Hello! Sorry for the delay. I've been terribly busy, and this story has veered faaaar away from my original idea of shorty, fluffy and time-travely. As for Hisai's letters, I promise they'll make sense soon. That said, I hope you enjoy!

Day 27

I never thought I'd travel this far out into the ocean. People call it "open water", and I can certainly see what they mean now, but it's not nearly as terrifying as I always envisioned it to 's something unbearably ironic about the possibility of dying of thirst when surrounded by this much water. The only reason I agreed to this expedition, other than the fact that I had no choice in the matter, was the possibility of charting new territory. This is the fifth day we've spent idly floating about in the same patch of blue. The irony is not lost to me, that makes it funny enough that I can't be afraid.

A lot of the others are afraid. I hear them praying at night, sobbing every time this piece of shit boat lurches strange, begging for mercy, for life. I tried to tell them praying is stupid, because any god that cares for us shinobi clearly enjoys watching us die in new and exciting ways, but they won't listen. They pray and pray and cry. They want more time. I'd tell them time is relative, but I don't think they'd understand. Mainly, I'm bored out of my mind. The prospect of braving the proverbial dive is looking better and better. The only reason I haven't done it yet is that I keep thinking I have to live, because I have to see her again. That thought alone would keep me sane through the worst of tortures.

I like it out here. I'm almost glad the navigator fucked up and got us stranded. It's verdant, somehow, even if that's not the proper word for it. Especially at night, when the water looks black and merges with the sky, and darkness feels alight with color even though I know that's definitely impossible. The darkness shines, flush with stars like someone poked holes in a piece of cloth. When I die I want to get buried at sea.

"Why is your hair white?"

Tobirama snaps out of his reverie, blinking several times. Bottomless coal eyes regard him evenly, curiously, from under a mat of travel dirty dark hair. Verdant, he thinks.

"It was my mother's hair color," he says by way of explanation. His eyes once again travel to the perimeter, his attention solely on their surroundings and any danger they may pose. He's peripherally aware of the boy's considering expression, the way his nose scrunches up. That means there's another question coming.

"Was she a rabbit lady?"

A few months ago, Tobirama would not have known how to answer that. But by now he has enough practise in dealing with the superb imagination of the children in this particular family that he doesn't hesitate to answer, "The Queen of them all, actually. Every spring, they came from all the nations to braid her hair with flowers,"

Black eyes widen comically, "Even the rabbit on the moon?"

Tobirama smiles a bit despite himself, "Even the rabbit on the moon,"

Across the fire, Madara grins. "Is that why your front teeth are so big?"

This earns him a dirty look, but the boy merely laughs.

"Nii-san!" Yohei chides, pout firmly in place, "You're not supposed to say those things out loud!"

Tobirama huffs in outrage. Madara stuffs a fist in his mouth to stop himself making too much noise as he falls on his back laughing, and Yohei directs a puzzled look at both of them, clearly not realizing what he's said that his brother finds so funny.

Uchiha Yohei is a particularly serene child. He's barely past toddlerhood, yet holds himself with a level head that's unusual for his age. He lacks the temperamental streak Tobirama has come to associate with both of the boy's siblings, the edges of his still fledgling chakra feel more like fire licks than a galvanizing furnace. He asks a lot of questions, but always endeavours to be polite. He smiles a lot, clearly familiar with him, and Tobirama's heart clenches with a grief that's as unnatural as it is raw.

He's never seen this person in his own time, never heard his name spoken in awe and dread across the land. Here is a child that will never grow into his own, who'll probably die before losing his first tooth.

He knows, logically at least, that nothing he can do will stop that. This has already happened, this has already passed. Still, Tobirama is on his guard, his senses stretching outwards in every direction as far as he can take them, alert to any possible threat. There is no way he's letting Youhei die on his watch.

Time is a relative thing, Hisai wrote in his journal. Tobirama is beginning to suspect no one's ever experimented time quite like he has, but all his uncharted territory has done for him so far is lace his blood with the poison of grief.

Tobirama appeared to them an hour and a half earlier, as the boys made camp, readying themselves for a night of vigil awaiting for their father's return from a mission. In true ninja custom, they did not disclose the nature of it, but Tobirama can see the restlessness in their demeanor. Yohei is too young to have been brought as back up, but behind the carefree attitude he puts up for show, Madara is alert and ready to bolt at some unknown signal. At nine, he's already a force to be reckoned with, and his father is honing him for command. His chakra spikes outwards in anxiety, the coiled power of it snapping like the twigs he keeps feeding the fire.

There is a difference to it, but Tobirama cannot quite point it out. He spent his last "travel", as Hashirama's taking to calling them, teaching a slightly older Madara how pack fire chakra into his hand-to-hand fighting style, which meant hours of that corrosive mass of energy snapping at him, biting into his skin even when the boy's punches barely grazed him. He's known Madara's chakra signature since the day they met-such power is difficult to put out of mind-but it's not precisely the nature of it that is different now, less than a year earlier. It's subtle, the difference, but it's there, hidden somewhere. Something dark is missing, something much like grief.

