Chapter Text
Everything is relative. Possibly the first lesson taught to anthropologists and starfleet initiates, along with don’t lick, fuck or steal anything. Relatively death is a blip in a space time construct. Like relative morality, relative physicality and relative movement, perception is born to the person making it. Death was a blip, being unattached to the idea of heaven or hell but comfortable with an expanding and inexplicable universe, the blip was easy to move on from.
It was everything else that was going to fuck me up.
Reality is at the whim of perception and I’d known my whole life that relative was always the rule of the game. A new perspective was always a good one. It took four years to make it work, two more to realise that the expansion of my mind and understanding was not because I was brillant but because I was just way outside the norm. Four days to stop hiding from parents -Not Parents? Pod parents? Better Than Ending up in Coraline I Guess Parents?-and teachers and friends. One three hour long panic attack questioning consent, identity and my own mortality. Five minutes calling the local radio station during the Agony Aunt hour because in some ways I was six and my judgement sucked, Two minutes of screaming into a pillow. Thirteen seconds to acceptance.
Relatively, I was the last fucking person who should be put in this position.
--
If someone was going to make a portrait of me they’d start with the loose waves of my mothers hair. My own was shorter and wilder, either something brought from a previous life -in which case I despaired because I doubted anyone had black girl hair care around here- or a throwback to the parent I had not met. I hoped it was something I could grow out of.
“Why on earth couldn’t you get my hair.” My mother tugged as hard as she could.
The Uchiha clan was the half-myth in Konoha. As far away as possible from my firmly middle/upper middle class neighbourhood of accountants and tradesmen, it sat surrounded by no other houses, no roads and no people. Rumor has it that before the Senju burned to death under their own hubris they made sure that the land around the Uchiha was unavailable for construction. The only person who could change that was conveniently a drunk and a runaway.
My mother walked through its gates as if she was being taken to her grave. Head held high, shoulders back, not a hint of emotion on her face. I imitated her as best as I could, which was not very, and sat dutifully at her side when we arrived...wherever. Wherever was dimly familiar, like looking at an old picture book or hearing half a song. A room in a house. A house in a bunch of other houses. The room gained three old people and a pot of tea my mother did not drink.
We waited. Then we waited some more.
Finally a door slid open and a boy around my age bowed. He had curly hair and an exuberant smile. He wasn’t who we were waiting for but my mother relaxed at the sight of him all the same. I squinted because like some half song he made me think of something. Something I should care about. His eyes tracked us, even as he seemed to lose interest. There was a red sheen in his eyes because of course there was, that was the sharingan. Even though Shisui would die way before-
And it clicked. If only my friends could see me now. This was the kind of bullshit second life I’d get. This was exactly the kind of bullshit I’d’ve boasted about enjoying. In the moment it was not so funny.
I watched as a jowl faced man and his wife walked across the floor to each other. They turned and smiled at us. I was the only dark face in a sea of pale ones. The only one not in dark blue or wearing a red fan. I was the only person who had to be told to bow to a pair of people who would die before the beginning of the first act, before the protagonist got out of bed and committed a minor felony as an introduction. I was the only one who caught the eyes of the quiet boy three years younger than myself and thought oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
I was the only one, basically, that realised how cruel a joke this was going to be.
--
The Uchiha clan, I learned that day and every day after, did not lightly let go of family. We’d suffered too much in the Warring States Era to be anything but compulsive about it now. My mother had left the clan, been banished, seven years ago after she’d been ‘caught’ by a Kumo-nin. In my life up to that point my mother had maintained that my father was a trader, a lazy one, but he had a beautiful voice and he could dance. Of the two stories I chose to believe my mothers. When I was five my chakra started rapidly expanding. Despite being mixed there was a good chance I would produce the sharingan. I would have to go to the academy or be surrendered to a foster family. The Uchiha had enough pull to disregard my mother’s protests, so she put me in a sunny yellow dress, herself into a formal outfit and marched us over to the Head Family.
