Chapter Text
She blinks into awareness between one breath and the next, surrounded by the stillness of deep night. For a moment she’s confused—but only for a moment. When the daze clears, she realizes at once that something is wrong. Why had she awoken? It’s dark and it’s silent. There’s no noise that could have disturbed her sleep. Has something moved? But if it has, that would have to mean—
“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty.”
—that someone else is here.
Sagi looks up and finds a man looming over her. His black cloak is dotted with red clouds, and his swirling orange mask converges on a single eyehole. She can see the red of a Sharingan through its gap.
She stares at him. Then she rolls on to her back. “Oh, boy.”
Her visitor chuckles. “Not pleased to see me? But you set up such a warm welcome. You even put out brand-new seals. Excellent decor—I didn't even mind going the slow way.”
Well, that almost certainly means the traps have been disabled. Sagi doesn't know if she wants to be upset or impressed. A trap gauntlet set up by a quartet of Uchiha would not have been easy to get through, even for a fellow clansman… the fact that he’s done it without alerting anyone is a little shocking.
Sagi sits up. He’s sitting at her bedside with his leg propped up, and he’s leaning back lazily on one hand. The hilt of her sword, which she’d placed beside her futon, is under the heel of his sandal. Sagi looks at it, and then at him. He cocks his head to the side as if to ask what she’s going to do about it.
“...I’ll put some tea on,” she decides.
“Oh, tea! How fun.” He claps as she stands. “You really are something, aren't you? The people around you are all losing their minds, trying to find a way to save your life, and you go for leaf juice.”
“Is black tea all right with you?” Sagi asks mildly in answer.
“Sure, why not? I’m up for a midnight tea party.”
Despite the levity of his tone, she can feel his eye on her as she lets chakra spark in her palms. It's just a party trick ninjutsu, only strong enough to heat water, but his gaze is sharp all the same.
Steam begins to rise from the cups.
“Here you are,” she says after it’s steeped. She comes forward and hands it to him. Then she sits down in seiza atop her futon. Like many ninja, Sagi does sleep with weapons on her person, but she knows now is not the time to draw them. Not in a half-sleeved jinbei—she has no extra fabric to hide behind. She buys time by sipping her tea instead.
Her visitor stares at her. Then he sets his cup on the floor. His voice is low when he speaks again. “You really are the perfect Uchiha woman, aren’t you? No matter where we are or how many times I meet you, you're the same. It’s genuinely disgusting.”
Sagi finds herself smiling before she knows what she’s doing. She can't help it; she’s Fugaku’s Shame, after all. The mad daughter no one ever wanted to acknowledge he’d had… a black mark whose name was never uttered by the clan again.
“How would you like me to address you?” she asks instead of replying. Her guest chuckles.
“Oh, you're playing dumb? That's so cute,” he croons, once more in his jester persona. “But there's no need for that! I know Itachi's been through here.”
“...Very well. How can I help you tonight, Obito-san?”
“Aw, Obito-san’s so distant. We're family, you know? You’re practically my kid sister. Call me big brother! I don't mind.”
“I’d like to get to know you a bit more first,” Sagi demurs. Obito sighs theatrically.
“A stick in the mud as always. You never want to play, Miss Meikage.”
“My apologies. I'm a bit anxious. You've come without notice, and many others live in my house.”
“Oh?” Obito tilts his head to the side. His voice drops once more. “Then I suppose you'd better not raise the alarm. Things will be messy if you do.”
“Yes… it would seem so.”
By now she’s had several minutes of banter to think, but she still can't come up with a plan. He’s got her sword. Her armory’s on the other side of the room. She’s got a knife in her waistband and needles on her hip, but neither seems like a strong enough arm to take on this opponent. She doesn’t have much expectation for genjutsu, either—it’s almost always pointless between Uchiha at this skill level. Barring a quickdraw ninjutsu duel, which in this locale would be sure to result in extensive carnage, there's no choice. She opens her mouth to stall, hoping a better solution will occur to her.
Then all of a sudden he shoves her shoulder. The tea goes flying, and in the next second her leg is in the air. He's standing, and he’s got her by the ankle. Sagi scrambles to put herself in a handstand, but she feels his hand on her back before she can manage it. Then her weapons clatter onto the floor.
“Oh, you really are cute,” Obito tells her. Sagi uses her other leg to throw a blistering kick at his face, and he lets her go. He's laughing by the time she’s back on her feet. “You do that every time! It’s like clockwork. You really ought to change up where you stash your sidearms.”
Scratch all of that—this situation is not what she thought it was. He’s toying with her, and it's clear he knows how she moves. These are not conditions in which she can concern herself with damage control. She inhales.
“Hey now! None of that.”
In a flash he’s before her, using one hand to grab her head and the other to shove a wad of pillowcase into her mouth. She chokes—what the hell, her pillowcase?—but converts the chakra immediately, switching from breath-based katon to a handed raiton technique. But this is apparently her usual response; before she can shoot off the jutsu, Obito has her arms crushed to her sides. It’s the worst bear hug of her life, and less than a second later he’s ramming her into the wall with his shoulder.
“Fuck!” she gasps after she's managed to spit out the gag. “Holy sh—”
“Shh.” Obito puts a gloved finger over her lips. “How vulgar. You're ruining your image, flawless lady.”
