Kakashi stands, exhausted, in the Hokage's office, waiting for her to finish whatever meeting she's in before he can deliver his confidential mission report - verbal, of course, because missions of this kind are never recorded on paper in any great amount of detail.

'Mission Completed by ANBU 'Hound,' solo. 26th April.'

Whatever had kept him moving through the night had evaporated on meeting Konoha's familiar gates, and the shameful truth - 'it was only six ninja' - is that it's taking every tiny reserve of chakra he has left in order to actually stay standing.

Tsunade finally storms into the central office, flanked by Haruno Sakura, Jiraiya and Shizune, and a limping Hagane Kotetsu. At the latter's shocked expression, Kakashi can only imagine how he appears - fierce ANBU mask as muddy and bloodstained as the rest of him; his body swaying slightly in a futile attempt to just stand still. He must surely look about as bad as he feels; it's impossible not to catch the professionally concerned look Tsunade flashes her ebony-haired assistant as a wide-eyed Sakura - years of training kicking in - curtsies slightly - the respectful, somehow fearful, "Shinobi-san" slipping past her lips.

'Oh please' - For the fist time in his life, Kakashi wants someone to read his mind. - 'Please don't tell Sakura who I am...'

As his student leaves the room with Kotetsu and Shizune in tow, Kakashi refuses to accept the idea that she'll probably figure him out for herself - wanting to keep this small part of him separate from the world, from his team. He longs for the acceptance of his team; selfish as it is he always hoped they would look to him as he did to his sensei; though it's a foolish dream - Yondaime died before Kakashi was old enough to discover his imperfections, but the Copy Nin has many flaws.

Sharingan Kakashi has played many roles in his life –Yondaime's Prodigy, the Hatake Brat, the pervert-Sensei, the Copy Nin; but he has never wanted to be the ANBU Hound in front of his students. Never wanted them to see him as a killer despite the times they'd watched him kill. So Kakashi refuses to think about the tell tale shock of silver-white hair, drooping slightly from the heat and dirt and sweat of the mission; He doesn't think about the fact that Sakura was probably informed about the kind of state they expected him back in. Hatake Kakashi disappears on a mission that should last four days. Six days later an ANBU operative staggers home - 5'11", white-grey hair, blue-grey eye, dog mask - and Kakashi mysteriously appears for training the next day, Pakkun in hand. No, Kakashi is not fool enough to believe he could fool any student of his own.

But surely he deserves just one break?

Finally ready, the Hokage stands in front of the assassin and waits silently.

"Sorry I'm late." The porcelain muffles his weak voice more than his usual cloth does, but then, that's probably the point. "Caught up with an unexpected friend."

"Nice reunion?" Kakashi hadn't even realise that Jiraiya had moved to his side, and the sudden nearness of his voice makes him jump. It doesn't stop him leaning into a rough hand carefully gripping his pale arm, subtly helping him stay upright.

"Shaa... a poor excuse for a party...lots of knives, very little cake."

Kakashi longs to take the ANBU mask off, but can feel his heavy eyes drooping and is wary of embarrassing himself in front of a Hokage whose confidence he is unsure of. Tsunade trusts him, yes, as she does not believe her teacher and his chosen successor would put their faith in a child who had not earned it; but Kakashi is very much aware of the associative nature of her trust.

Kakashi briefly loses himself in his thoughts and Tsunade takes the opportunity to tend to his more prominent wounds. With Jiraiya's aid she removes his arm and chest armour, exposing pale skin flecked with lingering gashes.

"You may report when ready, Shinobi of Konoha." The formality jolts Kakashi from his drifting delirium, and, handing the Hokage the scrolls he brought back, he recites the particulars of the mission neutrally, without emotion, finding the familiar, ugly words comforting.

He remembers all too clearly the report briefing of his first assassination mission; his body shaking as he tried desperately to remain calm amongst his elders. He hadn't even been ANBU then, let alone Jounin, but for the war and the serious lack of capable shinobi he would have never have been permitted such a task. Kakashi could remember staying poker faced until he had finished, until Sandaime had sent everyone from the room except for his student and successor - Jiraiya-Sannin and the future Yondaime - and then the boy's stoicism had crumpled, left him all but sobbing in his teacher's arms. The rare moment of weakness had been short lived, however, and the three powerful shinobi had looked on strangely, proudly, as Kakashi explained why he had wept. Sorry, Hokage-Sama, but I've never had to take a life without knowing why...

