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It’d been long enough since he’d left his home village for the trauma not to trail behind, to make marks in the dirt right beside his own footsteps, the two almost one singular thing, but sometimes he still wakes in the morning in a particular headspace, as if something lost completely to his subconscious makes him start the day out of body.
Hidan's always been more comfortable with the lively parts of romantic, domestic life: the long, enthusiastic conversations when there's a topic they're both—oddly or understandably—passionate about, like the need for better streetlights in their part of town, it being particularly out of the way and thus relegated to the dark, or whether the definition of a sandwich is reliant on the type of bread, if necessitating bread at all (would two pieces of pizza pressed insides together count as they’re bread-based? if not needing to be bread, what about lettuce as a bun substitute? if—)
Or the kind of spontaneity and innocence that comes with raising kids, especially one as rambunctiously curious as Fū, having Hidan's self-awareness—knowing exactly what she wants and being set on getting it—and Kakuzu's commanding presence, similarity solidified in their shared skin tone and eye shape, but with a loud friendliness all her own.
Whenever things got a bit too serious, being a comforting presence was difficult for Hidan, regardless of Kakuzu’s attempts at reassurance, they two entangled in their own concerns and insecurities, forming a circle where either one could feel a poor support or a burden.
He tried and tried hard but Kakuzu could tell in the way he held himself—tensely, nervously, as if both on edge and unsure throughout the entire ordeal no matter how insignificant the annoyance in Kakuzu’s mind—that he was unconfident, even as he brought his partner a mug of smoked tea with frothed milk the moment he noticed the other stiff and silent in bed, unable to get up.
“Hey, I know we were supposed to go skating today but if you—”
“No, Fū’s been waiting for this all week and she shouldn't have to miss out because of me; you and Deidara will be more than enough company for her. I'll do my cooking and see you both tonight.”
Cooking. His cooking. Something with ownership and purpose and choice; a comfort, a routine, a distraction—but an involved one, not merely something he’d settle for, something that would barely beat back the anxieties, a second of lapsed focus enough to make his hands begin to shake.
Getting up was a blur, the heat of the mug the only thing to ground him and it rapidly going cold, but Fū’s voice from the kitchen broke him out of it, her footsteps clunky against the wood floor, her gait affected by the big boots, by the puffy jacket weighing heavy on her shoulders.
"Papa, Daddy says you're not coming ice skating?"
"I'm sorry, sweet pea," he says as he squats to meet her face to face, his knees cracking when they bend. He speaks quietly, these affectionate words ones only she's allowed to hear—the same reserved, shy attitude he takes when using terms of endearment for Hidan, unused to intimacy no matter his constant longing to practice it.
"Papa had a bad dream last night and needs to rest at home today. Your uncle Dei will keep you company and you make sure to tell him I said to buy you a churro and a big apple cider with whipped cream.”
She gasps and hops excitedly in place, sharing the same mischievous smile with her Papa—she excited at getting the good snacks, he happy because she’s happy (and because Deidara is paying).
"Just don’t eat too close to suppertime, ok?" he says, addressing them both, both Fū and Hidan replying in turn that they won’t, promising to be on their best behavior.
"See you later, love you," Hidan says in a low voice—comfortably, naturally, solid in routine—as he and Kakuzu peck each other's cheeks, as Hidan pulls his coat on and readies himself to leave.
Kakuzu holds Fū's frame gently as she hugs him around the calves and he makes sure to watch them carefully as they go, all the way down the driveway and then out of sight, past the trees, before settling into himself, alone.
One of the first things he gravitated towards once he moved, once untethered from the constricting expectations of his homeland, was cooking. He’s a homebody by nature so the change was immeasurably difficult at the time, softened only by the recipes he scribbled down before he left, but it ultimately allowed for much greater freedom in the long run, the ability to break the constraints of both gender and tradition.
Here, he took whatever wasn’t tainted, wasn’t molded over by abuse, and cooked the liquor off. He learned to knead and leaven like a woman of his village, learned to lay patient overnight and be rewarded for it. He stirred and sat and salted until only the good kept, added and added and added, refusing to mask the taste of his previous home or to remove it altogether, until he could taste the person he was then within the person he is now, could taste the saltwater brine of his youth amongst the garden growth curling against the windows of their home.
-
“Here, I’ll help you,” Fū beams, genuinely trying to help Deidara up from the ice, despite her small stature, while Hidan laughs, only having a moment to do so before he slips as well.
“Maybe you should teach us how to skate,” Hidan says, letting her help them both onto their feet and guide them towards one of the rink side benches. She’s a natural, just from the few visits here from previous years, but would’ve still benefitted from someone more skilled holding her hand and keeping her steady, picking up the slack when her little legs got tired, someone unusually skilled in many particular things, things necessitating care and meticulousness and grace—someone like Kakuzu.
But beyond the issue of it being a poor mental health day for his partner and the anxiety for both of them over not knowing how long it would span, they’d fared fine today in his absence, Fū glad to see her Uncle, glad to watch the ducks and geese on the other side of the rink’s edge, glad she could get a large drink and a snack, Hidan upholding Kakuzu’s word, even if she only finished part of each, saving the other portion for her Papa.
“That’s real nice of you, sweetie,” Hidan says, patting her head and tugging her close where she falls in height at his knee. “Are you sure you don’t want Uncle Dei to just buy another one?” he half jokes, meeting Deidara’s pout with a lopsided smile.
