"My mom honks her car horn every time she drives past the cemetery her friend is buried in; this is what I think love is. Everlasting. Deathless."
CHAPTER NINE
Toshiko woke up the morning of her grand uncle Uchiha Madara's wake with tears already in her eyes and with Masshu resting his large, heavy head on her chest. Light had only just began to stream through the windows of Toshiko's childhood bedroom; slowly the twenty-six year old raised her hand and planted it between Masshu's ears.
Both her parents wake and funerals had been a large affair, her father had been a Chief of Police in Toyoko and though her mother hadn't had a job since before Itachi was born she'd been well liked enough throughout their neighborhood to draw a sea of her own mourners. It'd happened a week and a half after the crash. Shisui and Itachi had held onto her the whole time; Sasuke had still been in a coma.
She'd known her parents were dead back then, that they weren't coming back and why everyone at both the wake and funeral had bowed their heads to her and Itachi— and Shisui and Sela —but it hadn't felt real. It didn't feel real; Uchiha Madara had always been old, had always been past his prime but to know she would walk into the local funeral parlor and see his corpse— because he was dead; gone —caused something inside Toshiko to ache.
Toshiko could remember the first time she met Madara; he had come to bury her parents. To lay them to rest. Toshiko had sort of known who he was before that. When he'd been alive Toshiko's father would make her and her brothers sign cards for him and a cousin— Obito —she'd never met before; before Toshiko had been introduced to Madara he'd never been anything more then a voice she spoke to occasionally over the phone.
He'd been nothing more then a stranger. And then in the blink of an eye he'd become everything to her and her brothers. Their lifeline.
And he was dead.
Gone.
"'Scuse me Masshu," Toshiko muttered as she moved Masshu's head off of her sternum so that she could get up. Masshu cracked one eye open half way only to shut one and twitch in the twin size bed as Toshiko, before she threw her bedroom door open, grabbed her robe off the back of it.
Sasuke's door was already open, he was on his bed, phone in hand and frown on his face. It was work related because ever since Sasuke had gotten a job in private security everything in life had to do with his job. Sometimes he and Itachi were so much alike it hurt.
Toshiko leaned against the frame of bedroom's door, "Morning Sasu."
Sasuke looked up from his phone. He didn't smile, nor did his eyes light up at the sight of Toshiko, his face however softened.
"Hi," he said. It was simple and whispered and Toshiko felt her bottom lip quiver. Madara— their lifeline —was gone. Their lifeline had cut; Toshiko felt as if she were drowning in her grief. And perhaps she was, perhaps this would be the loss that overtook her.
"Can I—?" Toshiko bit back a sob and Sasuke set his phone down next to him on his bed with a nod. Toshiko didn't hesitate; and though he looked like he rather not, Sasuke hadn't hesitated in wrapping his arms around Toshiko the minute she'd thrown herself into his arms.
Sasuke had never been touchy, not the way Toshiko was. But he had always persevered through it whenever he was needed; he'd always dealt with it. He'd always looked prideful though, whenever Madara had placed a hand on his shoulder or on his head in congratulations when placing high in school or winning a judo or baseball match.
Toshiko sniffled into her brothers shirt as he places a hand on the back of her head; "I miss him so much."
Sasuke sucked in a sharp breath of air. His arm tightened around Toshiko's shoulders.
When they'd been younger it had been liked Madara had a sixth sense, whenever Toshiko had found herself in a fit of silent tears or Sasuke had closed his bedroom door just a little too harshly— not slamming it like he would do whenever Itachi was back; but closing it firmly behind him after a bad day of school or practice —Madara had been there. Sometimes with tea in his hands, and sometimes with sage advice. He'd been a crotchety old man, who perhaps hadn't always given the best advice but he had always meant well. Always loved them as much as he could and if there had been anything he had taught Toshiko— and the boys —it was how much and Uchiha could love.
"Yeah. Yeah I miss him too." But it was more then that, more then just missing or longing. It was an indescribable feeling; it was a haze of disbelief— Madara couldn't be dead, he wasn't —only for gut-wrenching reality to wash over because he was. He was dead and he was gone and he would never be coming back and Toshiko and the boys, they had deal with that.
Breakfast had started when Kakashi and Obito had come over, letting themselves in with their sets of keys. No one had really spoken, the kids has chewed quietly, smothered by the heaviness that exuded from every adult in the room.
Everyone leaves. Toshiko had learned that long ago; she looked around the dining room table, at her family. They— except for maybe Shisui as he had, had his own home, his own mother, his own life —had all left before. Her parents had left when they died; there had been nothing they could do to stop it but they had left all the same. Sela, Shisui's mother, hadn't been able to care fore four children so she had sent Toshiko and Sasuke across the country to live with Madara and Obito; sending them away was the same as leaving.
Obito had left to be married; he had stayed in town but moved all the way across it to be with Kakashi. Itachi had left to go to school at thirteen, and he'd left every summer thereafter to go back. Sasuke had left for university which Toshiko could understand but then he'd dropped out and gotten a job in private security. He left the country every other week to so something he couldn't talk about.
Every time Toshiko was left with the fear that he'd be brought back to her in a cardboard box or presented on a slab in a morgue, dead and gone himself.
She had left herself.
