A/N - Why? Because there need to be more fics for Danzo, more fics for Mito, more fics for this pairing, and more fics for this couple of generations. I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge that coincident's amazing rambling oneshots were what gave me the idea of writing a rambling oneshot of my own, which will hopefully approach amazing as well, in its small way.
Warning: copious headcanon. As if you didn't know that already.
Poetry at the end is by Pablo Neruda.
Disclaimer - I don't own anything. I just remember that this time period existed.
Our Invincible Heights
~X~
He's a boy of around ten when Mito first sees him, scruffy-haired and serious and half-hiding behind his Academy classmates when Tobirama takes them by her house to introduce them to the woman who is Konoha's resident sealer and the First Hokage's wife. She attributes this to shyness at first, and makes an effort to smile at him with extra warmth and gentleness, and it's only when he glances up at her and she sees the dark, burning intensity of his eyes, that she thinks maybe she was wrong, after all.
It's only natural for boys to be boys, and she's already smiled fondly at the way Sarutobi Hiruzen nearly tripped over his own feet three times while Hashirama was introducing him to her because he was too busy staring at her openmouthed to look where he was going; and she accepts Uchiha Kagami's outrageous compliments with a laugh, and Akimichi Torifu's shy stammers with a gentle touch on his shoulder, but then she's confronted with the last boy of the team, and Tobirama's hands on his shoulders as his voice introduces Shimura Danzo, and Mito is just getting ready to smile at him as well and murmur some fitting sentiment, when he looks up at her, dark eyes still blazing with stifled emotion, and blurts out: I think I love you.
This would be awkward even if she wasn't the wife of the most powerful man in the village, if not the Five Nations; even if Tobirama wasn't glaring at the boy as if he'd dearly love to eviscerate him; and Danzo himself looks as if he wants to sink into the ground and never appear again, his cheeks are flaming red and Kagami's stifled whoops of laughter can't be helping. Mito thinks helplessly that it's one of the cruelest facts of nature that boys seem most sensitive to the judgement of the world around them during the time they are most prone to do absolutely stupid, ridiculous, embarrassingly dimwitted things and not know the reasons why, so she leans down and puts a hand firmly in the center of Danzo's chest to get his attention and tells him sweetly, I appreciate that, Danzo-san, but it's my policy not to accept messages like that from anybody but the Hokage.
That doesn't really change Tobirama's glower but it's an easy, humorous out without anybody's dignity being hurt more than is needed, and Mito is just beginning to congratulate herself on it when Danzo, showing a tendency to let his thoughts run away with his tongue which will bode ill for his career as a ninja unless he learns to control it, stammers out, I - I'm going to be the Hokage someday!
If Torifu's eyes grow any wider, Mito thinks dryly, they're going to fall out of his head. She shoots Kagami a glare, considers a second and sends another one in Tobirama's direction for good measure, and then offers Danzo another smile. In that case, she says, I'll consider what you said again when that time comes. All right?
His eyes are firmly fixed on the ground again, but he stutters something which might possibly be construed as an answer, and Tobirama thanks her firmly for her time and removes his students from the premises with an expression which said clearly Danzo would not be reaching the end of the day before having a serious talk concerning manners and the proper usage of them.
Hashirama comes home a few minutes later, and stands in the hallway bemusedly wondering why his wife is doubled over and laughing far too hard to answer him when he asks about her day.
~X~
She is unsurprised to receive a visit from Tobirama a few days later, to inform her that Danzo has expressed an interest in learning sealing, and would she be able to spare a few minutes of her time for a worthless, rude young man who certainly deserved no such clemency from her after his shocking impoliteness at their last meeting?
Mito, who can remember Tobirama stalking up and down her living room and nearly knocking her sealing table over twice with his vigorous gestures as he discoursed to her on Shimura Danzo's amazing potential and near-genius for hard work, blinks placidly and agrees that she might possibly find the time.
She sees fit to spend the next twenty minutes reminiscing about how the first time Tobirama was introduced to her, he was so flustered that he nearly kissed his older brother's hand instead of hers, and then could talk of nothing for the rest of the conversation other than the particularly bad slug infestation that was attacking the tentative gardens the Yamanaka had begun around their allotted plots of land. She assures him that it was ten times more awkward for her younger self than a declaration of affection.
