Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any of its characters, stories, etc.

Chapter 2. Love like a Tree

CW: Sexual content, mentions of suicidal behavior.

"Ahhhh, Itachi-kun…" The vowels of his name bounced breathlessly with the rhythm of their bodies as he filled her to the brim over and over again. "I. tach. i. kun…" Her bare breasts followed the same pattern, and she caught his gaze fixated upon them.

Their stomachs flush against one another, her belly seemed to vibrate against his deep and rumbling voice. "I-Izumi…" She loved how uneven it sounded: not his regular detached, calm melody but the one that signaled he was losing himself inside of her. His teeth made contact with her neck while he continued his delicious defilement of her body. As he drove himself particularly rough between her legs, her nails dragged across his back, leaving trails of raised red skin; she was rewarded with a hard bite that she could practically feel instantaneously bruising just below her jaw. She knew her friends would definitely mock her for those marks in the morning.

He's getting so good at this, she thought to herself in between her delirious moaning. Their breach into physical intimacy was fairly new, and Izumi would be lying if she said it had been great from the outset; truthfully, it had been more awkward and horrified apologies as she kept crying about how much it hurt, and he didn't know what on earth to do to fix it. While there was something endearing about seeing Uchiha Itachi fluster cluelessly about for once in his life, she knew they would need more practice, and because she was ever the competitor, they "practiced" quite often. Along with reading plenty of supplemented educational materials, of course. Icha Icha was proving particularly helpful. They had slowly been learning each others' bodies, gradually figuring out the little ticks and tocks of one another, and the results of their training were finally starting to pay off when Itachi had lamentably been called away for a month's long mission.

That evening when he had returned and opened her apartment door, she didn't even try to feign innocence before hooking her fingers in the waistband of his pants and commanding him to claim her now.

Thus, they found themselves on the rouge rug of her living room floor, clothes strewn unceremoniously around the room as she mewled for him to give her more of his body, more of his equally pent up energy and rawness.

Her heels dug into the strained muscles of his ass as he rammed even deeper into her. The tissue surrounding his length seized and clenched with delight. But, it wasn't enough. "Itachi-kun...touch me…"

He seemed to lose his breath at her demand, glowing red eyes meeting her matching pair. "Yes, ma'am."

His hand slithered between their writhing bodies, and his fingertips found their sweet destination, squeezing her carefully before beginning their firm, tenacious strokes. To keep balanced, he lowered his other arm to its elbow on the floor, and she couldn't imagine their bodies getting any closer, any more slick-and-stuck-together intimate. She groaned loudly enough that she was sure she would be hearing a complaint from the neighbors.

Izumi affirmed to herself once more that they really were getting so good at this. This fucking thing. This melting thing. This lovemaking thing. His open mouth found hers, and the feeling of his wicked tongue tangling with her own combined with the deft movement of his fingers and his quickening hips left her core spasming and tightening. Harder and tighter and wider and wetter and all of those things over again. She was so full of his hardness, she thought she would break, but when he trailed his lips towards her ear to purr her name before experimentally growling "good girl," she completely shattered.

"Itachi-kun!"

The woman who was normally so congenial and quiet allowed herself to scream, and her whole body fell apart around him as he pounded into her that much more vigorously. Her mangled cries filled the room, echoing around their bodies and pressing him further. He was more than delighted his quip had paid off—and he immediately made a mental note to both keep that pet name in his arsenal and continue to search for more tricks in Icha Icha—but her constricting muscles only drove him achingly closer to home, and he quickly found himself surrendering any semblance of control he might have had left. The hand that had been pleasing her fell to brace himself against the floor, digging into the fuzz of the rug.

"Izumi...Izumi…I'm...ahhhh..." A heated swear fell from his lips; she enjoyed the way his face twisted almost ugly with his desperate need.

She was still convulsing, mind reeling, but her shaking hands slid into his long hair, gently coaxing him towards the end. "That's right, my love," she whispered in a moan, pulling his lips to hers; now that she had reached her high after he'd played his own dirty card, his urgent desire made her feel mischievous and...powerful. "My Itachi-kun...go ahead and come for me…"

A gutted sound slipped between his lips into hers as his plunging hips started to hitch, losing their rhythm. He didn't seem to mind her prodding or the way it rendered him defenseless at all. "Izumi...please...Izumi…"

"Yes, my love. That's right. Go on, and come, Itachi-kun…" she crooned, peppering his mouth with teasing kisses. "Come inside me, my love."

