edge of the desk. It was subtle but it was his version of an olive branch. If he was still angry, he would’ve refused to come closer. “They’re not one of ours. We don’t know how they think. They could be planning something, maybe coordinating an attack with another clan.”

“Or maybe they are nervous about meeting us and want to feel more comfortable.”

“They should be nervous.”

“That’s not a good way to set up negotiations.”

“Do we even need the Hyuuga?” Madara questioned. He crossed his arms. “Their doujutsu is the weakest there is. Their clan is fractured. For the trouble we have to go to get them, it’s not worth it.”

“It’s not about worth,” Hashirama reminded him.

Madara’s face turned sour. Then smoothed out. “It’s not,” he begrudgingly agreed. “Alright, say we go to them. Say we agree to their ridiculous demands. What then?”

“We listen to what they have to say. Toka told me that they’re nervous about the clans in Lightning. If we offer them protection from them then they might be more pliant.”

“And who goes?”

The question caught Hashirama off-guard. It’d always been the two of them before. Why ask now? “...us?”

“Not Tobirama?”

He disliked the challenging glint in Madara’s eye. That always spelled trouble for someone. “Tobirama will be handling the village in our absence. Do you want to do that instead?”

“...no.” Madara slid off the desk with a thump. “I’ll come with you.” He headed for the door.

Hashirama had half a mind to call out to him. Ask him to stay. It felt like the right thing to do. They needed to resolve whatever thing they had before they met the Hyuuga, so it wouldn’t get in the way, so they could be a team again –

The look that Madara shot him as he stopped at the door made him freeze. It was a cutting look. A hungry look. It was a look that made Hashirama feel like prey.

With a flash of long black hair, Madara was gone. Hashirama stared after him as the door slammed shut, his thoughts scattered.

That wasn’t a fighting look, he was sure. But that hadn’t been a return to the days of easy friendship either. That… had been a challenge. A gauntlet thrown.

-

Traveling to the neutral location went in silence. With only the two of them, they made good time. That didn’t mean it was any easier to endure the pressing silence from Madara’s end. He was impossible to ignore too – leaves curled up from the heat of his passage and his footsteps left scorch marks on the wood. Hashirama registered every flash of heat with a shudder, like he was next to a fire that could easily catch him.

It was Madara who stopped first. Hashirama caught himself on a tree branch as soon as he did, turning his head in askance, and Madara jerked his head east. “People coming.”

Hashirama immediately got down. He kept his hands visible, his posture relaxed, and his chakra carefully pinched small, and after a moment’s hesitation, Madara followed suit. He was still a hot presence at his shoulder but he wasn’t nearly as searing now.

They didn’t have to wait long. Five white-clothed Hyuuga materialized from the forest, staring uncannily at the two of them, their faces blank and cautious. They were like the Uchiha in the sense that they all resembled each other, all of them dark-haired and white-eyed. Two Hyuuga stepped forward from the five-man squad, visibly older than the rest.

“Senju-sama, Uchiha-sama” one said, taking the lead. When he bowed, his scout followed suit. He was a tall man, maybe even taller than Hashirama, and his brown hair was swept back into a severe ponytail. As he watched, the bulging veins around his eyes relaxed and disappeared back under his skin. “I am Hyuuga Hotaru. Our scouts noticed you were coming and we were sent to escort you to our encampment.”

“Good to meet you, Hotaru-san.” Hashirama smiled. “Is Hitomi-san doing well?”

“Hyuuga-sama is well as can be expected. Will you follow us?”

“Lead the way.”

At Hotaru’s nod, the rest of the his squad went forth. Hashirama and Madara followed them at a more sedate pace, not speaking up when they were led in a few circles before they actually approached the encampment. Considering Madara’s sensory abilities – and the fact that they were in a forest – made this a fairly moot point, but Hashirama didn’t fault them for doing what they could. The Hyuuga were skittish. This was expected.

When they came upon the encampment, however, Hashirama frowned. It was… not what he expected. The Hyuuga were a big clan. An old clan. The Senju had even clashed with them in the long past. Their doujutsu bred strong and they usually had the numbers to keep their territory. What he saw here, however, wasn’t that clan. The encampment was still sizable, sure, but it was smaller than what the Uchiha and Senju encampments had been like in the early days of the village. There were more guards posted than was efficient and there were no children in sight.

This wasn’t a clan that’d traveled out of curiosity. These were people on the run.

Tobirama and Toka’s initial estimates looked to be depressingly accurate. Hotaru led them through the encampment quickly, towards a larger tent that’d been set up on the eastern edge. As they went, Madara suddenly pressed up close to him.

“Something’s off with the chakra in there,” he muttered into his ear, his voice so low that his words were barely there, and then he was gone, walking ahead in a dark flurry of hair and mantle, leaving Hashirama behind with warm, prickling ears. He shook himself a little, reminded himself to focus. This… thing… with Madara, that could be handled later. Right now, this took priority.

Hotaru came to a stop outside the tent. He glanced back at them briefly, bowing his head a little. “Please wait,” then he disappeared inside. Hashirama caught the low murmur of voices before Hotaru reappeared. “Please, come in. Hyuuga-sama is ready to see you.”

His curiosity about why Hitomi didn’t come out to greet them was quickly explained as soon as he entered. The smell of infection hit him like a wave, thick enough that his stomach turned briefly. He resisted the urge to press his sleeve against his nose.

Hyuuga Hitomi sat inside the tent, clothed in the white yukata of the sick and dying. She looked older than he remembered her, with thick lines of gray shot through her brown hair, and her eyes were obscured by a thick band of bandages. 