She comes away with the indisputed honors of the debate and offers in return the promise of a certain slot of time a week later, when she will be expecting Danzo at her residence for a preliminary assesment of his ability.
~X~
In the aftermath of a cheerful banging on the door, Mito finds that she is dealing not only with Danzo but with Hiruzen, who is beaming all over his face and bursting with enthusiasm at the idea of trying something new.
She observes both of them quietly as she clears a space for them at het table, and she learns something from Danzo's silence where another child might have snapped at his over-exuberant friend. She beckons them over and tells them that they will begin with a few exercises to test their aptitude.
A short hour later Hiruzen finds himself gently propelled out the door with a note for Hashirama reading that sealing would not suit his capabilities and I suggest that he concentrate on his ninjutsu, and Mito learns something more from the raw incredulity on Danzo's face as his eyes flick between his friend's receding back and the brush still resting in his own hands, the clear message that he had expected to be outshone here, as he was everywhere else.
She stands before him with her hands planted firmly on the table and tells him, I expect you to work hard.
I - I'll work hard, he stammers, a moment too late and his voice still weak from shock.
Mito smiles and tells him, then we have an agreement, holds out her hand.
Danzo transfers the brush to one hand, awkwardly, and takes it.
(0)
Mito has never taught before, has always considered herself the perpetual student, but now as she unfolds a new aspect of herself she finds that it is easier than she thought.
There are the different aspects of Danzo to learn as well: the lonely boy who curls himself into a ball on her windowseat when the pain of missing his father becomes too much; the hotheaded young philosopher who wrangles furiously with Kagami over natural superiority for three hours, standing just outside her doorstep; the awkward young scholar who flinches every time a drop of ink falls out of place; the budding shinobi who has memorized all of the laborious code by heart and is still struggling, trying to figure out how he is defined within those parameters.
He is only eleven and already haunted by the ghosts of the past: when he meets her gaze with a straightforwardness that could cut through illusions like a sword through mist she could swear that it was his father standing there; and she can trace Izuna's ghost in the way that he keeps his back to the wall at all times, and his eyes firmly on his opponent even when bowing, even when half-turned away, even when the match has come to an end.
It takes her maybe six months to realize that the physical things that are closest to Danzo's heart will always be those that remind him of what he has loved, and then lost. The forehead protector that was his father's, painstakingly mended and remended when it began to fall apart, the way that the dark-haired boy shut his teeth and endured the painful jabs that ensued when the needle slipped from his unskilled hand. The sword cane that had been Izuna's, kept with him at nearly all times and the silent panic that ensued when Danzo was afraid that the frequent summer rains would rot the wood.
Mito teaches him how to pull the thread taut and tie knots that will not break easily, and offers to spend their next lesson examining seals that are known for preserving wood. Danzo thanks her, his eyes once again saying more than his stifled voice ever could, and she drops a hand on his shoulder and squeezes lightly.
She loves him for his own sake and for the sake of the dead, and bends over him, guiding his hands for a little while until they grow steadier and he can draw the proper seals himself.
~X~
It is only the third time that she has returned to Uzushiogakure since she was wed to Konoha's First Hokage, and when she offers Danzo the chance to accompany her, she has the pleasure of watching his face light up with that slow, incredulous delight, the unspoken question: Me? This good thing is happening to me?
This is something she can give him, the chance to be the only one of his generation in Konoha who has seen the fabled village where she came from so long ago.
Seeing her old home through Danzo's eyes, smiling at the way he cranes his head back to look up at the arching bridges of stone and wood; staring at the high, beautiful buildings that tier the streets, and the swirl of the mighty river; listening the endless crash and suck of the waves against the cliffs and obviously wishing that he had twenty pairs of eyes and ears so that he could take in absolutely everything, Mito is glad that she thought to take her apprentice along. He is a pleasant companion, and for once his usual reticence has been swallowed up by his constant questions about everything around him.
