Afraid

"Yahiko…?"

He could hear the confusion in her voice. It coated every word, a light lilt, her voice heavy with sleep. He could imagine the way she looked right now, face flushed, eyes heavily lidded, hair a mess – yawning, too, probably. In her nightclothes.

He stared at the stars. "Go back to sleep, Konan."

There was a moment of silence. Then, the sound of her footsteps, drowsily making their way over to where he sat. She nudged him gently with her foot; asked him to move over to make way for her.

He sighed. It was impossible to reason with her. Shifting, he scowled. "I told you, I'm fine."

Konan stared back impassively. "And that's why you're out here in the middle of the night."

He placed a hand over his heart. "The sarcasm, it burns," he deadpanned.

She almost smiled as she sat down besides him, lowering her legs to the water as he had. The icy liquid quickly soaked the bottom of her pajamas, but she didn't seem to mind, moving in closer to him, placing her head on his shoulder. He felt his breath catch in his throat.

Sighing, he wrapped an arm around her. She wasn't wearing a jacket, he noticed absently. Just a blanket wrapped around her. "You're going to freeze out here."

She shifted a little. "I'll be okay." Her voice was muffled. A few strands of her hair fell over her shoulder, and she dipped her head forward, unwilling to extract her hands from the comfortable sanctuary of her blanket even to perform that one little gesture.

She missed, and her splashing foot caused a little water to splash up and land on her nose. Said appendage wrinkled, she was disgruntlement personified.

He couldn't stop a laugh wrenching out of him. Tucking her hair behind her ear – rather than thanking him, she chose to glare murderously at him – he said a single word: "Nagato?"

"He's fast asleep," she yawned daintily. "You know how he likes his sleep. A horde of stampeding buffaloes couldn't rouse him."

He felt another quiet chortle coming upon him at the reminder of an actual incident that had occurred a few years ago. "Or a bunch of rioting villagers."

"Or a bunch of rioting villagers," she agreed, smiling against his side. He could tell that the incident evoked the same amusement within them that it had on the day when it had actually occurred.

They had been in the Land of Waves. It was a small nation, and not very prosperous. The people mostly lived on the fish that they caught – and occasionally exported. Not being a ninja nation, it was a country that was constantly facing political upheaval, with one dictator after another arming himself with some second-rate shinobi bodyguards and firmly establishing his presence there.

When the three of them had been visiting, the village's people had finally risen up against the current, self-proclaimed 'lord', and had rioted against him and his minions. The riot, which had originally begun as a peaceful open meeting to discuss the causes of the country's economic backwardness, had ended up with a violent mob charging towards the dictator's palace.

On the way, some of the members of the mob had chosen to cut straight through the lane in which they were lodging. The rowdy youngsters had screamed and yelled and hacked half the house down. Their elderly landlady had been terrified. The servants had cowered in the cellar, none possessing enough courage to man up and tell the unruly hooligans to back off and leave the old woman alone. He had then, infuriated, soundly beaten them up, and finished by throwing them off the second-floor balcony.

Nagato had, quite literally, slept through it all.

He felt laughter bubble up in him, and surprisingly, it slipped out, loud against the cold winter night. The warmth of his mirth seemed to heat the chilly surroundings for just a moment, and for a moment, the sound of Konan's accompanying snort of amusement was enough to slightly melt the icy vice that had gripped around his heart.

He sighed, the warm memory evaporating. Suddenly, he felt very alone, despite the fact that both of his best friends were within a hundred yards. He wrapped his arm around his friend even tighter. "Konan," he said in a small voice, "Konan, I'm afraid."

The words had slipped out – he hated them, even though they were true. He was afraid. But that didn't change the fact that his admission had sounded almost childish, and he hated feeling this way. He was supposed to be their leader – Nagato's and Konan's – and he couldn't just go about feeling sorry for himself. He had to be strong, for all of their sakes. They believed in him.

Konan was silent for a moment. Then she tilted her head, and stared at his face. He was suddenly acutely self-conscious, and his skin itched with unexpected panic. 'What the…?"

"It's only human to be afraid," she stated matter-of-factly.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, exasperated. "I know," and it was true, he did know. "But that doesn't make it acceptable."

"I disagree," she replied in a voice so quiet, that had he not felt her chest reverberate with the words by his side, he would have missed them. "Being afraid is… being afraid makes us who we are. It develops us. Because you can only be afraid if you have something to lsoe. Think about it – a man who had no care in this world, why would he be afraid for his life? If he did not care whether he lived or died – if he was not concerned – then he would not be afraid. It is the fear of losing something that makes it precious to us." She placed her hands over her heart. "It's that fear that makes us mature."

Her earnestness surprised him. She rarely voiced her philosophies in this manner. He couldn't help but feel that this had been a little unprecedented, that she had let slip more than she wanted to. He didn't mind. He liked being this close to her.

"Yeah, but… but what if it actually happens? What if you lose the thing that you care about? What then?"

She stared at him as if the answer should have been obvious. "You don't lose. If that thing is really precious to you, then… you cannot lose it. You have to fight tooth and nail, and be willing to give up your life for it."