"What was she like?" Madara asks, cutting into his thoughts. He's anxiously pulling out blades of grass and sticking them into his mouth, clearly looking for something to occupy his thoughts with. It takes Tobirama a second to remember they were speaking of his mother.

"Kind," he says, figuring such an adjective is non-disclosive enough. Madara clearly thinks so, if the unimpressed look he receives is anything to go by.

"And…?" he makes a helpful hand gesture to go along with the condescending tone. Tobirama pretends to think about it just to annoy him.

"And propitious,"

He receives a scowl and a blank look, which quickly morphs into outrage.

Yohei points at him and cries, "That's the same word!"

"No, it isn't,"

"Yes, it is! It means the same thing! Same thing, same word!"

Tobirama cocoks his head to the side, "How do you know that?"

Madara shakes his head, letting out a long-suffering sigh, "He plays spelling games in his free time. It's sad,"

Youhei sniffs, "You just say that because I always beat you,"

"Because you cheat,"

"I don't,"

"Yes you do,"

"No,"

Madara raises an eyebrow, "What was your winning word last time?"

"Sable,"

"And which one did you ask me to spell?"

"... baccalaureate,"

"And that's not cheating?"

"No,"

"Why not?"

"Because I win,"

Madara splutters, "That's not an argument!"

"I still win,"

Madara works his jaw for a moment.

"You know," he says "you've gotten this smarmy comment come back thing just about down to a science."

"I learn at the feet of the master," Youhei says, with the tone of someone who's quoting someone else and isn't quite sure what he's saying, but smiles because it fits and it makes Madara laugh and laugh.

Tobirama watches the exchange in silence, amusement battling with apprehension in his mind. The silence of the night is oppressive once the boys stops speaking, the crackling of the fire the only sound breaking through.

"He's been gone too long," Yohei says softly, resting his chin on his folded knees.

"Easy," Madara replies, a smile dawning on his face like dawn, "He'll be back soon. You'll see,"

"But what if you have to go with him?"

"Then Tobirama will take care of you,"

"Will you?" Yohei asks, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

Two sets of identical black eyes turn to him, one in expectancy, the other in apology. Tobirama finds he can't quite meet either.

"Yes," he finally says, dropping a hand on the boy's head. "Yes, I will,"

After, when Yohei's fallen asleep, Madara looks at him through the fire and grins a little.

"Sorry about that, It was just to get him to sleep. I know you can't-"

"I promise," Tobirama hears himself say, the certainty in his voice coming as a surprise to both of them, "As far as I can, I promise,"

Madara blinks a few times, then smiles, poking the fire with his stick. Sparks go up into the dark like fireflies, "Alright then,"

It's a testament to how stressed Tobirama is that he doesn't figure out what's happening sooner. As it is, it takes a rock shattering the window of his study for him to realize what's going on, and by then it's all already escalated to the point that it cannot be fixed easily.

Exhaustion has made him slow. He spent the night before poring over Hisai's notes, trying to find something useful amongst all the journal entries and copious research on various, fascinating topics, but still didn't manage to find anything that might shed some light on his problem. The man's notes are coded, the words painstakingly guarded, and so far his case has little to no resemblance to Tobirama's own, if only because he hasn't yet unlocked whatever part Hisai dedicated to the unexpected side-effects of the hiraishin. Studying the dagger soon turned out to be a dead end as well, for the wicked shard of metal yielded no more information to him than it did to Hikari-sensei.

He's caught in a circle, he's found, like a loop within a loop. He spends his days hobbled over his various scrolls, taking notes and making conjectures, safe in the knowledge that Hashirama trusts him enough to let him do what is necessary to fix his own mistake. His life becomes his study, where he researches and conducts tests-even though he hasn't dared attempt hiraishin once more-and goes through mission reports, trying not to neglect his workload as second in command. Then, he travels to Madara's side. His life lulls to a stop and he breathes for a few minutes-or hours-spent in the company of his greatest foes, before he must return to the present, and deal with the implications of it all.

There's little of Hisai's story he can relate to his own, and yet-and yet, he can't help but feel there's much the man did not speak. That irritating feeling that there's people out there in the world that know more about his own life than himself haunts him when he tries to sleep, but that is the least of his current problems. He's-barely-made peace with Madara's involvement in all this, if only because he still has not reconciled the young child he's come to know with the man he despises.

"You'll cross that bridge when you get there," Hikari-sensei, the only other person he's trusted with the true nature of his travels to, said upon hearing out his predicament. It has since become his motto.

He's been busy, then, trying to force his life into making sense,which only marginally justifies him not paying attention to the rest of the world.

The piercing sound of a shattering window manages to catch his attention just fine.

