Hidden quotes: Olivia Dunham, Fringe, Brigandell from Fire by K. Cashore

The main house, Tobirama reflected, looked as if it had been smashed to pieces by the hands of an angry child giant. As if it had been a mere toy, nothing more. The ruins still were smoking, charred black. He felt the coming head-ache building up behind his temples.

"Has Lady Uzumaki already awakened?"

The ANBU captain – now reporting directly to Danzou, he did not think he liked the idea but anyway – stood behind Tobirama, his face hidden by a white porcelain mask. The sight of those faceless warriors still irked him but now was neither the time nor the place to let the man feel his thoughts. The ANBU shook his head wordlessly. Tobirama turned again to regard the wreckage of the main house. It was not so much the loss of a building, Hashirama would be able to clear up the mess pretty quick, once he was back from Hidden Sand. It was the fate the burnt and charred ruins promised, the molten stone that had been witness to the wrath of the beast living inside the Lady. Nobody had been killed, thankfully, although one Council member still was in emergency surgery and two others would most likely remain scarred for the rest of their lives. Already, rumors were spreading through Hidden Leaf, making the wife of the Shodaime Hokage a fearful, avenging killer that would not hesitate to raze the entirety of the village. Most of the people were horrified at the revelation of where the kyuubi had gone to. (Idiots, had they thought it simply had disappeared to where it had come from in the first place again?) A few gossiped that she had wanted to set fire to the building, using the time her husband was not in town to take over the village and to annihilate the Council members. And finally, some whispered that she would kill them all in their beds at night, slaughter them in cold blood. Suddenly she was the outsider again, the clan-less, survivor of the Uzushiogakure massacre. Gone was the worship and praise she had been bathed in against her will.

Downfalls come quickly.

He just had not expected it to be Mito, of all.

…

The voices of the nurse and the doctor were silent but not silent enough as to not reach her ears. Drifting in the in-between of unconsciousness and the state of alertness the kyuubi had cursed her with, Mito listened to the conversation.

"…Full of sedatives but she still is conscious," the nurse said. "She has made no move to escape, though. Perhaps the shackles are unnecessary."

"We cannot be…" The medic, a calm, reasonable voice. Mito wanted to rip out his throat with her bare hands – no, these were the kyuubi's emotions. She fought them back violently, trying to feel her hands, her fingers, to draw the seals. Her hands were shackled. The machines monitoring her beeped faster, arhythmically.

"She is awake," another voice said. A hollow voice, without emotion. She still was not sure about how she felt towards Hashirama's new elite troupe but everything was better than leaving the Uchiha in charge of the police force.

"Lady Uzumaki?" The nurse inquired, not stepping closer to her, just keeping the safe distance that one kept between a wounded animal and oneself. Or between a dangerous killer and oneself, perhaps. "We would like to check the seal. Please just relax."

Mito pressed her yaw together firmly and shook her head. "Do not touch it." Her voice was scratchy and raw. "Where is my daughter?" Nameless fear filled her, mingled with the kyuubi's chakra. The beast whispered; told her to let go and burn to the ground those weak humans who stood between her cub and her. She suppressed it easily, the terror running through her veins was enough to focus. "Where is Reika? Is she well? I want to see her. I will not let you anywhere close to the seal until I have not seen her!"

"You are in no position to deny us our request," the male medic said, sounding angry. "We will see for ourselves what…"

The kyuubi howled in triumph. Mito clenched her teeth, tried to draw seals and failed, and watched helplessly as the medic was bathed in flaming, red chakra. Mito fought to call it back, to withdraw the terrifying power back into her own body. The kyuubi was strong but she called up on every ounce of power she could muster. Mommy, when does Daddy come home again? Is he gone like Daddy Madara? Will they never come back?

They did not try to touch her from that day on.

…

He drew it out as long as possible.

Still, at one point there were no news to delay to the Council Elders and no important events left Tobirama could inform him on. He was faced by the choice of returning home for a night's sleep or spending it at the office, on the bunk that had become his bed during the last months. Hashirama circled the space in front of his desk for what felt like ages until he decided he would rather die than do what he had to do next. On his silent call, an ANBU emerged, dropping from the shadows like living darkness.

"Take me to see Lady Uzumaki."

They had put her in the deepest cellar they had been able to find. The room was cold and wet and even though someone clearly had taken the pains to supply it with a comfortable bed and a chair it still was the closest thing to a dungeon Hashirama had ever seen. Mito sat on the one chair, her hands folded in her lap, her back and shoulders rigid. Her red hair cascaded down her back openly, it was tangled and dirty, and her robes were torn and stained, as well. She looked as if she had not slept for a decade, proud and disdainful to the end, and still she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on. Immediately the thought stabbed through his heart, as real as any kunai.