"Thank you, shinobi-san. Though I didn't expect you to come back so...distressed."

Tsunade's almost concerned voice drags Kakashi back into the present, and the Jounin is suddenly furious at the other Sannin's care worn hands supporting his back and arm. 'Fuck Them.' Had these supposed geniuses not heard him explain the consequences of overusing the Sharingan? Of what happens to the body's reaction time if not allowed to rest between its using? Had they not listened as he reported the unexpected organisation of his targets, instigated by the brother of Momochi Zabuza? Of the insanity of expecting a ninja of any level to hunt down seven powerful shinobi in four days?

Fuck them if they had assumed that he would just stroll back into the Hokage's office after this sort of mission, rested, pampered and tanned. If it was such an easy mission to accomplish, why not send her favourite rookies out? If it was so demanding of a mere Jounin, why not go and fight her own battles? If the most powerful shinobi in the Hidden Leaf could be so unprepared to run around destroying her enemies, then it's just plain insulting to mock those injured doing her dirty work.

The unexpected rush of bitter anger makes Kakashi feel suddenly dizzy; makes him lean further into Jiraiya's supportive hands despite his fury.

Forcing himself to take several deep breaths to calm down, becoming oddly thankful for the stifling mask hiding the frustrated wetness in his eyes, Kakashi is aware that his every thought is illogical, over the top - way out of line. But right now, logic be damned, right now Kakashi just feels totally used. He's too beaten down, too young suddenly, and just too tired to breathe.

Tsunade, unaware of how close Kakashi is to just biting her face, moves as if to remove his mask, eyes widening as the Jounin physically recoils from her touch, seemingly unaware of his own actions. Seeing Jiraiya's own confusion as Kakashi trembles stubbornly in his arms, Tsunade ploughs onwards.

"I have one more task for you, Hatake. Translate the scrolls as best you can. They're written in a shorthand-dialect, but I'd like to keep this mission low-key." She pauses, letting what she hasn't said sink in. "Have them back to me as soon as possible. If you need any help, Grade 2 clearance is required."

Kakashi thinks it's better to appear weak than lose his temper in this room, but he still tries in vain to steady his hands as he takes back the scrolls, bowing formally. Tsunade can't help but feel oddly snubbed by Kakashi's politeness. With all the blood rushing in his ears, Kakashi neither hears the Godaime's last words as he drags himself away, nor catches the pondering concentration darkening Jiraiya's expression.

"Don't break him, Jiji."

News travelled fast in Konoha, and it was only a few hours later that Genma was sitting in the academy's Teacher's Lounge, politely sipping tea with Morino Ibiki whilst waiting for Raidou to finish covering some sick sensei's lessons. The whole idea of politely sipping anything felt strange to the Jounin, but the younger shinobi - famous for his obsession with psychology and ability to dissect a person in minutes - gave Genma the chills.

And Ibiki, the cunning bastard, was gaining far too much satisfaction from watching the sandy-haired man tense up every time he so much as moved. Eventually, the interrogation expert grew bored with Genma's nervousness, and in an attempt at making conversation asked why the senbon sucking shinobi was waiting in the small room.

The responsive whimper made Ibiki regret asking anything.

"I'm not trying to freak you out, Shiranui. I'm just curious." Ibiki's direct explanation was no more comforting to Genma than if he had been asking him to strip naked and cook him a buffet meal.

"Raidou-kun's covering someone's class and we have this, er -" Genma coughed, nervously, grasping at bravado. "- This ongoing mission, so I thought I'd come down and exchange the latest gossip - information - but he was teaching, so I'm here. Waiting." A pause. "For Raidou."

The doe eyed mortification on Genma's face practically begged Ibiki to probe further - but, being a Konoha Shinobi - he was loathe to scare the older, less experienced Jounin off without first discovering the nature of this 'information.' Ibiki leaned in close to the other nin, under the guise of filling his tea cup, and breathed evenly, noisily, setting Genma even more on edge. He leant back in his seat calmly, exuding confidence, training his every action to scream 'I am in control.'

