gravity of tempered grace

They sit at their kotatsu and peel the first mandarins of the season, fingers going sticky and orange, the air quiet and smelling of zingy citrus. 

“Another trip,” Hashirama remarks, dropping the peeled fruit into the bowl at the centre.  

Tobirama glances at him briefly and turns back to the task at hand, always completely focused on a job even for mundane chores. “You’re the one sending me away.” 

Hashirama huffs and shifts to kick at Tobirama’s legs, earning himself a scowl and a kick back. “You were leaving anyway to help your cousin. Don’t act like I’m doing you wrong when the clan heads decided together to send you with Izuna-kun. You know if I had it my way, you’d spend winter resting here with me.” 

Sniffing imperiously, Tobirama pops half a mandarin into his mouth. Hashirama wisely does not give into the urge to reach across and pinch his full cheeks, knowing he is likely to lose a hand for such a transgression.  

“You will be far too busy to be doing much resting anyways. The days will pass before either of us realises,” Tobirama says once he has finished chewing. “How did your experiment turn out by the way?” 

Hashirama purses his lips at the mention of his attempts to recreate the semi-conscious trees he developed for the forests on the village’s periphery with more carnivorous varieties. “The flowers tried to eat Touka,” he admits after a moment. “I had to downsize and have the plant moved into the restricted greenhouse.” 

Caught off-guard, Tobirama's eyebrows shoot up before he snorts inelegantly. “I bet Touka loved that.”  

“She threatened to turn me into fertiliser for my garden.” 

“I think that’s a reasonable response to almost becoming plant food.” 

Hashirama sighs but can’t argue that. “It may not have been my brightest idea,” he relents. “The plants would probably try to eat children or something.”  

“Ethical dilemmas,” Tobirama voices, nodding sympathetically. “I understand.” 

Spluttering, Hashirama protests, “There’s no dilemma . We can’t grow plants that try to eat everyone indiscriminately, Tora!” 

Tobirama pops the other half of the mandarin into his mouth. “Shame. It would have been convenient.” 

Hashirama stares. “For what?”  

Tobirama stares back. “Isn’t it obvious?”  

“I worry for you sometimes; I hope you know that.” Hashirama does not think about how there’s a few people he wouldn’t mind seeing become plant food because he’s a perfectly sane and well-adjusted individual, thank you very much.  

(It sure would’ve come in handy when those bastards had tried to poison his brother.) 

Tobirama shrugs, unconcerned, focused on peeling the next fruit in the pile. “Do you know when a leader will be appointed for the village?” 

“For Konoha,” Hashirama reminds, using the name recently selected by the councils. Madara’s suggestion actually managed to win, much to the man’s secret pleasure.  

Tobirama smiles. “For Konoha,” he repeats.  

“We’re tentatively aiming to arrange the election for mid-spring.”  

“Will you run?”  

Hashirama pauses. “Maybe. I don’t know.” 

At this, Tobirama blinks. “You don’t want to?” he asks, head tilted curiously. 

Shrugging, Hashirama makes a noncommittal noise. “It’d be a lot of work on top of my clan head duties,” he points out. “And with the baby on the way too. As much as I’d be honoured to be chosen, I also want to have some time to actually be home.” After a moment, he confesses, “I told Madara I would vote for him if he decided to run.” 

This doesn’t appear to surprise Tobirama. He simply nods. “What did he say to that?” 

“That it’s almost certainly going to be Akimichi Chosuke and Madara would never humiliate himself by trying to run against someone who’s already won over most of the influential members of the clans by feeding them excellent food at the festival.” 

Tobirama grins. “The food really was very good.” 

“Did you get to try the soup dumplings from that one place?” Hashirama leans forward, grinning back. 

“I did. Izuna took me.” 

Hashirama’s brows rise and Tobirama immediately shoots him an exasperated look. “Oh, Izuna-kun did, did he?”  

“Don’t even start.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Tora.”  

“ Anija !”  

Hashirama can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of him. “I’m just teasing,” he assures, waving his hands. He smiles. “Izuna-kun really does seem to like you though. I am glad you have a friend in him.”  

