"I feel like I'm losing my best friend, and I don't know what to do," Iruka said, staring into his cup.

Raidou sat on one side of the table, Genma on the other.

"I'm not sure there's anything you can do," Raidou said quietly.

Iruka kept staring, gloomily, into his tea. "Everything he said is right, you know," he murmured, the anger long gone, replaced by morbid guilt. "The village treats me better. And it's my fault."

"How's that?" Genma asked, clearly disbelieving.

"I knew. Way back when I first moved in with your family," he nodded toward Raidou, "I knew his dad had molested him. I should have said something, but I was too cowardly."

"You did what you thought was right. You were only a kid," Raidou said, voice soft.

"You can't control what Mizuki does and doesn't do," Genma added, loud where Raidou had been quiet. He hesitated, then added, "And if you lose him as a friend, that might not be a bad thing."

Iruka gave him a heated look, but it was more habit than anything else.

He left their apartment soon after. He didn't feel like going home. Not yet. Instead, he walked to the monument.

He knelt there for a long time, tracing the names of his parents over and over again. He'd been thinking about them more often, recently.

His mother had wanted him to be a mannerly young man. His father wanted him to be a strong ninja, but to follow his heart.

The Uminos had been ninja for many, many generations. He was the last one, now. He wondered if his father had expected that.

The world wouldn't be a worse place if he were dead, he knew. No family would mourn him. His friends would, and the Namiashis would. But no bloodline limits would be lost. No special clan traits would fall to the wayside. The world as he knew it would keep turning.

He was a perfect ninja. Nothing to keep him here.

But he wanted to teach, not fight for the strength of Konoha.

He wondered if his parents would be proud. Or if they would look at him and shake their heads sadly. A waste of a life.

He wanted them to be proud. He wanted to think of them watching him, helping him. He'd stopped swearing. He'd grown out of the phase where he needed to be the toughest, nastiest kid around. He wasn't sure exactly when that happened--though Hanayo had once told him she was glad it had. It wasn't as if one day he'd woken up, and realized his life as it was wasn't making his parents happy. It was more like something he'd come to see over time.

He was learning to forgive people. He hadn't forgiven Michio, didn't know if he ever could, but others . . . he could forgive others. His Genin sensei, who he hadn't gotten along with at all. Children, cruel in their ignorance, taunting him or excluding him for grieving. All the little hurts as he'd grown up, both intentional and not, he'd managed to forgive nearly all of them.

He thought his parents would approve.

Iruka stood, hand drifting back to his side. He didn't know if he could forgive Mizuki--at least just yet--for what he'd done, but he understood it. Maybe their friendship was breaking apart. Maybe it should. Maybe it shouldn't. No one understood the man like he did. As far as he knew, he was Mizuki's only friend. The silver-haired Chuunin had driven everyone else away.

Sighing, Iruka stepped away from the stone. He bowed deeply, sending a silent prayer to his parents' souls, hoping they rested in peace, looked down on him with love. Then he headed back toward the village.

**

He hadn't seen Mizuki when their interview results were posted. Iruka debated whether or not he should find the man, and eventually decided--despite the feeling in his gut, the residual anger and anxiety there--that he would.

Mizuki was home. Iruka knocked, waiting nervously on the step, hoping he wouldn't get screamed at again.

Mizuki had been flustered the last time. He'd had to answer questions about his father, and then Iruka had yelled at him. It hadn't been an ideal situation. Iruka repeated that to himself several times, and then realized almost ten minutes had passed and no one had answered.

Frowning, he tried the door. It opened easily under his hand. His skin prickled.

Michio wasn't home yet. He was certain of that--kept a close watch on the man's schedule, and didn't come by if the Jounin was supposed to be there. Hadn't since he was thirteen. Still, he flashed his chakra through the house to make sure.

No sign of Michio. He could feel Mizuki, though, in the living room. Slowly, Iruka walked inside.

Mizuki sat on the couch, staring at a scroll unrolled across the tabletop.

"Mizuki?" Iruka said softly.

The man didn't answer.

Iruka closed the front door, removed his shoes, and walked inside. "Mizuki? Are you all right?"

Mizuki still didn't answer.

Slowly, inch by tiniest inch, Iruka walked into the living room. There was no blood. Mizuki hadn't been in a fight, then.

Iruka sat down on the couch carefully.

"He's dead," the young man said woodenly.

"Who?" Iruka asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The house creaked, settling.

