Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ What He Wants ❯ Part 10 ( Chapter 10 )

Part 10

 

Kakashi is indulging in his new favorite pastime: staring at the ceiling.

 

While he's been allowed his collection of Icha Icha, he really can't read them constantly for days on end when there's nothing else to do. Usually when he reads he's multi-tasking, observing his surroundings, eavesdropping on conversations, and always learning, always strategizing. His cell feels almost like a sensory-deprivation tank, which—oddly enough—makes it very hard to concentrate. The silence and the sound of his own breathing are more distracting than a hundred Narutos.

 

He exercises as much as he can—as much as his drained chakra combined with the chakra suppression will allow—though there's nothing in his room he can push himself with, so he's not certain he's doing his body any more good than if he just sat on his cot all day. But he becomes far too restless if he doesn't move around, so he does it anyway.

 

Today he's already done all the exercise he can stand, and he's showered behind the little bathroom partition so he doesn't stew in his own sweat. He's glad he doesn't have to take a prison-style communal shower; having to stand practically in the toilet to get under the water properly is a tiny price to pay for the illusion of privacy. He knows there are cameras that cover every angle of the room, but he's never minded the idea of voyeurism, whether he's the voyeur or the one being viewed. It's remote, detached, vicarious. No one's in your space that you don't want to be there.

 

Now he's lying on his cot and staring intently at the ceiling. The concrete surface is textured, and there are many shadows even under the bright lighting. Kakashi has discovered that if he stares long enough and hard enough, he can begin to see pictures in the surface. At first they were just rudimentary faces or shapes, but the more he does it, the more detailed and complex the images become. He's seen the entire landscape of Sunagakure, Genma spitting senbon at a smirking Shikamaru, one of his past ANBU missions gone horribly wrong and, of course, Iruka, Iruka, Iruka.

 

They aren't hallucinations, per se, just tricks from his eye and his bored mind—just his regular eye; he keeps the Sharingan closed. His chakra situation is precarious enough.

 

He enjoys the images mostly because he never knows what's coming next. He has noticed that, if he can keep his attention focused on them long enough, they start to move a little. Sometimes just to morph into something different, but sometimes it's as though a narrative is starting, and Kakashi wants to see if any of them will tell a story. If an audio component to these would come into play, it would be even better, but he thinks that would definitely be a sign he is coming unhinged. More unhinged, he supposes. He doesn't know whether he would mind that or not, so he doesn't actively explore it.

 

Right now he is seeing Iruka and Naruto, their backs to him, walking down a barren road. Iruka's hand is on one of Naruto's shoulders, and Naruto's fists pump into the air. Kakashi keeps as still as possible and tries not to blink; he likes this image, for some reason, and they have a tendency to vanish unexpectedly if he so much as twitches, or blinks for a millisecond too long.

 

He hasn't thought about Naruto in a long time, except by association when he's contemplated Itachi or Akatsuki. Well, if Kakashi's completely honest with himself, he tries not to think about Naruto, or Sasuke, or even Sakura who is at least still here in the village. He misses them fiercely, enough for it to feel dangerous, their bickering and drama and determination, their warmth and their friendship. He knows that what he told Sakura on the roof of the hospital months ago is a complete lie, that even if Sasuke and Naruto come back tomorrow things will never be the same again. Regardless, he can't help but hope that maybe they will come back to him some day, altered and older but still essentially themselves. Even though he has done nothing to deserve to have any wish of his come true.

 

Guided by the turn of his thoughts, the Naruto on the ceiling looks taller now, taller than Iruka and just as broad. Kakashi wonders what Naruto would think if he knew what Kakashi has done to Iruka. He'd probably never forgive him. Kakashi will make sure Naruto doesn't find out. There's no way Iruka would tell him, at least.

 

Would the Godaime tell Sakura?

 

Kakashi gives his head a violent shake, dissolving the image before his eyes. It doesn't matter. Iruka is the only one who matters right now. He has to be secured in body and heart, and Kakashi will worry about the rest later.