A few more hard, grunted thrusts mingled with her syrupy murmurs. And, finally, he keened, red eyes boring into hers as his face screwed up in agonized vulnerable release.

"Izumi!"

"Fuck, Izumi!"

Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap.

She became aware again of the harsh sound of fleshy skin hitting even fleshier skin. Izumi grunted uncomfortably, and that only seemed to make the noise become louder and somewhat repulsive to her ears.

Slapslapslapslapslapslap-

"Agghhh…" she griped, burying her face into the onyx comforter, willing her mind to stay with the man behind her rather than the one on top in her head. Taking a breath, she inhaled the airy smell of cologne from the blanket, but it was overpowering. She opted instead to push herself up, hands resting on the edge of the mattress. Her partner took the chance to slide his hand over the curve of her neck, pushing so her back would be forced to arch. His grip fastened as he used the hold for leverage so he could grind into her faster.

"Izumi-chan...Oh, Izumi…" His frenzied whimpering was charming, but it felt extremely dissonant with the heavy and thick baritone echoing between her ears.

Both stood as Izumi steadied their figures against the bed, her form bent over while he kept a deathgrip on her hip; the skin of his pelvis and muscular thighs collided with hers from behind, producing the dry slap sound. The sheer force of his movements was causing her to buckle; she often forgot that though he acted like a fool around her, he was one hell of a strong shinobi.

"Genma…" The pressure had been building in her stomach, but it plateaued some time earlier; he had been pummeling her insides for almost an hour, and her whole body—particularly her sensitive parts chafing with such enduring abrasion—was starting to feel the effects. "This is fun and all, but you are fucking me raw." Though she was irritated, her breath was still strained given her current position. "Are you almost finished?"

She'd always thought that his long-term stamina must be a good thing, and it had allowed her to peak quite a few times in their little romps. But, sometimes it literally grated on her. With him, it was never a quick-and-dirty lay; it was generally more of an exercise in determination and willpower—like the least arousing sex marathon ever imagined.

"I'm s-sorry...I'm almost…" Genma kept his pace up, but the more frantically he pushed, the less likely it seemed there was an end in site.

Izumi sighed, grumbling in frustration. Her brown eyes rolled to the ceiling, but a pang of guilt flooded her system for her lack of patience. She had, after all, been thinking about someone else entirely whilst in the throes with him, and she had, after all, been the one to show up at his doorstep half-drunk well past two in the morning; the least she could do was get him off. Granted, they had been going at it for a while, and it's not like they had changed positions for over twenty minutes; Genma had said before that he really, really liked her ass, so that came as no surprise. It wasn't completely unreasonable that her mind had wandered. But, it wasn't so much the wandering that was the issue as it was whom she had been wandering about.

Only the man that murdered my mother, she jabbed to herself. Or at least orchestrated the murder of my mother. And everyone I knew. And is now an S-class criminal listed in the Bingo Book. Yeah, that's a perfectly healthy fantasy to have WHILE fucking someone else.

But, inappropriate or not, her girlish childhood dreams of the the Uchiha male had matured over the years, and those fantasies occurred frequently. Much too frequently for her liking. Or sanity. Her mind seemed to volley between the pterrors of what he had done and the erotic dreams of what she wished had happened. And, they weren't just frivolous and heated wet dreams, which might have been understandable given that he had been the first boy she'd ever thought of that way; rather, it was the fact that the fantasies only existed in a world where her entire clan hadn't been snuffed out in a single night; they existed in a world where she and Itachi grew up together and fell in love and got married—

"Oh, Izumi-chan...fuck…"

There she went again. Mind wandering. She dragged her brain from the shameful, delusional recess and focused on the most pressing issue, which was a very disheartened Genma behind her who couldn't seem to find his way to the finish.

