Dichotomy Paradox
The Uchiha have repurposed the east wing of their main shrine and turned it into a sanatorium of sorts for the patients who don’t need as intensive care as the worst cases. Here, they are able to recover in the tranquil quiet of the shrine, receiving plenty of sunlight and attention from the priests and priestesses. It’s a good enough idea, and though Tobirama isn’t thrilled by how the priests are exposed to the disease, he understands that the Uchiha are just too short-staffed to be making that many exceptions.
Unsurprisingly, his presence garners him plenty of unwanted attention while he tries to do his job and see to the patients, parsing through their individual charts and running tests. He is in his less obtrusive blues today as opposed to the typical Senju colours he’d arrived in, but it’s a losing battle when his pale colouring makes him stand out even more starkly in the sea of dark hair and dark eyes. Besides, the famous Uchiha blue is a much deeper shade owing to the fact that it is derived from the dye of true indigo plants which are notoriously difficult to cultivate. Tobirama’s efforts to not draw quite as much attention are for naught unfortunately.
He sighs silently and sticks to his work, resolutely keeping his chakra tamped and face carefully blank, refusing to react to any snide remarks or overly difficult patients. The Uchiha have struggled to allow any Senju in so close, but Tobirama seems to pose a special challenge to them. Where he is not met with shellshocked terror, it is indignant rage instead. Needless to say, this endeavour has been a tiring one.
“That’s enough for today,” he says to the old woman whose lungs he’d been listening to, folding up the stethoscope. “Well done. You don’t sound as congested as the last time I saw you, which is a good sign. Has the new prescription been giving you any trouble?”
“No,” she answers, dark eyes fixed on his face contemplatively.
Tobirama nods, skirting around meeting her gaze directly out of habit by now. “Alright. Stick to it regularly then. You should keep going on those daily strolls for fresh air, but make sure to not overdo it. Your body still needs to focus a lot of its energy towards recovering fully.”
The woman—a surreptitious glance at her chart says her name is Kiyo—nods along, looking clearly distracted. As soon as he’s done speaking, she leans forward slightly and says, “You know, it’s a real shame that you had to be a Senju.”
‘This again,’ Tobirama thinks to himself dryly. Outwardly, he says, “I see.”
“Yes,” Kiyo confirms. “It’s a waste of such a handsome face.”
This is new. Tobirama blinks and says again, more uncertainly this time, “I…see.”
Kiyo doesn’t seem satisfied with his reaction, frowning at him as though he has outright accused her of lying by reacting less than enthusiastically. “It’s true,” she insists before turning to the occupants of her neighbouring beds. “Don’t you think so too?”
Momohana—a kunoichi in her late thirties—peers at him thoughtfully before shrugging and nodding. “It’s the cheekbones, I think.”
He resists the urge to touch his face in response, looking uncertainly between the pair and wondering whether he’d be damaging chances at peace with his rudeness if he just walks away now. He only has two more patients on his list for today; surely he can come back for them later when this line of discussion is less likely to be picked up again.
The old man on Kiyo’s other side—Riku—snorts and shakes his head. “You’re both missing the obvious. It’s his eyes,” he declares, pointing to illustrate. “Deep red like that, and the blessing is wasted on a Senju.” He sighs and folds his arms. “The heavens truly work in mysterious ways.”
“Blessing,” Tobirama repeats slowly.
“Blessing,” comes a confirmation from behind him. Tobirama turns to face the chief priestess of the shrine who he has only really met once in passing during their initial introduction to the sanatorium. Uchiha Chinatsu smiles at him, the lines of her face deepening. “A crimson so deep, as though Amaterasu herself stole away a bit of her light at sunrise and hid it in your eyes. We believe it is a sign of the goddess’s favour. A mark of strength, intelligence, and fortune.” Her lips twitch and she adds, “And beauty, I suppose.”
