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Tsunade had broken down that awful day. One of the most powerful kunoichi seen for an age her ass, she'd fallen to her knees and cried like any other woman. She'd screamed and raged and cursed at nothing in particular, the heavens maybe or even the civilians who averted their eyes as they hurried home to their own fragile families. The two Shinobi of her fiance's team had stood before her, murmuring words that meant little in the end.
How brave he was, how his last thoughts were of her, and how he'd wanted to protect their village.
How Dan had wanted to protect her. Tsunade wasn't ashamed to admit how angry she'd been, so damn angry she'd torn up half that street with her brute strength, until someone stooped to restrain her.
Looking back on it now, she burned at the memory of how much stronger Jiraiya had been than her still. He'd wrapped his powerful arms around her rocking body, crouched like a child in the dirt. She'd yelled such hurtful things at him that day, how perhaps he was glad now, glad that her love was dead so now he had his chance.
Tsunade had hated them both so much that day. She'd hated them both because they'd gone and done the same thing to her. They'd left. They'd left.
With the same stupid thought in their heads that somehow she, the greatest medic-nin Tsunade, needed protecting. One from himself, and the other from everything else. Without even trying she could've met her stupid teammate as an equal, and Dan would've never landed a hit. All those ridiculous thoughts had swirled inside her bruised heart and suddenly she'd craved the calmness of the sea.
She hated Leaf and its ability to give and take everything from her.
Tsunade hadn't remembered much after her mindless break down, only the dull, floaty sensation of someone carrying her home.
She'd woken up a day and a half later, achy and hungry and for a few blissful seconds ignorant of everything that had happened. Until she remembered, and then the smell of her bed sickened her and the sight of Jiraiya half-asleep in her chair made Tsunade want to bawl like a child. She wanted to beat him until it didn't hurt anymore, but she was afraid it would never stop hurting.
He had bandages on half his face, and cuts on his arms and hands. It wasn't until a long time later, deep into her cups and losing horribly at craps, Tsunade had realized she'd inflicted those wounds herself.
Jiraiya had never said anything.
She'd left that day while he was out, leaving only a note and never looking back.
Jiraiya had told her once, drunk and perhaps a little seduced by her ageless beauty, how he'd only gone to get daffodils for her room.
He remembered, he'd slurred, how much she liked those sunny flowers.