Rating: M
Warnings: More familial angst, aggravating little brothers, quasi-philosophy, political maneuvering, a very angry kunoichi, ruined tea sets, etc.
Word Count: ~5800
Pairings: Eventual Madara/Tobirama, Hashirama/Mito, Izuna/Tōka
Disclaimer: Hah. I want some of whatever Kishimoto was smoking, but Naruto's not mine.
Notes: Some people have raised concerns about (or asked for) non-con and/or Stockholm Syndrome. I can say with absolute certainty that neither of those will happen. If you were hoping for it, sorry, but I am physically incapable of making this story any darker than it is. (You might have noticed that my muses tend to be made almost entirely of kittens, rainbows, and snark?) As I said, last chapter was one of the darkest moments, and things do start getting lighter from here.
As Is the Sea Marvelous
3. stars flutter into dust
Beyond anything else, captivity is boring.
Tobirama knows he should be grateful, that he should take reprieves wherever he can get them. Knows he should be glad to have a few hours to himself after the scene yesterday. But it's so damnably tedious being stuck in a cell without even the option to plot his own escape. He could, he knows. Izuna is better, and if he vanished now it likely wouldn't do anything except make Madara angry. But…
But Tobirama has never been one to stop halfway when the path forward is still clear. He made his decision, his choice, and he won't waver from it.
(This is for Hashirama's dream, and he can't risk any of his actions turning Madara against his brother yet again.)
With a sigh, Tobirama tilts his head back against the stone and closes his eyes, fed up with counting the bricks that make up the far wall. He can't touch his chakra in here, can't feel it as anything more than a vague, distant hum beneath his skin. The narrowed perception is aggravating; Tobirama can't recall the last time he was without his clarity as a sensor. Instead of leagues of awareness, the sharp pinpoint knowledge of every person nearby with a chakra signature, all that seems to exist is this cell, these four walls and the little strip of hallway outside.
It's foolishness. It's also why a good many sensors go mad when suddenly stripped of their chakra. The world folds down from three dimensions to just two, and everything that should be vivid and have depth is simply…flat. With his usual sight there are always points of reference. Without it, with those gone, all he has is a flat plane stretching out before him, and judging anything is hard. Not impossible, but irritating.
Hashirama always tells him he finds too many things irritating. Tobirama is firmly of the opinion that Hashirama doesn't find enough things that way. Surely such unceasing cheer can't really be natural.
The hiss of sliding cloth and the muffled click of sandals on stone makes him open his eyes again, swinging his legs over the edge of the cot and sitting up. Another moment, and the very last person he was expecting to see steps into view.
"Senju," Izuna says, more or less politely, and slides a bowl of rice through the opening in the bars. "Good morning."
"Uchiha," Tobirama returns, slightly wary. "Does Madara know that you're down here?"
Izuna settles on the stone, crossing his legs under him, and lifts his chin. "What my brother may or may not know has no bearing on my actions," he says precisely.
"He doesn't," Tobirama concludes, very dry. "I take it this is your revenge?"
"How suspicious. I promise, if I was angling for your death, I'd just play up the emotional trauma of my formerly mortal wound and tell Madara only your head on a platter would make me feel better," Izuna informs him, face perfectly straight, and then, "Eat. You look even pastier than usual."
"This coming from an Uchiha?" Tobirama counters, but leans forward to pick up the bowl nevertheless. It's still warm, and there are several pickles arranged neatly around the edge. No chopsticks, but given that he's a prisoner and a shinobi that's to be expected. With a faint grimace at the untidiness, he dips his fingers in and picks up a chunk of rice. Then adds, a little grudgingly, "Thank you for the food."
Izuna tips his head a little, watching with uncannily sharp black eyes. "Of course. We're not monsters, no matter what you think."
That earns him a soft snort. "No. I believe that's what I am, according to your brother."
Smiling faintly, Izuna inclines his head, acknowledging the statement. "Madara can be overprotective, as I'm sure you noticed. Which makes me curious: you had to have known what would happen, coming here with me on my deathbed. Even for a Senju, that was a stupidly optimistic move."
"Optimistic?" Tobirama scoffs. "Not all Senju are mindlessly happy fools, no matter what image my brother might give you. Some of us can see the reality of situations."
"Then why do it?" Izuna challenges, and though his tone is even his eyes are intent. "Even for a shinobi, going unarmed to your death by torture is quite the gesture, especially given the fact that you were the one to deliver the blow that nearly killed me. And last I checked, Senju, we weren't friends."