She briefly dipped her head when they entered. From her side, a young Hyuuga clansman who must have been attending to her carefully edged out of sight. Next to her was another Hyuuga, another woman but much younger than Hitomi. She wasn’t anyone Hashirama recognized but she must’ve been important to be here.

“Senju. Uchiha. It’s been a while since our clans had a chance to meet outside of a battlefield.”

“Hitomi-san. You’re ill.”

“Thieves will be thieves,” she simply said. Hashirama grimaced.

It’s unconfirmed but some of them might have been picked up. For their eyes. We don’t know a lot but when we offered to help, they said they already had it handled and the eyes were safe again.

So this was the secret that the Hyuuga had been so nervous about. Their clan head lost her eyes to bloodline thieves. Who else had also lost their eyes? How many? When? To who? There were so many questions, so little time. Hashirama raised his hands a little. “I can heal you.”

“No need,” Hitomi said. She sat up laboriously. “Even when I had my eyes, I had a sickness of the bones. This is just speeding up the process. No, right now, let’s simply talk. Drink with me.”

The Hyuuga boy who’d been tending to her rose up and went to the corner. He pulled out a low table and sake cups, carefully and quietly arranging them. Once he was done, he retreated back to Hitomi’s side.

They shared a solemn drink first. Only when the last drop in their cups was drained did Madara finally speak.

“The Hyuuga are in danger.” Madara’s face was carefully blank. The lack of emotion made his stern face all the more severe. “I don’t think you would’ve come to us at all if you weren’t. It can’t just be thieves anymore. You know how to deal with those.”

For Hashirama, this was the first time that he saw this side of him. Oh, sure, they shared a few turns on the same side of the negotiating table – impossible not to when Konoha was their shared project. But even then, Madara had never been like this. He was completely expressionless, his chakra reigned in so tightly that the air around him was cold, as still as a hunting cat waiting for the right time to pounce. Seeing him like this, Hashirama could understand why even the allies of the Uchiha tread lightly. It was like looking into a cold fire.

“Blunt as ever, you Uchiha.” Hitomi chuckled. It was a sickly sound. “I assume you know that this isn’t the only village being made.”

“Clearly.”

“The clans in the north are building up. They have someone up there calling himself the Raikage or Kumokage or something similar. He wants to consolidate all the clans in Lightning, build a fighting force like there is in Fire. He also thinks that, since the Uchiha are already taken, his new village should also have a pet bloodline.”

Madara’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Hashirama put his hand on his before he said anything rash. Immediately, Madara went very still.

“We’re not recruiting with force. Every clan who comes to Konohagakure, comes willingly. If the Hyuuga need a place to go, they’re welcome with us.”

“Your first messengers were abundantly clear.” Hitomi gestured and the boy immediately refilled the cups again. “I won’t lie – we need allies. But that’s the word, isn’t it? Allies.”

Distrust was everywhere. Hashirama knew this intimately well. But sometimes, all that was necessary to dispel it was one gesture of good faith. “Not just allies,” he said. “A village. Somewhere where we’re not divided by clan lines anymore, but by common goals, shared beliefs. A place where shinobi don’t have to fight each anymore.”

“A lovely idea,” Hitomi replied. “Good words. Pretty thoughts. But ideas and words and thoughts aren’t good barter. Can’t eat them, can’t use them, and easy to forget. What I want to know is – what is Konoha willing to do for us?”

“There’s food, land, and safety,” Madara said. “What more can you need?”

“A guarantee.” Hitomi tilted her head a little. “Something that tells us you are earnest and this isn’t a trap.”

“What do the Hyuuga want?” Hashirama said baldly.

Hitomi was silent for a few moments. Even though she had no eyes, Hashirama had the peculiar feeling of being seen, something that reminded him of Madara or Tobirama whenever they read his chakra like a book. Was she a sensor too?

“...our clan has always been more traditional than most,” she said. “We believe stability. In solidity. When we want something, it has to be tangible. I understand that you, Senju-san, are married to the Uzumaki. A good clan. Powerful. Old. Good match. But you, Uchiha-san, you’re not.”

Hashirama blinked.

“You want me to marry into your clan?” Disbelief edged into Madara’s tone.

“Not marry in, no. That’d be unreasonable when you’re the clan head. But perhaps a marriage for alliance, where the children can be divided up between our clans – that is something that makes us feel safe.”

There was a long, perilous silence. Hashirama glanced at Madara and suppressed a wince. That stare could’ve squeezed blood from stone.

“...this is new,” Madara finally said. His previous disbelief was wiped clean again, leaving his face as unreadable as the mountainside. “I’ll need time to consider this before I decide.”

“Understandable.”

“Do you already a match in mind?”

“My daughter.” For the first time since they came here, Hitomi acknowledged the other woman in the room. “Hisae. She’s not set to inherit, her older brother, Hiroshige, will. But she’s a good match.”

Madara looked at Hisae. In return, she lifted her bowed head and made eye contact with him. To her credit, she didn’t flinch.

She bore a resemblance to her mother – they shared the same steady eyes, small mouth, and pointed nose – a pretty woman. Or maybe girl. Nothing about her could be divined from her face and Hashirama couldn’t stop himself from examining her in closer detail. What was she thinking, sitting there, looking at the face of the man her mother proposed to become her husband? Was she afraid? Nervous? Or was she eager? Did she maybe like what she saw in Madara? He was a good-looking man, a powerful man. A good man. The kind of man that any kunoichi would be pleased to call her husband.

“As I said, I’ll need time.” Madara looked entirely too long at Hisae, his dark eyes unreadable, before he looked back at Hitomi. “And a conversation with Hisae-san. That is all I will say now.”