Like Itachi and Shisui and Sasuke Toshiko had left for school. Madara had stayed though, he had stayed and called and video chatted whenever he could. He had stayed.
And then he had left. Not quit as bloody or traumatic as her parents had but he had left just like them. He had died.
Toshiko stood up from the table, she hadn't taken any of the food Shisui and Kakashi had both made; she couldn't stomach any of it, not when in only a few hours time she would be standing over her grand uncles corpse. As she moved from the table— her brother's eyes on her, the kids looked up from their food —she took her cup of coffee with her.
It had more sugar then cream and more cream then sugar. Life changed, people changed; Toshiko still took her coffee though, sickeningly sweet.
With her head low Toshiko walked up the stairs; the Uchiha household was three floors. The first floor contained the kitchen and dining room, the living room, a bathroom and a small bedroom that was only ever used when Shisui and Mari and kids would stay over. The third floor only contained bedrooms; Sasuke and Toshiko's. The second floor however only mostly contained bedrooms, Madara's was— had been —the first in a series of three, right next to the stairs— so that he could hear those sneaking in and out of the house —and parallel from Itachi's bedroom which was at the end of the hall, and across from both the bathroom and his office.
When he'd been alive no one had been allowed in there unless looking for him and even then, neither Toshiko nor her brothers nor cousins had been allowed anything more then a poke of the head. But he wasn't; Uchiha Madara was dead.
With one hand Toshiko turned the knob of her grand uncles office. Her coffee wobbled in her hand. The door opened with a creak and though there was no profound crescendo of music, Toshiko's heart sputtered in her chest as she stood in the mouth of the office.
The office was tiny, bookshelves lines both walls and Madara's desk sat in the middle of the room. The chair was old and leather, worn down from years of having been sat in. The red of the leather had faded until there where white spots dotting it's back.
Toshiko took two steps into the room.
Dust could be found on the shelves; pictures and picture frames sat in front of untouched books. Some were of Toshiko and her brothers— Sasuke's high school graduation was next to the picture of Itachi receiving his first doctorate —and others were of people who Toshiko should have known but never got the chance to. People like her grandfather and Obito's parents and Shisui's father; and lastly, on his desk, there was a picture of her parents.
The day she'd been born.
Her mother was in the hospital bed with her, Itachi and Sasuke were on one side of the bed; Shisui stood behind Itachi with one hand on a two year old Sasuke's head and another on Itachi's shoulder. Obito was in the picture; he stood next Sela who stood next to her father who was on her mothers other side; her right side.
Madara wasn't in the picture, more then likely he was the one the one taking it. The room was alight with sunlight and smiles and Toshiko, as she placed her coffee on the desk and picked the picture up felt her lip quiver.
Obito's parents had died when he'd been young and Shisui's father had died after he'd been born. There were spaces in the picture where Toshiko could imagine them all being; Toshiko could practically see Shisui's father with his arm looped around Sela's shoulder and she could picture Obito's father— a man with Obito's grin —and mother next to Shisui.
She could picture them as a family; together, the way a family should be. A way hers had never gotten the chance to be.
When they had all be younger Sasuke used to say their family was cursed; he would cite how everyone but Madara seemed to die young, from Madara's brothers to nephews and nieces in law. To them too probably. Madara had heard Sasuke once and chuckled; he'd agreed.
And they were right; it had taken years for Toshiko to see it but Sasuke— and Madara —had been right, the Uchiha's were cursed. But they were cursed for the wrong reasons; they weren't cursed to die early. They were cursed to persevere; to weather on through loss after loss.
Toshiko sunk to the floor, the picture pressed against her chest.
To a family who loved— who felt —like no other, there was nothing worse.
After twenty years one would think the panic inducing anxiety attacks that happened when getting in a car would stop. And one would be right, for the most part, but on the day of Uchiha Madara's wake the last thing Toshiko wanted was to deal with were the feelings— the panic inducing, stomach churning —she felt when getting into a car.
It was why, around two in the afternoon on the day of Uchiha Madara's wake, Toshiko walked to the funeral home. Or well, had planned on walking to the funeral home; half way to the Edo Tensei funeral home Toshiko had become sidetracked. She hadn't meant to but as she had crossed the street that lead to Main Toshiko had— in a park —spotted an old Japanese spruce tree.
The tree was just as all as any building in Konoha; it was also old. Back when Konoha had been nothing more but a few spread out houses and before Toshiko's own grandfather Izuna had been born, Madara had his older brothers would climb the spruce.
Akihiko, Kenji, Isao and Madara had all been close before the death of their mother and sub sequentially, the birth of her grandfather. Madara had once told Toshiko about his brothers; the two of them had passed the spruce tree in the park— the two of them had once stood where Toshiko was —when Madara stopped to stare at it.
"We used to play in that tree," Madara had said, "My brothers and I-long before Izuna came along, the four of us would play pretend while our parents were in the market. Back then we were so close." And Toshiko who had been eleven at the time had asked her grand uncle what had happened; Madara had shrugged and sighed, "Me, I suppose. Kenji was sick in the head, back then we didn't have doctors the way you all do now but he would see things-hear them, it wasn't his fault. He couldn't do anything about the voices or what he saw. Sometimes though, he'd get so enraged at what he'd see, or over what the voices would say to him he would break everything in the house. He would throw the biggest fits imaginable. And the rest of us, we would have to clean up after him, by the time I was fifteen my mother had died. She was kind and good and I was done cleaning up Kenji's messes. I'd wanted out and I made sure everyone knew it. I was angry and I had ruined our family."