He stared at the wide expanse of the silent river without really seeing. "I'm afraid –" his voice caught in his throat, unusually muted " – of losing you. You and Nagato."

There was silence for a moment. He felt a lump rise in his throat, the finality of what he had just admitted revealing itself to him. It had been the truth. He had never treasured anything – anyone – as he did his two friends. They were his family, in spirit if not in blood. The idea of losing them – in battle, in sickness, in anything – made such horrors rise within him that he felt as though he might burst.

Then Konan had taken his much larger hand into her tiny one. "Yahiko," she whispered. "Look up and tell me what you see."

He did.

They were in the Land of Iron. It was winter, and it had recently snowed, the fresh whiteness highlighting the stark beauty of the landscape. In front of him, there was a hill covered by the fresh, green, spring pines, which had been planted just this past year or the one before that. The fragrance of crushed pine needles was everywhere, even drifting across the wide, silent expanse of the river in between them. The silent, clear black water of the river reflected the thousands of stars that had formed a canopy around them, glittering like crushed diamonds. He could feel the heat of the lit stove inside the cabin, and he fancied that he could hear Nagato's silent breaths.

Konan's hand was warm in his. They were sitting on the very edge of a wooden jetty that ended directly on the river, and their feet dangled over the edge, up to calves in the icy water. He could see the smooth, rounded pebbles of the river bed in front of him, their pallor broken only by the sight of his own winking, shimmering toe-ring, and that of Konan's bright orange nail polish, slightly chipped at the edges.

He looked up, and turned towards her, only to find that her face was already turned towards him, tilted upwards, as open as a lotus. Her pale grey eyes – wisps of the slightest smoke – regarded him with something strange, and there was so much affection on her face that he almost stopped breathing.

"Yahiko," she whispered. "We're not going anywhere. We're right here. This moment, right now, in this place – all three of us are here. We're with you. We're alone here. We're happy. And although there may be a moment in the future – there may be a time – when we go our separate ways, or when one of us passes away – right now, as of this very moment, we're here, we're with you, and we're healthy and happy. Believe, Yahiko."

He let out a great shuddering gasp, unaware of the fact that he had been holding his breath. Her words had awoken some inborn instinct in him, something that rose very rarely. He was suddenly aware of her close proximity, the way her body was pressed up against his side, her hand clasped firmly in his, her face barely an inch away from his own. He could feel her warm breath against his skin. Her wide gray eyes stared at him, fringed by long, thick lashes, her clear skin – she had rubbed the make-up off before she had gone to sleep – glowed in the light of the pale moon. He was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that she was heartbreakingly beautiful.

And then – how, he did not know. He had certainly not commanded his body – his eyes dropped to her lips. Soft, pale, and slightly parted… he gulped, unable to believe. It couldn't be – and yet, they were so close, she was so close to him – they couldn't be about to –

"Ah, there you are! I was wondering where the two of you had gone off to, when I woke up and saw that both the futons by my side were empty. What on earth are you doing here?" A tired voice broke out behind them.

Unbelievable. Unfuckingbelievable. He silently prayed that the heavens would open up and swallow the man could sleep through a bloody riot, but no, he had to wake up just now!

Konan tilted her head away from him, allowing a few strands of her midnight-blue hair to slip forward and obscure her face. "We were just talking, Nagato. We'll be right there." Her voice sounded strange, almost as if all the air had been sucked from her lungs, and she was struggling to breathe.

"Mmm," Nagato hummed. "Well, come along then. We have to start early tomorrow, you know, and we can't afford to get sick. Not if all of us want to go forward together."

"No," Konan's voice agreed, and with a jolt, he stared up into her face as she rose. She was staring down at him with a strange half-smile on her face. He distractedly noticed that her origami rose was still bound in her hair. Her hand was still warm in his. "Not if all of us want to go forward together."

Then she smiled, an absolutely stunning smile that rose up into her pale, pale eyes, and transformed her face into such incredibly beauty that he couldn't breathe.

And with that, they walked back into the house, hand in hand, seeping in each other's warmth.

"NO!" The anguish of her scream is clearly apparent, and she writhes and twists in her captors arms, trying to escape to no avail. She is overcome by sobs, tears dripping down her ashen cheeks, stormy eyes clouded behind a film of moisture.

Nagato's breath is shallow. He is still in shock, unable to accept or to comprehend the situation. His hands wrap around his comrade's body, clutching desperately, as though that would somehow be able to keep him there. As though he could hold on to a soul.

"No – no, no no no! WHY?!" His voice breaks, horror heavy in each word.

He is gasping shallowly. The pain in his abdomen – he made sure that the kunai speared at least one of his vital organs – is almost unbearable, and is losing consciousness fast. He knows that he is going to die, and he is glad – glad that it was him, and not Konan. He holds his trembling friend in his arms, trying with his last breath to comfort the ones dearest to him. Each word is unimaginable agony.

"Nagato. You and Konan… you've gotta stay alive somehow… You're… the saviour of… the world… You… can… bring… real –"