Summary: Tobirama is a gorilla or puppy, depending on the company and Sakura's smile solves all (his) problems.
Chapter 7: You are Your Own Self Outside of the Relationship
Today is a Sunday western traditionally themed wedding and the collective shared idea is as conventional as it is stuffy and oppressive. The social economical expectations boast a minimum requirement for attending. Old clan and old clan money only, liberal opinions and nouveau-riche are strictly forbidden. An arrant antonym to yesterday's evening.
The dress code was reflective of their expectations (and perhaps not-so-hidden intentions) in a surprising manner. There is nary a plunging dress line, improper amount of decolletage, or knee in attendance to these festivities for the married women. And the unmarried, there is scarcely a scrap of opaque fabric covering the private areas, presumably showcasing the clan daughters for connection and transaction. The jury is out on what the young and premarital staged girls wear, there seemed to be none allowed at this venue.
The men of all ages were uniformed in unimaginative and muted colors, of which he found himself strict in accordance.
Not that he is complaining about the attire, just observing a trend towards misogyny while attempting to check out of the lectures happening all around him. This is also the first time he has attended a wedding with these types of traditions, the religion in question being very rare in their country (he looked it up, less than 6%), so there are many new things to see and absorb. A bitter treat, as observation is one of his preferred avocations.
Digressing…
What he very soon will be complaining about, or mentally grousing as his partner is not available, is the current conversation. And every other one he has had, or indeed, will have at this event, if trends hold.
"Minimum wage was never supposed to be a living wage. Those who keep complaining that they can't live off of it are being lazy. It's a problem everywhere, get a real job or move." A round of 'hear, hear!' sounded by those coalescing, but not quite the center of the discussion.
He is suspicious he is wearing a sign somewhere on his person, how else is he attracting so much unwanted conversation? Perhaps it was related to his height, and these peons were congregating around him like an obelisk for worship, assuming he represented the pinnacle of their societal accomplishments being that he was clan, old money, and generally considered the standard barrier of success. And while, he may be impressed that they possess the wherewithal to correctly identify him as impressive, their mobbing left much to be desired.
It could be because his face had taken on a nicer, less harsh, expression. His development with Sakura was leaving him unprecedentedly joyous, gentle even. Like sharks in the water, they sensed his bleeding weakness and were circling him for slaughter.
As an unwilling principle party, and indeed, safely out of their hunting grounds and therefore above censure, he takes as calm of an approach as he can. Calmly, coolly, very serenely (this is no exaggeration of the truth) he replies, "I believe the complaint is that the inflation is outpacing the income…" and that was all he managed before the general ruckus of the pedestrian's assembly interrupted him.
Tobirama is impressed at his own level headedness… It has been a struggle to keep steady since hearing the priest's scripture about returning to traditions, turning away from modern developments, and other garbage. All oppressive language. All in acknowledgement of the greatness of our fellow countryman slowly being threatened by overshadowing advancement. Beautiful words, exquisitely spoken, masking the poisonous intent.
It was not the words themselves that bothered him so much, although it was a strong factor. No, it was the devastation of the affect, the devotion in the faces of the attendees, that truly riled his storm. There was half a grand in attendance, That is five hundred mindless, brainless, heartless spreading the disease.
Tobirama envies Sakura's capacity to filter, her eyes glazed and blank throughout the entire ceremony as she meditated on some other thoughtful matter, mentally safe and far away. And afterwards, she found a small group of party guests to discuss finer details of hematopoietic cells and mitosis manipulation for the reception, so she is having a grand time while he is having a grandiose time.
"No, no, no. That's not right. That's bogus information. You're'll mixed up." This man is shorter than average, about Sakura's height, but weighty. And when he puts his hand on Tobirama's forearm, it nearly causes him to convulse from the radiant heat accompanied from a distinct... moisture. Repulsed by the forwardness of this stranger, his knee jerk reaction of punching the invader only scarcely avoided due to some higher midbrain intervention. He tries again, with his words, not his fists.
"The housing market is generally considered good when compared to the international statistics. But living costs are three times the average, the job market is twice as competitive, and the rate of poverty increasing at a higher rate than any other developed nation. The issues are systemic, and ongoing." This time he completes his speech, regardless of the roarous noise attempting to stop him.
