General
Sometimes, in the past, when she had felt more tired than usual and more desirous of sleep, Konan had noticed something peculiar about the way she failed to get it. In the extremely rare absence of anything that needed doing, she had sometimes tried to sleep in, or return to sleep during the morning. This rarely worked, but she kept trying in the hope that this next occasion would be one of those rare exceptions.
Most of the time, it wasn't. Most of the time, Konan would feel her mind slowing down as if to start on the road to sleep, and she would lie still and feel her body coming to rest. Her eyelids would be firmly shut, and she would be unable to open them. For some time, she would think these were good signs. That time lasted, at the most, for half an hour. It was established from previous experience that if she was in this condition for that long, the odds were against it changing.
The problem was all in her mind. It would slow down, but only a little, and then it would reach an upside-down plateau where her thinking mind resolutely refused to shut down. She would think, and think, and her thoughts never got disorganized or dreamlike as they should have. Her body was more cooperative, unfortunately. The essential feeling at those times was one of being trapped. Between her body that insisted on not moving for hours despite its high heart rate, and her mind that was just sluggish enough that she couldn't overcome her body's wishes, Konan ended up trapped on days where she attempted this, wondering why she had ever tried such a stupid thing. Thank the gods for enemy action, she would think when the outside world came to wake her mind up and end this horrible paralysis.
Please, someone, let there be enemy action, she prayed on this day. Konan remembered that first day, when she had seen the road and realized that this world asked for different things. In place of strength, it demanded control. In this world, there would be no enemies coming to provide a reason for getting up, no structured mission to complete. It was possible that she could spend hours alone with her thoughts and a body that felt like it needed a thorough scouring. That possibility was more terrifying than any amount of enemy action could be. She felt sunlight on her cheek, and tried to turn her head. It didn't happen. Sunlight on her eyes probably wouldn't help anyway. Her neck was jammed stiff, her face was dried stiff, her limbs felt fine up until she asked them to do anything (sounds like rusted), and Konan's eyelids had inexplicably sextupled in weight. Her poor eyelid muscles just couldn't lift them for more than short bursts, especially not after being partially paralyzed.
*sigh* Dammit… It was hopeless. Maybe after a few hours of being a useless wreckage, this rusted feeling would wear off.
Hidan let out a high pitched whimper. Konan remembered he was there and probably feeling like she did, and a surge of pity unlocked her arm. There was no way she would let him feel like that. His proper place was somewhere open, and his proper activity was fighting, racing, or perhaps dancing. He would look good if he danced. What no version of Hidan should ever be was rusted, stiffened, and lying around with invisible dirt ground into his joints inside and out. That was unthinkable.
What am I doing? I can't submit to any trap, because he promised to be here with me and he can't be trapped. What am I doing? As long as he's suffering, I have no choice… She raised her arm, and threw it across her body to her right, making sure to keep the joint stiff so it would pull on her shoulder. With some assistance from abdominal muscles, she fell off the side of the bed and landed on the floor. Finally, she was awake. Somewhat. Enough.
She stood up and stretched, forcing her muscles to recognize that they were capable of moving. Her muscles protested this. They were sullen, cranky, angry, sad, and refused to acknowledge that there was anything else they could be. The world contains other feelings than this, she reminded herself. Yeah right, as if that could be believed. She decided to believe it anyway. Hidan needed her to.
"Ugh," he groaned as he spent a full minute working himself to a sitting position. "It feels like sour. Really. My body, sour. How the fuck?"
"I thought it was rusted," Konan replied. The angry rumors her muscles were spreading amongst themselves did feel a little sour. Truthfully, she couldn't think of a single word normally applied to spoiled food or tarnished metal that couldn't currently apply to her own body.
"This feels familiar," Hidan whispered to himself. He tilted his head, and though Konan couldn't see his face, she guessed that he had a questioning look on it. "I don't remember anything, but it feels like my body does. My muscles and shit definitely remember feeling like this before."
"My condolences," Konan said. Her voice was too flat. She wished she could make it livelier, inject it with more of the feeling that she thought she had. She wanted to sound comforting. But she couldn't offer comfort yet, so she turned and put on her cloak instead.
Hidan got up to do the same and pick up his scythe. "Oh, by the way, it works," he remembered to mention. "I tried making a jump with it. It kinda works as a substitute tail."