That would be our brothers, Tobirama wants to say, but doesn't. He feels no need to leave a trail of clues for the other man to follow. And he definitely has no intention of revealing the truth; that's his business and no one else's. Pointedly, he keeps his mouth shut, focusing on his food.
Izuna isn't quite immature enough to huff in indignation, but the measured exhalation he gives is equivalent. He rises to his feet, taking a step forward to close a hand around one of the iron bars, and his voice, when it comes, is as cold and biting as sharpened ice. "Senju, don't test my patience. We're not friends. We're enemies. If you hadn't struck when you did, I would have killed you and not mourned for an instant. So why the sudden change of heart? Why save me when there's no gain in it for you?"
The words stab deep, pry up his composure by the roots, but Tobirama does his best not to let it show. He breathes out, long and slow, and says carefully, "No one wants this war to go on any longer, Uchiha."
"Lie," Izuna counters flatly. "Some people would be happy if it ended tomorrow, but most only want revenge for the deaths that came before. I believe in balance, Senju. The two most powerful clans, locked in combat, with neither one permanently gaining ground—that was what we had until you destroyed it."
The words echo those spoken by a very different man just a handful of days ago. You destroyed any chance we might have had of peace, Hashirama said, and now Izuna is insisting that he destroyed any chance of balance. Two sides of a coin, even if they don't know it. Tobirama breathes out a breathless, soundless laugh, and finally raises his eyes to meet Izuna's stare. "Balance is peace," he counters.
"It's actually not." Izuna smiles bleakly. "Balance couldn't care less about those caught in the wheel so long as it keeps spinning. As it was, the Uchiha and the Senju kept each other in check. Sometimes the Senju would be stronger, and sometimes the Uchiha, but we always ended up back at the same starting point. My brother is a dreamer, Senju, no matter how he tries to pretend otherwise. He likes to think that we can create a new wheel, a new system. We can't. Any attempts will just land us further along in the cycle, because one side will take advantage. I can't allow that, not when there's a chance of the Senju pulling ahead, and my clan paying for it."
Tobirama can't remember the last time he heard something that idiotic from someone who wasn't Hashirama. He opens his mouth to scoff, but before he can dark eyes narrow, angry and accusing. "Or," Izuna snaps, clearly seeing that he's about to protest, "that's how it was until you pulled this idiotic stunt and knocked the wheel right off its bearings. Now—"
"Now, going by your logic, your entire metaphor is obsolete," Tobirama interrupts, his temper fraying quickly. He holds Izuna's gaze without wavering. "If the wheel is gone, your argument against trusting the Senju falls flat, because there is no preexisting framework to hold us back." He snorts in disgust. "Stop using the idea of some cosmic circle as an excuse to cling to your prejudice, Uchiha. I've little interest, and less patience."
"My prejudice?" Izuna spits, slamming a fist into the bars. "You hypocritical bastard, you're the one who hates the Uchiha blindly!"
Another spasm of stupidity, even though Izuna is generally a decent opponent. Tobirama arches a brow at him in disbelief. "I don't hate the Uchiha," he answers frostily. "I think you are dangerous, because of the many clans we are at war with, yours is the strongest. The threat you pose is the greatest, and even if you are honorable enemies, I will not allow my clan to be wiped out."
Never before has he seen Uchiha Izuna speechless. The other man gapes at him, eyes wide and mouth open, before he snaps it shut and spins on his heel, striding away.
Tobirama has yet to meet anyone as overdramatic as an Uchiha. Rolling his eyes, he turns back to his food and ignores the distant sound of a heavy door swinging shut.
Madara is in the middle of a high-level kata when his little brother wanders out of the compound and takes a seat on a nearby stump. One glance at his face is enough to have Madara groaning and dropping out of his stance, pressing a hand over his eyes in aggrieved exasperation.
"What was it?" he demands. "You did something I'm going to hate and want to yell at you for, so just get it over with and tell me now."
"So theatrical, Brother," Izuna says reprovingly. "What would the elders say?" And then, without giving him a chance to deliver an appropriately scathing response—having very much to do with kettles and pots—adds brightly, "I paid a visit to our newest guest of honor, that's all."
Madara contemplates strangling him. Or, since that seems fairly counterproductive, locking him up in a nice tower somewhere. "Izuna—" he starts threateningly.
Of course, his little brother just waves a dismissive hand at him. "Stop it, I wasn't in any danger. Tobirama has no chakra and no weapons. The worst he could do was insult me, and he didn't even try that much."