That wasn’t the answer that Hashirama expected. He’d hoped for a cordial denial but had been prepared for a blunt no but not… not a careful evasion. It wasn’t that he had no faith in Madara’s negotiating skills, or else he wouldn’t have brought him along, but this was just so unlike Madara that his entire skull was left buzzing in the aftermath of that brief, cool exchange, suddenly more awake and upright than he had been this entire time.

In all the years that Hashirama had known him, Madara had never expressed any kind of interest towards a woman. Not even as boys, back when that was something they talked about, had Madara breathed a word about a girl he liked. Or even what kind of girl he liked.

During wartime, there’d been no time to discuss it and, after the peace, Hashirama had privately assumed that marriage wasn’t something Madara would ever do. There were some men like that, men who didn’t get married for any reason. They didn’t like marriage. Or they didn’t like women.

Sometimes, when he was alone and a little into his cups, Hashirama wondered if it was the latter; whether Madara specifically had no taste for women – or for people as a whole, in that way. Before, when they were talking, he could’ve asked. Now, after everything, it felt too fraught to risk.

Now, he would’ve gambled everything he owned just for a glimpse inside Madara’s head. When he looked at her, what was he thinking? Did he see just another shinobi with whom he might have to tie his life to? Or did he see someone he could like, someone he could even want? Someone to invite into his home, his bed, his life… someone who’d be allowed to learn his language.

Someone who would have a claim to him.

I’ll need time to consider this before I decide. That wasn’t a no. An answer like that – it left enough space for a yes.

[officerjennie]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara Characters: Senju Tobirama, Uchiha Madara, Uchiha Izuna Additional Tags: Dragon God, Alternate Universe - Fantasy Series: Part 6 of Tobirama in Mythology Summary:

大綿津見神 - Ōwatatsumi no kami, the "great deity of the sea"

Click the link or continue below the line to read!

Ko-fi link in the blog header :)

The woods were deathly quiet. Not a sound greeted him as he walked, even the wind seeming to quiet in some form of reverie. Reverie of what, Madara did not know. He only knew the birds were silent, the rabbits hiding in their holes, the insects still as he pushed past the canopy of weeping willows that bordered the edge of the river.

As much as he hated to admit it, it looked as if this hunting trip would be fruitless. Usually he’d at least have brought down some small game by now. Squirrels would hardly feed a man, let alone his whole family, but they would have been far better than nothing.

It was the fear of returning empty handed that had driven him so far north, a full day’s walk further than he’d ever been before. The youngest of his brothers were being weened - a little later than was typical, perhaps, but the break in social customs wasn’t what worried him.

He crouched down at the river bank, cupping his hands in the cool water to scrub the sweat and grime from his face and neck. His water-skin was still mostly full, but he untied it from his waist anyway and filled it before fastening it back in place.

Two more mouths to feed, and he’d found nothing. Worse, Tajima’s illness seemed to be ready to take him, meaning only Madara could afford to go hunting. Izuna had been restless the past few weeks, having to stay and watch the little ones, which had made the few days Madara spent at home nearly unbearable. Honestly, the brat’s moaning and complaining made even the market seem like a haven.

If he’d had any experience with it, Madara would’ve considered taking some fish from the river. It seemed to be deep enough here for it, unlike the upriver shallows that flowed near the village. He’d never had much skill with spearing though, and the string he’d brought with him wouldn’t do for fishing wire.

It was when he was pushing himself up that something across the river caught his eye. Grooves in the soft earth on the other side of the river, unnatural markings that framed a large dip that led to the water. Or, more correctly, out of the water.

Crossing the river was unwise. Madara was a competent enough swimmer, but there was no telling what had fallen into the river over the years. One reaching branch snagging his clothes could spell the end for him, and without him only a miracle would see his family to winter.

He tried to logic himself out of it. Even as he slid on a jutting rock halfway across, cursing as he caught himself and felt his palm scrape from the impact even through his glove, he tried to tell himself it wasn’t worth checking out. But curiosity had always been his greatest weakness, and he soon found himself crouching down next to the disturbed earth, digging up a handful that looked suspiciously darker than the rest.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say the grooves were claw marks. They had the right shape, similar to the torn bark on the oaks in grizzly territory. And whatever had colored the dirt here wasn’t just water.

Madara might not be an expert on river creatures, but he’d been hunting in these woods since he’d grown out of diapers. He stepped carefully around the markings, following them towards the treeline. The deeper groove in the middle had tapered off, though it was still at least as thick as his thigh at its smallest, and the claw marks had morphed as well. It looked more like steps, though the paw shape was none he recognized, and less like desperate scrambling to drag itself away from the water.

Whatever it was easily dwarfed him. He paused to study a bent tree, running a mental checklist of all he knew about grizzly bears as he bit the tip of one glove to take it off, running his hand over the stained bark. It was mostly dry, but his palm still came back tinted red. An injured bear then? It could explain the ruined brush nearby, the cracked wood caused by the stumbling weight crashing into it.

At least following the path of destruction was easy, if entirely inadvisable. Even an injured grizzly would make a fearsome opponent, one that would no doubt shake off his throwing knives as mosquito bites and maul him to a bloody pulp. What kept him moving onward then, other than the burning curiosity to see the great beast with his own eyes, was the dwindling jerky stores they kept as a last resort for when their food ran low.

Not that he could manage to do anything with a whole bear, which, to his understanding, could weigh several hundred pounds. But he could certainly lug enough home to make the extended trip worth it.

He’d only been following the trail for a few minutes when he heard it. Some deep rumbling sound that brought him to a stand-still, ears straining to understand what he’d just heard and heart picking up with the edges of fear. A monk had once stopped by their village, clothes worn from travel and a plethora of stories to tell those willing to listen. But of all the dozens of stories he’d listened to over the years, only one came to mind now. Of the monstrous felines deep in the mangrove swamps, striped in black and orange, their roars loud and terrifying enough to freeze a man in his tracks.