What followed I’d never gleamed the shape of. One day I was just Mariko, then I was Uchiha Mariko with a few dark blue robes in her closet, then I was at the academy hanging out with cousins who had an unfathomably protectiveness of each other. It was my first experience of Konoha outside of my quiet neighbourhood. I’d decided almost on the spot that I prefered that. In my nice but not lavish home backed up to the Diplomats Residency I saw people from other nations all the time. Almost never with my skin tone but it was a close enough match to my first life that I adjusted the rationales I’d come up with and moved on. It was the best bit about this weird situation -if I’d worked it out before I didn’t have to fight it out again now. I had to contend with Konoha’s racism, with its creepy patriotism, but I’d be fucked before I fought to be comfortable with it’s casual microaggressions. I just was.
Surprisingly, insecure seven year olds discovering their magic powers are not super understanding. If I was a literal black sheep in my family I was a sign of weakness and betrayal to Konoha at large. My mother should’ve aborted me rather than raise a mixed child. My mother should have killed herself rather than allow herself to be used by the enemy. That my mother kept his knife by her bedside and taught me his dances meant nothing. We weren’t at war with Kumogakure, but we would be eventually, and when we were I would learn.
What, and why I specifically had to be taught, was beyond the knowledge of six year olds. But not beyond mine unfortunately.
I threw in with my cousins. At least they just thought the fact that I lived outside the compound was weird. I wish I could say I was at least an interesting student but I was no more interested in figuring out how to get these teachers to like me than I had been before. I was a middle of the pack kid with a suspicious amount of chakra but nothing more. I didn’t want to specialise, I didn’t want to join the police. I wanted to do my time, run a few D-ranks with a team, join the genin corps for my mandatory two years then go to University in Fire Capital. I was going to be a very unremarkable example of my kind, keep my head down and only move when my own safety demanded it.
And then the Earth Nation attacked.
--
I’d fucked up. I’d accidentally ended up being too good on paper to avoid being deployed.
This was the first war with an age limit. You could file to be included, which is what a lot of jounin did for their genin cells, or be drafted, which is what a lot of clans did. Girls from prominent clans under the age of twelve were to be kept back from the frontlines. Ideally not deployed at all. This was the first war that the Hidden Villages knew wouldn’t result in the destruction of society. Everyone was looking at this with an eye for the long game, in that game the fact that most abilities passed through the mother was at the forefront of everyone’s minds. Little girls were too valuable to die. We were protected.
At least we were meant to be.
“I thought we weren’t going.” Too numb to help her I just said the same thing I’d been thinking since Sarutobi made his announcement. I was too young for a war. “I thought they didn’t want any Uchiha girls on the front line.”
My mother had bought a field kit to fit to me. She’d been dead behind the eyes since the announcement was made. Full length gloves with non-conductive metal between the knuckles. Long dark pants hemmed in tight. Flat chakra resistant plates to the front of the legs and the joints. Loose breathable top and mesh underneath in standard genin green. The only things that differentiated me from any other genin was the braids down my back and the curved ear piece that curved down to press against my skin. I had excellent spacial awareness and a talent for using chakra to figure out dimensions and shape. It came partially with being a Uchiha; we all excelled at understanding space and relativity. The rest of it was personal, and being a weird dimension traveller with Plot Knowledge. It also came with the incredibly Uchiha-like drawback of blackouts, headaches and other things that may lead a particular group of people to develop chronic mental illness. When my mother realised that this opened up a weakness as well as a strength she went to great lengths to have a piece of Lightning tech crafted for me. “Your psych evaluation came back,” my mother murmured, “you got a 4.5.”
“I don’t-”
She pulled the ties of my under armour closed. “You have a near perfect attitude adaptability for this war. Your mental health is excellent for someone of your age, you’ve always scored exceptionally on your moral flexibility and you’re disinclined towards rocking the boat. This is a war, Mari. No one cares if you go as a patriot or a non-believer. They just care if you go.”
Far be it for me to not get a scolding. “The clan doesn’t want anyone capable of producing viable children on the field.”
My mother pressed her lips to my forehead and swallowed. “Good thing you’re nine.”
