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“What is your full name?” Yamanaka asks, pen hovering over paper expectantly.

“Kikyo of Konohagakure,” Konan replies.

Yamanaka’s head tilts, but he jots it down gamely enough, “How old are you?”

Konan gives it some thought. Time is a difficult thing to nail down. When Madara came for her, it was March, and she was ready to die. Now it is September, and she has a whole life to live.

“Thirty-five,” she says, ignoring the change in the man’s expression. He doesn’t believe her. Little Konan is very obviously a teenager, and their strong resemblance to each other suggests they share both parents, so an eighteen year gap between full siblings, both claiming to be orphans, doesn’t make much sense. Especially when Konan’s false story of being cast out of Ame is considered. However, it’s common for shinobi to pretend to be older than they are, so he doesn’t press further, likely believing it to be a harmless lie.

“When did you leave Ame?”

“I never left,” Konan corrects, “I stayed to observe. Hanzo didn’t know I was there.”

The truth rings out in her voice, and the furrow between Yamanaka’s brow disappears as he scribbles down her answer.

“Why were you in Mountain’s Graveyard?”

Konan takes a deep breath, fixing her eyes on the table. “I was betrayed by someone I thought to be an ally. I fled, finding myself amongst the bones without realising where I was for some time.”

“Is this someone still a threat to you?” Yamanaka asks, though his real question is obvious. Is this someone a threat to Konoha?

Konan thinks of Madara, shrivelled and pathetic in death. “No,” she says, with such certainty that he continues on without hesitation.

“How did you kill Hanzo and his men?”

“I was informed of the location of the ambush and prepared accordingly. Hanzo was overconfident and underestimated me. It was… surprisingly easy,” Konan falls into a pensive silence.

“Why didn’t you kill him sooner, if it was so easy?”

“I… I foolishly hoped that he would be willing to seek peace. It seemed possible. He hadn’t always been a tyrant. For a while, he was the source of the village’s strength. He kept us safe. I suppose a small part of me had thought one day he would return to the man we once knew. The leader we needed. But he never did. And when he targeted my sister and her team… to betray them so cruelly… peace became impossible.”

“It sounds as though you’ve been living quite a stressful life,” Yamanaka says, switching topics so quickly it’s almost dizzying to keep up with, “would you say your mental state has suffered as a result?”

Konan stares at him.

“I would say my mental state is exactly as it needs to be,” she says slowly, unable to keep the derision out of her voice, “though I fail to see the relevance to this case.”

“This is not an interrogation, Kikyo-san. This is a mental evaluation, the same you asked Obito be granted. I’m here to assess whether or not you need assistance.”

“I do not need – ”

“With respect, Kikyo-san, this is my area of expertise, not yours. But bear in mind – this is not a test you can pass or fail, and regardless of your state of mind, I am confident you will be granted residence. So please, do not hold back. The more I know, the more I can help. May we continue?”

Konan sighs, then inclines her head in agreement.

“Do you have nightmares?”

Konan frowns, “If I sleep, then yes.”

“If you – forgive me, how many hours of sleep would you say you get on average?”

“Hours… I’d say perhaps thirty minutes a night, if needed?” Konan answers, considering the question. She can sleep, it’s just that in Akatsuki, it was normal to push your body to its limits, thereby lengthening the hours one could stay awake and still function adequately. Konan could go for a very long time without sleep, but she preferred not to do so. Endless wakefulness was the closest to madness she dared to reach.

Yamanaka’s pen stops, then resumes as though nothing happened. “And the nightmares, they’re frequent? Are they recurring, so the same things every time, or random? Events from real life, or just frightening dreams?”

Konan presses her lips together. “If I fall asleep, I will inevitably have the same dream. It’s less of a dream, more of a memory. It doesn’t always go the same way, but it is always the same moment.”

“What moment is that, if you don’t mind me asking?”

There is no reason to lie.

“The boy I love. He dies to save me. That is all.” She says, blinking with deliberate care. Tears prickle, but she squeezes her eyes shut, and they are gone.

When she opens her eyes, Yamanaka has not written her nightmare down. Instead, he is looking directly at her, sympathy all over his face.

Why should he pity her? In another life, she might have killed him.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Yamanaka says, horribly sincere.

“It doesn’t matter,” Konan says stiffly, “it isn’t relevant.”

“You loved him. Of course, it must be relevant,” Yamanaka says, like it’s so simple.