Madara had spent his life feeling as if he had splintered his family— he had left Konoha only for his brothers to follow —living only to atone for that feeling. He had left only to fix; there was no one to fix what he had left behind now. No one to put the shattered hearts of the last Uchiha's back together except themselves.
"Toshiko?" She spun.
Uzumaki Naruto, dressed in funeral wear, on the arms of his parents, stood on the sidewalk. His hair was shorter, he was older, no longer was Naruto the same twenty-year old whom Sasuke had crushed via breakup. His jaw had become more defined and wrinkles had begun to collect around his face; deep laugh lines were etched over Naruto's mouth.
"Hey Naru," Toshiko breathed. Neither Namikaze Minato— Naruto's father —nor his mother, Uzumaki Kushina had gone gray but the patches in their hair couldn't be ignored. Like everyone, they too had gotten older, but at least time had been kind to them. "Minato-sama, Kushina-sama."
"My sweet girl!" Kushina cried with her arms thrown out wide. Before Toshiko could object Kushina had wrapped her in a tight, bone crushing, air stealing hug. Uzumaki Kushina's hugs were like bonds; they were like tightly wrapped chains, holding the person being hugged down so that Kushina could pour every ounce of love she had in her, into the hug.
Toshiko wrapped her arms around the older woman's neck as Kushina swayed the both of them side to side; from behind his mother Toshiko could see Naruto's cheeks burn just as bright as Kushina's hair had once been. He brought his hand up to face and smiled behind it.
"Toshi," The former mayor said kindly— Toshiko couldn't ever remember the man not being kind; no matter the antics Naruto had found himself in throughout the years, Toshiko was sure she'd never heard Namikaze Minato raise his voice —from over his wife's shoulder, "Please, Drop the 'Sama."
"Right, of course sir," Toshiko nodded as Kushina released her and she went to step away only for the older woman to catch her shoulders under the palms of her hands. Both Naruto and Minato stepped forward, closer to Kushina and Toshiko.
"How are you?" Kushina asked not softly and not exactly kindly as her tone left no room for lying, but in a way Toshiko would only ever be able to describe as motherly.
Toshiko shrugged, "I don't know," she said.
"That's understandable," Minato said, "Madara was like a father to you and the others."
"Yeah," Toshiko croaked, "He was." And then, not sure why she said it— but still nonetheless, saying it —Toshiko, with a fresh wave of tears in her eyes, pointed to the tree she had been looking at, "Ōoji-san used to play in that tree. With his, you know brothers."
Pity washed over both Kushina and Minato's faces, it was the same look the mourners at her parents funerals had given her and Itachi and Shisui and Sela. Toshiko looked down at the ground, away from the older couples faces and at the top of her flats.
"I'm so sorry," Kushina said before she pulled Toshiko in for another tight hug. Toshiko's eyes flickered up a half a moment later, if only so she could blink her tears away so as not to wet Kushina's shoulder only to catch the look on Naruto's face.
Naruto didn't look pitiful. He looked sad; he had his own grief hiding behind his eyes. And why wouldn't he? He had known Madara for as long she and Sasuke had. He had spent weekends upon weekends at her home; holidays and birthdays and for a while— from sixteen to twenty —a future with the Uchiha family.
For four whole years Naruto and Sasuke had lived their lives as if Uzumaki Naruto would one day Uchiha Naruto. As if her grand uncle would one day be his and while it had been years since that vision of the future had been put to and end there was still years of history already written, never able to be wiped away.
Years— decades —worth of memories unable to be forgotten.
Something twisted in Toshiko's chest, not out of rage or jealously but grief. Pure unadulterated grief. Because for the first time since she had gotten the call about her grand uncles passing Toshiko realized that she and her brothers and her cousins, they weren't the only ones who had lost Madara when he had died.
That he had touched the lives of others outside of the homestead and for some reason, that made his death all the more sad to Toshiko. Despite the fact Madara had been one hundred and two— despite the fact he had lived such an unordinary long life —he had more to live. More to give; more to share.
More memories to make with those around him.
It isn't fair, Toshiko thought. It isn't fair! Toshiko felt her knees buckle. Kushina simply caged Toshiko tighter against herself.
A few sniffle and sib filled moments later, when Kushina— again —unwound herself from Toshiko, Toshiko threw herself at Naruto, very much the same way his mother had thrown himself at her.
Naruto hadn't hesitated in receiving Toshiko's hug. Nor did he hesitate in straightening his back and lifting Toshiko up off the ground, the very same way he would do when they were younger.
Toshiko let out a squeak— she clung tighter to Naruto —and Naruto allowed a wet sounding chuckle to escape himself. Growing up people had always compared Naruto to the sun; he'd always been warm and embarrassing and bright but Toshiko could never see how Naruto and the sun were similar.
If you stood too long in the sun you got burned; hurt. No, Naruto was like the sea, inviting and fun, always pulling you back no matter how long you'd been gone. Always there.
