A Murder of One
Devo

___________________________________


1: one for sorrow, two for joy
______________________________

A part of him still kept track of his dead parents' birthdays. They were June fifth and October twelfth, respectively. It was once traditional to bring them gifts, or cards; to mark the occasion somehow. He used to light candles for them, and visit the family shrine with clockwork frequency.

He'd fallen out of practice lately, though: stopped acknowledging the date; stopped making small cakes and leaving them for the birds; stopped telling himself it was his parent's spirits come to roost; stopped greeting them whenever he passed by their pictures; even stopped feeling guilty after a while.
It wasn't the pain so much as he was tired, just tired of carrying this with him, dragging it everywhere like some ratty security blanket. This was simply growing up, he told himself, and it was long overdue

Part of him regretted it. Some nights he dreamt they were alive. Not still, not again. Just alive. Speaking and breathing and serving him dinner; asking him how school was, all that sort of thing. And he'd say: school was fine, I got all A's again.

He'd wake up then, and shake it off, and go about his day as usual. He had adult responsibilities now, adult worries, and adult fears. He thought about his job (lots) and his budget (obsessively, perhaps) and his sex-life (a little more than was healthy).

Somewhere deep down inside, though, a part of Iruka was still twelve years old; far from adult, and far from concerned about such trifles as money. Part of him still said 'what if?', and wondered 'why me?'. And though he was surrounded by friends, students, people who relied on him, a part of him was still very much alone.

There was a hole in his life, a small niggling space not unlike a gap between two teeth, and he needed to fill it if he wanted to get out with his sanity intact. Or so Mizuki had once told him. Mizuki had been full of such helpful tidbits. It was perhaps unfortunate that the next-to-last of those had landed him in a labor camp, with no hope of release.

Just before the gates slammed finally shut, he gave his very last piece of wisdom. "Whatever else you believe, we all exit this world the same way we enter it, Iruka: alone."

And that had been Mizuki. Just one more small failure in a series of many.

"You're better off forgetting him," said Hayate, in one of his more lucid moments. "It's been nearly a year, he's surely dead by now."

"Hayate-kun, that's horrible," Iruka gasped, more from obligation than anything.

"I apologize," said Hayate. "Perhaps I'm wrong. At any rate, you should find someone else. Get married, have a family, forget about these childish relationships."

Iruka scoffed. But he did try. He looked and he played the whole game, and dated several very nice (and one or two not-so-nice) girls before he finally did find that someone else.

That someone else just happened to be Kakashi.

He realized, under normal circumstances, they should have nothing to do with one another. Yet, the fates seemed determined to throw the man at him, in whatever way possible. The other day, it was his favorite eating spot, beneath the largest tree in the school-yard...Kakashi had staked prior claim to it, and was there reading when Iruka went to take his lunch break.

He'd barely even looked up, but acknowledged Iruka with a nod. Like he'd been expecting him.

This had to happen a few more times before it finally dawned that, in his own strange way, Kakashi had Started Something.

"Ah, Kakashi-sensei," Iruka laughed, shifting his weight uneasily from foot to foot, still unsure of whether he should sit or not. "Funny how you always seem to be here the same time every day. Are you waiting for someone?"

A muffled snigger. "I might be. How about keeping me company in the meantime?"

Iruka swiped a streak of sweat from his neck, and looked around the mostly empty courtyard. "I...haven't said anything up until now, you know. But wouldn't this, I don't know, maybe...be considered indiscreet. Aren't you worried people might...I don't know, maybe...find this..."

Kakashi had given him a flat, disaffected look then, and told him he worried too damn much. Which was the end of questions, and the beginning of what _Kakashi_ had summarily decided to be their relationship.

"What about the students?" Iruka worried.

Kakashi was diffident, the way he was about everything. "I keep my work and my privat life separate."

It was early yet, they'd hardly even moved to touching, let alone other things; and Iruka longed just once to ruffle him. Take him aback. Catch him off his guard. Make him slip, just a little, and let down his mask. Just because. Of all the people he'd ever known, even briefly, Kakashi was the only one he'd never seen angry. Never truly angry, sad, amused, or anything less than cool, cocky, disaffected.

Much like the perfect blank wall, freshly laid and smooth, Iruka wanted to tag Kakashi, simply because he was there. Because under all the paleness, there were cracks, he was sure; something a little less than perfect. Something closer to genuine.

Something he could at least trust.

"I won't have another Mizuki," he muttered into his ramen. "I can't take another one like that."

The seats were empty on either side of him, and had been for a while. He half expected Kakashi to pop up the next time he turned round, appearing in a puff of smoke, with a wink and an implied grin. He'd ask 'How are things?', and Iruka's thoughts would turn dirty before the next spoonful had even cooled in his mouth.

No. He couldn't have another one.

"Another what, Iruka-sensei?"

He turned around, and instead of Kakashi, there was Naruto behind him; squinting gravely and scrabbling at his wild corn-colored hair.

"Ah--nothing, nothing, Naruto." He quickly covered, vaguely ashamed at how easy it came. "Have a seat."

All worry vanished from the boy's face, like sun breaking precipitously through a thin haze of clouds, and he spun himself onto a stool. "All right! Hey, hey, guess what...you'll never believe this," he crowed, already reaching for a pair of hashi.

He'd never say so, but Iruka envied him sometimes.
____________________________________________________

2: three for a girl and four for a boy

Iruka was late for class again.

Quickly, he shouldered his book satchel, and hopped down from the tree, to the roof of the neighboring school building.

He could picture Kakashi laughing at him, and reading his book, while all the while his students waited and fumed, and silently plotted his demise. He swore, somehow the man's influence was wearing off on him.

This was not the first occasion of Iruka's tardiness. The first...couldn't have been helped. His dishwasher had decided to spring a leak, nearly flooding him from his apartment.

The second? He'd run into a neighborhood shop-keeper, as he recalled, and been drawn into a heated discussion on the evils of encroaching technology, and how 'things-in-my-day-were-simpler.' Things like that were always happening: conversations dropped into his lap like small gifts. Who was he to pass them up?

--Excuses-- he pictured Kakashi muttering,, with a sigh that bespoke his own utter hopelessness. --At least come up with something more interesting.--

He hooked a cable and swung himself quickly in through an open window. He stopped a moment to catch his breath, remain calm, pretend he hadn't arrived in such an all-fire hurry.

He knew he wouldn't be fooling a one of them; but he could not let them see him sweat. The vaguest hint of weakness, and the kids had the upper hand. They knew it, he knew it. Every teacher he'd ever spoken to knew it, and agreed: kids were very stupid, and they were also very smart. It was a tenuous balance, the control he had over them. The very second he faltered, he knew from _joyful_ experience, they would leap on the opportunity with precision worthy of ANBU rank.

They'd make the rest of his semester hell, more hell than they did already; in ways one wouldn't dream possible.

With smooth unbroken stride, he approached the classroom door, and walked right in. No hesitation, because they sensed weakness like hungry dogs.

"Good morning class! Are we ready to learn?"

He was greeted with forty angry little glares. He was used to it, teaching the earliest period as he did. He smiled as always, because he meant it. Because starting on a positive note made the day go by much easier. Because his job was all he had.

"You're ten minutes late, Sensei!"

Iruka groaned inwardly, but let on as if nothing were amiss. Shoganai. "It can't be helped."

He was definitely getting better at this...which meant he was getting worse. In any event.

"Now, I hope everyone remembered their anatomy scrolls," he laid his satchel on the desk and strode purposefully to the blackboard, trusty pull-hook already in hand. "Today we're going to continue our lesson on chakra--" In one smooth motion, he pulled the rollchart down, and froze. "--points."

A strange current of energy seemed to ripple through the air. Like a held breath.

He composed his face, and ever so slowly, ever so smoothly, glanced sideways.

Sure enough, some little artist genius had drawn crude mammaries onto Mr. Chakra's chest. Large ones. In permanent marker. Mr. Chakra, being a simple ink outline of a figure, incapable of expression, had done absolutely nothing to deserve such treatment. Iruka simply jabbed an accusing hook at the paper, and waited.

"I don't recall those being there before." He said lightly. "Unless, while I was away, Mr. Chakra suddenly up and decided on a sex change. Class? Would you know anything about this? Hmm? Anybody?"

A slow wave of guilty titters swept through the room. A few parties hid behind their books, and one just sat there, expressionless and motionless. In other words: 'Didn't do nothin', don't know nothin', don't know why you're even looking'. Blameless as could be.

"All right then, KONOHAMARU!" He swung and pointed, jolting the offending party so badly, that he dropped his marker. It rolled incriminatingly across the floor, and directly under Iruka's desk.

He continued, with barely a pause, and indicated a point on the chart. The boy turned appropriately red.

"Could you recite for the class, please, the functions and characteristics of this chakra?"

The boy leapt up from his chair, mean little face stamped with a look of determination. He stood there, ramrod straight, and trembled. "H--Hai Sensei! The heart chakra is the center of emotional love, joy, happiness, honesty..."

He continued on like that, textbook perfect, finishing with a hopeful little frown. "...and, um, spiritual healing."

"Where does it connect?"

The boy seemed to shrink in on himself without actually moving a muscle. No one dared laugh. They were too busy taking notes. "Um. The--breasts." He stammered, staring rapt at his shoes.

Iruka nodded. "Correct. Now go stand in the corner with your arms over your head, I'll time you for five minutes, then you may take your seat."

Iruka gestured him towards the back of the class, figuring he'd suffered enough humiliation already. It was the idea of the punishment that counted.

"Now, if we may pick up where we left off yesterday--"

_______________________________________________

Not so very long ago--all time being relative in the larger scheme of things--there was a certain genin who excelled at all things bookish. He loved facts and statistics, ate them up as if starving. But he could never seem to apply himself, never seemed to bother. His grades were rotten and his attendance spotty, but none of that seemed to matter. His parents were dead. So he'd never get a failing grade. Everyone felt sorry for the orphan; so they were extra careful with him. So careful, they barely even spoke to him, for fear of saying something out of turn. Sensei said he was still fragile, that one wrong word could earn the offender detention, or worse.

