Negative Mass
“Let’s split up,” Tobirama suggests as soon as they formally enter the town. “I must send word to my cousin so he can prepare for my arrival.”
“I’ll go see about securing us some lodging then,” Izuna agrees, nodding absently as he considers the location and catalogues the flatter roofs that are more common in Land of Iron, compared to Fire which favours slopes to keep rainwater from collecting. “I’m assuming you’ll prefer some place with more than just paper for walls.”
Tobirama’s pursed lips give him away before he can even speak, much to Izuna’s amusement. “We’re closer to some of the border villages. Perhaps we’ll get lucky. I’ll scout the area and find you later.”
“I might restock some of our supplies while you’re away. Did you want anything in particular?”
“Some fruit would be good. We’re running low,” Tobirama says after a moment of thought. “I’ll leave the rest up to you.”
Izuna’s lips twitch. “I’m honoured by your faith in my judgment.”
Tobirama lifts a hand in goodbye, faint smile on his face as he turns on his feet and calls back, “Don’t make me regret it.”
Huffing at his retreating back, Izuna leans his weight back and watches until Tobirama’s figure has rounded the corner at the other end of the street and disappeared from view. He waits a beat, pausing only to find the pulse of this town’s rhythm before he inserts himself into it, allowing his shoulders to relax and tossing his hair over his shoulder, wearing an easy, absentminded smile and whistling along to the melody he hears a washerwoman humming in the faint distance. Izuna melts into the crowd, finding his place in the thrum of life in this nameless settlement and following along in their steps.
He watches out of the corners of his eyes as he strolls along at a leisurely but not idle pace, cataloguing the range of inns he can pick from. The obvious tourist traps get dismissed first; the lodges meant for merchants following quickly after. They’ll be too lively and full for someone like Tobirama. The overly empty ones look seedy and very much like the tatami inside will host bugs. The obviously nice ones are expensive and likely reserved for officials only—as a noble, Izuna qualifies, but the subsequent bootlicking in the spirit of ‘service’ will make getting around inconvenient. Besides, he can practically imagine the magnificent scowl on Tobirama’s face if the innkeeper gets too proactive about arranging their evening ‘entertainment’.
Izuna veers further into the quieter, more residential streets where, as expected, he finally gets lucky with the small-to-mid-sized inns that are more aimed at middle-class families. He funnels chakra to his ears, enhancing his hearing just enough to pick out which inns have vacancies before turning his feet in their direction, whistling as he goes.
There’s a middle-aged man sweeping outside the first one that Izuna heads towards. “May I help you?” he asks, a distracted but polite smile on his face as he straightens.
“Yes, please,” Izuna returns, affecting the slightly self-conscious air that looks more at home in a young man of his age. His usual manner is a product of his status as both a noble and shinobi, and he knows how that might make him stand out in an out-of-the-way town like this. “I was hoping you might have a room available. Just for the night.”
The man brightens in the face of a potential customer. “Of course! Meals as well?”
“Dinner,” Izuna decides, “and breakfast tomorrow. We’ll manage for lunch in the market, I think.”
“Ah,” the man nods, realisation dawning upon his face. “There’s two of you then?”
“Yes. That reminds me—would it be alright if I could take a look at the room before we agree on a price, my friend? We’re both a tad sensitive to noise, you see. Neither of us can sleep if the walls are too thin.”
“No problem at all! Come along, I’ll show you the way,” the innkeeper says brightly, setting his broom aside to wave Izuna through the open door. “I’m sure you’ll find no trouble falling asleep here,” he says as he pulls out a pair of indoor slippers for both of them and heads towards the narrow staircase at the side. “The walls are plenty thick. My father wanted to guarantee a private space for all our guests—he’s the one who built this place, you see. You and your wife will be able to rest well here, I’m certain of it.”
He punctuates his statement by sliding open the door to the furthest room on the right, revealing a plain, square space with a small balcony overlooking the back garden. It’s a decent room; clean and sunlit. The fuuton are stacked neatly by the side, and a low table is placed at the centre with two cushions on either side of it. Izuna barely registers any of it because he’s too busy staring incredulously at the innkeeper.
“Wife?” he repeats.
