A/N: I sincerely apologize for the delay!

when others are sleeping

"No." Reika was a strong woman, and a shinobi. It was expected from her, being the daughter of Senju Hashirama and Uzumaki Mito. But for the first time in her life Hashirama could see fear in her eyes.

"No, father. You can't do that. I beg you. They are the village's future."

The village outside was changing from summer to fall.

"They are the best soldiers I have," Hashirama answered heavily.

"They're not soldiers," his daughter protested violently. "They're barely adults. They may have made a name for themselves in this godforsaken war, but this is a suicide mission-"

Unflinching: "They stand the greatest chance of survival."

"You are making a mistake." Her gaze was uncharacteristically cold, her grey eyes – her mother's inheritance – freezing. When it came to it Reika was more like him than like Mito but now she reminded him so much of her mother that it hurt almost physically. "You are throwing away this villages' best chance of survival."

And then she left the room without looking back.

…

Jiraiya managed to proposition her five times in two hours but Tsunade doubted he even noticed it or even meant to do so. It had become a game between the two of them: he would flirt with her openly, thus giving her the opportunity to reject him just as publicly. She wasn't quite sure why they still were playing. They had started long before Dan, so far back she could barely remember, but Jiraiya had stopped immediately when he had seen her and Dan together. Sometimes she wondered what it meant, the fact that he never again had even looked at her twice. Dan had always said – but Dan was dead, Dan was dead and there was nothing in the world that would bring him back. She would spend the rest of her life wondering how it would have been with him: living with him, being with him, waiting for him to return home. Bearing his children, one day. Living with him and growing old and eventually-

She threw back her sake and slammed the cup onto the counter, roughly demanding for more.

Despite being able to hold her liquor well she had reached the place of dim numbness and who-the-hell-cared. Judging from the speed with which Jiraiya and Orochimaru had started off, they had to be far ahead of her. Staring into her now-filled sake cup, she thought of nothing.

Leave, they called it, but it was really only a short respite in between the fights. Shinobi were on rotation and allowed to return to the village for a short time every few weeks. Tsunade had visited her mother and brother, Orochimaru had reported to his clan head, and Jiraiya… Well, probably he'd spied on the women bathing in the springs. Why he did it was beyond Tsunade, probably only to piss her off. He wasn't even especially sexist.

Well, at least not as long as he was sober.

"Fucking orphanage," Jiraiya mumbled, revealing exactly where he had went on his short free-time. "Fuck the war, fuck the Tairos, fuck fucking fate." And Tsunade pretended to be to inebriated to have heard him. Or to remember later: how hopeless his voice had sounded, and how empty his eyes had been. How his hands had gripped the glass so hard she'd been afraid it would crack.

…

Forever.

…

Hatake Sakumo was fourteen and had a kill list that was as long as Jiraiya's crush on the Lady had been when he'd been the same age.

(His crush hadn't lasted long but still. Senju Mito had been beautiful.)

"Do you think it will be over one day?" The white-haired runt – hadn't Jiraiya known the kid's father, he'd wondered whether the kid's hair had turned white due to the circumstances – balanced another kunai on a stack of already precariously tilting knives and skidded backwards carefully, mindful not to disrupt the balance.

Jiraiya looked up from the notepad he was staring at. Thinking was so much easier than writing, but writing was what kept him sane. "This?"

"The War."

Sakumo, Jiraiya thought, was a much braver man than him: at least he had the guts to voice the obvious, even though it hurt.

"I don't know," he replied, slowly. "It doesn't feel like it."

"I don't want my children to grow up in a war," the kid said, matter-of-factly. "I want more for them."

"You're fourteen," Jiraiya said, frowning. "You…"

You could die any day.

He didn't say it out loud. Sakumo was a child-

"There will be more." The kid didn't look at Jiraiya but at the sky, squinting into the glaring sun. "There will be more than fighting and killing. I know it."

…

At the end of the fight, they were the only shinobi standing.

Panting, Orochimaru slid down from his snake's back. Jiraiya followed, both their summons disappearing with a poof. Tsunade staggered off Katsuyu and almost fell into their arms.

The ground was slippery with blood.

"Home," she whispered as she stood. "Let's go home."

They flanked her, quiet and so there, just as they'd always been, as she assembled the survivors.