"Genma…" She tried to turn her lilt saccharine, but she had a feeling it was not landing with the desired effect. "Genma...please come…" The plea was as much to entice him as it was an actual pleading for him to find a reason to stop ramming into her body. "Here...give me your hand…"

Izumi removed the palm that had encapsulated her throat (even though she had quite liked that bit of air restriction) and sensuously drew the tips of his fingers over her lips before sucking two of the digits into her mouth. She heard his strangled swear and knew she was on the right track. Sliding his fingers out, she ran her tongue between them before pushing them back between her lips, adding a forced moan to urge him along. He jerked just enough that he accidentally reached into her throat, and she retched in surprise. He hardly noticed as his hips fought even harder to find release, the slapslapslap somehow growing cacophonous. Firmly clasping his wrist so he wouldn't gag her again, she continued to play with his fingers in her mouth.

"Izumi-chan...fuck, I'm gonna come, Izumi," he panted, and his body bent over hers, nearly knocking them both over. His lips pressed to the back of her head as he whined, "Please Izumi-chan...keep doing that...with your mouth...your tongue…"

She hummed in reply, sucking fervently. Izumi had to admit, she did enjoy this part: the moment right before, where the rush of adrenaline pumped through her at seeing, or in this case hearing, him mold like clay to her will; her moan was genuine as the wetness that had long retired from this session began to bloom once more with his yearning words. Well, maybe if he can keep it up now…

But, her sordid hopes were quickly dashed when she heard his exaggerated, shuddering groan before his face buried into the nape of her neck. His lone hand on her hip bit nail-shaped crescents down to the bone, and she hissed in response; she had to restrain the one in her mouth with her teeth; again, he was one hell of a strong shinobi. His full weight crashed against her back, arms and legs failing as they crumbled together over the mattress. He gave a few last choppy bucks of his hips and collapsed, hands retreating and dragging her off of the bed onto the floor with him. Still impaled and seated on his lap, she shivered in her arousal as he delicately kissed her spine, chest shaking against her back. His fingers played with the hem at the front of her undershirt absentmindedly; she rarely removed it with him because of the grisly scar that mapped most of her torso (that was a conversation she was more than happy to avoid). However, in that moment, even with her lack of physical satisfaction, Genma's reverent touches were rather soothing and...kind. It reminded Izumi what had started their repeated late night trysts in the first place.

A couple of months before, she had been out drinking at one of the bars shinobi frequented for only two reasons: to get drunk and to get laid. Given their life-threatening and regularly traumatizing line of work, it was the sort of uncouth behavior that most turned a blind eye to, even if it did stand in total opposition to the shinobi prohibitions: alcoholol (check), money (check), and women (check). Izumi found the prohibition on women to be, well, ridiculous considering how many shinobi were women...but she assumed it was more about who you invite into your bed. And probably how many you invite into your bed. But, the last Uchiha woman knew all too well the hypocrisy of the Hidden Leaf's ninja ways, so she chose not to examine any of it too closely.

Regardless, she happened to be drinking away another triggered memory at the same time Genma, Kakashi, Asuma, and a slew of other jounin above her in years and rank burst through the doors. In the boisterous atmosphere, which was out of place for this type of low-key bar of secret rendezvous, Izumi had heard that it was Kakashi's birthday. Or something. She didn't particularly care and had maintained her distance from the group by staying rooted to the bar, only occasionally acknowledging the bartender with a nod for another drink.

It was after the jounin got exceptionally drunk and rowdy that Genma gathered the courage to pester her for the rest of the evening.

"Why do you always drink alone?"

His opening line had left something to be desired.

"Why do you always drink in groups?"

She had quickly tried to make clear with her short words that she wanted to continue to drink in solitude.

"It's this wild new concept called 'friendship.' You should try it."

Genma was nothing if not good-hearted and persistent. He did have some outlandish stamina, after all. While she had only seen his stoic behavior on the occasional mission or assignment, his light jokes and flirtatious digs actually intrigued Izumi. As she had sized him up—from his lightly tousled hair bound wrapped in a bandana to his signature Senbon dangling from his lips down the rest of his lengthy and lean body, still dressed in standard issue flak jacket, shirt, and pants—Izumi had figured she could definitely do worse than Shiranui Genma. At least as someone to take to bed.