Tobirama’s eyebrow twitches before he can stop it, but he makes the effort to nod along out of respect for their beliefs and resolutely does not ask what good the blessing is if it doesn’t really deter any Uchiha from trying to plant a kunai in his carotid artery at the earliest opportunity. Perhaps they might admire the eye colour he inherited arbitrarily from his mother as he bleeds out. How is beauty useful to him if he can’t even weaponize it properly?
“Are you finished with your rounds?” Chinatsu asks him politely, changing the subject.
“Almost,” he replies. “Did you need something from me, Chinatsu-san?”
Folding her hands together in her sleeves, she says, “My apprentices have recently made a new blend of tea now that summer is in full swing. I am about to brew a pot. Would you like to join me?”
Tobirama blinks. He looks down at his notes and hesitates. “Thank you for the offer, but I do not wish to neglect my duties.”
“Tobirama-sama,” Itsumi—who is on the morning shift with him today—interrupts, “I do not mind finishing up for you. I’m already done with my share anyways.”
She clearly understands that it’s in their interests to not turn away Chinatsu. Smart girl. Tobirama gives her a grateful nod and passes off his notes without fuss. After all, Chinatsu holds considerable status within the clan as the wife of a former clan head and the grandmother of Madara and Izuna. She may serve as chief priestess of the main shrine now, but she probably still has influence over some of the Elders of the clan.
“Then, if it is not too much trouble, I would be honoured to join you, Chinatsu-san,” he says, dipping his head slightly.
Chinatsu smiles and gestures for him to follow her as she leads the way out of the sanatorium wing, her chakra rippling ever so slightly with a minor jutsu application on the way. The air around her heats up by the barest amount but that’s enough for Tobirama to guess that she just elevated her own body temperature, probably as a quick way to purge any bacteria she may have picked up during her visit. Tobirama himself achieves a similar effect through repurposing iryo-ninjutsu techniques.
With fevers being a common symptom, they can’t really use the raising of internal temperature as a means to fight the bacteria more than the body’s natural attempts, but it’s a good preventative measure. It does require a great deal of control which doesn’t seem to come naturally to a lot of fire-natured people though, but that’s just a testament to Chinatsu’s skill despite her never having served as a kunoichi in official capacity.
As they enter the shrine proper, the halls are noticeably quieter, dark wooden walls marking the way. Chinatsu glides along on almost silent feet, looking as though she is floating in clear display of her upper-class background.
“Did you ever think you would end up a priestess when you were young?” Tobirama asks her.
Chinatsu smiles at him over her shoulder, eyebrows lifted. “Not at all,” she admits. “I wouldn’t have guessed even in my wildest dreams. I grew up in the capital, you know—it’s not exactly the kind of place that fosters piety and ascetism.” There is a quiet sort of laughter in her voice as she adds, “I don’t think I realised the role I’d ended up in until my husband had died and Tajima took over after him, leaving me to retire from my previous duties so I could take over my current ones.”
“Even despite the training?” Tobirama asks because one doesn’t exactly become a chief priestess overnight without any clue as to what the job entails. There had to have been training involved.
“The education is thorough,” Chinatsu acquiesces, “but you never think you’ll need to apply it until you do. Usually, it falls to the clan head who retires after all. It’s just that…”
When she trails off, Tobirama guesses, “Most of them don’t make it to retirement.”
Smiling wryly, she agrees, “No, they do not. The position then passes onto the next most eligible candidate as soon as they are deemed prepared enough depending on how thorough their education is.”
“Interesting.”
“It is our honour to serve the deity who bestowed upon us our sacred gift and benevolently continues to maintain life itself. Who better to show the clan’s piety than its representatives?” Chinatsu says.
Tobirama inclines his head. “I suppose.”
Two young apprentices kneel by the doors and slide them open as they approach, admitting them into what Tobirama assumes is Chinatsu’s personal reception room. For the summer, there is a suitable ikebana display at the centre of the table set up by the open shoji doors that lead into the courtyard of the inner shrine, two cushions already placed on opposite sides of it with a tea set placed by one end, ready for serving.
