Chapter Forty-nine: Restitution, Letting Go


When Namie woke up, nothing felt familiar.

She hurt, all over—and in some places, it didn't hurt where it should.

In some places, there wasn't anything to hurt.

She didn't really care, not immediately, so she focused on the bleary ceiling swimming above her, the wavy sunlight streaming in through the open curtains, the wet, floral, mossy breeze swaying them to and fro.

Like that—that place. Like wet dog. No—petrichor. That was the smell, right? It must have rained recently—or it was about to. Seemed like it rained on her face enough as it was.

But she was in the hospital. In a small room, an iteration of one she'd seen so many times before, where she couldn't find any familiarity or comfort.

In a way, she figured she belonged in this kind of place, as often as she ended up here. She died in one once, after all.

Only once…?

Maybe more.

Maybe never.

It was hard to tell, when she'd barely even lived in the old lifetime.

When she had this time to herself, when she had so much pain to distract herself from, there was plenty of time to think. To realize certain things.

To hate herself a little more.

To hate how she'd been, to hate what she'd done.

To hate what she couldn't just couldn't do, no matter how hard she tried.

There was no mourning.

Obito was still out there, a tool being honed, beaten into shape by the world. She had to go back to that country, to that cave-in, with an armed search party to—

Oh.

She didn't have her left arm anymore. She thought she did, and had to do a double-take just to make sure it really wasn't there, because she could still feel it, in a weird sort of way, or at least the memory of how it should have felt. It definitely wasn't there.

She laughed—and cried, in intervals.

She didn't feel sorry for herself. She was just frustrated—at everything.

And she…didn't care, anymore. There was no reason to care. There just wasn't.

If she couldn't give this world the biggest fuck-you in the form of ripping up its well-laid plans physically, because it fought back, it tried to destroy her in return, she'd have to use her words. Her words would have to become that lost hand that would change the world itself and splatter fate like an unwanted mosquito. All over the damn place. And she'd still fight. In any way she could. She still could.

If they thought she was crazy—who cared? Who really fucking cared anymore?

It was her fault, anyway. Thinking she could do this on her own, when she'd had so many chances to tell someone—someone who mattered, who could help.

She thought her arm was there again, and let out a long-suffering sigh when she looked again, just to make sure.

Just to make sure.

It didn't bother her, that it was gone—not really. In a way, she deserved it. For the past—for the future. It was the perfect punishment, because she'd done the same to her friend.

Because she'd tried so hard to do this alone, and shut so many others out.

Even if they didn't let her do it.

No—they just wouldn't leave her alone, even though they should, because there were so many bouquets and get-well-soon cards, and messages and—ugh. Maybe that's where the smell came from. There were daisies, somewhere, tickling at her nose. She tried to rub at it with her left arm. Failed.

She didn't care.

There was still work to be done, she couldn't just lay here and think. Now, more than ever, she had to get a plan together, a better plan, one that took into consideration the things she'd refused to use before. On the bright side, there were no broken bones—just like she'd sworn to herself—and a handful of absent bones definitely didn't count.

Fuck, it still hurt to move, to push herself up and lean on only one arm, feeling a little crooked, but otherwise normal. Not unwhole. Just a little…confused. Like it was meant to happen, like it had happened to her once—maybe, to someone else…? Maybe because it could have been someone else, like Toboe, and she didn't quite feel like herself right now.

"Don't even think of getting up."

The voice startled the holy hell out of her, because she swore she was alone, and when she looked to her left, Minato was sitting there, hands poised to steady her, catch her if she fell, conflicted—torn between wanting to verbally lambast her and break down in relief, probably, because he lost a student and he couldn't lose his sister, too.

For a minute, she didn't recognize him as anyone but—well, someone else. Just another shinobi. One who had her hair, and eyes, and…for a minute, he wasn't her brother, someone else was.

Someone she hated, but didn't really hate. Not really.

Regardless of good intentions, it was her fault, back then. All of it was. She'd been blamed, and she accepted that blame, then, but she couldn't handle it again. That was why she tried so hard to keep everyone at arm's length, to keep them from getting close, to knowing her heart—because there was nothing good on the inside, there. Just destruction. And failure.

She didn't want them to blame her for anything else that she fucked up.