Mito deliberately leaves him at loose ends sometimes, allowing him to make his own connections with the village. She tenses, but remains where she is, half-hidden behind a ramen stall, when she hears his slightly stunned apologies to the offended dragon he bumped into as it was coming down the street, he really manages very well, even through his shock, and mollifies the creature enough that it merely shakes its head as it continues on its way, and mutters something about the children of today.
Uzushiogakure is the birthplace of all summoning contracts, and it will not be the first time that Danzo meets nonhuman, and often strange creatures peaceably going about their business among the humans of the village. After a while, he learns to hide his surprise, and then to accept it as easily as Mito does, and then one sunny day he makes a connection she never expected.
She followed me down the street, he says, and Mito has to put down the experimental seal she's been tracing and take a second look, because is that actually a smile on Danzo's face? Her name is Kyatcha. She's amazing, isn't she?
The odd little creature standing by his side and humming contentedly, observing them both with bright, intelligent little eyes, comes up only to his shoulder if it stretches its head, but Mito knows that will change.
She is a baku, she tells him, and gravely, because some things must be respected even in their youth, bows her head to the little creature. A nightmare-eater. A very honorable race. They guard against evil and are known for their protection of children.
I think she wants to stay with me, Danzo says, and this simple thing, this fact of being wanted, makes his face shine as much as it did when she invited him to come with her. Can she?
Mito looks at the two children standing in front of her, and smiles. I think, she says gently, that a summoning contract is in order.
~X~
It is unsurprising that Danzo is the one best able to comfort her in the aftermath of Uzushiogakure's destruction; half its pain, she thinks numbly, came from its suddenness, they only began to comprehend what was happening the night the ground began shaking and would not stop, the night the sky to the south was a dull, glowing red, and come morning you could see the smoke…
It is far too late to offer assistance by the time they reach the smoking ruins, far too late for Tobirama to ask his older brother, in a calm and complete fury, why the hell he had imagined for one moment that handing out the biju to the other villages would not end in a disaster such as this, far too late for Mito to do more than scrape together a handful of the ash which was strewn thickly over the broken place where her parents' house had been - far too late for many things.
After they have returned to Konoha, and Hashirama has left the house, she sits down at her table and stills her trembling hands enough to allow them to trace spiral after spiral of black ink across paper, imagining that even sitting inside her silent house she can hear the sounds of Konoha preparing for war.
So, after all, peace has only been a dream.
Mito berates herself for being surprised when Danzo comes silently into the room and stands next to her chair, it is the day for his lesson and she should not have forgotten that, cannot afford to forget things now of all times. She lays her brush down and turns to him.
I am sorry, Mito-shishou, are the first words he offers her, his face quietly miserable. There are tear stains on his face where he forgot to wipe them away; Danzo has never liked to look in a mirror. Kyatcha has been crying.
Reversed and flipped through the obscure code which Danzo always sees fit to use when he is frightened of appearing weak, this translates to I have been crying as well. I am afraid. Please pretend not to notice.
Mito takes his hands, looks into his eyes, and is suddenly struck by the knowledge that in this boy lies the inheritance of Uzushiogakure. Save for a few scattered remnants that may exist, she is the last sealing master of her village.
I think, she says, that we will do something different today.
~X~
Danzo traces the brightly colored borders around the edge of the scroll cautiously, as if afraid that the curling pattern will fall apart under his fingers. You wrote these, shishou? he asks, and receives the confirmation of a nod.
I wanted to remember, Mito says, running a finger down the lines of text. And there had been no history of Uzushiogakure in their library, even after the books and scrolls had been pooled together and organized according to title. I wanted those who had never seen it to be able to see it, through these pages.
A serpentine gray trunk curls over Danzo's shoulder, and Kyatcha hums mournfully as she inspects the few pictures Mito has tentatively attempted to sketch out. Minor tones, rising and falling in a quiet, hopeless little dirge.
Danzo pets his summon gently while he looks up at Mito with his steady, bright-burning dark eyes, and asks, War is coming, isn't it?
They'd given their lives and their blood and their pride and built it into an offering, a sacrifice, and called it a village and in the end all they had bought was a few hours of peace in the endless day or night that is eternity.
Mito released the scroll, gently rolled it back up. No, she finally answers. It is already here.
~X~
And with the first tremors of war, like a vengeful god from the heavens, Madara returns.