“I apologise if you were expecting a formal ceremony,” Chinatsu says, turning to face him with a polite dip of her head. “I hope this humble service will suffice for now, but perhaps in the future you will be do me the honour of treating you with the full extent of our hospitality.”
Tobirama bows back. “It would be my pleasure.”
Smiling, she waves him over to his seat, waiting until he is seated before doing the same herself. “It is not everyday that we receive such an interesting guest. It is even rarer for the guest to be on these grounds. You must forgive my curiosity, but I could hardly let slip the opportunity to engage you in conversation at least once, Tobirama-dono.”
“Please, you need not refer to me so formally. You are my elder,” he says, graciously accepting his teacup with both hands.
“How polite.” Lips twitching, she relents, “Tobirama-kun then. I must say, you are quite the surprising young man.”
So, this is an appraisal. She’s gauging him for herself since he poses the biggest threat to the Uchiha currently. Tobirama can deal with that at least.
When he stays quiet, she continues, “Such a skilled medic despite your youth and strength as a shinobi. Is it common for all Senju to be so well-rounded?”
Tobirama inhales the blend of floral and citrusy scents wafting from the tea. “Not particularly. I just happened to take interest when I was young after seeing my brother’s abilities up close. I don’t serve as a medic in any official capacity really; I’m more involved in research and development.”
Chinatsu blinks, surprised. “Truly? And what is it that you research?”
“The intersection of physics and chakra theory mostly,” he shrugs, “but I dabble in just about everything.”
“A scientist.” She sounds amused as she comments, “We don’t get many of those at the shrine. Are you religious, Tobirama?”
He pauses at this. “I don’t worship,” he admits slowly, “but I do not disbelieve.”
“No?” Chinatsu arches a brow.
“The existence of souls and spirits can be scientifically proven,” Tobirama tells her. “Deities of some sort aren’t a far stretch away from that.”
“I suppose not,” the priestess agrees, nudging the plate of sweets towards him absently. “Still, you are not what I expected, Tobirama-kun. Perhaps I should just be upfront with you.” Setting her cup down, she folds her hands together and fixes him with sharp eyes, gaze unreadable. “Why have you agreed to help us?”
“Because it benefits us,” he answers immediately. “Because our honourable clan head desires to not have to fight in a war anymore, and this could be our only chance of building enough goodwill that you might want the same. Because Madara-sama asked and anija could not turn him away after that lest he never ask for anything again.”
Chinatsu’s dark eyes are intense as they bore into Tobirama for a long moment. Finally, she decides, “Your brother must be as strange as you.”
And to that Tobirama promptly replies, “He’s far stranger, I promise you.”
The priestess’s mouth twitches into a smile at that, a glimmer of something more sincere in it than her previous ones. “Do you believe there can truly be peace between our clans, Tobirama-kun?”
“I do.” ‘I’ve seen it,’ he doesn’t say. Instead, he sets his cup down and turns her question back to her. “Do you?”
Chinatsu blinks twice and her gaze lowers to her cup, clouded with contemplation. She hums low in her throat and then says, “The very definition of peace is reliant on the meaning of conflict and vice versa. The stories and scriptures tell us the same thing: nature exists in balance and harmony, and destruction and creation are simply part of the cyclical phases of life. Of course, it is our sacred duty to maintain harmony as best as we know how, but it is also true that there is a certain inevitability in the forces that be. If we can have one, then it is a given that sooner or later, we must have the other.” She smiles wryly. “Thought whether it will be in our lifetime or even within the next fifty is the question.”
“There’s no way to be sure of that.” Tobirama looks out to the courtyard. “Like you said, our duty is to maintain harmony as best as we know how. That is all we can do.”
“Perhaps.” Chinatsu’s smile becomes sly and she glances at him through her lashes. “Are you always this interesting a conversationalist, Tobirama-kun?”
Tobirama doesn’t snort but it’s a near thing. “Only in the right company, Chinatsu-san.”
“I am honoured then,” she says, chuckling. “You must join me again. Next time, I shall conduct the proper ceremony as is befitting of your status.”