Though it is obvious to anyone who knows to look that Izuna makes something of an exception out of Tobirama. To everyone else (outside of Madara and Hikaku), the Uchiha heir is charismatic and headstrong, but ultimately aloof. Around Tobirama, however, he becomes bright as a flame stoked to life. Vivacious and playful, and far more sincere in the connection he seeks. Even if the love there hadn’t been romantic in nature, it would have been no less palpable. 

And Tobirama, in turn, is different too whether he realises it or not. Hashirama has seen for himself how his little brother allows Izuna far closer into his orbit than he would just about anyone outside of Hashirama and Mito. Tobirama regards the Uchiha with indulgence and affection, easily wearing a true, private smile. He watches Izuna more than he probably knows, curious and helpless in equal measure.  

Yet, Tobirama denies himself something that is already his in all but name. Hashirama cannot help but feel dismay for his brother. He simply doesn’t understand what reservations cause Tobirama to hold himself back, and Tobirama seems intent on not providing any explanations either. This is not as issue Hashirama can solve for him; Tobirama must come to terms with his unease by himself or it will hold no meaning and only cause more hurt down the line. 

All Hashirama can do is hope to change his mind and remind him that he too is allowed to pursue happiness where he finds it.  

Perhaps this mission will be the push Tobirama needs. If fate itself has twisted itself to bring them together this way, then surely that must be some sort of sign. 

“You won’t forget to write while you’re away, will you?” Hashirama asks, changing the subject before he can truly upset Tobirama. 

Tobirama gives him a long look but answers anyways, “Of course not, anija. I will keep you informed of my status. In return, you will keep me updated on the progress of our plans for the move.” 

“I promise,” Hashirama assures him, smiling.  

Wordlessly, he passes over half a mandarin. 

Madara flatly refuses to allow all the clans to show up and turn their departure for the mission into some sort of roadside circus. “Business as usual,” he firmly calls it, and only relents for Izuna and Tobirama to be sent off together from the grove along the Naka River where their two territories merge.  

Izuna suspects it’s mostly just because Madara really can’t be fucked to host a whole event this close to the winter when his threshold for socialisation was met the instant he woke up the day after the harvest festival with a hangover of epic proportions and hair so intricately braided, he had to spend four hours getting it undone by Izuna and Chinatsu. He doesn’t remember when someone managed to try and weave a tapestry on his head, and it has bruised his pride as a shinobi more than he cares to admit.  

Hashirama doesn’t volunteer himself as the culprit, and Izuna decides to similarly keep his mouth shut for now because it’s funnier this way. He’ll just bring it up later if he ever feels like watching Hashirama sweat a bit. 

The farewell is a quiet, solemn affair held at dawn. Neither of them looks back when they mount their horses and follow the river upstream, northbound. They set a fairly relaxed stride without needing to speak about it, tacitly understanding that since the journey is a long one, they will need to pace themselves accordingly.  

“Break for lunch at noon?” Izuna suggests. 

Tobirama nods. “We’ll have to set up camp tonight and tomorrow, but the day after, we’ll veer closer to a town.” 

“Sounds good.” Izuna gaze flicks to his companion. “So much for teleporting there, huh?” 

Tossing him a wry look, Tobirama snorts. “I could just go on ahead. I’m sure you’re capable of catching up.” 

“You could,” Izuna agrees, “though you’d be a crappy guide if you did.” 

“I can live with that.” 

“Bastard,” Izuna says, and it comes too fond, too indulgent. Heat creeping up his neck, he casts for a change in subject before Tobirama can call him out for acting odd. “How does your stupid teleportation seal work anyways?” 

Tobirama slants a sidelong glance at him through snowy lashes. “Chakra resonance essentially,” he says finally, taking out one of his special three-pronged kunai and holding it out to Izuna, hilt first. “Use your sharingan,” he says, nodding at the kanji marking the hilt. 

Izuna does as instructed, allowing the world to bleed into red, pulling everything into stark focus. With the sharpened vision, he peers down at the kunai and realises abruptly that the words are actually comprised of several twisting symbols, numbers and letters—some in kanji, others in scripts Izuna does not know how to read. “Oh,” he breathes out softly. “This must have taken forever.” 

“It wasn’t easy,” Tobirama acknowledges. “I was limited by the space I had to work with, so the formula is much more compacted than I’d like. It’s already incomplete to begin with. I haven’t figured out how to perfect it just yet.” Before Izuna can react to that, he is pointing to the first character and the symbols it is made of, saying, “This is what allows me to create enough of a ‘doorway’ to slip between the space and time.” He points to the next one as he continues, “This one here serves as a sort of signal converter.” 

