Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ The Silent Blade ❯ The Morning After ( Chapter 1 )

Author: Carcinya (Isolde on Fanfiction.net)
Author E-mail: carcinya@aol.com
Category: Angst/Romance
Keywords: Naruto Hunter-nin Iruka Kakashi
Rating: PG-13, might go up
Spoilers: Possible up to episode 80 (The story diverts after that)
Summary: All that glitters is not gold, all that is steel does not glitter... Kakashi is going to learn that the hard way, as he pries into something he probably shouldn't have. [KakaIru]
Disclaimer: This story is based on situations and characters created and owned by Masashi Kishimoto, various publishers including but not limited to TV Tokyo. "Part of Me" is Linkin Park's. No money is being made and no copyright infringement intended.

Now, now, people. If Naruto was mine, do you really think I'd be sitting at my computer, sipping bad coffee, and writing bad fanfiction? Honestly.

Author's notes: I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistake there might be in this story. I am French, and still only learning the beautiful language that is English. Besides, I don't have a beta-reader. Poor me. Any comments are welcome, but obviously flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Yummy.

Take time to read the lyrics. They are insights on my characterization of Iruka.

Oh, my god. I just noticed that not only had I misspelled Konoha, but I got Iruka's birthday wrong. Blame it on lack of coffee. Thank you for the nice reviews! It really cheered me up! :o)

~*~

Kodachi: Middle-sized blade, between a katana (around 30 inches) and wakizachi (Short sword).
Tsume: Claw.
Kiba: Fang.
Kurohyou: Black panther.
Kuma: Bear.
Washi: Eagle.
Inu: Dog.
Byakko: White Fox.
Sandaime: The Third (Hokage).
Godaime: The Fifth (Hokage).

~*~

Chapter 1: The morning after

"Part Of Me"

Part of me won't go away
Everyday reminded how much I hate it
Weighted against the consequences
Can't live without it so it's senseless
Wanna cut it out of my soul
And just live with a gaping hole
Take control of my life
And wash out all the burnt taste
I made the problems in the first place
Hang my head low 'cause it's part of me
Ya hardly see right next to the heart of me
Heard of me the routine scar
New cuts cover where the old ones are

And now I'm sick of this
I can't stand the sandpaper thoughts that grade on my sanity
I rather not even be then the man that's staring in the mirror through me

Freedom can be frightening if you've never felt it
Once it's been dealt with you feel like you've been touched by something angelic
And then melted down into a pool of peace
Cease to be the animal you used to be
Remove the broken parts you know were wrong
And feel the karma when the problem's all gone
And then you start to see another piece of yourself that you can't let be

(Alive in me, inside of me, a part of me screams away silently
This part of me won't go away, part of me won't go away
Everywhere I look around I see how everyone ought to be
Every time I see myself I see there's always something wrong with me)

(Linkin Park)

~*~

Iruka's eyes opened automatically as his internal clock went off. Time to work, he thought numbly, as he fumbled to tie his dark hair out of his face. Still mostly asleep, he scrambled out of bed regretfully. Even more so when, midway to the bathroom, he realized that it was Sunday, and he didn't actually have any classes to teach.

He was sorely tempted to go back to sleep, but the disarray of his small flat convinced him otherwise. He winced as he contemplated his discarded gear on the floor, fully exposed to anyone's gaze. He hadn't even cleaned his blades, he remembered guiltily. How he hated scrubbing at dried blood! Especially before his first coffee of the day.

The young man made a beeline for the coffee-maker, turned it on, and, with a definite sigh, set out to tidy the room a little, still naked as the day he was born - except for the bandage on his left arm. He piled the dirty clothes in a bundle near the bathroom, picked up the leather gear and put it back in its place - a chest of dark wood. He looked around for his swords, before spotting them on the couch.

He had named them Tsume and Kiba - Claw and Fang - as an wry reminder of his Hunter status. The design of their black leather sheath was rather plain and austere - the symbol of Konoha, in silver, slightly altered to suggest a stylized panther. With time, the metal had matted, giving the scabbards an oddly worn air.

Iruka drew the weapons out. They, too, were unadorned and simple - two kodachis, with a black and silver hilt, and a sharp, middle-sized blade. He had always favored them over the larger, heavier katana, for they allowed both speed and deadly accuracy, and yet offered a greater reach than the shorter wakizachi. The perfect weapon for a Hunter, whose task consisted mostly on hiding, tracking and killing.

Said hunter eyed the blades critically, checking their edge for notches or scratches. Relieved to find none, he headed for the kitchen, plugged the sink, and filled it with warm water. He positioned the swords carefully, angling them so the hilts would not get wet. The crusted blood would soften thanks to the warm water, making the task of cleaning them much easier.