He snaps out of the light sleep he'd fallen into while trying to read mission reports, and stares at the shards of glass littering the floor like drops of water. He has to blink a few times before everything comes back into focus. Then he groans.

At the centre of the mess, there's a rock with a message tied to it, but he doesn't really need to read it. Reality crashes into him like a wave, and he lets his head drop back. There's a huge cobweb on the ceiling, spanning from wall to wall. The intricacy of the webbing is mesmerizing for a second, a second when he wishes his life were as simple as that of a spider, merely awaiting it's next meal. Then he realizes sleep deprivation is getting to him, and resolves to move his notes to the bedroom, where at least he can not-sleep in the presence of a futon.

He should have foreseen this. Looking back at the past few months, the evidence is there for all to see. The sudden disappearances, the even more sudden reappearances, the impromptu trip to Land of the Waves, the box of baked sweets-picked up by one of the surveillance teams he personally sent out, no less-, the call for help he'd given upon waking up to Madara in his room...all of it left unexplained. Pieced together with the Uchihas' sudden silence and the fact that he's all but secluded himself into house arrest, the whole thing makes a wicked kind of sense.

If anything, he's surprised something like this hasn't happened sooner. They're shinobi after all, and more violent responses have been prompted by less.

He doesn't pick up the rock on his way out of the study, doesn't read the message scrawled there with black ink on murky parchment, but he knows what it says, even if the true meaning of it will take some time to sink in.

Traitor.

He rolls and gets his feet under him, stands and brings his arms up again, resisting the urge to wipe the dirt from his face. His opponent immediately moves back into a defensive stance and studies him coolly.

It is all tension at this point, each waiting for the other to make a move. He does move then, surges forward and feigns to his right and brings his leg up on the left. She catches the movement, blocks the leg with her arm, grunting as she does so, and they dance apart.

When he charges forward again his opponent charges as well, but she does a half turn and is suddenly airborne. He throws his own arm up to block a fraction of a second too late, the blow strikes the side of his head and Tobirama turns with it. He tries to keep his feet but there is a strike to the back of his knee and he goes down again, with a final sounding thump.

"Just like a sack of potatoes," Tōka says with a touch of mirth in her voice.

Tobirama shoves back to his feet, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and spits out some dirt. He gives Tōka a sneer and shakes himself.

"Maybe you'd like some tea now?" his cousin questions.

Tobirama gives her the elaborate hand signal that calls for just his middle finger to be extended while he curls the rest of them into his fist. Tōka grins and bows to him.

He ignores her and rolls his shoulders and then stretches his arms back. Grinning, wiry bitch. She is loving this, she's gloating and it rankles him to his very roots that he tasted dirt not just once, but twice. He's clearly out of shape.

She's breathing hard, at least. It mollifies him a little.

"That's a very unsporting gesture," Tōka says, still grinning. Violence always betters her mood, "After all, you are the one who suggested we do this in the first place, I was merely being accommodating."

He huffs. "I said, and I quote, "It's been long since we last sparred," his knee makes a popping sound he's sure it didn't use to make, "and you drop kicked me,"

"You love surprise drop kicks,"

"I do not," he clarifies, just because it needs to be said, then adds, "Be sure to hold on to the first man you find who answers that one with the affirmative,"

She raises an eyebrow, setting her hair bun straight, "Hold on?"

"You'd probably have to hogtie him," he concedes, reaching for his canteen.

Tōka winks, "Wouldn't want it to be too easy,"

"He'd probably be agreeable to that, the poor masochist,"

She laughs, the sound of it cutting through the early morning fog like the mere sound could lift it away. As if on cue, a bird begins chirping, but the gentle breeze carries the sound up and away.

"It's so quiet out here," he breathes out, looking out at the trees that edge the training grounds. His whole body tingles pleasantly with exertion, weeks old tension seeping out of him like a magic trick. He missed this.

"For now," Tōka says, reaching for the canteen and gulping loudly from it, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, "The annoying brats only just start piling in after noon. I swear, they get lazier every year,"

That probably has less to do with laziness, and more to do with the healthy fear all sensible creatures have for the warrior maiden that haunts the fields in the early mornings, Tobirama reckons.

"I'll let Hikari-sensei know people are getting too lenient with the training regimes," he says instead, the diplomat in him forcing itself to the surface. They both flop down on the ground, their dirty clothes already beyond salvaging, and neither says anything for a while, the silence an easy blanket that covers them both. This, he also missed.

"It's easy to forget why all that training's for, once in awhile," Tōka comments, "When everything lulls to a stop...we didn't use to have this much free time,"

It's true. Hashirama being in charge, despite some people's reservations, has been good for the clan. His ideals, for all that they've been problematic, have ensured that no resources are wasted on pointless warmongering, and despite the fact that the wars amongst clans continue on, at least children are excluded from it. Teenagers are many, now that they allow their young time to grow up into their own. An image of Uchiha Yohei appears at the forefront of his mind, amalgamated with the visage of Kawarama and Itama. Old grief resurfaces, but he quenches it down with the ease of practise. He's nothing if not disciplined.