--
If I closed my eyes and disassociated I could pretend this was a really fucked up car ride. They installed all the kids they couldn't get around bringing on non-essential supply runs. On paper this sounded great. Low combat, low stress, as close as you could get to a C/D-rank posting. In real life everyone knew it was a bad combo of baby sitting and sitting duck. We had a few high ranked chunnin and one lone jounin with an omnipresent cigarette. The rest were under ten.
A boy maybe a year older or younger than myself flopped against the side of the cart I was guarding. Or pretending to guard. I had my pack of too shiny weaponry in its pouch around my restless leg. The long silver-gold metal with its various attachments was strapped to my other side. The chunnin who’d assigned me to the cart had snorted and dismissed it as genin stupidity. In reality it was a party trick I’d only just begun to develop with a lot of drawbacks. I’d always been the type to like an exit route, an ace up a sleeve, this was it.
“Quick,” he said, waving his long tanned fingers in my face, “all the Kage are dead and the Hidden Villages have disbanded. Samurai rule the land with an iron fist. You don’t know when you and your family can come out of hiding to avenge the Hokage. What’s your career?”
Uh. “I’d be a war correspondent.”
“A what?”
Right. No TV coverage, no BBC. “Like Umeo Ayada.”
“That coward?” The boy spat on the ground. “What the fuck for?”
“Sakumo Aio only knows what happened to her husband and sons because Umeo fought the Sunagakure government to release his story.” I murmured. “I’d want my mum to know.”
The boy shrugged himself onto the back of the cart. “She’s a shinobi. She’d get it.”
“She’s my mom.”
The boy nodded, his brown-copper hair bobbing. “Yeah.” he stuck out his hand. “I’m Dan.”
I shook it. “Mari.”
“Well Mari.” he settled back against the supplies watching the same skyline of fire and blood that I did. “If the worst happens I’ll tell your mum.”
--
Morning came with warning smoke. Underneath my palm I could feel something wicked coming this way. It was barely a kilometre away now, shinobi could cover that in a minute. I wasn’t the only one awake; the chunnin and the lone jounin who were our heavyweights were lounging around. But I was the only one with an ear to the ground and a genetic predisposition between paranoia.
I kicked Dan awake.
His pale brown eyes blinked open reminding me eerily of a startled snake .“Wha-?”
“Enemies.” I stood up calm, as if I was making a comment on the weather. “On the way.”
“Shit.” Dan bolted upright reaching for his gear. “Oh shit.”
Within half a minute the jounin realised what I had. He gave orders, ours were to hide.
For the rest of my life I’d wonder how I ended up kneeling next to a chunnin dying from a slit stomach. All I’d ever remember was how the ninja burst from the forest. How we were half gone in under a minute. How children looked cut in half by enemy blades. The jounin and half the chunnin prioritized something else over us. Dan was fighting, I was fighting, everyone who could win was gone already. It was me and him and a couple of other genin. We were it.
The chunnin coughed blood. “What element?”
“Lightning and fire,” I stammered. “I know water theory.”
“Good.” He formed a quick few signs. I tried to keep them in my head. “Water is a transitional element. You need to feel it, flow with it and lend your chakra to the experience.”
“I can’t-”
“You will,” the chunnin grimaced, “I’ll die if you don’t.”
I’d die if someone who could actually win didn’t show up soon.
Transitional elements and stabilizing ones. Air and water were transitional. Fire and earth were stable. Lightning was a wildcard. In modern elemental philosophy it was the marker of progress. In part because of Kumogakure’s dedication to it, in part because it was the only element that took to technology well. Water theory was the base of medical knowledge because of it’s ease of transition. Fitting together elemental theory was more like a puzzle than a mystical equation. If I thought of it as a series of...of game mechanics. Something I had a certain amount of control over because it had a theory-
I could get through this. Make it a game. I just had to play god.
I fumbled through it. It wouldn’t fucking take. Fire and lighting were on the other side of the board from water or earth, the two I needed.