But, she knew the real reason that he had attracted her at all: from everything she knew about him and had heard about him, he wouldn't hurt her. And that was all she hoped for anymore.

"So are we gonna fuck or what?"

Izumi had been the final initiator. The hour had grown late, and most of Genma's party had already left, save for Kakashi and Kurenai quietly murmuring in a corner booth, presumably about them given their pointed looks in her direction; Asuma was also present, but with head face down on the table, completely passed out, he wasn't contributing much to the conversation. Because of her hellish reputation, Izumi knew they were most likely whispering concern for their friend who was idiotically flirting with the female embodiment of danger; besides her infamy for battlefield brutality, she was well aware that her "comrades" made many snickering jokes about the "rounds" she made through the male population of Konoha, even if she was only 19 years old. In her darker moments, Izumi wondered if the shinobi prohibition on women was written about people like her.

Genma didn't seem to know this, or at least didn't seem to care, when he had smirked devilishly, that silly senbon still resting between his lips.

"Your place or mine?"

"I have a 12 year old; what do you think?"

And that was how she found herself (more than once) half naked in Genma's lap on his bedroom floor, his curious hands beginning to glide beneath the fabric of her shirt. She instinctively reached to still his wrists, grip harder than necessary as she gritted between her teeth, "No, Genma."

"Oh. Right." But his palms didn't move, thumb just barely brushing an edge of her scar below her navel. Nails dug into his flesh as a warning, and it wasn't lost on him. "Izumi-chan…" he murmured, intending to be soothing. "You don't have to hide it. I don't mind..."

So patronizing… Izumi clamped her eyes shut and sighed, attempting to keep the rising tide of irritation bubbling in her chest at bay. "I'm not hiding it," she seethed, willing her tone to remain even. "And I could give a shit if you mind or not."

Her nails dug in harder, and she could hear the wince in his voice. "Okay, calm down. That hurts." She snorted, thinking that he didn't seem to worry about how she was aching from the dry friction he'd been humping between her legs for the past hour, but even with the distaste turning her nose to a quiet snarl, Izumi loosened her grip. Only slightly.

But, Genma, still desiring to salvage the moment of his afterglow, tenderly kissed the back of her head among the rugged tufts of brown hair. "I'm sorry, Izumi-chan," he breathed gently, inhaling her stale smell of cigarettes. An idea occurred, and he smiled to himself with boyish glee. Rather forcefully, he freed one hand from her grasp and raised it, fingers caressing softly over one of her breasts through the shirt, intentionally grazing her nipple. "Truth is, I'm just a lewd pervert, and I wanna see your tits bounce when we fuck."

Izumi knew he was joking, even if there was some truth to his wish; she knew that he was saying something inappropriate and dirty to lighten the mood and redirect the attention away from the unsightly scarring her body had endured. She knew this, but his crassness in the face of her sensitivity to the subject pissed her off.

With some effort, she reached forward to grab the edge of the mattress, hauling herself up and off his lap, grimacing when he came unsheathed from her body. Genma, a bit perplexed, watched as she looked about the room, searching for her lost articles of clothing that had earlier been discarded with little care. "Where the fuck is my underwear?"

"Izumi-chan…" He rose as well, swiftly removing the condom and discarding it in the bin near his bed. He bent over and found his own undergarments, sliding the briefs up his legs before placing hands on hips, turning to face her. "Come on, I was only kidding-"

"Ya know what, fuck it, keep my underwear." She had found her pants and quickly shimmied them on. "Frame them as a momento or something."

He scoffed, unable to keep out the derision as he remarked, "You are seriously overreacting. It was a joke." She was still glancing around for her purple overshirt and gloves when he closed the space between them, grabbing her by the shoulders so she would be forced to look at him. "Come on, Izumi-chan. Just. Let's lie down. You can't leave now. It's-" He glanced over his shoulder at the clock on his nightstand. "It's already five in the morning."

Her eyes narrowed at his hands daring to touch her now, and she wretched away from him, taking several steps back. "Fine, you wanna see so badly?" she spat, reaching down and pulling harshly at the hem of her shirt. "Here. Here's my tits. For your viewing pleasure." She ripped the garment over her head.

