I think I'm on a fanfiction roll - the only problem is that I can't stick to just one fandom, so I keep feeling guilty of neglect. But anyway, here's something for my new favourite team (sorry, Teams 7, 8, 9 and 10 - but I still love you all!), the un-numbered team, consisting of three Rain orphans that we all, or at least all who've been following the manga, know - Yahiko, Konan and Nagato. I was a bit disappointed to find that Pein was not, well, quite who or what I thought he was, but Konan remains intact, and I have a great interest in this bypassed team.
Basically, this is a series of short, separate oneshots/drabbles focused on Yahiko, Konan and Nagato. Chapters may include one, two or all of them, and the ages, settings and genres will probably vary greatly. I'm expecting (hopingwishingpraying) to continue to add to this fic, but I admit you can't really depend on me for that. Still, I want to try.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
1: Konan, Yahiko. He was the first person to call her beautiful. Maybe he would be the last.
"Nagato?" she called quietly, nudging the door open and sucking her stomach in to slip inside through the minute space she'd created. Even if she told herself she was no longer afraid of what she might see, it had become a habit of hers since childhood never to open doors more than a crack.
The voice that greeted her held a hint of a smile. "Guess again."
"Yahiko," she corrected herself, stepping into the hallway that also served as a kitchen and bedroom. She slipped her sandals off, another habit that she couldn't bear to break even though there were old bloodstains on the cracked floor, and pattered over to her comrade in bare, cold feet.
He was sprawled across the lone bed, arms folded behind his spiky head, legs stretched out in front of him, the sharp outlines of his nose and chin illuminated in the dim glow of moonlight through the open window. At first glance he looked comfortable, but she knew that tenseness of his shoulders, that stiffness of his chest rising up and down, that hardness of his jaw too well not to dispel the illusion. Yahiko smiled more easily and in worse circumstances than anyone she had ever met, but in silence, in stillness and in absence of action, he suffered the most. But then he sat up, exhaling, and she knew he was glad to see her.
"Was I gone too long?" she asked.
He smiled, and she admired his effortlessness. "Nah," he assured her. "You do what you have to do, Konan, and you come back as soon as you can."
"Yeah," she said softly, reminded of what it was that she'd had to do this time, and who it was that she had to do it for - the two boys who were all she had, who would wait as long as it took.
Suddenly drained, she began to take off her clothes, wanting to get out of the tight, prickly mesh. The shirt and leggings peeled painfully, sticky with sweat, brushing her bruises. She stripped quickly and in her usual business-like manner; she was used to changing in front of Yahiko and Nagato, and they in front of her - even if there had been the option of being embarrassed about it, she wouldn't have been. She trusted them with herself.
The air that flowed freely around her body felt wonderful, fresh, cool, cleansing, and she stood there for a few moments just to appreciate it. The whitish-yellow light of the moon revealed her skin, pale under the dirt, the dark hairs rippling along her arms and legs, the round bulges of her breasts, the edges of her pelvic bones as they jutted out under the curve of her hips.
"You shouldn't show yourself like this to anyone but us," Yahiko spoke up mildly, not reproachfully or commandingly, but as a simple statement, slightly too undercharged with feeling to be fact.
"Why?" she inquired unconcernedly, not annoyed or resentful, but undeniably surprised. He had never said anything of the kind before, and she didn't know why he would bring it up now.
"Because you're beautiful."
She stood very still, unsure of how to respond either physically or verbally. Yahiko didn't withhold praise, but he rarely gave a compliment without a reason for it, and she could see no prompt for this one. But neither could she hear any joking undertone or sarcasm in his voice, or indeed discern any meaning other than the plain definition of those three words. Not for the first time, but for a purpose very different from that of any of the previous occasions, she examined herself, tried to see herself through his eyes.
She heard Yahiko shift behind her, and felt rough fabric swish over her back as he draped a robe on top of her. His hands gripped her shoulders gently for a moment before he drew away. The sudden rush of warmth enabled her to speak.
"What do you mean, Yahiko? How can you tell?" The way she said it, a bit too sharply, made her sound insecure, scared, and she bit her tongue.
He didn't answer either of the questions, but asked one instead.
"Do you think I'd lie to you about it?"
She spun to face him, needing to read his expression. He was smiling lightly, perhaps wryly, but honestly. She took a breath and shook her head, her doubts gone, if they had ever existed in the first place. "I don't think," she said, "you'd lie to me about anything."
"Well, then," he replied simply, "believe me."
No one had ever called her beautiful before, and she wondered if anyone ever would again. Most things that Yahiko had given her she knew she would never have again, because there was no source other than him, had never been any other for her; and most things he'd given her she had also never expected to have. Maybe this would be one of the former, but she knew for certain that it was one of the latter.
She nodded carefully, watching him. She almost told him that she thought he was beautiful too, but she knew that he'd always known that.
So she just said, "Thank you."