However, because he knows his brother well, Madara sees the faint flicker that crosses Izuna's face at the mention of the Senju's name, and straightens. He gives Izuna a warning glance as he crosses his arms over his chest, and says succinctly, "Tell me."
Thankfully for both their sakes, Izuna doesn't even try to play stupid. He pulls a senbon out of his sleeve, keeping his eyes on the needle as he flips it through his fingers. "He called us honorable," he confides, and the look on his face is…peculiar. "The Uchiha as a whole, I mean. Said that he doesn't hate us, just thinks that we're the most serious threat, and that he's treating us accordingly."
That is—that is actually very surprising, given that Madara had thought Tobirama loathed every last Uchiha and would have gladly wiped them out. He frowns in consternation, considering this revelation. If Izuna, who is very, very good at reading people, thinks that he was being sincere…
"He has to know I would have killed him if you were actually dead," he says, mystified. "You're my brother. Honorable or not, I would have taken my revenge without even pausing to consider it." Another thought occurs to him, and he moves over to sit on the ground beside Izuna's stump, plucking the senbon from his grasp to fiddle with it himself. "He was…very certain that Hashirama wouldn't retaliate, if I killed him," he offers, because if anyone can make sense of Tobirama's behavior it will be Izuna.
One slim black brow arches, and Izuna looks pensive. "Hm. He didn't mention his brother at all to me. Maybe they had a fight?"
Madara snorts. "A fight is when I tell you I'm going to offer to meet the Senju in peace talks," he says dismissively, and ignores the way Izuna's eyes narrow. "No matter what was said between us, you wouldn't believe me any less likely to do whatever necessary to avenge you. Regardless of what kind of idiot Hashirama is, Tobirama is his younger brother. His last brother."
"Not everyone is like you, or even me," Izuna says lightly, though his expression is still serious. After a moment of silence, he pushes to his feet, touches Madara lightly on the shoulder, and murmurs, "Excuse me, I think I'm a bit hungry. And don't think I'm about to forget that you plan on proposing peace talks, Brother. We're most certainly going to be discussing that later."
Madara watches him head towards the compound and disappear through the gates, calling a cheerful greeting to the guards on top of the wall. Izuna is very skilled at being everyone's friend. He knows instinctively what people need, how to understand them. Madara himself has no such gifts, and relies on his little brother for a large portion of dealing with the clan. His impression of Tobirama makes Madara…very curious. Curious and a little uneasy, because he remembers the crying boy he met on a riverbank so long ago. For Hashirama and himself, their first point of connection was the loss of their brothers, and Tobirama's unwavering belief that Hashirama would let his death go sits wrong with Madara.
Tobirama has never been one to exaggerate, or prone to dramatics; he's blunt and cold and calculating, always distant. And maybe Madara has never seen Tobirama and Hashirama act as close as he and Izuna do, but surely that closeness is there regardless.
Madara simply can't imagine losing a brother and not destroying the person responsible.
A week, Tobirama said. A week before Hashirama realizes that his little brother practically attempted suicide.
He wonders what will happen then.
Regardless of what he would have been willing to do in Izuna's name, had his brother truly been killed, Madara knows the Uchiha are on the losing side of this war. The Senju have superior numbers, and a more fortified position. Hashirama is a force to be reckoned with in his own right, and for all that Madara can match him, he knows that the Senju has yet to fight him seriously. If Hashirama ever does, Madara doesn't doubt he'll lose; Hashirama's Mokuton is practically unbeatable, and even the Mangekyo Sharingan is at a disadvantage against it.
Not to mention that Hashirama has always been better at inspiring loyalty and ferocity in his shinobi. Madara tries, but he's a jaded man, his dreams worn away by reality and too many deaths. Somehow, Hashirama has managed to keep his brightness, his buoyant nature, even in the grip of war, and his clan's willingness to fight for him reflects that. The Senju don't waver, while the Uchiha grow tired of war.
Sooner or later, if Hashirama keeps insisting that all he wants is peace, Uchiha are going to start defecting.
Hell, if Madara didn't have his duty to his clan, his responsibility to Izuna, he might even be the first.
But he does, and the elders, safe as they are from the battlefield, insist that everyone keep fighting. Madara is the leader in name, but the elders have power in their own right, and he doesn't want to turn them against him unless he has no other choice. He can't force the rest of the clan to make such a decision, choosing between two powers. He'll suggest peace, try to start talks with the Senju so that no one else has to suffer an early death, but it will take a miracle to make them agree to anything.
A sudden thought makes Madara blink, stunned.