The innkeeper blinks in polite confusion. “Yes?”
Izuna blinks back, mouth hanging open uselessly for a moment before he shakes his head, face feeling hot. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. There’s no wife; I’m unmarried.”
“Oh.” Lovely, now they both look equally mortified. “I’m terribly sorry for assuming. I just thought—”
“No, no, it’s alright,” Izuna waves him off, laughing awkwardly in a clumsy attempt to regain the footing he has quite thoroughly lost. “It was an honest mistake. I’m just travelling with a friend.”
“I see.”
Izuna nods, looking back at the room to peer at its walls. Deeming them satisfactory, he turns to the innkeeper to ask for the price when the man speaks first, looking hesitant and terribly gentle as he asks,
“Have you told them how you…feel?”
Izuna feels the exact moment his braincells collectively let out a shriek of despair as they throw themselves off a thousand-foot cliff and into a river of lava below, firmly putting a screeching halt to any discernible thought and leaving him gaping rather like a dying fish.
So much for being extensively trained in subterfuge and manipulation. It seems Izuna’s match has been waiting to meet him in some backwater village inn on the border of Iron and Fire all along.
“I—” he starts and then stops, closing his eyes and refusing to acknowledge the heat building in his chest. He desperately needs to set something on fire for the world to start making sense again. “The room,” he says, clearing his throat before his voice can break because more embarrassment is the last thing he needs. “How much for the room?”
The innkeeper rattles off his price, his eyes far too kind and knowing, and Izuna doesn’t even bother to bargain as he pays the listed amount upfront and promptly excuses himself, all but flinging himself back onto the street in his haste to get away.
‘He knows too much,’ he thinks hysterically. ‘Should I just kill him?’
He shakes off the thought before the idea can tempt him too much. It’d be too obvious, and then he’d have to find another place for them to stay too. Not to mention how Tobirama would probably judge Izuna on principle without even knowing any of the details—both of them can more or less tell when such an opportunity presents itself like some sort of fucked up seventh sense.
Izuna decisively turns towards the market and resolves to a morning of Not Thinking About It which, incidentally, also happens to be his favourite activity.
‘Fruit,’ he reminds himself. ‘We need fruit.’
He spots the usual winter harvest and makes his selections, picking out enough apples and pears to last a few days on the road.
“No persimmons?” the fruit vendor asks, surveying his choices. “They’re in season, you know. Ripe too.”
Izuna smiles at her wanly. “Not this time, I’m afraid.” They probably won’t keep more than a day, and that’s assuming they’ll survive being bruised by the rest of Izuna and Tobirama’s belongings. It’d be a waste of the limited funds they’re travelling with.
“A damn shame,” the vendor sighs. “They’re sweet as honey.”
Izuna hesitates.
For a while now, he has been passively making note of Tobirama’s preferences in food. It started when the Senju first stayed at the Uchiha compound so Izuna could suggest menus he knew Tobirama would dislike out of spite, and getting the man to admit his own preferences hadn’t been as easy as Izuna had expected. Tobirama is a practical sort, which means he’ll eat anything without complaint, but that doesn’t mean he’s without his biases whether he’ll admit to them or not.
And Izuna knows that the Senju has a proclivity for berries and stone fruit, though he’d certainly never buy them for travel given how logical he is. Which means it is up to Izuna to make the occasional suboptimal choice for the sake of his friend’s little joys.
Truly, he is most generous. Never mind that he only knows Tobirama’s preferences by virtue of setting out to find what the man didn’t prefer.
“I’ll take just the one then,” he decides.
The vendor hums, grabbing two and winking at Izuna’s confusion. “Consider it a gift. So you can share.” Looking conspiratorial, she leans closer and says, “Perhaps with a sweetheart, hm?”
Izuna laughs, half amused and half incredulous. “Sure, I’ll do that,” he says and hands over the coins he owes her.
What a bizarre place.
Tobirama follows the spark of cinder-static-novae-hymn and finds Izuna in the crowd gathered around the town centre for a performance being put on by local minstrels.
“There you are!” Izuna greets when he spots Tobirama making his way towards him. “Catch,” he adds, and tosses something at him.
Catching the projectile by reflex, Tobirama blinks. “A persimmon?”