He was given everything he needed, no more, no less. Enough to survive, if not thrive.

He could have coasted through life, not bothering. Could have lived in subsidized housing and eaten subsidized food; gotten a subsidized job; and when he died, be buried on subsidized land, so he could be briefly mourned and forgotten. A plain brown life, for a plain brown haired boy, with no name anyone could, or cared to, remember.

He could have kept quiet; let himself slip under everyone's radar, like he'd never even existed.

Instead, what did he do? A cherry bomb in the lavatory. Rice-glue on Sensei's chair. Using henge no jutsu to trick examiners. Rude noises during study period, where he grew quite adept at throwing his voice. Acting clumsy. Acting stupid. Acting out, in any way he could, if it would earn him a laugh. Or a shout.

Attention was attention any way you cut it. It let a body know he was alive. It was acknowledgment, for something you did, rather than something you were. Or were not. Or had not.

Iruka knew all about that. It didn't mean he approved. It simply meant he understood.

Sometimes that was enough.

__________________________________________________

3: august and everything after

Sometimes the days seemed to drag.

Sometimes the last hour seemed to last for hours. Forever.

Sometimes he almost wished for reason to yell. Something to break the stillness. A loud prank, a fire-drill, a tornado. Sometimes he was content merely to sit there, sweating in his seat, in companionable attendance to the not-sounds of learning and small minds struggling with lofty ideals.

Most of the time he was happy in his place. Content. He felt fulfilled, felt he was doing what he was meant to be doing. The smallest rewards mattered.

Sometimes he was so unspeakably bored, he felt he might smother. Summers got to him in that way. The air was dead, heavy on his neck like a yoke, or an invasive hand. The days shimmered with unease, the way heat pooled in waves over a dusty road.

Sometimes the days seemed dreadful and foreboding. Sometimes the nights were a relief, in that nothing much happened. The heat still remained, but the air no longer had a sickly tinge of pink, or in the distance, brown. Sometimes, though, the nights were the worst. The air almost opaque with mist, clammy to the skin, smelling faintly of vegetative rot. Those were the times when it was too hot to sleep indoors, when the walls seemed to swell and close in on a body; and the buildings themselves seemd to gasp for breath.

Summer was a time for ghost stories. He seemed to recall some obscurely factual reason why, but it was buried in the dusty filing cabinet of his memory. Under old snapshots of people he once knew, places he'd been, things he'd done. He was content to let it lie there, for fear of stirring them up. They were past tenses, old crackly things better left undisturbed.

Somewhere during his musings, a paper airplane drifted gently across Iruka's desk.

Immediately, he looked up from his lesson plan, ready to assign blame...until taking into account the angle of trajectory, and the breeze, and the open window to his right.

Who could've thrown that? He tapped thoughtfully at the plate on his hitaiate, eyes scanning the classroom. No clues there. Just forty young heads, bowed, and pretending quite diligently to study. Two fans, at the back of the room, lazily stirred the air; kept it just shy of stifling.

It was close to noon-time dismissal, he noted, with both relief and dread. Iruka took the delicately crafted thing, and turned it over in his hands. He'd seen the real kind before, on a few occasions, from way off in the distance. It never failed to both frighten and fascinate him.

--Oi, Ebisu-sensei, did you see how low thhat one was? I could almost read the writing on the side!--

--Hn.--

--Oi, oi! Have you ever flown in one?--
Ebisu-sensei, briefly silent, had nudged his glasses up on his nose, and snorted.--Neh, Iruka-sensei. Did you know, you're more likely to die in a plane-crash than you are, say, to die by shark attack? In fact, roughly one hundred people, every year, die in plane crashes.--

He doubted it was that high a number. Still. The prospect of flying through the clouds--through whatever strange physics allowed several tons of metal and fuel to escape the bonds of gravity--filled him with an almost giddy kind of dread. He wondered if he'd live so long. If he'd ever have the opportunity, let alone the guts.

After a minute of thoughtful scrutiny, he decided to unfold it...carefully, aware that it may well explode in his hands. He wouldn't put it past one of his former students to play such a prank, just for old time's sake. Then again, none of them--not even Naruto--would go for something so obvious.

Exploding sutras usually lurked within the pages of his books, and under the lids of garbage cans. He'd once encountered one under the toilet seat lid. Luckily for all concerned, he hadn't been on it at the time.

He allowed himself a faint smile at the memory, carefully flattening the paper, then flipping it over, then turning it ninety degrees. There was a map drawn on the other side, and in the margins, several stick figures wearing henohenomohezi faces. "hn,"

Two of the stick figures were doing something dirty, he noticed, heat rising to his face. "Kakashi."

The bell rang, jolting him in his seat. The paper crumpled in his hand. He kept his game face, reminding his students they'd have a quiz tomorrow, just before they dashed off. He could feel the life leave the room, once they were gone, leaving empty seats and corners, and thick heavy air.

He waited until the last footfalls receded, then gathered his things. He wondered where Kakashi was now, anyway, as he stretched and cracked his back. If the map was any indication, the plane had flown a long way--a smudge of pink chalk, at one corner, matched the shade of pink dust on the classroom eraser. It came off in Iruka's hand, and he looked around, weighing his options.

His next class wasn't until later that evening, in the basement, with the broken fan and flaking ceiling tiles. Cram school, basically. For all intents and purposes, though, it was detention. He considered calling it off, due to excessive heat; and his excessive wish to avoid wasting three hours in a windowless room with a dozen cranky, hormonal teens. He considered simply failing to show up. Shoganai yo. These things happened. Besides he had tenure, and it was no big matter finding substitutes.

He considered the likelihood of an entire afternoon and evening spent with Kakashi. Had trouble wrapping his brain around the concept. Wondered if he shouldn't just skip town altogether, start a new life as a sea-man.

He scratched the side of his nose, and adjusted his hitaiate. He was hungry, but it could wait. He had a bit of a walk ahead of him.

_________________________________________________

4: deliver me in the belly of a black-winged bird...

Through the sun-dappled school-yard, past the athletic field where the more advanced genin practiced, past tree-trunks scarred by countless kunai and shuriken. Past one tree with the legends carved "O luvs R..." and underneath that: "moron, you die." He smirked at that, having walked by the same carving every day for almost twelve years. It was about the right height for someone Naruto's age. He mused quietly that things never seemed to change.

He walked through the streets, and past Ichiraku ramen shop, turning briefly to wave to the proprietor. Past a stand of bicycles; a monolithesque block of vending machines, rusted, but in general good repair; past his own apartment block, through some woods; past the village generator, warm and humming with its own inner life; down a dirt road; past narrow side streets and small modest homes, their ancient tile roofs in better condition than the walls themselves.

The sky was a painfully clear blue, this far out, and large white clouds cast shadows as they rolled over the hills. He passed through a wheat field, waving seed heads in the mid-day sun, and startled a murder of crows, which erupted away from him in a cloud of black feathers and angry voices.

He didn't have to think about where he was headed, or look at the map but once. He just continued walking and trusted his feet to carry him there, to the village outskirts: to a small house, far from the shadow of the mountain and its benevolent carved faces. Up to brick wall adjoining the property, just low enough for him to stand tip-toe and place his hand on top. The house's eaves were barely higher than that.

He came upon a lazy gray dog, which stared up at him balefully from a patch of shade; as if inquiring his business. He smiled and placed a finger to his lips, then took to the tree by the wall. Straight into its upper branches without a sound.

He looked down and nearly lost his footing.

There was Kakashi watering his garden with a hose. Right there amongst the potted herbs and ornamental trees and grasses, shirtless and unmasked. hitaiate pushed up onto his head, hair flipped back in a mess of wild silver spikes; lower legs bare, pants rolled up to his knees. His back was turned, sun reddened shoulders glistening with water droplets, and he just looked. Domestic. Cozy. Ordinary. A small, tan pug-dog sat plopped between his feet on the brick path, panting and looking put out.

"Pakkun, are you trying to trip me?" Kakashi muttered at it, directing a spray of water over his head, misting himself. The dog made a grunt, and looked embarrassed; pink tongue lapping out at its squashed little nose. Kakashi raised a foot and scritched the pup's back with his big toe. He moved about in place some more, until it seemed he was just playing in the spray. Dancing for a moment, lithe and full of slow sure grace. He bent to switch the water pressure, stealing a small drink from the hose. His bare back presented like an offering. Or a challenge.

Iruka dropped down to the top of the wall, and cat like, sprung.

He barely caught Kakashi's posture of faint amusement, as a jet of water pelted him directly in the face and chest, knocking him over the wall backwards. He hadn't even seen him cock the hose.

Iruka landed awkwardly on the outside, bruising his tailbone, before he could go properly loose. The dog snarled at him crankily, and shied away. He looked up to find Kakashi squinting at him over the top of the wall: slightly backlit, hose nozzle poised gun-like in one hand. He must have been standing on something.

"You know, you shouldn't sneak up on someone like that." He chided, lazy smirk tipping up the corner of his mouth. Then he planted his hands, and hoisted himself up to perch atop the wall, one leg drawn up in a casual yet oddly proper fashion. He still had the hose in his hand.

Iruka blushed, and grinned, and rubbed the back of his head. "You got me," He shrugged, quickly checking to make sure his satchel had escaped the torrent. Luckily for both of them, it had.

"Are you okay?"

"Nothing injured but my pride," Iruka said lightly, busy trying to fend off the wet doggy snout noisily investigating his ear. "Um, nice puppy..."

Kakashi flopped over onto his back, supple as a rag, looked at Iruka upside-down for a moment. "Be careful, that one likes to bite off fingers."

Iruka bit back a squeak. Kakashi dropped an arm, directed the nozzle his way, and sprayed the ground by the dog's haunches. It jumped and tucked in its tail; then skittered around, snapping, when Kakashi spritzed it again. Iruka sweatdropped and tried to sidle away. "Whoa, don't make him _angry_!"

Kakashi snickered. "Calm down, he's actually toothless. The worst he could do was gum you to death." Then a moment's consideration, where Kakashi scratched lazily at his ear. "Here, you look hot."