Fire and lightning crack across the sky, and the trees uproot themselves and go to war, and Mito swirls dark ink across her belly and takes a demon into herself, barely conscious for days afterwards, as she fights back the waves of putrid chakra.
She will know nothing of Madara and Hashirama's continuing fight, of Hashirama's eventual victory, of his death by an unknown assassin as he made his way back to Konoha, until long after the fact.
When Mito finally opens her eyes, the first thing she sees is Danzo sitting on the floor by the side of her bed, slumped against Kyatcha, both youngsters fast asleep. Tobirama comes into the room, pauses when he sees that she is awake, and comes to kneel beside her, his face shadowed and grim under its shock of white hair.
She can barely lift her head, but she has defeated a demon within herself, and she refuses to back away from the truth now.
Don't lie, she says. Just tell me.
And he does.
~X~
The First Shinobi World War, they call it afterwards - a concise title to catch all the blood and death and horror and pin it down neatly into the history books - as if there have been no other wars before it, as if men have never died before, women and children have never mourned before.
Mito can understand this. In building their homes and their villages - in claiming one piece of land to be ours and only ours, by making their peace with the spirits of the place and by mixing the earth with their own blood - they have reinvented war.
After all, they have so much more to lose, now.
Tobirama welds his old team and his brother's into a truly frightening weapon, and Mito watches the children of Konoha's golden age growing as weary and battle-stained as the old soldiers she remembers from her childhood in Uzushio. Torifu's gaze grows empty and still for months after his mother, sister and father are swept away in a Kiri strike. Kagami's laugh is just a little too sharp and ugly as he tosses Danzo the bingo book they've recovered that lists their team as 'flee on sight'.
Danzo's lessons are erratic now, whenever they manage to squirrel away an hour or so of time from their other duties, and Mito drills him all the more carefully, admonishing him as her father did her, that in battle every drop of ink spilled is a drop of blood. She watches him crouched over a desk or table, bringing lines of glistening ink to life under his fingertips, dark and frustrated and driven, and she places her hands on his shoulders and squeezes slightly, because she knows that is one of the few things that will cause him to relax.
Danzo looks back at her over his shoulder, and for the first time, because his shoulders are growing broader and his voice deeper, and war, as it has with so many other boys, is shaping him into a man, Mito averts her gaze. She looks out the window instead and fingers the crystal necklace around her throat.
She has taught him close attention to detail, and he notices, and says nothing.
~X~
It is the day after the War Hawks were due to return from their latest foray into Rock territory, and Mito was expecting the knock at her door, expecting to see Danzo standing there - the same dark and burning intensity of his eyes he'd possessed when he was ten now making him dangerously attractive at seventeen - she was not expecting the small, bedraggled child of indeterminate gender standing beside him.
Bedraggled, but she notes that obviously someone has taken painstaking care to give the child dry clothes, even if they are creased and rumpled and a size too big, and the hair, though atrociously tangled, looks as if some attempt has been made to clean it.
Mito is far too polite to raise an eyebrow. Come in, she says instead, and the child looks up at Danzo and waits for him to move forward before it trots along behind him.
Seated in the quietude of the kitchen, the child examines an apple with studied fascination, and eventually manages to take a tiny bite, while Danzo explains, bolt-upright in one of Mito's chairs, awkward and stumbling one moment and all hot, eloquent indignation the next. The sordid, miserable little story unfolds itself, and Mito does not ask, what did you think happens to orphaned children in times of war, does not tell him, these things happen and there is nothing to be done.
I could not simply leave her there, Danzo says, and looking into dark, pleading eyes that still, in spite of everything they have seen, believe in a better world, Mito knows that he could not. I - I did not know where else to take her. If there is any way - I will pay, of course - and he fumbles with his belt for a moment before extending a handful of money to her as if it will buy him salvation.
It is blood-money hard won, but food prices have rarely paused in their steady rise, and Mito takes it and lays it on her table before putting her hands on his shoulders. The tension slowly goes out of him, and Danzo leans his head against her, vulnerable enough for that one moment to allow her to see how very tired he is. The child, encouraged by the first bite, takes another.
