Chapter Text
Mission File #49301 – Field Journal Entries
Classification Status: Restricted
Mission Status: Complete
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June 2nd , xxx1
I arrived at the compound today, but already I can see how bad things are. Everyone's carrying a weapon except for the captives, who look malnourished and terrified. I could tell his men didn’t expect me to speak their language. I’m going to play dumb and use that to my advantage.
I found a girl who understands me. She told me no one is fed unless they work, so I guess I’ll be going hungry for a while. She can’t be older than eleven. Maru is her name.
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July 15th , xxx1
I’ve been teaching Maru how to read kanji. She’s either a slow learner or I’m a terrible teacher, but it’s something to do. Other than wait.
She’s a sweet kid. I wish I could do more to protect her.
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August 11 th , xxx1
He killed another one today. He made us watch him do it. She didn’t do anything wrong. None of us have.
I don’t know how much longer I stand this. I’m under orders specifically not to use force, lethal or otherwise, against them, but Gods, I want to.
I didn’t know the girl’s name, but this morning, she helped me tie my hair up. My shoulder’s still injured. It hurts to move, but I can’t do anything to heal it. I can’t be found out now, not when I’ve come this far. Not when I still have so long to go.
I don’t know how much longer I can do this.
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September 23rd, xxx1
You hear it said that the first time is the hardest for anything, but for me, it was the second time. The shock of the first time it happened was one thing, but the dread is the worst part of it for me. The waiting, the anticipation, the knowing what’s going to happen to you.
I think he’s making me his favorite.
Good. At least I’m giving the others a break from him. At least this means I’m finally getting close. I’m tired of waiting around.
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November 9 th , xxx1
Maru was murdered. She was found with one of his knives under her pillow.
I killed the guy who did it. No idea what they’ll do to me.
Maru.
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December, xxx1
I have no idea how long I’ve been gone, but there are a few unfamiliar faces. They kept me underground, bound, gagged, and blindfolded. My limbs are stiff, and everything hurts so much. I’m sorry. I can’t talk about what happened down there, not with anyone.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
I paid for my revenge.
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February, xxx2
It snowed today for the first time.
I miss home.
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June 14 th , xxx2
I can’t do this anymore.
…
But I have to, somehow.
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August 2 nd , xxx2
The signal came today.
None of the girls who followed me got very far.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry, everyone.
I’m going home now.
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Umino Iruka laid in his hospital bed on a warm summer day, sipping canned juice through a straw and looking out the open window. The bed was soft and comfortable, the sheets clean and serviceable. He was dressed in a hospital nightgown but had been given scrubs to wear by one of the nurses, as well. The material was scratchy against his skin. Outside, several sparrows landed on the window’s ledge and chirped curiously at him, then flew away. The sound of a dozen tiny, chattering voices rose from below as schoolchildren made their morning commute to the academy. Beneath all of this, the dull buzz of the cicadas signaled the approach of fall.
A nurse came in to check Iruka’s vitals. She marked a few things down on his chat then asked him how he was feeling. Iruka told her he was fine because it was the truth. For the first time in over a year, Iruka was fine. No one else seemed to believe him, but that was how he felt. No paranoia, no pain, no midnight summons. He was safe. He was fine.
His first official visitor was a messenger from Tsunade’s office, requesting permission to debrief later that week. He’d accepted and encouraged her to come as soon as she was ready. He was fine, after all. A few bumps and bruises wouldn’t prevent him from doing his job, and the sooner he could put this mission behind him, the better. The messenger had seemed skeptical but passed along his acceptance to the Hokage all the same.
His second visitor was Mizuki, technically, but they hadn’t actually allowed him to enter Iruka’s room. Evidently, only personnel with the appropriate clearances were allowed to see him, at least until he’d been debriefed.
In between visitors and the nurse’s ministrations, Iruka looked out of the window and drank more juice, doing his best to think about nothing in particular. He didn’t think about the year he’d lost. He didn’t think about the other men, women, and children who’d been captive with him. He didn’t let his mind focus on the pain, humiliation, and torture he’d endured up until a few short hours ago.
A sparrow landed on a tree branch, barely visible through the tiny, barred windows. Iruka’s head snapped towards it. Sparrows were not native on this island. They were native to his home, to Konoha. Then, in the same instant, he heard it sing an achingly familiar strain, five clear, staccato notes repeated five times over. By the fifth note, Iruka was on his feet.
“Hey, Umino, welcome back.”
Tsunade stood in the doorframe, cast in the waning light of the setting sun. Iruka jumped, his entire body twitching violently as his nerves fired all at once, and he was blinded momentarily by panic, by the need to escape, go, run, now! His fingers gripped the sheets, his knuckles white and bloody. It hurt, everything hurt, but no matter how much he screamed, it didn’t stop. Nothing would stop him, only death. Agony tore his body apart as his vision went white.