 

Being locked up in these bare walls with his cold floor and his uncomfortable bed for days on end, mostly left to his own devices, is taking its toll on Kakashi. He can usually control where his thoughts meander, so that he doesn't think about anything he doesn't want to, but he's worried about Iruka. Tsunade stopped Pakkun from reporting back to him after they'd gone to get the scrolls; he's not really sure why, and of course he can't summon him again. The Hokage told him Iruka was holding up `as well as could be expected', which didn't tell him anything.

 

His concern for Iruka, combined with a lack of anything better to do, has him thinking about things he ordinarily wouldn't dwell on. Like that this whole endeavor has turned out to be more than he bargained for, and he bargained for quite a bit. He won't say he's bitten off more than he can chew, but the…salvageability of the situation is more questionable than he anticipated.

 

He had known that developing and using the Mangekyou Sharingan was going to be hell on his chakra, and that it was going to be very dicey to maintain his normal work life while doing it. Several of the Uchiha and Yuuhi jutsu scrolls suggested that he could accomplish much of his goal with the regular Sharingan, but to accomplish some of the necessary jutsu—including Orochimaru's—he would need the Mangekyou.

 

Orochimaru's jutsu can be cast by other means, obviously, seeing as Orochimaru completed the technique (by accident, it seemed, and not on himself), and the snake Sannin didn't have a Sharingan at the time.

 

He has two now, his traitorous mind whispers. He ignores it.

 

However, to use the method Orochimaru used meant he would have had to cause immeasurable suffering to several people, including himself and Iruka, and that was out of the question.

 

That jutsu—by far the most complicated, draining and dangerous of all the techniques he'd needed to perform on Iruka—had, amazingly, gone off without a hitch. It left him incapacitated for three days, and he'd had to do some very fast talking to prevent medics from swarming him or informing Tsunade. Luckily there was an all-too-brief lull in missions at the time. Luck was indeed part of Kakashi's skill.

 

The days following the performance of Orochimaru's technique were very disorienting and disturbing for Iruka, even though the jutsu didn't involve memories. Kakashi saw the memories of those days when he was going through Iruka's mind later, looking for Shiko. He'd gotten rid of them, not bothering to try and alter them, just obliterating. It was at that time, erasing those memories, that he realized he'd probably made his move too soon. His control over the Mangekyou was imperfect, and he'd nearly caused Iruka to have a brain hemorrhage.

 

He would have waited, but when he'd overheard that little bitch bragging that she and Iruka were engaged, he had lost a bit of his precious self-composure.

 

He'd wanted her to suffer, that's why he'd gone to such elaborate lengths to humiliate her. But there was another reason he hadn't just taken her memories, which even now he was loath to admit: just working on Iruka took almost everything out of him. He wasn't sure if he could have maintained his chakra enough to keep up the continuous alteration of Iruka's memories and the subtle manipulation of his emotions and inhibitions, while at the same time getting rid of all traces of Iruka in at least three other people. Not while keeping everything secret, as well. In the end, it seemed better to do as much as he could while preparing for the eventuality of being found out, though he had really hoped he would have been able to finish altering all the memories first. One couldn't have everything.

 

He had searched and searched to find some jutsu or scroll that would take care of the process more easily, maybe that wouldn't require him to rely on the Sharingan, but in the end, this was the way he'd had to go. Kurenai could have done something very similar with less chakra, but his way would be much more difficult to deconstruct.

 

Remembering the painstaking process of altering Iruka's memories, he smiles. He hadn't realized how much he would enjoy weaving himself into the place of Shiko, unraveling her threads to tie his own into the web of Iruka's psyche. It was a delicate operation, to insinuate himself in her place, to replace her responses, her reactions, her movements with his own, while not disrupting the fabric of the memory itself. To overlay her personality with his, and to be able to read Iruka well enough to adapt Iruka's role. It was, literally, re-writing the past, within certain limitations.

 

He could have completely restructured the memories, but the best lies are mostly truth. There are only a few he made up out of whole cloth, such as Iruka filing the restraining order against Shiko.

