#third war.

Since emigrating to Konoha, Fuso had but one objective on her mind: to make a home enough that she could one day seek Nagato and a better life than the one she’d failed to provide even before her husband’s death. Sometimes, it seemed like Amegakure’s torrential rains had followed her all the way to Konoha, shadowing her even when she left to places far away from that place. Of course, she had to be be careful; Uzumaki didn’t have good reputations since the downfall of Uzushio, even some time before. To the outside shinobi world, they were monsters that needed to be tamed or eliminated... but Fuso didn’t care. 

She just wanted her family again. 

In the Rain Country, it was risky to venture so close to her old home, and she honestly had no wish to... but she clung to the hope that Nagato was somewhere near. In a small hamlet she remembered, Fuso sought refuge from the endless downpour, hanging the mantle she’d worn on a hook in the entryway, grateful for the warmth the moment she ventured further inside the izakaya.

“Kaga-kun... I think I felt a kick!” Fuso’s voice was giddy as she trotted towards the Uchiha, the pair busy with making dinner for Nagato and Shisui, taking his hand and pressing it to her swollen womb. Though she wasn’t too apparent yet, it was enough that she’d taken a hiatus from missions for the duration of the pregnancy, earning her keep around the Uchiha compound and with the village in affairs related to juinjutsu and jujutsu instead. The Uzumaki was in an excited titter, a temporary break from the vegetables she’d been cutting that slowly filled a wok on the countertop. 

“I can’t help but admire those who can perform medical ninjutsu. I never had the chakra control necessary for it.”

It was hard to believe that barely any time at all had passed between wars, her predictions coming true. Her heart was still heavy since sojourning to Konoha years ago, the bitter reality of her husband and son’s deaths something that still weighed guiltily in her chest. But all the same, the Uzumaki knew she could never really stop what she did, in the same field that had brought so much fulfillment to her husband and herself. While she didn’t know much about the pale-tressed med-nin she currently worked alongside, her expertise as a nurse and Reika’s medical ninjutsu made the process almost fly by.

Soon, the severest cases were tended to and yet Fusou didn’t feel the slightest bit of exhaustion. Antsy, maybe, like a horse that wanted release from its stall to gallop freely, but she’d calm soon enough.

“You must be Kushina-chan.”

In the time since coming to Konoha, Fusou didn’t think she’d meet another Uzumaki outside of Lady Mito herself, and the matron had since passed away when the young girl had undergone the transfer. It was such an evil thing to do, subjecting a child to that, but the elder Uzumaki was wary about expressing her true thoughts. They had wanted to do her some kindness, at least, as her status as jinchuuriki meant that she could very well be alone in the world. And with so many of their clan scattered with the majority dead, it was all she wanted. 

Maybe, a little selfishly, it could fill the hole in her heart her son’s death had left behind even though no one could replace her little boy. 

It was kind of funny how the generations of women seemed to almost synchronize when it came to childbirth, and Fuso had amusingly made a bit of a roster: Hazuki Uchiha with Izumi, Mikoto with Itachi, Kohari Umino with Iruka, Tsume Inuzuka with Hana--among others. The Uzumaki wasn’t terribly familiar with most of them, as she often kept to herself--especially as one of the oldest in her late-30′s--but sometimes, it didn’t hurt to mingle. What perplexed her the most, though, was the state of a young woman who appeared to be Hana’s guardian... or caretaker? One of the two. All she really knew was that her condition had likely come in the aftermath of a mission or other, so that wasn’t so unusual in itself. 

“Alright, you just eat what you can, alright?”

Naruto’s hair was ruffled as the young Uzumaki sat on his lap, the toddling boy gripping a spoon tightly as he clumsily but determinedly ate from his smaller bowl of ramen. A tightness in the Sannin’s chest formed from seeing his student’s son so guileless despite where they were, but as his godfather, he had to protect that smile exactly like his mother’s.

Amegakure wasn’t where he was supposed to have wound up—what with the thin ice he trekked upon—but he didn’t have a choice. With Orochimaru’s depravity chasing his teammate from the village, he knew it would only worsen. Already they’d replicated the legendary Rinnegan, and he didn’t think twice about absconding with his student and smuggling him to where they were now. It was almost tradition: first was one of Danzō and Orochimaru’s victims, then the next jinchūriki. Jiraiya sighed as he patted Naruto’s hair, the blond too engrossed with eating to notice much.

“Guess we better get back home. Ma an’ Pa are probably gonna try and make us eat bug stew.” Naruto gave an exaggerated grimace through his mouthful of ramen, to which Jiraiya patted his back with a soft laugh.

“This place is a lot different than I imagined,” the Uzumaki admitted in a time long after her simple mission had been completed, of delivering a scroll to the last place she thought she’d ever end up. Seeing as Kumo-nin had been among those chartered to bring down Uzushio--less than Kiri-nin, but still--one wouldn’t think anyone with red hair and a distinct chakra signature would ever be welcome in such a place. But, somehow, she was. And thus far, she wanted to be pleasantly surprised.