When Iruka came to, several nurses were flitting around him. One had a grip on his wrist, while two others were applying cold compresses to his pulse points. His skin felt clammy with sweat, and his heart was racing like he’d been sprinting for his life.
Tsunade stood in the corner, knuckle between her teeth. When she saw his eyes open, she took a step forward. “My apologies for startling you, Iruka.”
“Tsunade,” he gasped. His lungs burned. “I’m so sorry.”
“Just lay there for a minute, okay? I’ll do the talking, so just relax.” She pulled a chair over to his bedside, nudging a nurse out of the way, and sat, taking his hand in hers. “You don’t need to be sorry, Iruka.” Her eyes were shining. “You’re back. You’re safe, and you’re back.” She patted his hand. “My team is going through the mission dossiers you provided now, but from what I’ve seen so far, you’ve done a much more thorough job gathering intel than we could have hoped for.” Tsunade’s eyes flickered to the nurses in the room, then back to Iruka. “We’ll be able to use this information very soon.”
“I’m glad I was able to help,” Iruka said. His heartbeat had become steadier, and he felt his head beginning to clear as he focused on her hands holding his.
“We’re all glad to have you back, Iruka. Or, at least, we will be.” She smiled wryly. “We haven’t released that information to the public yet. Only the rescue team knows.”
“And Mizuki,” Iruka added.
“Mizuki was on the rescue team.”
“Oh.” Iruka blushed.
“He doesn’t know the details of the mission,” Tsunade said, gripping his hand tightly, “No one does, except for myself and a handful of others.” She caught his gaze and held it solemnly. “You performed a vital task for your country. No one thinks worse of you for what you endured. You’re a brave man. Remember that.”
Iruka didn’t know what to say.
She squeezed his hand one more time, then rose. “Your injuries aren’t serious, but we’re going to keep you through the night to continue to monitor you and run tests. You’ll be discharged in the morning, and I’ve authorized a month of leave for you.”
“Thank you, Tsunade.”
Iruka continued to feel numb after the Hokage and the nurses left. When he thought about his mission, it was like a callous had built up over his memories. Remaining in imprisonment for so long had disconnected him from reality, and he found he couldn’t remember how things used to be, before he’d left on assignment. He looked out the window at the moon and the stars and couldn’t recall a time when his windows hadn’t been barred. Though he knew, logically, that he was safe and back in Konoha, it took him a long time to work up the courage to do something so simple as rise and walk to the bathroom. For the first time, his bedroom door wasn’t locked, and he walked freely down the hallway, his feet taking him wherever it occurred to him to go.
When he got back to his hospital room, he was sweating, and his heartbeat was racing. Invisible monsters lingered in his periphery, and he didn’t fall asleep until well after the sun had risen.
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When Iruka went in to see Tsunade for his de-briefing, he blacked out during the opening questions and had to be escorted back to his apartment. They sent for his emergency contact, Mizuki, who arrived almost immediately and helped him get home.
Mizuki started a kettle for tea on the stove and rummaged around in the cabinets for anything he could turn into food. “Damn, Iruka, I know you’ve been gone for a year,” he quipped, “But couldn’t you have picked up some groceries on your way back?”
Iruka, who wasn’t really in the mood to joke - his head hurt from when he’d fallen - merely grunted in response.
Mizuki looked over at him pityingly and fetched him a blanket to wrap around his shoulders. “C’mon, kid, let’s at least have some tea. You can tell me what happened if you want.”
Iruka clutched the blanket around his shoulders, a blush coloring his cheeks. “I don’t know what happened,” he lied, “Everything was going fine. Maybe I’m just hungry?”
Mizuki made a thoughtful noise. “Could be. Sometimes, I get lightheaded if I haven’t eaten, especially after a stressful mission.” He crouched and began rummaging through the bottom cabinets. “Seriously, ‘Ru, no instant noodles or anything?”
“Ah, yeah, actually,” Iruka said, “Open the other cabinet, the one to the right.”
Mizuki seized a few brightly-colored packages and brought a pot of water to boil on the stove. As he stirred in the noodles and seasoning, he turned back to face Iruka. “Was it stressful? Your mission? None of us have heard anything. That was some gnarly place we busted you out from.”
Iruka swallowed heavily. “It’s, ah, that’s because it’s still classified.”
“But we’re friends,” he pointed out, “Close enough that I’m your emergency contact, ‘Ru, as weird as that was to find out. If something’s bugging you, I want to know about it.”
