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The whispers were the music of her journey, a short jaunt down the hallway that felt like miles for the eyes upon her back, the cruel rumors in her ears.
“There she goes… it’s Uzumaki Mito,” they’d say as she walked past. “It’s the Lady of the Senju… the woman from Whirlpool… isn’t she the Jinchuriki? … That thing is inside her... Is she the Hokage now? …She’s only a woman… No, I heard that his brother took over… after he died…”
“Such a fine lady… she’s so beautiful… and kind, too… she’s the very picture of serenity… Someday, I want to be just like her… look how calm…”
When at last she reached the end of the hall, she slid the door open and squeezed inside. The door shut with a barely audible click, perfectly wrought wood meeting expertly crafted doorframe with naught but a kiss, as it ever should have been. It was at a level of craftsmanship that had never been seen before and would never be seen again. None of their children displayed an affinity for it, though no one needed to tell her that. Senju Mito had known from the onset that her husband’s gift had been a gods-blessed gift from the heavens above. The Mokuton would never, ever be copied by another mortal. It had been his treasure alone. He had shared it, freely, unselfishly, lending his magic, the wondrous miracle of life, wherever he could, asking for nothing in return except that maybe you smile once in a while. Everywhere she looked she could see trace evidence of the beauty of his talent, for not a single place in the village had lacked the touch of his chakra or his smile.
She sighed, a ragged, rasping sound that trembled from her lips. Her fingertips shook and, to still them, she tried to squeeze them within her palms around the necklace he had given her, the cold crystal like a shard of glass that cut into her hand. It would be a welcome agony if the hard stone cutting into her palm could hurt more than the emptiness in her heart.
Within this room, it was silent. Nothing to be heard except the gentle breeze of her breath through her lungs—in through the nose, out through the mouth, as her mother had taught her. She tried so hard to stay calm. Wasn’t it a Shinobi lesson, never to let one’s emotions run amuck? It was the one she had historically been the worst at learning. The Uzumaki were notoriously loud, obnoxiously so, and in her youth Mito had been no exception. Her Hashi had stumbled brashly into her life like a storm of laughter. A single, unmarried man had entered Uzushio, laughing at a joke that none had understood. By the time he had left her homeland, he’d been one laughing fool richer. One more had understood the nothing that he laughed at, a secret all their own, forever hilarious to none but them.
She hated their whispers. She hated the rumors. She hated that she had never been allowed to hate before, and now that the hatred had seeped in, it was so wholly unfamiliar that she was certain she was doing it wrong. It was more likely that all she was feeling was grief. She couldn’t really be certain anymore, after all. It seemed as if all of her emotions had rewired themselves somehow. All of them felt watered down, washed out, and unfamiliar. She didn’t know what it was to feel anything without him; she had never had to try before. It seemed that Senju Hashirama always was and always had been. Who was Senju Mito without her Hashi? Did she even want to know that person?
Tears slid down her cheeks. She wasn’t ready for this. It was a cruel twist of fate, to take him away from her so soon. They had only begun to live their lives together, barely tasting the sweet flesh of peace. There were thousands more sunrises to watch together, thousands more smiles to bestow, a thousand peals of laughter to make their stomachs ache. There were years to watch their grandchildren grow and start families of their own. Plenty more stuffy advisors and stony-faced warlords to annoy before they were through.
She didn’t want to be the Lady of the Senju, or the Jinchuriki, or Uzumaki Mito. She wanted only to be his wife, Senju Mito, mother of his children. She didn’t know how to be anything else. They’d lived enough for a dozen lifetimes, loved more deeply than the gods themselves, laughed enough to counterbalance a nation’s worth of lives lost. One could have claimed that they had shared enough in one lifetime, that they should have been grateful for all that they had had, in the time that they had it.
She didn’t care about all of that. For once in her lifetime, she wanted only to be selfish, to sacrifice the lives of everyone who uttered a whisper about the death of the most wonderful man she had ever known. She would throw all of them into the afterlife if only the afterlife would spit him back out. He might never forgive her for that, but she still didn’t care. Of all the people on the surface of this gods-be-damned earth, the only one that the gods had taken back was the only one who truly deserved to stay.
With a painful sigh, she absorbed the darkness of the place they shared together. It was silent now, with just her in it. Their children had long since grown up and started families of their own. On the day their youngest son had finally moved into a home of his own with a new wife, the Lord and Lady of the Senju had made love right there, in that very spot, feeling youthful and wicked to have the whole house to themselves. They hadn’t been laughing then—not until after—but it had still never been quite this silent.
The silence was empty, lifeless. It was unwelcome here; this place had been born of their laughter and love, bathed in happy memories, repainted with the giggles of their children and blessed with the love of a large family. Now it only echoed with emptiness, a resounding nothing that profaned his memory. If only it were a demon, she could exorcise it; it was a talent that meant nothing to her now. She could lash out in anger, yell and scream—she’d done all of those things—but nothing she tried would bring him back, and every utterance only made the silence even more profound. Each time she broke the silence, it only gained more power.
She could defeat it, but the victory was a hollow one. Kyuubi, she whispered to the thing inside. Within her, she felt its malevolence stir. For one brief and agonizing moment, the two of them had been one. She had lashed out in anger then. It had been exhilarating, dangerous, and briefly satisfying to lay waste to his killers, but in her right mind she understood that it was wrong. She didn’t let that happen anymore. A hatred born of unfathomable love had let the thing out, and now, her love would keep it in. Within the chambers of her soul, Kyuubi glared at her. We are both lonely, she said to it. I will fix it. She searched through her memories, her heart, her soul, and she found every piece of him that still remained. All of these things, she breathed into the cage with the fox itself. Deep within herself, they both felt the presence of his love, the eternal wonder bestowed upon them by their children and their extended family. She felt the fox grow sleepy, for Hashirama had clothed them both in peace and happiness, and the Kyuubi, whose strength lay in true hatred, found no power within those things.
She too, curled up in that cloak of memories, one last time. Here, in this chamber, she was safe to feel the things she felt. Here, she could cry, and howl her grief, laugh at their memories and cherish their time together with the only other being who understood the darkest spaces of her heart, even if Kyuubi was an unwilling participant. She dragged him along anyway; like it or not, they were one flesh, and she couldn’t hide what she felt from him even if she had wanted to. Here, observed by a fox demon, she unleashed all of her rage and despair, crying a never ending torrent of tears for just how much she had lost with the loss of a single life.
If she could have her wish, she’d join him in death. Unfortunately, Hashirama had had other plans for her. He’d left their children behind, and their grandchildren, and his idiot brother who never laughed for any reason. There was too much of his work left to do, and only her to do it.
But she would do it in silence.
The laughter, declarations of pushy Uzumaki, the magnificent beauty of a man being able to breathe life into tiny, delicate flowers to weave into her hair… these things she kept in her most secret inner thoughts.
At long last, Senju Mito had learned the hardest Shinobi tenet: a Shinobi does not show emotion. A good thing, too. If she hadn’t, Mito would spend every day of the rest of her life screaming her pain to the world, a woman bereaved.
And this was why they saw her as they did: composed, serene, ever calm and levelheaded. She listened patiently, judged fairly, lived quietly… to all and sundry she was handling the situation admirably.
It seemed she’d finally learned how to lie.
The silence suited her.