naruto (c) masashi kishimoto. no profit gained from writing this fic
fem!izuna. modern crime au.
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i
there was a familiar face under the shadows, extending a hand that greeted her in playfully mocking way.
"you ran out of money and have nowhere else to go tonight?" he watched the bartender mixing her drink intently. "it's been more than a decade, yet you're still a fool like when you're twelve."
hashirama pouted as she accepted her drink. "i was desperate. thought i'd win something if i gamble all of my money–don't you dare laughing, madara!"
she slept on his couch that night. he worked outside until sunrise.
neither asked what they've been up to after all these years.
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ii
hashirama permanently moved to madara's small apartment. she got a job as a cashier at a herb store across the street. her boss never called her by her real name, and madara never asked why.
madara slept through the day, and left the house after sunset. once hashirama stumbled upon a gun under his bed. she returned it back, and never asked him about it.
the heater broke in a winter night, and hashirama moved to his bed. madara never minded it. the bed was hers by night, and his by day. sleeping arrangement was easy.
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iii
hashirama thought instant coffee is a world wonder.
madara had no idea how dining etiquette worked. she taught him the details in return of another world wonder called cup noodles.
he returned home rather quickly, his borrowed suit burned in tatters. she tended his wounds in silence.
"pack your belongings," madara said while she stitched a gash on his arm.
she did.
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iv
hashirama never asked why they left his place or how he found another place so easily. if madara said they needed to move, then she went with him.
his work schedule changed a lot. sometimes he went in the morning, afternoon, or glued to his laptop all night long. hers stayed the same; almost normal, despite the fact that they never introduced themselves to their neighbors and they used a hundred names for each other.
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v
madara knew hashirama wasn't someone who used to his lifestyle. he sometimes heard her mumbling or crying in her sleep, calling a name that must be her brother. she had one, he recalled from their childhood. sometimes he could tell she didn't get any sleep; pushing through her work fueled by instant coffee.
"tasted like over-sweetened shit," she said once when they stopped by a gas station, moving out for the umpteenth time in an ungodly hour. she curled on the passenger seat for the rest of their journey, her dreams restless.
she never complained about his life.
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vi
"what do you do?" madara asked on the ninety fourth night. she was borrowing his laptop.
"looking for news." she shrugged. hashirama had no phone.
later he found out she had been searching her own name.
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vii
"how's izuna?" hashirama asked, watching him cleaning his weapons.
madara's expression darkened, and he set down his gun. "hospitalized for months. hit and run. the cops never caught that rich bastard who hit her. i bet they avoided court with their money."
she held his hand in bed, and their sleeping arrangement suddenly felt awkward.
(she discreetly gave him more of her hard earned money)
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viii
there were no longer cold nights.
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ix
when madara entered the apartment on the hundredth night, hashirama had been waiting nervously.
"i think i've been followed. since i left the public library."
he taught her how to shoot.
on the next night he found a dead man, having shot in the head on the parking lot. he called the cleaning service he knew, and asked her no questions.
she was trembling, but he held her tight.
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x
hashirama wore disguise whenever she went to the library. "i'm finishing… something," she answered his question, fiddling her flash drive. "you never told me what you actually do anyway."
"i sell vengeance." madara threw the food wrapper into the bin. "i have a list of disliked people i need to capture."
he did more than just vengeance.
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xi
the hospital called, telling that a major operation was needed soon. they sent the latest photo of her sister, accompanied by a fresh flower on her nightstand.
madara counted, he had more than he predicted. but it never enough. he vowed to hunt down the driver and get them to pay her bills.
hashirama had been quiet. "i just miss my brother, that is all."
"if you miss him so, why don't you go home?"
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xii
sometimes hashirama missed the comfort of her father's house, and the quiet company of tobirama. but she knew she was afraid to go.
that if she did, she would miss his hand holding on hers whenever she had a problem sleeping.
she would miss his lips on hers.
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xiii
they were just desperate people seeking temporary solace in each other embrace.
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xiv
the entire country was shaken hearing the latest news. that a certain real estate developer had been decimating fire country's sacred forest and surrounding landscape to build a resort. everybody, from somebodies to nobodies, all cursed everyone who worked in the developer company. it went bankrupt within hours.
the source was a heart-wrenching essay about the people who defended the heritage forest, the trees and animals.
the writer was a missing person.
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xv
his latest assignment worth triple of izuna's hospital bill.
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xvi
"i know what you do."
"so do i."
hashirama beamed, offering him her wrists. madara raised an eyebrow at the sight.
"oh, do they want me dead?" she asked. "better ready your gun. but i'll be a martyr. not a politically wise step, i say."
he made no move. "you're surprisingly calm about this."
"at least i can save another person."
he tied her wrists and left her at a gas station for his client to pick up.
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xvii
the operation was a success, and there was a new bouquet beside izuna's bed.
the talkative nurse told madara of a pale haired man who came weekly, little by little paying the bills from his own work. "poor man," said the nurse, "he ran over her while driving his own sister to the airport. apparently she was stalked by some bad guys. they missed her flight, but she left by train after your sister was taken here. he said she went missing just a couple weeks later…"
madara had a gun in his jacket.
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xviii
"i'm really sorry," tobirama whispered.
i should be the one apologizing, madara told himself, opening a can of ice cold coffee.
"were you… by any chance, met my sister?"
the kisses he shared with hashirama lingered on his lips, and the coffee tasted like over-sweetened shit.
"no."
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xix
that night, madara hunted for redemption.