I understand, she tells him, and a shaft of sunlight from the window flickers across dust motes to the tune of another crunching bite of apple, and with part of her mind, woman-style, Mito is already planning how to fit a child-sized bed into the second storeroom, where to shift the boxes there, and another chapter of their lives unfolds.
~X~
She had known of the love affairs as soon as they began, of course, the girl from Suna with her fierce, bright eyes and makeup streaked with poison, Koharu with her deft hands and ambitious drive that was enough to match Danzo's - the brief meeting with the Hyuuga girl which had ended in tragedy, and Danzo returning white-lipped from his fruitless investigation to sit silent and bitter at her kitchen table all of one long evening. He had told her of them himself, those dark-burning eyes fixed on hers and his voice stumbling a little, as if he were anxious that there should not be any false pretensions, as if there were some understanding between the two of them that must be maneuvered around, and Mito had accepted what he was offering her graciously, in the same spirit.
In the end, she had been the one Danzo turned to for comfort as each of them ended in blood, the blood of the latter half of the First War which had swept Chiyo and he apart, the blood of Koharu's unborn child that stained the ground and broke apart the fragile bonds of their relationship, the blood of the shy, dark-haired girl which Danzo swore was on the hands of the Hyuuga's main branch family.
Mito holds him gently as she listens to him rage helplessly against the injustices of life, measuring himself against the strength of chance and fate and finding himself hopelessly wanting, and her heart breaks a little, watching his break again and again.
She tries to pretend that she does not notice, when Danzo begins to watch her again, observing her pretense and discarding it, cutting through to the truth of what lies between them with that sword-sharp gaze which has only grown sharper through the years, as he has made his way painfully but determinedly into adulthood.
Every woman of long-lived Uzushiogakure has to accept that one lifetime might hold many loves within it. She has loved several men already, in her short lifetime; by the standards of Uzushiogakure, she is still young. There was Hashirama, of course, in the first flush of young, idealistic emotion, and the quieter, steadier bond that had grown out of that, like two trees twining together. There was Madara as well, intermittently and stormily, as if he were the vivid lightning and flashes of thunder that interrupted Hashirama's gentler rain. There is Tobirama, as always, the easy affection and passion, the firm friendship that has only grown stronger with the years. And now the dark-eyed boy who confessed his love so readily is a dark-eyed young man who watches, and waits, and says nothing.
Mito can close her eyes and feel the rush of the years that have swept by like a gust of dried leaves in the wind - ink spotted on clean white paper; neat stitches of well-waxed thread; the way a boy's hands shake as he signs away his loyalty on a contract older than his father's father; the staggering footprints of a walk alongside a river in a village now choked by ash and burned timber; used tea things piled on the kitchen table and carelessly shoved aside to make room for a sealing scroll; the long midnight talks and the silences that can hold even more; the crunch of an apple in a room filled with sunshine and the faint, bitter scent of injustice.
Inevitability, she thinks, feels like this, like the memory of two lives that have kept company together for so long that they are in danger of becoming one. It feels like anticipation, like the delicate trembling of springtime leaves barely beginning to unfurl, dangerous and fragile and new.
~X~
There are other children brought to her as the months roll by, and Mito cannot say truthfully that she is surprised, because Danzo still refuses to believe that the world cannot be changed, and so, for this little space of time at least, he is changing it. Malnourished and wary-eyed, most of them, they slowly begin to put some healthy flesh on their bones as they look around in wonder at the relative peace of Konoha's streets, and relearn the strictures and guidelines of civilization.
In the end they rent a house down the street so that Mito has a little more peace and quiet for her work, and she spends a few busy, dusty afternoons helping her charges clean it and teaching them how to use the stove and oven, admonishing the elder ones to take care of the younger. Somehow they manage to thrive on the shoestring budget that comes from Mito's scrimping and Danzo's slaving and the occasional contribution from another member of the War Hawks, and begin channeling their newfound energy and confidence into exploring the village from top to bottom.
On more than one occasion, they find themselves clashing with the new Uchiha police force, who have a tendency to speak disparagingly of those they consider to be 'foreign trash' in a way that starts more trouble than it stops, at least where Danzo's children are personally concerned.