Konan was never allowed to mourn Yahiko. He was always there, eyes unseeing, growing beyond his years. He was painfully present and yet all too absent.

“It’s over. Nothing more than a dream, now,” she says, firm.

“Has there been no one else, since him? I’m sorry to ask, it’s very indelicate of me, but you said boy, not man, and so I assumed – ”

“It has only ever been him, and it will only ever be him,” Konan says harshly.

Yamanaka nods, “That’s very likely, unless you forgive yourself.”

Konan stiffens in her seat.

xxxxxxxx

When it’s done, she throws open the door and charges out, not waiting for the Yamanaka to follow.

Nara is leaning against the wall of the corridor.

Konan shuts the door in Yamanaka’s face, ignoring his polite protests.

“I have been declared quite sane,” she says sardonically when Nara raises an eyebrow in question, “but your teammate is a fool.”

“You escaped without any mandatory therapy sessions?” Nara asks, his amusement obvious as he examines the scene, her body pressed against the door, Yamanaka still inside the room.

“No. But what you consider mandatory, I consider pointless. Where’s my sister?”

“Your little ducklings are safely secured in the rec room, though they’re not happy to be separated from you. Your sister’s got a sharp tongue. If you follow me, we’ll discuss your bounty and the rest. Leave poor Inoichi to look after your ducks.”

Konan steps away from the door. “Very well. I’m surprised that the two of you are the ones tasked with sorting out the administrative work. Is that a coincidence, or more of my ‘strange fortune?’”

 Nara leads her down the hall and up a flight of stairs before he answers, “No coincidence here. Inoichi’s the head of the Analysis Team, which gives him seniority and first pick of all mental evaluations. I’m the Jounin Commander, so I handle all new recruits, though normally it’s a case of promoting our own nin, not actually recruiting new ones.”

“Yamanaka wanted to be the one to evaluate me,” Konan frowns.

“How could he resist? You’re the most interesting find we’ve had in years. I’m guessing you gave him a lot to work with, considering that exit.”

Konan doesn’t dignify that with a response.

Nara takes her into a large office. Every surface is covered with sheets of paper, some towering at worrying levels. At first glance, none of the words are immediately recognisable. A code, then, and not one of the ones Akatsuki had cracked. Unfortunate.

Nara clears a space on the desk, then takes a seat, gesturing for her to do the same.

She expects him to pass her a form of some kind, but instead he sets out a shogi board.

Konan gazes at it, then up at him.

“You know how to play?” He asks.

“I am familiar with the rules,” she says slowly, unsure of where he’s going with this. He can’t mean to actually suggest that they play a game, can he? She loves shogi, had played thousands of games against Nagato and some of the other members of Akatsuki over the years, but there’s a time and place and this can’t be it.

“Excellent. Let’s test your luck, to see who goes first.”

What follows is humiliating. Nara Shikaku possesses a keen intellect beyond the scope of Konan’s assumption, and he makes the pieces dance around the board at his will. He doesn’t just beat her, he destroys her, then does it all over again in the next game.

He doesn’t even seem to enjoy it, a dissatisfied slant to his mouth as he examines the board, suggesting another game without much enthusiasm.

With that, Konan pounces.

There is no reason to hide her own intelligence at this point.

So she takes everything she has learned from the past two games, and crushes him with it. Every quirk, every habit, every tactic, she’d observed and mentally noted it all down as they’d played the first two games, and now it’s all too easy to use it against him. He catches on very quickly, to his credit, but not fast enough to catch up to the lead she’d set herself, and in ten minutes, he is done.

He’s smiling now, sitting back in his chair with a bright look in his eye, somehow the victor despite his loss.

“You pretended to be a total beginner to learn my habits.” He grins, shaking his head in disbelief. “Used my own arrogance against me.”

“I am familiar with the rules of the game,” Konan allows, hiding all traces of her own muted pride at the win, “as it is my favourite.”

“Let me just score your intelligence here.” Nara fills in a section of a form, angling it so she can’t quite read what he writes. “Congratulations, you just passed the Academy’s written test. You’re officially a genin.”

“A genin? I would think – ”

“Without a full demonstration of your abilities, I can’t accurately categorise your strength,” Nara says, “you brought back Hanzo’s head, great, but you could’ve got that from anywhere. Inoichi saw Madara in Obito’s memories, and killing him would be impressive if he hadn’t been an old man stuck in a chair. I’ll have you spar against a few jounin, see how you do, and you’ll probably make jounin without any issues.”