He downed quickly a cup of coffee, and, feeling more alive, made his way to the bathroom. Usually, he would do his morning exercises before eating breakfast or showering, but somehow he could not bring himself to do it that day. He decided, peevishly, that last night had been enough training already. That wound on his arm proved it, and rather painfully, at that.

As the hot shower relaxed his stiff body, he reflected, bemused, that while a few years ago he wouldn't have looked back on such an uneventful mission, he was now aching all over. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that he had fallen asleep sprawled haphazardly on his bed, and thus ended up with a rather sore back. But still. He was growing old.

When his parents had died, Iruka had been twelve. From his childish point of view, twenty-five had been an horribly old age, and adults, boring and moralizing and fussing. He was guilty of the last two, he knew, especially when Naruto was concerned, but one could hardly say his life was dull. Bloody, dangerous, and very, very complicated, rather.

He wondered what they would think of him. They had been good shinobis, though certainly too straightforward and open - in some ways, it was a good thing the Hunters had to wear a mask, he mused. Like them, he had never been very good at hiding his emotions and being coldly hypocrite.

But neither of them had been killers.

Iruka knew, intellectually, that the Five Hunters of Konoha were vital to the village's survival. They were the strongest warriors, besting even ANBU in pure fighting skills. Not the best ninjas - Iruka himself was not that good in Genjutsu, for example - but the best fighters, by far. It was only logical, after all. They protected the Hokage, intervened in critical situations, and tracked the missing-nins which could have spread their secrets. They were Konoha protectors.

Nobody but the Hokage and a few selected ANBU knew of their identity. Each of them was recognizable at his -or her- mask and uniform: Kurohyou, the Black Panther; Kuma, the Brown Bear; Washi, the Yellow Eagle; Yamainu, the Red Mountain Dog; and Byakko, the White Fox.

Kurohyou, the leader, was also an adviser to the Hokage; Kuma, Washi and Yamainu were permanent bodyguards of Godaime; and Byakko, in plain clothes, gathered information and intelligence in the village for them.

But when Konoha was threatened, be it by an exterior threat or a missing-nin, their role came down to one thing: slay. And, not matter how hard he tried, Iruka had never been able to fully come to terms with that. It was absurd, he knew, but he couldn't help it: any life he took broke something in him. Any life he failed to protect was a personal loss.

He turned off the shower, shuddering as the cool air caressed his skin. He toweled himself energetically, trying to dry himself as quickly as was humanly possible. He then removed gingerly the dirty dressings on his arm, and examined the injury. It was almost closed, Iruka noticed with satisfaction, but it was also deep and large - without stitches, it could reopen at a moment's notice. The kunai had hit just below his Hunter tattoo - the same symbol than on his scabbards. He wasn't overly fond of it, but he wouldn't have wanted it to be mutilated, either. Well, he would just have to be careful for a few days. He bandaged the wound diligently, eager to drink another cup of coffee.

Maybe he could go and eat ramen with Naruto at Ichiraku. No way the kid would refuse, he thought happily. That prospect cheered him up a little, as did the strong smell of coffee and warm bread that wafted over from his kitchen.

Wait a second. Warm bread? He was certain he had not prepared breakfast. Which could only mean one thing: there was an intruder in his house. Very skilled, since he had not noticed him. Worse even, his swords were taking a bath in the kitchen's sink.

He really was growing old.

Iruka almost dashed to his bedroom to find a more suitable weapon than his toothbrush, but then, the rational part of his brain took over. Whoever had entered his house was fixing breakfast, for heaven's sake. Not setting an ambush.

And he knew only one person skilled enough to get past his defenses - true, he had not been paying attention, but still - and yet enough of an early riser to be up at six in the morning. Not to mention cooking for him.

Kurenai-san.

He headed for his room without haste, and donned casual clothes - a worn, but clean, gray jogging attire. He left out wearing shoes. He had never liked them anyway. He brushed his hair quickly, tying it back in his usual ponytail. He almost reached for his forehead protector, then decided against it.

The hunter made his way to the kitchen, stomach growling at the delicious scent of homemade breakfast. Kurenai sat at the table, reading the morning's newspaper - pointedly ignoring him.

"Why, hello there, Kurenai-san," he offered good-naturedly.

The red-eyed teacher did not answer. Iruka gave a lopsided grin. She would take no notice of him until he had eaten. She could be such a mother hen sometimes. Again something we have in common, then.

He sat down in a nearby chair, and began eating with joyous ardor. It had been long since someone had last cooked for him, and he sure as hell was going to enjoy it to the last bit. After three muffins and twice as many cups of coffee, he looked up to find Kurenai's strange eyes fixed on him.