The alien hand paws at him, pulling down like he is trying to speak level to Tobirama's face rather than his solar plexus. Or maybe it was to get Tobirama's mouth low enough to physically stop the words from spreading past his lips. Tobirama's spine is unyielding, figuratively and literally, and he remains unmodified out of sheer stubbornness (and a whit of fear at the prospect of a damp, spongy foreign hand on him mouth). Man of steel indeed. "Naw son. Those are lies. My sources say otherwise, way otherwise. That's an excuse, they want to make any kind of reason to stop working."
One. Two. Three… count your breathes. Four. Five. Six.
"Understood." Tobirama does his best to gently disengage by graciously walking away, knowing that this is an echo chamber, and he is the interloper. But when the stranger's hand remains clasped securely around his forearm (by the bizarrely long fingers for the small fat man), he uses his own hand to forcefully yank and separate them. His monotone response was the best civility he could manage now. "Thank you for enlightening me."
Arm free, sleeve crinkled and arm humid, Tobirama makes to escape, but the man now uses his body as a barrier. He is more like a speed bump. And like all speed bumps, it slows Tobirama's acceleration in consideration of the vehicle (himself), but doesn't stop his forward path. The hazard, hazards one last statement, like an unsanctioned hall monitor demanding respect.
"Wait. You've got to understand me. It's not an us versus them. It's us versus the liars."
He cannot blow up, cannot use combative words, so Tobirama uses his next best weapon. He goes eerily still and glowers, the force of a tsunami flowing through his eyes, staring down his nose in his most superior stance before dressing down infractionors. "Noted. Stop. Touching. Me." His glower is full of grimace, fire, and brimstone. His final word, a foretelling of agony, if unheeded. "Now."
The hobgoblin-man, stunned and glassy eyed, moves himself out of Tobirama's path. The moment to move was upon him and Tobirama just narrowly avoided the telltale grabby fingers reaching for him from another ogre-esk attendee. The crowd is flowing like whirlpool down the drain, and he is the epicenter.
Four, maybe five paces he has gone before he is stopped. This conversation is worse. This one is with a distant family friend with opinions about his mother. And not good, kind opinions about his mother, instead it is a thinly shrouded backhanded compliment about her successes in life. His immediate reaction to punch the insulter was only avoided due his experienced midbrain's intervention (déjà vu?). (An interesting note: his father is treated similarly, but he is less bothered by such comments.)
The moment he catches the pink head of hair in his peripheral he is off, ignoring all reason and responses. Dodging and weaving.
He is stopped again! He needs only a dozen more steps to reach Sakura and he is surrounded. The engagement of his family connections is established long enough to determine linkage, then the antipathetic rhetoric begins again. The unwanted touches start too. On his arm, his shoulders, his hands. The snaking, shaking, sneaking, reaching, curling of bodies holding him in place.
Juxtaposition to yesterday, where he was meeting and greeting people with pleasure. Where her body curled so nicely to his and they enjoyed their time.
This must be cosmic karma, he could not have such a fine day without a poor day to balance.
He looks to her for solace, a visual stimuli grounding him against the spiraling of his manically triggered senses.
She hasn't moved, still discussing scientific interests and being blissfully unaware of him. He almost wants to shout 'Sakura, help,' but he has his pride, even if he is starting to lose his cool.
A few minutes multiply like horny bunnies and escape has become vital to his continued existence. Those dozen steps may as well be across the universe for how incapable he is to traverse the gap. Twenty minutes becomes forty and in what can only be described as an act of the gods, a waiter drops a tray of champagne. The sweetest chaos ensures, and the distraction frees him.
To her it appeared that he teleported to her side as he materialized before her head finished turning towards the commotion. To others, this was a rare gem and top entertainment. Tobirama showcased his athleticism as he moved with speed and poise, with slips and dodges, dips and turns. Truly, inhuman accomplishments were witnessed on this day when only a camera capable of tracking microsecond increments could produce an accurate play-by-play. Anything less, and he would appear as a white blur.
"I am done, we need to go." He doesn't grab her harshly, in fact his touch is hovering, almost not there. But his voice is hard and unpleasant, and his lips are in maximum frowny pout when he pulls her via magnetism to the side to declare his resolution.
In trueness to their established form, Sakura softens her voice to mollify him, "they haven't served dinner and we haven't danced; we would be leaving too early."