That was it, right? That was always it.

It seemed so simple, so stupid, now that she knew.

She didn't have to push them away. She just did it because…because.

Because.

Namie shook her head slowly, feeling everything sloshing around inside, and pressed a hand—her only hand—against her bandaged forehead, kneading at the jumpy, jumbled-up pain that couldn't decide if it wanted to stay or go.

One of those fucking rocks must have knocked her good and well in the head, because that sounded like a concussion talking. For the past few minutes—hours? Days?—she'd been stuck listening to her unsteady stream of consciousness; it was all the damage talking. Some of it true, some of it not. Most of it true. Hitting her where it hurt the most.

Kushina was there, for a second—she could tell by the red of her hair. Long, red hair. Like blood.

No, it was blood—on her hands, on the floor, on her clothes, on—

Long, red hair.

Blonde hair.

Brown? Maybe. Maybe a couple of times.

Everything was blurring, thick, like a bunch of Jell-O thrown together into a tub she was slammed face-first into and held down, until she drowned. But you can't drown in Jell-O. All you have to do is eat it and you're fine.

Then, Minato was there again.

With that hospital Jell-O in his hands, the generic, shinobi-assigned kind, tasteless, colorless gelatin packed with essential vitamins and supplements just like the ones in the milder soldier pills. Minus a few key ingredients, of course. She ate it, and spit it out.

Ate some more, grudgingly.

It took a while, but through the chewing—if it could even be called that, the nasty stuff just slid down her throat and weighed like mud in her stomach—she finally managed to focus, and after pushing herself just a little (with only one arm, just one) everything snapped into focus, clear as a 1080p TV screen. Or whatever they were called. She remembered those. HD. It was great. Nothing like it here, though.

It was hard, when she saw his face—really saw it, clearly, and couldn't pretend she didn't.

Couldn't pretend she was still swaying, stuck in a technicolor Jell-O mold, like it was some '50s sitcom and they were popular again. Jell-O fucking sucked.

She knew it hadn't just been the concussion talking, once she knew where she was, once she gained her bearings. She was medicated, heavily, before, now mildly, and all she could see of her specially Rin-amputated left arm was wrapped, well-cared for, and other than that, she was alright. She was fine.

No, not fine.

Nothing was fine.

"Namie?"

There was a hand set gently on her arm—her only arm. She was sitting up, and the Jell-O bowl sat heavy in her lap, a pasty, minty-green that faded over years and years of use and bleaching, yet still stark against the white sheets and blankets over her legs. No, it wasn't Jell-O, not anymore. But it was gruelly, gross stuff. Oatmeal…? No, definitely not.

Minato spoke again, and he was there, at her side, like a good big brother should be. Funny, she'd never really considered him a brother, not in the real, familial sense—just in a forced, this-is-my-lineage-and-this-is-my-clan-now way, because she'd been born into it. She didn't think of him the way she thought of Kakashi. Of Obito.

She didn't think of him much at all, in fact.

Because it was time to be honest, and to not care, and she didn't hate him, but she wasn't going to force herself to be the good sister.

Did she ever really care about them, about anyone…?

Not the way she was supposed to—not as the family they were, that they were supposed to be.

Even after everything, they remained characters.

No—that wasn't true, either. If they were just characters, she wouldn't care about losing them. She wouldn't sacrifice her entire goddamn arm in lieu of her entire life for them.

Then…what?

It must have been a problem with her. She was so good at lying, she even had herself fooled. For so long.

The curtains were open, the window was open, and the trees rustled outside as they shed their colored leaves in the breeze. She could see clouds passing by at their leisure in the blindingly bright blue sky, but it was a bitter sight.

The comforting—cautious—hand on her arm moved away—and she spoke as the warmth seeped away.

"I can hear you."

"Oh, god, finally!" It was a figure of speech, because he wasn't religious, either, but she focused on it especially, because she really did wonder if there was a god in this world—this place.

And then—there were arms around her. Careful, tender, grateful, full of relief, and grief, of course. It was the first time they'd hugged since they were little. She didn't really miss it. Didn't really mind it, either. But her right arm was squashed under his, and she couldn't return it.

He was happy, now, overjoyed, but it wouldn't last.