I do belong here, a dark-skinned boy tells her, his mouth tight-lipped as she tends to his sprained wrist, courtesy of a sharp-tongued young rookie who dropped him off at her house with ominous warnings about 'gang activity' which abruptly ceased when Mito smiled pleasantly at him and told him she would be sure to take the matter up with the Hokage when she saw him next. Konoha's my village now, just as much as it is his. He shifts in his seat and his eyes look at her defiantly, pleadingly. Right?
Mito quietly agrees, and passes on the story when Danzo next stops by, for the sake of the hope she knows it will bring to his eyes.
~X~
The calamity of the Nidaime's death strikes the village with a jarring blow, and Mito once again finds herself seated at her table as she had been seven years before, tracing spirals of ink, red this time, as red as the lifeblood of the man she had loved. There is no body to mourn over, and she struggles to find a reason for why Tobirama, cautious, clever Tobirama, would throw his life away on a suicide mission when the village he loved needed him so badly, and finds no answers.
The news of Sarutobi Hiruzen's appointment comes as a greater shock, the near cruelty of the choice stunning her almost to bewilderment because the carefree, loving nature of the young man, brave to the point of foolhardiness and trusting to the point of gullibility, has never been suited to the demands and cares of the position of Hokage, especially during this time of war. She remembers late night talks with Tobirama, and the way he had spoken of another student with dark eyes and steady hands and the potential for great things, and the way that everyone had expected… but it is long past the day when she could press a note into Hiruzen's hands and send him away from a task she deemed him unfit for.
The pattern of Danzo's visits, as with so many other things, is shattered, and he does not come to speak with her in the early days after the War Hawks return from their disastrous mission. She sits at her rarely occupied place at the council table in the Hokage tower and watches him like she did across her kitchen table, angry and griefstricken and as unwilling to admit his pain now as he had been at twelve with the loss of Uzu fresh in his mind. Danzo argues furiously over making the appointment of Hiruzen official, and the rest of the Hawks stand silent and grim-faced and say nothing either for or against his protests, and Hiruzen first grows insecure, then defensive, then angry with a rage to match his friend's. Mito is unsurprised when it ends in a challenge to a fight, half unable to remember which young man flung it in the face of the other.
She returns home to soothe the anxious questions of the children, who have missed Danzo's semi-regular visits as much as she has, and to drink endless cups of tea in an effort to stem her own anxiety. It does not really work, but then she did not really expect it to.
Danzo does not come to see her that night either, and finally in a steadily growing exasperation at all types of that ridiculously stubborn, stupid life form known as man, Mito throws her shawl on and stalks over to the place where the houses of the Akimichi nestle close to those of the Yamanaka and Nara, and by dint of eloquent politeness and the gift of some genuine Uzushiogakure ramen, extracts Akimichi Torifu. He smiles and bows courteously, and assures her that he was not feeling tired anyway, so she sends him off to where Danzo is doubtless brooding in the emptiness of Tobirama's house, with strict instructions for tea and sleep and the injuction to not let his teammate out of his sight until the appointed time for the battle the next day.
This is a night, Mito thinks as she settles her shawl around herself, when nobody should be alone.
~X~
In the aftermath of the new Hokage's inauguration, Mito quietly offers her support where she can and watches the War Hawks break apart and scatter like leaves before a high wind.
Hiruzen, his usually easy-going expression replaced by tightness and worry, had insisted on appointing Koharu and Homura as junior members of the village council, and Torifu had thrown himself into his work at the hospital - had practically taken over the running of it, since Yakushi Hideki had finally admitted that he was growing old. Mito had visited the young Akimichi recently, and he had insisted on pulling her into his office and showing her the rough sketches he had made for a new hospital, a large, airy place better suited to the needs of both the doctors and the injured; she had smiled, warmed by his enthusiasm. Kagami had dismissed the remains of his team with a disdainful shrug of his shoulders and the biting remarks which she knows are his own method of grieving, and somehow acquired a transfer into the T&I division, where from all she has been able to gather he has been doing extraordinarily well.