Mizuki didn't answer.

Iruka picked up the scroll, scanning it shortly. His skin prickled. His heart leapt, but he didn't know what he was feeling.

Michio was dead.

A simple escort mission, and things had gone terribly wrong.

He'd survived the wars.

Now he was dead.

"I'm sorry," Iruka said after a long moment. The words seemed to come from someone else, as if his body had been hijacked. He thought, near-hysterically, that maybe his mother was prodding him from beyond the grave. Making him stick to his manners in this crisis.

Mizuki just stared at the table. "What am I supposed to do now?" he whispered.

Iruka put the scroll down. "I don't know." Michio was dead.

The man who had convinced him he was loved, wanted--and then *touched* him in ways no adult should touch a twelve-year-old . . . the man who'd single-handedly warped Iruka's entire existence . . . was dead. And Iruka had nothing to do with it.

He startled at that last thought. It caught him by surprise. Before that moment, he hadn't realized he'd *wanted* something to do with it. Still, he put the realization away for later. That wasn't important now.

His best friend was hurting.

"I'll make some tea," Iruka said, standing.

Mizuki didn't answer.

By the time the water boiled and Iruka had poured two cups, Mizuki still hadn't moved. He set the cups down, found some coasters to put them on top of, and settled back on the couch.

"I've lived my whole life by what he wanted, Iruka," Mizuki said softly. Blue eyes remained unfocused, staring at a middle distance only he could see. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do now."

Iruka hesitated. Then he reached up, patting Mizuki awkwardly on the shoulder. "I know. But it really will be okay. I promise."

Mizuki's eyes shone brightly. He buried his face in his hands. Silently, he cried.

**

Iruka walked into the house he'd lived in for seven years, closed the door, took off his shoes, and stepped forward onto the neatly swept floor. The room was filled with laughter and love.

He looked around. Tani sat at the table, telling a story to the family presently home. Iruka's family. The family he'd been sent to, after Michio had hurt him.

Akeno was leaning back on his hands, smiling reluctantly. The youngest, now. Sixteen, and still Hanayo's baby. He probably always would be.

Ichiro was gone on a mission; his seat was empty, the plate clean of food but still there. In case he should walk in the door, early.

Raidou wasn't there, and there was no place for him. He was in the village, safe in his own apartment. When he left on missions, Hanayo would set his place--and one for Genma, too.

There was a plate out for the older brother Iruka had never met. The one who had died, though he wasn't sure when. And the plate for their father, another of the family gone before Iruka had arrived.

Just three, now, out of the whole Namiashi family. Everyone else was dead or moved on.

He realized they were looking at him when Tani said his name. Iruka stared at her. Akeno's finch peeped at him from the other room, marking the silence.

The floor was cold under his toes. He should have put on slippers.

Quietly, Iruka melted down into a chair, unable to muster the energy to walk to the table.

"Iruka?" Tani said again, standing. Long hair swayed, spilling over her back in glossy curls as she hurried toward him. Raidou's hair curled, too, when it got too long.

Iruka didn't know how he knew that.

"You okay?" Akeno asked, twisted around, hand planted by his knee on the floor. Large hands, bony hands, constantly growing bigger. Hanayo said he was the spitting image of his father, but Iruka wouldn't know. Iruka hadn't known Akeno's father.

He looked up at Tani when her hand fluttered to his forehead. She had no children, not yet. Hadn't found the right man. But she was a mother all the same. Iruka wondered idly if he would become a mother after years of being a teacher.

He rather hoped not. He wouldn't mind being a father. Like his had been, not like Michio. But he didn't really want to be a mother.

"Iruka, you're cold," Tani said, and turned as Hanayo arrived with a blanket.

He shook his head, shrugging the blanket off when they tried to wrap it around him. Tani knelt in front of him, her hands on his knees. "Iruka? What's wrong?"

He stared at her for a long moment, then took a deep breath, rousing his thoughts. They seemed to have scattered, run away in the stress of the afternoon. "Michio's dead," he said softly.

"Who?" Akeno asked, voice loud and brash.

Hanayo hushed him, and sent him out of the room.

"I don't understand," Tani said. "Who's Michio? Touji Michio? Mizuki's father?"

Iruka nodded.

"Did you know him very well?" Tani asked sympathetically.

"Tani, why don't you go get us some tea," Hanayo said, carefully putting hands on the girl's shoulders to draw her away.