He dips his head. “You need only ask for me.”
Chinatsu sighs, though she looks almost charmed. “If only those difficult grandsons of mine were so obliging. Getting them to visit is like pulling teeth.”
Tobirama does not tell her that his own grandmother often complains of his tendency to do the same. Instead, he asks, “Do they give you trouble?”
“They wouldn’t be themselves if they didn’t,” she replies dryly. “Madara is easier of the two; he has a soft heart for his family and has a hard time saying no when asked directly. Izuna, however, is much more slippery. Getting him to do anything he doesn’t want to is akin to herding cats.”
This time, he does snort. “I am unfortunately aware.”
Chinatsu laughs. “You would be,” she agrees. “Izuna thinks of me as a conniving old bat, so he stays away.” After a beat, she adds, “Not that he’s wrong, of course; it’s just disrespectful that he’s so obvious about it.”
Perhaps being emotionally unsubtle runs in the family, Tobirama thinks privately. Outwardly, he changes the subject, “I frequent our shrine quite often when I am home.”
“You do?” Chinatsu cocks her head.
“I find kyudo to be an effective form of meditation and it is the only archery range where I am likely to find any privacy. I spent quite a while learning etiquette under the chief priestess there when I was a child and she introduced me to the practice.”
“Well, you are welcome to our kyudojo if you ever wish to use it,” Chinatsu offers.
Tobirama’s brows rise. “Thank you for your kind offer.”
“Kind? Oh no,” she waves her hand, eyes gleaming, “think of it as returning the favour for not being boring. If you stop interesting me, I will simply rescind the offer.”
What a strange woman. Tobirama inclines his head. “Noted.”
“Good.”
Izuna stares at the scene unfolding in his back garden, feeling distinctly wrongfooted as he watches Senju Tobirama allow a grinning Kagami to cling to his knees and stand on his feet while Tobirama walks them across the surface of the koi pond, one hand gently resting atop the crown of Kagami’s head and mouth moving with words that clearly have the boy completely enraptured.
“What the fuck,” Izuna proclaims out loud because the thought needs saying so this can feel real.
He knew theoretically that Tobirama had met little Kagami and that they both held positive opinions about the interaction for whatever reason, but it’s completely different to actually see Senju Tobirama behave so gently around an Uchiha child. The bastard is even smiling. He looks downright endeared.
Kagami looks up at the Senju, beaming, and Tobirama smooths down his curls like it’s completely instinctive, eyes curving slightly as his smile becomes more pronounced.
Izuna’s mouth curls into a sneer. “Revolting,” he declares, turning away decisively.
Madara snorts from his desk, not bothering to look up from whatever scroll he’s bent over. “Be grateful you didn’t have to witness their reunion at least. Kagami cried. I’d worry about his attachment to the Senju if the Demon didn’t look just as elated to see the boy again.”
“It’s odd,” Izuna says, frowning. “They’ve only met once, haven’t they?”
Shrugging carelessly, Madara points out, “It was under rather stressful conditions. Makes it easy for bonds to form.” He lifts his head to look out the window, squinting at the sun for a moment before saying, “Hanako will be back to pick Kagami up soon. Can you get those to come back inside?”
“Me?” Izuna gapes. “Why me?”
Madara looks supremely unimpressed as he lifts a brow at him. “You’re not doing anything anyways, so you may as well make yourself useful.”
“I’ve spent a full day going through inventories, you know!”
“Yes, yes, well done. Shut the door on your way out, will you?”
Izuna huffs, slamming the door behind him to be petty as he stomps his way through the hall and down the stairs. When he gets to the engawa leading out into the garden, Kagami is taking shaky steps across the pond’s surface, holding tightly onto Tobirama’s hands. The boy catches sight of Izuna, unfortunately breaking his tenuous control over his chakra as marked by his startled yelp and widening eyes. Before he can fall through the surface of the water, however, he is lifted clean into the air by his arms and easily hauled into Tobirama’s hold.