Konan said nothing. She would have liked to congratulate him, but what was the point if everything she said sounded fake?
She turned away from the present and tried to consider the future. Oh, I should not have done that. The idea of an entire day, an entire weekend, the rest of her life, blended together into something huge and awful. An urge to cry passed through her, just for an instant. Of course she didn't. Crying was for more energetic forms of pain. This was an energy-sapping form, so instead of crying she breathed shallowly and slowly and looked down at the thin carpet. She might as well go back to bed if she was going to be this useful. She might as well wander off somewhere and got lost, find some field to sit alone in. There would be stars when night fell. Ironically, this thought was very motivating. That's it. From now on, no thinking more than five minutes into the future. That time span still included meeting at least one person. She turned to Hidan.
He had bags under his eyes from poor-quality sleep. He grumbled to himself, then forced a little energy into his steps. He opened the door and took Konan's hand. He was plainly not in the mood for trying to be reassuring or hopeful.
That's alright. As long as he's here, simply existing, he is reassuring and hopeful. She followed him out. No matter what happens now, I'm not alone.
They ended up in the kitchen, where something was being made. Konan couldn't tell if it was delicious or not; her stomach was silent, and possibly dead. The idea of food was too remote to catch her attention and evoke any desire to eat. Even the smell was far away. Konan wondered about Hidan's feeling of familiarity. The smell of food, which she was currently experiencing, felt just like that. It felt like other, different versions of her smelling food in the past, with no relation to her current state. Maybe it was familiar to his body. He has the same body as his original, after all. There must be many things their bodies remember that they don't. I hope whatever my Hidan went through wasn't very bad. She really hoped it had no relation to being buried alive in pieces. She'd succumbed to morbid curiosity before and wondered what existing in that condition must feel like. The obvious conclusion she'd drawn was that she had entirely too much morbid curiosity for her own good.
At any rate, regardless of whether or not she felt like eating, the food probably was delicious, because Yahiko was making it. Konan averted her eyes. She'd hoped to break the news more gently, whenever she got around to breaking it. He must be feeling terrible. He must be feeling terribly guilty, because he was always the sort to feel guilty for things he shouldn't. He must feel like an ass, when he was the last thing. And this put Konan into a bad position, because if she corrected him and put some logical sense into his head, she'd be removing the only thing that kept him looking at her kindly. She couldn't be sure if she wanted him to look at her like that or not. She averted her eyes from that beautiful face, and tried not to notice the subtle tension that had crept into the tilt of his head as she entered the room.
Yahiko was also trying to avert his eyes, but had less practice. He wanted to see how she was, and do something if she wasn't feeling well. The first step in doing that was to look at her, so he didn't. He could be pretty sure by now that his first instincts were, when it came to her, the wrong things to do. He turned his head in the other direction and nodded to Nagato, who leaned against the opposite wall surveying the situation. Nagato nodded back. Yahiko kept his head turned down at the neglected-but-usable stove opposite the fridge as Konan passed behind him. It was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do.
Hidan sat down on the counters that still did not have a sink in them. He still had some steering to do before he could rest. Fortunately, steering Konan wasn't hard at all. All he had to do was yawn and slump down pathetically.
Yahiko finished his omelet and divided it in three while Konan was thus preoccupied. He pondered dividing it in four after seeing how Hidan looked, but Nagato shook his head. Yahiko wondered who wasn't eating, and what they were going to have instead. He used the side of the fork to slice a piece off his omelet and chewed it worriedly, trying not to stare at Konan too openly.
Nagato took the other two plates across, where he handed them to Konan and Hidan. Of course he was hungry, but this was a last-minute change to the plan. He greeted them both with, "Hey."
Konan nodded, looking down at her omelet. She took a single bite and chewed it. Her stomach woke up and began urgently demanding more, as it had been taught to do. Ah, not all of me is broken. I still have my training. She remembered the first minutes after awaking in this world, and began to inventory what she had, just as she had back then. She had her clothes, and all the minor contents of her pockets. She had Hidan's regard. She had minor jutsu, whatever she could do with low chakra and no reserves. She had Yahiko's unreasoning, stubborn insistence on seeing the best in people. If Hidan had heard correctly, she had Nagato's support. And, though it was a stretch to believe, Hidan seemed to believe she also had respect. She had the quiet corner of the roof to rest in and look over the forest. She had food and water. The grimy feeling retreated, and something in her felt halfway clean again. Even if she didn't list the patently ridiculous, she still had more than she had counted upon awakening in the grass. Konan rubbed her forehead. Control. I must keep my mind about me at all times, or it's over. She filed away this technique of "inventorying her supplies" as a useful mental technique for when she felt tired. Imagining somewhere quiet and alone, possibly with stars, also went in this file.