"It's all right," Iruka said, thoughts beginning to drop into place. "It's all right. She can stay." Tani didn't know. She didn't know what had happened with Michio. But, he realized slowly, it was all right if she learned.

Hanayo was looking at him closely, watching him with the same mother-sense she used on her blood sons. Iruka offered her a wobbly smile, then turned to Tani. "He hurt me, before I came here." His eyes unfocused, remembering. "I thought he loved me, but he didn't."

They were silent for a long time.

"I'm sorry," Tani said, kneeling again by the chair.

Iruka didn't answer. He took a deep breath, feeling his body sag, so tired throughout his bones that he didn't know how he was even upright.

"Is it good that Michio died?" Hanayo asked quietly. "Or bad?"

Iruka thought about it. He couldn't pinpoint his feelings. At the moment they were distant, removed from him, buffered by the emotional drain of supporting Mizuki all afternoon. But faintly, he could tell they were there.

He just didn't know what they were. Good. Bad. Happy. Upset. Despairing, rejoicing . . . they followed no obvious order, and had no obvious flavor. "I don't know," Iruka said finally. He looked up at Hanayo, confused and a little frightened. "I don't know if it's good or bad. I suppose . . . it should be good . . ."

"It doesn't have to be," Tani said. "Even if he hurt you. He was important, and his death means a part of your life has ended. That can be hard, even if his death is a good thing."

Iruka stared at her as if he'd never seen her before. Slowly, he nodded. "Yeah," he said. "That's right." He looked up at Hanayo, then back down at Tani. The mother and sister he'd never asked for, and gotten anyway. He thought of Mizuki, alone in that big house, filled with memories--some of them good, but many of them things Iruka didn't want to think about. Didn't want to know. Could guess anyway.

He looked from one woman to the other again, then drew himself up, eyes solemn. "I never thanked you," he said quietly.

Hanayo frowned, opening her mouth to speak.

Iruka shook his head sharply. "No. Let me--just--" He stopped, trying to organize his thoughts. "You took me in, because that was right," he said finally. "But you gave me a family, too. You helped me remember my own parents, and you helped me through some of the worst times I could imagine." He smiled softly. "I don't think I'd be the person I am, if it weren't for you."

"You certainly wouldn't be as nice," Tani said, trying to laugh it off.

Iruka just smiled at her. "No," he agreed quietly, thinking of Mizuki. "I wouldn't." Then he stood, offering Tani his hand so she could get up as well. "I think I'm going to go to bed," he said softly. He leaned in, brushing a kiss across Tani's cheek, then turned and did the same to Hanayo. Silently, he started toward the hall.

"Do you want me to check on you later?" Hanayo asked.

He paused, his hand drifting over the doorframe, feeling the grain of wood and the smoothness of a thousand loving fingers rubbing it as they walked by. "No," he said finally. "Thank you. I think I'll be okay."

He offered another smile over his shoulder, and had it returned by both women. Then he walked down the hall to his room, and closed the door.

**

"You all set?" Raidou asked, leaning in the doorway.

Iruka glanced up, surprised. He hadn't expected to see his foster brother here--boyfriend, crutch and all. "What are you talking about?" he asked, returning to his pack and stuffing an extra kunai in.

"We came to wish you off, moron," Genma laughed. "Heard you got past the interview, and are headed for your physical."

Iruka nodded, chewing on his lip. Tani had told him what everyone else would know soon enough; the only weapons and jutsus allowed were those the children would graduate from the academy using.

It limited things considerably.

"Hey, kid, you'll do fine," Genma said, smiling around his senbon.

Iruka rubbed his hands on his pants and tried to smile back. "Yeah." He didn't feel so sure of himself, though. He had a solid foundation, knew his basics inside and out, but . . . well, the last few days hadn't been conducive to settling his mind.

"Hey. Brought you something," Raidou said, sitting on the bed.

Iruka looked at him.

Raidou grinned and held out a set of sewing needles and some thread.

Iruka took them uncertainly, glancing over at the other man.

"May you never have to use them," Raidou laughed.

Iruka just rolled his eyes.

"Now, when your clothes tear in unfortunate places, you can just stitch them back up!" Genma added.

"Yeah, because I wouldn't want to die with a rip in my underwear," Iruka snorted, shaking his head.

"Hey, someday you're gonna have a tear right in the crotch of your pants, and that'll be the day you meet the woman of your dreams," Genma countered. "What would you do if you couldn't stitch your pants back up? You'd end up meeting her like that, and then she'd never give you the time of day."