“You saved me!” Kagami cries out, limbs immediately winding around his so-called saviour like the little limpet that he is.
Tobirama doesn’t seem bothered by the boy’s clinginess, only patting his back and murmuring back, “I told you I wouldn’t let you fall.”
“You did,” Kagami agrees, beaming.
It’s so sweet that it’s sickening. No one should be able to make the notoriously stoic Senju Tobirama act so wholesomely; it’s just wrong.
“Come on, you two!” Izuna calls out. “Time to get back in here. Kagami’s mother will be here to pick him up soon.”
“What?” Kagami squawks, fingers gripping at Tobirama’s shirt. “No! There’s no way it’s time already!” He turns to the Senju, widening his eyes and sticking out his bottom lip. “Can’t I stay with you for a little while longer, Tobirama-san?”
Tobirama opens his mouth to answer but Izuna beats him to it, narrowing his eyes at the boy and chiding, “He’s busy. Don’t be a brat.”
Kagami glares. “I’m not a brat!”
“You’re acting like one,” Izuna shoots back.
Usually, Kagami would simply fire back at Izuna without any compunctions since they are quite familiar with each other as cousins. This time, however, he turns to Tobirama with his face screwed and sounds pathetically sad as he asks, “I’ve been good, haven’t I?”
Izuna is so flummoxed, he doesn’t even know how to react except for gaping at the manipulative little shit hanging off the Senju heir like a monkey.
And Tobirama—the fucking fool—falls for it, nodding sagely and assuring, “Of course you have.” Before Kagami can look too happy about it though, he adds, “But you must continue to be good and obey your mother when she comes to collect you. She was very kind to let you visit, you know. You must remember to thank her.”
Shoulders slumping in defeat, Kagami mumbles, “Okay.” He peers through his lashes and asks, “Can I come see you again though?”
Tobirama softens and Izuna blinks when the man noses at Kagami’s temple, caught off-guard by the almost animalistic gesture. “I would be very happy to see you again, Kagami-kun. I’ll be checking on your progress with tree walking next time I see you, so I expect you to practice. Don’t try water walking again unless you have someone to supervise.”
“I won’t,” Kagami promises, lighting right back up. “Will you show me that jutsu again next time?”
“If you promise to be a good boy for your mother.”
“I promise!” Kagami obliges immediately.
Tobirama’s mouth twitches. “Then I promise as well.”
Izuna thinks he can feel his eye twitch a little bit. “Don’t you just get along so well,” he drawls sarcastically.
“Kagami-kun is a very bright boy,” Tobirama tells him earnestly.
“Tobirama-san is the coolest!” Kagami declares, somehow managing to cling harder. “He’s much nicer than you, Izuna-sama,” he adds, sticking out his tongue.
Oh, so that’s how he wants to play it. Fine then. Izuna’s mouth twists into a sharp smile and he says sweetly, “Isn’t that kind of mean, Kagami-kun? If you misbehave too much, Tobirama won’t show you that jutsu you want to see.”
Kagami gasps, horrified, immediately swivelling around to look at Tobirama for confirmation. The Senju only raises his brows at the boy, and Kagami wilts. “Sorry,” he says insincerely, dropping his head into the crook of Tobirama’s neck.
What a phony. Izuna wonders where the kid learned all this from and how long he’d been hiding this manipulative side of him.
He turns to peer at his rival. “Are you sure you have the time to be playing with him? I thought you had a meeting today to talk about the budget plan with aniki.”
“We did,” Tobirama confirms, absently shifting Kagami’s weight, though it doesn’t seem to occur to him that he can set the boy down—something Kagami is clearly milking for all he’s worth. “It had wrapped up by the time Kagami-kun came to visit, and I only had some personal research on my agenda for after that.”
“Personal research,” Izuna repeats, eyebrows rising. “For the university?”
“A sealing project actually. Something like a monitoring device for the patients.”
Because he can just casually design those. Pursing his lips, Izuna nods. “Right. Sounds fun.”