Genma pulled a tissue from his pocket, dabbing at his sweat-sticky forehead and neck. Ibiki gave a feral grin, knowing what effect that particular expression had combined with his infinitely useful scars. Genma twitched slightly, and then repeatedly.

The two excellent shinobi sipped politely at their tea.

After ten looooonnngg minutes, the bell signalling the end of the day's lessons rang shrilly through the building - causing the already tense Genma to squeak slightly in surprise. After a few seconds of unbelievably nervous laughter, Namiashi Raidou burst into the room growling. Ibiki grinned. Genma tried puppy eyes. Raidou, who had briefly trained with the interrogatory genius and spent almost every day of the last three years of his life receiving those puppy eyes for something or another, was unmoved by them both.

"Unless either one of you are about to suggest a thousand and one ways to destroy every child in this horrible village without me getting screwed for it, I suggest, respectfully, that you wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, Ibiki-san; and don't even try it Genma." Raidou turned menacingly on his best friend. "Stop looking at me like that. Right now."

Genma, under the combined force of Ibiki and Raidou, could not prevent making a small noise of distress in the back of his throat. In a very meek voice, he told Raidou the reason he had come to meet him. Three minutes later the elite shinobi were gathered around one end of the room's large table, fear and tea forgotten, mulling over the latest Gossip.

"Look," Raidou cut in, ever the voice of reason, "Just because the guy looked like Kakashi -"

"No man, seriously, Kotetsu-san saw him. It was Kakashi!"

"Genma, shut up, Raidou's talking" The spiky haired Jounin smirked at Ibiki's amused glance as he continued. "Just because the guy looked like Kakashi, that doesn't mean it was him. How many shinobi are there in this village with grey hair? And how many ANBU members disguise themselves on missions? Think about it."

They went on for a while, Genma insisting his source was a sure thing, and Raidou shooting him down almost on reflex. Ibiki found the ease of their exchange intriguing - though not as intriguing as the fact that neither put on the usual casual nonchalance that came reflexively with the presence of a shinobi outside one's own little clique.

"Did your source see the mask?" Ibiki's question shocked the Elite Jounin from their bickering, and he took in their confused expressions before continuing. "Hatake-san is ex-ANBU, so it's not totally implausible that the shinobi in question is him. You find me the mask, I'll find out who owns it. Repeat that and you will suffer." And, before his offer had fully sunk in, Ibiki left the room.

"Woah," breathed Raidou, intelligently. "Just, woah, you know?"

Genma nodded breathlessly.

"ANBU Kakashi..." A short sort of shudder worked its way through both men. "I wonder why he quit..."

Once he could breathe again, Genma's face broke into a manic grin. "Well," he hissed gleefully. "If you listen to the rumours..."

Iruka finally found Kakashi in Ichiraku Ramen bar, hunched over a bowl of food in the far corner of the small shop; back to the world. He didn't notice the few customers at the counter, or the aging owner's waved greeting - just walked briskly to his friend's side intending to break the desperate tension that had been clinging to them since their last meeting - more of a spat - a week before.

"Kakashi-sensei, may I sit down?"

Kakashi looked up wearily from playing idly with his noodles to see Umino Iruka - all rumpled, determined and pretty; and totally, totally clueless. Kakashi grunted an affirmative and slouched back over the table, tapping a chopstick idly against the forehead protector lying by his right hand on the table. Iruka sat stiffly, nervously, letting Kakashi make the first move, letting the older shinobi let him stew. Finally, the grey-haired ninja sighed.

"So polite, 'Ruka-Sensei."

The bitter twang of Kakashi's voice surprised him more than the slight slurring of words, and he watched with a sort of fascination as Kakashi brought a damp - presumably cool - cloth to his left eye. The Sharingan eye. His right eye was heavy lidded - red-rimmed and glazed - the fabric of his mask bunching at his collar.