Hidan dropped his fork onto his empty plate with a clatter. "Mkay," he started. "I'mma be somewhere only I know about, where I go to get away from people every so often and recharge and shit. Fuck this, I'm outta here." He fixed Nagato with a look. You're up, deputy. The redhead gulped, and nodded. Hidan decided that was enough, and left.
Yahiko, Nagato and Konan stood together in a rather small room. "I'll also be somewhere else," Yahiko volunteered. "I think I'll be in the backyard trying out things to do with plants, actually. Bye!" Could I go any less gracefully? Who says "Bye!" like that? Better get out before I embarrass myself any further. He slipped out the door and was gone, leaving only Konan and her self-appointed replacement brother in the room.
Nagato coughed. How did one go about trying to form a bond? It either happened, or… Now that he thought about it, he realized he had no clue how to do what he had promised on purpose.
Konan's heart began to beat faster, and faster. Something burned at the corners of her eyes. The distance between them was a whole world wide, uncrossable… except in a warm hand and a cocoon of darkness…
The room was bright and small. Not darkness, but it would do. It must do. She let out some nervous energy closing the doors. The longing was overpowering her again. Konan worried that she might be getting addicted to not being alone. Wasn't that a bad thing? Or was it? Hidan said something about this Nagato wanting to be like a brother to me. Here's his chance.
She gave up and resigned herself to eagerly looking forward to talking with someone else. Nagato seemed to know this. He sat on the countertops and waited for her to finish. When she did, she sat next to him.
Konan looked out at the blank but reflective tile. It was a cocoon of light. "How badly did your Jiraiya sensei mangle the talk when you were eleven?" she asked.
Nagato stifled a burst of laughter, then unstifled it. "Oh, wow," he said through a grin. "I haven't thought about that in years. He tortured it."
Konan looked at him, bringing her legs up onto the counter and turning to fully face Nagato. "Naturally. I want details."
Nagato swung his legs up and sat cross-legged facing her. "So, he brought us to this isolated corner of the park. You might not know how it is - in this world, a strange man meeting with kids he's not related or connected to at all is pretty weird, so he usually saw us in public, like at a park, or an ice cream place. He took us to the quiet corner of the park away from the play areas, where it was all shady from the trees. And he said something like, 'Well, now that you boys are older, there's, um, something you should know about.' He couldn't seem to look at us, and he was red, but he looked like he had to so he was going to torture himself through it anyway. It just went downhill from there."
Konan smiled. "Oh, yes. My version sat us down the same way, and that was the one coherent sentence he made. The rest was… We managed to piece together that there was a special way men and women related to each other as they grew older, and it had something to do with babies. All I remember aside from that is that we shouldn't be relating to each other that way unless we're ready to have children, and if one of us has something transmissible we should wear something over the relevant parts to keep fluids separate. He never actually described what he was talking about."
Nagato chuckled and nodded. "He didn't even make it that far with us. He tried to describe what he was talking about, saw that even Yahiko was red, and quit while he was ahead. He gave us a list of topics to look for in the library. It was so much less embarrassing that way."
Ouch. There was a stab of unexpected pain. Konan winced and her eyes clouded, but she spoke through it. "My version… We didn't have a library. We…" The cloudiness started to condense into actual tears as Konan remembered having a place to sleep and a bedtime. Those things had been so precious, so needed after living without. But she hadn't been the type to cry from something so trivial as a need. Decades-old tears began to drip from her eyes. The feeling of having a family was something she had wanted back then, just like she wanted to share and not be alone now. The only difference was that this version of Nagato hadn't had a bedtime, or a place to sleep, or anything. He'd had a library. Konan didn't know how that connected but somehow it did, and for the first time ever she understood exactly how precious those trappings of family life had been.