Still, despite all the good it's done, and how nice it is to see their numbers become greater faster than they can get decimated, there are also moments like these past few months, when there's just nothing to do. They are warriors at heart, and silence makes them restless.

"Times have changed," he finally says, looking up at the sky. Everything's changed, "I think the world is getting ready to change again,"

Tōka gazes at him, but there's more curiosity than spite in her eyes this time.

"Have you seen the future, Tobirama? Is that where that artifact came from?"

He huffs at the prospect, "Don't be absurd,"

"We live in absurd times," she states, following his gaze upwards. A leaf tumbles from a nearby maple, and hurtles into their field of vision, "Hashirama is clan leader, we send peace treaties instead of severed heads, our scouts pick up pastries from enemy territory, and-"

Her voice stills like the second before the water comes above the ears.

Tobirama breathes in deep, and takes the plunge.

"...and?"

Tobirama is not foolish enough to believe that she doesn't know, even if he hasn't confessed anything. He doesn't need to look at her to know her eyes narrow.

"And Uchiha Madara shows up at your quarters in the middle of the night, and yet you live,"

The words are spoken in clear accusation, and there is silence. Tobirama closes his eyes and breathes in deep through his nose. A tension in his bones slips away nearly unnoticed, and he realises he's been expecting this for a while now.

"How long have you known?" he asks, curiosity and defeat weighing strangely on the words.

"Since that night. The chakra signature left in that dagger is strange, but unmistakable. I've merely been waiting for you to tell me yourself,"

But you never did, he mentally finishes. He loves her all the more for presenting it to him in such plain, personal terms, and yet shies away from her curt tone.

The excited rumours plaguing the streets those first few weeks after his sudden disappearance at the battlefield have given way to suspicious whispers and outraged cries for explanations. The transformation was gradual, entirely logical, but he'd been too caught up in trying to figure out a solution he hadn't been able to see it. He finally saw it the morning that accusation was flung through his window in the shape of a stone-and how fitting a symbol that was-and he sees it now, clearer than ever, reflected on Tōka's face like a fledgling incrimination mixed with hurt anger. He wholly prefers the shattered glass and the hushed whispers.

In a soft, intimate, yet clear voice, she soldiers on, "Have I not always stood by your side? Have we not played together, fought together, starved together, cried together-have we not shared all there is to be shared between two kindred hearts? Am I not your sister in all but blood?"

There's no answer to that but the truth.

"You are,"

Her eyes snap up to meet his, the coiled hurt there enough to make his thoughts stumble,"Then why do you hide from me? Tell me the truth!", she pleads, "There is nothing you could possibly disclose that would tear me from your side, but this silence-I can't stand it,"

There's enough pain hidden there to make his stomach churn, it's hard for him to meet her eyes. He should have known she'd come to him like this, absolutely ready to forgive him anything, even if he doesn't deserve it, because she's always been like this to him. Even when he was an odd child, both in visage and in mind, she was always the one to drag him into the light, to lay his thoughts bare to the sunlight and force him to make sense.

He knows she doesn't question his loyalty, like so many others have made abundantly clear with harsh looks and veiled threats now he's finally lifted his head from his research for longer than a few seconds at a time. She's made it clear that what she questions is his trust.

"If I told you-" he begins haltingly, then changes his mind and rearranges his thoughts. He needs to make her understand that it's not that he doesn't trust her to know the whole truth, but at the same time knows that implying he's trying to spare her pain would be the worst he could do at the moment. He settles for saying, "It would be worse for you to know the truth,"

Her jaw sets in a familiar stubborn line,"Let me be the judge of that,"

He laughs a little, but there's no humor in it.

"I can't,"

And he truly cannot. He can't hurt her like that, can't let the weight of a knowledge she can do nothing about settle in her soul to rot. What would she say, he wonders, if she knew Tobirama is in a position to eliminate the murderer of her beloved siblings?

"Tobirama-"

What would she say if she knew he won't do it because it would cause him pain to do so?

"It's no concern of yours," he says, regretting the words as they come out of his mouth.

Tōka probably knows this, but still recoils from him as if struck. She rises to her feet and walks away. A thousand emotions chase themselves within his chest cavity upon rising to chase her, but most of all he's simply exhausted.

"Tōka-" he pleads, reaching for her shoulder.

She catches the hand and effortlessly flips him over her shoulder. Before he knows it, he's once again looking up at the sky.

"Save your breath, cousin," Tōka spits out somewhere above him, "You've made your point abundantly clear,"

She reached out an olive branch to him, and he threw it back in her face. Knowing you deserve someone's scorn doesn't make it any easier to bear.

