Epilogue: Before

As the moonlight poured through the enormous window at their side, a heavy breeze caressed them. It was cold, but the hand on hers was gentle. Surprisingly so. Senju Tobirama was a man of angles and sternness, of frowns and scowls and logical thought - gentleness was not a word often associated with the man beside her. But, she realized suddenly, years too late, that outside of battle or training she had never seen him be rough with another person or creature. Not with her late daughter who loved to ride his wide shoulders, not with little Tsunade - whom he had just knelt next to so she could give him a solemn kiss goodnight, wide-eyed at the battle-gear he did not wear as often as he used to - and never, ever with her. The uncommon touches that had accumulated over the years were always soft and kind. A brush on the shoulder, an occasional grasp of her hand, always skimming touches with a strong hand.

Her little granddaughter, usually so averse to bedtime, was exhausted and confused, startled into silence by the loss of her mother, had easily agreed to bedtime at the wish of her uncle. Nawaki, the newest addition to their family, cuddled up against her shoulder. She'd woken him up when she'd returned, causing some fussiness, but now he curled against her, his favorite place to sleep - or so she liked to think.

Still, though, Mito's eyes remained dry. She took a deep, calm breath. She was an Uzumaki – a member of one of the noblest clans in the five great nations. She had been part of the Uzumaki clan council when she was young, and stood as Hashirama's adviser for years, before they were even married. She had been part of the building of two of the greatest shinobi villages in the world. She was a proud woman, standing tall through adversity and through good fortune.

But now her daughter and husband were dead, and all she had to show for it was a demon within her. Little Nawaki was silent at her breast, fast asleep and breathing softly, the even movement keeping her heart from dancing out of her chest. It was comforting to rest her tired head against the softness of his slowly-growing hair.

"I am sorry, Mito."

Turning her own sorrowful gaze into his eyes, she wondered why on earth Tobirama of all people would apologize to her. Should it not be the opposite? She was the one who had been meant to protect their shared link - the man they both loved more than they loved themselves. "It's not your fault. Hashirama did what he knew he must. He saved the village."

"As did you. You must not blame yourself for these circumstances."

He was right. The death of Uchiha Madara was a godsend to the village, but it had come at a cost. Tobirama, for all of his gruffness and frowns, loved his brother - but he understood, perhaps better than anyone, the importance of his sacrifice. And if he knew of hers, he would also understand. But she was not yet ready to share it with him. It was between her and Hashirama - she wanted to hold it against her heart a little longer before he knew.

Tobirama's eyes were amber-red like flames, and they burned so deeply into her. She did not turn away. His hand hand, still painstakingly gentle, ran across her arm and to Nawaki's soft forehead. He was a man of deliberation - he knew what he was doing with every movement. The rare physical affection he offered was comforting - his hands were cold and rough, but the kindness and tenderness in the delicate gesture meant everything to her. Her heart ached. Her throat closed. She blinked, hard. Once, twice. Three times. Then the unnatural shine to her eyes was gone, and she was composed.

"He wanted one of us as Niidaime. But I am not suited for the position."

Mito tightened her grip on Nawaki's warm, fragile body, taking comfort in the plumpness over his tiny bones, the smell of his hair and heaviness of him against her. She had changed out of her battle gear and wore nothing but an old cotton dress, one Hashirama had told her he liked, a long time ago. He never commented on her clothes, and she had held the memory in the back of her mind for a long time. Before, she had laughed off his lack of fashion sense or materialism. Now, she wondered if he meant it that way - he loved her even when she was not adorned with all he had given her. He knew she could fend for herself. But Hokage... did he really trust her so wholly with his childhood dream? She'd watched two friends die at each other's hands, and knew she would never unsee the destruction it had wrought.

Tobirama felt tortured, watching her clutch his grandnephew to her breast. He knew himself well, his strength and weaknesses. He was a political force to be reckoned with, a named that was feared and respected. The name of Senju Tobirama had been one of honor long before the establishment of the shinobi village system.