“What sort of signal?” Izuna interrupts before the other man can get carried away all by himself. 

Tobirama tips his head as he considers, making a quiet humming sound. “Well, you know how every atom vibrates at a unique frequency,” he says at last, waiting for Izuna to nod before moving on with his explanation, voice taking on a softer, more even quality that he probably uses to teach all the kids that seem to perpetually hang off him. “What this means is that everything basically vibrates distinctly. This symbol over here allows the hiraishin to mimic that and create a unique frequency of its own. Then, with this formula, that frequency—or signal—is projected outwards to find if an identical signal is being transmitted back to it.” 

“From another seal elsewhere,” Izuna says. “So, they resonate, and that creates what—your exit?”  

Tobirama’s eyes curve slightly as he smiles, pleased, and says, “Exactly.” 

“Then how do you keep from being spat out somewhere random?”  

“This character,” Tobirama points, gently nudging Izuna’s fingers out of the way to show him, “allows the user to navigate spatial dimension enough to have some grasp over distance in the physical plane—like a map—so you can judge where you’ll end up. And then this one introduces the factor that lets the seal interact with time.” 

Izuna feels like he just got hit over the head with Madara’s gunbai. “It lets you go back ,” he says in wonder, staring and wishing he knew enough about sealing to actually comprehend just how . “That’s how the whole thing appears to be instantaneous. Because you’re going back in time by a few fractions of a second.” He looks up to gape at Tobirama, laughing breathlessly in his incredulity, firmly pronouncing, “You’re absolutely fucking crazy.” 

Tobirama’s smiling back, looking amused and smug and effortlessly beautiful. “I get that a lot,” he comments lightly, letting go of his kunai and turning to take back the reigns of his mare who is starting to slow as she gets distracted by some daffodil buds growing on the side of the dirt path that they’re on. 

This is the kind of shit Tobirama felt he had to come up with to try and beat Izuna. He can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the blade, which could be mistaken for just any other weapon if someone didn’t know better. Izuna does know better though, and it’s making his head spin a little bit to hold the clear evidence of just how fucking smart and innovative Senju Tobirama is.  

“You can keep that one if you’d like.” 

Izuna’s head snaps up so fast, something in his neck clicks loudly. “What?” he asks, unsure if he’s just having auditory hallucinations now because that’s precisely the kind of misfortune that would randomly decide to befall him. 

But he’s not imagining the way Tobirama is watching him out of the corner of his eye. Nor is he imagining it when the Senju repeats, intentional and clear, “If you’d like to, you can have that one.” 

Of course, Izuna wants to. Some part of his lizard brain perks up every time he is faced with a belonging of Tobirama’s that he could potentially keep—seized by an inexplicable urge to grasp something, anything, of Tobirama’s and possess it the way he cannot the man himself.  

“If I do,” Izuna says slowly, his fingers already curled tightly around the hilt, making his knuckles white, “then that means that you will always be able to find me so long as I have it on my person.” 

He’s a shinobi—an excellent one at that—and, more importantly, he’s paying attention, every single one of his senses focused on Tobirama alone. This means that he can hear when Tobirama’s breath hitches in his throat, can see the way his fingers spasm slightly on the reigns he is holding. 

“Yes,” Tobirama says simply, and his voice is hoarse despite how carefully even it is.  

Izuna swallows the impulse to do some incredibly dangerous and stupid things. Tobirama has no way to know the implications of such an offer being made to an Uchiha, but Izuna does, and he cannot pretend to be unaffected.  

He exhales slowly through the nose. Decisively, he spins the blade on his fingers and slips it into the weapons pouch strapped to his waist. “I’m keeping it,” he announces firmly, as if daring Tobirama to go back on his word. Clearing his throat in a futile attempt to dispel the tension in the air between them, he says, “It’s probably for the best in case we get separated and attacked or something.” 

“For the best,” Tobirama echoes softly. 

They ride on in silence. 

