Title: Reincarnation
Pairing: Nagato/Konan
Genre: Romance/Tragedy
Rating: T (PG-13ish)
Warnings: Spoilers through chapter 449, dark themes
Summary: If she waits long enough, he'll return. That is a promise.
A/N: I was driven to write this after reading chapter 449. I was frustrated with how Nagato/Konan's ending turned out, so I started contemplating a tragic but seemingly-understandable reason for why the events panned out the way they did and how Konan deals with grief. The song lyrics in this piece are from "The Swan Song" by Within Temptation.
In my heart I know I can let go.
In the end I will find some peace inside.
New wings are growing tonight.
---
Forty hours have passed since god died. Konan knows this, because she's counted every second since the world ended.
Nagato's body still carries a slight warmth; or perhaps Konan merely imagines it as such, because his heart is no longer beating, and his skin is turning gray, and no source of life resides in the jagged features of his face. (It hasn't for years.) The blood dribbling down his cheek has crusted and cracked. Yahiko's once-inhabited body is tattered as well with a hole in its stomach.
Corpses are a customary occurrence for Konan. She's dealt with them many times before – preparing them, burying them – and they were all pieces of Nagato, faces he wore.
These are the same, she tries to console herself with that thought, but she knows it's not true.
Konan washes their wounds and scrubs the blood off their lips, because some part of her hopes they'll reanimate, just as Yahiko's body once did a long time ago, and even if she knew he was gone, she could still, for a brief period of time, pretend it was the way it had always been. But these bodies stay silent, and grow colder. They're beginning to rot.
The empty shell of Nagato's flesh is ethereal, limp and twisted, revealing the horrors of the person once chained to its emaciated cage. Konan pities it.
One by one, Konan carefully removes the piercings from the Deva Path, her fingers grazing over unsalvageable flesh. When finished, she clasps the pieces in her hands and feels the last traces of sweat from his body coating the metal. Then, she takes one last look at them, one last good look, before embalming them in paper coffins, in thousands of blank pages.
She digs their graves and buries them next to one another. Konan is the only one standing at the funeral. She says not a word to them; she knows not what to say, and nothing she could possibly utter would ever be enough to convey her overwhelming sadness. Silence is always an answer, and Konan embraces it willingly.
She has often wondered what death is like – its taste, its smell, its shape and color. Nagato once told her that he had experienced death many times before, in many bodies, as he lost them in various battles. Sometimes there were flashes of light, sometimes static, sometimes darkness and silence; other times there was pain, or euphoria – but every time, he continued to exist in another incarnation. Konan wonders what death was like for Nagato this time. She wonders how it was for Yahiko. She wonders what it will be like for herself.
But she cannot afford to wonder that for too long. She must live. She must live in place of him to further Amegakure, as was his wish. Her duty allows her no selfishness in following after him (as much as she'd like to).
In the days prior, before they had invaded Konoha, Nagato asserted that if their plan failed, he'd disappear from this earth, because he's god, and god never dies, and because he's died so many times before that he does not fear it.
"Life and death are but pieces of the same whole," he had gone on to explain. "They are a cycle that god alone can circumvent. When I take lives away from these people, they will be reborn into a better world of peace which I have created. When I am reborn, I'll be reborn into a better world also."
"If you're reborn, who will protect Amegakure?" Konan had wondered.
Nagato turned towards her. "You will."
Konan didn't want to. But love to her is about sacrifice; it's always been about giving herself to someone regardless of her own feelings.
"I am not cut out to lead a country," Konan had regrettably admitted. "Please, Nagato. Don't overdo it."
"There's little chance this mission will fail," Nagato had spoken confidently. "The Kyuubi should be easy to overtake. But even if I leave, I shall always return; that is the promise of god. I have faith in your abilities. Do you not have faith in mine?"
"I do," Konan lovingly wove her fingers between his as she fought her doubt. "I promise to support you. You'll bring justice to Konoha tomorrow, and then we'll return to a life of peace here."
That's all she had wanted. She wanted this war to end, so that she could live in harmony with the one she loved. But now he was absent.
God is a force that can never perish. She keeps reminding herself of this.
She keeps his piercings by the side of her bed. For a long time afterward, Konan wakes each morning expecting to find his Deva Path entwined with her body. Half-asleep, she can almost feel his flesh against hers until she opens her eyes to discover she is alone. When she closes her eyes, she can still taste his lips against hers, the smooth movement of their bodies in unison and intimacy. But he's gone, and her body is empty.
Her home is empty. The streets are empty. The world is empty. She steps outside to watch the starry night with him, only to find he's physically absent and the sky is empty.
There are moments when it all makes sense. In the evenings, Konan leaves her tower and wanders aimlessly through the streets of neighboring villages. She searches for him everywhere, and in everyone. She watches the eyes of passing children closely, searching for that special mark of god belonging only to him.
