#i like the detail of their respective clan crest on the wall

[kokushibe]

NARUTO ch. 007: Kakashi's Conclusion

[vampylovesaliens]

Pariah - p4

-echoes

Her father’s bow was still too large for her, heavy and difficult to hold steady as she took aim at the target he’d built at the base of a grassy knoll a fair distance ahead. But T’chendris-hlau was growing to be every bit as stubborn as her parents combined, and so she refused his help, determined to steady her aim on her own as she hauled back on an arrow. Just as her muscles began to protest the effort of maintaining it, she released the string and the arrow whistled across the meadow to embed itself with a crunch into the thick hide cover of the target. It was quite a bit off-center, but considering her earlier attempts hadn’t landed at all she was pleased with the improvement.

Kh’azu-hlau was similarly pleased, the warmth of his emotion reaching her even before the audible rumble of approval rolled from his throat. She could tell there was criticism--she could hear the murmurings of it in his mind, but it was the stuff of habit, his experience lending to his eye for detail. But those lessons were secondary to his desire to praise her now for her progress, and as she returned to where he sat he reached up to give her tresses a playful tug, his mandibles pulling back to give her a smile. “Well done, child. You’re determined--that’s good to see.” “Do you think I’ll be ready to Hunt with you by the time you heal?” She took a seat beside him, gesturing to his leg. He’d returned from one of his outings with a deep gash, dangerously close to the artery running through the limb. It was the first time she’d seen him truly wounded, worse than the few scuffs and scrapes that were more or less typical when he would return. He rattled irritably a moment, eyeing the dressing that covered his injury. “We’ll see. You’re still young, daughter; some prey is still beyond you.”

She started to protest, certain that she was ready to handle anything bigger than the small critters she now regularly hunted both alone and with her mother, when a flicker of movement caught her eye and she looked away to follow it, blinking curiously. There, among the hills, stood another Yautja. In the bright sunlight that made her albino eyes struggle to focus it was little more than a silhouette standing there stock-still, watching them from a distance. “Taka, it’s--” The words caught in her throat as her vision adjusted finally, the face of the Yautja in the field a hollow ruin, blood still dripping down his front though it never seemed to reach the ground, one broken mandible still attached, twitching weakly.

Kh’azu-hlau reached out, catching her arm and pulling her back to face him, letting her bury her face against his chest with a frightened hiss. “Calm yourself, child. It is just an echo.”

“A w-what?” She mumbled, unwilling to lift her face for fear the gruesome sight would be there where her father’s face was. “What happened to him? Who is he?”

“You and I bear a great gift, yes?” He smoothed a thumb over the edge of her crest, a soothing rattle humming in his throat. “...Well, in some ways it is also a curse. The echoes are part of that. This is our punishment, the way it balances itself. To use this gift as a weapon makes an echo of its victims, so we never forget, and never grow too comfortable in wielding it.”

“So..you did that to him?” She finally looked up, glad that it was her father’s face still that greeted her. He regarded her solemnly for a moment before nodding, his claws brushing along her tresses again. “Yes. And I would do it again, even knowing he’d leave an echo behind.”

She stared at him for a moment, trying to understand. Then she allowed her gaze to shift, looking out into the meadow. The dead Yautja was gone, the grass swaying lightly under the breeze. But the image remained clear in her mind, settling into an uneasy pit in her stomach that lingered even after they packed up their things to return to the camp. It chased away her appetite, even, leaving her to pick mildly at her food while her parents spoke, their words distant as she remained lost in her own thoughts. As the dead Yautja remained there in her thoughts there were details that were becoming familiar. A brand on his armor--it had once been emblazoned on his crest too, but that part of his skull had been destroyed. She had seen it before somewhere.

That evening as she sat, idly carving a bit of clay atop the hut’s roof, she felt a prickle down her spine that made her blood run cold. She lifted her gaze slowly, knowing what she’d see even before her eyes fell on the figure who stood at the edge of the camp, bloodied and silent, the edges of his form slightly blurry but the details within still starkly clear. She swallowed hard, her mandibles tight across her teeth as she forced herself to face the terrible figure. Yautja did not flee from the visage of death, her mother told her--death was part of the Hunt, the other side of the journey that was life. And it was her father who had killed him; the least she could do was to face him and understand the ‘echo’ that he had become. And then she remembered.