Tobirama goes to respond, pauses, and then straightens. “Your mother is here,” he tells Kagami a moment before there is a knock on their front door and they hear a servant open it and greet Hanako.
Now that it’s actually time to part, Kagami goes quietly, though he’s clearly sullen through the whole affair which seems to amuse Tobirama and Hanako, both of them exchanging glances over the boy’s head. The Senju heir lingers in the doorway, watching as Kagami waves back at him until he and his mother are out of sight before finally shutting the door with a sigh.
Abruptly, Izuna realises, “You’d make a good father.”
Tobirama blinks, taken aback by the sudden observation. “I—thank you?” he says uncertainly.
Izuna watches him for a moment, studying the tension in his shoulders. “You don’t want kids someday?” he asks.
The Senju makes a noncommittal noise in his throat as he brushes past Izuna to return to the engawa where his abandoned notebook lays to the side, probably containing the meeting notes for his discussion with Madara. “The Senju tend to raise children rather…communally. And anija will surely have some since it’s part of his marriage contract with the Uzumaki. I don’t feel any particular need for children of my own.”
Even though he’s so obviously fond of them? Curious despite himself, Izuna presses, “And what if you get married and your wife wants them?”
Tobirama turns to stare at him. After a long pause, he states, “I am not interested in women.”
“Oh.” Izuna hadn’t realised. To be fair, he’s never really thought of Tobirama in any sort of…domestic context before. He’s almost surprised that the White Demon holds any interest in romance at all. Maybe he’s a little bit human after all. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter if your husband wants little Demons of his own then.”
At this, Tobirama appears thoughtful, musing aloud, “Surrogacy is always an option if my hypothetical partner isn't interested in adoption. Though I’m sure it’d be possible to create an artificial womb-like environment and externally cultivate an embryo with our combined DNA…” He blinks and shakes his head as if to physically dismiss the thought. “This discussion is pointless. I do not want children and I would not marry someone if having biological children is truly so important to them.”
“It could happen!” Izuna argues, feeling the need to defend his imaginary situation.
“Only to someone with poor planning skills,” Tobirama shoots back.
Izuna rolls his eyes. “You can’t plan for everything, Senju,” he says just to be contrary. “Like what if you get with someone and then their priorities change later on? Maybe you’ll love them too much to want to part. Maybe you’ll want kids by then too. You never know.”
“I enjoy having time for my personal interests far too much to want to invest it all into taking care of a child full-time,” Tobirama blandly informs.
“I can understand that I guess,” Izuna admits. “I think kids are fine, but I’m not too interested in raising one of my own either.”
“Is that so?”
He shrugs. “I just don’t think it’s for me. I’d rather not risk fucking up a child just because I realised too late that I’m not equipped for the whole parenting thing.”
Tobirama makes a soft noise of consideration, regarding Izuna with an open sort of curiosity. “And do you think you’ll be married someday?”
“Looking for gossip, Tobirama?” Izuna smirks.
“I’m just levelling out the playing field. It’s only fair since you asked first and I told you.”
Izuna thinks about denying him an answer just to be annoying, but ultimately decides that there’s no real harm in telling Tobirama. The other man is kind of saving Izuna’s clan—he can throw him a bone every now and then by not being as difficult as he could be.
So, he answers honestly, “I don’t know. I’d like to be, I think. In theory, it’d be nice to belong with someone.”
The lines of Tobirama’s face are soft for once as he looks at Izuna with a knowingness in his eyes. “In theory?” he prompts quietly.
Lips pursing, Izuna shrugs and folds his arms against his chest, forcing casualness though he has no doubt his rival sees right through him. Tobirama has spent much of this visit being almost artful in his avoidance of directly meeting Uchiha eyes, but with his entire attention focused on Izuna in this instance, it seems he has forgotten. The weight of that gaze is as exhilarating as it is terrifying because it comes with the intrinsic knowledge that Tobirama will see and he will know. That he wants to see and he wants to know.