"Konan?" She had an arm over her eyes and was breathing deeply, interrupting herself every so often with what sounded like laughter. Nagato hoped it was laughter. What had he said?
"Nagato…" She interrupted herself with a sob this time. Jiraiya sensei sent him and Yahiko off to the library, and they learned everything they needed to from there. Why was that so sad?
"Um…" Nagato hesitated. Should he hug her, try to comfort her another way, or leave her alone? She wasn't able to speak to tell him what she wanted. What should he do?
I'm here because Yahiko can't be. What would he do?
Nagato hopped off the counter and wrapped his arms around her without a second's hesitation. To his surprise, she wrapped her arms around him back and buried her face in his shoulder. He rubbed her back awkwardly, which for some reason sent her into convulsions of emotion. Nagato stood there and hoped he was helping.
Konan waited for the first deep breath that didn't tremble before she tried to speak. "We were alone. Not...not in a village. So there was no...library. I told Other You and Yahiko what I knew of animals, and made reasonable guesses. It didn't make any difference anyway. We didn't really need that information."
"Oh. You and Yahiko...never…?" They were going into deeper territory than he had initially expected.
"No." Konan sniffed. "We had things to talk through. I didn't want to hurt him." Her voice swelled and shattered over the last two words, as if it were the surface of the ocean and those words were Godzilla. Nagato held her tighter and prepared to stand there some more, but Konan burst out into laughter. The best part was, Konan was well aware that she must be very confusing to anyone who didn't know her thoughts. She wondered if she should tell Nagato or keep it as a joke. Nothing here is a joke. Then why was she laughing?
Nagato tried rubbing her back again. She managed to keep her breath still long enough to fill him in on the joke in that - "Hidan does that too" - before chuckling into his shoulder. Nagato wondered why that was funny.
Konan pulled back and sat on the countertops, wiping her face. "I have no idea. Just...the connections, I suppose. Obviously he's only done that if I needed it, so now, it's a reminder of other times. I don't know why that adds up to something humorous."
Nagato could sympathize. He had not the slightest understanding of this particular reaction to this particular issue, but he had smiled before when, by chance, he had seen something that reminded him of something else. It was like the human brain knew that its job was to make connections, so whenever it made one, no matter how trivial, it gave itself a little reward. Nagato told her of this theory.
Konan shrugged. She was returning to her usual businesslike self. "I must be embodying every hysterical woman trope there is," she whispered. Was that a trace of scorn in her voice? "Hidan makes no sense at all." Yes, that was definitely a trace of scorn in there.
"Not true," Nagato told her. She smiled again and barely stifled a snort. "You are not embodying hysterical woman tropes. You are embodying people who've been through a lot and look like it tropes." Of the three of them, Nagato figured he was the least equipped for this particular job. Yahiko had more natural empathy, and Hidan had more practice. He took a deep breath, quickly ran through everything he had learned from Yahiko's example, and tried again. "Besides, crying is good. I like it."
Konan looked up, puzzled.
Nagato smiled kindly, projecting as much confidence as he could. "The first step in solving a problem is recognizing that you have one, and crying is the recognition that you have one. This is a good sign. I'm glad to see you crying, instead of breaking into someone's house and setting fire to things. It's a sign of hope."
Konan sighed and crossed her arms. "Perhaps." Nagato heard the implied, But that doesn't change anything, loud and clear.
What had he missed? He quickly went back over everything she had said recently. He wasn't talking about the right thing. What should he be -
Scorn. Scorn, close cousin of anger, strong commercial ties to shame. Oh ye gods, this was going to be difficult.
"And you're not a hysterical woman, either," he told her. "A hysterical woman would be crying over something trivial, which you are not doing. Nobody thinks you're ridiculous, or that anything is embarrassing. You're allowed to cry at a funeral. Honestly, if you didn't, it wouldn't have looked good. How are we supposed to be friends with you if you're a robot and won't allow anyone to know you have feelings? Part of the problem with breaking into Sasori's house is that it came from nowhere with no obvious reason, so it was worrisome and frightening. We like, want, and demand reasons. Please do not be a robot, do not keep calm and carry on if you aren't calm, and, don't seem like something you aren't. We're not endless fountains of calmness and carrying on, so if you seem to be, it's a little intimidating even if we know logically that it can't be true. You don't seem unstable, you seem unscary. Thank you. Hidan's idea was a great one. He makes perfect sense."