Day 32

I loathe the seal. Loathe it like I've never loathed anything else. Not because it's a symbol of slavery-which it it-or because that fucker Uzumaki put it there-which he did-but because it itches. All the fucking time. I know it sounds like nothing, and it looks stupid written down, but it's driving me insane. It's right there in the middle of my back, where I can't reach it. I've half a mind to rub against a wall or something, just to take the edge off. It kind of makes me regret refusing to just swear allegiance to the Uzumakis back when I could. I'd kiss that asshole's Uzumaki Tezuna's fucking feet to get the fucking thing off.

They wouldn't take it off, anyway. They don't trust me, which is smart of them. I'd sooner slit my own throat than do their bidding out of my own free will. Not that I can't slit my own throat now, mind you-the seal controls my chakra, not my mind-but I can't really bring myself to do it. You said we'd meet again, so I can't die until then. Still, the damn thing itches. Nami-san pretends she can't feel it, but I know hers itches too. If she weren't such a stuck up bitch with all her bloody poise, we could scratch each other's backs-quite literally-but she scoffed when I suggested it. I thought it was a perfectly good idea.

She's the only one I can talk to in this boat, and she's a bitch. All the Uzumakis think I'm some kind of monster because a Namikaze once killed their cat or something, like they didn't slaughter my entire family and turned me into a juiceless slave. I would have thought that little detail would make us all even, but turns out that's not the case. There's no cure for what we were, I guess. Eternal enemies, until the end of times. It figures. I should really stop hoping fate to smile at me.

They lie side by side on a patch of grass by the lake, Madara's favorite spot since childhood. Madara is fast asleep, exhausted from a morning of hard work. He's lying on his side, facing him, with all his hair on his face like an effective curtain against the sunlight pouring over them both. It surprises Tobirama, sometimes, the ease with which the teenager sleeps when he is around, especially since he himself can count on the fingers of one hand the people he allows himself to sleep in the presence of. He can appreciate the silence, though, even if the trust behind the gesture is a little beyond him.

Tobirama lies on his back, dressed in borrowed, slightly-too-small clothes, and scrutinizes the cloudless sky, a habit he's picked up lately. Hashirama found symbolism in it, naming the sky as the only constant this cruel back and forward yanking is leaving him with, and Tobirama is inclined to agree. If there's one thing that'll never change, it is the sparkling, infinite cerulean of the firmament. He finds himself comparing it to the wondrous infinity of the ocean as Hisai described it in his journal, that shining darkness that spans out as far as the eye can see. There's comfort to be found in such a constant, even when it's deadly.

So much he used to believe unshakable-the trust of his clan, Toka's friendship, his own hatred for those he considered his enemies-has proven itself to not be so in such little time he feels as though his whole world has been yanked out of balance. He does not know how to return it to the way that it was, or at least how to shape it all into something he can work with. He feels as though he's idly floating in the deep blue sea, stationary and visible, slowly but surely sinking under the surface. He loathes to think what might happen if he doesn't find a way to keep his head above water. He's thankful for Hashirama's faith in him, but he's not certain faith alone will get him through this ordeal.

For all that his brother trusts him, and Tobirama loathes the idea of failing him, he simply doesn't know where to start. He doesn't know how to keep his head in the present when the past so often calls him back, and he doesn't know how to assuage his clansmen's doubts-he doesn't even know how to deal with the distant possibility that he might meet Madara in his present once more, which is that terrifies him the most. He can deal with the thinly veiled accusations from the elders and the members of the council, he can even deal with the pain of Toka's silence-he has no idea what he'll do if he ever finds himself standing before Madara with a battlefield between them, instead of a few inches of sun-warmed grass.

"You're thinking again," the object of his musings accuses, voice cracking with sleep.

"No, I'm not," he answers automatically, then rolls his eyes when he realises that's what the boy intended, and glances at him. Madara smiles, but doesn't open his eyes.

"What's troubling you?" he asks, still not moving, but holds up a hand before Tobirama can speak, "Before you say you can't tell me anything about the future because it's a rule, blah, blah, consider...disguising the truth,"

Tobirama raises an eyebrow, "That habit of bending the rules for your benefit speaks lowly of your honour, Madara,"

"Shinobi," the boy calls simply, as if that's all the explanation needed. Which it is, "Now answer the damn question, old man,"

"You're older than me,"

"Not right now. Right now I'm eighteen, and you're an old man. You have grey hair and everything,"

Tobirama rolls his eyes at the sky, but his mirth quickly evaporates when he remember his current predicament. Haltingly, he says, "There are some within my clan who find me...suspicious,"

"That's what happens when you steal people's clothes from hanging lines one too many times, pervert"

Tobirama elbows him, hard, but Madara snickers, finally opening his eyes, and rolls away. He turns onto his stomach, resting his weight on his arms to better appreciate Tobirama's scowl.