He knew her just as well – Uzumaki Mito, the formidable princess of Uzushio, the famous sealing mistress, the master of unlocking. Very likely his best friend, now that his brother was gone. Her reputation preceded her, as his did. But she was modest, where he was not. It was not in his nature to deal with polite nothings. He would not do well as Hokage - the ceremonies and business of it all irritated him. Better he be her partner - the ceremonies that the other villages were imposing made the job unbearable. Hashirama knew this - he trusted his brother and his wife to carry on his dreams - his will - after he was dead. His throat burned, thinking of his brother, but he did not react to it, swallowing only once, decisively. Once Tobirama had decided on something, he carried it out.

The infant at her breast did not even stir as Tobirama caressed the child's head and she stared at him. She was a tall woman, but he and his brother towered over her. She did not have to crane her neck to look into his eyes as most men and women did. Her height granted her an extra elegance, an imposing grace that she used to her advantage. The title and its burden would be better with her. There was no person he trusted more with his brother's dreams.

Still, he knew the blow was difficult to deal with. Her daughter had married twice, and outlived both husbands. It did not matter now – Nawaki's birth had killed her last month, and Mito had scarcely set the child down, except to be fed. But tonight, she had. Her husband had finally defeated Madara, and she had sealed the kyuubi within herself. She could still feel it beating at her skin, boiling her blood. She probably had a fever. But she had rushed home, eager to kiss a solemn Tsunade goodnight, to hold Nawaki again, to rest and try to calm the stray pounding of her heart and throbbing in her stomach. She felt burned where the fox chakra had dribbled away and been sucked into her. Nobody would know, though. Only Hashirama and Madara, and they were both dead now. She would tell Tobirama, in time. Right now, though, the idea of the creature within her still frightened her. The destruction it had left behind was awe inspiring... and horrifying. The power just beneath a little seal on her stomach could destroy nations.

"I see..." she said, faintly. "You believe yourself to be less fit for the position."

Carefully, Tobirama watched the baby, and withdrew his hand, standing upright again, spine straighter than his sword. His nature was so different from Hashirama's boisterous, boyish, and downright charming personality. She'd often had to scold him to be gentle when Izumi was born. His energy was boundless, excitable, joyous. She had always enjoyed his bright personality, in such a contrast to her own and to Tobirama's. They needed him. Now though, there was no Hashirama to fill the silences and the brooding that were likely to commence. They were too similar, too reticent and private.

"This will break Konoha's heart." Tobirama's prediction was dark. She did not respond, so he continued, meaningfully: "And you will be there to heal it."

"Why do you not become Hokage? I think it would be more suitable. The people will not accept me as eagerly as you predict - I'm a foreigner. You would do just as well - better."

If he had been a more expressive man, he would have scoffed at the thought. "I have no desire to wear Hashirama's hat… or fill his shoes. He decided long ago that it should be one of us, and you are the obvious choice. Nepotism would not sit well with the Uchiha or the Shimura clans. You have much more public approval than I do. You were a diplomat here for years before you married him."

"You're the reason the village has been kept afloat for this long." She watched his eyes flicker downward, so like the country he was raised in. "Hashirama was the heart, but you're the brain."

"What good is a brain without a heart?" Tobirama was still dressed in his armor. He'd gone after them the moment the fighting had stopped, and rushed the pair of them back - Hashirama's barely breathing body, and she, exhausted and convulsing. "You have the same heart he did… even if you don't feel the need to wear it on your sleeve."

The conversation made her chest ache, and she was so tired. Mito felt old beyond her years. She was an Uzumaki – the vitality of her clan was legendary. She was still standing, was she not? But her daughter was dead at twenty-six, and her husband was gone. Mito was not yet sixty, and still looked two thirds that age. Tobirama was younger than she. Hashirama had been, too. "Can we make a decision about this tomorrow? It feels too sudden." But she knew it must be decided now.

Nothing could be the same anymore. Tobirama straightened his shoulders and crossed his arms. The answer was implicit in his movement. "Your squad is waiting for you." Kagami, Torifu, and Danzou.