Iruka didn't know what to say, where to start or how, so he sat in the awkward silence staring idly at the paleness of his friend's slender throat, habitually averting his eyes from Kakashi's face. He could tell that Kakashi's bitterness had nothing to do with him, but Iruka's guilt complex was as potent as his mother-hen impulses, and he accepted Kakashi's hurt -whatever it might be - almost gratefully.

Three years of friendship was not enough for Iruka to believe he knew the man sitting opposite him. Kakashi's closet was full of skeletons that were never coming out; but Iruka had, by now, seen many of his comrade's moods. Kakashi in a snit was dangerous, his general contentment was hazardous at best, but Kakashi was rarely truly angry, rarely openly upset. After three years of close scrutiny, and several more of acquaintanceship, Iruka had only once seen the Copy Nin quite like this. As the silence between them grew, he had never seen the man look so lost.

Kakashi winced suddenly, pouting childishly at his body's unwelcome admission of pain, and Iruka's startled eyes fix on the older man's naked face. 'And he's pouting, oh god.'

The owner of Ichiraku appeared at their table - apparently having spotted Kakashi's empty glass - and filled it wordlessly. Paying no mind to Iruka, Kakashi threw back the hot sake, shuddering a little as the warm alcohol burned his throat. The cup was refilled immediately, the bottle left on the table with a dull clunk, and Iruka was shocked by the old man's pitying gaze as he quickly wiped the table down before leaving the two shinobi alone again.

The silence was too heavy, too worrying - it'd been almost an hour since either of them spoke, and Iruka needed to say something. He felt ridiculous for holding his tongue, holding his nerve, and so blurted something stupid about how tired Kakashi looked, before pretending to examine the table top.

Kakashi's lips quirked in exhausted amusement, caused Iruka's heart to wrench a little. Iruka had always worked by instinct, feeling his way through a situation - one of the reasons he was so good with the village's more troublesome children - but Kakashi had always known how to throw him off, how to confuse the younger teacher. When it came to Hatake Kakashi, doing what one thought was best was usually the last thing to do.

So instead, as Kakashi began to play with his food again, Iruka found himself asking the very question that he shouldn't.

"How was your mission? Naruto says you're late back?" He noted with interest the flash of panic in Kakashi's visible eye.

"They know I'm back?" The question was carefully casual, but the cheerful voice failed to mask the underlying tension. Iruka quickly decided that even potential Gossip wasn't worth hearing that tone.

"I don't know, I saw Naruto-kun yesterday - he was saying something about a mission to pervert him, and how you're later than late for everything you set your mind to."

If Iruka had intended his warm smile to ease the more experienced Shinobi's urgency, he was mistaken. Kakashi leant forward hurriedly at the mention of his student, exposing that fearful eye, and the young teacher couldn't help but notice the wiry tension in the other man's form.

"Yesterday, I killed a boy Naruto's age. He moved the way they do, Iruka, and I let the brother of an enemy live." The harsh laugh seemed wildly out of place as he gestured with his chopsticks. "I'm cold, I feel cold. I think I'm sick."

"What?" Iruka couldn't keep the horror from his voice - but the look on Kakashi's face... "Why did you?"

"I don't know. That's just it. Why don't I know?" His voice sounded clearer than it had all evening, but his alcohol-glazed eyes were bright and brimming with some furious emotion and Iruka would've given anything to have an answer for his friend.

"I'm sure you did everything you could...If they were your orders..." The words sounded hollow even to Iruka's own ears - totally out of place - and Iruka knew he'd missed his chance to help.

"Orders. Right. He had to go, and I got the short straw. Or he did, whatever." The fire died in Kakashi's eyes as suddenly as it had come. "Life goes on...I don't care."

"Kakashi..." Iruka couldn't fight his mother-hen instincts as Kakashi began to worry at his lip. "How drunk are you?"

"What?" Kakashi squeezed the watery Sharingan eye shut, forcing a stray tear to roll quickly down his cheek - flinching a little as the salt disturbed a shallow cut. "I think - a little - yeah..."

Iruka had to play his next move carefully. Kakashi was not used to taking orders, not good at giving up control, the only trick Iruka was sure would not fail against the Copy Nin was a tactic even the Third had been unable to resist. The Caring Teacher voice.

"Let me see you home."

Kakashi laughed a little.