What he’d just heard had been far from a roar, but it was enough to know the potential of whatever lay waiting for him at the end of this trail.

But there was one other creature he’d heard of like that. One that could instill fear and awe in someone with little more than a sound, tales and legends alike whispered to the children of his family for generations, the history of their fealty to the sky gods passed down in their blood and bedtime stories.

They were long gone from this world, whether by man-made extinction or a loss of interest in mankind no one knew. Most in his village would call him a fool for ever believing in them, and even his own brothers were starting to show disinterest in their family’s history.

Madara had never much cared for other’s opinions of him, and he wouldn’t be starting now. Worst comes to worst, he’d find nothing but an angry and deadly bear with an extra large lung capacity and a thirst for man-flesh. Best case scenario, some food for his family.

And if he happened to stumble across a mythical creature his family had long ago sworn their allegiance and service to? No doubt he’d go to hell in a handbasket, but he’d deal with that improbable outcome when he came to it. For now, he had mouths to feed, and standing around in needless fear wouldn’t accomplish a thing.

It seemed Madara had forgotten to take his bad fortune into account when calculating that potential. A rather gnarled tree root sent him scrambling to regain his footing, and it wasn’t until after he’d scraped his knees catching himself on the ground that the snarling started.

His first thought was teeth. Fangs. Fangs the size of large daggers, in a maw that could easily bite a man in half. Fangs on prominent display from curled lip, both stained pink and red from what his sinking gut knew was blood.

His second thought was that of course it wasn’t a bear. A bear would’ve been too easy. Something twice his size was too much to ask for apparently, and there was no telling just how massive this creature was before him. Even coiled in on itself it dwarfed any mental image he’d ever constructed of the grizzlies in the far eastern territories.

Any other thoughts were cut short once he realized just what he was staring at. His forehead touched the earth with little consideration of pride, the breath stolen from his lungs and his arms shaking from both awe and fear.

They were real.

He couldn’t help but take another peek, the dragon mostly obscured by his hair but he didn’t dare move further from his bowed position. Its coloring was certainly off from the legends though he found he cared little in that regard. The absence of wings certainly made the title of sky god less believable. But what else could it be laying before him, warning growls still shaking through his body, fangs and claws large enough to rend him, scales glistening in the sunlight that peeked through the canopy, the blood seeping from its side-

The blood. His head snapped up as he finally focused on the source, what looked to be a broken off spear jammed straight into the dragon’s side. The scales around the wound had either fallen off or been ripped away, leaving an irritate and potentially infected mess behind. And now that his awed stupor had been broken, he noticed that wasn’t the only signs of injury. One horn had been cracked and broken off, leaving a jagged stump on the crown of its head, and even some of its teeth seemed to be missing.

Someone had attacked this dragon. What possibly could be the last dragon, since they’d been left to myths and child’s tales. He sat back on his knees, doing his best not to flinch away when it snarled further at him for the movement, meeting its red eyes as steady and calm as he could.

It wasn’t wise to be here. Staying any longer would be borderline suicidal, if that narrowed gaze was anything to go by. But leaving now, with it as injured as it was, would mean abandoning it to death or worse.

His family had vowed their loyalty to the dragons of lore. That might have been too many generations back to count, but that promise still ran in his veins, and Madara would be damned before he’d break it. Renewing that vow might mean little in the long run, but he would see it back to health no matter the personal cost.

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 3793 Summary: Searching for a brother kidnapped by slavers, Madara certainly never expected to accidentally summon what appears to be a water spirit. And he certainly never expected the spirit to help him.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

To The Sea, To The Sea

Summoning a water entity hadn’t exactly been Madara’s intention. In fact, it hadn’t been at all his intention. What he’d really wanted was to test a locator spell to see if it would work over water. The men who had taken his brother were last seen leaving this port and if he could only see which way they had set off he would have a better guess where to follow.

Getting soaked by the arrival of a sudden water spirit – or what he assumed to be a sprit – was not on the list of things he had expected that particular spell to accomplish. Madara couldn’t seem to move from where he was kneeling on the edge of the quay, stunned into immobilization by the figure floating in the water before him. If he was reading the being’s expression properly, the one he had accidentally summoned was just as surprised to be here as Madara was to see him. At least, that was what he assumed from the wide eyes, slightly cocked head, and full lips just barely parted in disbelief.

He looked like a man, if men’s hands and feet were meant to be covered in silvery scales. His flesh was so pale it was nearly translucent and the white of his hair was reminiscent of crashing sea foam, pale blue where it met his scalp. His eyes were a brilliant coral red to match the three sharp lines which decorated his face. He wore nothing but what appeared to be strips of blue and red plant life of some sort, woven together in to what resembled a kilt. Madara absently noted that, were he human, he would have been the most beautiful man to ever walk the earth.

“What need have you of the sea?” the creature asked him finally. The pleasant baritone of his voice was nearly enough to distract from the way he seemed to float with no effort on his part to do so. Neither his arms nor his legs moved to tread water yet he stayed perfectly in place, not even bobbing with the waves.

“I didn’t mean to call you, oh spirit.” Madara fumbled about for the right words to say. “I was only looking for a way to find my brother.”

“Has he been taken by the water?”

“By men who crossed the water. Slavers.”

The creature pulled back his lips and hissed, revealing a mouthful of sharp fangs. Madara was fairly sure they were supposed to be frightening, not attractive, and he wondered what was wrong with him that he was more inclined towards the second.

“I shall find you your brother,” the spirit declared. “The sea does not take kindly to those who trail misery in their wake. They are as cruel to my children as they are to yours.”