 

The most challenging part of all this had been dealing with the mental roadblocks, which surprised him—he'd thought that would be the easiest step in the process. The roadblocks were necessary to suppress those memories he hadn't altered yet. He couldn't do all the alterations at once, and at first the roadblocks were a clumsy mess, scattered everywhere. When he'd finished with them, he'd discovered that Iruka was literally ill with headache, and he'd gone back in as soon as he'd recovered enough chakra to try and fix the problem. He'd refined his technique quickly, and since the more alterations he made, the more roadblocks he could remove, Iruka had at least been functional after a couple more days. He had hoped that the headaches would disappear with the blockades, but he hadn't had the opportunity to remove them all.

 

He'd started the process on a fall holiday weekend, so he'd had a window of time to work in. It had barely been enough, and both he and Iruka had been exhausted by the time they both had to get back to work. But they had made it, and they were both so good at covering up their own problems and miseries that no one suspected anything was wrong. Except Shiko, of course.

 

Every night, Kakashi worked on Iruka's mind, only activating the Mangekyou when absolutely necessary. He cut himself off when he got down to half his normal chakra, which sometimes only took a couple of minutes. He aided his reserves with soldier pills once in a while, but he didn't like to use them—once you crashed, you ended up with less chakra than you had when you popped the pill, which was dangerous.

 

Iruka had been listless and in great pain when Kakashi had begun working on him, which had really worried him. He hadn't wanted to use trial and error on Iruka, but he hadn't had time to find a suitable guinea pig. He'd studied more and been as careful as he could be; thankfully, after a few days Iruka was bounding around, bursting with life as usual. The headaches were troublesome, but Iruka seemed to brush them off most of the time.

 

Best of all, Kakashi fit right into his life like a jigsaw piece. Iruka cared for him, cherished him, loved him. He hadn't said `love' to Kakashi, but Kakashi had created the love, carefully sculpted and nurtured it, so he knew it was there. Iruka—who had brushed him off countless times, who had rejected him, who didn't like men, who gave the time of day to everyone else yet only noticed Kakashi when he had a reason to pity him—welcomed him into his home, his bed, his body, with open arms and the tenderest smile Kakashi had ever seen.

 

Kakashi had never felt so content.

 

Like hell he would give that up. Like hell he would let anyone take that from him.

 

The heavy clomp of boots and the swinging of a trench coat alerted him to the arrival of Morino Ibiki, and he sat up, stretching.

 

“We're going to be discussing the course of treatment for Umino-san in a few minutes,” Ibiki stated without preamble. “Is there anything we need to know that isn't in the documents?”

 

“No.”

 

“Think carefully.”

 

“There isn't, Ibiki-san. Will Iruka-sensei be at the meeting?”

 

Ibiki's eyes narrow. “I'm not stupid, Kakashi. I know you didn't give us all the information you have. Whatever you're holding back could cost Umino-san, if it ends up affecting—”

 

“Let me come to the meeting,” Kakashi interjects.

 

Ibiki is silent for a moment. “Are you saying you won't tell me what you are withholding unless I let you come?”

 

“No. I'm not holding back anything relevant to the treatment of the alteration of Iruka-sensei's memories. I just want to come to the meeting.” His face is impassive, but he actually feels eager inside. Besides providing, at the very least, a source of amusement, he might get to see Iruka. The thought of seeing him again makes Kakashi feel like he's being pumped full of helium.

 

Ibiki shrugs a little. “We'll discuss whether we think it's advisable for you to be present.”

 

Kakashi smiles.

 

“If we decide you are allowed to be present,” he continues, “you are not to initiate any conversation with him or you'll be right back in here, is that clear?”

 

No need to ask who `him' is. “Crystal, Ibiki-san.”

 

Ibiki leaves, and Kakashi sits on the bed, trying to refrain from bouncing in anticipation. Even if Iruka hates him right now, it will be good to be in his presence.

 

***

 

 

Eight days, it has taken. Eight endless, dull, heart-wrenching days, before Iruka has finally gotten a summons from Ibiki, stating that the necessary codes have been cracked, and they can begin their consultation. It is going to be more of a strategy meeting, from what he understands, and several people are going to be there. They will probably consist of the jounin and special jounin Tsunade mentioned to him when he was in the hospital, the ones who had the techniques between them—possibly—to fix him.