"Are we safe?" They heard a little girl ask, still sobbing into her mother's skirt.

The woman was bleeding from a gash in her head. "Yes, love," she said. In the silence, only the hiss of fire slowly dying down was heard. Her voice cut through the dim light of a new morning. "We will be safe, now. Leaf has come to save us."

A thunder clap rolled and the sky opened its gates.

One year and sixty-eight days since the war had started, Uzushiogakure did not exist anymore and the world would never be the same again.

…

Shadows, Madara sometimes thought, had a long reach. And a long memory.

Why did you marry him, he had asked her. There's nothing to gain from this alliance.

He will bring change, her answer had been. And besides, it was my duty as daughter of Whirlpool.

He never asked her Are you happy? He never tried to lure her into his bed. Uzumaki Mito had married Senju Hashirama upon request of her father and had born him a daughter. She had helped protect her husband's village and when she had seen the time fit she had sacrificed herself for her it.

He should have asked her, he thought. Had she ever found what she had been looking for in Hidden Leaf? Had she ever found something akin to happiness?

…

"It's just a pitiful village," Ukita Hideie, Earth's Daimyo, said condescendingly as he regarded his finger nails.

"Don't underestimate the Founders," Tokugawa Ieyasu, the feudal lord of the Country of Fire, warned. "The Senju and the Uchiha were powerful already before they united."

"The Uzumaki will help them. Their leader's daughter married the Senju." Maeda Toshiie was infamous for his cunning plots. The Daimyo of Water never fought openly if he had to, his position was proof enough of his capabilities.

Uesugi Kagekatsu shook his head. As Daimyo of Thunder, his caution was strange for a man who had gathered a reputation for his volatile temper. "Will they really be as much a threat as you suspect? It might be wiser to wait and watch before acting."

"Wind stands behind you." Môri Terumoto, Daimyo of the Country of Wind, did not say anything else.

Nothing else needed to be said.

…

Tsunade's arms were bloody up to her shoulders. Blue chakra pooled from her hands, shone from her eyes.

A goddess-

"You're not going to die on me," she grunted, her right hand reaching for bandages as her left hand continued to pour chakra into the shinobi's open wounds. "You. Are. Not. Going. To. Die. Today."

It sounded like a prayer but Jiraiya knew her long enough to know it was a threat.

"There are more," was the only thing he said. Then he turned around and left, continuing the gruesome duty of collecting the wounded and checking on the enemies. Save friends, kill foes. A double-edged blade. How ironic that he was the one of the three of them-

When he returned a few hours later Tsunade was still covered in blood, Orochimaru still had the well-known, vacant expression in his eyes and Jiraiya still was Jiraiya, and they knew-

…

"I don't want Daddy to say bye."

Kurenai only had an abstract idea where her father was going – out to work, far away, to a dangerous place – but she knew in order to leave he had to say good bye first. And it was the part she hated most. She had said good bye to Mommy some time ago and she had never returned.

"Sweetheart," her Daddy said and knelt down on the ground in front of her. When he did that, their eyes were at the same height. Kurenai clutched her pillow closer to her body. "It will be fine. I will be back when you wake up in the morning. Grandma and Grandpa will be here tonight." His gaze turned serious, as it always did when he was trying to explain something very important to her. Kurenai knew this gaze. "But I have to go now. It is important. Do you understand? The Founders rely on me. They need my powers to protect the village, so you can sleep in peace. Do you understand, love? I don't want you to say you understand something you don't."

Kurenai nodded without looking at him. Something brushed her head – Daddy, kissing her hair, his stubble rough against her sensitive skin.

"I understand. I love you, Daddy," she said and felt him smile.

"I love you too, Kurenai."

And then he was gone.

…

"Today's the Day of Spirits," Jiraiya muttered over their hasty dinner of ration bars and soldier pills.

"Today's full moon," Orochimaru added, matter of fact. "There will be attacks."

"Today's your birthday." Tsunade managed a smile. "Congrats, Orochimaru."

…

Nawaki was so small – and already so energetic. "I want to fight, too! Not tomorrow but right now!"

"But you're only five," Tsunade said, trying to quench both panic and relief, and ruffled his hair. "You're not old enough yet."

