Stover, dearest, happy birthday. (:

. . .

Characters: Orochimaru, Jiraiya, Tsunade
Prompt: "...I think she's mad at you for not asking her to be your prom date."

she acts like summer
and walks like rain;
reminds me that
there's time to change

hey, hey

…

drops

…

The world was drenched. It was on a day like this, years ago, that things between them began.

.

.

.

She was just a girl, back then, skinny and awkward at the age of seven, when the baby fat had diminished and a fair few inches were put on her, leaving her strangely proportionate but disproportionate at the same time. Nothing seemed to be flattering on her; clothes either hung too loosely to make her look shrimpy, or clothes were too form fitting, making her seem like a stick.

It was impossible to win when one was seven.

But despite her graceless appearance and her tendency to become cranky at the smallest thing, they still accepted her.

When Tsunade met Orochimaru and Jiraiya, the latter two had already been best friends for a few years. The former was a broody little boy, all sharp angles and protruding bones (particularly his cheek bones), and the latter held on tenaciously to the baby fat of childhood, and had a shock of silver hair that was uncommon for someone his age.

At seven, she held her red umbrella to the morose sky, giggling at the pitter-patter around her. She twirled, faster and faster and faster…

But it was when she lost control of her balance, and thus of the umbrella, did everything change.

She fell onto her bottom, drenching the back of her pants and soaking through her panties in rainwater. The umbrella flew, smacking two boys who were mucking around in the mud, causing them both to flail and fall backwards with equally girly shrieks.

As she regained her own balance and went to fetch her hopefully not bloodied umbrella, she cast a look on the two. "Did it impale you?" she said, using vocabulary far beyond her age.

The silver haired one's face contorted. "Impale? Whazzat mean?"

With a look of intelligence gleaming in her hazel eyes, she calmly answered his question. "Impale means to run through. Basically, did my red umbrella make you like Swiss cheese?"

"I don't like Swiss cheese," the darker haired one interrupted. "It's gross."

It was the beginning of something beautiful.

.

.

.

When they set off to fifth grade, the crowning moment of their lives, when they were finally at the top of their school, the grass was wet, dew drops still clinging to the blades with tenacity. When they set off to school, to fifth grade, the world was bright, and the early morning pinks and oranges treated them well.

"Stupid, stop ripping off the heads of her dollies!" Tsunade shrieked, abhorred. "You know, they say that killers start out killing small animals. I think dolls classify, too."

Orochimaru smirked, looking a little older than the rest for their age, especially with that facial expression.

The little girl, Anko, only grinned back at Orochimaru and handed him another doll. "Do it again!" she cried out, excitement making her face flush.

And Jiraiya, a bystander in all of this, could only laugh.

.

.

.

When the autumn of eighth grade was passing, Orochimaru knew it was only a matter of time before Jiraiya set his sights on Tsunade. The three of them were as close as ever, but as Jiraiya began picking up on his own hormones and drooling over every girl bigger than a size AA, Orochimaru just knew, being the most intuitive of the three of them, that Jiraiya, while oblivious now, could not be so forever.

By this time, Tsunade had begun…developing, and she was much more grown than the other girls her age. Why Jiraiya had yet to notice he'd never know, especially since Tsunade had been flat the years before and this was a dramatic change.

Orochimaru decided to attribute it to Jiraiya's typical ignorance. He probably hadn't even looked at her since that day when she nearly impaled them with an umbrella.

But nevertheless, when it happened, and it would happen (Orochimaru was entirely sure about this), Jiraiya would likely fall over or pass out or something equally ridiculous.

So when Nawaki's birthday rolled around mid-September and the weather wasn't cold enough to start wearing long sleeves and turtle necks, Tsunade shopped for her younger brother, the two of them in tow. She dragged them through store after store and kept a tight enough leash on Jiraiya so he wouldn't go running into the first Victoria's Secret he saw, peeping into the changing rooms. The mall wasn't too crowded, much to Jiraiya's dismay, which meant he couldn't conveniently "get lost" in the crowd.

Orochimaru seemed apathetic, either way, and willingly allowed himself to be pulled through store after store.

Regardless, the search proved to be fruitless, and Tsunade returned back to her house, dejected. That was when she found the necklace on her dresser. She knew that Nawaki had been staring at it longingly for some time now, it being an heirloom from their deceased grandfather who fought in the Second World War.

And so, on his birthday, with Jiraiya and Orochimaru there, Tsunade gave it to him. It wasn't wrapped, and there was no card. All she did was bend down and hook the cord around his neck, the cool blue-green stone resting against him.

It was then that Jiraiya came to the realization that Tsunade had grown up, in more ways than one. For when she had bent down he had a clear view down the front of her shirt, and thus a view to her bright red bra. She straightened and then wrapped her arms around her younger brother, hugging tightly before pecking him on the cheek and chirping, "Happy birthday, loser!"

Tsunade loved Nawaki.

It was then, as Nawaki's head was pressed somewhere in the vicinity between her neck and upper chest that Jiraiya passed out, delirious.

.

.

.

"…I think she's mad at you for not asking her to be your prom date." Orochimaru commented in an offhand manner, watching as Tsunade stormed off, clearly bothered. Senior year was proving to be trying on their seemingly inseparable relationship.

Jiraiya frowned, disconcerted. "What?"

Orochimaru shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Y'know. Prom. That thing girls obsess over."

Jiraiya scowled. "I know what prom is, moron."

Orochimaru smirked. "Just thought I'd clear it up for you. I know how dim you can be sometimes, and I thought I'd lend a helping hand." He snickered, and was promptly served a semi-rough shove to the side. "Anyways," he said, clearing his throat, "obviously, Tsunade is ticked that you didn't ask her to prom."