“You’re going to help me?” Baffled he might be by such a kind act, Madara was hardly the type to refuse such a boon. Any help was good help at this point. He recovered quickly enough to declare his intention to procure a boat and hurried down the quay to do just that.

His spirit followed along besides him in the water, insisting that it would be much faster if they didn’t bother with such clumsy human contraptions. Madara pointed out with a touch of annoyance that he was human himself and therefore needed it. He couldn’t exactly float effortlessly like the other could. The spirit didn’t seem entirely convinced but he also did nothing to impede Madara as he snuck off with the first craft he found that might survive the ocean waters and could also be piloted by one man.

Four days they travelled across the open ocean together, days during which Madara ate fish that the spirit brought to him and drank water that rightfully should not have existed. The first night he had gone to bed after worrying aloud that the single barrel of water on this craft would not last very long. When he awoke the next morning, and every morning after that, the barrel had replenished itself as though by magic. He very carefully neither mentioned this odd happenstance nor wasted even a single drop, not wanting to risk offending the other and having this phenomenon taken away.

Madara had more than just magic water to hold his attention, however. During those four days at sea he learned many things about the water spirit which guided him. He learned that the being’s name was Tobirama and that he was ostensibly as old as the sea itself. The creatures of the sea spoke with him and the waters of the oceans answered his bidding. With but the wave of one hand he created waves to propel Madara’s schooner at speeds that shouldn’t have been possible without a much heavier wind.

No matter how many times he asked, Tobirama refused to say why he was helping Madara to find his brother. It became more and more clear that the summoning had been accidental on both their parts, that Madara’s spell didn’t have the power to call him here and Tobirama had not meant to appear where he did. They were not bound together in any manner yet still the spirit led him onwards. It made little sense but now was not the time to force answers and so he let the matter drop.

On the fourth night Tobirama quieted the waves as they crept up behind a large ship that Madara recognized as the one which had taken his brother captive, the one he’d been following for two weeks now. He stood on the bow of his schooner and glared up at the black sails above him, vowing that if his brother did not still live, every pirate on board that ship would lose their lives as well.

“Do we go to war?” Tobirama asked him in a solemn voice. Madara blinked, startled out of his blood-thirsty reverie.

“What would a water spirit know of war?” he asked. In answer he received a grin full of sharp teeth.

Getting on board the ship was easy. A swell of water rose at a twitch of Tobirama’s finger and deposited them on the deck, out of sight of whatever watch had been set up. For a being of water Tobirama was incredibly graceful as he walked, the whole of his body rolling like the seas that made his home. Strangely, he did not drip.

They crept through the quiet darkness of the ship’s underbelly until at last they came to the lowest floor where each footstep sloshed through several inches of waste and brine. Bodies filled the room, each of them chained to the wall and to each other, and several heads turned at the sound of their approach, flinching as though expecting some sort of blow or attack. Madara passed them by and continued to examine faces in search of his brother. Oddly, though they had never met before, if was Tobirama who spotted him first.

“Izuna of the line Uchiha,” Tobirama’s musical voice rang throughout the underdeck. “We have come for you.”

“Who the fuck–”

“Brother!” The moment he heard his brother’s voice Madara hurried forward to greet the younger man. Izuna gaped at him, standing next to such an otherworldly looking creature without even blinking an eye, both of them seeming to appear as though from nowhere in the middle of the night.

“How did you get here?” Izuna demanded. Madara shook his head.

“Explanations later. We have to get you out of here.”

He reached down to pick the lock on the manacle around his brother’s ankle, stopping when he was down on one knee as a voice spoke up from across the room.

“And what about the rest of us, eh?”

“Yeah, you can’t just leave us here!”

Madara looked around helplessly. There was only so much room on his schooner; he could hardly fit them all on there. He wanted to, of course. Leaving any of them to the hands of slavers was terrible. But he had come for his brother and he wasn’t about to let any of these people stop him from freeing his sibling, even if it meant he had to abandon every last one of them to their fate.

Before any fights could start, however, the decision was taken out of his hands. A hand landed on his shoulder and Madara looked up to see Tobirama grinning down at him with too many teeth again, each of them sharply pointed. In his peripheral vision he could see the way others in the room drew back from the intimidating figure as best they could but Madara found himself full of a strange desire to get closer to that grin.

“Remain here. None above deserve to continue travelling my seas. All will be freed.”

Without waiting for an answer, Tobirama turned and walked away. His footsteps did not slosh the way Madara’s had and a quick glance downward revealed that it was because he was somehow walking along the surface of the water rather than through it. Swallowing thickly, Madara turned back to the manacles on his brother’s leg and hoped no one else had noticed.

Four minutes later when the screams began, it was hard to hope no one noticed those.

Tobirama’s weapon of choice wasn’t hard to guess, even without the sound of crashing waves or the water dripping down through the planks above their heads. Thick streams sloshed down the stairway to the lowers levels. When the only lamp in the room swayed over in that direction they could plainly see the stains of red which clouded the water and those who could stumbled away from it.

Under the slightly panicked eyes of his now freed brother, Madara stood up and tossed the pin he’d used to a woman crouched nearby. She caught it with a feverish grin and set to work on her own chains as Izuna kicked out of his.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on now?” The young man demanded. “What is that…thing? He isn’t human, that’s for sure!”  Madara scowled.

“He’s a water spirit, to my knowledge, and it was only thanks to his help that I was able to find you so quit complaining.”

“What did he ask for in return? Spirits always ask for something in return.”

Madara shifted uncomfortably. Tobirama had not, in fact, asked for anything. He had noticed of course and thought it was odd but at the time he’d been more focused on finding his brother. Any ill that befell him on his journey was more than worth it if he knew Izuna was somewhere safe once more. He had no idea what the spirit would want or why he hadn’t asked for something yet but that would have to be dealt with when it came.