The only light in the room came from his open window, and the pale moon and bleak morning sky lit up her bare chest and ravaged midsection. She stared defiantly at Genma, teeth gritted and scowling, hoping that he felt burned from her gaze.

Genma's face could only be described as distraught. Concern weighted his brow, and his eyes filled with something that looked like pity. He had not really seen this part of her naked body in full view, only somewhat in the dark between heated foreplay and fucking if she took her shirt off; it hardly left time for lengthy examination, and she didn't allow that either way. But, with the angry brunette woman standing before him, exposing herself in the dim light, he didn't seem excited or aroused. Only sad.

"Izumi...just come lie down with me." She saw his eyes flickering over her skin, her slightly heaving chest, the off-colored scar, and she wanted to snap at him, but he exuded the weakest warmth, a dull fire trying to push away the bitterness between them. "Please. You always leave. And I'd...I'd like it if you stayed."

For the briefest of moments, Izumi actually considered his request. What if she stayed. What if she took her pants off and crawled under his onyx comforter that smelled overwhelming of his too-dense cologne and let him wrap his arms around her. What if she peeled back at least one thin layer of armor and allowed herself to be lulled to sleep by the steady beat in his chest. What if she woke up later that morning and their argument seemed small and meaningless and she opened herself up to his silly, grinning face. What if.

But, she didn't. She couldn't.

Izumi threw the undershirt back over her head.

"Nah, I'm good," she quipped, finally spotting her purple shirt on top of his dresser; she hastily grabbed it, slipping it onto her body, grateful to have the cowl-neckline to hide at least part of her face. In a hurry to leave, she told him, "Give me back my gloves when you find them."

She only caught a snippet of his face falling, painted with anger and disappointment, as she turned towards his bedroom door. When she twisted the knob, he muttered loud enough for her to hear, "Ya know, sometimes you can be such a bitch."

Izumi didn't know why his comment stung; she had been called far worse. Maybe it was because of the intimacy their bodies had just shared or maybe because it was in such stark contrast to his vulnerable plea only seconds before. She chose not to dwell on the reasoning behind her feelings. "Funny, so can you."

And with that, she was out of his bedroom, swiping up her shoes at the hallway entrance and pushing out of his apartment onto the communal outdoor walkway, grateful for the early morning chill against her agitated nerves. She stumbled over herself, leaning against the walkway's railing as she clumsily tried to throw on her shoes. Achieving her goal, she took off down the path, skipping down the stairs for a quick getaway.

Outside of the apartment complex, the sky was the dullest shade of blue edged with black night. The streets of the village were still save for the disturbance of Uchiha Izumi zipping lightly through them, mind abuzz with Genma's confusing oscillation between sweetness and acidity.

Fucking bastard, she told herself. He was certainly not the worst partner she'd ever had, but he could definitely turn into a petulant child when he didn't get his way. She was never particularly concerned with things like a man's personality when choosing who to take to bed because they didn't do much talking, but Genma (and men like him) were frustrating simply because they couldn't seem to settle between wanting to be some kind of honorable male shinobi who actually considered her well being, and wanting to discard her with the morning trash, rejoining their mutual comrades in mocking how easy she was—as if they themselves had not been present when they went to bed.

Her head shook in a vain attempt to clear the thoughts; the whole point of screwing around with Genma was to have fun and get off, not to be left with a damn existential crisis. Clearly, the man had outgrown his use, and she would have to find someone else to satiate her needs.

The funny thing about the gossip is that only about a third of it was true. Izumi was the type of woman to sleep with whomever she pleased, but she didn't throw herself at every erect dick the way rumors seemed to say. She usually found one partner to mess around with for a while, and when either he or she lost interest, she moved on. She knew plenty of female (and twice as many male) shinobi who did the same, but she had the infamy of being the almost last Uchiha, and people liked to talk. And there were the behavioral issues on missions, but that was beside the point.

Most of the time, the whispering of her comrades didn't bother her. But sometimes. Sometimes it did. And Genma calling her a bitch only further solidified her belief that she should just keep to herself and do what she liked. She was damned in their eyes either way.