"I shouldn't have let you go," he said, shutting his eyes tight, so tightly they watered at the edges with unshed tears. "I shouldn't have let any of you go. None of you were ready."

"My kill count is almost higher than yours." It wasn't what someone normally said in a tender moment of reunion. She barely felt the words leave her lips as she stared down at that mint-green bowl.

"I didn't mean that—I meant, being on the battlefield with people you care about. Letting them go at all. I think…you were right."

"I don't think it would have turned out much differently if you went with them."

"I mean I never should have let them take that mission," he stressed. "I could have done it alone. Someone else could have done it."

"That doesn't sound like future-Hokage talk, Minato."

"…I'm tired of watching children die in war."

"Now that sounds like promising Hokage talk." She said it with a smile, but it quickly fell when she remembered he'd lost a student—someone important. Another had been damaged. Two damaged. Three, if she counted herself.

He's not dead, she wanted to tell him. He's still out there. He'll be back. He'll be…

It turned out to be something they regretted after all.

"…You did get a promotion offer, right?" Namie asked at length, squinting at the bowl of…food. Maybe it was rice gruel. There was a square-ish spoon stuck inside, but she didn't really want to touch it. "After all that. You had to have finished the mission. Had to have done Konoha a huge favor. If you didn't, I'll have words with that old man myself—"

This conversation wasn't the one he wanted to have. He continued to watch her, cautious, treading carefully. Because she was speaking, cognizant, but not entirely coherent. "When the war ends. Sandaime-sama is going to step down once it's over. Then I'll take up the title of Yondaime Hokage."

"And I'll join ANBU, and I'll watch your back. Sounds like a plan." Being facetious at the worst time, but he knew. She wouldn't let that arm stop her—or the lack of it, really—but there was no way they'd allow her in ANBU like that. As shitty as it was. They had their rules.

He didn't respond to that, only looked away, so she continued speaking.

"How long has it been?"

"Two weeks."

"Just two weeks? I swear it was a month."

"Two days over, to be exact."

"Really makes a big difference."

"Namie…" he began slowly, familial warmth gone, replaced by trepidation. Uncertainty. Gloom. He was the bearer of bad news and it was the worst role for a brother to take on. "You are aware of what this means, aren't you?"

She looked down at her arm—no, at the empty space to her left. If this had been a space opera, she wouldn't blink twice at it. It'd be a prosthetic, metal and shiny and robotic and cool. If this had been her first life, maybe it would be something of the same, or at least a false limb. Still cool. Or nothing. Some preferred that, too. Seeing it now, though, really seeing it…

"It doesn't change a thing. I know it means I'm not allowed to do what I did before, but I'd sure as hell like to see you, or anyone else, stop me."

I won't let you.

It went unspoken.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Don't bring up early retirement, or Academy teaching. Or—" She stopped. "I'm. Not. Done."

She swiped the bowl off her lap, listened as it clattered across the tiles and hit the wall with a hard, plastic smack. Because who really gave a fuck? It was bratty, but. Who. Cared. It felt real. It felt.

It felt.

"I want to go see Obito. Give me a hand, would you?" God, was it cheesy, but she couldn't help it, and she almost laughed—her lips cracked into a smile instead.

The smile didn't quite make it, though. When she looked at Minato, he looked at her differently.

Like he'd seen her break so many times that he was afraid this was the last time—the time there were so many pieces she couldn't be fixed; couldn't come back.

Like she was a stranger. And she was. And so was he.

Then, he was her older brother, again.

"Obito, he…" His voice very nearly cracked. "You aren't leaving right now, Namie."

"You heard what I said, Minato."

Briefly, she wondered if Inori had been by. If she'd been assessed, if her chakra was fine, if it was as fucked up as she felt, if she'd said something—so many somethings—she shouldn't have. Not yet.

No. No… it didn't matter.

They'd just chalk it up to war ruining her, as it ruined so many others.

"I'd like you a lot more right now if you'd been there to save him." It was so fucking mean, so unfair to say, but she said it anyway, and he flinched—actually, physically flinched away, like she'd tried to strike him. For a second, she thought she did. But her right arm was out of reach. And her left? Gone.

It was the beginning of bad blood. So, so much resentment. Undeserved. Lurking between them, ready to consume.

No, she didn't want that.