"We're shinobi," he says, plucking pieces of grass and suckling on them, fruitlessly looking for sweet grass, "Suspicion is in our nature. A few days ago, my cousin was accused of sleeping with the smitty's wife because of the way he flinched when the man picked up a club hammer,"

Tobirama considers this, then asks, "And was he guilty?"

"Oh, very much so," the says, three blades of grass clenched between his teeth as he grins brilliantly at Tobirama's scowl.

"What was your point again?"

"My point is that we're right to be suspicious, because it often means the difference between life or death-or, in this case, knowing you're a cuckold or not," he laughs a little at the word, but sobers up soon enough and shrugs, "You can't ask people to forget their nature,"

Tobirama rolls the word around in his head as he watches an errant cloud. It's strange that Madara would speak of nature, when such a thought's been plaguing Tobirama for some time. The trouble with time is that it often makes us forget ourselves, Hisai told him a while back. He finds himself drifting back to these words often these days, wondering what it is that remains of a person after time has done what it must to them. Nature, Madara calls it. He gazes back at him, watches him for few moments. It occurs to him that Madara is a man, and has been for a time.

"What is your nature?" he finally asks.

"What's yours?," Madara counters, eyes dancing, "You're the most changeable person I know,"

Tobirama can see how, from his perspective, that's quite a valid point. Still, it rankles him a bit. "At least now you refer to me as a single person,"

Madara huffs out a laugh, "That really bothered you, huh?" he waves around a blade of grass, "I must remember that. For future emotional blackmail and such,"

Tobirama stares at him. The image of Madara standing in his room, sneer firmly in place, comes back to him lightning quick.

Hn. Not you.

Unbelievable. He really remembered. He's torn between laughing hysterically or punching him in the face for something he hasn't even done yet, but finally settles for doing neither, tracking his way back into the conversation and filing away that piece of information for later.

"You can't ask people to forget their nature," he repeats with a sigh, "Then what? What can you do?"

Other than work yourself up into a state of anxiety so bad you wind up asking your greatest enemy for advice.

"You can remind them of yours," Madara says resolutely, coal eyes wide and certain, "Maybe you can't bare your soul to the world, but nature shines through,"

"You believe that?"

"I do," he says with a nod, then grins, "It's in my nature,"

"Is it in your nature to fraternize with wayward Senju?"

Madara pretends to think about it, "Only the ones with a tendency to mope,"

"I don't mope,"

"You do! You're better at hiding it, but you're worse than Hashirama, sometimes,"

There's silence. It isn't so much that Hashirama is a forbidden topic, or they've made a point not to talk about it, it's just that neither of them has ever brought him up. Here's this other piece of string between them, that's tied them together since the beginning. Tobirama's dear brother, and Madara's estranged friend.

Tobirama's sees the person Hashirama saw when he met Madara, sees the friend his brother tried to convince him he'd found. The problem is that he also sees the ruthless enemy, the creature he's dedicated his life to fight against. It's like, in his mind, he too divides Madara into two people, and the both of them exist in different universes that can never overlap. Most days, both universes stand apart from one another, but define this person by his side nonetheless, battling each other for dominance into a perfect standstill. Some days-like today-one of them wins.

Tobirama groans in frustration, covering his face with his hands, "Why won't you accept the peace treaties?"

"Huh?" Madara looks so confused it would be funny, if he weren't so close to mental breakdown.

"Not you," he sighs, "Future you. We keep sending you peace treaties, and you never accept them,"

His statement is met with silence, but Madara is nothing if not verbose. His jaw clicks audibly before he innocently asks, "Isn't that a violation of the no future talk rule?"

"I don't give a fuck,"

"Oh, we are swearing! That means things are bad,"

"Just answer the question," Tobirama snaps.

Madara doesn't meet his eyes, thoughtful gaze fixated on the grass, "I can't answer the question. That's not me yet,"

Tobirama rakes his hand over his face, "But if-if nature shines through, if that's what pulls us together or tears us apart, then-then what? I'm the same person. Why aren't you?"

He knows he's being unfair, but the truth is that he doesn't care anymore. He needs to know. He needs an answer, any answer, otherwise he'll go mad trying to figure it all out on his own.

"Maybe I'm waiting," Madara says with a shrug.

That is not helpful. Tobirama grits his teeth.

"For what,"

"For a sign," the young man answers, then looks away and smiles a little,"Or maybe I'm just waiting for you,"

He suddenly feels as if the floor's been swept away from underneath him, the false light of Madara's tone having a strange effect on him,

"For me?" he asks, quite certain he didn't hear correctly.

Madara still doesn't look at him, "I'm always waiting for you,"

He's stunned into silence by that. Thankfully, Madara doesn't seem to be expecting an answer, flopping back onto his stomach after a while and hiding his face with his hair. Tobirama's thoughts scatter around, but he can't concentrate on anything. His world is changing again, but the sky's still perfect blue. The dichotomy is such he needs to close his eyes.