"And yours?" Koharu, Hiruzen, Homura.

"Waiting for our word to tell the village the news. Whatever it may be."

"I will go. You should rest. It will be a long day. It has been already, I'm sure." He had been left to secure the safety of the village while she and Hashirama had drawn Madara away. It felt as though it had happened to another person. She felt the exhaustion on her body like a physical weight.

He knew her, and knew she would accept his offer. She didn't understand why he chose not to take the position, but she would take the mantle anyway. Tobirama had his reasons, and she trusted him with her life. More importantly, she trusted him with the welfare of the village, with Hashirama's will. If anyone knew her husband, it had been his brother.

"Why do you not rest instead?" His question was pointed. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, the skin soft like rotten fruit.

Mito shook her head, and reluctantly set down tiny Nawaki in his crib. He was safe now. All the village would die for the beloved grandson of the Hokage - or the Shodai Hokage. Now they had to differentiate. There was more than one Hokage. "I should come with you. you shouldn't do this alone. My first act as Hokage… will to tell the village of my new position, with you as my right hand."

He merely nodded. It was not in him to gloat. He knew she would accept it because he understood her, and she understood the situation. They fell into steady, harmonious footsteps, the routine of their patterned movements painfully nostalgic. It had been not days ago that they had stepped easily together - it felt like months. Another life. She had always enjoyed their easy kinship. They were similar people – quiet and thoughtful. At first, Hashirama had been the reason they stood with one another, spoke with one another. They both acted as his trusted advisers, and had on more than one occasion, knocked sense into him. The thought brought a small smile to her lips as they left the small house they shared within what was going to be a 'tower'. Hashirama had excitedly decided that all officials needed a tower, and she and Tobirama had not been able to come up with an excuse that could deter his architectural dreams.

"Torifu, she's here - Mito-sensei!"

She turned to her left. It was still dark, her eyes straining to adjust after the well-lit indoors, and she smiled gently at the source of the voice, though her heart ached. Danzou's voice was laced with stress - he had always been eager to please, and the sight of his mentor caused an audible crack in his voice.

"What's the news?" It was Hiruzen this time, earnest but professional in his desperation. Another charming boy - Hashirama had always favored him. She knew Tobirama would never admit to having a favorite, but she saw the gleam in his eyes whenever Koharu had been particularly clever.

Mito bit her lip. It was worse saying it than hearing it. She looked imploringly at Tobirama. He did not look back at her, but she knew nothing escaped his keen sensor's eye. His steadiness meant everything to her. He would not leave her. Not now, not ever. As if drawing strength from this, she drew her shoulders back - she was a Kage.

"Senju Hashirama is dead." She heard herself say it, in unison with Tobirama's deeper voice. They said his name as if it gave them some distance from the man he truly was, the greatness that had fallen, and the pain that came with the knowledge.

All six of their students froze before them.

"I am now the Niidaime Hokage." Mito spoke purposefully, with confidence, ignoring the singed texture of her hair and her trembling hands.

But the quiet was broken by Kagami, her secret favorite, the dark-haired Uchiha boy she'd practically adopted in his youth. He clenched his hands, hugging himself, as if pretending Hashirama were there to do it himself, one last time, and bowed to her deeply, his spine as straight as Tobirama's and his nose nearly touching the earth before them.

"I swear my allegiance to you, Mito-sama-sensei!" He cried out with fervor, eyes shining, skin luminescent in the moonlight. "I'm so glad you're alive." He added this fervently, before straightening and waiting, silently and patiently, for their words.

Tobirama, who'd been in charge of the village while she and Hashirama had battled Madara, nodded, and watched their faces fall, one by one. "Alert the guards. The Niidaime Hokage has been chosen, and she will present herself tomorrow at my brother's funeral."

At the word 'funeral', Mito felt herself deflate. The second burial in her family in so short a time - she was low on chakra and exhausted and her heart ached with loss. The only sleep she'd gotten since the day before yesterday was snatches of oblivion from fighting. A funeral was not a possibility she wanted to think about when Madara had attacked, so soon after they had said goodbye to their only child.