Naruto and Sasuke had broken up their second year of college but before that, after Shikamaru had broken up with her and everyone else had left Naruto had made sure to call her. Even if it had only been for a moment so he could say hello, Naruto called because he knew she was lonely and sad and he had cared.
In those two years Toshiko was sure Naruto had called home more then Sasuke had.
"I missed you Naru."
"I missed you too Toshi," Naruto said with a smile. His hands were clamped around her biceps and her fingers hung off his forearms. His eyes were glossy. Just like her Naruto had always been emotional; Sasuke had always liked to call them Crybabies.
Slowly Toshiko took a step back from Naruto, both Kushina and Minato had small smiles on their faces. Toshiko felt Naruto rest a hand between her shoulder blades.
"Toshi—" Toshiko blinked at the childhood nickname. Toshiko knew she had marveled at it the day before but still, hearing someone besides her family call her Toshi instead of Toshiko was odd; no one outside of her family called her that anymore. "—Where are your brothers?"
Naruto's fingers twitched along her back at the word brothers. Or rather, at the thought of one particular brother. Not that she could fault him for twitching; her heart still ached at the thought of Shikamaru and the ring on his finger and his beautiful wife.
Toshiko had met Temari once, years ago. Only for a few minutes. Naruto wasn't like the sun; Temari was. Beautiful and perfect so much it hurt.
"At the funeral home already. I-I didn't want to ride in a car. Not today." Minato nodded. He offered Toshiko his hand and she took it. The former mayor squeezed it reassuringly.
"Your ōoji-san was very proud of you," Minato said, "Whenever we would see him he would pull outa new photo of you or your brothers or cousins. Your cousin Shisui—?" Toshiko nodded at Minato's silent question of Is that right? "—I think he nearly got into a fist fight with Haruno Kizashi when Kizashi-san said his grand kids were the best." Kunshina nodded, snickering along.
Toshiko's mouth fell open though, "Sakura has kids?" Sakura was married?
Naruto turned to Toshiko, "You didn't know?"
"No." Who else had children? Did Shikamaru? How many did he have?
"Oh," Naruto's hand fell from Toshiko's back and reached to grab his phone; the lock screen were of Naruto and two dark haired toddlers, both boys and both looking far more like another familiar face then Sakura.
"She had kids with Lee?" Rock Lee, perhaps the only person more energetic then Naruto himself. Lee had been a year older then Sasuke— and Naruto and Sakura and Shikamaru —and though he had always declared himself in love with Sakura, Toshiko had always thought that— maybe —Lee would end up with someone else.
Like Hinata's cousin Neji.
"Oh yeah. I'm godfather!" Naruto beamed. He pointed at the boy on the right, "That's Haruo, and that's—" Naruto pointed to the boy on the left, "—That's Isamu."
"They're very beautiful," Toshiko said.
"I know right! They're only two but they're pretty great!" Naruto bragged.
"What about you?" Toshiko asked before she could stop herself. Naruto froze. His shoulders tensioned and though Minato rested a hand on Kushina's arm the red headed woman looked ready to jump in and highjack the conversation so as to keep it from veering towards questions like those.
"What?"
"I—" She couldn't ask it again, it'd been a stupid question that had an obvious answer, "—How have you been?" Toshiko asked instead. "What do you do for work?"
The ends of Naruto's lips tipped upwards, the tension in his shoulders, however, lingered.
"I'm a guidance counselor," Naruto said, he looked happy, "For the middle school. Iruka-sensei helped me get a job there."
"Naru! That's great!" Toshiko congratulated, drying her eyes with the hem of her sleeves.
"Yeah, thanks!"
"And what about you missy?" Kushina asked— rhetorically — as they slowly started walking; Toshiko's eyes flickered to the large spruce tree in the park. "I remember something about you graduating law school, isn't that right?"
"You heard right ma'am—"
"Ma'am?" Toshiko ducked her head.
Steamrolling head, "I work at the prosecutor's office."
"That must be exciting!" The four of them turned. Toshiko could already see a sea of mourners beginning to collect outside of the funeral home. She could she see her family all in a straight line, receiving condolences.
Hideko and Daki both held onto Mari's hands; for a moment all Toshiko could see were a younger version of Shisui and Itachi. Bowed heads, dark clothes, Toshiko felt her chest get tight.
Madara would be laid out inside a casket inside the funeral home. Wreathes and flowers would litter the room but he— the shell of who he was; the shell of all that was left —would be there. She would see him. Say goodbye.
Tomorrow she and boys would cremate him and after that she would life her life without him.
"I'm sorry," Toshiko gasped to the Namikaze-Uzumaki family; before any of them could look at Toshiko— could ask her what she was sorry for —Toshiko did the one thing her family seemed to be best at.
She ran.
In flats and a skirt, feeling sick to her stomach, Toshiko spun on her heel and ran. She ignored both Naruto's shout of her name and Minato and Kushina's calls to come back, focusing instead on getting away.
Down one street and up another; Toshiko couldn't help but berate herself for coming back to Konoha. Toshiko stopped in front of a familiar park, one with a jungle gym and a series of Japanese maple bushes grouped together upon a hill.