“You’re welcome.” Izuna turns back to the show, folding his hands back into his sleeves.
“Thank you,” Tobirama murmurs thoughtfully, turning the fruit over in his hands. It’s ripe and sweet when he bites into it. “Did you want to go get lunch?”
Izuna nods. “After this song,” he says, craning his neck to see past those gathered in front of him. “I have no idea what they’re saying, but they’re good .”
Tobirama watches the quartet of musicians and catches onto the familiar melody only a moment later. “It’s a folksong,” he informs Izuna quietly. “Quite common in Iron. There are versions of it in Common now, so I’m surprised to hear the original here.”
“I thought the language is close to dying out,” Izuna murmurs.
“Outside of certain tribes and untouched pockets of civilisations, yes.”
“Sounds pretty,” the Uchiha heir remarks. “Do you know how to speak it?”
Tobirama admits, “Yes, but not too well, I'm afraid. It's very tonal, which is difficult to master. Anija could probably hold more conversation than me.”
“So it’s true in all languages,” Izuna comments, feigning surprise.
Tobirama huffs at him. “Very funny.”
Izuna snickers and turns back to watch the rest of the song. As promised, once it comes to an end, they split from the rest of the crowd and slip away, making their way back towards the market district.
“That instrument was interesting,” Izuna comments. “The one that looked almost like a biwa. Do you know what it’s called.”
“An oud,” Tobirama supplies.
“Oud,” Izuna repeats, slightly accented. “I thought it had five strings at first, but it sounded too resonant and… full. Turns out it has eleven strings. Five of them are just in pairs. I suppose the one left over must be the bass. If anything, the vocal-like quality makes it sound more similar to a koto than a biwa, despite its shape.”
Tobirama blinks. “Really?”
Izuna makes a vague gesture with his hands. “Of course, the distinct ways in which they are both played make a big difference. You pluck the strings of a koto and its larger shape inherently lends itself to a brighter, percussive sound. Not to mention how music in Fire is as interested in the silence between notes as it is in the notes themselves. How we write our music is totally different. With this oud though, there’s a lot more strumming involved. It’s so round too—that’s why its notes are so sustained and warm-sounding. And there’re no frets! It’s no wonder it glides between pitches like that.” He sighs, sounding perfectly pleased. “What a gorgeous instrument.”
Tobirama makes a sound of acknowledgement, his lips quirking. “Perhaps you can ask to learn when you are in the Earth court,” he suggests.
“Perhaps,” Izuna agrees, though he sounds noncommittal.
Tobirama watches him out of the corner of his eye for a moment, taking in the sudden slump of his shoulders and the subdued nature of his bearing. As usual, Izuna’s moods change quick as lightning. Tobirama casts for some change in subject.
“Do you know how to play any other instruments?” he asks finally.
Izuna blinks. “Shamisen. I learned flute as well, but not to any degree of proficiency.” Turning to Tobirama with a raised brow, he asks, “What about you?”
“I never learned,” Tobirama answers.
Izuna nods like this doesn’t surprise him. “You already have far too many other interests. Someone somewhere has to be keeping count.”
“Is it you?”
“You’re right. It is me,” Izuna says solemnly, “and you’ve definitely gone over the allowance limit. No more hobbies for you.”
“I feel like that’s infringing on my rights as a citizen.” Tobirama muses aloud, “I could take you to court over that.”
“Did you learn that while pursuing your interest in legislation?”
“Yes, actually.”
“For legal reasons, I’m going to have to note that down, I’m afraid.”
Tobirama snorts. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But you seem to think I’m funny, so really, you have no leg to stand on, Senju,” Izuna retorts cheerfully, bumping their shoulders together.
“Clearly, whatever is wrong with you is contagious,” Tobirama says dryly. “For legal reasons, I’m going to have to note that down, I’m afraid.”
“Is comedy one of your interests too?” Izuna asks sarcastically, huffing.
“I’m suddenly considering picking it up.”
“Heavens help us.”