"Hokage-Sama," she greeted him coolly. It was Mito from head to toe, the arrogant princess Madara had always compared her to. "You have returned."

"Do not call me that," he said as a greeting and stepped closer to the bars that separated them. The ANBU at his side hissed a warning but he ignored it.

She smiled; all sharp teeth and thin lips. "What should I call you, then, when husband is not appropriate anymore?"

He regarded her silently, watched her display of defiance. This was the woman he had gotten to know years ago, who had walked in and declared his village a project too stupid to continue. This was the woman who never was afraid, never backed down to anyone – A thought occurred to him.

"Leave us," he told the ANBU.

The man did not budge.

"Leave," he told him again, letting part of his anger seep into his voice. "I do not need protection. This is my wife. Do you not think I can handle her?"

The man hesitated again, his expression unreadable but his intent clear from his behavior. Hashirama fixed him with a withering glare.

"I will not ask you again."

The ANBU departed without ever once looking back. Hashirama took a deep breath, stepped closer to the bars and unlocked them with a flick of his wrist. The seals that had held her crumbled to ash and he was stuck by the realization those seals would not have stopped her from breaking out, had she really wanted to. He would have to tell the Council.

"Stop," Mito told him, her voice cold. "I do not want you in here. I do not want to see you."

He stepped into the room.

Mito scrambled up from her chair, aloofness forgotten. Terror stood on her face, sudden and bright, and he wondered how nobody else had been able to see it before. "Go away! Hashirama, I mean it, please-"

She backed up against the wall and he followed her. Her breath came harsh and ragged, her entire body trembled from the force of will it took her to control the kyuubi. She pressed herself against the wall, her back to him, and still Hashirama advanced on her until she had nowhere to go and he could feel her shaking body pressed into his. Her body was hot, scorching; Hashirama could feel the poisonous chakra of the nine-tails running through her blood. He could almost smell it; fire and ashes and decay, and it stuck him how he could ever have left her like that. How he could have thought everything was over after Madara's death. He had spent months trying not to remember there were others beside him who hurt, who had suffered fates even worse than him. He had lost a friend, and a lover, but Mito had sacrificed far more than him. And he had taken it for granted, or, at the least, had refused to lose a second thought on it. Now here they were, and Hashirama was lost and alone, but Mito was shaking in terror at the thing that was eating its way out of her and he had been too selfish to see she needed him more than he needed forgetfulness and closure.

"Look at me," he told her quietly. She shook her head frantically. "Look at me, Mito," he repeated. And then, because he saw how scared she was – their Mito, who never was afraid of anything, who never lost control like that – and because he knew it would calm her, he whispered it into her ear. "Mylady. Look at me."

Stepping away from her just enough to permit her to turn around, he carefully guided her shoulders until she stood before him, her head bowed and her hands fisted between them. Then he lifted his hand and carefully pried away a lock of hair that was stuck to her lips, and then he nudged her chin until she was looking at him fully. Under his hands, her arms heated up even more, singeing through his thin gloves, threatening to light him on fire. Hashirama pressed his jaw together firmly and leaned his forehead against hers.

"Nothing will happen to me," he promised. "Just open your eyes."

And Mito, trembling like a leaf, did. He thought he never had seen her that afraid.

…

The sun was warm for a fall afternoon. The world was already preparing for darker and colder times, but it seemed autumn wanted to die in beauty.

"You think we will be nominated for chuunin next year?" Koharu asked no one in particular. When neither Homura nor Sarutobi answered, she kicked her friends and team mates in the sides.

"Be still, woman," Sarutobi complained and pulled down his cap over his face again. "Can you not see I am sleeping?"

"Of course you are," she deadpanned. "You are so not peeping into the woman's bath from underneath your stupid cap. And Homura really is sleeping, as usual. Why do I hang out with the two of you, anyway? One a pervert, one a perfect bore." She leaned back onto her arms, enjoying the warmth the roof was emanating. "I should find a better team, one with people who actually listen to me."

"You love the sound of your own voice far too much," Homura grunted and earned himself another kick in the side.

"Anyway," Koharu sighed and changed topic, "Have you seen Hashirama-Sama lately? Tobirama-Sensei is the best, but Hashirama-Sensei lets us do cool stuff."