"Kak--*gargle*." Another jet of water in the face, Iruka waved his arms frantically. Kakashi sprayed his chest; one eye closed in a show of concentration. "Cut that out!" Iruka's voice rose a frantic octave as the water dripped down into his pants.

Kakashi was outright laughing now.

Iruka flashed through a range of different emotions: amusement, bemusement, irritation, anger, arousal. He blushed furiously and stammered, and tried his damnedest not to smile. "What was the purpose of that?"

"To get you wet." Kakashi replied matter of factly, rolling onto his stomach; one leg curled underneath him, the other dangling. "Did it work?"

Iruka eyeballed him critically, and wondered where the hell this Kakashi had come from. This younger seeming Kakashi who had a grass-blade stuck in his mouth; who wasn't bleeding all over his desk; or staring at him like the most tiresome thing ever, while informing him bluntly that they'd be meeting for tea in exactly three hours to discuss a matter of great importance. A Kakashi out of context. Anchorless.

Iruka rolled into a defensive crouch, "I swear. Sometimes you're as bad as my students! Just you try that again, I'm ready."

Kakashi seemed to weigh his options for a moment, before simply shrugging. "That won't be necessary. Come around to the gate." He gestured, and disappeared from his vantage with a careless vault and back-flip. "Have you eaten yet?" He called out.

Iruka stood and brushed himself off, which only served to stick more leaves and grass to his person. He was effectively drenched. But he scrapped together the last of his dignity, and walked over to the gate.

"No, actually. I was thinking we could..." He thought about it for moment, leaning his arm across the top of the gate. "Go for some ramen or something?"

Kakashi held out a towel. "In those wet clothes?" He shook his head and clucked ruefully, hand to his chin. "Mm, I'm afraid not. You could catch your death in those. They'll have to come off."

Iruka glared and snatched for the towel. "Moving a bit fast, aren't we?"

Kakashi made innocent 'who me?' gestures, and snatched the towel just out of Iruka's reach. "Seriously, they will, though. I promise, in the sun they'll dry quickly."

"Fine, everything but the pants." Iruka grumbled, stepping through the gate, which Kakashi held open for him. Immediately, he was gang-rushed by a trio of curious dogs, all shaggy fur and wagging tails eager to be under-foot.

"Oi!" Kakashi barked. The dogs looked up at him, wagging, before swarming around his feet. After a second or two of anxious sniffing, they lost interest and trotted around the house, ostensibly through some open gate. "Don't mind. It's not usual I get visitors, let alone welcome ones."

"You were expecting me."

Kakashi smiled and leaned uncomfortably close. "I invited you. Did you like my little drawing?"

"Yeah, it was very...concise." Iruka shrugged briskly out of his vest, and struggled with the sodden weight of shirt. He wrung it out, and laid both atop the wall, where they'd get the most sun. It was warm on his skin, and for a second he just stood there, basking.

Kakashi watched him with naked appreciation. They were on equal footing now. Two shirtless men in a garden, standing at a loss for words. Iruka was the first to break the tension.

"You look different in daylight." If he squinted just so, Iruka thought he could see the faint tracery of scars on Kakashi's face, besides the obvious one. A pale line radiating from each corner of his mouth, thin and precise, as if made by a scalpel. Lines on his throat. Lines on his chest.

Iruka suppressed a shiver.

Kakashi smiled, and turned, and tossed the towel back over his shoulder. "Follow me, you can dry off inside." He padded down the short path to his shoji-screened back door, bare feet slapping the stones with his lightly swaying stride.

Iruka took one more look around, before following. "You live here?" He asked, taking in the weathered exterior, the weight of years.

Kakashi shrugged a shoulder, and hung in the doorway a moment. "Not exactly. I just come out here sometimes, when I need to get away. An apartment's practical, but during the summer it gets stifling. You coming?"

It was warm inside Kakashi's house. In more than the sense that it lacked air conditioning--as most buildings in that area did. It was small and cozy, without much in the way of decoration. Iruka found tatami mat under his bare feet, and natural wood walls; furniture that looked cobbled from various yard-sales; a bicycle lying on its side by one wall; and a small serviceable kitchen with a window overlooking the garden. The sink was full of dishes, and the mail was scattered across the counter. Just like home.

"Don't mind the mess, I haven't had much chance to clean this week. What with the exams approaching and all..." Kakashi's voice drifted from some other room.

Iruka stood where he was, leaning to call out. "It's that time already? Shouldn't you be training with Naruto and the others right now?"

"In this heat? I'd have to be crazy."

Iruka shook his head slowly. At least some things remained the same.

"Actually," Kakashi went on, to the accompanying sound of drawers opening and closing. "We were out early, while the sun was still low."

"Makes sense." Iruka called back, nodding for the benefit of no one. "At least you get to be outside, where there's a breeze."

He turned once, and he was facing what amounted to a den: cushions on the floor, a small radio up in the windowsill, conspicuous lack of television, low table pushed into one corner, brush painting supplies strewn about, half-finished calligraphy scrolls. Art on the walls, paintings and masks, and he wondered if Kakashi had done those.

Besides all of that, though, the room was relatively bare. A window overlooked some trees, tawny tiger-striped cat lazing in the sill, and a fan blew lazy paper-streamers from a corner of the floor.

Iruka turned again, and Kakashi reappeared in a white tee-shirt, towel slung over one shoulder. Indoors, his scars were all but invisible: there only if one knew to look for them.

Kakashi swiped the back of his hand across a cheek, still shiny from either water or sweat. "They've come a long way, you know," he said, smiling. "You'd be astonished."

Iruka let out the breath he'd been holding, slow and deliberate; he could almost feel the house breathing with him. "You don't know how happy I am to hear that."

Then he laughed, and Kakashi laughed, and everything seemed to relax.

Kakashi seemed to fumble a moment, as if he'd forgotten why they were both standing there. And then, "something to drink?"

"Sure."

Kakashi padded over to the small refrigerator. "I usually don't keep much in here. The electricity can be temperamental sometimes." He came up with two beers, handing one back to Iruka before delving back in for a bowl of grapes. "There's some food, too, if you want."

Iruka dropped himself into an oddly familiar chair, guessing it had once probably belonged to the school--the rivets digging into his backside clued him in. "Maybe in a while. As long as it's no trouble..."

Kakashi slung himself into another chair, one leg up, perched and slouched casually. "No trouble at all." He watched Iruka with lazy curiosity, then reached back and popped the cap off his beer on the edge the counter.

Iruka took care of his cap with a deft snap and the edge of the table. "This takes me back." He sighed, drinking in the companionable silence.

His mind drifted back to teaching college, and lazy midnights spent in beanbag chairs on someone else's floor. The hum of cheap electric heaters, and the pop hiss of imported bootleg music on flimsy vinyl. The beer had been much cheaper back then. Of course Kakashi would have the good stuff. Iruka said as much.

Kakashi raised an eyebrow, teasing. "Ah, somebody's a drinker..."

"Oh sure," Iruka deadpanned. "I'm a _raging_ alcoholic."

Kakashi chuckled into his hand. Iruka noticed he had a habit of touching his mouth when he spoke; as if it felt strange without the mask there.

"Do you play Go?" Kakashi indicated a board on the counter, half hidden under a pile of mail-order catalogues.

"Now and then," he hedged, seeming to recall a trophy or several he kept locked in a drawer somewhere.

"I'll destroy you. Let's go." Kakashi whipped around and flipped the board open on the table, bag of tiles flying up into his hand.

"I suppose a round or two..."

______________________________________________________

5: five for laughing

Hours later saw them hunched intently over the board, an arm each flung over chair backs. Empty ramen cups and beer bottles lay strewn about the table and counters; cat now sleeping amidst the clutter. The sun had dipped outside, lending the room a fiery quality. Iruka could hear dogs playing out front, but noted that Pakkun was still with them: plopped between Kakashi's feet, ugly and solemn like a gargoyle.

Kakashi tapped the back of his chair, carefully hovered over the board a moment, then swooped in to make his move.

"You're in a tight spot. It wouldn't be a bad idea to concede now." He announced, straightening, looking to Iruka for confirmation.

Iruka squirmed, and scrutinized the board some more.

Kakashi propped his chin in his hand. "If you want to continue, you have to drink first...or...perform a dare."

"Kakashi, I have a class later--"

"Ah-ah," Kakashi waggled a warning finger. "Remember, I said no whining. Besides. Classes were canceled."

"What? How would you know that?"

"Okay, I lied. I took the liberty of calling you out on a mission, ahead of time of course."

"And did I accept?" Iruka asked, a bit testily.

Kakashi shuttered his eye gravely. "I'm afraid you had no say in the matter. If all goes according to my set parameters, you shouldn't be back until tomorrow."

"Tch. Like I told you, keep on hoping."

Kakashi waved a dismissive hand. "Drink or dare, time's wasting."

"And what if I choose neither?" Iruka challenged.

"Then, I choose a punishment. Remember what happens, Iruka-kun."

Iruka stared him down, face perfectly composed, and blushing redder than a grape. "Dare."

"All right! For your dare...you must give Pakkun a kiss." Kakashi held the pug-dog up to his chin, turning him this way and that like one would dance a toddler. The dog smiled as dogs do, and Kakashi grinned just as guilelessly. "Like you mean it, or else he'll be insulted."

Iruka opened his mouth to protest, then remembered the 'no whining rule' that last resulted in his doing fifty one-armed push-ups, with Kakashi sitting on his back. That hadn't been so bad, actually. A little exciting, in fact.

It was just the principal of the thing.

Steeling himself, Iruka leaned forward, and closed his eyes. As he expected, Kakashi sneaked forward at the last second, and pecked him coyly on the lips. Iruka tried to follow him as he drew away, not wanting that to be all. "Are you sure Pakkun won't be jealous?"

Kakashi kissed him again, while his eyes were still closed, lingering a bit more this time, angling his head. A hint of wetness, but only that, a hint. "He's a dog."

Iruka opened his eyes, and they exchanged glances for a while. He wondered who they were even deceiving; whether it was really all fun and games. He wondered when the polite mask would drop.

Not that he hoped it would. He was enjoying himself, and Kakashi's eyes were--his eye was--soft on him; his expression demanded nothing but Iruka's time. Part of him, though, was waiting for that tiny cue that would have them lunging across the table at each other.

