Dating with Uchiha

The cicadas were louder than usual that afternoon. Tsunade wiped sweat from her neck as she left the small herb shop, a paper bag of medicinal roots tucked under her arm. Three weeks had passed since the incident with Sasori, and she'd almost forgotten the whole thing. Her mind was occupied by the fact that her period didn't come. Although it was predicted, it still made her happy.

"Excuse me."

She turned. The young man standing in the shade had dark eyes that looked too serious for his face. His Konoha forehead protector caught the sunlight as he bowed.

It took her a moment. "You're... the ANBU boy from before."

"Uchiha Shisui." He straightened up, then seemed to forget what to do with his hands. They hovered at his sides before settling in his pockets. "I... wanted to thank you properly. For saving my life."

Tsunade shifted her bag to her other arm. The street smelled of dust and grilled fish from a nearby vendor. "You already thanked me when you could stand without falling over."

"That wasn't proper." His voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat. "There's a tea house two blocks north. Good dumplings. If you... if you're not busy."

She studied him. No older than twenty-two, maybe twenty-three. Still had that coltish look boys got when their limbs grew faster than their coordination. But his eyes were older than his face suggested.

*He's nervous,* she realized. *Actually nervous.*

"I'm not a charity case," she said.

"I know that." He stepped back as a wagon rattled past. "I just... It's hard to explain. Please?"

The tea house sat between a tailor's shop and a place selling cheap pottery. Inside, it was cooler. Paper screens filtered the light into soft gold. They took a corner table where the wall blocked most of the street noise.

Shisui ordered for both of them without asking - green tea and pork dumplings. When the server left, he stared at his teacup like it held answers.

"If you haven't prepared to say something, drinking the tea," Tsunade said.

"I just... don't know how to start." He rubbed his thumb along the cup's rim. "The poison... it felt like drowning in broken glass. Every breath hurt. Then you were there, and suddenly it didn't hurt so much."

"That's what antidotes do."

"You didn't have to stop. You could have kept walking."

The dumplings arrived, steam curling between them. Tsunade picked one up, blew on it. "Your eyes are different colors in this light. More green than black."

He blinked. "People usually notice the Sharingan."

"I've seen enough red eyes to last three lifetimes." She bit into the dumpling. Grease ran down her chin; she caught it with her sleeve. "Good filling. They use real ginger."

They ate in silence. Outside, someone's radio played a love song too softly to make out the words. Shisui kept glancing at her hands - the same hands that had pressed poison from his veins like squeezing water from cloth.

"You're staring," Tsunade observed.

"Sorry." He looked away, then back. "I keep thinking about what you said. About the poison... it feels like drowning."

"I didn't say that. You did."

"Right." He laughed, short and sharp. "I don't usually... this isn't..."

"Spit it out, boy."

"I think about you." The words came in a rush. "Every day since then. When I'm supposed to be focusing on patrol routes or mission reports, I see your face. The way you looked when you destroyed that puppet. The warmth of your hand when you lifted me up."

Tsunade set her chopsticks down. The song outside had switched to something faster. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"I'm twice that and then some."

"I know."

"Then you know why this is ridiculous."

"Is it?" He leaned forward. His knee bumped hers under the table; neither moved away. "My grandmother married at sixteen. My cousin married a woman fifteen years older. Nobody cared until the war started."

"Different times."

"Maybe." He traced a water ring on the table. "But I almost died, and the last thing I wanted to see wasn't my family or my team. It was you. Standing over me like some angry goddess, telling the poison to go to hell."

Tsunade laughed - actually laughed. "I didn't say that either."

"You thought it. I could see it."

The server brought more tea. The afternoon light had shifted, painting stripes across the floor. A fly buzzed against the window, then gave up.

"You're a Uchiha," Tsunade said quietly. "And I'm a Senju. Our ancestors killed each other for hundreds of years. Although we carried the same symbol now, the past didn't disappear that easily."

"I want the woman who chose to save a stranger. Who fought a puppet master with her bare hands. Who left me at a hospital instead of finishing what that poison started. I can't care less about her family name."

"Even if that woman is twice your age and a gambling addict?"

"You can tell me a dozen more of your bad habits. That won't affect my feelings for you."

They looked at each other across the cooling tea. Outside, the street had emptied during the afternoon heat. Even the cicadas sounded tired.

"I leave tomorrow," Tsunade said. "New village, new name. It's safer that way."

"For who?"

"Everyone."

Shisui reached across the table. His fingers stopped just short of hers. "I know a place. Neutral ground, no questions asked. Good ramen, terrible sake. We could..." He swallowed. "We could try. One evening. No promises."

Tsunade stared at his hand - young, steady, with calluses from kunai practice. No wedding ring. No scars that spoke of a life fully lived yet, but the potential was there.

"One evening," she repeated.

"One." His smile was crooked, hopeful. "And if you hate it, you'll never see me again. But if you don't..."

She thought of the years stretching ahead - more battles, more graves, more nights drinking alone in cheap inns. Then she thought of this boy's eyes, earnest and foolish and brave.

"Terrible sake?" she asked.

"The worst."

"Hell." She stood up, leaving coins on the table. "Pick me up at seven. Don't be late."

As she walked back into the heat, she didn't look back. But she heard his quiet laugh, the sound of someone who'd just won a bet they didn't expect to make.

The cicadas kept singing. Somewhere, a radio played the same love song, slightly off-key. And for the first time in years, Tsunade found herself humming along.