A miracle like holding the Senju Clan Head's little brother hostage.
Despite his threats to Tobirama, Madara doesn't believe he could kill the younger man in cold blood. It was hard enough to leave him tormented with illusions of death, and even then, Madara couldn't even bring himself to add Hashirama's body to the genjutsu. For his sake or Tobirama's he can't quite tell, but it just…wouldn't come. The closest he could manage was the kunoichi Tobirama often fights back-to-back with, and even that had left a bad taste in his mouth.
Torture against an enemy holding vital information is a simple choice, and Madara would do something like that without hesitation. Torture against a prisoner, for no reason at all—
Well. They're shinobi, their morals easily dismissed if the price is good enough. But some things Madara likes to think he's above, and that's one of them.
But.
But holding one of Hashirama's immediate family members will give the elders the illusion that the Uchiha have the upper hand. It might even be an upper hand, for all that Madara knows. Perhaps Hashirama will, as Madara would, agree to anything in order to protect his brother.
He doesn't want to take advantage of Hashirama; ever since they were children he's known that if Hashirama believes in one thing absolutely, it's that peace is possible. Even likely, with all parties working together. With the Uchiha and the Senju working together. And, as much as Madara might bluster, whatever his words to his father on the riverbank that day, he still believes in the possibility just as readily. A world where they could lay aside their weapons and work for betterment rather than destruction—that's a world Madara wants to live in. It's a world he wants for Izuna, for his children, for his clan.
Always, always, it's been so far out of reach. Until now.
(And how laughably ironic is it, that Tobirama, whom Madara thought would be one of peace's greatest opponents because of his hatred of the Uchiha, has actually given Madara the means to achieve it?)
It rubs him slightly wrong, but…he'll wait. He'll wait out the week, let Hashirama contact him about Tobirama. It is dubious at best that the Senju brothers have had a large enough falling out to truly put them at odds, but just in case they did Madara doesn't want to wave a prisoner at Hashirama only to get laughed at in return. Better to hold off and get a better idea of how the pieces are falling.
If Tobirama ends up being useless, well. Nothing will have changed, and he'll remain a prisoner of the Uchiha. If he is useful, between that and saving Izuna…
Perhaps Madara can find it within himself to forgive eventually. Still, he has no doubt that he'll always be wary of just how easily Tobirama all but shattered his entire world.
Tōka can't remember the last time she was this torn.
The letter sits on the table in front of her, just out of easy reach, but no less maddening for it. The neat creases have been worn into knife-sharp lines from the constant worrying of her fingers, from the countless times she's traced them in the two and a half days Tobirama has been gone. The heavy seal still keeps it tightly closed, but Tōka knows a dozen tricks to open it and reseal it without a single sign. A baker's dozen, given that she's one of the few with access to Tobirama's personal study, and retrieving his stamp would be child's play.
It's a gross invasion of privacy. Tobirama passed this to her in trust, in confidence, and to open it and read it when she knows she's not the intended recipient is nothing less than a clear betrayal. She wouldn't want Tobirama reading her final words; she has no right to read his, especially those addressed to his elder brother.
But—
But Tōka has known Tobirama for twenty-four years. She remembers peering over the edge of his crib when he was just a handful of weeks old, entranced by crimson eyes and a dandelion puff of silver hair. Other members of their clan looked at him sidelong for his coloring, even after his younger brothers were born, but Tōka's always thought him startlingly lovely. She adored his mother with all the fervor in her six-year-old heart, and Tobirama takes very much after the late Lady Senju in all ways.
She knows him, likely better than he would ever want her to. And just before he left, he was acting…oddly. Even leaving aside the civilian clothes, the lack of hitai-ate, the expression of strange, steely determination that she's never seen him wear outside of a battlefield, he'd been off. There's nothing concrete that she can point to, no proof beyond his dress, but Tōka is familiar with what Tobirama looks like in a hopeless situation, and that was very much what she saw that night.
Guilt, too, is an emotion she recognizes on Tobirama's face, for all that she sees it rarely. And when he'd looked at her, when he'd met her eyes that final time—
It had taken an effort to simply ruffle his hair and walk away, instead of dragging him into the hug she'd wanted to give him. Tōka regrets, a little, that she didn't do it anyways.
She's a kunoichi from a clan at war. Regrets don't sit easily with her.