Konan waits a moment, then can’t contain herself, “to clarify, you do not believe I am only as intelligent as a genin – ”

“No, but I can’t promote you beyond that without proof that you’re strong enough to be classed as above genin level. Sorry, but rules are rules. Your intelligence was enough to classify you as a genin, though, so you’re no longer a civilian. Which means you can collect a bounty.”

“Oh. What would you have done if I’d actually been terrible at shogi?”

“I would’ve had to sit through you completing the actual Academy’s written test and died of boredom. My corpse would’ve promoted you.”

“Out of interest, what’s your bounty?” Konan asks, smiling a little at the banter, a rare exchange for her.

“Above your paygrade. As for your bounty… I’d estimate it at fifty million. For now.” Nara says, slumping back in his seat, eyes still sharp despite the lazy posture.

“And Hanzo’s?”

Nara smiles, “Twice as much as yours.”

Konan blinks.

He can’t mean…

One hundred million ryo?

“Hanzo wiped out an entire Konoha platoon in the last war,” Nara says, suddenly very serious, “not even three of our strongest could stop him. The only reason they survived is because he spared them. One hundred million ryo is worth a generation of Konoha shinobi, don’t you think?”

For a moment, she can’t even speak. “You… I can’t take that much. Konoha can’t afford it, not during war – ”

“Take it from me. The war’s almost over. And you’d be surprised how much Konoha would be willing to spend for someone like you.”

Konan frowns, “Someone like me?”

“I’ll just say this… Hanzo was a fool to cast you out. You’ll find Konoha’s leadership is far more intelligent, recent shogi matches notwithstanding.” He gives her a lazy smirk.

“I’m glad to hear it, Nara-san,” Konan says, baffled.

“It’s Shikaku.”

Konan blinks. She takes a moment to reassess a few things, namely, Shikaku’s slight hostility when they were outside of the village, and how it apparently did not indicate he would have a lasting problem with her presence here.

“Then… Kikyo, I suppose.” She says, dusting off her manners to deliver the concession with the appropriate open and approachable tone.

Judging by the very slight, but undeniably amused smile that spreads across Shikaku’s face in response, she didn’t quite manage it.

xxxxxxxx

The nice Akimichi had carried him past the front desk of the hospital, ignoring the inquiring gaze of the receptionist, and took him up the stairs directly to a door marked with a gold plaque reading Chief Medical Officer, with Sarutobi Biwako printed in smaller letters on the glass.

Obito had been overwhelmed the second Konoha came into view. He knew the village by heart, every inch and every angle, and had revisited it a thousand times in his dreams ever since that awful moment he’d been swallowed up by darkness in the cave. Seeing Konoha in person, even from afar, had been enough to make his head spin. When they’d walked through the gates without any problems, he’d clung to the Akimichi, the sensory impact of their arrival stinging his eye and overriding whatever thin control he’d maintained over his composure.

Being separated from Kikyo had been a nasty shock, even with the comforting bulk of the Akimichi still grounding him as they reached the hospital. He couldn’t help but fear the glimpse of Kikyo’s surprised face as he vanished would be the last time he ever saw his saviour.

Akimichi opens the door without pausing to knock, startling Obito into lifting his head.

Sarutobi Biwako sits at her desk, her wrinkled hand flashing across several sheets of paper, evidently filling out multiple forms at once with no signs of difficulty. She does not look up as they enter, even as the Akimichi shuts the door behind them with a decisive click.

“Sarutobi-sensei, I’ve come with a delicate problem not fit for any doctor but yourself,” Akimichi says, his tone wheedling. Biwako’s mouth opens with a tut, but Akimichi cuts her off, evidently already aware of what she was about to say, “Obito-kun’s been missing, presumed dead for the past three months, and Shikaku wanted to get him treated without checking him in to the hospital officially.”

Biwako’s dark eyes meet Obito’s, her lids lowered in a speculative slant. She stands, a smooth movement unhindered by her age or the giant desk in her path, and cuts across the room to meet them. “Hmm. Not tortured. Neglected. Trapped? I see. Take him to the green room, Chouza-kun. And for pity’s sake, be more discreet. There are ways to transport a patient without being seen.”

“Shikaku wanted him to be seen,” Chouza says easily, “said he didn’t want people to speculate he wasn’t who he said he was, if there was an investigation later on after he suddenly appeared in the village without being witnessed entering.”