They had traveled all together to a trading post somewhere on the planet--it was not often that T’chendris-hlau herself got to go anywhere, so it had been a thrilling little adventure. They had not been the only Yautja visiting the trade hub though, which had set her father in particular on edge. He grew tense and gruff, keen to get his business handled quickly and get the supplies they’d come for without dawdling. T’chendris-hlau noted the difference between her parents; her father’s evasive and hostile manner contrasted with her mother’s almost bold indifference, her back straight and eyes fierce as she regarded their kin in passing, keeping her daughter close with a hand on T’chendris-hlau’s crest. They were clanless, she knew that much--not that it really meant anything to her--but her mother’s clan emblem was still obvious on her brow and it commanded respect, if nothing else.

She had not been allowed to go near the other Yautja, who were only stopping for a refuel of their ship and to grab some extra supplies, much like they were. She could only watch them anxiously from a safe distance, waiting while her parents loaded their own cargo. The other Yautja made her nervous anyway; the way their eyes focused coldly on her and her father--it made her feel as if she’d committed some terrible crime despite never seeing them before, despite being only a child still. Their minds, as much as she dared to touch in curiosity, roiled with dark feelings that made her afraid. Her parents had told her than she and her father were strange among their people, that their difference, their gift, their mutation, was something regarded with fear and uncertainty by the rest of their people. Kh’azu-hlau had long since accepted his status as an outsider and even embraced it now. But T’chendris-hlau did not know enough to have done that for herself yet, and to have her own kin despite her on sight was not something any child could comprehend.

But as she waited she noticed something, another child among the group that was still getting their affairs in order. A pup around her age, she could only roughly guess--he paced away from the others while she watched, picking up a stick and experimentally swinging it as he moved alongside the wall of the docking bay, play-sparring with his shadow. T’chendris-hlau rocked back on her heels, torn by a yearning for companionship and the urge to obey her parents. The childlike yearning won out in the end and she cautiously trotted away to approach the other child. His eyes flashed warily when she appeared, timid and awkward as she bowed her head in a greeting, but he was young--too young to understand that she was wrong--and so after the initial surprise at her unexpected appearance he broke the stick in half and tossed part of it to her, the two of them easily engaging in a playful battle.

For a moment she felt a warmth in her, a sense of...almost relief, in a way--she only had her parents, after all. She had never had a friend outside of them. And while they had only just met it was impossible not to think that maybe she and this other pup could find a way to be friends even with distance between them. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad if his clan only got to know her own fam--

The illusion was shattered all too soon, the clack of their sticks having drawn the wrong attention. She only had a moment to notice the large figure approaching before a great claw backhanded her, sending her small and fragile form flying against the wall while the great Yautja bellowed furiously. “Away from my pup, little freak!” There may have been more to follow but she didn’t hear it, the Yautja promptly struck down as her mother appeared with a howl of rage, bodily tackling the other female down. T’chendris-hlau curled up tight, her head throbbing from the strike she’d been given, and she peered through the narrow space between her arms to see the pup she’d been playing with being ushered away to rejoin his clan. Nearby the enraged snarls and bellows of her mother and her attacker told her they were still embroiled in furious combat, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the jagged blade that sprouted from the end of a spear, held by one of the other clans’ warriors. He drew it back, ready to skewer M’tendris as she fought the other Yautja who dared to strike her child, and T’chendris-hlau lifted her head to call a warning to her mother as she realized what was about to happen.

It never did, though. Instead there was a strange...warping sensation, as if the world around her shook and then was steadied again, a deep thump that was half sound and half sensation rocking her, followed by a hideous crunch and a spray of glowing blood that spattered the ground alongside her. But before she could even look, her father’s arms were around her, lifting her from the ground and barking a stream of curses that were lost in a cacophony of horrified and infuriated snarls that faded behind them as he bolted for the ship. Whatever had happened, M’tendris had used it as a chance to get free of her own battle, the rage in her eyes replaced with a strangely shaken expression that only softened when Kh’azu-hlau pushed their child into her arms once they were aboard the ship, taking his own place at the controls to get them away from the port as quickly as possible.

