Iruka woke with one of the worst tastes in his mouth *ever.* He opened and closed it, rubbing his tongue sleepily along the top of his palate as if that might wipe away the taste.

It didn't.

He cracked an eye and peered around the bedroom--or, at least, the part of it he could see without moving.

He remembered the Academy exams. Dinner with Mizuki. They'd had a good time; Mizuki had been watching him keenly, as if trying to notice everything so he could be a good friend. Iruka had had two drinks, and then . . .

Then . . .

Mizuki had gone to the bar to get them drinks. He'd come back with . . . a thing--Iruka didn't know how else to describe it. Maybe 'terrible.' It had cherries. Iruka remembered that. Those nasty little cherries that came from a tin and tasted like flavored sugar. He'd drunk it to be polite, and then he hadn't been feeling well . . . they'd come back to Mizuki's place . . .

Iruka frowned. His head pounded. The taste in his mouth *had* to be from those last drinks.

He also had to pee like nobody's business.

He dragged himself from the cocoon of a bed, tangling his fingers in the shirt on the desk as he went past--he double checked but, yup, it was his--and staggered out into the hall.

Mizuki's bedroom door was open. Iruka turned and looked back. He'd been in Michio's room. Michio's old room.

He shuddered and headed into the bathroom, leaning against the wall and fumbling with his pants once he got there.

He didn't know how some of the girls managed to deal with this, in those strange strappy outfits they wore. He could barely manage *normal* pants without peeing himself.

Weird, that he hadn't slept on the couch. He frowned, rubbing his face on his arm.

Weird dreams, too. He thought Mizuki--no, Michio--hell, he wasn't sure--had been kissing him, and . . .

And . . .

He swallowed against bile in his throat, finished using the toilet, flushed, washed his hands--then splashed water on his face just for good measure, scrounging up a toothbrush and brushing his teeth.

He yanked his shirt on over his head, hooking one finger under his hairband--not really doing it's job, after he'd slept in it--and pulled his ponytail out. His hair fell in funny twists and knots, looking anything but attractive.

It didn't really matter. He was going straight home, and this was Mizuki's place anyway. Mizuki wouldn't care how he looked.

Finally, Iruka headed out of the bathroom, shuffling down the hall and into the living room.

Mizuki was sitting on the couch, staring out the window. He was still wearing the clothes he'd been in the day before.

Iruka crashed down next to him. "What was *in* those drinks?" he asked, making a face as the nasty taste in his mouth reappeared despite brushing. "Arsenic?"

Mizuki kept looking out the window. He turned and offered a weak smile. "More like nightshade."

"Ha ha, very funny," Iruka groused. Then he stopped and looked at his friend.

The other young man turned away to stare outside again, chin braced on curled fingers.

"Mizuki?" Iruka asked. "You okay?"

"Fine," Mizuki mumbled without turning. "You?"

"I'm okay," Iruka answered slowly. When Mizuki still didn't speak, he scratched the back of his head and looked for something else to say. "I had the weirdest dream last night," he settled on finally. "Kinda disturbing, actually." If he hadn't felt so disjointed from it, it would have been terrifying.

"Oh?" Mizuki said. He continued to stare out the window.

"Yeah. I dreamed that we--"

The young man turned and looked at him intently.

Iruka stuttered to a halt. Mizuki's eyes were bloodshot, his face pale. Iruka rubbed the back of his neck, then the scar across his nose. Suddenly, he was nervous. "I dreamed," he said again, slowly, "that you and I--" He stopped. He couldn't tell Mizuki what he'd really dreamed. It was almost insulting.

"I dreamed Raidou came walking in the door," he lied, "and you and Genma were making out."

Mizuki looked odd for a moment. The intensity faded from his eyes. He turned away.

Iruka frowned. "You sure you're okay?" Mizuki looked like he'd been up all night--in fact, now that Iruka paid attention, he realized there was no pillow or blankets in sight, and Mizuki's clothes weren't rumpled enough for him to have slept in them.