“Does your conceited, toffee-nosed, insolent little wretch of a teammate dare suspect my hospital of having a security breach that would render it unsafe to openly house the boy?” Biwako asks, lips puckered like she’d tasted something sour.

“Yes, of course,” Chouza replies, unruffled.

“Always was a smart boy. Off you pop now, quick as you like.”

Chouza carries Obito up another three flights of stairs, finally reaching a small, unremarkable looking door at the end of the hall. Obito still felt dazed from his arrival, which could’ve easily been ripped straight from his dreams, and Chouza’s impenetrable exchange with Biwako certainly hadn’t helped. Obito had tried to follow the conversation, but got tripped up by Biwako’s apparent offense at something Shikaku had said actually turning out to possibly be feigned, or perhaps just a joke? Obito was never good at double-speak. Kakashi would know what they’d actually been discussing.

Kakashi.

As Chouza lowers him onto the single bed in the green room, Obito clutches the sheets, images of his team floating in his mind. None of this feels real. Was he really home? Were his team actually within walking distance?

The room isn’t especially green in any way that would earn it such a name, but as Obito lies back in bed, he sees green leaves painted across the ceiling. The splash of colour against the clinical white is refreshing.

Obito jumps as the wall shifts, part of it sliding out of the way to reveal a hidden entrance, utterly soundless despite the obvious complexity of the mechanism. There were no seals involved here, just mundane engineering.

Biwako slips through the opening, idly tapping the wall with her heel. It closes up behind her, leaving no trace or seam to indicate it was anything other than an ordinary wall.

The old woman lowers herself onto the wooden chair next to his bed and places a warm hand on his forehead without a word. She waits, her gaze distant and unfocused as though she was miles away, then clicks her tongue, removing her hand with a disapproving shake.

“Low blood pressure, dehydration, exhaustion, and migraines of all things, as if the boy doesn’t have enough going on. The same vitamin deficiencies I’d expect to find in a street urchin subsisting off discarded food. Curious – wasted muscle mass, underweight, of course, but no recent signs of malnutrition? The vitamin deficiency predates the mission. Terrible. An Uchiha? Starved, but unharmed by the lack of nourishment, as if the body had another source to depend on… Hm! Hold out your finger, child,” Biwako says, ending her monologue abruptly enough to send Obito scrambling to comply, caught off guard.

Biwako touches his finger, a little pinprick of pain revealing a few drops of blood, which she catches in a glass vial. She glares at the contents as they change colour, the bright red fading to an unhealthy-looking greyish pink.

“Blood sugar!” Biwako mutters, furious. “Who needs any, I suppose! Low, low, all these numbers are far below the normal threshold. Terrible!”

Obito feels strangely chastised, like he’s failing a test.

“No brain damage, but… perhaps there once was? No signs of conventional healing, no, none that I can find… but there were grave injuries, once… the shockwaves still remain, buried deep… buried – yes, yes, I see. Crushing force, the bones pulverised – but they are now perfectly intact… odd, very odd. This flesh,” She says, wrinkling her nose and giving his white arm a solid poke, “not flesh. But not not flesh. Something else entirely, but the same in essence. So many parts of this puzzle do not fit…”

“I – ” Obito starts to say, wanting to help, but Biwako shakes her head sharply.

“No, no, I do not want to know, I need to work with what I have in front of me before I let outside data supersede my own conclusions. Crushing! That much is clear. And the parts that were damaged were removed – clumsily,” She hisses, contemptuous, “and replaced with this… synthetic? Hmm, but it appears organic… the blood flow is irregular, it ceases at the clavicle… of course, the limb may be attached, and to give all appearances of being real besides the colour and texture, but no, it may as well be a prosthetic! Biopsies will be required. Several. And now for the eyes. Well! A pleasant surprise, this was removed quite adequately – oh. A Konoha-trained medic-nin, that explains it. Still, there was an injury, it is clear… the remaining eye appears quite healthy… can you deactivate it, child?”

Obito blinks rapidly, suddenly nervous. He’s tried, but ever since waking up with half his body suddenly foreign to him, his eye refuses to respond to his commands. He swallows, hoping Kakashi has managed it better.

Biwako seems to notice his stress, the avid interest on her face slowly shifting into patient expectation, “Can you give it a try, Obito-kun?”

He does. Other than a spark of pain flaring at the very back of his eye and the warning signs of a migraine throbbing through his temples, nothing happens.