The thoughts kept her distracted enough that she didn't realize she had been approaching another figure in the otherwise empty streets. And then, they collided.

The force of the impact pushed her back a few steps, but luckily she had run into another nin, and he was able to brace himself. Startled, she blinked a few times before mumbling, "I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention."

When she actually looked up to see his face, she saw a somewhat familiar mask and mop of gray hair. "Oh, I'm sorry, Izumi-san!" he answered with much more alertness than he had just displayed. "I wasn't paying attention either. Just thinking about where I'd like to go for breakfast."

She quirked a brow at his strange excuse but nodded, ready to step around him and continue on her way when he asked, "Walk of shame, huh?"

If glares could kill, hers would have. She'd seen enough of him to know that he was familiar with Genma, and she was reluctant to imagine what sorts of things her dear "friend" might have revealed about her. She was ready to retort with something harsh, even though she had technically just left her person-she-put-up-with-to-get-benefits' apartment, but he quickly put up one hand while the other scratched the back of his head. "I'm sorry; that was rude," he offered, tense from her reaction. "Just because I'm doing the walk doesn't mean you are."

At his words, her jaw unclenched a bit; so he wasn't mocking her, only himself. But, she didn't answer, only looking at him curiously wondering in the back of her mind who on earth would take the friend-killer into their bedroom.

His reputation preceded him, much like hers, and she'd heard for years about the infamous nin of many names and many more jutsu. But the one that always kept her from delving any further was 'friend-killer.' Izumi was brash and irresponsible, but she knew the nickname had to come from an unfortunate event with a comrade. Or several. And she didn't want to learn from first-hand experience what that meant. So, she kept her distance. Luckily, in her time as an active nin, she had never been placed on a team with him, and she only ever occasionally ran into him in places like the bar she became acquainted with Genma. Or apparently, now, on the quiet streets of Konoha at 5:30 in the morning when he was doing his, as he put it, walk of shame.

The silence was filled with early morning birds, and the sky grew bluer above them with each moment. Izumi was unsure what to do; she wasn't frightened of him exactly, but she didn't want to hang around chit-chatting. She already had a destination in mind.

But, he surprised her with a polite offer. "Would you like to join me for breakfast?"

Friend-killer.

With the dull hues of morning gracing his largely-hidden features, Hatake Kakashi seemed innocent enough. But, in her short life time, Izumi had seen enough "innocent" men to tread carefully.

"No, thanks."

"Ah, another time then."

She nodded, knowing full well there would be no other time, and she stepped around him, taking a few strides forward before darting off down the street.

Kakashi turned to watch her go, his interest and some amount of concern peaked. Izumi had already turned a corner and fell out of sight, unaware that the copy nin stood motionless for a full two minutes before deciding to follow.

The top of Hokage Rock was a popular place to visit, but most of Konoha's residents did not bother with another clifface on the near opposite side of the village. There, on the fringes, were a few tangled trees that looked like they'd seen better days. But, among them was one tree with names carved into the bark; its roots stuck out of the rock, and its branches hung well over the edge. It was still full of greenery and life, and it stood out in stark contrast to the others. It watched over the smattering of colorful houses below near the village's end.

This was Izumi's tree.

In her solitude, she approached with the crunch of twigs beneath her feet; Izumi didn't have to be a ninja up here. She didn't have to be anyone up here.

It had been two weeks since her previous visit, which was a small victory of its own, but after the last few hours, the last few days, she needed to feel weightless, and that had become the tree's purpose.

She saw it some 15 or so years ago for the first time when he father brought her up; he wanted to show the markings that he and her mother made there before she was born.

"That's how you know."

"Know what, papa?"

She stepped up to its base, fingertips caressing the rough bark like it was a precious artifact, and in its own way, the tree was; the scribers were dead, but the tree showed that they had at least made their mark on the earth.

"It's how you know that the love I have for your Mama runs deep; it's roots hold strong, even in the face of danger, and it stands the test of time."

Her hand found the markings without much thought. The names of her parents carved out by a kunai.