For now he only shook his head and pulled another small pin out from his jacket to pass around so more of the others could work on their shackles. In the far corner a mother was holding her son, weeping on his shoulder, and Madara was glad that he hadn’t had to leave any of these people behind. He would have done it in an instant, he could freely admit that, but he was certain he would have heard their cries in his nightmares for years afterward.

By the time Tobirama returned nearly half the almost-slaves had managed to free themselves and Izuna had filled his big brother in on what their journey had been like. Madara was in the middle of promising him a large meal of whatever food he wished when the frightened gasps drew his attention to the stairway.

Somewhere along the line Tobirama appeared to have picked up a torch of his own, carrying it with delicate fingers far away from his body. The light of it illuminated his otherworldly features for all to see, the sharp teeth, the too-white flesh and dual-toned hair, the silvery scales that covered his hands and feet. As the initial shock of him passed, Madara also noticed some of the others eyeing the kilt of seaweed that only barely covered certain interesting bits, leaving perfectly sculpted thighs on display.

He said nothing as he paced across the water swirling around their ankles to come to a stop at Madara’s side, looking utterly pleased with himself. Although it wasn’t really necessary at this point, Izuna evidently felt compelled to ask, “Are they all, er, dead?”

“None survived, Izuna of the line Uchiha.”

“Please stop saying my name like that…”

“The sea belongs to those who would treat her kindly.”

Raising his eyebrows up so high they threatened to merge with his hairline, Izuna turned to give his brother a look that questioned his sanity. Madara bristled. Alright, so Tobirama was a bit weird. He was a spirit, one could hardly expect him to behave by human standards. Not to mention, he had helped hadn’t he? Without him Madara may never have been able to find his brother and he very well may have been sold in to slavery.

“Your help has been invaluable,” Madara told the water spirit pointedly, giving his little brother a look of his own. Being rude at this point would help neither of them. Tobirama’s expression turned smug, as though he knew something that Madara did not, but made no reply.

As it turned out, several of the people taken captive had been sailors on other ships that this one had taken over, just enough to crew the vessel to the closest friendly port. The younger ones stayed below until the adults could clear the deck and hallways of all the dead bodies lying about, some drowned, some crushed, some impaled upon whatever sharp objects they had been crashed in to. Tobirama did not assist with the cleanup and not a single person had the courage to ask him to. He stood on the bow and looked out over the ink black waters, face turned unerringly towards the north as he described in a strangely convoluted way to an adolescent girl how to navigate only by the stars.

With his stolen schooner having drifted off, Madara had no choice but to stay with the rest of them for the next few days at sea. He could not explain, however, why Tobirama chose to stay with them as well. As far as he could tell the spirit did not sleep and he spent his days watching over the endless waves, never venturing below unless Madara asked him to come look at something. No mention was ever made of leaving and Madara refrained from bringing up the topic.

Oddly – or perhaps not so oddly – he dreaded the time when they would part ways. It wasn’t every day that a man received the help of the Other Folk, after all, although in the privacy of his own thoughts he was honest enough to admit that he had other reasons for not wanting Tobirama to go. Each moment they spent together was filled with a magnetic kind of pull. He found everything about the spirit fascinating, from his looks to the way his mind worked, from the sound of his voice to the incredible tales he had to tell. Madara found himself wishing the other were human more often than was likely proper – and for reasons that were definitely improper.

Five days after being reunited with his brother their designated lookout spotted land. Madara stared out at the smudge slowly appearing on the horizon and felt something heavy settled in his chest. It seemed their time together had too soon come to an end.

“You are not happy to see land approach,” Tobirama noted, appearing soundlessly at his side. Madara shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m grateful for all that you’ve done for me,” he murmured. “I’m just…a little disappointed that I could not spend more time in your company.”

“Have you a reason you cannot spend more time in my company?” Honestly, the mischievous tone of his voice really should have sent up some red flags. Madara’s only excuse was that he was too distracted to notice.

“You’re a spirit of the sea. Land isn’t where you belong.”

“Are you saying I am less adaptable than a human? Humans could not live among the sea until you built such creations as the one upon which you stand.”

Madara brightened momentarily at the thought of Tobirama coming ashore, then the brightness faded as quickly as it had come. “But you couldn’t stay.”

“Do you wish for me to stay at your side, Madara?”

The simple use of his name, so informal compared to the way the spirit addressed any other person, sent shivers down his spine. It was that which gave him the courage to look up at the being next to him and give an honest answer.

“Yes.”

“And if it is not possible for me to stay at your side upon the land would you be agreeable to living among the sea to be at mine?”

“I…” Madara swallowed thickly. “Yes. I’d sail the sea from end to end if you would promise to visit sometimes.” He blinked in surprise when Tobirama laughed softly.

“You misunderstand me. I do not ask you to sail the sea but to live among her as I do.”

Madara frowned. “You do know that humans can’t breathe underwater, right? That’s why we built boats in the first place.”

When Tobirama took a step closer to him, so close he could feel a surprising amount of heat coming off the other’s body, his breath caught in his throat and his heart began to pound. Madara didn’t dare to move as a silvery hand came up to caress his cheek, surprising him with the softness of the scales that decorated those thin fingers.

“Has it not come to you yet?” Tobirama asked him in a quiet voice. “Would a simple incantation such as the one you attempted have summoned a being of the Other Folk? It would not. I was curious to know who was using such powers within my waters and came to investigate – and when I saw you I knew that I could not allow you from my sight so soon.”

“What are you?” Madara whispered.

“I am the sea.”

Gaping, trying hard to wrap his mind around that, Madara blurted, “Like a god?”

“I believe that is the human term for my status, yes. You would perhaps call me the god of the sea.”