But of course, that was ridiculous. Mizuki had changed before bed, slept in his room, and gotten dressed this morning before Iruka woke. He rubbed his scar again. "I'm gonna grab a clean shirt," he said finally, standing and heading toward the door and his pack. He'd grabbed it before dinner with Mizuki, out of habit. A ninja always kept their travel supplies handy.

Besides, he'd been sleeping over at other people's houses so much, it seemed prudent.

Both packs were slumped by the front door, soft gray material wrinkled and faded.

Iruka picked up the nearest one, yanking open the drawstrings and rifling through. It took him a moment to realize it wasn't his, and he started to drop it and move away--

He paused, an unfamiliar bottle in his hand. He knew most of the contents of Mizuki's bag as well as he knew his own. This wasn't usual.

He flipped it, read the label, read it again . . . He felt suddenly cold. Distant. Silently, he unscrewed the top and sniffed.

The bad taste in the back of his throat faintly echoed what he smelled.

Slowly, he screwed the cap back on. He stood and walked into the living room. "Something like nightshade?" he said softly. "Or nightshade?" He held up the bottle. It dangled between thumb and forefinger.

Mizuki looked at him, solemn and sad. "It's not always deadly. In very small doses, it can induce . . ." he tapered off, his voice faint.

"Induce dream-like states?" Iruka asked quietly. He was trembling.

"Relaxes, calms. Disassociates," Mizuki murmured. "Keeps things from hurting. Takes the person's mind away from fear and anxiety. It can be used to calm hysterics, and to stop spasms."

Iruka was staring at him. He felt numb all over.

Mizuki turned away again. His elbow was braced on the arm of the couch, chin nestled in his hand, fingers curled over his lower face. Blue eyes were unfocused.

"Mizuki?" Iruka whispered. His lips felt stiff. "Tell me I dreamed that."

Mizuki's eyes were wet. Not blood-shot, Iruka realized. Crying. Mizuki was shaking. He took a breath, and it broke over his lips. He didn't look at Iruka. From behind his fingers, he murmured, "I'm so sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."

Iruka thought his legs might give out. He leaned against the doorframe for support, trying to remember last night, trying to remember every detail--

He'd been wearing pants this morning. Had Mizuki put them on? Or had nothing happened? Maybe Mizuki had kissed him and then stopped, and the rest was a dream. Or maybe--

Iruka closed his eyes, trying to shut the thoughts away. "How far?" he asked, and heard the quiver in his voice. He didn't open his eyes. "How far did you go--?"

"Not very," Mizuki said quickly, pleadingly. "You kept shaking, and saying 'please' like I was hurting you, and--and--"

Iruka opened his eyes, saw Mizuki rub tears away with the back of his wrist. Fingers arched like butterflies, then vanished into a fist held against his mouth.

"You were crying, so I stopped. I swear, Iruka, I didn't do much. We kissed, and I took your shirt off, but . . . but nothing else. I swear." He was shaking all over. Tears fell too fast for him to wipe away.

Iruka just stared. His heart was frozen somewhere in his chest, locked away by shock stealing cold over his body.

Mizuki closed his eyes, head sinking into his hands. "Oh gods, Iruka I'm so sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm so sorry."

Iruka just stood. The wash of sobs flowed around him without touching.

Mizuki kept talking. His fingers trembled in his hair, his pale skin was covered in goosebumps. "I heard you slept with Hayate and--and--" his head came up, and blue eyes glared. "*Why* couldn't you sleep with me? Him but not me? I'm your best friend--we're supposed to be friends and--" he stood.

Iruka took a step backward, prepared to run before he'd even thought about it.

Mizuki froze. "I wouldn't hurt you," he whispered.

Iruka stared. He lifted the bottle again. "You did."

Mizuki looked at it as if it were a monster. "I didn't mean to. You were supposed to like it. You were supposed to relax--"

Iruka took another step back, toward the door. His body's need to run *now* was breaking through the haze.

Mizuki froze. Then he pressed his hands together in front of his face. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. He knelt slowly, thumping to his knees on the ground. "I'm so sorry." He was crying. "There's something wrong with me, and I don't know what. Please. Please forgive me. I'm so sorry." He wrapped his arms around his waist, rocking softly back and forth, eyes fixed on the floor. "I'm so sorry."