"I am at my limit. Too many conversations with these…" He takes a deep inhale, trying to calm the storm and avoid yelling at his only ally. Two more deep breaths with a counted release and he is able to speak without snapping, "I will lose my temper if I hear another word from these anti-humanitarian apes."
Sakura smiles at a couple passing by, taking on a playful posture to avoid causing a scene. "Okay, Silverback is getting group aggressive. Let's couple up and I'll play intercept? This one was marked as important to attend. By you."
Her attempts at placation make his teeth grind noisily (he can see her grimace at hearing it). The ambient noise of fleeting conversations in paramount opposition to his morals have him in a violent mood. The direct confrontation of cowards hiding behind social proprietary have him murderous.
The complaints about cotton shortages due to child slavery embargo. The objection of product cost increases because children cannot work past a set number of hours on designated educational days. The grousing and squawking and belly aching over the profit margins being affected by allowing impoverished groups a minuscule amount of dignity in their day-to-day lives.
He cannot tune it out, ignore it. As a child he became aware of the failings of his father, uncles, and the adults in his life. But here, in this group, he can hear that the opinions of the old were successfully imbued in the newer generations.
Tobirama cannot pretend, not when he can see and feel and know the pain that these callous beautillions and debutantes propagate by spewing their elders' opinions. He wants to pull them away, tell them to ignore their parents and grandparents in favor of building a better future. He wants to outright confront this family, and he absolutely cannot do that. Sakura remembered correctly; this is an important event.
But he also doesn't want Sakura to be aware, not of his turmoil, he has already failed that disguising that. But of the people around her. She has a gift at finding people with like-minded views and common interests. She has (very likely) been enjoying herself up until he accosted her. He schools himself and with every ounce of decorum he has to spare, he looks her in the eye and hopes she understands, because he cannot express himself more without harm. And even in his most foul mood, harming a sweetheart would never be acceptable to him.
"Sakura, I said I am done." One. Two. Three…
She sharpens her eyes in a form of recognition and he can almost taste her consideration, it is so palatable. So perfectly balming. The syllables off her lips are distinct and clear enough that they can be read as they are heard. "Okay," her hand is gentle against his arm, a tentative gesture to gauge if he is touch adverse in his anger. It lets her know where he is on his scale of tolerance.
He is tense, even under her touch, which is truly indicative of how close he is to losing his temper. Her voice is angelic when it relieves him of duty. "I'm sorry. Go on ahead and meet me at the front. I'll say our goodbyes with apologies as quickly as I can."
He has what he needs and shoots like an arrow, forward without hesitation or intention to stop until he hits the mark. There is something satisfying about the parting of people, that he is intimidating enough without words or looks that they move away on instinct, fleeing his volatile energy. He is out in the front in record time and takes his moment to establish equanimity. But the noise has followed him and when another lordly authoritative man approaches Tobirama's location he makes the fast decision to abandon the entire venue.
The brisk walk down the car park to a quitter, stiller area allows him time to self-reflect and stabilize.
He is well aware that his disdain is as disingenuous as it is duplicitous. As the second son of one of the highest standing families in the Land of Fire, to criticize the gentry class while owning his own membership is the highest of hypocrisy. But he believes in moral and civil responsibilities. He was born with privileges so that he may improve the lives of others and to give up that privilege before he utilizes it for the good of others would be sanctimonious, selfish, immoral, and ultimately wrong. He has spent his life working towards the betterment of his city for all groups of people, to serve the greater good and the future generations.
It may be viewed as radical by some, particularly at this event too, but at least Sakura understood. At least he has that. Otherwise, he might have had ruined more things than family reputation this evening.
The large, conspicuous, and ostentatious luxury vehicles that bus the guests to and from their temporary residences are ignored in favor of his speed walk towards the hotel. Going on foot will take nearly the same time as if he got into a car, and it will allow a venting of his frustration in exertion. He needs to find his Zen, his center, before he interacts with anyone else.
Sakura will text when she gets done with the obligatory goodbyes. He doesn't need to worry about that.
They have always been good at knowing what to do and how to follow logical patterns when preestablished plans fall apart. Sakura is exceptional at making assessments with the evidence and scenery as it becomes known to her, she'll guess why he had to leave their designated waiting area, and either be shuttled or walk to their hotel for reunion.