Jiraiya sputtered. "You must be crazy."

Orochimaru shrugged. "Believe what you will, but ten times out of ten, which of the two of us is right?" he asked rhetorically. He sighed, then, exasperated. "There's been this tension between the two of you for ages now. Just ask her out already, dumbass." There was a pause. "Or not."

"Or not?"

Orochimaru gestured with his head behind Jiraiya. And there, standing before Tsunade with a sunflower was Dan, the words on his lips. And she seemed to hesitate minutely, but then smiled genuinely, and smiled happily, hugging him tightly.

And Orochimaru could only sigh. He could feel the impending doom. Jiraiya turned back around, looking so lost.

"You're too late." Orochimaru murmured, repeating. "You're too late."

.

.

.

She was wearing a periwinkle dress that glimmered in the moonlight. It was prom, and Jiraiya was dateless, while Orochimaru was off somewhere with the red-haired girl he had asked, Tayuya. Probably making out in some dark corner, Jiraiya thought, scowling.

He felt rather pathetic, watch Tsunade laugh at a distance with Dan and dancing around, twirling and spinning in seeming bliss.

She was happy.

He couldn't fault her for that, but he could fight for what he wanted. Feeling oddly bold, Jiraiya interrupted her quest to get more punch, intercepting her on the way there. "Hey."

She pursed her lips, remnants of displeasure remaining. "Hello." She replied in a clipped tone.

He didn't waste minutes dawdling, though, this time. "Want to dance?"

Her lips contorted into a half-frown. "I am here with Dan." She notified him, as if he wasn't painfully aware of that fact already.

"As friends?" he goaded, lying through his teeth.

She walked behind him to the punch table, swirling the red liquid around with the ladle, contemplative. "…okay."

He led her out the crowded floor. There were no coincidental cliché romantic songs that popped on the moment they were on the floor, prompting them to slow dance. No, the beat was fast and the tempo was good.

And so they danced, and she twirled and spun and laughed with him, momentarily in his arms. But the song ended, and the spell broke. She wasn't Cinderella and didn't leave shoes behind. She took everything with her and left.

Later on that night, when a slow song came on, he saw Dan swaying with her. He saw Dan kissing Tsunade, and then Tsunade kissing Dan.

Jiraiya turned away, thought about retrieving Orochimaru, but then left, walking out into the moonlight that had made Tsunade look like a lavender-blue-pearly angel.

.

.

.

Years passed. Orochimaru went off to a different college than Tsunade and Jiraiya and, much to Jiraiya's irritation, Dan.

Nawaki died in a car accident a few months into their second year of college, with Tsunade sitting in the passenger seat. She was devastated, and in the night, even though he wasn't in the same room as her, Jiraiya could still hear her wracking sobs, and the Dan's hushing, his quiet words, and then their silence.

Jiraiya had never felt more helpless.

Nawaki's funeral was the first time in two years that the three of them, Orochimaru returning home for the ceremony, had seen each other all at once.

Years later, Tsunade had graduated much earlier than is typical to graduate from medical school. At the ripe age of 27, Tsunade received her diploma and became a neurosurgeon engaged to Dan. She laughed again.

But then Dan died, a month before their wedding, in her arms after getting shot in a drive-by shooting. Tsunade by this time, is beyond broken. Jiraiya moved in with her because in the middle of the night, she would wake up screaming and crying. He even went out of his way to contact Orochimaru. The three of them spent half a year together, living in the same house.

Tsunade didn't smile at all. Even when Jiraiya got woken up in the middle of the night so much to the point that he passes out on her bed after comforting her, his snores and incoherent mumblings that used to bring to her lips a smile have no effect. And even after comforting her with his mind, body, and soul, she never married him, developing a phobia for commitment, for fear of losing someone close all over again.

Orochimaru was killed in a lab experiment gone bad, and it seemed like the two of them would wallow in grief for the rest of their lives. But Sakura, an intern who wishes to become a neurosurgeon, too, walks into Tsunade's life to give her purpose. Sakura's two best friends had gone off to war, but they came back safely and soundly, and it gave Tsunade happiness that someone else had happiness.

It gave Tsunade hope.

Tsunade loved Jiraiya—that much was clear. She wasn't sure when it started, or whether or not to do anything, but her heart beat for him, pulse by pulse.

And then Jiraiya is diagnosed with cancer.

And so she takes that extra step and marries him, despite it all. They can't have children, but they have each other, and it seems to be more than enough.

She wasn't sure how or when, but Jiraiya got thrown into a coma.

And Tsunade seemed to wilt inside.

.

.

.

The world was drenched. Tsunade stared out of the hospital room's window for a long time, following with her eyes the cascading drops as they trickle down the glass. The shower seems to clean the earth, and even though she's inside, she swore she could feel the icy drops drenching her skin, cleaning her and starting her anew.

Tsunade waited, waited, waited by the window where the rain poured down as she remembered when they used to be complete.

The heart monitor spiked, and Tsunade turned. And there he was, blinking unsteadily, and moving his fingers ever so slowly. He woke, and was incoherent and slow.

But as their eyes met, she realized she was waking, too, and the girl with the red umbrella was somewhere beneath it all. She smiled a watery smile at him, and laughed.

The rain poured down, it was the beginning again.

afterthoughts: Really, much more hurt/comfort-y than I intended it to be. Haha, this was supposed to be humor originally. Ah, well. Happy birthday, again, Stover. You're pretty much spectacular. (: Song lyrics at the top are Drops of Jupiter by Train.