“No, I want him to have this one. I want to share mine with him because I miss him.”
Hidan and Deidara share a look, rubbed tender by the sentiment, and both move to comfort Fū, no matter how steadfast she is about it on the outside, Hidan smoothing a hand over her cheek and Deidara patting her back.
“Should we bring it back to him while it’s still warm then? I’m sure he’s almost done making dinner by now.”
Fū makes an affirmative noise and heads excitedly towards the concrete outside the rink as Hidan and Deidara cling to one another, mostly unmoving.
“If we ever actually make if off the ice,” Deidara says, grumbling, Hidan chuckling at their predicament, unable to make it a few strides without sliding.
-
Kakuzu heard footsteps outside crunching over the days-old snow and realized just how dark it’d gotten already, quickly flipping on the porch and kitchen lights, having been cooking and baking just by the inner light of the oven and the delicate decorations strung around the ceiling skirting. He takes stock of what he’s made and piles the used bowls into the sink, content to leave them until later, before sitting down at the kitchen table, humming in relief as he finally gives his shoulders and lower back a break.
“What, does bread not rise with the lights on?” Hidan jokes upon entering, finally getting the door unstuck, a comment, accompanied by Kakuzu’s (and Deidara’s) subtle eyeroll, gone somewhat ignored in favor of Fū’s firm enthusiasm, as if utterly untouched by the fatigue of the day.
“Papa, I brought you a snack! I know you said not to eat close to suppertime but you always cook for us before you eat so you must be hungry,” she says, encouraging him to have a little bite, to take a sip while it’s still warm. She insists like an old grandmother would and Kakuzu can’t help but smile, despite his neutrality on sweets, at both her caring nature and the resemblance to his own attitude, at least in proximity to the elderly.
“How’d your day go?” Hidan asks, pulling up a chair at the table while Deidara helps Fū out of her jacket and boots, letting her lead him by the hand into the other room, he just as eager to see her drawings as she is to show them off.
“Made liver pâté with mushrooms, onions, and bacon—fresh bread for it too—chicken marsala with the rest of the mushrooms as I thought you could use the carbs from the pasta after all that skating,” to which Hidan almost laughs aloud, considering he and Deidara together did about as much successful skating as Kakuzu did today, having been entirely absent.
“Some rum tile cookies but they’re still in…” he continues, rubbing the bridge of his nose and suppressing a yawn.
“But how do you feel?” Hidan asks, wanting to share in the recounting of today’s events for sure but more immediately concerned with his partner’s wellbeing within it.
“Fine. Tired. Took more on than I thought I did but I’ll be fine after a rest. Was thinking of making gingerbread too so we could—"
“Oh, I wanna make gingerbread houses! Daddy says I’m big enough to hold the hammer now!” Fū pipes up from the living room, settled neatly into Deidara’s side on the couch, the two scribbling out a game of Pictionary.
Kakuzu snorts at this, despite his lingering hesitation to give their child (their unreasonably strong and fiery child) a hammer, because not only is the point of gingerbread houses, foremost even to the consuming, the building process, Deidara put this ridiculous idea into her head that part of the fun was to destroy the finished product as aggressively as possible—something immediately solidified in their household as tradition.
“Okay,” he concedes, remaining unable to keep himself from chuckling at her outburst, “you and Uncle Dei can make a big one to smash tomorrow because it’s already late, even for Papa. But you let Uncle Dei help you hold the hammer—and tightly so you don’t get hurt. Don’t put your fingers near the flat part and make sure not to hit your head swinging it back.”
Deidara agrees to the conditions as enthusiastically as Fū does, as if similarly warned against injury, as if similarly given the go-ahead to play, and wraps her in a tight hug before being led over to her drawing table, ready to help draft designs for the most-involved gingerbread house yet.
“You must be in a better mood than I thought to give her clearance for the hammer,” Hidan jokes, taking a swig of mulled wine, just warmed, before offering the same glass to Kakuzu who takes an even larger gulp, lips laid over the afterimage of Hidan’s.
“Oh please, she begs for it year-round. I don’t even think she made any holiday wishes—just completely distracted by the prospect of wielding a weapon.”
Hidan snorts, wine threatening to burn the edges of his nostrils, and wraps an arm fondly around Kakuzu’s shoulders, taking a moment to shut his eyes, to rest his head in the crook of his partner’s neck, to feel him skin on skin at the rare section unobscured by thick, knit fabric, their cheeks overly hot from the fast transition from chill to warmth, from the overwhelming heat of the oven, high in demand tonight.
“I’ll take those cookies out and then we can start on the gingerbread. Just tell me what to do and I’ll handle it even better than I handled skating today.”
“Why, what happened at skating?” Kakuzu asks dryly, once again settling into his personal spot at the kitchen table, wood creaking comfortably, being well-used. Hidan flashes him a goofy smile, twinged with good-humored embarrassment, and lifts the side seam of his shirt while simultaneously tugging the waistband of his pants down, revealing a sizeable bruise extending from his hip to his ass.
“Safe to say Fū’s the only one making the Olympic team this year,” he says, fixing his clothes, and this time it’s Kakuzu’s turn to feel the wine prickle at his sinuses, it threatening to come out of his nose.