“Oh holy crap…holy crap…I…wow.”

“I am the sea, Madara, and if I wish you to have the ability to breathe within the waters as I do then the power is mine to grant you that. So I ask again: will you stay at my side? There are many things that are mine to give; long life, riches beyond your wildest imagining, powers of which you have only dreamed. All of them I would give to you.”

Finally drawing one good, deep breath, Madara asked the only question that mattered to him. “Would I still be able to visit my brother?” In return he was graced with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

“Your love of family speaks well of you and I would not dream of asking you to sacrifice that which you have worked so diligently to protect. Of course you shall see you brother again, as often as you wish.”

“So…you helped me and the only thing you ask in return is for me to live in the sea for the rest of eternity?” Giddy with feelings he could barely describe, Madara grinned wildly even as he leaned forward and crossed that tiny distance between them, pressing his body against Tobirama’s. “Maybe Izuna was right about you; you are after my soul.”

“Is that a yes?” Tobirama asked him, raising one eyebrow. The smirk forming on his lips said he already knew the answer.

“Oh yes,” Madara breathed, tilting his head up.

The god before him wasted no time bending down to capture his mouth in a kiss. Probably not a lot of people could say that they had kissed a god and Madara wondered instantly if it was because none of them had survived the experience. His heart was surely about to beat out of his chest, his lungs collapse from lack of breathing, his brain implode from the inability to process the incredible sensations rippling through him. His entire body tingled from head to toe and there was the strangest sensation of heat crawling down his throat.

When they pulled apart Madara was panting and only Tobirama’s arms around his waist kept him on his feet, knees weak and legs shaking. He opened his mouth to say something and then stopped when the other shook his head sharply.

“Let the magic settle first.” At Madara’s panicked expression he only chuckled. “You wanted to be able to breathe under the waters and now you shall do so.” It took a few minutes for the heat in his throat to fade and he hummed a few times experimentally before speaking again.

“I don’t feel any different.”

“Nor do I and yet I have been changed by our meeting in many ways. From the moment I saw you I was changed.”

“Are you always going to be this sappy?” Madara grumbled, not displeased in the slightest but embarrassed by such open affection.

Tobirama hummed, not answering either way, and pulled him up for another kiss that rattled his knees once more.

Later he would have to find a way to tell Izuna of his decision. He would need to find his brother a way home as well and of course he had every intention of accompanying him on that journey. If he had eternity at Tobirama’s side to look forward to then the god of the sea could be patiently for a couple more weeks. After that he would need to find a way to say goodbye to the very few friends he had made back home. He wasn’t close enough to any of them to make him regret his decision but they did deserved a farewell, he supposed.

All of that, however, could wait at least until they made port. Which wouldn’t be hours yet, thereby leaving them with plenty of time to bask in the beginning of the rest of their lives. Madara grinned as he took hold of Tobirama’s arms and gently began to pull him back towards the cabins. A little privacy never hurt anyone and after spending the last week watching Tobirama prance about in nothing but a tiny kilt he was more than eager to see where else kissing might lead them.

Probably somewhere wonderful.

[raendown]

Pairing: TobiramaSakura Word Count: 1848 Soulmate au: The one where the first words your soulmate says to you are tattooed on your arm at birth 

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

In general Tobirama ignored his soul mark. If he did find his soulmate someday then good and if he did not he would hardly pitch a fit. He was the sort of person who didn’t put much stock in fate or destiny. They certainly weren’t on his mind the day he actually did meet his soulmate despite no effort on his part to find them.

Sakura came in to his life like an earthquake, like a landslide that sweeps away everything you have ever known only to replace it with something entirely new. The first time he saw her she was opening the earth with her first with apparent ease, dropping three men in to a deep chasm and preventing them from attacking Hashirama while he was busy engaged with two other opponents.

Despite the fact that it was obvious she intended to aid them, Tobirama kept a close eye on this stranger who had appeared from thin air. He hadn’t even felt her signature approaching, not sensing her until she was merely a few hundred feet away, which was strange because with chakra as distinctive as hers he should have felt her from miles away. She felt like nature, like sunlight bursting through the leaves, like a brilliant fire that refused to dim. The closest thing he could compare it to was his brother’s chakra; hers felt quite similar to the way Hashirama’s did.

Keeping such a close eye on her, Tobirama bore witness to this strange woman heaving a man straight up in the air with her bare fists, tearing a tree in half with nothing but raw strength, and creating another chasm in the earth with no more than a stomp of one heel. She was impressive, he had to give her that. A small part of him noted that she was also rather beautiful but that part was easily ignored. The middle of a battle was no time to be distracted by a woman’s beauty – or any time really. He wasn’t the type to fall over his own feet for a woman the way his brother did.  

When the last enemy had fallen Tobirama saw that the strange woman was heading towards his brother and moved quickly to intercept her. She might have helped but that was hardly grounds for automatically trusting her intentions; it wouldn’t be the first time he had seen someone use this method to get close to an enemy. Hashirama said nothing as he took his place in front of the older man, so used to his protective behavior that he barely even noticed it anymore. The woman, on the other hand, stopped walking to cross her arms and level him with a very unimpressed look. Despite the cheerful pink color of her hair it was a fairly effective scowl.

“Oh by all means, stop me from healing your comrades. We can watch them bleed to death together.”

She raised one pretty little eyebrow at him and Tobirama blinked in surprise, so stunned that he let her pass by him without further comment. He turned to watch her walk straight passed Hashirama and instead crouch down next to a Senju man with a deep gash in his leg.

It had been a long time since anyone dared to speak to him in such a manner. Even those who had known him for years still spoke carefully around him for the most part, family being the exception. The way she spoke to him said she wasn’t afraid of him in the least, nor was she cowed by figures of authority. This was obviously a woman who was used to dealing with people in positions of power – if she were not one herself as well.