Dear Uzumaki Mito
Lady of the Senju Clan,
I hope this letter finds you well. With winter well and truly settling upon us, it is even more important that we are mindful to keep ourselves warm and healthy. I can imagine how busy the Senju must be in preparation for the move to village grounds come spring, but I trust that you have been taking care to not push yourself too much despite the responsibility of your title. After all, it is a tenuous time for a woman when she is with child. I remember when I was pregnant with Sai, the slightest exertion would take its toll upon me.
Speaking of Sai; he finally turned three last week. As did his cousin, only two days later. It is an auspicious age, and the Hyuuga understand this more than anyone else. It feels like only yesterday when my son first opened his beautiful eyes to the world. He is bigger now, and yet, I feel as though he could never be big enough. Sometimes, I despair because I know I alone cannot keep him safe from what awaits him in the world. As a mother, perhaps, this is a natural thought to have. This urge to protect him, to be his shield—what is it if not my divine duty and purpose? And yet, I am helpless. He will grow and fulfil his own duty and destiny, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. We are cogs in a machine, and there is always a part to play. It is all any of us can do.
Enough about me, though. Are you enjoying your first winter in Land of Fire? The Senju lands are southern enough that it should only be mild. I am told they rarely ever get snow. Have you ever seen snow, Mito? It is delicate and beautiful, but it can be rather deadly if one is not prepared. I think you, of all people, can appreciate that. I would write a poem about it, but I have never had much talent with words.
I will end this letter here for now. Sai is calling for me; he has been feeling rather poorly as of late. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Hyuuga Hisae
Acting Lady of the Hyuuga Clan
“Look at what our traps cau—” Izuna cuts himself off abruptly as he fully enters the clearing that they have set up camp in. “Um, what,” he says, voice flat.
Tobirama looks up from the scroll in his hands, peering over at Izuna. “What?” he repeats, frowning. As if there is nothing amiss and he has no idea what might bring Izuna to a stop.
As if he hasn’t magically acquired a pair of glasses that now perch low on his nose before he absently pushes them back up.
“Since when do you have those?” Izuna demands, pointing shamelessly.
Tobirama blinks. “Ah,” he says. “A few years now. They’re for my astigmatism.”
Izuna stares. “I’ve never seen you wear them.”
“The astigmatism is fairly mild.” Tobirama shrugs. “Low lighting gives me more trouble, so I typically only use them then, or if I’m expecting to do a lot of reading on end.” A pause. “Your brother knows I wear them.”
“Huh.” Izuna shakes his head and draws closer. “They suit you.”
And they do. The metallic rectangular frames compliment the overall sharpness of Tobirama’s phoenix eyes and high cheekbones, and enhance the cool paleness of his skin. He looks like a winter landscape given human form.
“What are you reading?” Izuna asks as he approaches the campsite, dropping down beside Tobirama and pulling out a knife to begin skinning and gutting the pair of rabbits he found in one of their traps.
Tobirama glances at the rabbits, watching Izuna prepare them for their meal. He turns back to his scroll. “Old notes for one of my earlier jutsu.”
“Looking for inspiration?”
He smiles vaguely, as if he is unaware of the action himself. “Something like that.”
Izuna groans. “Well, at least it’s not my problem anymore,” he tries to console himself.
Brows rising, Tobirama says, “Don’t act as if you weren’t just as bad.”
“I had to be!” Izuna protests. “You didn’t give me a choice.”
Levelling him with a flat look, Tobirama doesn’t mention how there’s never much choice in any war, but it’s fairly implied. Instead, sounding unconvinced, he says, “Well, that sword of lightning was a bit much.”
It catches Izuna so off guard that he can only gape in disbelief for several seconds. “You did not just say that to me. I did not just hear those words from the guy who went and made up a water dragon jutsu specifically to piss me off.”
Tobirama does not appear repentant. Izuna tries not to strangle him.
“You did not need an attack on such a large scale to fight just one person, Tobirama,” Izuna stresses. “The water got everywhere! I had to fight with my clothes soaked.”
“That was the point,” Tobirama points out wryly.
It’s a sound strategy to disrupt a good half of Izuna’s ninjutsu arsenal since using raiton becomes impossible when he is likelier to electrocute himself than anyone else. However, just because Izuna can acknowledge the logic doesn’t mean he has to like it.
He sniffs. “Have you always had such a defective personality or is this the result of some deep-rooted trauma you’re refusing to confront?”