The echo now stood there before her, the gory crater that had once been his face evident of how his life had halted. He’d been ready to kill her mother--who had only been fighting to defend her child in the first place, and so her father had killed him first. T’chendris-hlau grumbled uneasily as it all fell into place, tearing her gaze away finally to look back at the clay block in her hand. This echo was tied to her somehow--she’d been there when he died, and so her mind was linked to the event as her father’s was. The solemn tone in his words still stuck with her, that he would do it again if he had to. She had a sudden sense that it was not a new event for him, and with that came a morbid curiosity.

How many echoes existed that she COULDN’T see? Never had he indicated that he saw things that troubled him, but she had noticed times when his mind seemed more reserved, his thoughts harder to reach and too blurry to interpret. She thought of his injured leg, and how he evaded the topic when she asked how it had happened. Was whatever--or WHOever--that had wounded him now just another echo?

[raendown]

Chapter 43

Finally getting back to all these requests that got shoved aside for my Soulmate AU Collection. Latest chapter under the cut, or follow the link to AO3!

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Soulmate AU: The one where you have a tattoo somewhere on your body representing what your soulmate is passionate about

There wasn’t a day that went by in the last few years that Madara did not envy his brother. Izuna was blessed with one soul mark, only one, and it was very clear what it was. The naginata that ran down his brother’s arm, handle patterned with flowers, could not have more obviously been a tribute to the crazy woman Touka. Touka was a simple creature whose biggest passion in life was the thrill of battle. Her passion was easy to interpret, as was his own brother’s love for family, manifesting itself as a pair of clasped hands on the bottom of Touka’s left foot.

It was most common for someone to have only one soul mark, advising them in advance what their soulmate’s truest passion would be. It was rarer for a person to manifest two but it was possible. Hashirama had two, a blade on one palm and a heart on the other. Most people’s soul marks developed early on in life while their soulmate grew and realized who they are as a person. In both of these respects Madara was unique, unheard of. He had multiple soul marks, many more than two, and they continued to appear as he grew older.

By the time the Senju and Uchiha had made peace and built a village together, Madara was twenty nine and bore a total of fourteen soul marks. He had been delighted as a ten year old to discover a rather lovely sword on his forearm. He was startled a couple of years later to discover a white feline shape on his hip devoid of any other details. At the base of his spine there grew a tree with reaching branches, appearing when he was fifteen. At eighteen he acquired a pair of hands making the Inu hand sign. Now at twenty-seven he had a second sword on the opposite forearm, a beaker, what looked like a stylized wave of water, no less than four different books, a row of children’s shadows all holding hands, and a small clutch of blueberries, of all things.

The most recent soul mark had only shown up a fortnight ago. He had awakened to find a tongue of flame with a leaf in its center decorating the base of his neck. Rather than smile – because it was obvious that this was a representation of the newly coined Will of Fire, which meant his soulmate must reside in Konoha – Madara had scowled instead. What the bloody hell was wrong with his soulmate? Could they not pick something? Were they so flighty that their interests changed every few years?

Just thinking about it continued to put him in a foul mood, even now. He had accompanied his brother to spar on the training grounds at the eastern edge of the village, hoping to burn off some of his frustration. Instead he found himself sitting on a tree stump and scowling jealously at Izuna while he sparred with Tobirama. Hashirama had been entertaining himself working on fine-tuning a new Wood Style jutsu, but upon noticing his best friend’s gloom he abandoned the effort to come over and be as annoying as possible. Or possibly to attempt to make him feel better. It was amazing how often those two things coincided.