Kakashi's eye dared him.

Iruka matched him, stare for stare. "Shall we continue?"

"Maa, maa, Iruka, if you lose you lose. I won't think less of you for admitting defeat."

"My mind wasn't in the game before. Besides, I took the dare...you can't welsh on a dare!"

"Mm. Are you whining, Iruka?"

"No. I'm calling your bluff." Iruka stood and leaned across the table. "I challenge you to continue!"

"Okay, then. Best three out of four." Kakashi relented with a smile, rearranging pieces at a leisurely pace.

"You wouldn't be cheating now, would you?" Iruka chided warily, eyes fixed on the board.

Kakashi chuckled. "With one eye covered? How could I?"

"Maybe you're using Pakkun to cheat for you." Iruka said sideways, face propped up on his hand, smirking. "I know that's no ordinary dog, Kakashi. Don't try and fool me otherwise."

Kakashi let the comments slide, impervious. "You still have a chance to recover from this, I suppose."

"No helping." Iruka warned.

"Of course not."

"If I gain the upper hand, the next dare is mine."

Kakashi eyed him, lazily intrigued. "I don't get an option to drink?"

"You always have the option to drink." Iruka moved several pieces, and took another swig of beer. His second, now. "At worst, you'll just get drunker. Your concentration'll suffer. This match _will_ be mine."

"I like your optimism." Kakashi raised his bottle in a toast, and drank.

The game seemed to turn in Iruka's favor remarkably fast. However, the new rule made things a bit tricky: for every dead piece, the player in question had to take another drink. By the middle of Iruka's third beer--Kakashi's fourth--the pieces were all knocked askew, and he was no longer sure whose turn it had been last. "I think all of those dead ones are yours..." He pointed across the board at Kakashi.

"Drink!"

"Huh? You're supposed to be drinking now...those are your pieces."

"New rule. I decided since the board is too balanced, both players should drink. Or we could be dead-locked all night."

"No way. Nah-ah. You can't just keep making up rules like that..."

Kakashi framed his face with both hands, saying simply: "Ninja!"

"I'll just pretend I didn't hear that. Seriously. There must be some sort of standard here, otherwise it's anarchy!" Iruka gestured emphatically with his bottle, sloshing beer onto his hand. "Now, either stick to one set of rules, or--or--"

"whoa, whoa." Kakashi fanned his hands in placation. "All right. We'll decide on the rules now, with a drink off."

"You're just trying to get me tipsy."

Kakashi feigned innocence, but with decidedly minimal effort. "What makes you think that?"

"There's alcohol in this beer!"

"Oops, I'm found out." Kakashi shrugged, grinning.
"Fine. I'll tell you what." Iruka paused to gather his thoughts, which seemed to have beggared off for a nap at some point. "One more drink." He held up a finger, focusing blearily past it to Kakashi's face. "One more drink each, and then..."

"Then a dare."

"All right, a dare!"

"Make it a good one!"

"Kampai."

They linked arms, and each took a swig from the respective bottles, leaning across the table to do so. Kakashi held onto Iruka's arm a bit longer as he pulled away, claiming his wrist, tonguing a few stray drops from the bottle's mouth, and Iruka's fingers.

Iruka looked up at the man, tried not to squirm as his tongue darted between two knuckles. "Do you concede?"

Kakashi shrugged, drooping over the table like he wanted to lie down, resting his scarred cheek on Iruka's wrist. "Let's call it a tie."

"Hm." Iruka set his bottle down, and scraped a thumb along the stubbled edge of Kakashi's jaw. "I'll have to think up something suitable."

Kakashi nudged up his hitaiate and eyed Iruka sleepily. "In the event of a tie, first dare goes to me. Why don't you take off your shirt?"

"I just put it back on. And besides, no one ever said you got first dare."

Kakashi's eye narrowed blearily, sharingan dull and dark, as if dormant. "Take it off."

Iruka flushed. "You first."

Kakashi dutifully stripped off his shirt, rubbed his eyes, and laid his head on the table. "Hold on, just a moment--"

Iruka stood, and leaned over him solicitously, covering his unsteadiness with a hand on the table. "Say, this is no time for a nap...are you okay?"

"Mm. I think there was beerahol in my alky--hol."

Iruka frowned and rubbed at one of his eyes, then rubbed his scar, then yawned. "Really?"

One look at his face, and Kakashi burst into chortles, quaking mirth into folded arms. He pushed away from the table, and sort of swayed up from his chair. "Oops, nature calls..." He looked around in confusion for a bit, before staggering outside to piss.

Iruka followed him into the cool twilight, doing a quick little double-take. "Outside?"

Kakashi sighed and leaned one arm against the garden wall, holding himself with the other. "Yes, yes. Nothing like it, peeing out under the stars, in the cool night air...it's even better over a campfire." His left leg gave a tiny jog.

Iruka joined him at the wall. Giggling drunkenly as he followed suit, emptied his bladder; and there seemed no end to it. "Look out. Don't cross the streams."

"Why, what could happen?"

"Bad luck." Iruka finished with a shake, Kakashi echoing his movements, then tucking himself away. Iruka had to force himself not to stare. Be good, he reminded himself, be decent. Be cool. For heaven's sake, don't blush.

"How so?"

"My feet might get wet. Pretty unlucky if you ask me."

Kakashi chortled again, shifting about on his feet. He leaned heavily against Iruka's shoulder, muttering at him, "Oi, let me see it..."

"What?" Iruka squawked. So much for being cool.

"Shhh." He whispered with drunken earnesty, arm around Iruka's neck, pulling him into some secret huddle, or possibly a choke-hold. "Let me--"

"Huh?"

"--show me. Just a peek."

Iruka laughed breathlessly, and struggled with his trousers, Kakashi doing his best to run interferance.

"Come on, no...seriously." He wedged an elbow between the two of them, finally squirming away just enough to keep his closure in check.

"You don't look it...but I bet you're reeealllly big."

And so much for not blushing. Iruka laughed nervously, leg twitching to cover the sudden certain twinge, the stirring.

Kakashi bumped up against him; breath warm and humid on Iruka's shoulder, light fingertips tracing swirls on his collarbone. Other hand curling up the hem of Iruka's shirt, knuckles a whisper against his belly.

His hair tickled Iruka's face. "I'll show you mine." He breathed, pressing in.

So much for being decent, as well. Iruka squinted hard, and quickly ran both hands up Kakashi's chest, spinning him and backing him into the wall. They stumbled together, starting clumsily at each other's mouths in the dark.

They kissed until their lips bruised. Until the sweat made their bodies stick together, until it pooled between them and soaked through their pants. Until Iruka's knuckles had scraped raw on the rough stones. His legs trembled, his stomach jumped, tense; but none of it mattered.

He whisked light fingertips down the base of Kakashi's spine, and was gratified to feel a shiver.

"How's about another dare?" Kakashi panted.


He stood there like a weight in Iruka's arms, gravity sinking him to the spot, rooting him. And it finally struck him, perhaps he was as nervous as Iruka was.

Iruka's fingertips left white impressions on his arms. "I--I. I'm not sure." He felt, more than saw, Kakashi frown.

"You don't have to be embarassed, Iruka-kun," He sucked at Iruka's lower lip, smiling. Serious. "What would you like to do? Tell me."

Kakashi watched his face intently, spooky eyes glittering in the flat moonlight. Iruka slid his hands down Kakashi's slick sleek back again, just touching him, breathing across his collarbone. His cock heavy with blood, senses filled with the dull throb of it. And he couldn't make himself ask.

"Just say it, Iruka. What's the worst that could happen?"

"I couldn't tell you. It's--indecent," Iruka laughed.

"You don't saaay. Does it involve ropes? Cuffs? A whip?" He ended the last thought with a playful narrowing of his eyes, and what might've been a purr.

Iruka laughed some more and fell into Kakashi's shoulder, leaned on him heavier than he thought he'd have dared, thigh to thigh, groin to groin. "I said indecent, not perverted." He shuddered.

Kakashi's arm slid down his body, and wrapped around him, one hand cupping Iruka's bottom. And squeezing.

"Come on," he said. "We'll decide what's indecent and what's perverted in the bedroom."
_________________________________________________________

6: instruments of faith and sex

He'd be lying to himself if he said he wasn't nervous; if he said he'd had no set expectations.

Kakashi had a softness about him, and also a hardness that scared Iruka.

It was more than just the heaviness of his cock, or the spare definition of his flank muscles. It was the smoothness of his belly, the gentle sweep and curve of one leg, pulled up, revealing a glimpse of that most vulnerable part. Receptive but forbidding. It was Kakashi lying on his back, and Iruka's whole polarized world-view turned gently on its head.

He pulled Iruka into bed, down on top of him, and there was never another 'but' about it.

Kakashi whispered things to him, and kissed his mouth, stroked him and investigated him with care. His skin was ghostly pale against Iruka's. Raised lines of scars like tattoos all over his body, marking him a member of some secret brutal tribe: anbu, jounin, killer. Red ink on his shoulders, shocking uzumaki whirls of color, like blood. Iruka left pink marks on him as he grew more adventurous, kissing and sucking, encouraged by his gasps, and the quickness of his breathing. The tension and flexion of his muscles, his voice thick and bedroom-dark with lust.

Kakashi's touch was sure, and heavy with experience. Iruka had a sense he knew exactly what he wanted, and could have taken it with hardly any effort. Even so, he was gentle, strangely considerate.

Iruka knelt between his thighs, traced swirls in the pooled sweat of his belly, and searched his eyes for permission. Because he still wasn't sure this was allowed. Then. Kakashi's hand closed on his hip, fingers kneading in a way that made his cock twitch.

Iruka frowned down at him; and Kakashi frowned back, eyes dark and unreadable.

"Stop apologizing to me." He muttered, sitting up, folding his legs over Iruka's lap. He reclaimed Iruka's hand, placed it on his chest and slid it down.