She'd heard the story about a hundred times before her father's death and a hundred times more before her mother's. How her father had come there as a young boy and scratched his name in the bark, declaring that he would become the next great Hokage. But then, at the tender age of 13, he saw a beautiful Uchiha girl, and his heart was a mess from that day on. According to her mother, he was the most annoying person she'd ever met, and she didn't return his affections for the better part of a decade; her parents had already intended her for a second cousin. Or maybe first cousin. It was anyone's guess how much inbreeding really happened among the clans.

Her father, a war orphan with no familial ties, didn't care much for the stringent practices and paid no mind to the occasional death threats from the Uchihas and warnings from comrades to stop chasing a girl attached to such a dangerous (and borderline treacherous) family.

He didn't care. He loved her.

They never were completely clear about why her mother eventually came to love him too; now that she was older, she had a feeling their talk of a long term mission that finally gave them the space to get to know one another without the constraints of prying eyes was at least somewhat of a euphemism for the fact that they hooked up on that mission and in turn, got hooked on one another. Something about the ordinariness of it made her warm.

Her father was too naive to realize that once his heart was set on a Uchiha, he would never become Hokage. But, he probably wasn't skilled enough as a ninja to earn the title either. Given his gentle spirit complemented with decisive action, he could have been a great leader, and had he ever actually achieved his dream, there certainly would never have been a Uchiha massacre; that was the thought that often clutched Izumi's throat when she thought of him. But Konoha's leaders tended towards legendary shinobi above all else. Her father really never stood a chance before he died.

"When I decided to marry your Mama, I brought her here. To show her the promise I'd made to love and protect Konoha like my own family. And that's when I told her I wanted her to be my family. My wife."

The story always made Izumi turn a deep shade of red when she was young; any of her parents overt displays of affection had made her blush, but secretly, she liked seeing their love out in the open. Unabashed and there for the world, consequences be damned.

Even though she always knew the ending, she had liked to hear her father say it.

"What happened next, Papa?"

"I was too scared to hear her answer! I told her that if she agreed, she should carve her name next to mine…"

Hazuki. Ushi.

Her parents.

And below that. Her own name.

"Now it's your turn, my sweet Izumi! Would you do me the honor of letting me be your Papa forever?"

She could almost see the memory playing out before her. It was a song in her head, the sound of his deep bellied laugh, the way he fell to his knee in a fake proposal.

"Well, duh, you'll always be my Papa!"

She only had one photograph left of him; in a drunken rage, she had burned it with a lighter before quickly exterminating it and mourning the loss of a crinkled corner of backdrop blue sky, blackened and crusted over. She knew that her smile was a lot like his, and the mole under her eye came from him; everything else was her mother. The photograph showed the young couple shortly after Izumi was born; when she had burned it, she became afraid of herself, and in that drunken state she hid it, knowing she would forget where it was the next day; that was some four odd years ago, and she still hadn't found the damned thing in her apartment.

His smile always got her.

"Then carve your name with mine and Mama's. You remember how to write your name?"

She was so little then, she barely could, but with her father's help, she had scratched out the imperfect characters. Izumi.

"But, Papa, what if the tree dies?"

Forehead pressed to the bark, there was the familiar ache in her chest that told her she should be crying, but nothing came out. Instead, Izumi began to climb her trodden path. Right hand to lower extended branch, left foot to the knot that reached her hips.

"That's the beauty of it. Many trees live longer than we do…"

She clambered her way up the trunk, wrapping a leg around to reach the side overhanging the cliff.

"...even after your Mama and I are gone, this tree will be here. Our love will still be here…"

With a cat's grace, she crawled delicately on hands and knees along the farthest reaching branch. There was no longer earth beneath her for miles. At its very end, quaking beneath her weight, she swung her legs out to perch for a moment, taking in the beautiful sight of the golden sun stretching its long arms over the faces of Hokages past and present all the way across the village.

"...our love will watch over Konoha...watch over you…"

With a sharp intake of breath, Izumi leaned back, allowing her body to fall, arms carelessly thrown over her head; at the perfect moment, she squeezed the backs of her knees and thighs to catch herself on the branch, dangling over the cliff like a leaf herself. The branch heaved a long creak and exaggerated bow, but it did not give. She sighed.