"He is busy, I guess," Homura said and wiped his glasses on his shirt. "With the proposed treaty with Kaze no Kuni failing spectacularly; and the Daimyo still stomping on his feet to turn over Mito-Sama to them…"

"As if he ever would."

"Of course he won't. How cool is it that he can control the nine-tails?"

"Only since he fought it," Homura reminded Sarutobi. "Something about knowing your enemy, I think. I do not believe he's telling the entire story – not for a second."

"You've seen the main house. That monster is scary. Have you seen its eyes?They are red. I do not know how he stands it, being with Mito-Sama every day…"

"It's not her fault!" Koharu sat up abruptly, glaring at the boys. "You sound just like the civilians I overheard yesterday, dangerous here and monster there, talking in hushed voices because Mito-Sama was passing by. She's not a killer just because she carries the kyuubi, it does not make her a traitor to the village! It's the opposite, rather, had she not sealed the kyuubi Uchiha Madara would have laid waste to Hidden Leaf! She saved us, can they not see it?"

Her flaming defense reached a halt when Sarutobi's hand clamped over her mouth. "Shh!" He hissed, peering over the edge of the roof. "It's Misaki-San and her friends! They will…"

With a disgusted sound Koharu shoved him down the roof in the direction of the street, and he landed in a heap before the women who just were about to enter the bathing house. The eldest of them frowned at his sight.

"Sarutobi, please do not tell me…"

This time, at least, he was spared.

…

The main house was rebuilt the following spring, when Hashirama deemed nature ready to take on such a project. Of course he could have forced life from the hard, cold earth, but he preferred to interfere as little as possible with nature's ways.

Placing both his hands on the earth, the Senju felt the stirrings of new life, and he wondered whether it was time to go on, as well.

…

The office was now located on the highest floor of the main house. Also, it was smaller; there was no space for the three big desks which had stood there once. All three of them had disappeared to be replaced by one single table. A comfortable chair stood behind it, outlined by the big window that displayed a view of Konoha's main plaza. The walls were lined with bookshelves and maps, scrolls over scrolls, and above the door hung a picture of a small village at the sea. It seemed like an apology to her because the loss of her own workspace – and Madara's – told her unmistakably that she had no place here anymore. Mito wasn't yet sure whether it was her own fault or her own choice, understood somehow by Hashirama more clearly than she herself could express.

"It is… Nice," she finally said, gesturing towards the desk helplessly. Hashirama watched her from the door, his eyes dark and unreadable. Unsure of why he had taken her to see the new main house and his new office when she so clearly was not welcome here anymore, Mito remained in the middle of the room. For the lack of anything better to do she inspected the single picture frame more closely. The artist's brush strokes were energetic but careful, each one centered perfectly. The houses on the picture huddled together, small and squat. Formed by the wind, shaped by the sea, and the blue sky and small clouds gave the impression of a calm, beautiful day. As the daughter of a village that had lived and depended on the whims of the ocean, she knew the deceptively calm serenity could change into storms and rain quickly. It was, in a way, a perfect replica of the picture of her husband which she carried in her heart: calm, collected, but ready to react at any given second. Deceptive, but never deceitful.

(Maybe that was why she loved him.)

Hashirama moved into the room a few steps and the door closed behind him. In the middle of the room he stopped and turned towards her.

"Mito." His voice was soft.

"Yes?" She did not tremble but her throat ached.

"I brought you here today…" He began, stopped and shook his head. "No. That is not what I wanted to tell you." His eyes found hers. Held her gaze, dark and deep. "You have been by our- by my side for a long, long time. We have come through so much together, and always you have given me strength. I never thanked you for it."

She stood, motionless.

"He loved you too, you know." The way he still refused to speak Madara's name was heartbreaking, and a tiny bit maddening, as well. "I just wanted you to know."

"What are you doing?" Someone asked, and Mito realized it was her. Her own voice sounded alien to her own ears. "Are you saying good bye? Do you…" She swallowed, it was better to speak the words quickly in case her voice would break. "Do you want to annul our marriage?"

Hashirama seemed seriously taken aback.

"Annul – why, no, I had no intention of – Mito, why would you even think I wanted to annul our marriage?"

She cast down her eyes, hid behind a veil of hair. And shrugged, un-lady-like. It was all she could do to not start weeping right in front of him. Hashirama lifted his hand as to touch her face, then changed direction and raked it through his own hair. His other hand took hers, his skin warm against her ice-cold limb.

"I brought you here to thank you. You have always been there, both for me and for him… Madara… Without you, neither one of us would have become what we are. Were. You changed us, made us better people. You sacrificed so much to be here and you never complained. You always were stronger than the two of us, I think."

