Reversing a Heart’s Atrophy (is easier than it seems)
Tobirama turned 16 three months ago and his life has dissolved into a fatalistic downward spiral ever since. First his favorite cousin (practically his sister) gets severely injured in a scrimmage against the Uchiha, then Hashirama heard the (false) rumors about that thrice damned mission to Snow and is avoiding him again, not to mention that he hasn’t had a single free moment to spend in his lab, and now the rest of the clan has finally caught on to the fact that he’s been offering advice to several of the children that are being unnecessarily rushed into training. All of this on top of the truly ridiculous mission schedule Butsuma is punishing him with. Tobirama isn’t even sure what he’s being punished for-not that he hasn’t done anything but he’s long made his peace with the fact that his sins will damn him to banishment or execution. Not an inhuman mission schedule.
It’s with a bone deep exhaustion that Tobirama slips into the small clearing that he uses for private training. He’s only just returned-only home long enough to report in and then ditch his mission gear and armor in his room- and already he’s been informed that he leaves for the desert tomorrow morning. Ugh. Surely, surely, a few hours to himself isn’t unreasonable. He loves his family, he does, but rarely does he like the majority of them.
Except he isn’t alone.
Tobirama pauses, stunned, because his seals should keep everyone but him out. Noe even Hashirama can overpower them. And yet, there in the middle of his clearing is a child scrabbling about in the dirt. An unfamiliar child, he realizes after a long second look, and a young one at that. Too young for this to be some ploy from another clan for all that it clearly isn’t a Senju child. Tobirama kneads a sliver of chakra from his badly drained reserves and the child lights up to his senses. Not the overwhelming sun of his brother or the raging bonfire of Hashirama’s Uchiha, but a softer glow that none the less reminds him of the two powerhouses. Like finding shelter just before a massive storm breaks, safe and warmed from a lovingly tended hearth.
Silent footsteps bring him right in front of the child and he drops down to one knee. “Where did you come from Little One,” he asks gently, all too aware of his rather intimidating nature. It’s easy to tell the instant the child notices him, blinking up from the weeds that had previously held their attention. Tobirama expects the child to, well, cry probably. It’s not an uncommon reaction, and he’s starting to suspect that the child is too young to properly answer him anyway. He’s not at all prepared for the blinding smile that lights up the tiny face once innocent gray eyes land on his own. He’s even less prepared for the child to abandon whatever it was they had been doing in order to immediately raise their hands in a wordless desire to be held.
Knocked off kilter, Tobirama carefully scoops the toddler up and rises back to his feet. The only children he’s spent any real time with are the six and seven year olds who are being prepared to leave the compound for the first time and even that is severely limited. This child is half that age at most, and now that he’s holding them Tobirama isn’t really sure what to do. The child has no such awkwardness as little hands touch his face in surprisingly gentle exploration. Feeling a bit helpless (an unfamiliar experience, though he can’t say he minds) Tobirama allows it, watching the unfettered awe when careful rubbing doesn’t smudge one of his facial tattoos. Gray eyes widen even larger when they peak up and catch him looking back, and then happiness blooms across his senses so pure and all-encompassing that it very nearly brings him to his knees.
‘Oh’, a very distant part of him thinks, ‘Oh.’
The child-a girl he knows suddenly-smiles again, so large that it scrunches her eyes shut, and the simple joy has him helpless to do anything but smile back. It’s a crooked, unpracticed smile. One that hasn’t been seen since the loss of his first little brother. And yet. Tobirama can’t find it in himself to continue that line of thought for all that he usually can’t stop. Not when one of his own hands lift of its own accord to trace callused fingertips across still chubby cheeks and a delicate nose. The way she leans into his touch makes his breath go ragged in his chest. How long has it been since he touched someone like this? Years at least, probably almost a decade. His is not a life that encourages such softness, even with those closest to him. Then a silent yawn overtakes her, little fists rubbing at her eyes before she leans in and nuzzles against his throat sleepily.
Tobirama had had vague plans for some light training, but he abandons them immediately in favor of sliding down to the base of a nearby shade tree. Reclined against the sturdy oak, he carefully resettles the child comfortably on his chest. A nap would likely do both of them well. After all, he needs to figure out how he’s going to go about introducing his new daughter to the clan. It’s been all of 10 minutes at most, and yet he can’t even begin to understand he’s lived without this for so long. Something that had been off for so long he hadn’t even noticed clicking back into its proper place at the feeling of a little heart beating in time with his own.
Hours later Tobirama wakes slowly to the faint feeling that something is missing. Uncertain as to what it could be, he checks the angle of the sun carefully. It isn’t quite late enough for dinner and he hasn’t any other obligations until tomorrow thought he feels as if he slept longer than he had planned. So what . . .? A memory of hand on his face has him bolting to his feet in panic. His daughter! It only takes an instant for him to throw his senses wide, eyes frantically searching the clearing itself. Nothing. Absolutely nothing to indicate that a child had been there at all, and nothing from his sensing either. Even the weeds that she had been playing with are gone, and Tobirama belatedly realizes that she had never made a single sound. Not her movements, not her clothes, and he hesitates. ‘A genjutsu,’ he thinks hauntingly, ‘or worse. A hallucination.’ Considers the way the journey back had pulled dangerously at his severely depleted reserves. Remembers how he had just strengthened the seals protecting the clearing last week after overhearing some less-pleasant cousins planning to try and humiliate him again.
It aches, that he must have imagined it. Imagined her. That even his own mind has turned against him, either from his own foolish desires or a relative’s cruel joke meant to hurt.
Then he feels the slightest fluttering of something and abruptly yanks his focus inward as a spark of desperate hope rises. He wants, abruptly and unexpectedly, in a way that he hasn’t since he was forced to bury Itama and Kawarama far too soon. And as if someone out there has finally heard his cries, hidden deep at the very core of himself-almost beyond even his ability to find-is a tiny flickering of hearth-warmth resting peacefully under the protection of his own stormy presence.
Tobirama all but collapses, relief causing his knees to buckle underneath him. It was real, thank the gods it was real. She was real, and she would return to him in time. He can feel it now, the slight sting from his failed attempt to glimpse into the future. Or, not so failed apparently. He hadn’t quite meant to summon himself a cub but he certainly won’t be complaining. He had shelved the project the next morning, the attempt more a result of exhaustion-induced insanity than any true desire to interfere with the future, but perhaps he should give it a more thorough analysis. Clearly some part of it has worked. Still, it would have to wait. It’s nearly time for dinner now, and perhaps he will try to corner Hashirama beforehand. Have a proper conversation with his brother. Not even the knowledge that he leaves for the personal hell that is the desert in less than 12 hours can affect the sudden lightness in his heart. Banked for now, but no longer at risk of fading.