The owner of Ichiraku nodded to the two shinobi as they left, arms linked, one pretending not to need the other's support. A last grasp at bravado.

He turned to the white-haired ninja at the counter. "You grow fond of kids like that." He began cleaning around the man. "The ones who get punched in the gut but keep on going."

Humming around a mouthful of ramen, finishing with a noisy slurp, the shinobi partly agreed. "Not kids anymore, Old Man. Not for a long time."

"They're still young in years, if not in spirit. And if you're any judge, they still have time." Jiraiya grinned at the insult to his impeccable maturity, gesturing for the chef to continue. "Hatake-san used to come in here with his team, you remember? Even then he never acted his age. Always bitching on that Uchiha boy about eating properly. I'd never heard the like from a child."

"I remember. They were so young." Jiraiya's smile was wistful, nostalgic. Remembering the grief his favourite student's favourite student had put them both through with his wildness and his skill. Mostly, though, it was his personality that gave them trouble.

"They're still young." The villager repeated, "You get to know their moods."

The white haired Sannin finished his meal with a flourish, ending the conversation before it bordered on uncomfortable territory.

"Thanks, filled a hole. The food, that is, not the trip down memory lane!" He grinned as he stood, taking the edge off the barb. Counting out his change, Jiraiya paid for his meal along with the sake he had gradually fed into Kakashi's system. 'The boy needed to relax,' he thought, and Jiraiya was nothing if not dutiful.

"Doesn't Uzumaki Naruto have a tab here? Give me that too, while I'm feeling unusually generous." He waggled his fingers slightly, making the kind offer somehow disturbing to the older man.

"No can do, I'm afraid - I'm not to let anyone pay Team 7's tabs." A growl from the feared Nin had the old cook rushing to explain himself. "Hatake-San wants Naruto-kun to understand the value of money and training, and Sasuke-kun to understand team-work, so he leaves a certain amount of their tab unpaid each month."

A heavy silence as Jiraiya tried to work that out. "A certain amount... meaning?"

"What Hatake-san doesn't pay for, the boys do. Apparently, there's some sort of "direct correlation" between how foolishly they act and how much they pay. Same goes for almost every eatery in the village - my niece works in the Korean Barbeque." The two men shared a grin as Jiraiya contemplated this new information.

Spending two and a half years training the adorable brat had often led Jiraiya to question how Naruto could afford to eat the amount he did on low level D and C class pay, and the idea that Kakashi would hit upon Naruto's weakness so easily and use it to train the kitsune was so typical, and yet uniquely perverse. Naruto trained well, Naruto ate well. Sooner or later, Naruto would come to the conclusion that performing badly meant having to train twice as hard to pay off his debts. Sasuke, on the other hand, would probably struggle to pay his bills if he acted selfishly or recklessly. The combination of Yondaime's supportive training style and Kakashi's own independent sense of humour had led him to a most inspired mind game.

Naruto's dogged determination had always been apparent, but his ability to turn that into effective focus - whether or not he managed what he was trying, he tried every time - had been perfected in Kakashi's training. And, more recently since his return, Sasuke had been working with his team rather than against them. All the rumours running like wildfire around he village would be halved in a flash if anyone realized - except Kakashi, being Kakashi, hadn't let anyone know. And besides, without knowing about Yondaime's training methods no-one would ever believe Kakashi capable of those mind games - as the Jounin was no doubt fully aware.

Yondaime, Jiraiya offered up a silent prayer. How did you cope with brats crazier than yourself?

Jiraiya chuckled lightly, feeling an unsure weight lift from his shoulders, feeling for the first time in days that his plans for the Copy Nin might just work.

"Well then," The chuckle became a grin. "I'll leave the brat's training methods intact."

Moving to the exit, seeing in the distance a stumbling Kakashi falling conveniently into Umino-sensei's arms, Jiraiya couldn't resist flashing a conspiratorial grin at the Ichiraku owner. "Kids like Kakashi, huh?"

"You grow fond of them."

"So help me, but you do." Jiraiya wondered if Tsunade would still be awake, and what she was wearing - it was early yet.

" 'Night."