Iruka wasn't sure what he had to apologize for. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. He pressed his fingers in, skidding and stuttering over the ridges of Kakashi's belly, first soft, now hard; tensing and retensing with every stroke. He gripped his cock, and sucked at his shoulder until a welt formed. They rolled and clawed at each other, and lay side by side, leg over leg, mirror twins. Iruka kissed the scars on Kakashi's face, rubbed against his chest until he squirmed and hitched, breathing harsh in Iruka's ear.

Kakashi scratched his back. Lightly at first: blunt fingernails zinging across nerve endings, tenketsu, flashpoints. Then harder, growling when Iruka returned the favor, hips moving, arching at him, fucking the seam of his legs with a slow halting countermeasure.

He let Iruka push a finger inside him--slowly, carefully, face a mask of lip-biting intensity--just to show him it was okay. The shadowy shuddery voice whispering in his ear again: about duality, and unity. And he understood. Kakashi's blunt fingertips tracing a line down his inner thigh, down his perineum, into the slick valley of his buttocks. Teeth at his earlobe, and it didn't hurt the way he expected: that one finger inside him.

And then there were two.

He took them deeper, and sank his teeth into the cap of a shoulder. The polite mask broke into pieces.

Kakashi's gasp seemed to say: That's much better. He dragged a kiss across Iruka's neck, panting and thrusting his fingers, urging him on similarly.

Kakashi came with his eyes shut, trusting; body tensing and shivering. He arched and angled, quaking and bucking in Iruka's hands, breath kicked out of him in a series of ragged wordless sounds. Speaking only in vowels, or what could have been a name. He shivered, and pressed into Iruka, stroking him off with practiced efficiency, unapologetic; knees clapped to hips, mouth all over him.

Iruka left another set of toothmarks in Kakashi's shoulder, and white imprints in his thighs, thrust up at him, would've sunk himself in deep if Kakashi would've allowed it. As it was, he came close, brought Kakashi down on him, rocking and moving and watching his reflection in both pupils as he arched up and came.

When the shaking finally stopped, and Iruka was lying wrecked and wrung out in Kakashi's arms, he found the energy enough to be shocked. Mouthing his contrition at the marks on Kakashi's skin.

Kakashi pushed back down, and playfully moved atop him, wolfish, splaying his hands on Iruka's chest, winking. "Iruka, you were like a jungle cat..."

Iruka threw his head back and laughed breathlessly, just to break the strange tension in the room. Kakashi bent and sucked at his neck, and slithered off of him clumsily. Iruka's cock gave a few abortive twitches--as Kakashi brushed against it--and he rolled his hips with a shudder.

"rarr." He managed weakly, feeling raw; though, not in the worst way he could ever remember.

"I'm glad you're happy," Kakashi muttered, hand splaying down Iruka's belly. Then patting it, briskly. "Just don't forget you have to be up tomorrow morning."

Iruka let out a gust of a sigh, and rubbed his forehead with the back of one sweaty hand. There was always a 'just'. "Yeah. Class."

Kakashi yawned, and stretched against him; a slow shift, a rub. Then he rolled away, off of the bed, and limped to the closet for a towel.
_________________________________________________________

Iruka did not want to sleep. He lay for a long time, with his hand on Kakashi's hip, memorizing the dense weight of his muscles, the sure slide of him. The nape of his neck, with its fine texture of hairs.

The night was all around him, and he could feel it pressing, closing in. It was the darkest he could ever remember it.

Something made him want to keep his eyes open. Not let Kakashi out of his sight for a moment.

He had a tendency to disappear when one wasn't looking.
___________________________________________________________

7: seven for a secret

He wasn't sure how the arrangement came about, but lately they'd taken to meeting at Iruka's apartment. It was often past midnight when Kakashi showed up, standing below Iruka's bedroom window like an apparition, waving at him. Sex on those occasions was comfortable. Easy. An unspoken agreement.

Kakashi liked it best on top.

He had nothing against letting Iruka fuck him, in theory, or practice. He just made such a convincing case for himself--whenever he leaned over, with that grin of his, and hiked Iruka's legs up to his chest--that Iruka was content to let things be that way.

Because, deep down, in a place he'd never ever show publicly, he enjoyed it. Enjoyed the penetration, the weight on top of him; the utter loss of control he saw in Kakashi's face.

Because of that, most of all. Because here was honesty in its purest, rawest form. Because it was their little secret. For a while, at least.

Because sometimes Kakashi surprised him. Sometimes Kakashi would sneak up unawares, and kiss the back of his neck, just because he could. Sometimes he played hard-to-get, and had Iruka chase him through the trees, into a clearing, only to leave him with an armful of leaves and branches. Sometimes, after that, he laughed and apologized, and flipped Iruka over his shoulder; parading around with him in front of birds and squirrels, proclaiming himself ichiban practitioner of sexy-no-jutsu and other such silliness.

Sometimes he let himself be pushed up against a tree, let Iruka take him in his mouth. He'd come, arching, clawing at bark, knees shaking until Iruka had to hold him up.

Sometimes, some nights, he crept in through Iruka's bedroom window, colorless and exhausted. On those nights, he wanted nothing more than to crawl under the covers, and shiver against Iruka's chest until he passed out. When he was upset, he never spoke about it. Iruka never questioned, either. He let him in, which was enough.

Always, at about three a.m., Kakashi would shift, and put a hand out behind him, place it on Iruka's thigh. Iruka would slide a hand down his back, and slip a teasing finger down the crease of his buttocks. Kakashi would shiver and push back against him, and ask. Never in so many words, just a touch, or a look.

He preferred to be fucked dorsally, or from behind. He liked the feeling of arms around him, he said. Liked Iruka's hands cupping his chest, or grasping his hips, mouth at his neck. Liked it slow, deep, and hard. He moaned, very rarely, and it was always more of a gasp; came like an earthquake, tremoring and heaving, Iruka's name on his lips, soundless.

Kakashi was always gone by morning those times. Gone for most of the day, and sometimes for several. Iruka never worried. He decompressed, and went about his life as usual. The way he viewed it, Kakashi's time was a privilege, and not a right to be taken for granted.

Being that his apartment was closer to school, Iruka wasn't late as often anymore; and made it to class most days without incident. Things were easier, if not always simpler...or more comfortable...lately.

They never made it a big discussion, or negotiated terms. They never called it dating. It was friend-sex, simple as that. They remained discreet, but knew it would only be so long before rumor leaked. The village had a thousand eyes and ears, some in the forms of insects, some in the forms of mice. Gossip was a way to pass the time, the juicier the better. Information was candy: passed from hand to hand to mouth in fun-sized portions, or snatched quickly from whatever hiding places.

Sooner or later, whatever the case, everybody knew everyone else's business, in ways big and small. Iruka counted on it, the way he counted on mosquito bites come every summer.

It complicated things unnecessarily, Iruka felt. But it couldn't be helped. Before long, eyebrows were raised.

Anko was soon giving him (highly suspect) advice, and--unless he imagined things--making overtures of a vaguely jealous nature. Though, over whom, he couldn't be sure.

--I'd double bag it with that one.--She'd said across a picnic table one day, idly picking at the wood with a kunai.--He gets around, if you know what I mean.--A meaningful pause to look up.--And you do know what I mean.--

This made Iruka uncomfortable. Though he tried not to take it personally. Anko tended to make _most_ people uncomfortable, for the sheer fun of it. It was something she excelled at, and part of her job. Anyway, he wasn't worried about her. He wasn't worried about Kurenai, for that matter, either.

His only real point of concern, were the other male sensei. Would they shun him, or would they overcompensate? Or would they simply stare.

The way Asuma-sensei stared. Like he'd grown an extra, and most extraordinarily beautiful head, all of the sudden. Like a curiosity.

That bothered him a little. But not as much as the other stuff.

His students were starting to take the rumors to heart.

This made Iruka very very uncomfortable.

Because he hated the term "special friends". Because kids never knew when to stop asking questions. Because they had very definite views on the way things were, or _ought_ to be. Because, suddenly, it was about the "H-word". And it wasn't so much wierd to them, the fact that Iruka was "one of those", as it was that he was "one of those" with Kakashi. And it just did not make sense.

--It's an awkward fit.--Shikamaru opined, shaking his head in puzzlement.--I don't understand. Why are we even discussing this bothersome, stuff? This is supposed to be my quiet time.--

Ino sighed and settled back on the grass, arms behind her head, contemplative. --Ara, I was just saying, is all.--

--Anyway.--Chouji broke in,--If anyone's ssecretly like that, around here, it's Gai-sensei. Think about it. He's the last person you'd suspect...always going on and on about how manly he is, how _strong_ he is.-- Chouji grinned and sprung into a dead-on Gai-sensei pose. --Gai-sensei has such big, luuuvvvly muscles, perfect for long manly hugs in the sunset. Ooooohhh, my beloved Kakashi-kun, my eternal rival...let us embrace in our youth! These arms were made to hold you!--

--Tch. That's enough. He isn't either.---

His own peers could be just as bad. In some respects, worse.

They accepted it.

No. They practically reveled in it.

Hayate eyed him over a mission report one day--sad porridge face propped up on his fist--and politely cleared his throat. "So. You and Kakashi..."

"Yes?" Iruka snapped, shuffling a stack of papers. "What about Kakashi and I?"

"Eh?" Another cough. And a sigh. "Forgive my intrusiveness. Just be aware, people...have been...eh, talking."

A drop of sweat rolled down Iruka's neck. "Which people?"

Hayate shrugged placidly. "People..." He tapped his lower lip thoughtfully with the end of a pencil. "No. Quite a few people."

"Hn. All right." Iruka sweated further, and re-filed his papers. "Anyway, your point?"

"My point? Just be aware, that's all. Around Kakashi, it's hard to keep secrets very long."

"I'll keep that under advisement," Iruka shifted his coffee-cup a bit to the left, then a bit towards the top of his paper pile, then turned it so the spout faced away. "Thing is," he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I don't know. Has anyone struck you as...you know...disapproving?

Hayated tapped his chin, hedging and hemming and hawing in his way. "Not that they'd ever admit it...but if I'm any judge of character...yes. They are. All very jealous."

"Not jealous, Hayate-kun. Disapproving. _Disapproving_!"