The crunching of the pebbled street pulls his thoughts, if only a little. His dress shoes are not suited for walking, and he is aware that tomorrow they will have to be cleaned, buffed, and shinned after his gallivanting. There is an encircled boardwalk, wood planked and staired that allows him a lapping outlet, without further damage to his property (read soles, but soul may as well be correct too). He uses it with zero consideration, as if it was his ultimate goal at the start.
The brisk pace and cooler evening air has finally burned out much of his hot anger towards this situation. Leaving the residue of manageable embers to fester, but not destroy.
How frail he was, to abandon his task so easily. His fathers comedic threat now felt more deserving. And Sakura, he left her alone with rabble collective masquerading as the trustworthy nobility, in enemy territory. Like a coward, he retreated while she pulled up the rear.
Sakura really did support him, no matter the circumstances. Even when it annoyed him, she reminded him of his duties and then followed up with his desires. She gave him the freedom to retreat quickly. He couldn't help but acknowledge that she was in perfect unity with him and his needs.
His younger brothers would try and distract him; rib on those who notably irked his temperament and get him a drink or plate of food. But the overall result would be that he was kept in his place, as taciturnly compliant and remaining in attendance. His parents would tell him to compose himself and swallow any facial ire, to act as a leader amongst his equals, and direct the conversation as he desired.
Both tactics have been useful and enduring. But not today, today it would be such insults to him and all the things he stands for in life. He believes in service, in the obligation to do better for those who cannot do it themselves. He believes in the future. That event was wholly paving a falsely gilded trail to the past.
He could have relied on his elder brother, who was not one to remain silent, to cause enough of a scene for them to be asked to leave. The unintended consequences are not commonly worth the insult, but still. It had it's purpose.
After today, he knows he can totally lean on Sakura as well. A new addition to his coping mechanisms (if he cannot mock, or redirect, or fight, then he can now flee), hopefully with minimal repercussions when measuring the fallout.
What luck to have Sakura as such a good friend. If he continues to remain lucky, she'll be a good partner too.
With space, time, and a cool breeze he has some clarity of mind to ask:
What set him off most this evening? How did it get to the point of escape? He has heard those opinions before; they were not so uncommon as to shock him. Maybe it was the lights shining too bright for his eyes, maybe it was the constant chatter so exploitative that his ears were humming even now? Or the drinks with a lingering effect on his mouth and nose, an invisible presence of unpleasantness coating his oral and nasal cavities with syrup? Or was it the grabbing and grasping that left a sore and stiffness in his body or a topical rash on his skin?
Realistically, and stupidly, it was probably because of Sakura's exclusion that he started wrong footed to this event. She played the happy partner and found a niche to occupy, nicely shooing him away to ingratiate and aggrandize on behalf of Senju Corporation. But… that she needed to cut herself off to avoid the general opinion that she was unfit to attend… For them to make her feel low.
Yes, yes that was definitely a factor based on the raising anger in his chest. For anyone to make her feel low was a villain in all capacities.
"A smile is the easiest way out of a difficult situation."
He is startled enough to whip around, but not enough to yell or raise his arms.
She seemed disappointed about that, the sneak. She also seemed out of breathe and a bit…frothy? Ah, the damnable running spit.
"Run?"
"Yes. And thanks for letting me catch up. I don't think I can match your pace with these shoes."
He didn't how long he had stopped moving or how long he lingered at the front before he started walking, so he had no time frame to know if Sakura spent a long time with their goodbyes. But he was sure he needed to know as his father would call about this event (and to complain about the time off and to imply conequences).
Did he have the energy to care?
"What did you say?"
"Thanks for the lovely evening, but we have to leave. And some variation of that, times fifty-ish." Her hands where high above her head, plucking then tucking stray hairs back into a semblance of control. She looked nice tonight, stunning really. Her dress was tailored made in coordination with his suit and the fit was more complementary than her normal off-the-rack outfits.
"And your reasoning?"
"No one has rights to 'the why,' Tobi. We don't have to justify ourselves."
His lips tilt up in response. Sakura has been more and more forward on that stance that no one needs to explain themselves, nobody needs to justify a 'no.' He didn't realize it would be helpful here, he only knew it in relation to her field of expertise.
"Did anyone ask?"
"Yeah, but I have been well taught in deflection. When you talk to your dad you can come up with any reason you want and blame me, and no one will know the difference."