Making a thoughtful sound, Tobirama responds, “No, I think I’ve always been this way.”
Izuna kicks at his ankle. Tobirama elbows him away.
“I bet the first jutsu you ever created was made to torment someone,” Izuna says snidely. With his luck, the ‘someone’ in question was probably him.
Tobirama tilts his head back in thought. “No,” he says after a moment. “It was a justu to make longer lasting bubbles.”
“Bubbles?” Izuna blinks.
“I wanted to breathe underwater.”
“How cute,” Izuna remarks, grinning. “My first jutsu invention was to discharge electricity in a pulse from my fingers. It’s not good for much more than irritating the hell out of my brother.”
“So, you tormented him,” Tobirama says, eyebrow raised pointedly.
Izuna shrugs, still smiling. “Sure does seem that way, doesn’t it?”
“I used to spit water bullets at my brothers.”
“I’d deliberately cough ashes in Madara-nii's face,” Izuna returns. His smile falters. “I tried with Akio-nii-san once.”
Tobirama must feel the tension in his frame because some of the mirth drains out of the creases by his eyes. Quietly, he prods, “Only once?”
Izuna purses his lips. “He thought pranks were uncouth and wasted time. ‘No time for mischief during war,’ he said. Then he made me practice the Great Fireball jutsu till I threw up.”
“I see,” Tobirama says, his face unreadable. “Were you close?”
It feels a bit like being pried open inside out just to admit, “Yes. I loved him.” Izuna pauses, biting the inside of his cheek. “I think that he might have loved me too. Despite everything, and in whichever way he was capable of.” A beat. “Like a possession, I suppose.”
He doesn’t know why he’s telling Tobirama when he has barely spoken to Madara about this; sitting here and spilling out the ugliest, most wounded parts of him to this man who he hopes will keep him. Izuna should probably be trying to figure out how to impress Tobirama into accepting Izuna’s suit, and here he is doing the opposite.
Still, as Tobirama shifts closer to wordlessly press their shoulders together, Izuna feels like the words—the ache—clack against his teeth, straining to burst through.
In some twisted way, he needs this more than he wants Tobirama to know the best of him. Needs Tobirama to see what shape the damage takes in Izuna; how there are parts of himself he doesn’t know what to do with, parts he wishes he couldn’t see. Izuna feels that impulse of rage and violence—the instinct that he has something to prove.
That he is hopeless and made of grief, or the opposite—he doesn’t know.
“Aniki doesn’t fully understand. He always found Akio-nii-san to be too detached and unfeeling. In turn, Akio-nii-san thought Madara-nii-san is too emotional and soft. Neither liked the other.” Izuna frowns. “I must have seemed like an opportunity to right those wrongs. Madara-nii-san wanted to keep me from all harm so I wouldn’t be like Akio. Akio-nii-san wanted me to be a blade in his hands, the way Madara would never be because there was no trust or affection in that relationship. I… was alright being that for him. I was so young that just having his attention and regard felt like a reward.”
Tobirama hums. “So, he essentially saw you as his.”
Izuna shrugs. “I guess. He was good to me sometimes. Sometimes, he wasn’t.” He exhales slowly, closing his eyes. “He wanted a second-in-command who would be willing to die in his name, and yet, that day in the woods, he died fighting to protect me. The older I get, the less I am able to understand Akio and the way he loved me.”
“That is…” Tobirama trails off, clearly searching for the word until he lands on, “complicated.”
Izuna snorts, eyes opening to glance wryly at the Senju. “Brotherhood is complicated.”
Tobirama’s lips twist into a mirthless smile. “Indeed.” He turns to look ahead, eyes fixed somewhere far away. Soft as a whisper, he says, “It never quite leaves you. Not even in death.”
Izuna swallows around the lump in his throat. “Yeah.”
Silence reigns between them for several heartbeats. Then, Tobirama says,
“I didn’t deal well with losing Kawarama and Itama.”
Izuna doesn’t respond. He waits, watching out of the corner of his eye as Tobirama folds his hands together neatly.