“Are you sure you won’t tell me what’s wrong?” Hashirama asked him, grinning widely and bumping their shoulders together. Madara sneered and pushed him back in the opposite direction, then he stood up and stomped off to walk along the perimeter of the training grounds. He felt restless but was reluctant to leave. He hadn’t felt comfortable leaving Izuna and Tobirama alone ever since the incident when the blasted Senju had almost killed his brother.

Hashirama trotted along behind him, gathering flowers from the tree vines and weaving a crown as they walked. Madara kept a watch on him from the corner of his eye. There was no way he was wearing that floral idiocy when it was finished. Just let Hashirama try.

He stopped walking when his eyes fell upon a blueberry bush. His nose wrinkled and his hand twitched to reach down and trace the small picture on the back of his ankle. It was an easy compulsion to resist, though, so instead he knelt down and tugged some of the berries off their stems.

“Blueberries!” Hashirama exclaimed, hurrying to his side to look at his spoils. “You should give those to Tobirama!” Madara looked at his friend like he had grown a third limb.

“Why on earth would I give them to Tobirama?” he asked.

Hashirama beamed. “Because they’re his favorite of course! He loves blueberries!” Madara blinked at him while his ankle seemed to tingle from where it was hidden by his wrappings.

“Does he?” he murmured quietly. The small indigo berries rolled across his palm as he tilted his hand absently from side to side.

“Yes,” Hashirama said. “The last time I found blueberries I took a whole basket full of them home and he was so pleased he wasn’t even mad that I got home two days later than I should have been!” He stopped and seemed to think for a moment. “Actually, I still haven’t told him that the elders rejected the idea of him training children from other clans again. Maybe I should take some myself to soften the blow later.” With that the leader of their village knelt down and began to strip the bush of its fruit, flower crown cocked rakishly on his own head. Madara was blinking again.

“He wants to train children from other clans?” he asked. That was the first he had heard of this.

Hashirama had procured a small bag from who-knows-where in his robes. He spoke while he filled it bit by bit. “Tobirama adores children and he really likes teaching. He’s good at it too! You wouldn’t think so but he’s very patient when he’s teaching someone. But he doesn’t think it’s in keeping with the spirit of the peace between clans if he only trains Senju children. He wants to build a team of kids from different clans and see how well all their strengths and weaknesses can be melded together, played off each other. The elders think he’s crazy.” He stood up and grinned childishly to himself as he pinched his little baggie closed.

“So he’s…invested in the village then?” Madara asked carefully. “I thought peace between the clans was your dream, not his.” Hashirama looked surprised.

“Tobirama worked even harder to build the village than I did! He’s always wanted peace too, he just never thought it was possible. Now that we have the village – well. It was him I was thinking about when I came up with the Will of Fire. I truly believe he would die to protect any person in this village. That’s just who he is. Despite what people think, my brother is a very passionate person.”

Hashirama turned to continue walking, eyes peeled for another treat-laden bush. Madara went after slowly, his mind racing. Why he was even considering what he was considering was beyond him. The very idea of it was ludicrous. But what if it were true? He couldn’t take the risk of not knowing.

“I’ve never heard Tobirama described as ‘passionate’ before,” he hedged, trying to encourage his friend to continue talking about the man without seeming to. Hashirama, of course, was more than happen to continue babbling. He was very good at babbling. Occasionally it was even useful.

“He is though!” Hashirama said. “He’s not very open with people that aren’t in his inner circle, but once you get close to him he’s incredibly warm and he would do absolutely anything for you. And it’s not just people! He’s passionate about so many things! When he loves someone or something, he loves with his whole heart. Like his research and his jutsu – and his summons! You’d think we had feline siblings the way he takes care of them!”

The crazy idea was starting to sound less and less crazy, which of course was the craziest part of all. All of the marks on his body were swirling before his mind’s eye like a checklist, ticking themselves off one by one as his friend made mention of them. He had always thought of his soulmate as frivolous, skipping from passion to passion and leaving behind the remnants of their obsessions as empty marks on his skin. Yet, what if the opposite were true? What if his soulmate were simply collecting more interests, gathering more things to include in their overflowing love for life and all its intricacies?