He was going to die. No he wasn’t. I was stubborn. If I didn’t do this I’d never go home. I’d never see my mother again. I’d never see Konoha’s walls or it’s gardens. In this life and the last I’d been an only child to a single mother. In every dark moment I’d ever had I kept the light on for her. I could not. Would not. Give up. I wouldn’t. I would not be a dead body to mourn over. I would not do that.
There was a reckoning inside me. I would do this. I would do it now. I pulled on inner reserves I didn’t know I had. I pulled until something came unstuck. Something pounded in my head and then, and then-
The chunnin sucked in a solid breath. In the next he grimaced and was up, in the middle of Dan’s fight. My vision was red everytime I blinked.
Dan rolled onto his side next to me. “Holy shit-”
“Shut up.” I felt invincible. I was invincible.“I need your shoulder.” It had been seconds but already the drain on my reserves was too great. I had maybe two minutes before I tapped out. Until then I was perfect. “I need something to balance on.”
Dan crouched. I swung the thin metal rod up and onto his shoulder stabilising it quickly - perfectly - between the non-conductive patch between my knuckles, My earpiece sang with white noise. My eyes stung but I could see. Better than ever before. I pulled on my chakra, the way I had since I’d learnt to make the Grand Fireball, and made it flow. For a second it was a Grand Fireball shooting out of the end of the rod. But with the sharingan I felt an understanding between me and the universe. I re-aimed. I turned fire to lightning and struck.
“Wow.” Dan’s ear was bleeding from the sonic boom my lightning strike had made. It had struck through one enemy, then two and ended up in a smouldering tree. I gritted my teeth as the world cut in and out.
“You are never going to tell anyone I did that.” The swirling red eyes dripping with blood sold it. “Swear.”
Dan nodded.
As good as his word he said nothing when the jounin eventually returned. The jounin looked at the dead and my stitching on the wounded chunnin, said, “huh, you a genius or something?” and went back to ignoring us. He was kind enough to sit me on the cart with the wounded but otherwise simply lead the rest of us to god knows where.
“When the hell did you have time to get tattooed?” Dan asked as he limped along side my cart.
“What?”
“You have the number eleven tattooed on your wrist.”
I looked down at my left wrist and sure enough there was a beautifully realised lightning strike stylised like the number eleven. Inappropriate given the war but I had been using lightning without proper grounding. Maybe it was just a random scar.
“Huh.” I passed Dan a bottle of water and went back to checking the wounds of the other soldiers. “That’s going to be hell to explain to my mother”
--
I couldn’t get god out of my fingers. After the war, my part of the war, I’d sit at home and stare at them as if they could tell me something. What the hell I was doing. How the hell I forgot the stench of dead and dying people, voided bowels, the way I’d had to drag the oxen through muddy waters of dirt and blood and piss. I didn’t get to un-know war the same way I couldn’t get the feeling of playing god out. I had a family full of doctors the first time around. People drawn to it as a profession weren’t always doing it for the good of humanity. I’d been in medical ethics classes, I knew how isolating the medical track was and how it sometimes produced half-people who’d forgotten what it was like to not be the highest authority in a room. First time around I’d missed being that person by the skin of my teeth and the intervention of anthropologists. This time around...
I shut my eyes hard against it. This time around I was a lone girl in a messy plot with nothing to recommend me. I wasn’t slotted into the place of a main character. I wasn’t someone’s twin or sister. I was nine and I’d been to war and thirty-five percent of the people I’d ever known were dead. By virtue of that my graduating class had been told that unless we were exceptional we would be graduating without honors. No genin cells. No jounin instructors. Just a straight path into the deep terrifying woods of regular ninja work. I couldn’t afford pacifism because god knows those around me would not give it. I could be good at this. I could find a way to meld this into something that, if I could not be proud of, I could live with.
I thought about my stupid fucking eyes. “I want to be a medic,” I told my mother.
She looked at me warily. She was writing condolence letters to friends who’d lost kids, spouses, siblings. “They won’t let you do that.” She sealed another letter. “The Uchiha do not join the medical core.”
“Mostly because the Senju never let us.” I pointed out. “And as you know the Senju have been pile driving themselves into the ground lately.”
“Point.” She allowed. “No.”