Hayate turned, eyes serious. "Whose business is it, anyway? You shouldn't worry if they disapprove. Trust me. I've often worried. I'm afraid that is why he and I had our outs."

Iruka couldn't help it, his mouth fell open, he stared. His voice got a bit too loud. "You and Kakashi?" A few of the other examiners had leaned over, in a clamor of creaking chairs, ears cocked.

A head shot up from behind the back of a couch, hitaiate turned backwards and slightly askew. "Hn?" Sleepy bloodshot eyes, and perpetual sneer of disdain, wrapped around the ever present toothpick, recognizable as one Shiranui Genma.

Hayate's face met his palm with a smack, covering eyes and forehead, but not his pained little grimace. "Iruka-kun!" He coughed out, under his voice, between his teeth. "You still lack discretion. No wonder people talk."

Genma sauntered over, and leaned over the table, hand cocked to hip, tooth-pick clamped between his teeth. "Your outs?" He said, calmly, but sternly. "Tell me what he did. So help me, I'll hoist his ass from a flag-pole."

Hayated flapped a dismissive hand "Senpai, senpai. You overreact as usual. It was nothing, please."

Iruka turned his pencil perpendicular, and wished he could slip beneath the table, disappear. "Ah, hey, Genma-san."

A snort. "Not you, too," was all he said.

"So nosy," Hayate muttered towards the table top. "Genma-san, please--"

Genma just stared at Iruka, blinked once and pronounced: "Mark my words, he's not someone you wanna get comfortable with."

Iruka frowned.

Hayate stood quietly from his chair, and cleared his throat meaningfully. "Senpai," he said. "You're putting me in a difficult position."

A beat. In which Genma played at looking clueless. Then: "Oi, not now Hayate-kun. Wait 'til we're in private."

It was, at this point, that Hayate decided to leap over the table and swat Genma with his book. Within a second, each had the other in a headlock, and people were placing bets.

Iruka quickly rescued his coffee, and jumped back. He wondered why no-one was stepping in. Until another examiner leaned in conspiratorially, and hissed into his ear.

"Ch'. They always do this. Don't worry, they'll tire out eventually, then run off to fooly-cooly in the broom closet."

Hayate gave a long wheezing laugh, one that sounded like it could be his last, and said something very uncharacteristic. "I love you...and that is why...I must kill you *hgack*"

"Hayate! You've been overmedicating again. You're not usually this _assinine_."

"*choke*. Wrong..."

"Idiot!" Genma dropped his hold, and Hayate staggered back into a wary half-stance. "Are you okay?"

Hayate sulked, visibly, and wheezed a bit. "I'm fine."

"Liar," said Genma, shaking his head ruefully.

Iruka gaped at them wordlessly.

Ebisu-sensei shot up from his seat, pronounced them all perverts, and stormed from the room. Genma followed right after, shouting lazily, "Oi, you can't just duck out whenever you want. Get back here!"

Hayate turned several more shades of chagrine, and slumped heavily onto the couch, where he lay until some concerned party thought to check on his breathing. "It's okay," Aoba stage-whispered. "He's not dead!"

The room let out a collective sigh of relief, and began shuffling papers more or less as they had been pre-interruption.

Anko rolled her eyes and loomed over Iruka's desk, a five-foot-two bundle of house-cat malice. Small and curvy, but still very much a predator. "They're all idiots, ignore them. Anyway, speak of the sexy devil..." She jerked her chin in the direction of the door.

Iruka died on the spot. Or wished he had.

Kakashi waved, and Naruto came bounding up with a grin. Sasuke and Sakura waved, but hung back, playing it cool.

"Iruka sensei!" Naruto pounced, landing him in a choke-hold.

"Oi, Naruto! Hello...let go of me!"

Kakashi sauntered over, hands in his pockets. "Calm down, Naruto. He's no good to us if you strangle him." He shooed the boy off of the desk, and calmly set down his mission report. Normal as could be.

Naruto planted his hands flat on the desk, beaming. "Soooo, like, Iruka-Sensei, got any big important missions for us this time? Eh? Eh?"

Kakashi rolled his eye. Here we go again.

"Tch. Take some ritalin, dead-last." Sasuke muttered.

Naruto scratched his head. "Oi, ri-ta-lin? Ritalin?! _You_ take some ritalin, and choke on it! Yeah!"

"Never mind that." Kakashi shooed him aside again. "Good morning, Iruka- Sensei."

"Uh, good morning, Kakashi-Sensei. Did you sleep well last night?"

Kakashi rubbed the back of his neck, and gave a little laugh. "ah-heh..."

"psst, Sakura-chan..." Naruto whispered urgently, tapping her shoulder.

"Naruto, what?" She hissed back.

He muttered a question behind his hand, face a curious shade of suspicion.

Sakura glanced around nervously. "I don't know. Why don't you mind your own business?"

Naruto's eyes darted about for another second, then. "Um, like, Kakashi-Sensei..."

"What is it, Naruto?"

"Are you and Iruka-Sensei...you know? This?" he extended his pinkie finger. The room went dead silent.

Sakura fell over with a gasp of disbelief. "Naruuuttooo."

Sasuke jumped a little in surprise, then quickly found something of interest on the far wall.

Iruka froze, mission report clutched in his hands. "Special friends" wasn't going to cut it this time.

"Um."

"We see each other outside of work sometimes." Kakashi said, unconcerned. "Now, weren't you asking something about a mission?"

"Oh, yeah, right! Don't give us anything lame like last time, I'm not kidding! I'm gonna become chuunin soon, just you wait, I don't have any time to waste on D-rank missions!"

Iruka grinned, and reached for a stack of papers. "Well, I was saving this highly important mission for a respectible, and qualified individual...buuut..."

"Irukaaa-senseeeeiiii...seriously!"

________________________________________________


That afternoon, Kakashi joined him at the picnic area for a late lunch of onigiri and salad. They ate and lounged and barely said a word, enjoying each other's company for once, and nothing more.

Iruka sat atop a table, while Kakashi lolled about on the bench at his feet.

"I can't believe you handled that so coolly." Iruka said out of nowhere, chewing a toothpick.

"He deserved a straight answer. That was the best one I could give him." Kakashi sighed.

"So, then. How did the mission go?"

"We accomplished a lot." Kakashi smirked. "A lot of shopping, and a lot of cleaning. Naruto complained the entire time. He's vowed revenge on you. Seriously, he says."

"Heh. Sorry about that. There wasn't much else to give you guys. Things have been slow lately."

Kakashi knocked off a shrug, and gazed up with a calm acceptance Iruka had to struggle not to take for granted. It still amazed him how Kakashi managed to convey so much, with so little.

It didn't mean he had to like it.

Kakashi's eye took on a concerned tilt. "Something bothering you?"

Iruka fingered his cheek and hedged. "Am I--hmm." He smoothed at his hair, and tightened his top-knot. "What I mean is, why don't you show your face more often?"

Kakashi framed himself with his hands again. "Ninja," he reminded him proudly.

"Is that really it?"

"In the old days, you know, all shinobi wore masks, and hoods. The mysterious and deadly shinobi would blend perfectly into shadow, and disappear without a trace. Almost as if he'd never existed. A puff of smoke, a whisper of a breeze..."

"Yeah, the mysterious shinobi, running like hell and smelling his own bad breath all through the night." Iruka leaned over him, and looked him straight in the eye. Really looked: hard enough to make most people squirm, Kakashi included.

"I do NOT have bad breath."

"You do have a flair for the dramatic though. Why the mask, really?"

"I have a big nose. It makes me self-concious."

"None of your students have ever seen your face, have they?"

"It's fun to keep them wondering."

"It's easier not to have to explain." Iruka challenged. "Take it off once, and they're bound to start asking questions. Right?"

Kakashi blinked a quiet admission. "There's that, too."

"Is it your scars? Is that why?"

A noncomittal shrug. "En. _That_ is just one of the harsh realities we have to live with." He sighed and stretched, and sat up, leaning back against Iruka's leg. "They'll learn it on their own sooner or later. But no, that's not it. Scars fade quickly. At least, the ones you can see."

"They're barely noticable," said Iruka. "How'd it happen, anyway?"

Kakashi's eyebrow took on an irritated tilt. "Tch. Anyone ever tell you you pry too much?"

Iruka slumped over him, sighing in defeat. "I apologize."

"Forget about it. How was your day?"

"Um...interesting."

"Oh?"

___________________________________________________________

8: eight for a wish

Kakashi had been gone for almost a week. And despite his insistence not to: Iruka worried. Kakashi did have a habit of disappearing; but it wasn't like him to take off without _some_ prior notice. No mention of a mission, this time. Nothing about training anywhere, or running errands. Naruto and everyone claimed not to have heard from him, either, although he'd left plenty of homework.

"I bet he's at home, sleeping." Sasuke grunted, nailing a target with five shuriken, and following up with a kunai. "Either way, we haven't seen him in a while. Just that weird-ass dog of his."

Anko was of slightly more help. "Even if I knew, I'd be sworn to secrecy. Go ask Hayate, he's easier."
He knew where to find Hayate. Four p.m. as always, he'd gather his papers from the briefing room, and lock up for the night. Iruka caught him just as he was slipping out the door.

"Oi, Hayate-kun. Do you...happen to know where Kakashi ran off?"

The other shrugged and methodically checked his keys, before locking up with a precise little snap of the wrist. "That...is a matter of some privacy. Even if I could tell you, I wouldn't."

Iruka frowned. "And why not?"

Hayate waved a finger. "Ah, that's a secret."

Iruka's frown deepened. He contemplated saying several very rude things, just then, but held back. "Well, did he mention, perhaps, when he might be back?"

"He might have."

Iruka pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a small measured breath. "All right, _when_ did he say he might be back?"

"Sorry. Afraid--"

"It's a secret. Yeah." Iruka sighed, head drooping.

"Has anyone ever told you you pry too much?" Hayate said with a wry smirk, before softly clearing his throat.

"As a matter of fact, very recently." Iruka folded his arms over his chest.

"I'm sorry. He did tell me to relay this to you, though: 'please don't take it personally.'"

Iruka bit the inside of his lip. "He...did say he was coming back. Didn't he?"

