.
.
He was standing at their graves again. Silently, Obito watched as Kakashi reverently knelt forward, setting a bouquet of flowers in front of Rin's headstone. They were lilies this time: the week before, Kakashi had brought a bouquet of roses, red and pink and wrapped in a cone of white paper. He never brought anything for Obito: instead, Kakashi would just stand and stare for awhile, as if speaking to him, or praying for him. His grave, unlike the others, was without offerings, no half-spent candles or wilted flowers covering his head stone.
It was just as well: the gifts were wasted on the dead, and Obito if anything had died a long time ago.
xXx
.
The mask maker he visited was a civilian, old and gray and hunching over his work bench. The masks he made were for festivals and for children, hung up in clean, bright colors and decorating the walls. "A shame," the mask maker said, and he turned over Obito's old mask in his hands. "A mask like this cracked so easily! I will see what I can do."
Obito watched silently. The mask maker's hands were knotted and arthritic, the joints of his fingers stiff and knobby. The mask Obito needed now had to be stronger and more resilient, but he knew he would miss the old orange whorl.
"Are you a ninja?" the old man's granddaughter asked. She came out from the back room and sat next to him. "How come you're wearing a mask?"
Obito looked at her. She was young - six or seven at the most - and painfully unaware of the goings-on in the shinobi world. Civilians often are, Obito thought, and silently he removed his mask, letting the girl see the scars on his face. "Do they hurt?" the girl asked. Obito shook his head.
"Not really."
The girl sat next to him. There was a bandaid covering a cut on her shin.
Six years old. Obito was about that age when he began his training, thirteen when he had supposedly died. The girl sucked on a piece of hard candy then lost interest in him, jumping up from the bench to run up to her grandfather, who smiled and patted her on the head.
"Forgive me my granddaughter," the old man said, kindly. "She has never met a shinobi before."
"I don't mind," he said. He rose and looked out the window.
They stood on the backs of fallen nin. Discreetly, Obito moved and quietly balled up the wanted sign tacked up on the merchant's bulletin board, a poorly drawn caricature of a man in a mask. Images copied from bingo books were notoriously diluted out here, among the merchants and the farmers with no concept of shinobi life. Behind him, the girl chatted idly while the grandfather smiled and laughed, and Obito could hear the sturdy sounds of the old man carving into the wood.
"How come you have one eye?" the little girl said. Obito turned to look at her. "What happened to your face?"
"A rock fell on me," Obito said, and the little girl squealed, laughing.
"A rock! That's silly! How come you didn't dodge it?"
"Child, please," the old man said. Obito smiled.
Funny. Among his subordinates in the Akatsuki or his enemies in faraway lands, no one had ever dared speak to him so directly. Even if he didn't take on the mantle of Uchiha Madara, shinobi of enemy villages could sense Obito was dangerous, and often kept a wide berth.
Obito had no need for friendship: he had bigger goals, a grander scheme to follow.
But Obito was tired. The civilian village had taken a full four days of travel by teleportation, and though Obito normally used his Jikuukan Idou to teleport long distances, the land was far and remote and well-removed from any shinobi territory. The girl offered him a piece of candy and swung her legs on the wooden bench, and quietly Obito took it from her, turning the brightly colored wrapper in his hands.
The shop was quiet. Sunlight came in bright amber streaks, coloring the room with a warm orange glow. "You should eat it," the little girl said.
Obito turned. The little girl was looking at the candy, expectantly.
"It's strawberry flavored," the little girl said. "It's really good."
"Child. Leave the man alone," the grandfather said.
Obito smiled. He looked at the little girl and held up the candy. Then, as if performing a magic trick, he used his jutsu to make the piece swirl, then disappear.
The little girl squealed. "Grandpa! Look!"
"I saw," the old man said, and gave Obito an apologetic look, Thank you, shinobi-san, for putting up with my granddaughter.
"Can you do that again?" the little girl said, and she leaned excitedly, peering into his cloak. Obito smiled. He waved his hand: the candy re-appeared.
"Wow!" the little girl said, and Obito leaned back, closing his eye.
It was times like this that Obito remembered the reasons behind his plan. It fortified him. Too long he had shut himself off from the world, had worked alone and without a confidante, someone with whom he could share his hardships. Manipulation, suggestion. Twisting other men's needs to suit his ends. Even those who were close to him - those who knew him as Madara - were wary, and he didn't trust them. If he were his old self, he would falter under the weight of such loneliness, but Obito knew his actions had a purpose. His suffering would not be in vain.
The little girl played with a cloth doll. She brushed its hair, then showed it to him, smiling proudly. Obito took the doll from her and the little girl squealed, and the grandfather snapped, "Child. Leave him be!" and the little girl grabbed the doll and ran, bare feet pounding on the hardwood floor.
xXx
.
"It's taking longer than I thought," the old man said. He smiled apologetically, rubbing a calloused hand against his neck. "Forgive me, shinobi-san. I know you have traveled a long way, but I promise you: I will work on this piece all night!"
"Do not trouble yourself. I'm in no hurry," Obito said. The old man nodded, understanding.
"There is an inn not too far from here," the old man said, and the little girl grinned, watching as Obito stood. "Tell them I'm the reason for holding up your travels, and they will let you stay for free."
"Thank you," Obito said. He let his hand fall heavily on the little girl's head; she beamed up at him, smiling wide.
In the hotel room, Obito sat on the bed and removed his mask. It was dark now and Obito let his fingers run over the jagged bumps of scarred skin. Some areas were numb and dead to his touch; others tingled slightly, frayed ends of nerves that sometimes burst with jolts of searing pain. His scar didn't hurt, fortunately. Silently Obito set down his mask and took off his cloak, then moved to sit on the floor. Even here, in this civilian village, old habits die hard, and Obito slept upright, back against the wall and a katana against his shoulder.
When was the last time Obito had slept on a proper bed? He couldn't remember. Surely it was during his youth, when he and Rin and Kakashi hefted heavy sleeping mats and passed out on shared blankets during genin missions. Even when he was with the Akatsuki, he only slept for a few hours, sleeping lightly and waking to the smallest sound, the smallest threat around him. There were times, times when he was drained and physically exhausted, where he teleported himself to his dimension, sleeping among shapeless things in the place between other existences: he did this rarely, though, because the jutsu was long and exhausting and often times Obito would wake up with searing pains in his eye, the jutsu itself making him feel worse. So Obito didn't rest. He waited, ever ready to face an enemy foolish enough to try to kill him.
xXx
.
"It is done," the old man said.
Obito gave him his payment, then moved to the mirror and put on the mask. The mask fit him well, and though he hadn't yet implanted the Rinnegan, there was a second eyelet, which exposed the gaping maw of his left socket. He was careful to close that eye, before turning to show the little girl.
"Shinobi-san, there is something I want to ask you."
Obito adjusted his cloak, then turned. The old man was standing, the little girl hiding against the apron at his waist. "We heard there is going to be a war," the old man said.
Obito watched. The old man's arm was wrapped protectively around the little girl's shoulder, who was looking up at him with frightened eyes.
"Are you frightened, child?" Obito knelt. The little girl shook her head, staring at him. Slowly, Obito reached forward, then stroked the curls of the little girl's head.
"Do not be afraid, little one. For I fight on the side of peace."
"I hope you win, shinobi-san," the old man said. Obito rose again, meeting his eyes. "I hope, for all our sakes, you win."
"As do I," Obito said, and he raised his hood, pausing once to look back at them, before closing the door.