And who better to gift him with the mark of a cresting wave than the most famous Water jutsu user in all of Fire country? Who better to mark him with the hand sign Inu, commonly associated with Water release, than the man who created new jutsu in his spare time? Who better to stamp him with an image of a beaker than the most prolific scientist in their little fledgling village? And who else would brand him with books than the man who had a bigger library than the actual Konoha Library? Madara had seen inside Tobirama’s home only once and he hadn’t moved past the door, waiting impatiently for Hashirama to leave with him, but he had seen enough to know that nearly every available wall was covered with bookshelves.

There was only one thing that he still needed to know in order to confirm his wild suspicions. And he had no idea how to ask without informing Hashirama what he was thinking of. If he was wrong he did not want his friend to know that he had considered the more-possible-by-the-minute possibility. He was still considering how to phrase the question when Hashirama turned to him with a brilliant smile.

“I don’t see any more blueberries so I’m going to take these home and cool them,” he said. “I’ll tell Tobi tonight about the elders being stupid and then I’ll make him feel better with chilled berries.” He waved and Madara lifted a lazy hand as the brunet leapt off towards home.

Turning, he peeked out through the trees separating him from the training field, noting that Izuna and Tobirama seemed to be close to ending their spar. They were well matched in skill as long as the Senju did not employ his hiraishin speed, but Izuna also had less stamina. If it came down to a tie between them Tobirama was usually able to win simply by outlasting the younger man. His brother’s face was drenched in sweat and he was obviously heaving for breath. In contrast, Tobirama’s movements were as smooth as they had been at the beginning of the spar and he breathed no more heavily than light exercise might merit. It was therefore unsurprising when Izuna was pinned less than a minute later, tapping out against his opponent’s arm to signal his surrender.

Their voices were muffled by distance as the two of them spoke lightly afterwards. Madara watched from afar, taking note of how relaxed their body language was and how one corner of the Senju’s mouth actually quirked up infinitesimally at one point. He wondered when the two of them had become friends and how he hadn’t seen it. Izuna, it seemed, had forgiven his near death experience.

When Madara slipped out of the trees and walked towards them he noticed Tobirama’s face sliding back in to perfect neutrality, the way he always saw it. Hashirama’s word played in his mind and he wondered if maybe the man would ever smile around him, if they could learn to accept each other and become close. This morning the very idea would have made him laugh incredulously. Now it sounded strangely nice.

“Brother,” Izuna greeted him happily, still trying to regulate his breathing. “We were just finished. Will you walk with us?”

“Actually I wished to speak with Tobirama–” he looked to the man in question “–if that is alright?”

If he was surprised by the request it didn’t show. Tobirama nodded and gestured for Izuna to go on without him. Izuna waved to them both and set off at a light jog which had petered out in to a brisk walk by the time he reach the path beyond the chain link safety barrier. Madara shook his head and made a mental note to do stamina building exercises with his brother. Then he turned to the one he had questions for.

Only, the questions wouldn’t come. The problem was the same as if was with Hashirama – if he was wrong he didn’t want this man to know he had considered it. It would be mortifying, especially considering how coldly he had treated him up until now. The silence stretched as they stared at each other, his brain scrambling to find the right words. When they didn’t come he knew he had to say something and he leapt on to the first excuse that came to mind.

“I want you to teach me a water jutsu.” He barely hid his wince as Tobirama lifted one eyebrow. Nervousness made him continue speaking, spilling half-truths and word vomit. “Our younglings often practice clan jutsu within the compound and I’m getting tired of the property damage. Knowing a water jutsu would make putting the fire out a lot quicker.”

Tobirama tilted his head to one side and his eyes seemed to stare in to the middle distance. Madara scowled defensively. Even if he was lying he didn’t want to be called out on it. He was surprised when the other man noticed his expression and made a placating gesture.

“I am trying to think of which to suggest,” he explained. “Many of them would not be suited to you.”

Madara opened his mouth to speak but stopped, fascinated as he watched Tobirama’s eyes light up and his expression settle in to something gentler than he had ever seen as the man ostensibly slipped in to teacher persona.