His lip tilt increases to a smile, not quite teethy, but happy. His father is a curmudgeon, through and through, but Sakura was one of the better liked (pretend girl)friends of the four rambunctious sons. And she knows it and uses it to her advantage. "Thanks."
"No problem," she quirks her lips in consideration, smushing her top and bottom lip while sucking them in, "you okay?"
What a stupid face… What a fondly familiar, stupid face.
He is thankful she caught up. Being alone and angry makes him contemplatively angrier. But being in a group and angry makes him feel like an agitated carbonated bottle, just waiting for some poor sap to twist his cap just a little to get him to explosively spew.
He is practically calm now. All he could hear is the creaking ground beneath his feet, the not so far off crashing waves, and Sakura's exhales as she catches her wind.
"I am now."
"Wow, Tobi, are you learning how to sweet talk?"
He jokingly replies, but there is more truth in the statement than he has previously understood, "you bring it out in me."
"Chaaaaa," the force of her knuckles in his arm is more than he was expecting, he tilts over as if on wobbly silts and pulls on her arm for support to straighten. The pain radiated like an electric current throughout his bicep. Standing erect, angry pout back, he turns to remark on that absurdly monstrous strength.
But before he can let loose his reprimand he sees her vulnerable demeanor.
All shyness and sweetness, cheeks pink and eyes cast to the side.
She was bashful.
The angry responsive outburst evaporated into nothingness as fast it built in his chest, to be replaced by a warm and tender feeling. He can't do it; he can't yell at her. Even if she deserved it for hitting him.
He lets the outburst go past his teeth in the form of a hiss and pulls her forward abruptly enough to cause her to stumble, (she cannot remain completely unpunished after all), while rubbing the pain out of his bicep. Next time, he thinks, he'll need to remember to look for Sakura sooner when he is trapped in one of these functions. Her crazy strength could have gotten him out much sooner. Or maybe that smile she suggested.
His nonexistent pace starts to move towards their hotel room and off the boardwalk track, slow enough to allow her time to correct her stride. He offers her his arm and she happily loops her arm around his elbow. In a moment of inspiration, he swoops in for a kiss. She cleared his pallet from the sight, sound, and touch. May as well complete the cycle with taste and smell.
The dip is easier than normal, her heeled feet lifting her enough for him to comfortably lean in for a kiss. It is blissfully rejuvenating. Accepting and participating, and only six days after their conversation, it gives the impression of achievement. No hesitation. Just sweet and affectionate acceptance.
The embers of his anger have finally been doused and not even a wisp of smoke remains. It's as if the last several hours had not occurred in anything but his mind.
When he draws back, she draws forward, chasing his kiss in her enthralled state. Has any other partner been affected by him so? Charmed by him and him alone? He has much to be prideful of, but it must make way for the masculine ego swelling from her dreamy countenance, for in this moment, it is his crowning achievement.
Finding no need to withhold, he returns to the kiss. Lips and exhaled sighs, osculation fluxing and gaining in ardent energy. Explorations were bolder, but always beginning slow, drawn-out. Needing restraints until limiters were clearly removed.
When she nibbles his lip, he feels the need to turn and dip her; primarily for eliminating her control over increasing the kiss further and secondarily to feed into her romantic heart.
If she leads, he will follow, that is a sure truth. For every thing she does, is a clear expression of what he can also do. But this is not ideal, not right now. The location is cold, she is without a jacket, and, most importantly, they are exposed in the open. Deflecting her invitation for more tongue participation, he diverts and kisses down the curve of her body. Carving a path down her face and chin and neck and resting the hollow above her clavicle with his lips, tongue, and teeth.
He had intended to plant a farewell kiss and righten her. But lo. He did something... exceptionally correct. From the support of her body in the dip, to the attention on her collarbone, he isn't sure of the root cause. But before he can pull away her hands where aggressively, fervently gripping his hair. And that exhalation, her sigh, too feminine and too pitched. Enough he would call it a moan.
Would it be more gentlemanly to continue, or to stop?
He can meet in the middle, just a few more gentle scrapes of his teeth, a couple open mouth kisses, and one sucking pull for the smallest violet bloom on her pretty skin. She held his scalp in a massaging, and downright enjoyable, grip. And the moment was still here, he could keep going.
But even if she could ignore the cold, her skin felt too chilly to his touch. His concern, for more than one of her comforts had him pulling away.