Shikamaru had once told her that this was the park that started it all. That the day with her brother and Choji and Kiba had been where he'd developed a crush on her. She should move. Toshiko could continue on walking until she found somewhere else to rest her bleeding heart.
But just like she couldn't see her grand uncle she couldn't move.
If you couldn't see him you should have never come back, Toshiko told herself, What's the point of coming back if you can't see him? For a second two very separate and distinct faces flashed through Toshiko's mind. If you don't?
But she couldn't. Toshiko had thought she wanted too— thought she could —but when she had been standing there on the street, only a few yards from where her grand uncles body was; she couldn't.
She couldn't go home either. Not because that was where her family would find her— not because she couldn't face her brothers; how could she face them if she couldn't walk with them into the funeral home —but because Madara was everywhere.
No matter where she looked she saw Madara; she saw flashes of her childhood and long forgotten memories she hadn't thought to dwell on in years where ever she went.
Toshiko passed the chain link fence and walked to the bench that had been set up for parents and guardians so that they could watch the their children. She rested her elbows on her knees.
Toshiko knew she could travel anywhere else in the world and not see her uncle's shadow cast upon the ground. She knew that there were a trillion other places that wouldn't make her heart bleed but Konoha— the house —were home; and though everything inside Toshiko told herself to run back to the house and pack her bags so that she could leave early— so that she wouldn't have to face her grand uncle in the casket or the flames that would consume his body that next day —she couldn't.
Because the thought of leaving hurt more then the act of staying.
Toshiko squeezed her eyes shut and allowed her nails to bite into the skin of he palms; she needed to be a big girl. She needed to woman up and face what she didn't want to, the way Sela had made her twenty years ago.
"Your mother and father were brave," Sela had said before the funeral; Toshiko hadn't wanted to go to that one either but she had. Because, "And if you ever want to be half the person they were you will hold your head up high and you will show the world that Uchiha's do not buckle. Nor do they bow out; they-you," Sela had said with a voice thick with emotion, "Endure. You survive, you thrive."
And she could; Toshiko knew she could. She could endure Madara's wake and she could endure the cremation and when it was all over, bury herself in so much work that she'd be able to make District Attorney in record time.
But she didn't want to. Toshiko didn't want to endure or survive or thrive; she wanted to hide. To cry and cry and for once not have to face the fact that someone else had left her.
That someone else had died.
But she couldn't. She couldn't go back in time and become a kid again. She was twenty-six and forever growing older and Toshiko hated it.
So she cried.
Not loudly but rather, Toshiko cried with her head bowed and heart aching; quietly sobbing into her lap only to stop when she heard her name. Or rather, until she heard her childhood nick name— "Toshi?"—called out low and questioning.
Nara Shikamaru; the second to last person Toshiko wanted to see— the first being his wife —stood on the other side of the parks chain link fence. Worry was painted across his face and his fingers were interlocked with the fence as he leaned on it.
He looked, as per usual, good. His hair was slicked back and up in the same ponytail Toshiko had always recalled him sporting. He was in a dark black suit and long black tie; he, like Toshiko, was in funeral wear. He, like she had been before her cowardice had gotten the better of her, was on his way to Uchiha Madara's wake.
Toshiko looked away, up at the bright blue sky— she ignored the audible wobble of the fence and the sound of Shikamaru's steps —as she smeared the ball of her palm across her face in order to wipe her tears away.
Her grand uncle was dead and she was supposed to stand in line with her family and nod her head as people told them all how sorry they were for their loss. Seeing the still beautiful Nara Shikamaru was not what she needed at the moment.
"Toshi?" She cringed at the nickname. She could deal with old friends— childhood comrades she would never see again —calling her that. She could deal with old neighbors and teachers who she'd once studied under calling her that.
She could handle her brothers calling her that. Her hands wobbled in her lap; she couldn't handle however, Shikamaru calling her that.
Sasu-nii, Toshiko thought dryly, Is right. This family is cursed.
"Yeah?" She said thickly. She looked to see that Shikamaru had come around; that instead if being on the other side of the fence he stood only a few steps away from her, "Shikamaru?"
"What-what are you doing here?" Shikamaru asked her. Toshiko shrugged.
"I don't know." I'm a coward. I'm selfish;if she weren't she wouldn't make her family mourn without her; wouldn't wrap herself up in her grief on some park bench amongst long forgotten memories and leave them to theirs.
"Why aren't you at the funeral home?"
"Why aren't you at work?" It couldn't be more then three in the afternoon. Toshiko could clearly recall that when she and Shikamaru had run into one another at the restaurant he'd said he worked for the mayors office.
"I took the day off. Well, uh, next few days," he corrected. Toshiko nodded before looking back down in her lap, only to freeze when she felt a hand on her knee.
Shikamaru had knelt down on the concrete ground— Toshiko could remember her girlhood dreams of him doing that; of him on one knee in front of her, those dreams never had her grand-uncle dead in a casket or ten years between her and Shikamaru —and placed his hand on her knee. His warm, warm hand.
Can't he just carve out my heart? Toshiko thought hotly. It would be kinder then this. She'd be done with him in one swift move; if he took her heart she'd have no more attachment to him. She wouldn't feel the ever pulsing hurt that ached with every beat.