At that she laughed, bitterly. "If I had been, nothing of this would have happened."

"Sssshhh." Hashirama tugged at her hand and she lifted her eyes back to his. "Some things are not for us to stop, or to change. Life happens. Time goes on. I wish he was still here, but I know he never will be. But we are still here, Mito. We are alive. And we have to protect Reika, and Hidden Leaf, because it is what Madara wanted." He closed his eyes briefly, then looked at her again and continued. "And I know our hearts are broken and it hurts, but it is what makes us human."

"What do you want?" Mito tore her hand away from his, taking a step back and glaring up at him. She cursed the tear that ran down her cheek, but there was no way to wipe it away without admitting it had been one. "What do you expect me to say?"

"Nothing," he admitted, so softly she froze. "I do not expect anything from you. In fact, I would understand if you left me right now and never came back. I would return your freedom to you, Uzumaki Mito. Do you wish to leave?"

"I never-" Her voice broke. "I never thought of myself as un-free. Rather the opposite. And where should I go? This is my home. You are my husband, I have a daughter. I would rather die than leave." Her voice trailed off. "But if you want me to leave, I guess I could…"

Hashirama cursed. "I do not wish for you to leave. I have been insufferable these past months, Lady. Can you forgive me?"

"Let us establish this," she answered, her head spinning. "You do not wish for me to leave, and you do not want to annul our marriage. You apologize, and thank me, but you do not love me any longer."

He cursed again, and then he drew her in and kissed her. Mito froze, his lips utterly alien on hers, so strange and yet a ghost of something long forgotten and bitterly craved. And then she relaxed into his arms, allowing him to pull her closer, and returned the kiss. Fire flared up, so quickly she gasped. When Hashirama finally broke the kiss she was tangled into his arms, his hands in her hair and hers around his neck. Both were flushed, their breath coming erratically, and Mito glared at Hashirama.

"Words. Words, stupid man, can you not use them like any other normal person? I am no mind reader!"

Hashirama laughed. It elevated her, the sound of his laugh, because she had not heard it in eternities.

"Thank you. Please do not leave. I love you. Stay with me. I am sorry. It hurts so much and sometimes I forget and when I remember it hurts even more but then I look at you and you are still there, still alive, and so beautiful…"

His voice trailed away.

"And I know we are living a lie but please, please-"

"It is not a lie," she said without hesitation. "It is the way Madara chose it to be. It is alright, Hashirama. We are still alive."

He buried his face in her hair and Mito, intoxicated by his proximity, closed her eyes and reveled in it. It was impossible to forget the warmth of two bodies pressed to hers, impossible not to remember Madara's rough, big hands in her hair, the incredible softness with which he had touched her. It was impossible to forget Hashirama, either, impossible to not crave his touch. Madara had been the night where Hashirama was day, moon and sun, sky and earth, those two men she loved so much. But Madara was dead, and Hashirama was alive, and they still were breathing. They still were hoping, despite their better knowledge.

"Hey," Hashirama said and entangled himself from her. "I wanted to show you something." Taking her hand, he led her to the big window behind the Fire Shadow's desk. "Look."

Mito looked.

In the distance, the sun sank behind the trees of the forest. The sky was awash with gold and red, sparkled with tiny, white clouds. The trees, only slowly awakening again after the winter, were stretching their branches towards the promising spring sky. "Look down," Hashirama whispered. And Mito saw the roofs of the houses of Hidden Leaf, red, brown and black, and the streets of which the main street was abuzz with people now that working hours were over. Men were returning home from work, women were calling in their children. In front of the Academy, parents were waiting for their offspring patiently. The training grounds were empty, neatly strung together like a bead of pearls, waiting for the next sunrise. And in the distance Mito saw the wall that separated Hidden Leaf from the woods, the great gate, the watch towers. Overwhelmed, she could only stare.

"This," Hashirama said quietly behind her, his body very close to hers, "Is our legacy."

"Only heroes have legacies," Mito whispered without turning around. "I am no hero. You might be, and Madara surely is one, but I am not. Konohagakure will be great one day, but it will be so because you made it great."

"Konoha will be great one day," Hashirama agreed, "But it will not be because me or Madara or anyone else. It will be so because of the woman I married."

"Whom did you marry?" She asked playfully, trying to distract him and tugging his arms around her so she could lean back into his chest. "Do I know her?" Hashirama's arms were firmly encasing her. His voice was firm, as well, as he stated the answer with the heavy weight of something that was right.

"A heroine."