They make camp an hour before sunset, securing the area, setting traps for intruders and game alike, and unrolling their bedrolls. As night draws close, the air turns cooler, and Tobirama pulls out the shawl he liberated from Hashirama’s wardrobe. Izuna appears to be unaffected by the chill of the night, puttering about camp like he hasn’t even noticed.  

The Uchiha with their fire and lightning natures tend to run hot, Tobirama knows. A lot of them also fall into the habit of cycling fire-natured chakra with each breath, a practice that aids the ease and speed with which they draw upon their katon and has the side effect of slightly elevating their body temperatures. Izuna will probably hold up well against the harsher climate of northern Land of Earth where the capital lies in a valley between towering mountains that have defended it for centuries.  

“What did you mean earlier?” Izuna asks abruptly, drawing Tobirama out of his idle musing. “About your seal being incomplete, I mean. How are you launching yourself through space with an incomplete seal?” 

Tobirama hums as he considers. He has already revealed far too much about his seal to the man who inspired the need for it in the first place. Still, he thinks, that was then and this is now. There is no harm in Izuna knowing. Not anymore. 

“Perhaps calling it incomplete is the wrong way to say it,” he says. “The design is simply not as effective as it could be.” 

Izuna’s eyebrows rise ever so slightly. “It seems pretty fucking effective to me.” 

Tobirama’s lips twitch. He shakes his head. “Not really. This version of the seal is actually rather limited, all things considered. It has a range, for one, and I did not intend there to be. I cannot make a jump to a marker that is outside a certain radius of myself, whereas ideally the seal would have no such limits and I would be allowed to go anywhere I pleased so long as a seal was in place there. The current version of the seal also only allows me to transport a limited amount of matter with me. Inorganic matter at that. If I try to take organic matter more complex than a sapling—well, the seal doesn’t cooperate to say the least. Things to tend get lost. Or torn apart.” 

“How’d you figure that one out?” Izuna asks, voice dry as the deserts of Wind. 

“Unfortunate amounts of trial and error,” Tobirama confesses. “I managed to lose one of Hashirama’s bonsai, though I have yet to tell him as much. I’ve convinced him it simply never existed.” 

Izuna laughs, throwing his head back as he does. “How devious of you, Tobirama.” The grin on his face mellows out into something more thoughtful as he considers the rest of the information revealed to him. “So, a perfected version of your seal should theoretically allow the user to be able to go anywhere with anything,” he says after a while. “That’s...some seal.” 

“I’m still trying to figure out how to alter my current formula safely,” Tobirama says. “There’s no telling when I’ll work it out.” 

It had stumped him for an entire lifetime already, after all. It doesn’t help that there’s always something else to be done that takes precedence, or some other project that intrigues him more. And if he takes on students again (and he fully expects to)—well, children are not conducive to having leisure time. 

“If you travel by locating the nearest marker by resonance, then how will you distinguish which seal you’ve given to me specifically?” Izuna asks next, twisting his wrist and allowing the three-pronged kunai in question to slip out of his sleeve and into the palm of his waiting hand. 

Tobirama stares at the blade and resolutely does not think about the impulsive decision to gift it to Izuna. “Well, so long as you’re within my sensory range that isn’t quite a problem,” he points out after a moment. “Beyond that, however, there is no way for me to know for sure.” 

“So, what do we do if I need help or something?” 

“You channel your own chakra into the seal and turn it into a homing beacon essentially,” Tobirama explains. In hindsight, he probably ought to have mentioned sooner. An oversight. The price of distraction he cannot afford. “The formula will emit a frequency using your unique chakra resonance instead. I simply have to recognise it.” 

Izuna turns the hilt over in his hand again and again, eyes trained on the formula it is marked with. He appears entirely taken by the blade, murmuring under his breath, “Interesting.” 

The hint of awe in his voice makes something in Tobirama’s chest feel tight. It is almost discomfiting to—even partly—be the target of such intent focus. In that moment, seeing Izuna’s wonder at his creation, Tobirama had offered him the kunai with little to no thought. It had felt right , almost instinctive. 

The weight and implications of his action had settled in almost immediately after. By giving Izuna a hiraishin marker, Tobirama has opened a direct channel between them. He has demanded absolute trust from Izuna in believing that Tobirama will not misuse the access he now has to the Uchiha heir to cause harm. He has all but promised to show up should Izuna call, in return trusting that Izuna himself will not use the opportunity to lure Tobirama into a trap. 