Vulnerability does not come easily to Izuna—not anymore. He has grown to be all too wary of the ways honesty could open him up to heartbreak, and he doesn’t know if he has it in him to survive another one of those. But this is Tobirama, he reminds himself, and the lines are clear between them. In an odd way, there is safety in their animosity. Tobirama wouldn’t hesitate to plant his blade between Izuna’s ribs if the need ever truly arose, but he has little use for breaking Izuna’s heart.
So, haltingly, Izuna admits, “I’m not sure if I can see myself really connecting with anyone enough to want to marry them. With the war and taking care of the clan, it’s always felt a little bit like I’m running on borrowed time. There just hasn’t been any room for love and maybe there never will be.”
Something unreadable flickers across Tobirama’s face before it’s schooled back into neutrality. For a moment, there is a pensive sort of silence that makes Izuna’s skin crawl because Tobirama is still looking at him with that intense something that he can’t read. Finally, inclining his head, the Senju says, “Love has to be about choice, Izuna. You have to be there to be loved. You have to give yourself to others. It’s immense, and there’s an intention there you can’t run away from. There will never be any room if you don’t want it to be.”
They’re only words, but they feel like a physical weight slowly crushing the air right out of Izuna’s lungs. “Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe I’m unlovable and I’ll die alone.”
“Now you’re just being dramatic.” Tobirama rolls his eyes. “You’re not unlovable; that’s the part that really scares you.”
Izuna swallows around the growing lump in his throat. “You sound pretty sure about that.” His voice comes out too hoarse even to his own ears.
“I’m not hearing you say I’m wrong.”
Huffing, Izuna looks away. “You’re not. Happy?”
“I gain no pleasure from being right, Izuna,” Tobirama announces blandly. “It’s like breathing air to me.” He pauses. “Why are you glaring at me now?”
“I’m thinking about how pissed aniki will be when I set you on fire.”
The Senju heir scoffs, “You can certainly try.”
“Katon: Gokakyu—”
“Why archery? You’ve been a swordsman as long as I’ve known you.”
Tobirama sighs silently, bidding farewell to the hope that Izuna would only continue to observe and not speak. He considers not answering—sometimes that’s enough for Hashirama to get the hint and leave him alone. Somehow, he gets the feeling that ignoring Izuna will only serve to egg him on though.
“I’ve used the bow for almost just as long,” he says. “It’s meditative.”
“Never in battle?”
“I’m not a stationary fighter.”
He can hear the wry amusement in Izuna’s voice as he agrees, “No, I suppose you’re not.”
The archery range here is much busier than the one at home ever has been. With religion being a more involved part of the Uchiha’s culture, they have a much larger number of priests and apprentices who end up having to learn kyudo as a form of defence and also for ritual purposes. Not to mention how Tobirama can only drop by at more acceptable hours so he doesn’t raise alarm with irregular movements around the enemy compound. He’d assumed, however, that the daytime visit would mean Izuna would be too busy to distract him but he’d clearly been mistaken.
Tobirama isn’t unused to being around so many Uchiha signatures. It’s still slightly discomfiting since he can sense the hostility there as well, but it’s familiar enough to what he remembers of early Konoha. Izuna remains the sole exception to this. Tobirama can’t help the way his attention is caught by the cinder-static-novae-hymn of his signature, finding himself always keeping track of it as the signature crackles and hums in the peripheral of his awareness.
Needless to say, it’s not conducive to his meditation to have it so close, even when discounting Izuna’s personality.
“Shouldn’t swordsmanship count as moving meditation too? The katas are repetitive enough.”
Tobirama exhales slowly and fires his arrow. “Kyudo is about breath. Swordsmanship is not,” he explains quietly. “It’s more calming.” After a moment of thought, he adds, “It’s also good practice for katon.” Which Tobirama had struggled with since it is the direct opposite of his own chakra nature.
“I know,” Izuna says simply to that. “They say as much in the stories.”
Turning with a raised brow, Tobirama asks, “The stories?”