He was her brother. He was, and she did care, because family was rare, so rare in this place, anywhere, and they weren't all that close (because of her, always her) but they were still siblings.

"No…I didn't mean that. Sorry. I'm sorry. You lost him, too. I'm sorry." The words sounded more automatic than authentic, for some reason. But the emotion behind them—wasn't that real?

"We all did," he said, quietly, strained, like his throat had closed up and he was trying not to cry. He didn't look at her, not for a while. Only sat in that small hospital chair, looking toward the corner where the spilled food congealed and sat, still, gross, blobby. She felt bad that someone else would have to clean it up.

"Everyone wants to see you," he said at length, running the heel of his hand across his eyes like he was brushing away dust, because grown ass ninja didn't cry, rules or not—no, he'd cried in front of her before. Now, he was just afraid to let her see his tears. "I'm glad you're back with us."

He was probably a little afraid of her.

And he'd be more afraid when he knew the truth.


People did indeed come to see her. Inori, Taji—they fussed the most, as her doctors, and the latter as her mother, too. Suzume, Rin, Kakashi, Kushina. Even Kurocha, the stubborn thing, had stolen into the hospital and immediately ran and jumped on her hospital bed before staff shooed him out.

Hiroto would have dropped by, she was sure, if this situation wasn't incredibly, painfully, familiar (only her arm was gone, it was gone holy shit it was gone).

Even Mikoto and Itachi dropped by, no matter how briefly.

Most, though…most stayed away. Left her to her own devices.

There were whispers, as there always were, of her ruined reputation. The Ogre of the Battlefield—the Shining Chakra Shield—was no more. But it was inevitable, they said, because someone so reckless in war was bound to self-destruct. It was a wonder it hadn't happened sooner.

She only brought this on herself.

She was a glory hog, anyway.

Yeah, and a huge bitch.

She's just a kid…

There were also those who remembered the good, what little it had been.

Her name was by no means a legend, but she'd be remembered for a while, for various reasons.

When she had enough of it, she left the hospital. Didn't wait to be discharged, just…dropped out the window, glad it was on the ground level, because she slipped and knocked her head on the grass, just a bit. Not enough.

Her little country retreat was getting dusty—needed cleaning. The plants—weeds, really—needed watering.

She needed time to herself.

Of course, the guards didn't let her past the gates; didn't let her leave Konoha. Not in her condition. Condition, what condition, she spat, but she didn't need an answer. They thought the war cracked her. Broke her.

And the war—the war was going pretty well, all things considered. Destroying Kannabi Bridge netted a real boon, as meaningless as it was in a war that had taken so much, and its destruction continued to aid them—to push them closer to the end of it.

She wondered, briefly, if that bridge had also aided civilians; if something those people needed was now dust.

She wondered if, when, Rin would be captured by enemy forces and forced to harbor the Sanbi, because everything was still tight on a track set for hell. Then, Kakashi would accidentally kill her and all hell would break loose in Obito's mind, then…

Her little shack could wait, she guessed. So she went back home, instead, to the apartment.

Taji wasn't home, was away on medic duties, so she did get a little time to herself. Changed clothes—with a bit of difficulty, since Taji or a nurse usually helped—wriggling through it with only one hand. Sweatpants and a T-shirt, that was easiest, because they were loose and didn't require complicated zipping or buttoning. One day, she'd get the hang of the one-handed life—but today wasn't that day.

Someone knocked on the front door.

She stopped straightening her left sleeve and looked up, knowing Taji would never knock at her own home.

Neither would Minato, or Kushina—they barged right in. Well, Kushina did. Minato knocked, indeed, but he had a spare key he made use of immediately after.

She opened the door, and was surprised—but not really—to see Kakashi standing there.

And she promptly shut it again.

Because he'd drag her back to the hospital. The staff were probably worried. Inori was probably flipping his shit. Minato or Taji, if she was around to see, would raise hell and scour the town for her.

He didn't let her close the door. He stopped it with his hand, the brave thing, somehow foreseeing that it wouldn't get smashed in the frame. Even if she only closed it half-heartedly.

"We need to talk."

Those were never good words. Never, ever.

Still, she opened the door again and gave him a level stare, trying to get a read on him, because it was about the mission, she was sure. Something she'd said during the cave-in. Had to be.