Tōka has little doubt that opening Tobirama's letter will shed light on his behavior, especially with the way Hashirama is currently sulking—longer than she's ever seen him hold a sulk before, which means it's because of something he considers serious. He hasn't so much as mentioned Tobirama in her hearing, and given that she's the only person besides him with whom Tobirama spends any significant amount of time, it worries her. Surely he would have noticed that Tobirama is gone. After all, Tobirama is the type to pretend that problems aren't problems at all, and soldier on with a blank face. If they argued—and she knows them both well enough to think that they did—Tobirama would hardly hide himself away and keep out of sight.
There were no papers filed for a mission, when she went to check, and Tobirama's desk was clear. Tōka can't even imagine the persnickety little brat failing to fill out the correct documents in triplicate, so that only worries her more.
With a soft sigh, she halfway rises from her chair, leaning forward to pick up the letter and then sinking down again. The paper is crisp against her fingers, but the edges are starting to wear from all the handling. The Uchiha have been quiet since their defeat and Tobirama's wounding of Izuna, and none of the smaller clans are making trouble right now, so she's had nothing to do but brood over this since her cousin left. And no matter how many times she turns the matter over in her mind, she can't make a choice.
Should she trust that Tobirama has everything well in hand, wherever he may be?
Or should she open the letter, betraying Tobirama's trust but getting the answers that will put her mind at rest?
Groaning, Tōka drops the letter back onto the table and rakes her hands through her unbound hair, shoving the heavy fall of her bangs back behind her left ear. The rest of it curls around her shoulders and partway down her back, unmanageable unless it's tied up, and Tōka has a momentary flash of the night after a battle she can't otherwise remember, sitting bloody and wearied around a campfire with Tobirama at her back. He'd brushed her hair out, patient with it the way she never quite manages to be, and had redone the intricate knot for her. It had been an unlooked-for moment of peace, of family, and Tōka had laughingly told him to grow his own hair out so she could return the favor. He'd scoffed at her, of course, but his eyes were warm and fond. With Tobirama, no matter his words, Tōka has never doubted that she's loved. They're cousins, friends, bound together by shared suffering and survival and a sheer bloody-minded stubbornness that won't let either of them lay down and die.
He might hate her for this, but—
But Tobirama was troubled, he was hurting. He met Tōka's eyes but didn't hold them, and Tōka knows well enough when he's lying, even if only by omission.
Mouth tightening into a firm slash, she reaches for the letter. She has no patience for finesse right now, so she draws a kunai and simply slits the seal, then unfolds the paper, taking care so as not to tear the well-worn creases.
A quick skim of the contents is enough to send her heart thundering into double-time, to lodge it right in her throat, and Tōka is on her feet before she can even register the movement. One hand clenches hard around the back of her chair, knuckles going white under the pressure, and she forces herself to take a breath. One and then another, forcing herself into a rhythm until it's unconscious again, because damn it. She's going to murder the self-sacrificing little bastard if the Uchiha haven't already.
She'll find out whether they have. She'll find out, even if she has to storm the Uchiha compound by herself and dismantle it brick by brick. Even if all she manages is to recover Tobirama's body, at least she can give him that. She owes him that—all of the Senju do, for walking to his death just to ease Madara's rage.
And on that note, there's someone else she needs to eviscerate while she's at it. Conveniently, he's far closer at hand than the Uchiha, and she will take just as much pleasure chopping him into tiny bits as she doubtless will Uchiha Madara.
(Tōka is quite adept at reading between the lines. I have out a price on your dream, Tobirama wrote, but he wouldn't have come to that conclusion—wouldn't have been driven to this—on his own. And ever since they were children there's only ever been one person capable of pushing Tobirama to such heights of idiocy.)
Darkly painted lips curving down into a ferocious scowl, Tōka tucks the letter into her sash. Then she turns, scoops up her long, wickedly sharp naginata from where it's leaning against the doorframe, and stalks out of her house with it firmly in hand.
If Tobirama is still living—and as much as she hopes he is, she doesn't want to contemplate for what reason Madara would have kept him alive—he likely won't appreciate her murdering his brother, no matter how vastly moronic Hashirama can be. Tōka doesn't give a damn. If he wanted to protect the idiot, he should have stayed in the compound.
Besides, Tōka's only going to maim him a little bit.
She's not in armor, dressed more for a casual afternoon lounging around her house, and only applied the bare minimum of her makeup, out of habit more than anything. Still, people see her coming and scatter with alacrity, eyes wide and wary. Normally, Tōka would feel pleased—she's the strongest of the Senju kunoichi, battle-tested and blooded and used to fighting alongside Tobirama without allowing herself to falter, but she's had to fight every step of the way to get here. Some people still cling to the old mindset, where women are good for birthing the next generation and maintaining a household and little else, and Tōka relishes reminding them that as far as sheer physical strength is ranked, she's only just below Tobirama in the clan.