Perhaps most damningly, he has gifted an Uchiha a blade—one that is unique to Tobirama even if he did not have a hand in forging it as Uchiha tradition usually demands. By the customs Izuna has grown up with, Tobirama made a suit when he said Izuna could keep his kunai, and though it certainly wasn’t his intention at the time, it had been the sort of misstep he has no desire of dealing with the consequences of. 

That Izuna had accepted the kunai anyways is a detail he is electing to not linger on for the sake of his own peace of mind. 

“That is one hell of a scowl you’re wearing there,” Izuna says and Tobirama blinks, looking up to find himself on the opposite end of blatant amusement. “At this rate, you’ll give yourself wrinkles by twenty-five.” 

Tobirama rolls his eyes. “Ah, yes, of course. And with my beauty squandered, I will have become a failure in the eyes of society for no respectful man will wish to marry me.” 

Izuna smiles, crooked and enigmatic. “Well, I wouldn’t say that .” 

The flat of Tobirama’s blade spins on the tip of his finger, glinting as it catches the firelight. Tobirama looks away. 

“Do you know the story of how the Uzumaki came to be?” 

Madara looks up from his cup of tea to narrow his eyes at Uzumaki Mito. Unperturbed, she continues to smile pleasantly at him, eyebrows lifted expectantly in wait for his answer. 

“No,” he tells her, “I can’t say I do.” 

Mito nods, unsurprised. “We are descended from sailors, you see. Fishermen, pearl divers, explorers. From the very start, our fate has been tied to the seas we live by. However, though the waters gave us our food and livelihood, the sea is a tempestuous mistress and, often, she takes as much as she gives.” 

Unsurprising for the village hidden by whirlpools. 

“It led our ancestors to becoming people of the rather superstitious sort,” she continues, her smile becoming wry. “Soon enough, they were convinced that in order to appeal to the sea gods for calm waters, they would have to sacrifice one child every six months.” 

Madara frowns. “Why a child?” 

“They justified it by saying the gods would not so readily embrace an impure soul, and children are so guileless, they would not be denied.” 

“How convenient,” he notes dryly. Somehow, these types of sacrifices always demand someone who incidentally happens to be unable to fairly fight back. 

Mito tips her head in agreement. “Then one day, a woman named Suzue was told that her child had received the honour of keeping the island safe. Her daughter was to be the next sacrifice and Suzue was expected to make her peace with this fate and say her goodbyes.” 

“I’m guessing that’s not what happens.” 

“Not quite,” she says, grinning. “Suzue had no interest in simply allowing her daughter to be taken from her. Not only did she refuse, but she also killed the seer who had advised the people to begin the sacrifices in the first place. Then, for good measure, she killed her village head and promised she’d do worse to anyone else who to go after her or her daughter.” 

Madara’s eyebrows rise. “And what—no one did?” 

“They tried. Suzue fought every single one of them as promised. She appealed to the women—the mothers—of her village to get them to see reason and join her revolt. She devised all sorts of tricks and traps to defend her home and child. She used her cleaver against men just as well as she did fish. It’s not that she wasn’t contested and condemned; she was simply on a warpath against her fate, and nothing seemed able to stop her. Eventually, they gave up and let her be, forced to settle for turning her into an outcast.” Mito takes a delicate sip of her tea. “Suzue was more than just an outcast though. She was an example . When time came for the next sacrifice, that child’s mother dared to refuse too. So did the next one. And the one after that. 

“You see, people fear the seas and they fear change. Still, when it comes down to it, most would want better for their own child despite the perceived honour and their own fear. If Suzue could do it, so could they. The gods had not punished Suzue after all. Being an outcast is a small price to pay for saving your child. Not everyone felt so, but enough did that, soon enough, the village was divided into two and competing for resources.” 

“So, they fought,” Madara concludes. 

“So, they fought,” Mito confirms. “They fought and Suzue led her supporters to victory, making herself the leader of the collective and officially bringing an end to the sacrificial ritual. As a sign of strength and rebellion against her fate, she named herself after the whirlpools that the islanders had spent generations being so afraid of. She demanded bravery and resilience from her people, fashioning them into the same force of nature she had decided to name the island after. Thus, the Uzumaki clan came to be.” 