And besides, I'm terrified of seeing you on the battle fields and I pray every day and every night to every god that might listen that you never, ever will have to grow up to see the horrors of these wars, the things mankind is capable of, I don't want to lose you just like I've lost Dan because you're so much like him, so much so much so much-

"You know what? Tomorrow, I'll take you to the training grounds and you can watch Orochimaru and Jiraiya spar."

Nawaki's disappointed face turned into a smile of delight. "Awesome!" He loved Orochimaru and Jiraiya, almost worshipped them. Sometimes she felt almost jealous of her partners. Because they were men Nawaki could relate to them in an entirely different way than he related to her. And besides, it did not matter whether he went to what was left of the Academy and its lessons or watched them spar on the training grounds. Whatever they did, learned and taught lead to children being sent out into the war and there was nothing that scared her more than the thought of the people she loved injured or dying. It was bad enough with Dan, or Orochimaru and Jiraiya-

Don't go there.

He still was only five, Tsunade thought, desperate.

…

Flash forward to the breaking point.

"No."

"Yes."

"You can't."

"But I will."

"For once, I agree with Jiraiya. This is insane, Tsunade."

Her eyes in her face were pools of both determination and desperation. "It's the only chance left."

"A year, Tsunade, it will take at least seven months-"

"Then so be it."

"Why," Jiraiya asked Orochimaru later, "Why?" There were no words to properly voice the thoughts running through their heads.

Orochimaru's shoulders were slumped in defeat. "Because."

…

"What are you doing, idiot?"

"What does it look like?" Jiraiya shot back without sparing him a glance. "I'm writing."

Orochimaru frowned. "Paper's not exactly easy to come by on the battle field."

"I don't care."

For a while, only the sound of the quill on parchment was to be heard. Tsunade woke up for a few seconds, her eyes almost colorless, but maybe he was imagining things. She had drained her chakra hours before and needed to rest. When she saw Jiraiya and Orochimaru, the corners of her lips tugged and she closed her eyes again.

"You're an idiot," Orochimaru said, finally.

Jiraiya merely shrugged, not looking up from the parchment. "Whatever you say."

…

"Each team a medic," Madara read from the scroll. His eyes had become bad; he had to squint at the page in order to see the letters clearly. The hand-writing was painfully familiar.

"My granddaughter came up with an impossible scheme."

"What do you know about impossible," Madara returned. Hashirama pushed his glasses higher up his nose. Apparently, he wasn't so vain as to refuse the aid of something that basic. Madara did refuse, for the simple sake of refusing. Or, maybe, he could hear Mito's acerbic and accurate guess, he just wanted to keep up the pretense that he was better than Hashirama in every way possible.

Oh, he missed the woman. She'd always been a splendid partner for verbal sparring matches.

"Don't tell me you're actually considering it." Hashirama stared at him: not incredulous, not judging. Just waiting for Madara's honest opinion. "You know as well as I do what has brought forth her request."

"I am. And Katou Dan's death was a loss in more than one way. But I agree with you, too. Right now we don't even have enough experienced shinobi to place one at the head of each squadron. We don't have enough medics, either, to send them wandering the countryside. But we should keep her request in mind."

"That's what I was going to do anyway," Hashirama grumbled. Then, sighing, he leaned back. "You know what brought forth her proposal?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

Hashirama frowned, concerned. "What?"

"Ask her yourself."

How ironic, Hashirama thought, that Madara would know his granddaughter's heart.

...

Tsunade was already asleep, dead out on the ground of their shelter, her blond hair fanned out underneath her head. It was a tangled mess, the same as Jiraiya's white mane or Orochimaru's own black tresses. Without a sound, Jiraiya collapsed next to Tsunade, not even pausing to take off his shoes. The silence with which he surrendered was straining, a mental sound like fingernails on a chalk board. Orochimaru hadn't been used to this before the war: a still Tsunade, a Jiraiya who didn't smile.

Frozen, Orochimaru stared down on his two team mates. Their hair mingled on the thin mattresses on the ground. Tsunade's hand moved, maybe she was asleep, maybe she wasn't, but she didn't say a word as she caught Jiraiya's and pulled it close to her. Without opening her eyes, she then reached up and tugged Orochimaru down by his sleeves.