Iruka gave the man a bland look. Still, he dutifully packed the kit. Then he stopped, looking around.

That was everything. He doubted they'd let him even take his whole pack to wherever the test was. More likely, he'd have to pull out special items and leave the rest. "What if I fail?" Iruka asked suddenly.

"You're not going to fail," Raidou said. "And if you do, then you'll just get better and try again next year." He reached out, tugging on Iruka's ponytail.

Iruka pulled away, giving Raidou an annoyed look.

"You passed the Chuunin exams. You'll pass this," Raidou said, smiling.

Iruka took a deep breath and nodded firmly. "Yeah. You're right. I'm a seasoned ninja."

"Exactly!" Raidou crowed.

"I've been on C and B ranked missions. This can't be worse than that."

"Too true!"

"And if I do fail," Iruka said, slanting a sideways look at his foster brother, "I'll be sure to blame it on the sewing kit."

"That's the spirit!" Raidou laughed.

Smiling, Iruka checked his pack one last time, then yanked the drawstrings closed. He felt better, which--he was sure--had been Raidou and Genma's purpose. "All right," he said, taking one last look around his bedroom. "I've got to get going."

"Break their legs!" Raidou said cheerfully.

Iruka snorted and slung his bag over his shoulder, heading down the hall.

"Is it just me," he heard Genma say quietly, "or is Iruka getting taller?"

"Growing up," Raidou agreed.

"When did nineteen seem young?" Genma laughed softly.

Iruka thought about answering them, about tossing something sarcastic over his shoulder. Young, indeed. In the end, he just kept walking. He was, after all, trying to be nice. He was trying to make his parents proud, and being mean to Raidou and Genma probably didn't count.

**

He was tired, he was hungry, he was sore, and he was nursing a stab wound.

All in all, the exam had gone pretty well.

"Hey," Mizuki said, settling down on the grass beside him, offering a cup of water. "You okay?"

Iruka nodded. He drank slowly. It was lukewarm, but better than nothing. "You?" he asked, though Mizuki wasn't nursing a stab wound. He knew Mizuki was physically all right; it was, in fact, the other man who had saved him from being struck by a kunai.

Mizuki shrugged. "I'm holding up. Looking forward to all this testing being over," he said, smiling lopsidedly.

Iruka nodded; that he could agree with completely. They settled back into almost-companionable silence. Things had returned to near-normal after their argument. Michio's death and Mizuki saving him had overwhelmed the rest of it.

Iruka felt bad for the things he'd said, but wasn't sure how to apologize. It seemed there was simply too much to apologize for; Mizuki's life was too different from his. Too difficult, at the moment.

So he sat in silence instead, sipping lukewarm water and staring at the blood spatters on his boots.

The medic had already been by. Had already patched him up. It would be a full day before they had any idea what their scores were.

"So . . . are we okay?" Mizuki asked quietly, not looking at Iruka.

Iruka glanced over. "You mean . . . about before?"

Mizuki nodded. Silver hair, held back from his eyes with a bandana, tickled the nape of his neck with the motion.

"Yeah," Iruka said softly.

"Good," Mizuki murmured. Then, again, "Good." He dug into the grass with his heel, then looked up, at the horizon. "You know, you're my only real friend, Iruka."

Iruka flushed, rubbing at the scar across his nose with one hand. "You have other friends, Mizuki." Somehow, being the only friend made him uncomfortable. As if, because he had more than just Mizuki, he was betraying the other boy.

He thought of Hayate, and the blush deepened. No one knew about that, though.

"Not really. Not people I can talk to," Mizuki said. "I just . . ." he looked up, then away. "I didn't mean those things I said. Sometimes I just get so *angry.*"

Iruka nodded. "It's okay." He remembered his own moments of fury, after he'd been taken out of Michio's grasp. He could only imagine what that would have been like, without people to help him through. "Hey," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "How about, after we get cleaned up, we hang out together? You and me, we can go get some dinner and . . . I don't know. I could stay over at your place, like I used to."

Mizuki smiled slightly. "Yeah, all right," he said quietly. "Sounds good."

**

Iruka staggered into the house, the world spinning drunkenly around him. Only Mizuki's arm, wrapped strongly around his ribs, kept him upright.

