Forgiveness

[FFFFFFFFFFF- First time posting here...ever.. Something I wrote quite a few years ago but didn't bother publishing until now. Critique is HEAVILY encouraged.

Enjoy. ]


*****************************

Forgiveness.


It was a concept that Konan had a difficult time understanding.

 Even from her earliest of years, she'd struggled with the meaning of the damned word. When rival shinobi had taken her father's life during the war, her mother had expected her to "forgive" them, being the spiritual person that she was. She tried to accept that, to understand that the two men that had torn her father's throat open were only acting on order, probably under death threat themselves.  But when her mother was felled only a month later by the same ninja, “forgiveness" became as foreign as it initially had been. It wouldn't roll off her tongue properly, it tasted bitter on her lips. She had all but resigned herself to "never" forgive any ninja ever again.

Konan was fortunate enough to come across two war orphans in as much of a pathetic state as she was. Yahiko and Nagato had suffered similar fates and hated everyone and everything just about as much as she did. Listening to their sob stories, how their families' fate had been so similar to hers had only strengthened her resolve. Forgiveness was a coward's way of accepting defeat, a petty way of convincing oneself that they had been the better person. It was a sorry way to go through life and she wouldn't have any of it.


That was until, she'd met Jiraiya.

The instant she laid eyes on him, she could tell that he was, for one reason or another, different. The way his charcoal black eyes would glisten when he smiled, how he'd treat her just 'slightly' more carefully during training than the boys and  how he'd always invite her outside every night to talk about everything from combat tactics to toads to world peace.

Peace, it seemed, came up more often than not.

What could she say, it was the young man's brainchild.  He really was the brightest star in the night sky.  Jiraiya was headstrong, but also stubborn.  It wasn't often that a ninja would take the few precious minutes of his short life contemplating a solution to worldly affairs. Konan didn't quite have the heart to tell him however, that whenever he'd launch off on one of his peace manifestos that he came off as such a goddamn hypocrite it made her want to tear her hair out.

Yeah.  Jiraiya was crazy alright. Why she'd sit out there for hours upon hours listing to the white-haired shinobi's speeches was beyond her. Perhaps it was that he, having grown past (most) of his childish foolishness, would actually give her the time of day. It was nice to talk to someone on her level for once. 

That had to be it.


It wasn't because she'd enjoyed spending time with Jiraiya per-say. No. And it wasn't because whenever the temperature dropped, he'd take off his jounin vest and carefully wrap it around her shoulders, and it [i]definitely[/i] wasn't because of his smile.

There was something to be said about Jiraiya's smile. Needless to say, there was always something of a shit-eating grin plastered on the man's face.  But every so often, she'd catch a more subtle display of affection.  When he smiled at Konan, it was a gesture that he reserved only for Konan. Every so often, with his vest wrapped tightly around her small body, his arm draped around her shoulders, and they'd slightly, just slightly, lean in a little closer to each other, she'd feel willing to completely disregard everything that had happened in her life thus far.

Every so often, Konan would feel loved again.

It was then she wanted so badly to believe in peace. To believe in a better life for Nagato, Yahiko, and her.  To believe in him.

She never really gave up hope when he left. Somehow, Jiraiya had left a tiny flame somewhere deep inside her subconscious, a flame that seemed to never die. Not when the leaf ninja attacked, killing Yahiko, turning Nagato into a monster, not even when Nagato had lost all semblance of a human being, creating Akatsuki.

But that little flame nearly went out when Nagato had killed him.

She'd known for ages that if the two were ever reunited that blood would be shed. She knew it, and abhorred it, but had pushed herself into the mindset that it would never really happen.  That Nagato would give in, that Jiraiya would flee, that the two would come to an understanding.

She knew it was coming.

But it still didn't prepare her for seeing her sensei's throat slashed open, him struggling helplessly on the ground as the life seeped slowly but surely out of the sannin.  Hadn't prepared her to look into his eyes and see a dull gray rather than the starry black she was so enraptured by as a child.  Wasn't prepared for the flood of emotions she felt when Nagato ordered her to find and destroy Jiraiya's corpse, that had managed to make it's way out into the depths of Rain's water system. It all boiled back down to that one word, that one fucking word.


Forgiveness.


And as she carried Jiraiya's lifeless body to the only bit of dry land in miles and miles of open water, it all managed to form itself into a coherent thought.


This time, Konan couldn't forgive herself.


It was a split second decision, but not a single bead of sweat trailed down her forehead as she instantly made up her mind. She didn't falter even once as she formed the ninjutsu signs with her hands.  Not a thought entered her mind as her hands formed into the final seal and a light, surreal glow engulfed both of their bodies.

At once, Konan felt the chakra seeping from her body. Angrily, aggressively.  Honest to god, it was a strange sensation, and it hurt. Her knees gave in and she had to prop herself up on her elbows to keep herself steady over the man's body.

It wasn't mandatory for any Akatsuki to learn the technique. Pein had, after all guarded her with such favor only because she had sworn to be his lifeline. His plan B. She'd sworn her life to the shell that had once been Nagato, promising all that she was to him, and only him. But when Konan had seen the life seep away from her beloved sensei's eyes, she decided to extract the last bit of humanity from deep within her troubled conscious.


All the lives she'd taken, destroyed. She was damaged beyond repair.


Jiraiya was not.

Konan's arms began to feel heavy, and the world around her seemed to be spinning. Jiraiya was much larger than her, and thus had a larger capacity for chakra naturally. She noticed her eyesight was already dimming, and prayed she had enough strength to finish.

Then, she felt it.

At first she thought it must have been the ringing in her ears, but when the gentle thuds became a steady beat, she knew.

His heart had started again.

Soft, silent breaths came in erratic spurts through dried lips. A weak smile formed over her now pale lips as she saw his chest start to rise and fall steadily. Her vision was so dim now, and her arms felt like the weight of the world was on them. Almost there.

Color began to return to his skin as it rapidly fell from hers. The world was nearly black now, and it was all she could do to keep herself upright. Through the haze surrounding her nearly useless eyes she could see her skin flaking away, returning to the paper she had surrendered her body to so many years before.  A strong breeze went by, taking half of Konan with it. Just a bit longer. She wanted to see those eyes with life in them again. Just one more time.


 Jiraiya's eyes fluttered open, just long enough to see a precious few paper notes slip by in the wind.

­