Madara taps a finger against the side of his cup. “An interesting tale,” he acknowledges. “However, I am sure you did not invite me here just to tell me a story, Mito-san.” 

Mito’s red painted lips turn upwards at the corners in a smile so curated that it immediately puts him on edge. “Indeed,” she admits easily, refilling both their cups. “I wished to speak to you of the Hyuuga clan.” 

Well, he certainly hadn’t expected that. “What of them?” 

“Their seal,” she says, and that is no surprise at least. Uzumaki Mito has made no secret of what she thinks about the Hyuuga seal. “I wished to hear your opinion of it.” 

Madara snorts. “What is there to hear?” He folds his arms and shrugs carelessly. “It’s an abomination—plain and simple. A tool to maintain power thinly disguised as a means to protect their bloodline limit.” 

“You do not think the seal’s guarding of the byakugan is worth its other effects?” 

“I’m sure there are ways to protect that infernal eye that don’t require the main house forcing their will upon the rest of the clan to ensure obedience, though I suppose you would know better than I.” 

Mito’s smile this time is more sincere. “You would be right,” she says, sounding pleased. “The seal as it exists now would be considered a violation of the sacred laws of creation on Uzushio that bar the invention of means to externally overwrite bodily autonomy of anyone. Even our criminal and war prisoners receive that much grace from us, Madara-san.” 

“You’ve been pretty vocal about how you consider the seal an abomination, Mito-san,” Madara points out. “That doesn’t explain why I’m here today.” 

In response, Mito links her fingers together and says plainly, “I want to wipe out that seal’s existence and purpose. I wished to ask if you would support me.” 

Madara stares. Mito stares back. 

“You’re serious?” he asks incredulously. 

“Absolutely. I will not live the rest of my life alongside a clan that condones and perpetuates such a practice. Hashirama has said the Senju will stand behind me in this matter. The Uchiha’s support would be invaluable as well.” 

“And how do you plan on getting the Hyuuga to agree to retire their ugly seal?” Madara challenges. 

Mito’s grin is a baring of teeth as she says, “By supporting a branch family member who could replace the main house and abolish the seal herself.” 

A female branch family member? Madara narrows his eyes and casts back for vague recollections of Mito chatting with a softspoken Hyuuga woman.  

“Hyuuga Hisae,” he says after a moment. “That’s who you’re betting on? She reeks of fear. She’ll never agree to rebelling against her brother.” 

“She will if given enough incentive and assurance of support,” Mito says, sounding absolutely certain.  

“What kind of incentive could you even provide her?” Madara asks with plain disbelief. 

“Her three-year-old son is due to receive the seal soon,” comes the simple reply. 

Suddenly, Mito’s little story about the Uzumaki clan’s origins makes more sense. 

Madara purses his lips. “If she so much as thinks of betraying her brother and refusing to let her son receive the seal, they will probably melt her brain on the spot.” 

“She doesn’t have to refuse the seal,” Mito says softly. “She simply has to allow me to modify its formula and offer her sanctuary under the Uzumaki name.” 

It clicks then. “You don’t need her to stage a revolt. You just need her to set an example.” 

“Once it is known that the possibility of freedom exists, more will follow in her footsteps on their own. The Hyuuga clan will split into two.” 

“And you will help the deserters secure their position in the village. That is what you want my support for.” 

“With the Senju, Uchiha and Uzumaki backing them, they will have far less reason to fear the repercussions of their actions,” Mito confirms. “We will be able to keep them safe from retaliation and help them establish themselves independently.” 

“In the worst case, a fight breaks out that we win and the Hyuuga main family leaves as enemies of the village. In the best case, Hyuuga Hisae agrees to depose her brother,” Madara infers. 

Mito watches him for a moment. Then she says, “A fight that we win, Madara-san?” 

Madara snorts. “Well, I can’t sit out on an opportunity to piss off those uptight bastards, can I? When the time comes, I will fight by you, Uzumaki Mito. Just make sure Hyuuga Hisae is brave enough to take action when needed.” 

“She will be,” Mito says, unfazed. 

“You certainly seem to have faith in her.” 

“Hisae-dono might be a bit timid, but she loves her son deeply. I am the legacy of one woman who loved her child enough to defy her gods. If I do not have faith, who else will?”