"I take it you liked my cooking," she stated, glancing at Iruka's empty plate.

The young man grinned, but did not relax. Kind as Kurenai was, it just wasn't like her to drop by at dawn and make breakfast. Something was bothering her, Iruka sensed it. He got up to wash the dishes, all too aware of the other teacher's gaze on his back. He also got the swords out of the water, noting with satisfaction that they were almost clean.

Silence hung heavy between them, and Iruka wondered who would give in first.

She did.

"You were careless."

Iruka at her glanced sharply, frowning, even though he knew exactly what this was all about.

"Yesterday. You were careless," she specified. Her face was drawn, he noticed, almost concerned.

"I was distracted, that's true," he replied smoothly, adding for good measure, "and so were you, Kurenai-san."

She stiffened in annoyance. "The last weeks have been hard on everyone."

Iruka rinsed his hands, dried them calmly, then turned to face his colleague.

"It is not the first time I have been hurt on a mission. Probably not the last, either."

"That mission could have gone awry."

"Six elite ninjas against a single missing-nin?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"That's not the point, and you know it."

"What is it then? I'm all ears," Iruka shot back dryly. He suddenly felt rather weary. Arguing was not his idea of a nice, cozy morning.

Kurenai took a deep breath.

"You were careless. Distracted. Whatever," she said, frowning as he opened his mouth to interrupt. "A distracted leader endangers the lives of his troops."

Iruka paled.

"Don't you think I know that?" he said, brown eyes flashing in anger.

The young woman nibbled on her bottom lip pensively. She had not wanted to vex him.

"Iruka-kun," she sighed, "forgive me. That was uncalled for. It is just that, as the Kurohyou, we unconsciously tend to rely on you, and any mistake on your part could cost us dearly."

"I thought you knew better than to call me like that," he said reproachfully.

"You're avoiding my question," Kurenai replied with an apologetic wave. "You haven't been yourself, lately," she added softly. "Not since Sandaime's death."

Iruka looked away and said nothing. He crossed his arms on his chest, a defensive gesture which did not escape Kurenai.

"You are still blaming yourself for his death," she continued, "aren't you?"

The hunter stiffened.

"How could I not?" he answered quietly after a while. "I underestimated our enemies, an unforgivable mistake for any ninja. Let me finish," he said, holding up a hand as she took a step toward him. "Byakko and Washi were away on a mission, but I thought that the two others would be more than enough, and that I would be more useful with the children. But I was wrong. And many died because of that. Including Sandaime."

"Even you couldn't have got past that barrier, Iruka-kun, and you know it." The young man nodded, resigned. "As for the others ... they were shinobis. They knew the risk."

"But I could have saved many," he said sadly.

"Not everything is about you, Iruka," Kurenai reminded him without resentment. She knew his reaction was not born out of a wounded pride, but of his overwhelming guilt. Iruka was often too selfless for his own good, she reflected, and sometimes, it was necessary to knock some sense into him. She couldn't really blame him, though. He had become Hunter very young, shouldering heavy responsibilities without complaining, accepting to stay a Chuunin so as not to attract attention to him - and never getting any acknowledgment for his dedication to the village.

Kurenai herself had discovered Kurohyou's identity by sheer chance - Iruka's mask had broken while on a tandem mission. He should have killed her on the spot, but didn't. It just wasn't like him, she mused. She knew the young man hated killing with a passion, and never did it unless he was forced to. They had grown closer after that, and she had learnt to appreciate the inconspicuous Chuunin teacher as much - if not more - than the elusive Hunter.

Iruka smiled softly. "You're right, as usual, Kurenai-san. It's just that, sometimes ..."

" ... it's hard to let go?" she whispered, avoiding his gaze. Then she looked up, ruby eyes filled with tears. She, too, had loved Sandaime. All the village had. Many others had been lost, including a very close friend of them - Hayate.

Iruka crossed the distance between them in a step, all animosity forgotten as he hugged her, blinking back his own tears. Unexpectedly, Kurenai allowed him to hold her as together they let go the strain and grief of the past two weeks.

After a while, though, Kurenai shifted in his arms, obviously embarrassed. Neither of them being very touchy-feely kind of persons, Iruka understood that and released her.

"Your eyes are red," he informed her tongue-in-cheek, trying to alleviate the tension.

She winked at him.

"But for once," she shot back, not missing a beat, "so are yours."

~*~

Author's notes: Don't worry, Kakashi will appear in the next chapter. And no, Kurenai and Iruka are not going to end up together, that's final. :o)

Pleeeeeease review? S'il vous plaît?