“It felt like an injustice—one I couldn’t accept. I was the older one; I was never supposed to outlive them. It wasn’t fair. Our world is riddled with impossibilities made possible—my own brother can create life even on barren land. I thought I could find a way to do the same,” Tobirama says. His tone is clinical and distant, his face impassive as he adds, “I wanted to find a way to cheat death. To undo it and bring back what was taken from me.”
Izuna’s eyes widen. Breathless, he asks, “Did you—?”
“Yes and no.” Tobirama shakes his head. “It’s not life, really. There’s an element of binding and servitude. Of an incomplete return. Of pain. It would not bring them back fully—not as they were—and I couldn’t do that to them. I simply had to accept that they are truly gone and all I can do is wait until the day I will reunite with them.”
To love and mourn enough to be willing to tip the scales between life and death—Izuna can hardly comprehend it. He feels his mind racing, thoughts slipping away before he can grasp onto them. There is only shock and the startlingly clear realisation that, one day, Izuna would have died by Tobirama’s blade.
The man bends space and time to his whims. He is devoted and, frankly, insane enough to spit on the rules of death. Sooner or later, Izuna knows that he would have invented some sort of weapon that Izuna would not have been able to dodge or survive. That Tobirama cares so much for peace and seems to think of Izuna as a friend is simply dumb luck. Just the thought alone makes Izuna want to laugh or scream or both.
“Have you ever used the technique? On someone, I mean. Past testing,” Izuna asks, barely able to hear himself over the buzzing in his head.
Tobirama sighs. “No. I may have been willing to ignore the sacred laws in my grief for Kawarama and Itama, but to use that jutsu for anything else would invite too much trouble and involve prices I have no interest in paying.”
A line in the sand. Izuna smiles wryly. To think that he had worried about seeming too emotional and damaged to this man when Tobirama is just as—if not more—hopeless and made of grief as him.
Once again, they are only two sides of the same coin.
Dear Hyuuga Hisae,
I was pleasantly surprised to receive your letter as I had resigned myself to a season of quietly keeping busy. It was a most welcome distraction just when things were beginning to get too dull for my tastes.
The Senju clan has indeed been occupied by preparing for the move, but my dear husband is determined to ensure that I am not troubled by matters which he deems ‘trifling’ and has been working hard to oversee the bulk of the preparations. With his heir away on a diplomatic mission, Hashirama has even more resting on his shoulders than usual, but he seems much too excited by the upcoming changes in his life to let himself be weighed down. As a result, I have found myself with plenty of time for leisure. In fact, I’d say I’ve been resting too much for my tastes—it will start driving me insane soon if I do not occupy myself sufficiently.
Congratulations to little Sai! Three-years-old is one of many milestones he will reach someday, and I sincerely hope that he grows into a wonderful and well-rounded adult. My blessings are with you and your child. I understand your concern for him more with each day that brings me closer to meeting my own baby, but I hope you can remember that you do not have to bear alone the weight of your duty to him. You have friends and allies you can lean on even if it is hard to remember at times. You only need ask.
To answer your question: I am enjoying my first winter in Land of Fire quite a bit. It is far more pleasant than winter on Uzushio, where we’d get more rain and storms due to the wind patterns. I have only seen snow once, on a formal visit to Land of Lightning with my father. It really is quite beautiful; I’d like to see it again someday.
I hope Sai feels better soon. If not, you are more than welcome to visit the Senju compound and see one of our many accomplished healers. And if he isfeeling better, perhaps the two of you can visit anyways and help alleviate some of my boredom. I would be truly grateful to see a friend.
Take care of yourself and Sai and try not to push yourself too much. Remember that I am here for you should you need me, Hisae—my offer to help is unconditional.
Your friend,
Uzumaki Mito
“You aren’t sleeping much,” Izuna comments apropos of nothing.
Tobirama barely keeps from stiffening in surprise at being called out so suddenly, only momentarily pausing in his reaching for the deck of cards between them. “I’m sleeping enough,” he denies.
Izuna levels him with a flat look. “Don’t lie to me. Half the times it’s my turn to take watch, I can hear that you’re awake too. You’ve let me sleep and skip watch entirely four times already. You aren’t getting anywhere near enough sleep, even by our standards.”
