Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. It is the property of Masashi Kishimoto; I merely borrow the characters for my own amusement.

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Bet Me

Wanna bet?

If there are two words that Tsunade hates above all else, it happens to be those two, strung together to portend both defeat and the equally inevitable lightening of her purse.

Tsunade doesn’t take bets, those hateful, cursed things, and so kindly take your gambles far away before I start breaking things. This is the way it’s always been.

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Wanna bet, Tsunade?? I’ll show you!

Jiraiya was the first to discover her perpetual losing streak.

(He was the only one who constantly (and effectively) goaded her into them, knowing which buttons – and in which order – to press for maximum effect.)

He was also the only person who would ever dare to press his advantage, with a nearly heroic disregard for his own health. Even when they were just barely children, full of short temper and pranks, he would pounce on an opportunity to make her lose something.

(He, ever the lech, also tried constantly to make her lose one thing else, but was often rushed onto the emergency table in peril of losing an essential part himself.)

Tsunade now looks back, and with the jaded eyes of a woman who scorned, she realizes that his ever-present death-wishes were simply another bid of her attention. She didn’t care for boys at the time, other than possible punching bags. (And later, her heart simply belonged to Dan.)

Now – now – woman grown, she recognizes the displays of an honest, deeply-rooted affection. She doesn’t love him, she is sure but—she feels the regret, nestling in the place his youthful leers and vibrant passion had meant to reach.

And she knows that she is sorry.

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You gonna bet me? Why bother, Princess? You know you’re just gonna lose anyway.

Jiraiya changed over a summer, over a team outing, over another alcoholic beverage amongst several others. He stopped smiling, large and inviting and cheerful, and he started smirking instead, a mix of a leer and something of – she imagines – “hey baby, lemme see some tonight” like he is entitled to some—she started thinking, with some puzzlement, that Jiraiya wasn’t acting like himself.

He was, in a way, and in another way, he really wasn’t.

He wrote his heart into pages buried so deep in what could most definitely not be related to heart people begin to think that he doesn’t have one.

(Now she knows that what a man wears on his sleeve is what he doesn’t mind giving up.)

Jiraiya was still the incorrigible bastard that she’s known for years, but when he looked at her, she saw a glass of nothing in his eyes, and she frowned, because that was most assuredly not Jiraiya.

He no longer challenged her as he used to, nor laughed at her misfortune like she should be laughing too. He began laughing like it served as duty, large and loud and fake, like the world were one sick joke that only he could understand.

He began to look at her, no—through her, dismissing her as nothing but spent entertainment. You’re just gonna lose anyway, as in, why waste my time?

Dan suggested private hang-ups. Now Tsunade knows it was just that—and more.

Now, armed with the ability to level mountains with a single fist and the ever-shortening fuse to her temper, Tsunade wishes he were still here—

She wishes Jiraiya were still around so that she could pound him concave with the nauseous ache, present then, she now identifies as hurt.

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Bet me.

Jiraiya never asked—he took a millisecond of silence after his request as consent and promptly dragged his victim to serve his purpose. He had similarly hauled her into drunkenness by mid-afternoon, bulldozing over her meager protests and half-hearted threats.

Despite a roaring state of intoxication that had her stumbling about and mumbling nearly incoherently, she still registered a manner in him that she had never seen before. Several times during the meal she looked up, expecting him to be gone.

She had never seen someone so ready to say goodbye before. She had never seen someone want to say it so many times, much less in a single day, a single afternoon.

Bet me, he commanded, and she looked up at him, vivid with life and seriousness in a bleary haze of alcohol.

She looked at the man who showed her then the offering of him that had never ceased to exist. And she says yes.

(To one, she knew, the other…)

Tsunade never wins. They both knew this, but—

Time draws them two paths, divergent – occasionally intertwining – and they walk forward without a backward glance to arrive at two destinies—two that will never touch again.

Tsunade – jaded Tsunade – views her life through the wineglass, full then empty. She is willing to lay down good money that she does not love him.

She lays down good money that she does not love him, will never love him, that infuriating, that perverted, that half-assed excuse for a ninja.

She does not love him.

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To date, the one time she has ever won a bet is the only time she has ever won a bet—and she will never lose more.

Bet me, he demanded.

Yes, Tsunade agrees—yes,everything.