For a moment, Iruka thought he should go to Mizuki. That was his friend, and his friend was hurting. Mizuki had been with him through thick and thin. Iruka was the only person in the world who knew what Mizuki had lived through. Who could understand why Mizuki might go to these lengths.

He dropped the bottle of nightshade. It thumped to the carpet, rolling to its side. Iruka turned, picked up his bag, and left.

**

"You look like hell."

Iruka glanced at Hayate, then looked back down at his feet. "Thanks. Can I use your shower?"

Hayate stepped back. "'Course. You okay?"

*No,* Iruka wanted to say, *I'm not. My best friend drugged and almost raped me.* Instead, he said, "Yeah." Then he walked to the back of the apartment, where he knew the bathroom was, and locked himself in.

He could have gone to Raidou's. He could even have gone all the way home. But Hayate's apartment was the closest, and Iruka wanted to shower *now.*

He washed off dried saliva, scrubbed his fingers through his hair until it no longer smelled like Michio's bed, and washed and washed and washed his genitalia until he couldn't feel anyone else's hands there. He washed until the bathroom was so fogged he couldn't see his hand in front of his face, and then he washed a few more times, just to be sure.

There was a clean towel and drawstring sweatpants laid out on the sink when he emerged. He hesitated, then dried himself off and pulled them on, forgoing his own pants for the time being, but donning his clean shirt.

"You okay?" Hayate asked again in that soft voice of his, offering a steaming mug of--well, something hot. He blew on his own, watching Iruka with concern.

Iruka sniffed, smelled green tea, and took a sip. He wrapped his fingers around the heavy ceramic, letting the heat sink into the small bones of his hands, into each joint. "Who did you tell that we'd--I'd--about that night I stayed over?" he asked instead of answering.

Hayate turned a dull red, hooking a strand of black hair behind the pale curve of an ear. If Iruka had had any doubts that the leak happened here rather than from Genma, those doubts were gone.

"No one, Iruka," Hayate said, "but my neighbor saw us. She asked me who you were later, and I told her before I thought, and *then* I realized--she said something about you being a good catch--" Hayate's face got darker, and he glared into his own mug. "I'm sorry." He glanced up, looking from underneath slender brows like a puppy caught with a shoe. "What happened?"

Iruka sipped again. Faintly, he could feel anger stirring. The shock still hadn't worn off, though. "Mizuki found out. He was . . . upset." Best to leave it at that.

As a ninja, he should have realized his drink was poisoned. As a friend, he should have helped Mizuki. As himself, he hadn't done any of those things--and doubted he'd do them anyway, if it were to happen all over.

"Oh. I'm really sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

Iruka shook his head and handed back the half-full mug. "I'm going to head home. Thanks for--ah, the shower." He felt himself flush, realizing how odd--and was it rude, too?--it seemed to come into someone's house, use their shower, and leave.

Hayate would just have to come to his own conclusions.

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do?" Hayate asked again, trailing Iruka to the door, a mug in each hand.

Iruka pulled his boots on, hair dripping wetly across the toes as he bent to lace them up. "Just stay away from Mizuki, all right?" he said quietly. He picked up his bag, offered a final smile, and left.

**

The shock broke around noon. Iruka was at the market, gathering supplies for Hanayo, when everything hit him.

He walked outside and dropped to the curb, staring out across the street.

Mizuki had almost raped him.

He shook. He didn't cry, because he was nineteen and too old for tears, but he trembled. He wrapped his arms around his body and curled up tight, knees to his face. He knew he was causing a commotion; he could hear people start to talk around him. Someone knelt beside him, a hand on his shoulder, and a male voice said, "Are you all right, son?"

Iruka shook his head and refused to look up.

"Call a medic," someone said urgently.

Iruka shrugged away from the hand, staggering up to his feet. "It's okay," he said, his voice shaking. "I don't need a medic." He thought he might be sick, though, and his basket had overturned, fruit and vegetables rolling everywhere. He couldn't breathe.

"I'm sorry," he found himself saying, staring at a ruined tomato.

