Izuna doesn't sleep for a week.
The first night, he leaves her be.
All day, he's carried himself as though even his own weight is a burden. She's seen the lines of his face twist with shame when he catches his brother's eye and finds it no surprise that he keeps to himself.
Even so, she cannot close her eyes. Instead, she lies awake until the sun rises. Spends hours listening to every breath he takes, tensing each time he shifts.
The second night, he puts his hand to her hip as they're settling to sleep and without thought, she flinches from his touch like it burns and goes still. He withdraws his hand and she looks at him, unable to place the look on his face.
"Must we spill blood every time?" His tone is bereft. Strange, she thinks, from the man who has lost nothing to this marriage.
I could tell him, she thinks. If she did so now, Hashirama could confirm it and she wouldn't have to allow his hands on her again. Unless, of course, he felt so inclined to have her for another reason. The way his shoulders sink forward whenever Hashirama enters the room, though, she's sure she'd have some time if she took away his excuse.
"I know you can't be forced to consider my comfort," he flinches as though she's slapped him and as satisfying as it is, she thinks it's quite weak of him to have so little conviction in his own actions, "but I have conditions, if you'll hear them."
"You mean to say that if I meet them, you'll give yourself freely?" He looks at her lips as he asks, and she can't tell whether it's just to avoid her eyes or something more.
"I'm saying I won't stop you."
"Go on," he nods. She spoils for a fight.
"Never touch me more than you absolutely must. Do not undress me more than needed, only look when you can't avoid it, and do not linger."
"Are you truly so determined not to enjoy any part of this?"
"I could never," she spits. Her cheeks burn as she says it and she wonders if he's remembering the same moments that haunt her. "I only want to make sure you do not get—carried away." The words are bitter when they leave her tongue and she's pleased to see they land just as sourly when his expression twists. It clears too quickly for her liking.
"And you swear that if I allow the conditions you've set, you won't fight me?" Heavy warmth settles under her skin, she tries her best to shake free of it.
"Yes."
"Then I accept."
Objectively speaking, it's the easiest conversation they've ever had. She'd relied on more resistance and feels unbalanced by how well he's taken her terms.
Expectation settles between them and mortification makes her dizzy as she takes what feels like the most obvious position, moving to her hands and knees for him. Worse yet is that she can feel herself responding, feel the slide between her legs enough to curse herself for it. The thought of his touch, of what he's done to her, makes her feel sick. She only wishes it stopped there.
He listens to her conditions perhaps too well, hands coming down on either side of her as he hovers over her back. Like this, when he reaches back to pull the fabric of her yukata out of the way, he sees nothing but—the heat of him. She feels his warmth, hovering so close above her, the soft brush of his breath across her neck.
Allowing her arms to go weak, she sinks lower in an effort to escape some of his nearness. When his fingers reach her, running over her and parting her at the seam to find her already going slick, no amount of space would save her the humiliation that sweeps through her.
"Are you always like this?" He sounds winded.
"Don't speak to me," she warns.
"So many conditions."
After that, she allows him to have her every night. He abides her every condition and they never face each other. Cowardice on his part, she thinks, but she is privately grateful for it. Afraid of what he might see on her face if he looked.
It's all made worse by the fact that he always finishes her before he allows himself the same. When he'd done it the first time, she'd demanded to know why. His only answer was that she hadn't forbidden it.
She'd told herself that their wedding night had been a fluke. Overwhelmed by new sensations and adrenaline, but every time she feels pleasure crest and wash through her veins, it becomes more difficult to believe.
•
Days pass and they hardly speak.
She remains as infuriating as ever, they cannot pass a conversation without raising their voices. He knows he should be repentant, is so, especially when he catches the look on Hashirama's face after he's heard them at each other's throats, but it takes a toll it never used to that makes it difficult to keep his temper.
At night, he still takes whatever she'll allow him and hates himself for how much he looks forward to it. Her terms feel like an affront, but he has no wish to wound his wife every time he lies with her, even given who she is.
On the fourth day, he takes in her shadowed eyes and dull skin and thinks she's not been sleeping well.
On the seventh, he realizes she's not sleeping at all.
He hears the echo of her fury in his mind, asking if he thinks she doesn't know what his clan might take from her, given half a chance, and wonders how he's allowed his attention to slip so badly. He should have expected this much.
At his direction, a futon is placed in the room furthest from his own, her things brought over.
Mito, too, looks at him as though she doesn't trust him quite the same as she used to and he knows Hashirama must have shared with her what he'd found when he healed them. He doesn't begrudge his brother that, but he misses the easy silence of her company, always a comfortable reprieve from his brother's exuberance. Fears he may not get it back.