Sagi could punch him right in his smug masked face. But the flare of anger she feels is undercut by the faintest beginnings of panic, and Obito seems to pick up on it.
“Now you've got the right idea,” he whispers. He puts his hands on her shoulders, lightly; then he smashes her into the wall and pins her there. Her back twinges.
“Why are you doing this?” she asks breathlessly. “You… you're just messing with me.”
“You don't like it? But we're having so much fun.” His tone is still light, but she can see how his Sharingan has narrowed into a slit. “What a shame. I have so few playmates these days.”
“Agh… I’m not surprised.” Putting an iron clamp on her fear, Sagi locks gazes with that eye and refuses to look away. “If this is your game, I doubt anyone would play twice.”
“Hmm. And yet here we are, together again.”
“You and I have never met in this life.”
“But we have in others, and you never cooperate.” He shakes his head. “No wonder the game’s no good.”
Sagi stares at him. Then her eyebrows slant, and it’s a familiar sight. She makes that face every time he comes to her.
“How many loops have you been through, Obito-san?” she asks, as she always does, and always with that same little glint in her eye.
“Not so many yet, but enough that I think I’m close to unlocking your Mangekyou’s last secrets. Would you care to tell me this time?” He leans forward until their faces are nearly touching. “The way to regress beyond my fifteenth year.”
The glint gives way, inexplicably, to sorrow. It’s another thing about her that Obito never quite understands.
“You’ve been asking me this each time? After using my Mangekyou and failing to go farther back?”
“Your brother never makes it easy. Every time I have to come and take it from you, and I always have to wait until you’re this age… but he gets to keep his power between loops. Ah, life is really unfair.”
Sagi lowers her eyes. “If fifteen is your limit, your loop lasts for seventeen years,” she whispers. “That is… so long.”
She lets her chin fall forward, but Obito doesn’t react when she presses her forehead to his mask. It makes her wonder if the other Sagis did this, too. They must have. He’s so tragic that they couldn't have done otherwise.
“I’m so sorry, Obito-san,” she tells him. “You—”
“Don’t say it,” he warns. His palms press into her shoulders until her back is nearly cracking against the wall. “I want the truth this time. Tell me how to go farther back.”
Oh, the terrible humanity of him. Sagi stares into his eye. Then she lifts her hand and puts it on the back of his head. He’s so much older than Sasuke, but he needs this more than her little brother ever could.
“You are in hell,” she says softly. She can’t even be angry—not anymore. This man needs every scrap of compassion she can offer him. “You need to leave. There will be no end to your suffering as long as you stay here.”
“I told you to talk,” Obito says. Anger is beginning to creep into his voice. “Tell me the truth. Right now.”
“You have the truth already. You were given the answer long ago. Now you need the resolve to accept it.”
His arms begin to tremble. She can hear him gritting his teeth. They’re so close together that she can feel it through his mask, the way his jaw is grinding. “I told you not to say it.” His voice begins to rise. “Now tell me how to go back.”
The force he’s putting on her frame increases until it makes Sagi feel as if her collarbone will break in two. She winces in pain, but she doesn’t speak. There’s nothing left she can say.
Obito snaps. Roaring with frustration, he drops her, grabs her by the collar, and then slams her into the wall again. “Fucking talk to me, damn it!” he howls at her. His whole chest—his whole being—is in his scream. “I need to go farther back. Tell me how to get back to her!”
The impact is hard enough that Sagi’s vision goes black for a second. When she comes back to herself he has her on the ground, straddled between his knees. He’s holding a knife to her throat.
“This is your last chance,” he utters. “You have one last chance to tell me the truth.”
Sagi just stares at him, dazed. He’s locked her legs down, and his elbow is obstructing her left arm… but he’s left her right side free. Almost without thinking, she reaches up and pries the mask from his head.
Water begins raining onto her forehead.
How many returns had she done, Sagi wonders, before having a breakdown? How far had she gotten before her sanity began to collapse? For someone whose loops last seventeen years, how long would it take to reach that point?
“Not long,” she whispers. He’s glowering ferociously at her, but a flood of tears is falling from his face. Streaking across his cheeks, running to the bottom of his chin, dripping from the tip of his nose… “Oh, Obito.”
“What, no honorific? Are we suddenly buddies now?” His tone is acidic, but Sagi can only see the way his shoulders shake as he says it. “Is that any way to address your elders, Sagi?”
Sagi doesn't answer. She reaches up and wipes the tears from his cheek instead. Has anyone ever done this for him before? She thinks of Sasuke again, small enough to sit in her lap. She can remember his little hands on her face. Did Obito ever have someone like that?
“This isn't the time, little sister.” His tone is increasingly agitated. “I’m about to slit your throat.”
“My older brothers always kill me,” Sagi answers softly. “It’s nothing that hasn't happened before.”
The only reply Obito can offer her is a wordless snarl. It sounds a little like despair.
It’s not a gentle cut. She feels awful resistance when the blade slashes across her windpipe. She gasps reflexively; then she keeps gasping, unable to draw in air. Obito tosses his kunai aside, shoves the hair from her face, and then presses down on her brow to stop her head from moving. He pulls his glove from his hand with his teeth.
Ah, she thinks as she feels his nails on her skin. Is this why Itachi can never save her? Perhaps it isn't because Obito comes and takes her eyes each time. No… perhaps it's because each time he comes, he is so in need that she cannot help but give them away.