"Why are you here Toshi? Why aren't you at the funeral home?"
"I—" she paused. She hadn't even felt the tears welling up in her eyes until they were already streaking once more down her face; "—Can't."
"Can't? Can't what?"
"See him. He's in a casket-I can't, can't do that Shikamaru. Can't see him like that." There was a shrillness to her voice as she sucked in a sharp gasp breath of air.
Shikamaru didn't blink before he grabbed Toshiko's hands in his. He was still kneeling on the ground as his thumbs rubbed comforting circles across the skin of her hands. He looked concerned and sorry and perfect.
"Hey," Shikamaru soothed. Toshiko's wet eyes flickered up from the ground to meet his. They were so warm and caring; they were just as Toshiko remembered. "You don't have to go if you don't want to. Your ōoji-san, you know he would never hold it against you."
"My brothers—"
"—Toshiko," Shikamaru said, his voice low and steady. His hand dropped from the outside of hers so that he could cup the side of her face. His thumb smeared the sopping trails of past tears across her face as he ran it across the length of her cheekbone. "You don't have to go, not if you don't want to."
Not if you can't handle it.
And Toshiko, she couldn't. She couldn't handle seeing her grand-uncle laid out in a casket. Couldn't handle seeing another person she loved dead. Couldn't handle the pain ripping through her; thumping through her veins with every beat of her heart.
Bowing her head, Toshiko— forgetting the past decade; forgetting Shikamaru was no longer her best friend but the boy who had long ago broken her shattered heart —rocked forward, off the bench, and, with a choked sob, into Shikamaru's arms.
Her knees hit the parks concrete ground the same way they had when she was a child, back whenever someone— Kiba, usually, Naruto sometimes —would tag her too hard amidst one of their games. And just like back then, when Toshiko fell into his chest, Shikamaru didn't hesitate in wrapping his arms around Toshiko: pressing her against himself. Holding her against himself like a vice. As if he would never again let her go, come hell or high water.
One hand clasped against the back of her head— fingers threaded through her hair —and the other splayed between her shoulder blades. Toshiko sobbed into Shikamaru's shoulder. And sobbed.
"I got you," Shikamaru muttered into Toshiko's hair. "I got you Toshi."
And sobbed.
They sat next to each other on the bench. Shikamaru hadn't spoken and the only sounds that left Toshiko were muffled, half swallowed sobs and loud sniffles; summer had just only ended, fall hadn't quite yet begun. The fact the sun had begun to set over the tree tops didn't mean it was particularly late just that the afternoon had started to fade into the evening.
Toshiko used her sleeve to pat down her face, as she blinked out more tears, hyperaware that Shikamaru's arm was around her. He'd tucked her under him, his thigh pressed against hers. The faint smell of cigarettes' clung to him.
When they had been younger, after Shikamaru had taken up the habit, Madara— whenever he had caught Shikamaru smoking on the front steps of the house or on the back porch —had always given Shikamaru shit, despite the fact the old man had always kept his own pipe well packed.
Madara had always preached about standing by one another to the five young Uchiha's. Always spoke about how they had to be there for one another. Toshiko thought of Sasuke; of how he wouldn't be alone but rather how he would be lonely. How he would stand several feet from Madara's casket; Toshiko didn't have to read her brothers mind to know that Sasuke, just like her— and Itachi —would think of their parents funeral.
Of he how had never had the chance to go.
Toshiko knew Sasuke would keep his question to himself but that it would be there; if Madara's wake was different from their parents.
Toshiko didn't want to go; she might have rather eaten glass then willingly walked into the funeral home but Madara words— "Life is hard. It is a lot harder all alone." —and the thought of her brother, quiet and hurt and bearing his grief by himself because he would never go to Itachi or Shisui— or Obito —with it made her stomach churn.
She stood up, sniffling as she did so. "I should go."
"Go?"
"To-to the funeral home. Sasu-I-I—" Toshiko breathed deeply, "—I can't not be there for him."
Shikamaru was never— had never been —the careless type. He had never been one to not think or act on half banked plans. It had been why his breaking up with her had hurt so much; Shikamaru wasn't impulsive, if he wanted to break up with her it meant he had been thinking of it for days or weeks— that he had fallen out of love with her long before the end of their relationship had occurred —and that instead of talking to her about it, Shikamaru saw that the best option was breaking up with her.
And yet, for all his sound of mind, steadfastness, Shikamaru grabbed her hand in his, touching her again. Swiping his thumb across the expanse of skin that was was her knuckle's.
"Toshi—" he said, using that nickname, "—You don't have to go. Not if you can't handle it."
Toshiko looked at Shikamaru. When he'd broken her heart she hadn't— hadn't, for once —cried. She'd just lowered her eyes and allowed him to walk out of her life; but that had been ten years ago. A lifetime and a half.
Toshiko, red faced and still, with a quivering lip, tilted her head up.
"I have to be with my brothers." Shikamaru pressed his lips together. Toshiko knew he could have argued with her if he had wanted to; life time or not he would have known the right button to push to make her fold. He didn't though.
Shikamaru let out a breath of air and— still holding her hand —nodded, "Okay." he said, he took a step forward and then another one. Like he was going to lead her to the funeral home.