"Don't worry about it," the same male voice said, and Iruka saw he wore a grocer's apron. A big man, with callused hands and concerned eyes.

"Papa?" a girl asked, appearing from behind a bushel of potatoes. "Mama wants to know what's going on."

The man turned to her, smiling. "Nothing, sweet pea. This ninja is just--" he glanced at Iruka, then his daughter. "He's injured, that's all. We're taking care of it."

People were staring at him. He rubbed a sleeve across his eyes, just to be sure they weren't wet.

Mizuki had *drugged* him. His best friend had hurt him, taken advantage, would have done much worse--

The world was spinning.

"Do you have somewhere to go, son?" the grocer asked. His hands landed on Iruka's arms, steadying him. "Can we get you somewhere?"

Iruka blinked back tears. Apples were rolling into the street. "I'll pay for those," he said, mind latching on to something he could handle.

"Don't worry about it. Do you have someone we can call?"

He'd said 'son.' It hit Iruka suddenly, and he wanted to curl up in large arms and--

But this wasn't his father. Voices were murmuring around them.

"He's with me!" someone shouted, tone strident. "Thank you, Ryo," Genma said, shouldering through the crowd and wrapping an arm around Iruka's shoulders. "If you'll figure out what was ruined, tally it up, we'll reimburse you," he said, tugging Iruka away.

"Don't worry about it," the grocer--Ryo--answered. "He's ninja. It's all right. These things happen."

Iruka stumbled down the sidewalk, pulled along by a strong arm around his shoulders, the world still swimming.

Before he knew it he was being bustled into Raidou's apartment, the door closing the world out behind him. All Raidou did was ask, and the whole story came tumbling out, words pouring over each other like water over rocks.

"I feel like I've lost my best friend and been betrayed all in one fell swoop," he said at last, sitting at the table with a mug of tea cradled in his hands. "I know why he did it, but . . . I don't know what to do." Anko's words rang through his head, "Sometimes there comes a point when it's time to move on."

Mizuki had no other friends. Mizuki was hurt, and damaged, and Iruka was the only one who could possibly help him get better.

Mizuki had almost raped him.

Iruka stared at his tea, heartbroken. "What would you do?" he asked quietly.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Raidou shrug. Genma was in the kitchen, giving them some semblance of privacy while hearing every word. "I don't know," Raidou said. "I haven't gone through what you have with him. As it is now, I would stay away from him, but--only you can decide if that's right or not."

Iruka stared at his tea. His mind twisted, always coming back to the pain of betrayal before looping to the fact that he was Mizuki's only way out of the hole the man had sunk into. "I think," he said slowly, "that I can't trust him anymore."

Raidou nodded, chin on his hands, folded over the table.

"But he still needs help," Iruka continued, speaking slowly as his thoughts formed. "So I'll . . . I'll keep an eye on him. I can be there for him, but I won't . . . I won't trust him anymore." It hurt worse than he'd expected to say that. Mizuki had been his friend for so long . . .

"I'm sorry, Iruka," Raidou said softly.

Iruka just stared at his tea.

**

Hayate had joined him to go check his exams. Iruka's spirits were too low to believe he'd made it in, but maybe he'd gotten as high as being a TA, and then he could try again next year.

And the year after that, and the year after that, and the year after *that.* He just wasn't a good enough ninja to be trusted with their youth. He knew it, in his heart.

"Hey, cheer up," Hayate said, throwing an arm over his shoulders. "Look, if you didn't get in, we'll go get drunk, and if you did get in--we'll go get drunk!"

Iruka laughed reluctantly. Hayate, as much as he liked to talk about getting drunk, didn't actually do it all that often. It was almost as if he could make people think he was more of a party animal than he really was, just by talking about it.

Still, Iruka shook his head. "I'm swearing off alcohol for a while," he said.

Hayate's arm dropped as if he'd been burned. "Oh. Right. Sorry about that, I just, uh--"

"Not because of what happened with you," Iruka said quickly. "Because of some other stuff."

Hayate looked relieved. "Oh. Well, that's good to know."