Pursing his lips is dead giveaway to someone who is as familiar with his tells as Izuna, and yet, Tobirama cannot help the display of displeasure. “I’m fine,” he insists, though he knows it’s a losing battle even before that mutinous expression settles over Izuna’s fine features.
“I’ll stab you,” the Uchiha threatens, deadly calm despite his impressive glare. “What’s going on with you?”
Tobirama considers his avenues of avoidance. Misdirection, redirection, silence, or violence. Then, he sighs and accepts his fate knowing that—much like a dog with a bone—Izuna is unlikely to drop the matter now that he knows something is off. He does so hate to be left out of the loop.
“Nightmares,” Tobirama answers shortly. It is futile to hope that that will be the end of it, and yet, he hopes anyways.
“About?” Izuna prompts, ploughing right over Tobirama’s attempt at reticence.
Sighing, Tobirama looks skyward and considers his answer. His dreams make no more sense to him than they did before. The rabid rabbit, the sense of fear and paranoia, the invasiveness of feeling something foreign try to settle under his skin, the sharingan that bleeds into every vision, the way they’ve only gotten more frequent since this journey began—Tobirama can make educated guesses, but they don’t make much sense to him. Though perhaps he is going about it the wrong way by seeking logic from something as arbitrary as dreams anyways.
Finally, he says, “The war.” It might be closest to the truth even if it doesn’t feel right .
Izuna falls predictably quiet at that, blinking. His face is a careful mask of neutrality as he sets his cards down but the tightness at the edges of his mouth gives him away.
“That upset you,” Tobirama observes.
“I’m not upset.”
Eyebrows lifting, he comments wryly, “Now who’s the liar?”
Izuna rolls his eyes at that. “It’s just some dreams,” he grumbles, crossing his arms. A pause, and then his eyes narrow. “Right?”
“Yes,” Tobirama confirms easily. He studies the uncertainty that creeps into Izuna’s countenance, from the tension in his fingers to the slight furrow of his brows. Then, he adds honestly, “I trust you.”
Red bleeds into Izuna’s vision and Tobirama instinctively straightens under the intensity of his gaze, watching carefully as Izuna leans closer slightly. “You trust me?” he asks, and there is weight to the question—a demand for honesty, almost as if Izuna is challenging him.
Tobirama does not falter away from the mangekyo even with his instincts screaming about danger and possible betrayal. In his mind’s eye, he thinks of the rabbit and its blood. Tobirama shakes off the thought. He knows better. “I trust you,” he repeats, unwavering.
Izuna’s gaze lingers, visibly tracking Tobirama’s features. He tries not to hold his breath in response to the attention that is making heat slowly crawl up the back of his neck. There is no doubt that Izuna will see it after all.
Finally, the Uchiha nods. “Good,” he relents, and the sharingan flickers away as it is deactivated. Izuna blinks thrice as his focus readjusts. “There’s nothing you can do about nightmares, but you should start napping during the day whenever possible. You need the rest to function at acceptable capacity.”
“Acceptable capacity,” Tobirama repeats, amused. He watches as Izuna rubs at his eyes as if soothing irritation. “Are your eyes bothering you?”
Izuna glances at him, offering a faint quirk of the lips. “Maybe.” Seeing Tobirama’s deadpan look, he sighs and elaborates, “It’s normal for the mangekyo to strain the eyes over time.”
Strain is putting it kindly. Tobirama knows the exact statistics for how many sharingan owner (especially those with the mangekyo) go blind from overuse and the toll their bloodline limit takes on them. He’d conducted a private study as soon as Kagami formally became his apprentice.
“There has to be something you can do to avoid the deterioration,” he says, frowning.
With Kagami, he’d mostly worked on prevention and management of the strain with relaxation exercises and making sure that his student never developed the bad habit of leaning on his kekkei genkai like a crutch. Kagami had been a proficient wielder of his sharingan because Tobirama would never allow such an advantage to be neglected, but he’d also ensured that Kagami knew to reach for his other weapons just as often.
However, there must be some sort of cure or way to delay the blindness.
“There are ways,” Izuna admits. “Normally, transplants are the go-to solution. For some reason, that restores vision while also negating future side-effects. The procedure is risky though. Rejection and infection are a big possibility, so most people opt to just retire to civilian status once their vision is too far gone.”