At 10pm that evening, Saratobi Asuma was running at top speed across Konoha's rooftops - a speed great enough to rival the Taijutsu expert, Maito Gai. He flew across the village's beautiful sights, oblivious to them all. Too intent on his task, his mission - a mission that each of the elite had volunteered to share.

Arriving at his destination in record time, Asuma rapped quickly on Kurenai's window pane before dropping onto her carpeted bedroom floor, panting slightly. Really need to cut down on the cigarettes. The thought dissipated even as he reached into his flak jacket for a light. Predictably, Kurenai was nowhere to be found at the very time he needed her. Accepting of his predestined lot in life - to be forever waiting for the insane Konoichi to show up - Asuma dropped bonelessly onto her couch to wait.

Team 10 had taught Asuma a lot about patience and strategy. There was much to be said for the stubborn powers of an Uchiha fangirl, a constantly hungry boy, and a 70 year old trapped in a teenager's body. So Asuma was content to sit, doing nothing, as he waited for his team-mate to come home. It gave him a chance to consider his mission - and the rumours surrounding a particular team-mate of his.

Shikamaru had spent a few days the week before training in the ANBU control room. As Asuma had been on a field mission at the time it had been left to other shinobi to rotate as best they could, teach Shikamaru the ropes. The ANBU control room was a stereo monitored war cabinet - used by high level strategists to communicate with field agents on the rare occasion a mission was necessary to perform 'blind.' (A more frequent use of the sound-proof room was to initiate new ANBU recruits with large amounts of alcohol, but Shikamaru didn't need to know that yet.)

Shikamaru's task had been, with the aid of a few maps and a microphone, to remain in constant contact with a particular ANBU operative - leading her through a series of mazes and traps with the basic objective being to find a metaphorical needle in a haystack and avoid getting pricked. While three separate Jounin had taken Shikamaru through the process, Kakashi alone had made an impression on the young Chuunin. When he'd heard the tale a week later, after his return, Asuma hadn't been surprised.

"Everyone was saying that you had to remain a step ahead and instruct the operative well enough that they stayed where you wanted them, which was so troublesome..."

Asuma remembered noticing for the first time how casual Shikamaru's drawl became when he was excited.

"...but Hatake-san said that was insane, because if you're trapped in a room full of maps, and your contact's lost in a forest full of sharp pointy things aimed at their heads, how can you expect them to stay alive and remain exactly where you tell them?"

"What did you say to that, Shikamaru?"

Asuma couldn't resist asking - wishing he'd been there, wishing he could see the frustration on the faces of his unfortunate comrades at the prospect of these two lazy, listless geniuses in the same room as one another.

"I asked him if he was implying that my job was not to lead them where they had to go, but just to keep them on their paths." Asuma could imagine the satisfied grin on Kakashi's masked face at the logical Chuunin's words. Shikamaru couldn't know the pains past officials had gone to, trying to limit Kakashi's dense riddles to basic, single layered metaphors.

"Hatake-sama asked me if I played Shogi, and asked if my contact knew how to play." Asuma smirked as he'd noticed his student's failure to correct the flattering honorific. "I didn't understand until he showed me a map of the area - did you know the ANBU training ground looks just like a game board?"

"It was designed with the game in mind, to teach strategy in a more commonly understood way."

The boy nodded. "At least you give straight answers. Hatake's riddles are troublesome to work through; I passed the training very quickly, though."

"I thought you might, Shikamaru-kun"

Shikamaru had been quiet for a long time after that, contemplative.

"Asuma-sensei, Hatake-sama didn't seem at all like Naruto describes him, although, this afternoon... they were acting very oddly..."

Asuma chuckled at the memory of his student's confused, almost scandalised face. The strange behaviour of Team 7 was shocking, but Asuma was wary of too soon reacting to the mind games of his Sharingan wielding friend. Kakashi rarely broke people for a reason, and his recollection was too perfect for it to make as little sense as it seemed to. His chuckle was cut short, however, as a familiar presence entered the apartment.

"SARATOBI ASUMA, get the FUCK off my COUCH!"

Kurenai never used such volume for anyone but him, and Asuma grinned shamelessly up at the fiery eyed woman.