They neared the academy doors, and Iruka's steps slowed. He didn't want to see that he'd failed. Maybe he could come back later, and--

"Iruka!"

He jumped at the voice, and, if possible, his heart sunk further. He turned. Mizuki was running up to him, had reached him before Iruka could even think of a reasonable escape.

"Iruka--can I talk to you? Please?"

Iruka glanced at Hayate, who was pretending he hadn't noticed anything. "Would you go check my score?" he asked pleadingly. "I don't want to know."

Hayate glanced at Mizuki, then gave a game smile and nodded. "I'll be right back." He loped off, long legged and graceful.

Reluctantly, Iruka turned back to Mizuki.

Mizuki stood, silent, staring at his feet. "I just," he began finally, only to taper off. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Can I make it right?"

Iruka felt himself stiffen. Mizuki must have felt it, too; he stepped forward, taking Iruka's sleeve carefully in his hand. "You're the only friend I have. I would die before I hurt you. I don't know what came over me. I'll understand if you can't forgive me but, please, try? Iruka, I'm so sorry."

Iruka pulled his arm gently away. "I don't know if I can trust you," he said quietly. But he *was* Mizuki's only link to help, and his parents had taught him, before they'd died, that everyone was redeemable. He looked up, meeting and holding Mizuki's gaze. "I'll try," he said. "You know I'll always be your friend."

The relief in Mizuki's eyes was shaming. Iruka looked away. "Thank you," Mizuki said, then again, "thank you."

Iruka gestured toward the school. "Have you--?"

Mizuki shook his head, looking frustrated and angry. "They're making me a TA."

Iruka's heart fell farther. If *Mizuki* couldn't get in . . . "Oh." They stood, awkwardly silent. Iruka didn't want to be there, wanted to be anywhere that was away from Mizuki, but couldn't just leave the other man.

Just then Hayate came barreling out of the building, screaming and hollering. "Iruka! Iruka! You got in! You're gonna be a teacher!" He jumped, looping an arm around Iruka's neck and swinging sideways.

Iruka staggered, stunned. "What?"

"You made it in!" Hayate crowed.

"You're kidding," Iruka said, horror and hope mingling painfully.

"No! You're *in!*" Hayate was laughing, practically leaping with infectious cheer.

"Really?" Iruka said, then slowly started to grin. "*Really?*"

Hayate nodded frantically.

"Holy crap! I made it in! I made it in!" Iruka yelled, grabbing Hayate and shaking him.

Hayate laughed. "Come on, come on, let's go celebrate!"

"Oh, yeah, of course, I--I can't believe--"

Hayate tugged him, drawing him away from the school, nearly bouncing down the street toward the center of the village. Iruka stopped after ten steps, remembering suddenly Mizuki. Should he invite--? If he was going to say he was Mizuki's friend . . .

He turned back, mouth open to make the offer.

Mizuki was gone as if he'd never been, disappeared into the swirls of people on the sidewalk.

"Come *on,*" Hayate said, tugging on his sleeve, a grin obvious even in his voice.

Iruka hesitated. Should he go look--?

"Iruka! Let's go!"

Iruka let himself be pulled, turning away and heading down the road. It didn't take long before he was laughing again, rolling his eyes at Hayate's suggestions and informing the other Chuunin that celebrating did *not* include going to a brothel.

"It'll be fun!" Hayate chirped. "Like your first time, almost!"

Iruka swiped at him, but Hayate only ducked and laughed. "That's no behavior for an *academy teacher!* What will your students think?"

"That I'm a ferocious sensei not to be trifled with!" Iruka shot back, laughing.

"Oh gods, I can't believe you're going to be a teacher!" Hayate crowed. He jumped, twisting, landing on Iruka's back with his legs wrapped around the other's waist. "Give me a ride, Iruka-Sensei! On to--where are we going?"

"Mid-village," Iruka answered briefly. "Hang on to your hitai-ate," he said, linking his hands behind Hayate's knees. "Here we go!" He took off running, Hayate laughing, ducking and weaving through the afternoon crowds.

Their laughter could be heard clear back at the academy.

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

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