Izuna hums, leaning against the wall. “The story of how we got our flame from Amaterasu. Supposedly, she passed down the knowledge to our priests on how to breathe to life a flame. The Eternal Flame that burns at the heart of the shrine is said to be that first fire, which is why we tend to it so religiously. That’s how the uchiwa became our symbol.”
It might also be why they place so much importance on the Great Fireball jutsu.
“We have a Sacred Tree,” Tobirama volunteers, nocking another arrow and sliding his feet back into stance. He inhales slowly, draws, exhales and fires. Bullseye.
“What’s the story there?” Izuna asks.
“It is believed that mokuton was taught to the first user by the spirits of the forest as thanks for the way he tended to and protected the forest. When he was close to his passing, the gift took over and turned him into a sacred fig tree, making him part of the spirit of the forest so he could watch over his clan forever, as was supposedly his dying wish.”
For a moment, there is quiet. Then, “Does this mean that idiotic brother of yours will turn into a tree one day too?”
Tobirama snorts, caught off guard by the inquiry. “Maybe if he wishes hard enough,” he muses, though he knows that Hashirama will die just as all men do.
“What tree do you think he’d be?” Izuna asks, sounding begrudgingly curious. “Or do all mokuton users turn into the same tree?”
“Anija would be willow tree,” Tobirama says firmly.
“Oh?”
“Because he’s weepy.”
It startles Izuna into letting out a bark of laughter that he immediately claps his hand over, dark eyes wide. His gaze slides away, embarrassment clear in the red that rises to his ears much to Tobirama’s fascination. “You probably shouldn’t say that about your clan head here,” he says.
Tobirama shrugs at that and pulls his eyes back to the bow in his hands. “Someone has to keep the God of Shinobi humble.”
“Thank you for your dedicated service.”
“You’re welcome.”
When he looks back, there’s a smile of genuine amusement twitching at the edges of Izuna’s mouth, something softer and sunnier than his usually knife-edged grins.
Before either of them can say anything else, they are distracted by the eruption of a loud debate among the gaggle of young priests practicing on the opposite end of the range. They are group of boys in their early teens, all clustered together in their informal kimono and eboshi hats.
“That doesn’t even make sense,” one of them is complaining loudly, gesturing wildly enough that his bow almost takes out the eye of one of his friends.
“But it does,” another insists, punctuating his argument with a gleeful cackle.
Tobirama and Izuna exchange glances, agreeing silently to tune into the conversation as one.
“That’s why it’s called a paradox, dummies,” a third says with an air of long suffering.
Huffing, the first boy simply stomps over to stand before an empty target, pointedly notches an arrow and fires it. He doesn’t hit the target, but that doesn't seem to be the point since he gestures victoriously all the same. “See? The paradox or whatever is just stupid!”
“Ah,” Tobirama says in realisation.
“What?” Izuna asks, looking between him and the apprentice priests. “What are they fighting about?”
“I believe they’re discussing the dichotomy paradox.”
Inclining his head, the Uchiha heir frowns and asks, “What is that?”
“It’s a philosophical argument designed to prove that an object never reaches the end. For example, an arrow must first pass the halfway point before it can hit the target. However, the halfway point has a halfway point which has a halfway point of its own, and so since there is an infinite number of halfway points, the motion can never start,” Tobirama explains.
Eye narrowing into a flat stare, Izuna summarily declares, “The kid is right. That is bullshit.”
“Yes, because the argument predates the physical concept of rate and is solved by the first law of motion. Total distance will require total time, regardless of how arbitrarily small the distance is. So long as the distance is finite, of course—”
He is cut off by Izuna pushing himself off the wall and simply crossing the distance between them, a purposeful determination glinting in his dark eyes as he looks at Tobirama across the small space left between them now. Tobirama blinks, mouth clicking shut while Izuna folds his arms.
“There,” he says with finality. “Not so difficult, is it?”
‘Ah,’ Tobirama thinks, inhaling sharply. It was simply one foot in front of the other. It could mean nothing. It probably should mean nothing. And yet—
And yet.
“No,” he agrees. “I suppose it’s not that difficult at all.”