He closed the door behind him, and slapped a paper tag on its surface. One to prevent immediate eavesdropping—or maybe a barrier to keep her from running. They weren't just available to the general shinobi public. Shit, she wasn't even sure how he got ahold of one, but he was either planning on killing her or talking serious business that couldn't be overheard by anyone, even the birds outside.

She definitely fucked up and said something.

"You've been to visit me twice. We've talked." She played dumb, if only to make light of the situation. Especially when that "talk" was more her sitting quiet through a cocktail of drugs and working through a concussion while he didn't speak much, either. But the company counted.

For something.

Kakashi was never one to beat around the bush, or waste time. He didn't budge an inch, standing in front of the door, not even bothering to take off his shoes. Not even stepping onto the floorboards where she stood, giving her the high ground.

"The things you said—the things I heard—they don't add up."

"I…don't really know what I said."

The wall beside them was suddenly intriguing, with all of its...paint. What color was it, exactly? She never knew. Just an orangey-yellow. Sunshine, maybe. She liked the sound of that.

It wasn't as interesting to Kakashi.

"You were acting weird during the whole mission." He narrowed his eye, studying her as she failed to meet his gaze, eyes glued to the sunshine-yellow wall. "It didn't make sense then, but it does now. You knew something. What was it?"

That line struck a familiar chord. Even so, it wasn't one she could just respond to.

Shrug. Helpless, oblivious shrug. He wouldn't buy any of her excuses, anyway. She very nearly took a step back, but stopped herself at the last second, half-afraid he'd take that as a bad sign. She reached out to the wall and pressed her hand flat against it, not to steady herself, but, well, the room was starting to spin just a bit. Probably because she held her breath. Didn't realize it until her breathing came too quick; too harsh.

Seeing her state must have jarred him, because he eased his tone when he spoke again. His voice softened around the edges, less sharp, hushed. Hurt? She couldn't tell. Or just didn't want to know. "I haven't told Minato. I haven't told anyone. Your sudden move onto our team, your behavior, your words—"

"I said I don't remember."

"You told Obito you should have killed him!"

As expected, he wouldn't buy any excuses. The sudden outburst did catch her off guard, enough to make her jerk slightly and step back, but not enough to meet his only eye as it bore a hole through her and everything she'd tried so hard to hide.

"Then…report me. Go tell to the Hokage."

He shook his head. Finally looked away—down, at the floor. "Dammit, Namie! I'm trying not to report you, with all of this going on. You knew something."

"Irresponsible, for a jōnin," she said with a humorless and half-choked laugh, but he ignored it, too focused on the situation at hand. "I know a lot of things, but I never..." She shook her head.

They both stood in the hallway, tense, at an impasse, as if blocking each other's way, and the room, the house, seemed all too suddenly too small. Suffocating.

She finally looked at him; studied the gauze bandage stuck across his left eye and the scar that just wasn't there, where it should have been, spidering up across his brow and down his cheek. It wasn't there, and it was only a small change, but the outcome was the same. He was taller, now—not much, but a noticeable bit taller than her. Still a child, yet he'd already been through more than most adults.

How was any of that even fair…?

And…why didn't she do more to stop it…?

Why?

"Rin didn't suspect anything, but she's—she's not handling this well. As far as I know, I'm the only one, so why can't you tell me?"

It was the most he'd ever talked, like he wasn't holding back. It reminded her of Kyouya—she'd slipped then, too, but to such a lesser degree that it didn't even matter. Kyouya—she'd broken another promise, there, and couldn't even bother thinking of how much he'd hate her for it. Maybe he'd finally realize she was no good and he'd finally leave her alone.

But this was Kakashi. The look on his face—so openly broken, so lost and conflicted, just like it had been back then, before they'd gone to help Obito and rescue Rin—hurt to see. He'd seen—heard—something he shouldn't have, couldn't forget, and he wouldn't let it go. Nothing she said against it would change his mind. All because he cared too much.

In a way, she'd dragged him here. Dragged him down with her into this self-destructive whirlpool of bad decisions and self-reliant false optimism that just wouldn't stop and only hurt anyone who came too close.