Where Danzo is concerned, Mito has been forced to rely on weekly updates from a long-suffering Torifu, as her former student is still refusing to visit her. She sits the young man down at the kitchen table, shooing away the few of Danzo's orphans who are usually hanging around in hopes of catching some juicy bit of information, pours him some tea, and listens sympathetically.
Danzo is recovering slowly from his wounds, after his fight with Hiruzen, but is doing as well as can be expected. Danzo has forcibly checked himself out of the hospital while Torifu's attention was elsewhere, and has somehow managed to get himself sent back to the front. Danzo is quite possibly trying to get himself killed. Danzo is needed back at Konoha, and the new Hokage has brushed aside the protests of the council, and left the village himself to try to speak to him and make him see reason. Danzo is, according to the messages Hiruzen sent back, being stubborn. Danzo is back in Konoha in order to take up the new position of ANBU general, stone-faced and silent but alive and in one piece. Danzo is…
Danzo is standing on her front doorstep, as if it hasn't been long, endless months since the last time he has been there. Mito opens the door and his dark eyes dart toward, then away from her; plainly, he is beginning to wonder whether he should not have come.
There is a shriek of Danzo-sama! and a couple of dark blurs shoot past Mito and attach themselves to Danzo's arms and legs, and she has to turn away to hide a smile because it isn't often that she sees Danzo both so taken aback and so obviously touched. She leaves him rather helplessly trying to explain to a couple of hyperactive ten-year olds why he hasn't been to visit them in forever, and heads back inside to make tea.
She hears him sending the children off with promises to stop by their house later in the day, hears him push open the door and come inside, hears the creak of the chair being pulled back from the table, and is surprised at the sense of peace that it gives her. A homecoming.
Torifu tells me that your job has been difficult, she says, but that you have persevered. She sets the steaming cup of tea before him and squeezes his shoulders, gently. He would have been proud of you.
Danzo nods jerkily to show his appreciation for the words and the tea, and draws the cup towards himself, bare-handed despite the heat. With the other hand, he is sketching unconscious spirals across the bare wood of the table, but Mito pretends not to notice, tactfully seating herself next to him in silence.
It has been difficult, he admits in length, when the steam from the tea has relaxed the tense lines of his face a little. They miss the Nidaime's leadership. Ever since he first formed the ANBU when the war began - he was very much a part of their lives. And they never expected that leadership to be passed on to someone who was - a slight twist of the mouth, nothing more - not Hokage.
He is careful, so careful to keep his pain at a safe distance, safely bracketed with titles and clear-cut pages of history, and Mito's heart breaks as she watches him. It was not pity, she says softly, and Danzo's head jerks up, suddenly young and startled again for that moment. Hiruzen made the right decision when he gave you the ANBU. He knew that you could carry on Tobirama's ideals as he could not. The two of you have the potential to lead Konoha to great things if you work together.
Danzo stares at his tea, and in that moment Mito knows with a pang that the last traces of the boy he had been are gone forever, scoured away by the blood and the pain of the First War, and leaving instead the quiet, driven man before her. I know, he says softly. It is - it is difficult to put certain things aside, but I must do it - a quick flash of dark eyes meeting hers - for Konoha. That is what you were going to say to me, is it not, shishou?
Mito dips her head in agreement and then hesitates before she takes his hand in hers, and corrects him softly. Mito, she says, and can feel years of promises both spoken and unspoken coming to fruition. A homecoming of another kind, maybe.
Mito? Danzo asks.
She smiles in encouragement and Danzo shapes his mouth around it again, trying out the sound as if it is a new technique he must learn, understanding slowly filtering through his voice as he meets her eyes with his, dark and fierce and frightened and filled with longing, and she does not look away.
Mito.
The kiss is warmed by the sunlight streaming through the window and throwing dappled shadows of leaves over the two of them, it tastes of genmaicha and the weariness of war and ten years' worth of memories. It is far from perfect, but they have reached this at last, the smooth wood under their fingers and the warm pressure of their linked hands, the fragile leaves of springtime unfolding into the rich green foliage of summer.
Here, for this moment, their lives entangle as one.
~X~
Tomorrow we will only give them
a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf
which will fall on the earth
like if it had been made by our lips
like a kiss which falls
from our invincible heights
to show the fire and the tenderness
of a true love.
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