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A Tale of Two
It's Kagami who brings back the news. Kagami who returns to them, blood and soot and grime and the marks of battle still upon his tender, fresh cheeks, smeared across and run through with tracks of tears that should be long since dried by now, but are not. And Hikaku cannot blame him, cannot blame him at all because what he has to say, the news he bears is something he can barely comprehend.
Like running to a battlefield and smelling the stench of burning flesh and hair. Like stumbling upon the remains of a large sortie, expecting and mentally preparing himself for the piteous cries of the wounded and dying only to be deafened by the roaring silence of the dead, the pressing unbearable weight of death and blown up limbs and bits of blood and bone and flesh and hair. Like waking up in the dead of the night with a cold sweat from a fleeting nightmare he will be forever grateful he cannot remember.
(Except the nightmare here is real, it's happened, and no amoung of waking, no amount of praying and hoping will make the squeezing in his heart go away, will loosen the bindings on his chest and the darkness threatening to shroud his eyes.)
Hikaku is shinobi no mono. He has been shinobi no mono his entire life and will one day die as one. He will see sights deemed horrific and abnormal by most of the civilian world, and he will be, if not quite unfazed, still functional after it all. But even so, he did not expect this. He did not expect—
A face flashes before his mind's eye, a memory of white hair deceptively soft, of a small quirk of normally stern lips, of a rare glimpse of jewel red eyes, softened and warm, and a strong supple body leaning softly against his own. They met just a few scant years ago, on the banks of that eternal river that separates them—their clan, their peoples, their sides in brutal war. Two men alike in dignity, both of practical nature and calm of temperament, find that their usual temperance is thrown off for the fire that ignites in their blood.
A spark of distrust, of ancestral wariness and of blood spilled against them soon change. That quicksilver tie between Uchiha and Senju morphs, as it ever does along the banks of that great river, shifting as the very waters themselves, tumbling and flowing this way and that, a living testament to the ephemeral nature of their animosity and revealing the similarity that underpins them.
It is along the banks of that river that the fires that first ignite, with blade and kunai at the ready, soon shifts to the banked flames of mutual commiseration. For Hikaku needed only moan about the recklessness and ridiculousness of his Uchiha brethren, of Madara-sama and Izuna-sama in particular, for Tobirama to put away his kunai and sheathe the suspicion in his eyes.
(Because Tobirama knows well the ridiculousness of kin, of the melodrama that might sprout uninvited, of profusions needlessly effusive and altogether far too physical.)
Not by pact, but by unspoken understanding, Senju and Uchiha meet, again and again, and share in the commiseration of their impossible kin. Swords and weapons are put away, and where they would once have traveled aloft in the air, so instead do words and companionable silences. Two such men, alike in their dignity and temperance, can it be any surprise that the first sparks of hatred and distrust that first aroused tumbles along the river and flows into admiration instead?
The banked fire becomes fanned, not by the hate and jealousies and grievances that lie between their kin, but by shared affection and experiences instead. As black eyes stare into a red so foreign and yet so familiar and lips touch upon silken, slanted, curving lips, Uchiha Hikaku cannot help but say a prayer and thank even the impossible Madara-sama and Izuna-sama, for their unwitting role. For that fire that first aroused between them ignites into something else altogether, and the soft dewy grass of new spring proves a fine bed indeed. And two such disparate houses unite, if only for that one, single, brief moment.
It's the most bittersweet thing ever, to gaze upon white hair fanned out across new green. It's a twinge of sadness and sweetness to gaze into red eyes, to watch the dappled shadows of the midday sun and lush leaves dance across the expanse of pale skin (soft skin, so much softer than he would have realized, than he would have expected).
He is shinobi no mono, though, both he and the Senju, and they neither of them are inclined to live within a fairy tale.
They part, not expecting the tryst to become more than that one stolen moment...and come together again. And again. And again. Over and over, and the sight of rubied eyes, of a half-smirk, half quirk of the lips, of a softened gaze soon becomes part of Hikaku's very life. Hidden, as it must be (because he will not be accused of being a traitor), and snatches of moments that they both must work to steal, but a pattern, rather than an abberation. A continuous pitter patter of rushing water tumbling over rocks, again and again and again, until the pebbles are worn smooth and a solid path is formed.
The moments where they part are silent on both sides, each impregnated by the heavy knowledge that each time may be the last, that even though their pretenses are both thrown to the wind, still, they are both shinobi no mono. They come together knowing that the risk is much too great, the danger overbearing, and that a much loved cadence-timber-voice could forever be silenced underneath ruthless blades and deadly wills or even more treacherous ancestral hatreds.