“Your nature is fire, which is directly against the nature of the jutsu you are trying to learn,” Tobirama said. “This would make a great deal of them difficult for you and counterproductive in the situation you wish to use it for. Are there many open bodies of water in your clan compound? I haven’t been inside since it was built.” He was kind enough not to mention that he had not gone within because most Uchiha would look at him with suspicion if he went there.

“Ah, bodies of water?” Madara asked.

“Rain barrels, water troughs, wells, that sort of thing.”

He gave it some thought. “I don’t think so. Most of our water comes from the plumbing system which Hashirama never got around to telling me the origins of. Quite clever, that.”

“Thank you. Hmm. Without open water available it will be harder for you. I know a few jutsu I believe you could learn even without having water as your nature but I would need to train you with moving the water first.”

Madara listened, he really did, but after the other man stopped talking all he said was, “Wait, you created the plumbing system?”

“I drew up the plans for it,” the Senju admitted. Madara wondered why he was even surprised. Who else could have come up with something so brilliant, so intricate yet simple? He had not had indoor plumbing when he had lived in the rough encampment before they built the village. Now he couldn’t imagine life without it. Hot showers were a luxury he had never experienced but had quickly grown addicted to.

He watched the other man make a circular motion with his hand and, without even weaving a hand sign, was able to procure a small globe of water in his palm. It was the mark of a truly powerful shinobi who could manipulate their element without a single hand sign.

“It would be best if you started by learning to shape the element in its pure form. From there it will be easier for you to learn a functional jutsu and call the water to you from your surroundings such as plants or even the air if the day is foggy.” He sat down cross-legged on the grass and gestured for Madara to do the same. “If you would, the first step would be to infuse this with your chakra.” Madara reached out and pressed his hand within the sphere of liquid, allowing his chakra to seep out and fuse with the water.

Two hours later he had gained an appreciation for every person who learned jutsu outside of their given natures. It was incredibly difficult to manipulate an element he did not connect with. He found himself quite surprised with how patient Tobirama was. He was not overtly encouraging but he never once complained when Madara ruined the water sphere, simply gathered a new one and tried to phrase his instructions in a more helpful manner. It was hard work but Madara had succeeded in learning to move the water around him at will. When he infused it with his chakra he was able to use that as a point of communication, a conduit for his will, and he was able to make the water dance and sway drunkenly through the air. It wasn’t nearly as graceful as Tobirama’s skill with it but he still felt it was a great accomplishment. He was oddly proud of himself for it.

“I believe that is enough for today,” Tobirama eventually spoke up. “It’s getting late. If you wish, I have time tomorrow that I could spend showing you how to pull the water from your surroundings. That would be the next step you need to master.”

“I lied,” he burst out, stopping the other man’s movements. “I didn’t need to learn a water jutsu.” Tobirama narrowed his eyes, the calm gentle look slipping off his face and quickly morphing in to a familiar expression of ire.

“Then what, pray tell, was the point of wasting my time in such a manner?”

Madara let his eyes fall to the side as he gathered the courage that had failed him earlier.

“I was trying to ask you something else and could not find the words. I was trying to ask…” he sighed and forced himself to make eye contact, drawing himself up and calling upon the ingrained Uchiha arrogance that was usually so good at projecting. “I wanted to ask what your soul mark is.”

“That is a very private question.” Tobirama’s eyes narrowed even more. “What reason could you possibly have for wanting to know?”

Madara stared back at him, false arrogance creating a buffer to hide the writhing in his stomach. After so much time thinking about it he had realized that there really was no way to ask without giving the real reason. Saying he thought it was someone else wouldn’t work; he would have simply sent them instead. If he wanted to know he would need to bite the bullet. He took a deep breath.

“I had a conversation with your brother today which led me to believe that we might be soulmates.” The words were heavy on his tongue. “I wished to see your mark to confirm the theory.”

Obviously that was not what the Senju had been expecting. Tobirama blinked at him, his narrowed eyes widening in shock. Then he looked away and his entire body seemed to pause, as if he wanted to think that through fully before reacting one way or another. Madara supposed that was a good sign, that he wasn’t being rejected outright. He tried his best to wait patiently while the genius sat in front of him considered what he had said. It was hard. Patience had never been his strongest suit and he was especially bad at waiting when the subject matter was important to him. That he might have found his soulmate was very important.