Orochimaru surrendered.

Insane, pure insanity-

…

Jiraiya was an idiot, because he believed his poems and stories would be able to counter the horrors of the war. Tsunade should have told him he had been right, but she never got to it.

…

One of the last conversations she had with Hashirama wasn't about their life.

Mito had never liked to talk about things that could not change and wouldn't. Mahiro had always told her she would pay for it one day and she probably already had. But living with a man who valued your intellect and personality was not the same as living with a man who loved you for everything you were, and she knew it. Mito also knew it wouldn't change. In the beginning she had wished she could fall in love with him: He is a good man. I will learn to love him. She had told her mother and father so and she had been right. Mito hadn't counted on the opposite, naïve and childish as she had been. How could she have? Human hearts could not be swayed. Every Sealing Master learned it, every child in Uzushio. Seals could change the weather, seals could change a person's appearance, but seals could not change a heart. Senju Hashirama was kind and gentle. He was a good man, an exceptional leader and a devoted husband. But he did not love her. Sometimes she wondered why. Was there someone else? She had watched him, but never noticed anything. It was just the way he was, she guessed: able to love everything and anyone, but not one person unconditionally. She could have married a worse man, and her child could have a worse father.

"They are blades," she said. "Double-edged and sharper than anything."

"Do you really feel that way?" Hashirama asked, his gaze intense. He was like that: sharp and committed to everything he did, even to their night-time discussions.

"Why should I feel different than you? Because I am a woman?"

"I would have thought women felt more protective towards the children they carry in their wombs for nine months."

Was he saying she was a bad mother, or just a bad woman?

"Don't get me wrong," she said and fought down the urge to flare up into his face. Oh, her temper. How long had it taken to learn to control it, and how much did she fight it even now. "I love Reika. I am terrified, knowing what could happen to her, terrified of losing her. I can understand the pain and fear of every woman who bears children knowing they will have to face the danger out there. But I see it, too."

"See what?"

"They are blades. Your will, yours and Madara's, carved into a sword. Every generation, it becomes sharper and sharper. And a sword that is not used to fight – what worth does it have?"

"You sound like you think this war will never end."

"Oh, but how I pray I am wrong. If I could give my life to make it stop, I would."

Hashirama wasn't a cruel man. But she heard the unspoken words, the silent whisper. Maybe you already had your chance. Maybe they were Hashirama's thoughts, maybe her own guilt torturing her.

"I know you would."

His voice was gentle. Not a cruel man. She could have married worse. Mito turned around and left the room. She knew Hashirama would come to her room that night – his wordless way of asking her whether she was alright, and begging for forgiveness just in the case she felt like he had reason to beg for it. But it wasn't his apologies she wanted, and both of them knew.

…

The air was icy and frigid, several layers of clothing not enough to protect them from the cruel wind. Their breath coalesced in the snow-ladden air and Tsunade couldn't breathe. In the distance, the dark outlines of the trees seemed to watch them, still, threatening guardians in a winter-forgotten world.

In the open plains between Wind and Fire, every flickering light would have caught the enemies' attention. They were far from home, darkness increasing the sense of fear and watchfulness to a degree that was physically painful. And still, Tsunade knew they weren't in immediate danger here. Danger came with the coming of spring, when Leaf's resources would start running low and warmer temperatures would allow the enemy to continue the war. Danger waited under the trees, Leaf's enemies slowly adapting to their target's guerilla tactics. Danger loomed beyond this place: a winter world that would swallow every careless wanderer who dared to defy the elements.

Tsunade was cold, desperate, tired and exhausted to a point that she was wide awake.

The icy peacefulness of the night around them was a lie. Peace was a lie, safety was a lie: she had learned so very early. Tsunade had no idea when – or where – she had lost her innocence. Maybe she had never possessed it in the first place. But she also could not remember when she had lost herself.

"Hime." Jiraiya whispered, his hands roaming up and down her body, hot on her skin. "Hime." His lips joined his prayer, fervently, drawing patterns on her skin, kissing her shoulder blades, inhaling her scent. His breath danced over her skin in cool gusts of air. How in the name of everything that was holy had this happened?

Hime.

Tsunade closed her eyes and stopped thinking.

Two years and hundred forty eight days into the war.