Feeling herself stagger, she was held in place by Tobirama's impartial arm, who nodded at their worried students after glancing at her.

"It has been a long night." There was a hint of softness in his tone as he watched them. Hashirama had been like a father to all of them. They felt the loss of the Shodai Hokage more keenly than most. "The new Hokage needs rest."

Eyes shining, the six students before them disappeared quickly, sharing the news. Senju Hashirama, the god of shinobi, had fallen in battle.

x

The lonely picture of Senju Hashirama stood starkly on the white table before his casket. There was dead silence in the village. There was no rain, though Mito felt as though there should have been. Only a few lonely clouds scudded across the bright sky.

Konoha had expanded in the nearly thirty years since its founding. There were multiple clans, multiple missing-nins that Hashirama had eagerly welcomed and that she and Tobirama had less eagerly interviewed and interrogated. Other countries had followed her husband's lead and there were at least a dozen other villages on the continent. It was enough to warm her heart as she stood with Tobirama, Tsunade, and Nawaki. The infant was not in her arms - Tobirama insisted it would be undignified and had entrusted the child to Kagami, who warmly accepted the honor and stood next to her, his beloved sensei. He had worshipped her since she had found him at the edge of the Nakano, crying. Even children were not exempt from these dangerous clan politics.

The ceremony was not what Hashirama would have wished. There was no cheering, or laughter, or hearty eulogies about him. Only the bare bones, of a village in mourning and a newly minted Hokage whose knees shook beneath her heavy robes.

Tobirama had only spoken to her once that morning. He had stopped her just before they left, in the home they had shared - because Hashirama insisted his brother live with them, and she had never minded enough to object - and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You will do well today."

It was an order, a promise, and a reassurance, all at once. She was grateful for his unwavering firmness, for Kagami's emotional cheerfulness, for Tsunade's silence. Her granddaughter gripped Tobirama's hand as he stared forward, stoic and stern.

When she announced that she was to be the new Hokage, she saw the dissenters. The clan heads who exchanged glances, the frowns of the Uchiha, the befuddled Senju. Should it not be Tobirama?

But her brother stared ahead, ignoring them all. The whiteness of his hair shone attractively in the sunlight, and his eyes flickered. Then he stepped forward, minutely, the imposing gesture enough to silence the entire crowd. When he spoke, all around him paid attention - it was deliberate and icy, the sort of tone that had his enemies shaking. He managed to boom without ever raising his voice.

"She is now the fire's shadow. She will illuminate the village and bring light to a new day in Konoha."

Imperious and royal, he turned to Mito, releasing Tsunade's hand, and bowed lowly to her, dipping his back in a ninety-degree angle and resting on one knee. She only stared at him, feebly attempting to mask her shock. Senju Tobirama bowed to no man. Yet here he was, willingly dirtying his clothing before her as his eyes held hers in place, his back so straight it seemed he should be breaking his neck to look at her. But he held her gaze, his intensity mesmerizing. The most respected man in the village faced the ground before her, noble even in submission.

So fell the clans and the allied shinobi before them, to Mito's shock and Tobirama's guess. And with a rising shout, they called: "And so the will of fire lives on!"

x

As he watched Mito take Nawaki back from Kagami, the child still so impossibly small, particularly in the comforting, maternal grip of her strong shoulders and wide hands, Tobirama knew he had been right. If either of them were to be Hokage, it should be her - he was but a support, a pillar to hold up the dream his brother had held for so long. He owed his very life to it.

He had never doubted his brother's resolve. Since the day Hashirama had been willing to commit suicide rather than harm Madara or himself, Tobirama had vowed to show his brother the same sort of sacrificial love that he gave so unconditionally. And so, as his brother was burned and his ashes spread across the fertile lands of their Konoha, Tobirama vowed to show the entire village just what the love of the Senju clan meant. And Senju Tobirama had never broken a promise to Konoha - and by extension, to Hashirama.