He's working himself up to a fret when he feels Madara's body up against his side. He opens his eyes, but Madara appears to be fast asleep. As Tobirama watches, he can see Madara's eyes moving under his lids, and feel Madara shiver. He shifts closer, and Tobirama eases up and away gently, reaching out for the discarded scroll his cloak is kept in, doing a quick job of activating it.

Before he can spread it over Madara, he turns onto his side, creeping closer to Tobirama and curling in on himself. Tobirama drapes the fur over Madara before he lay back down, putting his arms under his head and looking up at the sky with a yawn. To his surprise, he feels one of Madara's hands spreading out over the curve of his side, right over where his heart beats, a little faster now.

Faster? He forces his breathing to slow, a million thoughts crowding inside his skull. He considers pushing Madara away, then decides against it, then considers it again, and wonders if it'll be long before he's called back to his time and-

"You're thinking again," Madara mumbles, nuzzling closer. His nose is cold even through the fabric of his borrowed tunic.

Tobirama blinks up at the sky, then settles for a chuckle.

"Sorry," he says, but Madara does not hear it. He's asleep again.

Tobirama looks up at the blue sky until his eyes can't stay open any longer.

Day 52

We swam for a bit today, trying to get rid of the accumulated tension and cabin fever, and very close to me I saw a shark fin breaking the surface of the water, that turned out to belong to a porpoise. I've never been so pleasantly surprised in my life. Despite my recent finding that death does not worry me, the prospect of being torn to pieces-or, gods forbid, chewed-is a very unappealing one.

That being said, I must admit that the few seconds between when I saw that tell-tale finn and the moment the creature lifted it's head above water to reveal not round after round of sharp teeth but a rather affable smile, I honestly thought I was going to die. I thought I understood time, but for a second I thought I was running out of it and I realised I didn't have the first clue. Rather than feeling scared or regretful of leaving this world behind, I felt overwhelming disappointment that I would not get to see you, one last time. To hear you sing and watch you dance...you'd be heaven for anyone, but you're especially heaven for a damned man like me. I'm idly floating in the deep blue sea, I feel like all my life's comprised of this endless wait for you.

My companions no longer pray, this trip of horrors apparently having drained them of any belief they might have left, even after a life of war. For some reason, near death experience aside, I find myself more spiritual than ever. Here I thought myself a cynic, but I find that's not the case. Fear stilled the words in my mouth before I could tell you last time, but this time nothing will. I think I've spent my life being afraid of all the wrong things, darling. If-when- I return to you, I'm not waiting any longer. If we never reach land, and I get my wish of a water burial, I'm glad I realised this much: I love you I love you I love you, and I'll always feel the same.

Things have a way of snowballing.

What began with a rock through his window and surreptitious looks and whispers escalates to an outright riot at their door the next time they hold council at their house. Hashirama's mokuton comes in handy in that it restrains but doesn't cause bodily harm, but the fact that he's the one who does it doesn't sit well with anyone involved. The rioters are to spend a week in the brigs as per Hashirama's impulsive order.

Tobirama wants to protest, wants to tell him that's not the solution, but undermining his brother's authority in public would be the worst he could do, now he's been labeled something of a traitor. The looks and the whispers are worse after that, if only because the focus is no longer Tobirama's oddity, or his-supposedly-questionable allegiance. The focus becomes his brother's ability to command them. How can he do right by the clan if he has a soft spot for the traitor?

You can't ask people to forget their nature.

Tobirama hears Madara's voice in his head, and he thinks of Hisai stranded somewhere in the southern seas, as his boat sinks lower and lower.

There's always been doubt. For all that Hashirama is the most powerful out of them all, for all that he's the rightful heir, he isn't loved by all, and his views are not shared by all. But that's what Tobirama's always been there for. They are a team. He's been away from his duties for too long. He sets the dagger on his desk, and looks at it.

"I need to be here," he says, voice dropping into a plea. He's truly pleading, to an inanimate object, to a god, to Madara. He doesn't know. He doesn't care, either, "I have to stay here. Please, let me stay,"

Nothing happens. Tobirama lets out a long breath.

It works.

Tobirama doesn't travel for two months. It's easy to shush whispers and quench doubts when he has enough time to dedicate to his duties as second in command and he no longer disappears every two days. Hashirama has always been a force of nature, hurtling forward like a strong river current. Tobirama is fine with that-he's always been the one who banks the power. He smooths the way, eases the passage. It's always been his job. Falling back into it is easy, once people begin remembering he's only ever been loyal to them.

You can only remind them of yours.

Part of him is annoyed that Madara was right, but the rest of him is simply glad for the advice. There's a longing in his bones that begins with a feeling of not being where he's supposed to be, and it takes him a few weeks to realise he misses Madara and, to a lesser extent, Izuna and Yohei, even if thought of the later makes his heart clench with misplaced grief. He's become accustomed to those children, he realises with wonder, but he doesn't long for the travels to start up again.