Biwako scowls, then wipes a glowing hand across his forehead. The pain recedes.

A tear splashes down to the sheets, making Obito start in surprise. His mouth screws up from the effort of trying not to cry.

“Tear duct is functioning normally,” Biwako mumbles, making Obito laugh.

“Having the Sharingan constantly activated must be a huge drain on your reserves,” Chouza comments, sounding sympathetic.

“Terrible, terrible. Is it possible to remove the eye, then replace it, such as you would with a flickering lightbulb – no. No, not at all. Perhaps she could do something… but wishing for solutions leads nowhere. Best to work with what we have.” Biwako pats his shoulder briskly, then continues on with her examination, even measuring his limbs and testing his joints.

“The stomach is empty,” Biwako says in dire tones, “the patient has not eaten anything for quite some time. Is the patient attempting to practice inedia? Does he think himself an immortal monk capable of subsisting off of natural chakra?”

“No, I just… I don’t need to eat anymore, not since – ”

“Eat!” Biwako says stridently. “Chouza-kun, grab a small bowl of soup, as mild a flavour as you can manage. No seasoning, as bland as a baby’s first solid meal.”

“I’m not a baby,” Obito grumbles.

“Then prove it by taking care of yourself as only an adult could, with the bare minimum of complaining,” Biwako says, utterly unsympathetic, “Now, to conclude. The patient suffered grave injuries in which the left side of his body was entirely crushed, with his surviving eye escaping most of the damage, and his other eye was extracted through emergency surgery. The patient’s left side was replaced by a synthetic material that kept him alive, even removing the need for sustenance, though the body still suffered from a lack of nutrition, and there were already many vitamin deficiencies present before the incident occurred. That is my conclusion. Now, Obito-kun, tell me what happened.”

Obito gestures helplessly, “I… exactly what you said.”

Biwako smiles, not quite smug, but close, “Just so.”

xxxxxxxxx

The soup Chouza brings him is too hot and salty, though Chouza raises his brows at Obito’s extreme reaction like it wasn’t earned. It was probably lukewarm and bland, but Obito hadn’t tasted food since before the cave, months before. Kikyo hadn’t offered any after he admitted he didn’t need it, but she didn’t seem happy.

When exhaustion hits, he sinks into his pillows and drifts off to the sound of Biwako’s pen scratching against paper, and Chouza humming a familiar tune. I’m home.

Nothing feels real.

Madara didn’t survive the cave-in – and wasn’t that a horrible bit of irony, given how they had met – and Kikyo hadn’t seen Zetsu, so they probably hadn’t either. For three long months, they had been the only people in Obito’s world, which had comprised of one large, dark cave, and a pulsating, grotesque tree.

Obito sighs.

He’s sinking, warm, soft, safe, and –

The door opens with a bang, startling Obito into shooting upright despite the pain that bites into his body.

He gasps, staring at the sight before him like a drowning man glimpsing the shore in the horizon.

“Obito,” Kakashi says, voice raw.

***

Hello, friends!

PSA: I’m not currently accepting constructive criticism on this fic.

Inoichi uses THERAPY on Konan!

It’s not very effective…

Konan being genuinely contemptuous of Inoichi’s attempts to help her was very fun to write lol.

Konan: lived her entire life in secrecy and darkness, hiding everything about herself from the world

Konan now: busts down the door to the biggest village, throws Hanzo’s head at the Sandaime, and does a sick ollie on Madara’s corpse

Also Konan: Why tf is everyone acting like I’m so interesting and powerful

Shikaku doesn’t trust anyone he can’t quite get the measure of. The best way to do that is to pit his intelligence against theirs. Hence why he warms up to Konan after their shogi game. He’s totally smug that Ame threw a very useful shinobi in his direction.

Biwako didn’t get a lot of screentime in canon. Interestingly enough, it’s Obito that kills her.

I decided to take some liberties with her personality and make her a little more colourful. She treats health like a puzzle to solve, which is fun to write.

If you think for one second you can bring Uchiha Obito back to Konoha and Hatake Kakashi won’t be by his side within the hour…

Konan is now officially a genin! That’s a hell of a downgrade for an S-rank missing-nin lmao.

If you’re enjoying the fic, please leave a comment! It gives me the motivation to keep going <3

Quick poll for fun: What is your ultimate comfort film?

Mine is either Whisper of the Heart or Only Yesterday.