"I have a 'mission report.' " At those words, Kurenai's hand - halfway to a kunai - landed on her hip. The familiar, attentive stance told Asuma that he had her attention.

"You may report when ready, Shinobi of Konoha." She was grinning with him now. This was definitely the most entertaining mission they'd ever volunteered for.

"There's a rumour that Hatake Kakashi is back. Injured again. Exhausted." He merely continued to smile - for now withholding the other rumour until it had been denied or confirmed; that it had been an ANBU mission that had injured their team-mate.

"Oh man." Unaware of Asuma's light deceit, she sunk to the floor, teasing formality forgotten. "You believe them?" The silence lay thick between them as he considered his answer.

"Asuma-sempai, do you believe the rumours?"

"Only half of them."

Orphaned at an early age and having grown up on a battle field, Kakashi often considered himself an emotional fuckwit.

Kakashi didn't know much about family or friendship or hugs or sharing, instead his focus tended to centre on his experiences of life. The various shaping incidents in his relatively short lifetime had left the Copy Nin with an appreciation of the senses, and the sensual, and so many traditional taboos - not to mention those of gender and sexuality - had never really bothered Kakashi, if he wanted something why not take it? Being half blind for the majority of one's time would make a person realise how much there was to see; training with tracking dogs left a sense of smell close to animalistic; Touch and Taste held deeper meanings for a child who had been starved of both; and Kakashi had once, at the age of fifteen, spent a month devoted to training his sense of hearing after realising he'd been neglecting the opportunity. That had been a fun month.

Thinking about it, the only contact Kakashi had received after his father had passed had been from his team mates or his enemies. His sensei's affectionate hair-ruffling and shoulder-grasping had often been misinterpreted. Not knowing what to make of it, Kakashi assumed he was being mocked. Obito's childish rough-housing, though natural in such a large and close knit clan as the Uchihas, was lost on the lone Hatake, who was more concerned with perfecting his round-house jaw-buster. Rin's clumsy, roaming hands had put Kakashi on edge for the longest time. In fact, the only touches Kakashi had really understood as a child were the ones that tried to hurt him.

Eventually, Kakashi's survival instincts had warped into what Sandaime had explained as negative associations - meaning Kakashi had begun to confuse safety with danger; comfort with pain; relaxation with the sound of razor sharp knives racing towards his neck. Sweeter than whale song.

Yet while Kakashi had never claimed to be sane, he'd managed for 22 years as an active shinobi. For 15 years as a Jounin. Surely that said something about his abilities when so many around him fell?

And so it was that, upon realising his deep sleep had lasted for more than sixteen hours, Kakashi felt entirely justified in his laziness.

Around noon that Saturday he awoke groggily - but infinitely better rested - in a strange, empty bed that smelled faintly of chalk and wine. Burrowing deeply under the covers, encasing himself in the comforting scent, Kakashi discovered that the sweet alcoholic trace was coming from his own skin. And that he couldn't remember leaving Ichiraku. Yet, Iruka's warm scent was strong in the bed and on the pillow - meaning they both must've slept there. Together.

'In Iruka's bed. I'm in Iruka's bed. Oh fuck, what did I do?'

Sitting up slowly to avoid potential head rush - and grateful when he found none - Kakashi grinned giddily as he imagined the mischief he might've caused on what must have been an interesting struggle back to Iruka's apartment. To have drunk so little and remember even less, Kakashi's body must've been closer to collapse than he'd realised. A worrying thought.

Hoping that he hadn't done anything inexcusable - 'like what, Hatake? Molest the poor bastard in his sleep?' - but deciding that he was not above begging if he had (Not even Umino Iruka could resist Kakashi's puppy eyes no jutsu), Kakashi considered this new turn of events. Sharing a bed was practically an invitation to grope anyway, as far as the Copy Nin was concerned, so it would serve the teacher right if he had been.

Kakashi, feeling surer about his insecurity, took a quick shower before dressing - he couldn't resist swiping one of Iruka's standard issue sweaters. Leaving a scrawled, barely literate note of thanks on Iruka's bedroom door, Kakashi grinned to himself before grabbing his scrolls and leaving to meet his students, ignoring the slight rush of pity at their endless impatience.

'Five hours... Meh, I've been later.'