"Are you kidding me? **AGAIN?*"

Your wife's growling huff was blistering as she stood over your infirmary cot.

Makio had practically claimed you as her woman over the years. Slowly, & slowly, despite the cult's expectations, pulling greedily away from the comfort of the 'god of festivals', & his crave for excitement, rather than a firm settledown.

It was no question that none of the wives were explicitly happy with Tengen as their provider, or their lover.

For a surplus of reasons. The most nauseating one being his consciousness & consistence in being their god. The home once known as an abode for the easing sister wives often became one that reflected on the group's varying pasts with the cult.

Makio had found peace with you rather quickly.

You were Tengen's last wife, & a hashira in the making. But to live up to Makio's expectations? Of the man she had married first? Tall, scowering, rippling in thousands of stories of muscles & scars alike...he had riches, & favors to adorn to.

You, as a woman, as a woman in 1912,

Did not.

& So as Makio hears once more that you've received an aching batter on your recent mission, one that had left you coddled up in the butterfly estate, delicately clutching Makio's soft hand,

She's not nearly as dismissive as she is with Tengen. Tengen was arrogant. Cocky, throwing himself into situations he was "certain" he could get out of, mildly scathed, You were not.

"Maki--"

"Oh-ho, don't you dare give me an excuse! I will sit right here, & wait for that doctor to come back & tell me exactly what happened!"

Makio was relentless, as always. Her determination to be a fixer, to get to the bottom of problems, was unwavering.

It could be exhausting, at times. & It was easily, one of the broadest things you admired about the Shinobi. Her hand clutching yours, as firm & paling as her frustrated knuckles were, was filled with a warm surplus of concern.

She sucked in a breath, & spoke. Nudging your legs, she sat.

"You're not him, idiot.."