Nagato stopped and thought about what he'd just said while he caught his breath. He hadn't intended to give a full-fledged speech on all the reasons she didn't suck, but it seemed he had. If that's not enough, I'm done. That's all I've ever felt about her, everything I had to say even if I didn't plan on saying it. She has bigger problems if she can't understand even that.
Konan stared up at him. He was breathing hard, as if he'd gone to great effort to dredge up something very deep and very strongly felt. Perhaps he has. She put aside most of it to be digested later. Until then, all she had to say was, "A lot of people seem to want to make friends with me."
"Yeah, we do." Nagato looked at her more closely. "Why do you say that?"
"It's not necessary, is it?" She squinted and looked through Nagato as if she was looking at a puzzle. "Itachi mentioned last week that mutuality of respect is asked for in this world, but mutual respect is very different from friendship. The idea of seeking some more personal relationship from a leader or supervisor sounds bizarre and more than a little inappropriate to me."
Nagato's mouth fell open. He gave his brain permission to pack up and take a short holiday while he finished rehearing what she said. Supervisor. That word was a mental pothole, into which his Jeep of thought fell and broke its front axle, never to be driven again. That is...not? The rearview mirror fell down, breaking through the windshield. The sound of broken glass on rocky ground was heard.
Konan observed his dumbfounded reaction. What was he so surprised for?
Tires were rotating…
"Nagato."
And just like that, there he was, in a brand new vehicle. Nagato blinked and closed his mouth. He cleared his throat. "You're not a leader or supervisor, though," he managed to get out. "Those are titles. Official things you can have that make you special and different, and which can't be changed. That's not…" He waved his hands around aimlessly. She probably got the point.
She kind of did, but the point didn't make any sense. Konan thought back over every interaction she'd ever had with this group. She'd gathered them, held meetings, gave orders, maintained order after the fallout of her actions. What the hell else could she be? "Explain."
"You're like…" Nagato looked around the room, searching for a suitable comparison. What would Yahiko say? "You're like Yahiko."
There was a beat of silence, before Nagato decided to just move on. It was a good comparison, and one she would understand. This wasn't the time for tiptoeing. "Yahiko's special," he murmured, with a rather fervent tone in his voice. This was his territory, the absolute, uncontested foundations of truth as he knew it. "He has ideas. He thinks about what should be, and he has the look in his eyes that convinces you, that really is how it should be. He just makes you want to go with him, somehow. But that doesn't make him a supervisor." Nagato shivered. "That term is so cold, clinical, like something not natural. What he is is very natural. He's with me, on my same level, like we're parts of the same creature. He just happens to be the part with the eyes.
"But if he tried to make that official, I'd laugh and tell him to stop being ridiculous. Sometimes, I lead the way forward, if I can see which way that is and he can't. It's not set in stone, it's not something I ask of him." Nagato paused to think about how he could connect this back to Konan and her situation. "Nobody ever said they would work for you. We only agreed to see what this idea you had was like: this idea of the Akatsuki, of us all being together and being ninjas. You had an idea, and Hidan had the spirit, and I decided it would be good to at least try. It wasn't you, it was your idea, and the fact that you had one and knew things we didn't know."
Nagato sighed and wondered how things could have gotten so backwards. "I don't have any idea how this is news to you," he admitted. "We agreed, for our own reasons. You asked for meetings, and we spent half of them listening to you dispense information and the other half questioning said information. And then Hidan came up with ideas, like digging up his stuff, without asking permission or anything. We went to a bar together, which you never in a million years would have suggested. And then, after Sasori, I don't think you heard most of the debates we had. That got mostly settled because Sasori seems to have a head on his shoulders and has never had a problem with refusing, so if he stayed there had to be a good reason. We question you all the time, refuse things, ask for things. Hidan takes over the suggesting of ideas, and then he leaves it to me, or someone else, and everybody else is off making sub-plans on their own anyway. When did anybody ever ask permission?"
In Nagato's memory, nobody ever had. Nobody had asked for permission, and everybody had refused some things. That was when it struck him.