They bear it, as they must, as their profession and family and clan (never chosen, but thrust upon them by destiny itself) wills it. And time and time again, they escape that ever-present threat of happiness cut short, of colemn grief eternal, of tears hidden away in the dark of one's own room while a beloved body is laid to rest in a clan neither can venture to, denied even the very chance of one last look, of one last goodbye. And they will continue bearing it, until they are unthinkingly free to profess their hearts, or until their hearts are bled out in a crimson river, perhaps at the hands of enemies without, perhaps at the hands of their love's very kin.
One or the other, and while Hikaku hopes for the former, he knows it is likely to be the latter (and that it is he who will likely fall first).
And yet fate is a fickle, intriguing kami. When the first inklings of peace grow, from the small seed nurtured within Senju Hashirama and Uchiha Madara's hearts (perhaps watered by encouragement from brother and cousin) to a great oak spanning the twisting river dividing them—and how ironic that that great river brings together what it once divided—black eyes meet red, finally openly, daringly.
It is a new life, full of new possibilities, but while any other would have rushed to their love, embraced them to their bosom and whispered, nay, shouted a thousand cries of joy, so Senju Tobirama and Uchiha Hikaku only look shyly to each other. Their joy, while as bubblingly effusive and intoxicating as any other, is still to new, too fragile to survive in this barely nascent peace to declare to the whole of their clans.
What might elder brother do, to an Uchiha who would love his brother's body and heart, but only secretly? What might a distrustful cousin do, to a man whose reputation is so fearful and yet who professes such tender feelings?
The risk, that once stopped them, stops them still, and so they only shake hands. Their touch lingers perhaps a tad bit longer than others, the caress of fingertip to palm almost tender, almost a love confession of its own, but it is, as anything is between them, subtle, light and imperceptible.
And full of promise.
Their promises, once unspoken and now whispered in not-so-soft tones, can finally be made and held and kept. For the future is bright, their clans healing the split that had kept them apart for so long, and they would finally know safety and peace.
Joy springs, as it ever does in such fertile ground. As their nascent village grows and sprouts, so too does their closeness, though no one would ever have thought to think it.
Who would?
Tall and reserved Tobirama, second in his clan, an austere beauty that never seems to crack beneath the stresses of the moment, no matter what strife and politics and external enemies threw at him. (Hikaku sees that icy beauty thaw into a soft and lush love, embracing him within its arms as the outside world is kept away for those brief, immeasurably wondrous moments twined within supple arms.)
Pragmatic and competent Hikaku, third in his clan, an invaluable part of their village affairs, with his unflappable nature and ability to get things done without the dramatics the rest of his clan exhibits. (Tobirama can attest that Hikaku contains that same penchant for drama and burning passion. Every bit as strong, every bit as fiery and consuming as the best of the Uchiha, his Hikaku simply hides it much better.)
They are joined by peace, at last, joined in private, glorious, almost unbelievable love.
But, in the end, fate cannot be averted.
Senju Tobirama is simply too valuable, too necessary to the village, too great a personage and tempting a target to be left alone. Even though he takes precautions, even though his brother Hokage-sama vets his missions in an effort to keep his last direct (and loved) family safe, things slip through. Assassins. Poisons.
Unshakable and unspeakably strong enemies.
Through Kagami's hiccups and tears, Hikaku learns of the two beasts that tear after Hikaku's beloved and hunt him down as hounds on the scent, relentless and a danger to all that stands in their path...including his beloved's precious students.
Ah, Senju Tobirama's sole weakness. The one thing that might shake his warriors instincts and his dogged determination to remain alive for kin and clan and lover.
His students.
His precious, precious students.
And so, Hikaku's heart goes, and the children return, their cheeks stained with tears, a familiar battered and dented faceplate in Kagami's hands.
He doesn't acknowledge it, isn't allowed to mourn with his beloved's closest. He has never and can never reveal his tie to the other man, his bond with the second of the Senju clan. His Senju is laid to rest in a private ceremony, his only witnesses the other Senju and his students.
Despite his hopes, despite the peace, he is still denied the very chance of one last look, of one last goodbye as flames lick at the well-loved body he's known for so long...
Too cautious in fortune, and too reserved in feeling, Hikaku sits silently in his home in the Uchiha district as Senju Tobirama's body is consigned to flames in the Senju.
And it is at the moment that flesh darkens to ash that Hikaku, in his darkened, silent home, feels his heart die.