Her shining eyes match the reflection of her glistening lips. He vaguely wondered if he looked as wrecked as she.
Perhaps worse, as he was quite certain that in this moment he perceived that he was, very clearly, in love with his long time best friend, part-time pretend partner, and one-week old girlfriend. And for that discovery, he was reminded of the very real fear that Sakura had shown him. Something that made her skittish and disbelieving in his affections.
Always a question and/or a smile from her, she predictably looked at him with a quizzically scrutiny. He was staring at her in a dumb fashion. And maybe without breathing, from shock. From desire. From confusion.
He was turbulent these days, in all manners of his life.
"You haven't eaten," was the only thing he could think to explain his pause, if it needed explanation. And in an afterthought, his dinner jacket was shrugged off in record time to envelope Sakura's very cold shoulders. Again, he is mentally delayed as he meant to give her his jacket ages ago. He was reminded with every chilled touch and then swiftly forgotten with every heated touch.
"We left before food." She hugged the jacket and animatedly smelled the collar, grinning at him with that mischievous cat smirk that reminded him of their cologne banter some weeks ago.
Unsummoning his puppy persona, he does his best to return to the norm of dry speech and dryer sarcasm. "Want to go back?"
Undaunted, she replies. "No. But I want to be fed, you cost me, what I expect, was an amazing dinner."
He laughs lightly in response; it probably was going to be an amazing dinner considering the advertisement of the hired chefs. His efforts shattered so easily, Tobirama cannot find inspiration to that arid cynicism signature to his expression, so he allows the sappy part of him to indulge, just a little, in their private moments. His hand wrapping around her shoulders to tighten the protective seal of his jacket, his other hand wiping away the moisture on her bottom lip. "Alright, preference?"
Sakura may suffer from whiplash at the speed of his mood changes, but ever the trouper she rallies on. "Take-out! Then we can finalize our plans on 'first official vacation as not-a-pretend couple'."
"Are you trying to squeeze everything into one week? We've been here before and we will be here again."
"Yes, yes. But now I heard that there is a telescope on one of the Northern most islands that is doing shows of Venus and Jupiter sharing a single point on the horizon. I've never seen two planets in one view before, and it's unique to May and our coordinates. And they have a natural history museum opening up on the second island in the grouping, I can't remember the name. But number three if we are counting. And there was an announcement that one of the whale pods got delayed from too many births, which means there is an unprecedented amount of whale calfs swimming right outside the archipelago. And..."
Rude or not, he has to interrupt before she word-vomits him into a stupor. "Did you hear all of this from the group you were with?"
"YES! There is only so much you can say about hematopoietic cells and mitosis. I didn't even think to look for things like that, we are on an island so I thought we would swim. Walk to swim, drive to swim, boat to swim. You know, do a lot of swimming. And I like swimming, but I also like these other things. I figured we could take the time to combine them and still hit everything you wanted."
It can be a little whelming, looking at her when she is naturally open and excited and adorable. There is a sense in his chest and arms and gut that demands he embrace her and hold her tight. (There is another sense, a self-preserving one, that feels she may have just sucked out his energy for herself, considering her sudden hyperactive response.)
"Okay, I think we can accommodate."
Her wobbled joy and squeal finally break past his threshold of control, and he hugs her tightly to him. Feeling this aggressive need to embrace as well as smoother. He settles for a kiss on the head and a relaxing moment of affection.
Honesty has earned him the best prizes lately, so he ventures again for genuinely expressing what he is feeling so truthfully in the moment.
Half whispered in consideration to the proximity to her ear, half exhaled in shyness, "you are the cutest thing I've ever seen."
Even with his strongest grip, she achieves a modification that allows her to turn and kiss him on the neck, the chin, and the cheek. She is less reserved than he in her response, "and you are the sweetest man I've ever met."
"I don't think many would agree."
"I don't think those who disagree, matter."
He loosens his hold to give her a proper kiss, so full of affection and love, it bubbles over into the only outlet he has. But his chest never ceases that tight, pressurized feeling.
"Come on. Let's go feed the beast."
A/N: Hematopoietic cells are commonly known as stem cells. They are undifferentiated progenitor cells that can develop into a variety of cells and are found in the umbilical cord, in bone marrow, and in peripheral blood. A nod to Tsunade's / Sakura's mitoic regeneration (and a large part of my research back in the day).