 

Iruka's headaches have actually gotten better, though his memories remain as confused and evasive as ever. According to Wataridori, to whom Iruka has reported for a check-up every day, the abnormalities in his chakra pathways are restoring themselves on their own, so it looks like the headaches may just be a temporary side-effect. Assuming, of course, that it's those abnormalities causing the headaches in the first place, which the medic isn't sure of. Iruka's mostly grateful for the pain relief, but in a way it's a mixed blessing because while the lessened pain makes it easier for him to think, he doesn't want that just now.

 

At least the Hokage found him something interesting to do. The hospital is implementing an entirely new computer network, and since there are very few Information Technologists in Konoha and Iruka frequently teaches computer basics in his curriculum, he was recruited to help set it up. The hardware is easy and time-consuming, so it eats up a decent chunk of his days and keeps his mind occupied, but trying to learn the actual administration of the network itself has him reading textbooks in bed late into the night. The books are terribly dry, and it's far too easy for him to get sidetracked.

 

Lots of things distract him. Kakashi's barren side of the bed—they hadn't even lived together, but Iruka can't help but think of the left side as Kakashi's side. Kakashi's razor on the sink, in the en suite bathroom. He wonders if he will have to go through the apartment and gather up all of Kakashi's things, to either give back or throw away. He wants to glue them in place with the kind of adhesive that could stick an I-beam to his ceiling.

 

The almost-empty box of ohagi sitting on the coffee table is another diversion, which he can just barely see down the hallway through his open bedroom door. When she brought them five days ago, Shiko told him her mother had made them for him. He used to rave about them, apparently. Shiko herself had made short ribs that almost melted at the touch of a fingertip, they were so tender. He hadn't wanted to eat them, hadn't wanted to invite Shiko in, but he had anyway. Just as he has every night since.

 

He likes Shiko. She is funny, passionate, interesting and energetic. She has her faults, too, including a temper that surpasses his own in many respects, a self-admitted cruel streak and a foul mouth when she gets fired up about something. He feels like they could become very close friends.

 

Sometimes he daydreams a little, that there's no way to undo what Kakashi's done to his mind, and about Kakashi thus being released from custody and coming home, Iruka and Shiko forgiving him, and Shiko joining in their circle of friends. Perhaps he and Kakashi would even match-make for her, because Iruka cares very much about his friends' happiness.

 

Shiko never fails to ruin these happy musings, though, by tenderly clasping his hand across the table, or running her fingers across his cheeks, over his lips, or whispering “I love you, Iruka,” as she steps out the door after dinner. Iruka bears it all in grim silence, not returning the touches and ignoring the words, but not discouraging her, either. He doesn't want to shoot himself in the foot.

 

The conflict she stirs in him is so painful that he hopes fiercely every day that she won't show up, yet he can't make himself turn her away.

 

Last night, however, she tried to kiss him and he nearly punched her through a wall.

 

She apologized profusely, and even tried to make a joke of it, but the agony behind her eyes made Iruka feel like he must have eaten babies straight out of the womb in a former life.

 

He's starting to hate Shiko a little, even though none of this is her fault and he knows her feelings for him are real and strong. It makes him hate himself, and he is not used to such dark emotions. Or at least, he's not used to having them on the surface, so close to his conscious mind.

 

Iruka is relieved to find he can resent Kakashi for doing this to him, that his mind hasn't been gutted to the point that all he can feel toward his erstwhile lover is some form of one-dimensional, programmed affection.

 

He can also miss Kakashi to the point of madness, the point of seeking out Might Guy for a vicious sparring match, just a few days ago, fighting like a man possessed and actually landing several hits on the taijutsu master. He wasn't focused or skilled enough to keep up the pace, though, and it ended with him being held down by Guy and Guy's students-cum-teammates while he thrashed and screamed like a rabid dog. Their worried faces when he came back to himself shamed him. He hadn't realized his frustration had built up so much, so fast.

 

It occurs to him that perhaps his frustration has been building for years before this, but he pushes that thought away. What other reason could he have for feeling so violent and helpless, besides this weird, manufactured emotion?

 

At least Genma hasn't sought him out to ask him more questions. Iruka suspects that the Hokage had a word with him, probably with all the jounin, telling them to lay off the subject.

 

He arrives on T&I's doorstep more than ready to do something, no matter how dangerous or how small, because he can barely recognize himself these days.