If she'd just left well enough alone, if she hadn't gone with them, he'd be none the wiser. If she did something about things before that mission, they wouldn't be here, now.

So, why didn't she…?

Her eyes moved to the shoe rack pressed up against the wall; at the dusty photo frames below her hand, which she'd knocked over on her way into the house. Just so she didn't have to see those faces—anyone's faces, smiling during a time where smiles seemed so fucking fake.

"Why would you want to kill him?" he pried, unmoving, save for his hands coiling into tight fists at his sides.

"I'm pretty sure you've had the passing thought. He's kind of annoying sometimes."

"…I can't be the only one who sees it, Namie. Whatever it is that's going on, you can't hide it forever." He shook his head. Relaxed a bit, but tension remained. He didn't uncurl his fists. "You're going to be evaluated. I was. Rin was. They'll know." There was something else in his voice, and when he spoke again, it was hoarse. "…I've read your files."

Her devil-may-care expression faltered. Pinched in, as she opened her mouth to speak on reflex, and it took every fiber of her being to remain silent.

It didn't work.

"How fucking dare you." There wasn't much feeling behind those words, and she said it as casually as if she were reading a generic get-well-soon card out loud.

It didn't matter anymore. Her hand fell from the wall as she turned away.

She knew more about him than he'd care to know, anyway. It was an even trade. But, oh, the little sneak—accessing confidential files, stealing seal tags only the Hokage and ANBU ever really used in-village. She was a little proud, to be honest. No wonder he joined ANBU, once.

She took a step forward, further into the house. The cheap, hard wooden floor was cold under her feet. But it anchored her down, reminded her where she was, what had happened. What would happen.

"Those files are only the half of it. There are so many things I can't tell you, Kakashi, but…I can tell you I didn't mean to say that. I'd never…"

"That isn't all, is it?"

"Oh, please, like you tell everyone every little thing."

He looked away, uncertainty creeping across his face, his only visible eye, the creases across his brow.

"I saw you stop. You almost let him get attacked. No matter what you say or do, you can't change that. You looked like you'd let it happen. You looked like you didn't care."

"I cared, but not how you think."

"…I don't want to think it, but there are times I'm convinced you let him die. Even though you promised—"

She turned on her heel and slapped him—barely realized she did it, but she did, and it froze her dead still as she recoiled. There was a slight sting in her palm and she couldn't soothe it with the other hand that was no longer there. Didn't want to. Didn't deserve to.

Kakashi looked to the side, visible eye wide, unmoving from where she'd snapped his head.

And then, he raised his hand as if to retaliate, before stopping, expression conflicted, and touching his hand to his stricken cheek instead.

Even if she wished he'd just hit her back, hard enough to knock out some teeth, to knock some sense into her—and her expression fell when he didn't, because he was better than her.

Moisture welled up in her eyes—his eye was shiny, too, but the tears didn't drip down like hers did and hit the ground like bullets.

Eyes flooding, biting her lip so hard it bled, even though she didn't make a sound.

"I didn't," she finally choked out. "I swear, I tried to save him. I tried. I knew the little idiot would get hurt when he went out into the battlefield. He's not like you. Neither is Rin. They're not like us—hell, you're not like me. But—he's not dead, and…" Her voice trailed off. She shut her eyes, feeling a dull throb in her head, and in her arm—where it once was. "Kakashi, you know I would never… I'm so sorry."

"I'm not sure what I know about you anymore, but..." He didn't finish the thought, caught on what she'd admitted.

She closed her eyes, squeezed them shut. "I'll tell you."

He wasn't her first option. If she had it her way, she never would have told him anything. Anything. But he was the one here, now, when everything was breaking, when she could barely even feel anymore, and he was family, real family, and she needed him to hear it.

She told him everything.


In a way, it felt like a dream. As in, it didn't feel real, finally letting her secrets go—to someone who mattered, anyway.

In a manner of speaking, "everything" varied from person to person, as it did when she told Sasori the abridged version of his story. Didn't have time to say everything, after all, when she thought she was knocking at death's door.

She didn't tell him "everything," to be perfectly honest. It was too much for anyone to carry. She kept some secrets buried deep, never to be spoken again. She didn't speak of their world as fiction—no one could handle that. Reincarnation—that was a thing she could work with. Time and its ways were tricky, never linear, parallel, and without reason or explanation, so it could work. She worked that angle, as she always would.