He'd had three drinks, and the third he'd had slowly. He'd eaten dinner beforehand, too. He didn't have much of an alcohol tolerance, and knew that, but three drinks shouldn't have made the world sway and lurch as crazily as it was.

"You okay?" Mizuki laughed, breath hot in Iruka's ear.

Iruka pulled away slightly, but couldn't go far--outside Mizuki's reach, he couldn't be certain he'd remain upright. "Fine. Don't do that."

"Grouch," Mizuki laughed, and staggered. Iruka fell into the wall, Mizuki leaning over him, hot against his body.

"Mizuki," he muttered, pushing at the chest that seemed to take up his whole world suddenly.

"Hey, relax," Mizuki said, and Iruka jumped when hands stroked him, shoulder to hip before fingers hooked under his pants and tugged.

"Mizuki!" he nearly yelled, or thought he had, but somehow his vocal chords didn't seem to be working right.

Mizuki kissed him, tongue probing the inside of his mouth as Iruka tried to pull back only to find a wall there. He pushed, but his arms had no strength. Hands slid under his shirt, drifting too hot along his skin.

Mizuki stopped kissing him, leaning heavily against him still, breath sharp and panting in his ear.

The world was fuzzy, fading in and out, leaving Iruka with a sickening impression of a snapshot life. He could feel lips on his neck, and realized he was being pulled out of the entryway, down into the back of the house. He stumbled, staying upright taking all his concentration.

He was *certain* he hadn't had so many drinks, but--

He hit the bed and dropped, grateful just to be on something that wasn't moving, wasn't fading. It took him three tries to get his legs up, and his fingers wouldn't curl when he ordered them to grab the blanket and pull. His whole body tingled, and not in any pleasant way he was familiar with.

More like his mission to that cold country and how his toes had stung and gone numb after a while.

The world swung back into his awareness when air hit his chest. For a moment, he thought maybe he *was* still in that country--what was the name? He couldn't remember, and that was embarrassing--then he realized his shirt was off. He didn't know where it was, wasn't sure where it had gone.

Something hot touched his ribs and he jumped, trying hard to be aware of . . . of everything.

It was a tongue. Mizuki was licking him, and there were hands on his waist.

"Stop," Iruka managed, fighting to bring his arms up and push at the silver head.

"It's all right," Mizuki whispered. They were face to face, suddenly, and Iruka could feel pressure in the shift of cloth against his hip--there, gone, there, gone--and something told him this was a pattern he should recognize and one that shouldn't be happening.

"Stop," he said again, and tried to lift his arms to push once more. His arms wouldn't respond. The world spun out of control, and when it came back he could feel hands in his pants--

Panic edged through the haze, giving everything a sharp tang. It didn't, however, give him any better command over his body. His limbs felt like lead, like blocks of wood chopped from a tree and left when a ninja vanished. "Stop, Mizuki, stop." He tried to scream it, but it came out softly, a whisper over his tongue.

"S'all right," Mizuki said, lips against Iruka's ear, sucking on his lobe. "It's all right. Don't be scared. I won't hurt you, 'kay?"

But he couldn't *not* be scared--and yet, that seemed far, far away too. The panic was fading fast, somewhere gone with his body. Somewhere Iruka wasn't.

His body was scared. Terrified, even, and yet he felt like he was watching it all from above. Watching Mizuki stop fooling with his pants to bring his hands up, cupping Iruka's face like it was some sort of breakable doll.

"It's okay," Mizuki was saying, over and over, licking and kissing, muscles pulling against his shirt. "It's okay. Just relax. You'll like this, I promise."

Iruka watched a hand drift down again, felt a stab of fear because he couldn't control his own body, he couldn't stop any of this and it was happening--

No, it made no sense. It couldn't be happening, because he was *watching* his body. A dream. It was a dream brought on by too much stress and too much alcohol and too much everything. That had to be it.

On the bed he saw Mizuki shove his hand into the body's--not him, he was floating--pants, and he felt something stroke his penis.

Then sensation was leaving, his face going numb, ears tingling, and suddenly he was in that body again only he still couldn't move it.

A dream. It was just a dream. But he was scared--

Somehow, Iruka summoned Herculean efforts to mumble, "Don't, Mizuki, please don't do this . . ."

"It's okay, Iruka, I promise. You'll like it. It's okay. You'll like it." The words continued, but they made no more sense.

Iruka faded--or the world faded--or the dream ended.

But everything simply wasn't there anymore.

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

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