(Carefully, he locks the memories of that last travel behind a steel trap door in his mind, and barely allows himself to recall Madara's bittersweet smile. It's not the time to ponder, it's not his place to question. He tells himself he'll deal with it when he has time. He tells himself it's for the best. He forces himself not to wonder why it affected him so much.)

Once in awhile, he pulls out the dagger from the drawer it's in and watches the power in it dance. He thinks of Madara as he was and as he is, and works himself into anxiety wondering what the man is doing, what he's thinking, what he's waiting for. In this, he knows he's not the only one.

The hardest part is trying to dispel the anxiety that clings to everyone in the compound like a cloak of darkness. Eight months now, and not a sign of the Uchiha, not a word, not a whisper. His scouts return empty handed. For all they know not one of them has stepped out of their land since that last great battle, save for that one visit from Madara, so long ago it seems.

"What should we do?" he asks, looking out the window. The day is grey and miserable, and he can feel a headache coming. He questions himself, his companion or the wind, he does not know.

Hikari-sensei answers either way, "Things have a way of snowballing. When the avalanche comes down, all we can do is hope to keep our heads above the snow,"

That echoes his thoughts so perfectly he has to laugh, but the sound is not happy.

Day 72

I'm starting to believe we'll never find land. This expedition has turned out to be a true fiasco. Food is not scarce-I'm thankful of porpoises and their silly habit of chasing boats-but water is becoming a problem. Most of all, I've found the isolation is the greatest foe of a stranded crew. There's too few of us, and seeing the same faces every day, all of us weighed down by the sun and the heat, does things to the mind.

Nami-san dreamed that the boat sank into the bottom of the ocean, and became part of a reef. An octopus commandeered our tiny cabin and made himself a home in my hammock. It would be a nice death, I'd wager. Peaceful.

I read a book about the end of the world once, but it wasn't all fire and brimstone or a great and terrible war, like one would imagine. It was quite simple: in the story, the world was birthed from a great ocean, like an island rising above the waves, and like every island the ocean would eventually swallow it back up. Then it became quite imaginative: as the world sank, a great water dragon would rise from the the very depths of the ocean, and it would swallow the sun, plunging everything into inescapable darkness- a rather good ending, I think. Sounds like something to look forward to.

When it finally happens, they've been expecting it for so long it's almost a relief, except for where it is like being plunged into the depths of a cold ocean, where ice grips at you like the fingers of a ghost.

It begins simple enough: with a mission. Infiltration and assassination, as straightforward as they come. This part is routine enough, but the problem comes with the location of the target: inside a well protected fortress, right on the border with the Land of Wind. A hard mission, requiring a month worth of preparation and careful planning, and still the outcome is uncertain.

The approaching party is wealthy and ambitious, with their eyes set on political gain, but that is nothing new. If ever Tobirama despaired at the petty things his people risk their lives over, he stopped doing it as soon as he understood there's really no walking away from one's nature: a shinobi is a shinobi is a shinobi. They can disguise themselves as they wish, but for all that times have changed they remain mercenaries at their core. Tobirama knows all this. He knows the location, how well protected the target is, and what it would take to get it done. He knows he's the one best suited for it, if it weren't for his-condition.

Tōka offers to do it. He tells her no.

But Tōka is the head of assignments. She knows the intelligence on the location of the target. She knows more than he does, in all likelihood. She's in charge of who goes there. And when the second party she sends doesn't come back, she approaches him again.

"Twice we've failed, Tobirama," she tells him, jaw set in a hard angry line. They haven't spoken more than what's strictly necessary since that day on the training grounds, despite Hashirama's complaints that he doesn't want to take sides, "Are you expecting a written apology?"

He tightens his grip on his quill, "You think I'd hold you back from a mission you're suited for because of a personal resentment?"

"I fail to find any other reason, especially when we both know I'm the one most likely to succeed,"

"Most likely is not a certainty," he states, then stands, "I will go,"

"You can't," her eyes soften minutely at this, "Just because it hasn't happened in a month or two it doesn't mean it won't happen. At the worst possible moment,"

The last thing they need is for him to travel in the middle of a mission, disappearing for however long, only to return behind enemy lines. He clenches his teeth.

"Little cousin," she says, the endearment dropping from her lips for the first time on so long it throws him for a moment, "You're stalling. You're being foolish. What we need is someone with considerable speed and precision, and I'm second only to you. It is not ideal, but,"

She trails off with a shrug, but he knows the look in her eyes. Nothing he can say will stop her now.

"You'll be careful,"

She doesn't punch him, but it's a near thing. With a promise to return in ten day's time, she's gone.

Her armour, or what's left of it, is found at the gates of the compound on the morning of the ninth day. On the broken chestplate, in a splash of red and stark against the clear silver, is the crest of the Uchiha.

Day 98

I think I hear the dragon rising up to swallow the sun.