Kakashi listened. She didn't know if he believed her, if he'd rather run for the hills or even turn her back in to the hospital, permanently, but he listened. He gave her that, at least, because even if they didn't always get along, they at least respected each other.

It didn't feel real, but then again she couldn't feel her arm, either, and its absence was definitely real.

By the end of it, she wasn't sure what to say. Wasn't sure anything could really be said.

Words were spoken anyway.

"…Of course, by telling you all that, there's no guarantee things stay the same." Then, she laughed, a bit brokenly. "But it isn't like they've really changed, even now."

For a moment, he didn't speak, and he looked at her like he didn't know her, and never did, not really.

"You don't want them to stay the same."

"No, I don't. I've tried so…" she trailed off. Pushed her hair aside and rubbed her forehead, closed her eyes and leaned back against the plush chair. At some point, they'd moved to the living room, sitting opposite each other in the two seats on either side of the sofa, with the coffee table between them. A safety precaution, she thought, or just coincidence. "Didn't I try hard? I thought I did, but—no. It all seemed so pointless, after…after that mission. That's why…that's why I'm telling you. I can't do this alone. I never could."

She could be dreaming. It was entirely probable. It would make the most sense, because she'd never…never tell Kakashi all of this. He didn't ask for proof. He didn't ask for his past, or for his future. Didn't even bring up the sucker punch that was Sakumo.

Telling him Obito was alive, telling him Rin wouldn't be, was enough to catch his attention and keep it.

Even if it was all a dream, a great weight had been lifted. Finally, she was at peace. Those secrets trying to constantly claw their way out, gnaw their way free, finally were.

"So, who are you going to tell?" she asked, having no delusions about this situation. No matter what he'd asked, no matter what lengths he'd gone to, no matter their relation, he couldn't have expected anything even remotely like this. He was still a shinobi of Konoha—and a sensible person—and she knew what would happen if she ever let any of this go, but she did it anyway and she had to accept the consequences.

There always were consequences, no matter what, and the world made sure to let her know it would never go easy on her in that regard.

She just had to hope it was worth it this time.

"I don't know." His reply was honest. Quiet, as he sat on the chair and mulled over the information. Closed off again and hard to read, the one time it would have helped to know his reaction. "I don't know about all of what you told me, but you aren't lying. And you lie a lot. But…" His voice trailed off. "If Rin's in danger, like you say…" He didn't finish the thought.

He didn't comment on Obito.

"Do you think I said anything stupid to Minato while I was in the hospital?" she asked lightly, trying to find humor in this mess but failing to muster a smile.

"I don't know. He didn't say anything, didn't ask—but you need to get back to the hospital." He looked up, as if seeing her for the first time, and half-rose from his seat as the full nature of the situation struck him. "Right now."

She didn't want to, but she grudgingly agreed. "I know…I'll get going." It took a bit of effort, moving to her feet, dragging her body to the door, but she didn't open it just yet. She didn't look over her shoulder, either, but she spoke again. "I can't stop you, Kakashi, but…" She paused, scratched at the paper seal stuck to the door until it tore away with a spark of chakra, listened to Kakashi as he moved to his feet as well, but didn't walk to her. "If you tell anyone…please don't let it be Minato."

He didn't answer. He didn't say a thing, and his silence bothered her the entire way back to the hospital.

If anyone missed her while she was gone, they didn't say anything. But there was a fresh bunch of flowers on her bedside table when she returned. Maybe they were the ones Kakashi brought, before he saw that she was gone and tracked her down. Could have shadowed her the whole time, for all she knew.

In a way, she believed they were there in memory of the choices she'd left behind; let go.

It was time to make up for every mistake.


There was no way Kakashi could keep any of that to himself.

Just no way.

He tried—he did, at first. The first day was easy, because he could pretend it was all a bad dream. The second day wasn't so easy, because he realized it wasn't. The third, fourth—the fifth day was the hardest, because he wasn't sure what to think about Namie anymore, couldn't be sure if she was a danger to herself, couldn't be sure if she was even herself anymore, after everything—if he'd lost her too, along with Obito—so on the sixth day, he made a decision.

He told Minato.