She hopes to find him someday, because he's coming back, and this she knows. Until then, she visits his gravesite each day; she folds paper flowers to place upon it (pieces of herself left behind). And she brings peace to Amegakure the best she can, because she's the only one left who can lead it.
Even on the coldest of nights, she stands in the rain and stares into the sky. Watching, praying.
Waiting.
---
Winter has come for me, can't carry on.
The chains to my life are strong but soon they'll be gone.
I'll spread my wings one more time.
---
Forty years have passed since the day Nagato passed on to the other world – forty years of exile, of silence, of Konan existing merely through memories of her lost youth. Of waiting. But Konan knows no other way, and would have it no other way.
Time stopped forty years ago, despite the soreness in her joints that reveal her physical aging, and despite the reflection of the woman in her mirror who became wrinkled and gray and disfigured (damaged) somewhere along the way. She ignores the aches of her brittle bones, because she must keep living for him. Each day has become a constant battle to remain conscious so she can welcome his rebirth into this world. That was her promise, their promise.
Konan has barely the strength to stand, but she still musters up enough energy to visit his gravesite each morning – never missing a day – just to leave him flowers that inevitably wilt faster and faster as the days pass.
It's winter, and the snow begins to fall. She has little time left.
Amegakure's medical team is too small. She's transferred to Konoha's medical center – the same Konoha that Nagato once gave his life to destroy and to protect. There, the best medical doctor – an older woman by the name of Sakura – examines her body closely and then shakes her head in regret.
"I'm afraid nothing can be done," Sakura informs her. "You've become too ill at your age. I can ease your pain, but I'm afraid your condition is terminal."
Konan doesn't cry (she never has). She's neither happy nor sad, and yet she's both, because selfishly she wants to meet him again in the next world, all while realizing her purpose has not been fulfilled and may never be.
The painkillers bring about a welcoming numbness. She retires to a hospital bed, where she awaits her final days. Here's where the countdown begins. Here's where she'll lose everything (and subsequently gain everything). She stares out the window blankly and watches the gentle snowflakes dancing in the skies above her as she prays a silent prayer, hoping for redemption somewhere, someway.
"I'm coming home, Nagato."
Not too soon afterwards, Konan's hospital room becomes occupied by a young Leaf ninja - a boy who has broken his arm while training, according to the nurse. He looks to be about ten years old, and he has thick black hair pulled back in a ponytail. He's placed in the bed beside Konan's and ignores her as he excitedly retells his training adventures to Sakura and the nurse, both of whom try to calm him down as they heal his wounds.
For a second, the boy's eyes meet Konan's, and that's when she sees it.
The Rinnegan.
"Nagato..." she whispers.
The boy peers at her quizzically.
"Nagato."
"Look, lady," the boy huffs uncomfortably, "I don't know who you've got me confused with, but my name is Keiji and I'm going to be the greatest ninja ever someday and protect the Hidden Leaf!"
But Konan is too far gone. She keeps staring, because she sees him.
"Yes, you will," Konan assures. "You did once before. You came back to us, Nagato. You truly did. You were born to protect the village you once gave your life for."
It makes perfect sense to her. It makes no sense to him.
"Is something wrong with this old woman? Is she delusional?" the boy groans towards Sakura, who promptly scolds him about respecting his elders.
Konan stays silent for a moment while folding a paper flower. She's patient, because she knows he cannot remember her in his state of rebirth. But this is him, she knows, and those eyes belong only to him. Meanwhile, Sakura's jutsu finishes healing the boy's arm, and he stands up to head towards the door.
"Wait," Konan stops him. Flower in hand, she stretches her bony arms out towards him. "This is for you."
"What is it?" the boy grumbles.
"It's something to remember me by," Konan answers. "When I return, I'll search for you again."
Sakura and the nurse look on at her with eyes of pity and remorse, because they know she's nothing more than a dying woman mumbling in her delirium. The boy rolls his eyes unenthusiastically and reaches for the flower, but when his hand brushes against hers, she grasps his fingers.
"Thank you," Konan whispers. "Thank you, Nagato."
And there, holding this random boy's fingers between hers for one final time, Konan feels whole. For the first time in forty years, she smiles.
She has no regrets.
Konan waits no longer. Her job is finished for the time being, and her promise is fulfilled. She closes her eyes, and withers away peacefully (lets go at last).
(A new beginning.)
---
Is it a dream?
All the ones I have loved calling out my name.
The sun warms my face.
All the days of my life, I see them passing me by.
---
Nagato's gravesite is never visited again. The last flower upon it wilts and freezes under the winter ice, obscuring the last traces of his grave with white sheets of absolute – and eternal – emptiness.