“But-”
“You have to ask the Elders.” She said as if that would stop me. And it would. Usually.
“If I do?”
She looked at me very seriously. “Then I’ll back you.”
--
My family shut the door in my face. I pretended I didn’t care.
They had made concessions. I wasn’t valuable enough to try and convince but I was a point of reference for people in the village. My mother was a nice middle class public servant. If we didn’t remind people they forgot we were Uchiha entirely. Now more than ever the Uchiha needed that. We could still use the Uchiha doctors. My mother could still go the compound. Unlike in less modern times they weren’t going to pluck the eyes from my head. Instead a stoop backed old woman, the Book Woman who’d had a name once but had given that and her tongue up when the Nidaime still ruled, shaved my head and drew symbols on it. Even if I had wanted the sharingan I couldn’t keep it, not if I wanted to live outside the pitiless cold war of the Senju and Uchiha.
“Will it hurt?”
The Book Woman raised one greyed eyebrow.
“Right.” I shook of the nerves. “Let’s go.”
The Book Woman offered me two vials. One was green like the grass that edged the Nakano river. The other was as blue as the sky that hung over Senju Hashirama’s head. She shook both and pointed to her eyes. Her left eye bleached and lost colour becoming the pale purple of Hyuuga around her pupil. With a blink they returned to their usual dark hue. She shook the vials again.
“Green,” I said. “Is there a reason-”
The Book Woman slapped me upside the head.
“Sorry.” I winced. “Too curious.”
The Book Woman took out another vial of a darker green and two fine brushes. She hummed about them, I got the feeling this was something she enjoyed but was not called upon to do often. She made me lean my head back, wiped my brow with something that smelled like crows blood and strong white tea.
“What happens now?”
She smiled, her teeth were sharpened like a cats, her mouth made words and even if they’d belonged to an entirely human mouth I wouldn’t know the shape of them. Sight bleached from my eyes, the humming in the back of my head that I’d always assumed was mental shrapnel from the war closed off. One long whistle note and then nothing. My eyesight left and I was overwhelmed with the feeling I’d just done something monumentally stupid.
When I gained back my sight the world looked...blurry. A step to the left. This is what everyone else saw, I realised. Blood breeds true even without the sharingan. The Book Woman handed me a mirror. Green eyes of too many shades in a pale brown face. Her fine brushes were dipped in dye, a palette with shades found in nature and many more not sat next to a bowl of the same thick blood coloured substance she’d used to draw on my head. The Book Woman looked happy with her work and I had no choice with which to complain.
When I looked down and noticed that the 11 on my wrist was now 9. Since that was impossible I chalked it up to stress. Maybe it was always nine.
--
If I’d been smarter I’d have counted the years. It was six and change from the Kyuubi but that day all I’d thought about was what I was making for dinner, if I had to met Rangiku for lunch, if they were finally going to release my favourite serial in the newspaper. Ordinary things. I had a very ordinary life.
Remember relativity. I’d forgotten it in the years since I’d realised what I was. What I’d been thrown into. Relatively life was going fine for me. When I opened the door I didn’t feel the weight of an already finished plot drop on my head. I thought What kind of asshole has enough time to keep his hair that grey colour? Followed by Why would anyone bring my delinquent cousins here when we ran the damn police. I thought the sun was too bright. I thought about whether or not I had to sit through another will-they-won’t-they-on tv. I did not think for a fucking second that I had to care about the damn plot beyond moving to a coastal civilian town in a few years to avoid all the drama.
With a surprisingly emotive tone of voice Hatake Kakashi said, “Uchiha Mariko, I presume?”
“Not really,” I said, still squinting at the sun, “Mariko is fine.”
“Ah,” he replied, pushing the bundle of anger towards me. The boy glanced up behind uncut bangs. Medical training is harder to shake than not. He was sleep deprived, under nourished and had a possible chakra lesion pressing his temple if the way he held his jaw was any indication. All signs of genjutsu trauma which made Kakashi bringing him here more sensible. I could have been the closest person who knew how to treat it. “I have some very bad news.”