Hayate went still, expression softening somewhat, then he smiled. "Of course, Iruka-kun. Goodnight, now. Don't go losing any sleep over Kakashi. It's not worth it."

Iruka vacillated a moment, as Hayate turned to walk away, then called out. "Wait."

"Hm?"

"Before...when you said you...and Kakashi. Is it true?"

A slight frown of bemusement. "What do you think?"

"Just answer me. Were you ever with him?"

Hayate looked down at his keys. "We were young. It was...a foolish time for both of us. If you want the truth...eh...despite his failings, he wasn't regrettable. I think you could do a lot worse...but then...that is only my impression."

Iruka opened his mouth to say something. Apologize. Hayate shrugged him off with a hand--waved good-bye--then wandered away.

Iruka stumbled home in a state of...well, he wasn't sure what. His head was a-buzz with thoughts, and he found himself muttering, at his front door: "Not regrettable. Kakashi..."

His apartment felt emptier than usual. Strange. The day had cooled a bit, thanks to some recent rain; but the air indoors was oppressive. The silence heavy and woolen. Iruka walked from room to room--which didn't take very long--turning on lights, peeking behind closet doors, behind the shower curtain. He covered all of the mirrors, lit incense, and scattered salt across the thresh-hold.

All as if by wrote, and without thinking. He turned his parents photographs to face the wall, and brewed a pot of coffee, as strong as he could stomach. Sat in his kitchen with the radio tuned to whatever station would come in, and stared anxiously at the cabinets, the refrigerator, the doorway, as if he expected something to jump out.

He was being silly, he told himself, brushing salt grains from his bare feet. He didn't even believe in all that crap. On holidays and certain special dates, maybe, but not beyond that. Still. He did not want to sleep indoors that night. Did not want to sleep at all.

He rolled a cigarette, and lay out on the apartment roof, half expecting to turn his head--any minute now--and find Kakashi sitting beside him. Casual as anything. Wind ruffling his hair with teasing fingers, not saying a word.

And Iruka can quite clearly see his hand pressed flat into the gravel, propping him up. And he's there. Kakashi's legs are crossed, and he's staring off into nothing, like Iruka isn't even there.

"Kakashi?"

He doesn't answer, doesn't even turn. Instead, he stands, and bounds for the edge of the roof, vaults off, disappearing into the night. There's a small puddle in the spot where he'd sat. Red.

Iruka sat up with a start, scraping his palms on the tar-paper. Crickets chirped, and somewhere a cicada shrilled its droning click-click-whirrrr song. He'd dozed off on the roof; with a tea-cup full of cigarette butts by his leg, and an ashen taste in his mouth. A look at his watch gave him a quarter after one. Neither ominous nor particularly auspicious.

He rubbed his eyes hard, and pinched his arm for good measure, checked himself over, reached down to check his shuriken holster. All in place. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, eyes scanning the night around him.

The trees waved, jagged and dark, like hungry dragons with open mouths, looming in every direction. Iruka curled his legs and rolled backwards into a hand-plant, over into a crouch on the roof ledge, scanning around once more before leaping. He ran for a while, from tree to tree, limb to limb, until he saw moonlight. Until the sky lay open before him, and he could breathe again. And there he dropped into a clearing, panting raggedly, fingers clenched and digging into solid ground. The soil was cold and damp, despite the night's lingering warmth.

Mist hung around him like a shroud, played tricks on his eyes. A bright shape darted off to his left. Without thinking, he whipped out a shuriken, embedding it in a tree-trunk. The rabbit bounced away, unharmed. Iruka cursed, and sat down hard, pulling his knees up, trying to shake his unease.

Idiot. Freaking out over nothing like that, crashing around in the night like the kappa was after him. The way he used to do when he was five, and every closed door concealed a monster. His father used to humor him, and crouch there outside the bathroom with a broom and a grin. Shushing him.

--On the count of three, Iruka, I want youu to throw open the door, and I'll ambush that kappa. Go on. Be brave, like a true ninja!--

And always, he'd throw open the door, and scream, and there'd be nothing there. Just the dark. And somehow, for about two seconds, that was far worse than there actually being something.

Because. Something, you could fight, hit, kick. Nothing, you couldn't touch. Nothing was the abyss that stared into him, every night, with the face of a grinning fox.

Not his fault, he'd always remind himself. Never his fault, he tells himself now; only, he's not so sure he's talking about Naruto.
__________________________________________________________

9: nine for a kiss

He found him at the village memorial, simply by chance. After he'd sat a while, and gathered fitfully at his wind-drifted thoughts, Iruka had walked. He'd walked through the woods, and the clearing, over a hill, and past a small runoff.

He'd calmed down somewhat.

The moon cast a silver glow over the grass and the patches of sandy soil. The panic dissolved like so much mist, and it was just another pleasant stroll.

He wasn't expecting to see anyone out at that hour, let alone Kakashi. So when he crested another hill and spotted him below, standing at the cenotaph, back turned, he was too surprised to feel properly relieved.

He checked himself from calling out, minding Hayate's warning, cryptic as it was. If Kakashi knew he was there at all--and Iruka was near certain he did--he gave no sign.

Kakashi looked down, and stepped back a pace. He'd left a few sticks of incense standing in a bowl of uncooked rice, an offering. As Iruka watched, he bowed, and clapped twice, bowed again, and clapped once more. The ritual was comfortingly familiar, it made something inside Iruka clench.

Kakashi knelt at the shrine's foot for a long time, head bowed in contemplation. Iruka finally felt guilty. He told himself, at that point, he should have turned around, walked home. But he couldn't budge.

Kakashi murmured something, almost too quiet to catch at first. Then the words became more distinct. "It has been a while, hasn't it? I hope everything finds you well. Ah, what am I saying? Stupid of me, eh?"

His voice was something softer than Iruka had ever heard. It was like a voice he'd been saving, for somebody else. Iruka wondered who he was talking to; and, not for the first time in recent memory, he thought about his parents. A lump rose in his throat.

"As you know, I've been teaching at the academy. My new students are really something, nothing like that last sorry bunch...they remind me a lot how we used to be." Kakashi chuckled softly. "Their progress is amazing. I think they're more than ready to graduate this year. I have a feeling."

He paused, as if listening. Iruka's insides froze, and he wondered how the hell he was going to explain himself. But Kakashi went on again, as if nothing were amiss. "Maa, maa. Enough about me. What's it like on your end of things?"

Another pause, and Kakashi's whole demeanor changed. "Yes, I suppose it is boring. I'm sorry I can't be there...no...again, what am I saying? You think that's what I really want?" his voice had taken on a harder pitch, and somehow managed to sound younger. "I wonder sometimes, myself."

Iruka pressed a hand to his mouth, frowning.

(He wants to leave. This is private, and he shouldn't be here. But he can't turn away, because the slightest sound might alert Kakashi to his presence, or ruin whatever it is he's doing. Which, for all appearances, is talking to himself.)

And his demeanor changed again, with a sigh. "I'm sorry. There's been a lot on my mind...you know, with everything that's happening lately. I've also met somebody. He's a little nosy, but I think I really like him."

Iruka bit his hand, and stood where he was, rooted to the spot.

Kakashi dragged his hands up his arms, baring them; a strange stuttering caress that sent answering chills up Iruka's sides.

His voice grew quieter, then, sort of raspy. "I had a feeling you'd move on. It's like I told you, life is too short to live alone." A pause. "I want you to be happy, Kakashi. Are you?"

Iruka's eyes stung. His throat caught again, hard lump rising, like there was a hand clenched around it.

Kakashi's hand slid up his neck, to touch his own face. No, to wipe something away, wetness. "yeah, I'm happy...I guess. As happy as I can be on this date.

Obito-kun--" His voice broke. "I never wanted this. I don't mean to sound ungrateful...but...it haunts me. Every time I look in the mirror, it's like I can still see your face, staring back at me. When I wake up sometimes, you're there too. Tell me," Kakashi drew a quick rasping breath, and his body snapped into an angry coil, faster than the eye could follow. He'd whipped out a kuinai and had it pointed straight at his own face. "If I gave it back, would you let me be?"

A shuddery breath. Kakashi's arm was dead still, steady, posture betraying nothing. His voice was like acid. Like venom. "I could do it, you know. I could give it back. I could send it where it belongs."

A pause.

"so, why don't you, then?"

Somehow Iruka found the will to move, to run, before he could see the kunai move.

Branches breaking underneath him, and he made far too much noise, but he didn't care. Let Kakashi come after him, let him be angry. Iruka wanted him to, just so he could haul off, slap some sense into the man. He wanted to make him make sense of things. Now that all his cracks were showing, now, it was a far unprettier picture than Iruka had expected.

It was none of his business. Kakashi's grief wassn't his grief, his madness wassn't Iruka's responsibility, either; yet, somehow it was.

He cursed his selfishness and ran. Kept running, and clawing, and climbing until he was back on his roof, curled into a ball. Shaking and waiting, and crying hard with his mouth shut, his eyes shut, his hands clenched tightly shut, arms wrapped around himself. Everything so tightly shut because he must not, must not, open even a crack. He had to be the strong one, the sane one. He had to be the one who never grieved.

Because true, brave shinobi don't.

--Even when they're sad Otou-chan?--

--Especially then.--

Summer was the time for ghost stories. He shivered now in the still, heavy air, which clung blanket-like to his skin, and wished it were winter.

_________________________________________________

10: for a time of joyous bliss

Somehow he knew Kakashi would follow: skulking just out of sight, out of reach. He knew he'd known Iruka was there. The nosy comment had sort of clued him in. It clutched at him again, the hand in his gut, the yearning; and he choked down a sniffle. All of the mirrors were still covered, and the photos facedown on his dresser. He wanted to go over, replace them, make up to them. But he kept seeing himself flipping them over, and instead of his happily smiling family, he'd find grinning skull faces, all of them. The mirrors would bleed, and skeletal hands would skitter at the other side, scratching to get out. We want your eyes back, Iruka...son, give us back your eyes.

"I'm sorry, Otou-chan, Okaa-chan...I didn't mean any disrespect." He whispered, pulling the sheets tight around him. Made sure every bit of him was tucked in, safe.