"Oh." His eyes widened, and he started to feel rather silly. "I just now realized something. Um…" He moved to sit next to Konan again. Her eyes were distant; he hoped he wasn't overloading her. "I guess everything I just said can all be summarized down to one thing." He turned to face her. "What would happen if you asked someone to do something they didn't want to? Like...what would happen if you asked Deidara to blow something up that could hurt somebody, or asked Kisame to skip Samehada's weekly bath for something?" As far as Nagato knew, no such weekly bath existed; he just needed an example to use. "Or asked Kakuzu to do something trivial or frivolous. What would happen?"
Nagato stopped here, because he knew he should and because all this talking was starting to feel...odd. It felt like something was happening in him, some long-unused reflex waking and exercising itself. It had felt strange to accidentally end up giving a whole speech about her virtues, but since when did such a thing happen accidentally in the first place? Halfway through his explanation about Yahiko, he'd begun to realize something else. Not only did talking come naturally, but explaining, and not only explaining, but arguing in circles during which he was the only one talking, and his thoughts were the only ones running. He'd gotten into a groove, and somehow taken over the whole room. He knew now that his original had been in charge, and that explained a lot, but holy crap was it scary. His entire spine was prickling. A horrifying thing occurred to him.
Did my original lead according to Konan's definition of leadership?
Nagato's mouth went dry. He was pretty sure she'd said or implied something about having learned leadership from being at his side. If so, there was a risk he could start to disregard people's feelings and maybe even clash with Yahiko. I hope not. Please, please let me continue to follow Yahiko's example as I always have.
Meanwhile, Konan, who was used to being led to one point or another, failed to notice how out of character that was for this version of Nagato. She was too busy answering his question. "They would put up resistance or refuse," she murmured. "They'd look at me like I was strange for asking such a thing. I would switch tactics and attempt to persuade them instead, or someone else would jump in and do that for me. If I tried to get Kakuzu to do something trivial just because I wanted him to and I was in charge, he'd contest that claim and refuse." Nagato was right. And so was Sasori - he had said he was not a puppet and he didn't work for her, and he didn't. At most, she held one string, not the whole set.
And that's okay. She had backed down before. If Nagato was entirely correct, she hadn't let anybody down. They didn't need her information or plans or advice. They would move along without her guidance. They already were, according to Hidan.
That was terrifying.
Where was she, and what was she supposed to be doing? How was she supposed to make things work the way she hoped they would? Was it all up to chance and the will of a crowd of other people? How was she supposed to handle a crowd?
Konan sighed, and realized that at some point she had slumped under the weight of these considerations and was now leaning against Nagato's shoulder. He had his arm around her shoulders and was holding her up. "Are you okay?" he asked.
"Who decides what happens?"
"The whole thing does." She felt him shrug. "It's the sort of thing that you need to be enmeshed in because it always changes. Like Yahiko and I: two parts of the same creature. It's...complicated."
Konan thought about his comparison to Yahiko. What had it been like, to be a part of the three of them? Always in touch, acting out roles never assigned but felt nonetheless…
"Family?"
Nagato thought about that. "I think so," he realized. "I don't remember very well what that was like. You think…?"
The idea of family was amazing to them both. An incredible warmth bubbled up in Nagato's chest, and something clicked into place. He couldn't have said what it was, but he sensed enhanced understanding between himself and Konan. He thought he understood something about their earlier conversation that had ended in tears, which was odd, since he was still confused by it. Maybe some understandings couldn't be spoken of, like the systems you just had to be a part of.
"Hey," he shook her gently. "You want to go hang out in town? We could walk around and talk about our worlds. Find somewhere good to eat. I'm starving."
Konan tried to picture that, and succeeded. She successfully imagined talking and laughing with her brother in a private cocoon that they could build anywhere. Like Hidan. No, not quite like Hidan; he could generate his own cocoon anywhere with anyone. It was vastly more important and more special that she spend such a day with someone else, and the knowledge that she could gave her a feeling of great strength. The strength was great enough that she even dared to ask for something previously unimaginable.
"Let's bring Yahiko. I heard you two wanted cloaks."
Nagato's heart skipped a beat, even as his hand reached for his phone. "S-sure." Yes!
A breeze blew across the surface of the liquid, and caught on the very tip of the feather. Still heavy, it twitched this way and that, before slowly skimming across the surface. Some grime dripped off the end of it, revealing translucent silvery fibers. The feather started a little air dance. A light day was just what the doctor ordered.
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