Tobirama frowns in thought. “Interesting. That implies the damage takes place in the chakra pathways around the eye, but I wonder why the transplant acts as a restoration.”
“Curious?” Izuna asks. He’s smiling.
“Yes,” Tobirama admits. “Given our history, isn’t it natural to be curious?”
“I suppose.” Izuna rests his cheek against the palm of his hand, wisps of his hair escaping his loose braid to fall into his eyes. “I always thought I’d end up giving my eyes to my brother.”
And in another life, he did.
In this one, Tobirama points out, “You could exchange your eyes.”
“We just didn’t want to risk it,” Izuna says. “We couldn’t chance the possibility of one or both clan leaders falling to infection. Not with the war. Maybe once things have settled with the village, and there is time to rest, we can look into getting it done.”
“How bad is your eyesight now?”
Izuna makes a so-so motion with his hands. “It’s manageable for the most part. Aniki is worse off than I am since he’s primarily a ninjutsu user.”
Tobirama hums. “Madara-sama seems to suffer from headaches after too long spent looking at paperwork,” he recalls.
“Yeah,” Izuna rolls his eyes, “he’s a total bitch about it. He has glasses too, but he thinks he looks stupid so he doesn’t wear them nearly as often as he should.”
Tobirama’s eyes shoot up at that. “I had no idea he was so concerned about his appearance.”
“You’d never know by looking at his hair,” Izuna says sagely. He grins and continues, “He isn’t really, you know. I think he just doesn’t like displaying the vulnerability of his poor vision, but he’ll never admit that out loud, so he claims vanity as if that’s believable in the slightest.”
“I suppose I can somewhat understand, though I do think it’s a bit foolish.”
“That’s what I keep telling him,” Izuna agrees, nodding. He tilts his head in consideration, gaze suddenly sharpening as he looks at Tobirama. “Do you think there are iryo-ninjutsu techniques that could repair or slow the ocular damage?”
“Perhaps,” Tobirama answers slowly, thinking. “Not all optical conditions can be corrected, however. My astigmatism, for example. We’d have to study the shape of the eye, the optic nerve, and the surrounding chakra pathways to really be sure.”
“You could study my eyes,” Izuna offers immediately.
Taken aback, Tobirama blinks. “What?”
“Study my eyes,” Izuna repeats. “If there’s something that can be done, figure out how to do it. You have no idea how much that would help the Uchiha.”
That’s untrue. Tobirama knows exactly how many years it would add to the average Uchiha’s period of active service.
“That’s a big thing to offer,” he states. “No outsider has ever gotten a close look at the sharingan, and the diagnostic process means I’d get intimate knowledge of how your kekkei genkai works. Your clan could object to me having that kind of information, and that’s not even considering the—”
“It’s fine,” Izuna cuts him off. He meets Tobirama’s eyes and smiles. “I trust you.”
Tobirama blinks. He hadn’t considered what it might be like to be at the receiving end of those words spoken so plainly. No embellishment, only the simple truth. He hears his heart beating in his chest, feels how it lurches within him, and his breath leaves him in one short moment.
He allows himself a moment to settle, to contemplate, and then—inevitably—he relents.
“Well, alright then.”
“Mito-sama.”
Looking up from the journal she’d been reading—one the many that belong to Tobirama—Mito blinks at Hashirama’s secretary lingering in the doorway, her usual mask of politeness frayed by uncertainty. “Yes, Ayame-san?” Mito prompts.
“Hyuuga Hisae arrived at the compound gates ten minutes ago, claiming that you invited her. She’s waiting for you in the reception hall.”
Mito’s eyebrows shoot up. “Will you show her to the living room? I will be there shortly.”
“Of course, Mito-sama.” Ayame pauses. “Should I inform Hashirama-sama of your guests?”
“That would be much appreciated. Tell him to send word as well.”
Ayame inclines her head and doesn’t ask who Hashirama is supposed to be sending word to. It is what makes her an excellent secretary; she is never more curious than her job requires. Having received her orders, she bows and takes her leave.
Mito rises to her feet slowly and takes a deep breath. She nods to herself and heads for the door to go see her friend.
It is time to finally right some wrongs.