"You don't have to come with me Shikamaru," Toshiko said, her voice small and tired, "I can-I can do it on my own."
"Never said you couldn't Toshi," Shikamaru replied lightly. There was something in his eyes, some kind of slow burning emotion that made the same stupid, pathetic butterflies swarm Toshiko's insides.
Toshiko didn't tug her hand away from his; didn't tell him her name was Toshiko— was Uchiha-san —even though she knew she should. Even though she knew she would wake up tomorrow and he would be gone, back home with whomever had given him the ring she'd seen him wearing her first night back in town.
Married or not, wife or not, someone had given him a ring to wear on his right forefinger, and yet knowing that there was no hope of a future for the two of them, Toshiko allowed him to hold her hand as the two of them began to walk quietly in the direction of the funeral home because doing so hurt just as much as dropping it would.
Because she was a moron. She was a love sick, tender hearted moron who, felt her tongue swell in her mouth every time she looked over at her ex-boyfriend; ex-best friend.
Because she still loved him. Was still in love with him. Because she hadn't moved on.
Toshiko— as she and Shikamaru walked to the Edo Tensei funeral home —never once pulled her hand from his or told him he was going to call her by her actual full first name because even after a heartbreaking decade away from him, Toshiko still loved Nara Shikamaru as much as she did the day he broke her heart.
So instead, as they walked, she wondered why he hadn't married whoever had given him the ring. She wondered what advice her grand uncle would give her in that moment, would he tell her to take a deep breath and stand her ground— Uchiha's did not let themselves get walked all over, they didn't bend or bow to the will of other men —or would he tell her it was okay? Okay that let Shikamaru call her Toshi and lead her around because love was complicated and messy and even after ten years it was understandable.
Unlike Naruto and his parents when Toshiko and Shikamaru ended up on the corner of the street the funeral home was on, Shikamaru paused with Toshiko, half a step behind her. There was still a crowd in front of it; mourners walking in and out.
Toshiko felt Shikamaru's hand tighten around hers as they paused on the corner, he turned to her, "I can walk you home if you want," he said, giving her and out.
"I need to be with my brothers." With Sasuke and Itachi and Shisui and Obito; her brothers. "With my family." The kids and Kakashi and Mari. With what was left of Madara.
One last time.
"Okay," Shikamaru said. He squeezed her hand again and for a second Toshiko thought that they would start walking but they didn't; instead of moving forward Shikamaru moved towards her, his chest puffed out, a breath of air stuck in his lungs.
"You leave the day after tomorrow right?"
"The morning." Toshiko had work the day after that so she had bought the earliest ticket back to Fukuoka. Shisui and Mari and the kids would be leaving a few hours after that and Itachi would leave a day or so after them and Sasuke had planned on staying to help Obito and Kakashi pack the house— pack Madara's thing —until he no longer could and was called back for another mission with his security firm.
The tip of Shikamaru's tongue darted out to wet his lips; his gaze calculating.
"I need to talk to you before you leave town."
"Shikamaru—"
"—Please?" He brought her hand up in his, "I know talking to me is the last thing you want to do right now—" what an understatement, "—And I know it's selfish to ask, but please, Toshi." And when had Toshiko ever been able to deny Shikamaru anything?
Never.
"When?" She asked softly.
"I took off tomorrow so, if you want, I can come to yours after the cremation."
"I don't have your number."
"That's fine," Shikamaru said, and though some people would use not having their ex-partners new number as a ploy to get their new one, Toshiko hoped Shikamaru did anything but give her his. The kind of temptation that would bring; she'd never be able to bring herself to delete it and to have it but not use it would be maddening.
"We're cremating Madara around noon and walking his ashes to the cemetery." It would only be the five of them picking Madara's bones from the ashes to place in the urn; Kakashi, and Mari and the children would meet them when it was time to walk to the cemetery. "It'll be a while before we get back."
"That's fine. I can wait."
He could wait. He would. For her.
Toshiko felt a lump swelling in her throat because he could wait for her ten years after the fact. A flash of a setting summer sun and the smell of Shikamaru's old car washed over Toshiko. She took her hand from his— his brows furrowed together and if Toshiko was going to allow her to believe it; hurt flashed in the reflection of his eyes —her fingers curled into her palm.
"I need to get to my brothers," Toshiko said with with a note of finality; without waiting for Shikamaru to say anything else— without looking back up at him —Toshiko spun on her heel, and with both her shoulders pushed back and her head tipped downward, she started towards the funeral home.
Shikamaru was hot on her heels, stuck to her shadow, walking not even half a foot behind her.
When Toshiko— and Shikamaru —got closer to the funeral home the mourners who had conjugated together outside of the building broke out into an excited but hushed chatter. Toshiko heard her name called out, several times by people in the crowd, and whilst he hadn't planned on stopping until she got to her brothers she paused at the mouth of the funeral home when a familiar voice called out her name.
"Toshiko!" Toshiko looked up to see Konohamaru, dressed in black and next to both his fiancée and Hinata. Hinata was on the arm of a slender man in glasses; Shino. Toshiko could sort of remember him; he sold weed to help pay for his rare bug collection and while she had never bought it off him, more then once after they had gotten together had Shikamaru disappeared at a party with the glasses wearing boy, only to come back with a small baggie and a troublesome smirk.