 

Tsunade and an ANBU wearing the mask of some sort of insect meet him at the door. “I think we've got all the information we're going to get,” she tells him as he follows her down the bright, sterile corridors.

 

“Is it enough to work with?” Iruka asks.

 

Tsunade huffs a little laugh. “It's plenty to work with, I just don't know if it's enough to succeed with. But we will do the best we can.”

 

“That's all I could ask. Thank you, Hokage-sama.”

 

“Don't thank me yet. Iruka,” she says, holding out an arm to stop his progress. “Kakashi requested to be present at this meeting.”

 

Iruka's heart beats so hard his vision jumps.

 

Shrewd eyes search his face. “Naturally that met with mixed reactions, but we decided to let him attend, see how things go. We don't know if he'll be more of a hindrance than a help, but it seems clear that he won't do anything to purposely harm you, and if possible we could use his assistance. Verbally, I mean; I'm not willing to allow him to be part of the procedures we end up using. But, Iruka, if you don't want him there, I'll have him sent back to the cells immediately.”

 

He answers too quickly. “If you think it's alright for him to be there, I trust your judgment, Hokage-sama.”

 

“Hm.” Her eyes narrow and pierce, until Iruka starts fidgeting and sighs.

 

“Also I…”

 

“You?”

 

“I want to see him. I miss him. Even though…”

 

“Is that all you feel about him?”

 

“I also want to ram his head into a concrete pole. And maybe break his ankles.”

 

Tsunade's gaze finally relaxes. “Good. I suggest you focus on the anger; it'll help you maintain your objectivity as long as you don't let it get the better of you. Plus it might keep you from making an embarrassing spectacle in front of your superiors,” she finishes with a smile that's too close to a leer for Iruka's comfort.

 

His first reaction should, he knows, be to splutter a little, good-naturedly, and claim that he'd never bend protocol so far as to allow himself to have a mushy reunion in public, much less in front of Ibiki and the Godaime. But all bets have been off for a while now, and he can't accurately predict what he'll do anymore. His identity seems to be crumbling away like old shale. So he just smiles and follows her as she starts down the hall again.

 

They reach a door that is held open by an ANBU guard, and Tsunade steps through. Iruka hangs back for a bare moment, blood rushing in his ears, and takes a deep breath before advancing through the doorway.

 

Kakashi, bare-faced, dressed in a bland jumpsuit with chakra suppression tags sewn all over it, is the first thing he sees, of course. The jounin has his hands on his lap, and Iruka can see a short spreader-bar between them, to prevent seal formation—redundant safeties are always a good form of prevention on such a high level shinobi. His expression is bland, as always, the exposure of his face doing nothing to reveal what's below the surface. Iruka almost expects him to smile and call out a perky greeting, to make a mockery of this whole proceeding, but Kakashi says nothing, doesn't move.

 

Even though he expected it, seeing Kakashi there in the room is, Iruka thinks, akin to stepping out his front door and right off a cliff. He knows he's frozen, staring, but he can't do anything except fight for composure, which he's certain he'll lose if he tries to do something foolish like tear his eyes away from that

 

beloved

 

unreadable

 

beautiful

 

face.

 

Kakashi is looking back coolly, but his eyes visibly darken with…something. The only other giveaway of any sort is his hands, which tighten ever so slightly on his pants.

 

Remembering what the Godaime said about focusing on his anger, Iruka forces himself to remember why he's here, why his life has gone to hell lately. Brow furrowing, he's finally able to tear his eyes away from Kakashi and take his seat. He looks at Ibiki instead, who's sitting at such an angle that Iruka can't see Kakashi at all, and he doesn't look for him again.

 

“Hokage-sama, Shizune-san, Kurenai-san, Anko-san, Wataridori-san, Iruka-san and Kakashi-san,” Ibiki mutters. “We're all here now, so let's get started.”

 

Iruka is surprised and a little relieved that Ibiki still uses an honorific to refer to Kakashi. Generally prisoners aren't afforded such respect, and Iruka seriously doubts Ibiki would slip through force of habit. He watches as the special jounin pulls an overhead projector to his side, and tries to prepare himself for the worst.