"I've set a room for Izuna, I hoped you might show her to it." She doesn't ask him why, they've all seen the circles under his wife's eyes.
"You can't do so yourself?"
"She won't trust it if I do."
"Should she?"
Her tone stings, but the question is fair. He does his best to assure her he only means for Izuna to find rest and hopes that she'll take him at his word.
•
It's likely she's trusting too easily when she follows Mito without question, but in truth, Izuna is exhausted. She only has energy left to be wary of her husband. No one else has given her a reason beyond their name. Though, a week ago that alone would've been enough. The thought she may already be softening sickens her and she assures herself her resolve will strengthen once she's slept.
When they enter the room, she wonders if she's meant to be grateful.
"Tell me, Izuna, do you know much fūinjutsu?"
"Very little."
Mito gestures to the doorway through which they've just passed.
"May I?" Izuna nods and Mito reveals ink and a simple brush from inside of her robe, then bends to begin painting seals along the threshold. "If you like, I can teach you the technique once you've recovered. There's more security in having done it yourself, but for the time being, this will incapacitate anyone who enters the room without your permission."
Mito is, of course, inside of the room while she explains this.
"Aside from you."
"Aside from me. I have no techniques to show you that I do not understand well myself, and you're not advanced enough to create your own. This is the best I can offer."
Mito meets her eyes without hesitation, Izuna knows she's been unfair.
"I'm being ungrateful." She means to apologize, but Mito waves her off. She doesn't do it with the same gracious air of her husband, and Izuna prefers her manner for it. Hashirama is pleasant, but she finds more sincerity than naivety in Mito's actions.
"I understand, truly. You must be tired."
"Exhausted." Izuna laughs, humourless. Mito gestures to the small table opposite the doorway and Izuna is relieved to be off her feet without feeling as though she'll be in quite so much danger as before if she allows her eyes to close.
"My husband tells me you've chosen mercury to avoid complicating your situation. Have you felt any ill effects?"
"No, this insomnia is entirely self-inflicted."
"It's difficult to sleep when you do not trust your husband."
Any of you, Izuna thinks. I cannot trust any of you.
"I can't imagine Hashirama has ever given you reason not to." She means for it to come out as a joke, or halfway, at least, but she is too tired and her voice is too bitter.
"He has not, but I didn't know that he wouldn't, at first." Of course, Mito came here alone and no woman trusts a husband she doesn't yet know. "I consider myself very lucky, Hashirama has always been too kind for his own good."
"He does seem it."
"I imagine the history between you and Tobirama does not lend itself to much kindness at all." She searches for any admonishment in her tone, finds none.
"No. It does not." She feels like a sullen child, giving short, stilted answers, but as kind as Mito has been, Izuna lacks the energy for the conversation she wants to broach. The less charitable part of her thinks this is likely why she's chosen to do it now.
"May I ask, then, why you do not remove his motivation? Hashirama would support your reasons, as would I. Tobirama—I can't say that he would not force himself on you again, as a week ago I would've said he would not even do it once, but you wouldn't be without help if he did."
She leaves off what they already know, that help would rely entirely on Tobirama's willingness to bear shame under his brother's eye. He can do as he likes with her, only his sense of morality offers her any protection.
It may be the sleep deprivation, the loneliness—having not spoken to her brother since the day of her wedding—or just simple madness that compels her to answer honestly, if not in detail.
"I have no wish to be miserable, Mito. I hate him, now more than ever, but regardless he is my husband and I must build my life under the Senju banner. If he learns the extent I would go to just to avoid bearing his children, I feel the damage it would do may be irreparable."
There is no foolproof way to avoid a child. It feels like an impossible reality, living as she is, dead on her feet because she cannot close her eyes to sleep for fear that they won't be there when she wakes, but Izuna knows there's no pride in being shortsighted. As much as she loathes the possibility, she must consider it.
If she bears Tobirama children, not only will she fear for their safety, but she knows he'll poison them against her if he's aware of the lengths she went to trying to avoid them. Protecting them would be an impossible task if they were taught to mistrust her from birth.
She has the wherewithal to keep that much to herself, at least. If Mito is startled by the honesty she's allowed, she doesn't show it.
"I can hardly ask you not to tell your husband what I've shared, but I don't wish for him to get his hopes up."
"I understand, of course."
Izuna thinks she probably does, more than she lets on. After all, Mito and Hashirama made their own unorthodox decisions about the circumstances under which they'd like to bear children. Their reasons are far from her own, but she feels understood to some degree.
Mito paints her seals along every wall before she goes.
"I'll leave you to rest. Find me tomorrow if you'd like to learn."
A/N: We'll see Madara again soon 💜