"Hey!" Konohamaru said, he looked at Shikamaru and then back to Toshiko. For a second Toshiko though he would introduce Hanabi, or that Hinata would step up and say something, instead Konohamaru's hand latched to the back of his neck. "Your brothers are inside."
"Thanks." She had already figured that.
"They sort of got into it earlier," Konohamaru said slowly. "In front of everyone."
Toshiko blinked, "What!" The chatter around her quieted; Toshiko could feel the weight of the other mourners gazes as they settled on her.
"Yeah, your cousins broke them up-they're all inside. I just figured someone should let you know why your brothers face looks the way it dose," Konohamaru said. Toshiko felt her stomach churn, with a quickly thrown out "Thank you"Toshiko spun to the funeral homes doors and rushed through them, down the hall and to where the showing of her grand uncle would be.
Shikamaru hadn't followed her, none of the mourners from outside had. Meaning as she stood in the doorway she was alone. The room was mostly empty, chairs had been over turned, onto the back and grey carpet, flowers that had been meant to be placed inside the coffin with Madara were skewed over the flooring of the room, amongst the chairs.
And her family, though spread out across several chairs, sat together, not even a foot away from the corpse of Uchiha Madara.
Kakashi turned first, his chin tilted at the sight of Toshiko and like a series of falling domino's the others turned as well. Obito then Mari, then Shisui and the kids, then Itachi and lastly, Sasuke. He was the one who stood.
In a well tailored suit that was more then Toshiko could afford on her best of days, Sasuke stood from his chair. His hands were pressed against his front; unlike Itachi who's nose had been stuffed with a tissue and who's eye was swollen, Sasuke's only visible injury was the bloody cut that ran along the bottom of his lip.
Something about him was different, Toshiko noted as she took another step into the room. There was a light in Sasuke's eyes, one's that though looked almost wrong to see inside a funeral home, was well missed and founded thought of.
Toshiko took a step into the room. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest. If she only focused on her brother she wouldn't have to look at her grand uncle. At his corpse.
Wouldn't have to deal with the reality of Uchiha Madara being dead.
Toshiko took another step into the room, and then another and another until she was in front of her brother. Her hands shook at her sides. Tears welled up in her eyes as her throat tightened.
"I-I'm sorry," she said, "I should have been here sooner. I'm—" the second apology died in Toshiko's throat as Sasuke's right index and middle fingers thumped against her forehead.
Itachi used to do the same gesture; before their parents had died whenever she or Sasuke had wanted a hug or attention or something from Itachi and he hadn't been able to give it that very minute he had thumped them on the forehead with his index and middle fingers.
It had been his way of letting Sasuke and Toshiko know that despite the fact he hadn't had time for them, he loved them.
He had— Itachi had —stopped after he had left Konoha the first time; it'd been the first time Sasuke had blown up over Itachi's leaving. It had been the first time Sasuke had claimed that Itachi didn't love them, that Itachi was probably glad their parents were dead because that meant he could leave and not be bothered with either himself or Toshiko. Itachi had of course said none of that was true, that of course he loved both younger siblings but Sasuke got louder and time ticked by until Itachi had to go so that he and Shisui could catch their train.
"Sasu-nii?" Toshiko's lip wobbled.
"It's okay," Sasuke said slowly, "Naruto told us you got overwhelmed." Toshiko threw herself at her brother, with her nose buried between his ribs, in the silk of his tie, Toshiko could head Obito's wet giggle as she cried into her brothers chest.
When she pulled away a moment later with shiny eyes and a dewy nose, Sasuke put his hand on Toshiko's back as he stepped to the side of that Toshiko could walked up to the casket. Hideko, who had a large bouquet of flowers in her hand, with a sad smile, passed Toshiko a white chrysanthemum.
"Thank you Hideko-chan," Toshiko whispered in a shaky voice.
"You're welcome," Hideko replied in an equally quite and equally shaky voice. Toshiko twirled the flowers stem between her fingers and she sucked in a deep breath; Sasuke's hand pressed more firmly against Toshiko's back.
It was real.
It was now; Uchiha Madara was dead. Gone.
Toshiko looked at Itachi who smiled reassuringly at her, though it looked pained whether it was because of his injuries or because of the fact it was his grand uncle laying in a coffin a few feet away as well. She then looked To Shisui who nodded and Mari who rubbed her stomach and slowly blinked at her; Obito flashed Toshiko a low thumbs up while Kakashi, who's expression was hidden almost entirely by his mask simply closed his eyes in her direction for a squinted-sort of smile.
Toshiko kneeled next to the coffin, she had never been a religious person— no one in her life ever had —she didn't know any prayers off hand or buried in the back of her mind, hidden somewhere amongst years of memories.
Instead, as her shoulders shook with silent tears, she thought; Ōoji-san, I miss you. I love you. I never told you I loved you enough and I never eat enough soba with you-after years of living with you I got so sick of it, but I would eat it forever if I could eat it with you. I miss you. I hope you're happy, I hope you see everyone again and I'm sure you're not wasting any time in catching up. I love you. I miss you.
"Oh," Toshiko whimper, "I miss you Ōoji-san."
I really fucking miss you.