Izumi looked up to look down at the world; her fingers seemed to brush against the colors of the tiny houses far below. The wind rustled her hair, and she used its strength to take a deep breath. Her shirt slid up her body from the gravity, revealing the scar on her abdomen, but she didn't care. Up here, she didn't have to be anybody, and she certainly didn't have to be the Uchiha girl with a damaged body and broken spirit.

It was a game that started some time after the massacre. Out of habit or mourning, she came to the tree more so than she ever went to the graveyard of dead Uchihas. She thought about how she had planned to bring Itachi there one day. She thought about jumping. And she almost did. But Sasuke was a ghost in her mind: his dead-eyed expression, his screams from the night terrors, his tears bleeding into her shirt on more than one occasion. She couldn't just leave him; her conscious wouldn't let her.

So she played a game with Fate. Izumi would crawl out on the longest branch as far as she could.

If the branch stayed strong, she lived; if the branch broke, she died.

If Fate decided her outcome, she didn't have to.

But, after repeatedly not dying, she started to enjoy how it felt like she was floating above Konoha, the tension of possibly falling dancing in her fingers. Free of her shame and free of her guilt and free of her bad habits and just. Free.

The world seemed to make more sense when she was upside down, too. Like she should have been standing on her head her entire life, and maybe it wouldn't have turned out like this.

The ache in her chest grew stronger, and she thought the tears might actually come. They never did.

So she stayed there, suspended and swaying with the breeze. Watching the light cast colorful shadows on and around the earth below.

She didn't know that in the woods from which she'd come, there was a lone copy nin, watching her. After he was convinced that he would not need to throw himself over the cliff to save her, Kakashi observed her silently among the foliage until he sensed he was intruding on something sacred. He wanted to leave, but there was a tight grip on his stomach telling him to wait until she climbed back down the tree, until she was safely on solid dirt once more and not a moment's lapse in concentration away from death.

But eventually, she did hoist herself back onto the branch, upright once more, and as soon as her feet touched the grass, he took off, unbeknownst to Izumi tracing the carvings of her parents' names one last time before turning back to the path towards home.

AN/mom rant: wooo sex! Okay so I'm trying to be better about keeping these notes short but this is important y'all and my inner mom can't help it so TAKE A SEAT.

The sex Izumi has with Genma is BAD BAD SEX. BAD. I wrote it that way intentionally, and I know it's bad author form to explain The Point, but I remember reading this kinda stuff as a young teenager and not having context or education sooo. The Point is that both of these characters don't have healthy views about sex, and that will change over the course of the story, but it will take a while to get there so I feel the need to explain this now. Genma is, overall, not a Bad Guy and not intended to be a villain or foil. but he is SO inattentive to his partner's needs during sex that he IS actually hurting her, physically and in the mental/emotional side of things. And my idea of Izumi is that she probably didnt know much about sex before she started having sex (and there is some more backstory that comes later to explain that). And most of her experiences are something like this so she just kinda assumes this is "how it is." She really doesn't know how to communicate what she wants or that she's ALLOWED to tell someone to stop if she is in pain.

The "fantasy" of Itachi is actually my take on a much healthier version of sex. There is obviously consent, communication about desires, enjoyment by both parties, etc. I also always think it's funny in any story when two virgins get together and somehow have amazing, hot, mind blowing sex. Lol. That. That doesn't happen. It takes time and "practice!" But open communication is so so so so SO important. It is like. The most important part of sex that no one ever actually teaches.

Essentially, sex should never ever ever be a voyeuristic experience, and if it is, then Something Ain't Right. And it should always always be enjoyable for all parties involved. Maybe even, dare I say, fun? (Internal gasp).

I'm just using this story and these characters to explore some of those weird nuances that I don't often see explored.

Okay. Mom rant done!

Other quick note is that I could not find anything saying Izumi's father's name, and I had the idea that he was kind of an ox of a guy, and being an orphan, someone just named him "bull" or "cow" along the way to be kinda cruel. I am not a Japanese speaker and only rely on some of the basics i know and google, so let me know if i'm incorrect on any Japanese terms or anything is so culturally out of whack that it like. Does not make sense whatsoever. I do look these things up but the internet is only so reliable!

Thanks for reading! Please do review! I love to hear feedback. Let me know what you think!