More surprising than her tone was her skill at healing. In general most healers were not very skilled on the battlefield. That wasn’t to say that being a healer automatically made them weak in his eyes, only that so much time went in to learning their craft that he knew they had little to spare for honing their abilities on the battlefield. By how young she appeared Tobirama would have already been impressed with her skill in combat but to see her heal so effectively and so easily, he was doubly impressed.

Neither of those things, however, were what caused him to stand still and stare at her in shock. She had already finished with one leg wound and moved on to extract a kunai from someone else’s arm before he could shake himself from the stupor which had fallen over him because the first words she had spoken to him matched the ones he had been born with on his right arm.

This woman was his soulmate.

When he finally did move, his limbs seemed strangely awkward and disconnected from himself and he noticed distantly that he couldn’t feel his fingers. He approached the woman in silence, watching her work with an interested gaze. He’d seen his brother perform enough healing to be able to tell that she was quicker than most, and more skilled too. The woman she was tending to was looking up at her as though she’d been sent by kami for a divine purpose. Tobirama took a moment to make sure he wasn’t wearing a similar expression before clearing his throat to speak.

“My apologies for my behavior a moment ago,” he murmured, ignoring the flabbergasted looks he could see his clan members sending his way. “If I might ask your name?”

He had no attention to spare for the shock whispering going on around them or his brother’s loud voice asking if he’d heard right, if Tobirama had actually just apologized to someone. All of his attention was concentrated on the stiffening of this woman’s spine and the slow way she turned around to look up at him. By her body language it was obvious that his words matched the ones which would have been embedded in her skin at birth just as she matched his.

Strangely enough Tobirama felt nervous for her reaction. He’d always thought he wouldn’t care one way or the other; he hadn’t even had any sort of inclination to look for her before.  Yet now that she’d blasted her way in to his life he felt anxious, wanting to make a good impression as though if he didn’t she would get away and this opportunity he hadn’t thought he even wanted would be lost.

She stood up slowly, apprehension in her face and worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Once she was up they both noticed how close they were standing to each other, though neither moved to step away.

“This…is going to be fun to explain to sensei,” she said, twisting her mouth in to a wry expression. Tobirama blinked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Also really fun to explain to you.”

“Ah…I don’t believe I caught your name,” Tobirama ventured. The woman blushed a little but did not shrink away.

“Sakura. My name is Haruno Sakura. And you would be Senju Tobirama; you’re a lot prettier than I thought you’d be.”

Before he could reply – although what does one say to that? – Tobirama was interrupted by his brother appearing at his shoulder with a broad grin and an easy laugh. Hashirama threw an arm around his sibling’s shoulder as he addressed Sakura.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman!” he declared. “And where did you come from, blossom?”

Tobirama allowed himself to roll his eyes only as a way to resist smacking himself in the face with one palm. Sakura seemed to agree with the sentiment. The expression she gave his brother was one a woman might give to an adorable child stumbling over themselves.

“I come from a place where people have more imagination than to call me ‘blossom’. You’re not what I expected of you either, Senju Hashirama.” A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, belying a shade of amusement underneath her exasperation for the man’s poor flirting skills. Hashirama laughed again, not insulted in the least.

“She knows both of us brother! How fun!”

“I’m embarrassed to be related to you, do you know that?”

“So mean!”

As per usual, Hashirama immediately fell in to a heavy pout, his arm falling from around the shoulders it had been hugging and his lower lip jutting out until even sad puppies would have taken pity on him. Nearly in tandem both Sakura and Tobirama levelled equally unimpressed expressions at him.

“You’re not helping your case,” Tobirama said blandly before turning back to the woman in front of him. “Ignore him for a moment. He’s always like this. You, however, you are a mystery Haruno Sakura. I didn’t even feel your chakra approaching before you arrived and that isn’t something I could say of the average shinobi.”

“I’d be surprised if you had felt me approaching,” Sakura told him. “Seeing as how I wasn’t really there.”

“Some form of teleportation jutsu? I’ve been working on something similar myself, recently. The limitations of the body flicker frustrate me.” He offered her an interested smile, barely a twitch of his lips, then paused in confusion as she politely hid her laughter behind one hand.

“I suppose you could call it teleportation, although it wasn’t distance I was traversing.”

Tobirama tilted his head to one side. She was a mystery, becoming even more so with every question half-answered, and he’d never been so quickly interested in a person before. “I don’t believe you mentioned where you’re from, Miss Haruno.” When she lowered her hand in response he wasn’t expecting the mysterious smile it revealed.

“I come from a village you both know and don’t know,” she said playfully.

“Are you always this frustrating?” he asked.

“No, of course not.” She leaned a bit closer, until all he could see was candy pink hair framing the prettiest face he’d ever seen, plump lips making love to every syllable she spoke. “Usually I’m a lot worse.”

Beside him, Hashirama came out of his slump and immediately began to laugh, a deep-bellied guffaw that echoed through the clearing they stood in. It broke the reverie Tobirama had sunk in to and brought him back to reality. Suddenly he became aware again of the people surrounding them, the wounded comrades and fallen enemies, and the fact that he was almost flirting with a perfect stranger right in the middle of it all.

All his life Tobirama had given very little thought to his soul mark and the one it would lead him to. He didn’t regret that now – in fact, he was grateful. If he’d had an inkling who he was bound for the waiting would have been all but unbearable. He had known Sakura less than ten minutes yet already he could tell that she was unique and almost couldn’t wait to begin unravelling her.

Sakura turned away from him to return to treating the wounded but by the way her eyes lingered on his over her shoulder he got the impression that she shared that sentiment.