Right now, though? All she wants is to get her hands around Hashirama's stupid scrawny neck and shake until he's either dead or she's rattled some sense loose in his brain. Maybe she can't match him on an even field, but she's a kunoichi; 'underhanded' might as well be her middle name, and if Hashirama thinks he can anywhere near rival the levels of pissed she's at right now, he's sorely mistaken.
At this time of day, Hashirama should by all rights be having lunch with his wife, so Tōka aims her strides towards the Clan Head's house. There's a guard at the gate, as always—Takuma with his short navy hair and scarred face—and he takes one look at Tōka and grimaces.
"Tōka, your weapon—" he tries, but Tōka snarls, whirling her naginata up in a practiced flip and leveling the long blade at his throat.
"Yes?" she growls. "What about it?"
Going about three shades paler, Takuma raises his hands and starts inching back. "It's, er, very shiny? Did you use a new kind of polish?"
Satisfied that he won't make any further moves to block her, Tōka sweeps the blade away. "I've found that bathing it in the blood of fools does wonders," she says menacingly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I think I need to give it another dip."
No fool even with his Clan Head's life under threat, Takuma lets her go.
Knowing that Mito favors the back garden in sunny weather, Tōka doesn't bother with doors or knocking. She simply jumps up onto the roof, crosses it in a few long bounds, and then takes a flying leap. Pretty china and perfectly prepared food goes flying with a crash as she lands in the middle of the small table, but she doesn't pause, driving forward with a cry of pure rage and her weapon brought to bear.
With a high-pitched scream, Hashirama leaps back, gets tangled in his robes, and summersaults ass over teakettle as he tries to get away.
On the other side of the table, Mito calmly and deftly plucks her teacup out of harm's way and sits back in her chair, taking a measured sip as she arches one inquisitive red brow at the furious kunoichi trying to murder her husband.
"Tōka," she says serenely. "It's been a while. I didn't hear you come in."
Tōka growls, vaulting down from the tabletop and stalking after Hashirama as he scrambles to his feet. "Sorry, Mito, I was in a hurry," she answers, then sweeps her naginata around for another thrust that Hashirama only just manages to dodge. "Stand still and let me gut you, damn it!"
"No!" Hashirama retorts, jerking back and raising a hand sharply. A cocoon of wood whirls up to surround him, and Tōka screams with thwarted rage, throwing herself forward. The blade of her weapon sinks into the wood with a loud thunk, and Tōka clings to the shaft, trying not to let herself shake. Her cheeks are wet, her eyes are stinging, and there's a great weight in her chest, impossible to breathe around.
As much as she wishes otherwise, she knows it's not all anger.
"For you!" she cries, and doesn't mean for it to sound so broken, but it does. Her fingers slip on the naginata's shaft, and she throws herself forward, slamming an impotent fist against the wood instead. "He got himself killed because of you, and you're sitting here drinking tea, you bastard!"
The wood slides away like water, and Tōka stumbles forward, colliding with Hashirama's chest. She slams her fist against that, too, and the idiot doesn't even have the decency to flinch despite the power she puts behind the blow. Instead, gentle hands come up to cup her elbows, and Hashirama looks down with kind sympathy on his face.
"Who, Tōka?" he asks gently. "Who are you talking about?"
Her jaw clenches. From this distance it's child's play to shove Hashirama backwards, sweep his feet out from under him, and twist them both so she can land on his back as he hits the ground with a yelp. Tōka snarls, pinning his hands with her knees to prevent him from forming signs and yanking another kunai from her belt. It cuts the skin of his throat when she presses it against the side of his neck, but she can't bring herself to care.
"Your brother!" she cries, furious enough to block out the grief those words invoke. "Tobirama! He went to die because he thought that was what you wanted!"
The ringing silence that follows her words is no victory, and with a snarled curse Tōka leaps to her feet and hurls the kunai at the far wall.
"I'm wasting my time," she says grimly, pulling the letter out of her sash and dropping it to the ground in front of him. "If you've any love left for your brother, read that. I'm going to retrieve his body, even if I have to beg it from those murdering bastards on my knees."
Without looking behind her, she snatches up her naginata, slings it over her back, and clears the garden wall in a chakra-assisted bound. Then she's in the streets and running flat-out, heading for the far wall.
Let Hashirama catch up, if he wants to stop her. Nothing else will.