Finally Tobirama took a slow breath in and made eye contact with him again. There was hesitance in his face but no disgust or anger.

“If we are?” he asked. Madara fought not to squirm under that gaze.

“Then I would be interested in getting to know you better.” Again, it was a half-truth. He would be interested in getting to know Tobirama better if they did turn out to be soulmates. But what he truly hoped was for them to bond. He hoped that they would get along well and fall in love. There was absolutely no way he was saying that out loud, however. Courage would only take him so far and he drew the line at stupidity. A good shinobi never showed their vulnerabilities, after all.

Tobirama nodded and shifted in order to rise to his feet. Curious, Madara followed suit.

“You’ll pardon me if this seems forward but to show you my soul mark I would need to remove my shirt.” Tobirama didn’t wait for an answer. He was turning away and reaching for the hem of his shirt before he was even finished his sentence. Madara was not prepared for what he discovered underneath that loose fabric.

The mark was huge. It covered the entirety of that pale back, curling over the top of his shoulders and stretching all the way down to brush along his waistline. It nearly wrapped around both of his sides as well. A set of beautifully detailed wings were depicted, patterned in black and white and golden brown. The feathers almost seemed to ruffle with every shift of the muscles they decorated. He would have looked like an angel from a children’s story if Madara had not immediately recognized the design on those wings.

“That pattern,” he said quietly. “I know it. It’s from the first hawk I ever tamed.” At his words Tobirama spun around and looked at him in amazement.

“Hawk?” he asked in a surprisingly faint voice. Madara nodded.

“I enjoy hawking in my spare time. It’s not something I talk about often because it’s not an activity that I’ve found many people are interested in. But it is my favorite pastime.” He felt a little awkward as he tried not to stare at Tobirama’s exposed chest. He’d never seen the other man without a shirt on before. It appeared he had been missing out.

Tobirama fiddled with the shirt in his hands, twisting the material in his fingers as he asked, “And your mark? I have always wondered what might represent me. What does yours look like?”

“Which one?” Madara snorted.

“Ah, pardon?”

“Senju, I’ve got fourteen blasted marks from you. I’m a walking canvas. And it’s your fault.” His words might have sounded upset but they were softened by the smile that was fighting its way on to his face. He tried to stop it with limited success. The shock in the other man’s face was just too amusing.

“Fourteen!?”

Later, Madara would blame it on the high of finally finding the one he had been looking for all his life. It was the lone excuse that could explain why his mouth suddenly spouted what could only be described as flirtatious drivel.

“Mm. And if you’re very nice to me perhaps I’ll even let you try to find them all.”

Realizing what he had said, Madara turned to walk away, leaving the impression of confidence when truly he was mortified by his own words. What had gotten in to him, he would love to know. Still, it was satisfying that he managed to get almost entirely across the field before Tobirama managed to pick up his jaw and chase after him. He heard his name being called but did not respond at first; he was still waiting for his blush to wane. Finally the younger man caught up to him and they walked side by side.

“Soulmates,” Tobirama murmured quietly to himself. From the corner of his eye, Madara could see a vaguely pleased expression. “Thank you. For approaching me. This promises to be…interesting.” Madara laughed because that was the biggest understatement he had ever heard in his life.

“Interesting indeed.” He shook his head. “If we don’t manage to kill each other we still have to fend off each other’s family. Are you sure this is going to be worth it?”

“Hmph. I should think you were used to dealing with Hashirama by now,” Tobirama countered.

“And you, Izuna.” He thought about how relaxed and open they had both been while training together, how they were walking with a careful amount of space between them now. “Are you sure you don’t want to run for the hills now?”

Tobirama gave him a strange look that did odd things to his stomach.

“Not until I’ve found those fourteen marks,” he said with a wink.

Madara was still standing there spluttering when Tobirama’s laughter faded down the path.