His inner voice scolded him: being a bit self-indulgent, don't you think? He told it to fuck off.

Half expected Kakashi to come moping around the moment he did. Drifting off, it struck him, ghosts usually visited you in your dreams. The subconscious was more accessible then. He wondered if Kakashi had been sleepwalking.

He wondered if all of this wasn't still a dream itself.

He hoped it was. He hoped to sleep, and forget everything he'd seen, or heard, or thought he'd heard.

Only to be awakened sometime in the wee hours by a figure crouched in his window-sill.

Above his bed.

Four a.m. He opened his eyes to gray watery dimness, and wondered where the moonlight had gone; turned onto his back and looked up to find someone blocking it.

"Were you sleeping?" The figure asked.

Iruka sat up, quickly pulled his knees to his chest, pulled into a ready crouch. He pinched himself, hard this time, and gave a whince. Wondered why he hadn't gone for his kunai, instinctively, as he ought to've known better.

"Iruka? Why are you...pinching yourself?" Faint amusement, and attrition.

"Don't be a ghost, please. And if you are...just leave. I have enough ghosts in my life, Kakashi. I don't need another."

"It's all right. I'm alive, I promise." Kakashi shifted, bed dipping with his weight, and leaned over.

Iruka slapped his arms away, turned his back. "You would say that. Maybe this is a dream. Yeah, I'm dreaming." He half expected to feel the weight retreat, but it didn't. Arms slipped around him, and this time he let them.

"In that case," Kakashi murmured, "let's make this count."

Iruka drew a shuddering breath, and relaxed, let himself sink back. Too solid to be a ghost. He could feel the soft rise and fall of his breathing, the steady thud of his heart. The damp catch of his mask and the coolness of his cheek above that. Kakashi drew his knees up, further entwining himself; until the slight certain hitch of breath became evident. Until he was no longer comforting, but clinging.

He muttered soft words against Iruka's skin, explaining gently while he stroked his collarbone, calluses scratching slightly. His hands trembled. And even that felt right.

"You could have asked." He mouthed the back of Iruka's neck where it joined his shoulder. "I would've told you."

"Told me what, Kakashi? That you talk to gravestones? Is that where you go every day? Is that why you're always late?"

"You've been crying."

A guilty sniffle. "fuck off..."

"Shh. I know it hurts. It's just that time of year...everyone gets a little weird." Kakashi murmured. "Okay, so I just get weird-er."

"I didn't intend to spy on you like that...but...Kakashi--"

"Like what? You were as subtle as an elephant out there," a soft little chuckle, a puff of warm breath. "I think you wanted me to notice you."

Iruka gritted his teeth, and let the quiet linger, shifted a hand to Kakashi's thigh. Squeezing. "Are you calling my spying abilities into question?"

Kakashi held him a bit tighter, and nuzzled his neck, chuckling quietly. "You could stand some improvement. No, scratch that. You're totally lousy."

"What was he like?" Iruka blurted out. Then he felt it. Felt Kakashi start, ever so slightly, then settle. "Your friend."

There was a long pause before Kakashi answered.

"He was...just that. My friend." If anything, he clung tighter now.

"Kakashi, what happened? No more clever evasions, all right? I want some truth."

A long sigh. "He was killed. My fault." He rocked a bit. "It was so long ago, there were so many mistakes."

"Your eye?"

"I'm sorry. I'd really...rather not talk about that. If it's okay."

Iruka went a bit looser, leaning forward and pulling Kakashi with him, rubbing his arms through his sleeves. "All right. When's the last time you slept?"

"Five days. But I'm not tired."

"Kakashi, you're going to sleep, now."

Kakashi's hands fell to Iruka's hips, and he made a noise. "Assertive..."

Iruka blushed. "No. Sleep Kakashi, you need it!"

"I'll have plenty of sleep when I'm dead, Iruka-kun." He wound a quick arm around Iruka's chest, and sort of teetered into his shoulder, drunkenly tried to push him over.

Iruka sighed. "With all due respect, you're an idiot sometimes."

"Sometimes, Iruka? Sometimes? That's a pretty generous assessment."

Iruka sat up straight, and pushed back, turning as he did. Kakashi fell into the pillows with a slight grunt, and lay there, arms out to the sides, weary and punch-drunk and dishevelled. Iruka straddled his hips and peeled off his mask, and anxiously touched his face for a few seconds.

"Just what are you looking for?" Kakashi asked, eyes guarded, wary like an abused animal. He lay still, though, breathing easily, body relaxed.

"What do you think?" Iruka scraped his fingers through Kakashi's hair, and it seemed strangely personal, a tresspass, rocking forward and kissing him this way. "Why do you hate your face, Kakashi?"

"I don't. I hate who it reminds me of," sharp lips and bared teeth. "No more questions, please. Iruka. If you care for me even a tiny bit..."

"All right," said Iruka, and it honestly surprised him to find that he did.
___________________________________________________________

...I walk along these hillside in the summer 'neath the sunshine I am feathered by the moonlight...

________________________________________________________
11: eleven never to be told

Summer would die with a noisy gasp, and the coming autumn would be overshadowed by betrayal.

They buried Hayate's ashes that September, and Hokage-sama's not long after. Iruka wasn't sure why it hit him the way it did. This sense of two-fold loss, over the strange boy he'd so taken for granted, whom he'd thought would never live to see adulthood, versus the man who'd been like a father to him, whom he'd thought would live forever. Slow, sighing Hayate with his baleful eyes and his sad porridge face--and his sudden, uncharacteristic bursts of insight--who'd once caught Kakashi's fancy.

Dead, found lying in a pool of blood, torn open, pecked at by crows.

Hokage-sama, run clean through the body, a single stab. A warrior's death. That was what everyone had said.

He'd lived a long life, Sarutobi-sensei had.

Hayate had lived a fast life, like his name. He'd been much younger than anyone knew, much sicker than that, maybe.

Funny the way uncertain mortality tended to make one feel immortal. He'd also died with a sword in his hand. The way he would've wanted it, they all said. Just like the contrary bastard he was, Genma had muttered, tears angrily blurring his lazy eyes.

Iruka said his farewells, it was all he could do. And he moved on.

Kakashi went into retreat for several days, and would not leave his house. Rumors flew about his being next in line for Hokage. But when Iruka confronted him about it, he simply barked a bitter laugh, and said: "I want nothing to do with it."

"I think you'd do the name proud," Iruka offered. "I know he thought highly of you."

Kakashi shook his head deliberately, never looking up, and kept his hand buried in the ruff of one of his dogs. Iruka noticed that his eyes were red-rimmed, puffy, like he'd been awake and crying for days. He'd been doing far too much of that lately, it seemed. As if a flood-gate had opened; spilling everything he'd kept in check for so many years.

"No," he said. "No. That's for Jiraiya. If anyone's deserving..." his voice came up short here, and he paused. "Excuse me," he rasped.

Iruka stayed in his doorway, hand on the lintel, as if holding himself back. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Kakashi shook his head.

"Would you like to be left alone?"

Kakashi nodded briefly, then, seemed to change his mind. "On second thought...stay. You're the first human voice I've heard all week. Doggies are nice and everything, but they're terrible at Go."

Iruka ducked his chin a little, smiling. "Looking for a challenge, are you? Well, all right. Maybe a round or two."

Kakashi lifted his head, hints of a smile peeking through. "I'll beat you this time."

"Eh, promises promises..." Iruka let his hand drop, and stepped inside.

Outside, the leaves were changing, the crows were flying home. It wasn't quite cold enough for autumn yet, but one could sense a change in the wind. Whether it boded well or ill, neither of them could be sure.

That night, when Iruka slept--spooned against Kakashi's back, in the dark--all he did know for sure, was that he felt safe, and for a time, happy. He really hoped, some day, Kakashi might feel the same.

____________________________________
~Owari~

...When I think of heaven
Deliver me in a black-winged bird
I think of dying
Lay me down in a field of flame and heather
Render up my body into the burning heart of God
In the belly of a black-winged bird...



Notes: In European and American folk legends, future events were often divined by the number of crows seen at any given time. In manga and anime, a crow often foreshadows someone's death, and being that the name Kakashi means scarecrow, I couldn't resist the symbolism.

One thing you may have noted is the reoccurrence of the number four. In Japan, the word for four sounds like shi, which means death; a more commonly used word [for four], is Yo.

Terms:

hitaiate: bandanna, a metal plated forehead protector worn by the Konoha nin

Ichiban: number one

(no) Jutsu: technique

Kappa: an amphibious creature, with a man's body and a turtle's head. Often believed to devour humans, and/or suck a person's liver out through the anus.

Onigiri: rice balls

Odango: meatballs

Otou-chan: dad

Okaa-chan: mom

Sho-ga-nai: it can't be helped, ie; an expression of apathy or ambivalence.

Henohenomohezi: Explanation thanks to--
http://kagemugen.envy.nu/info/terms/term.html

"...Henohenomohezi(ji) (2-9) Traditional Japanese graffiti. If you look closely, the dogs that Kakashi summons using the Ninpou Summon: Earth Tracking Fang no Jutsu (4-2), all have faces drawn on the backs of their sweaters. The face is created using hiragana. The eyebrows make the 'he' sound and the eyes make the 'no' sound. The 'mo' sound is gotten from the nose. The mouth gives birth to another 'he' sound and the face does the last syllable of 'zi.' Henohenomohezi is also used as the face of scarecrows. Just including this 'cause Kakashi's name means scarecrow..."

Note2: I do not know whether or not Kakashi's dogs (or any summoned animal, for that matter) are real, or if they're just conjured from some nether dimension only when needed...for the sake of the story, Kakashi treats them as if they are real. I suppose he'd be rather lonely, otherwise.

Note3: I've rewritten parts of this more times than I care to admit. My most recent re-write is 5/8/05, and I can't promise it'll be the last. The more I watch of Naruto, the more I see characterization-wise, and the more I see wrong with the way I've written them. Can't be helped. ^__^

Thank you for reading this far, anyway! Feedback is always welcome.

---

Back to Chuunin and Jounin
Back to team seven
Back to the main page