Iruka shivered. “Well, I’d love that cup of tea, actually.”
Mizuki reached up and brought down two mugs to pour the green tea into. The smell of earthy matcha filled the air in the cramped kitchen. Iruka felt his shoulders drop, a little tension releasing as he grasped the mug in both hands. “Thank you,” he said.
Mizuki sat across from him, his gaze focused on Iruka. “A year’s a long time to be gone. We missed you.” He laid his hands down flat on the table. “I missed you. It’s been hard not having you around.”
Iruka was forced to look away to hide the way his eyes had begun to water. “I missed you, too.”
“You want to have some people over? We could throw a coming home party for you,” he suggested, “Or maybe go out to the bar?”
Iruka didn’t know what he wanted, didn’t know what this version of him wanted. The old Iruka would leap at the chance to go out. He’d been spontaneous and fun, gregarious in a crowd and more than a little mischievous once he started drinking. He loved going out and being around people, thrilled at the chance to let loose and party. If he was being honest, he'd admit he even had a bit of a reputation, too.
But Iruka didn’t feel like that person anymore. Too much had happened between now and then. Truthfully, he just didn’t know who he was anymore. Right now, he didn’t feel like he was anything. Maybe throwing himself back into his old life would show him how to be himself again.
He found himself nodding. “The bar sounds good. I could probably use a drink.”
Mizuki made a fist and pounded the table. “That’s my boy! I’ll call everyone up. But that means you definitely need to eat. I’m gonna run down to the market quick to get something green to add to this mess.”
Mizuki rose suddenly, his chair making a scraping noise against the wooden floor. Iruka twitched, hands coming up in a defensive posture, forearms braced in front of his face. The whole thing happened in the blink of an eye, but neither man missed a millisecond.
Mizuki sat gingerly, staring curiously at his friend. “’Ru,” he said, soft and hesitant, “You’re really okay?”
Iruka exhaled a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding, his arms dropping. “Sorry, I-,” he paused, uncertain, “It’s just so soon, is all. I just got back.”
“Can you go out tonight?”
The way Mizuki asked the question rubbed Iruka the wrong way. He was a shinobi who had just completed a year-long mission filled with unspeakable horror, true, but he was just as capable as anyone else. He was shaken, of course, but he could handle it. They all handled it at some point in their careers. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just not adjusted to being back yet. It’s only been a day.”
“If you’re sure, I mean-.”
“Of course I’m sure!!”
It was only in the silence that followed that Iruka realized he had yelled. He sighed again. “I’m sorry. I think I just need to rest for a bit. Would you mind?”
Mizuki shook his head. “You go ahead. I’ll finish making the noodles and put them in the fridge for you.” He put a hand on Iruka’s shoulder as he rose, slowly this time. “But you have to promise to eat it, if I leave. I don’t want you blacking out and throwing up everywhere after three shots.”
Iruka managed a smile. “Don’t worry about me.”
He went into his bedroom and drew the curtains, blanketing the room in pale darkness. Still wearing the blanket Mizuki had fetched for him, Iruka laid down on his small bed, letting all of the tension leak from his tensed muscles. Distantly, he heard Mizuki continue to move around in the kitchen, and the small, domestic noises comforted him. When was the last time he had been truly relaxed, able to let his guard down, knowing a friend was nearby?
Iruka rolled over and stared at the weak shard of light that escaped through the crack where the curtains met in the middle of the window. He was fine.
I’m sorry.
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Mizuki knew Iruka needed him, even if he couldn’t say the words. He’d been on active duty long enough to know the signs of trauma, and there was something deeply wrong with his friend. The jumps, the silences, and how he seemed emotionally so far away were all about as good as waving a red flag, and Mizuki knew firsthand how hard it was to re-integrate into your old life after being away for so long. It was like you had to become a whole new person on a mission of that magnitude and then, when you came home, figure out how to turn yourself back. He just hoped that putting Iruka back in his old element would work.
He sent out the word to all of the regulars that there would be a party at their favorite dive bar to welcome Iruka back to Konoha. It was a shinobi bar, so everyone there knew what to expect from a crowd like Mizuki and Iruka’s.
Mizuki and Iruka. The cadence of their names was a bit poetic. It had a nice ring to it. Mizuki usually didn’t think about things like that, but Iruka had been gone for a whole year, and they’d hardly had time to say goodbye to one another. It was like that, sometimes, with classified missions. Mizuki had others, of course, but Iruka was special. He had a way of looking at you like you were the only good thing in the entire world. It was one of the many reasons why Iruka was so popular in the village.
Almost as soon as Mizuki had sent the first message out about his return, there were enthusiastic people threatening to beat down Iruka’s apartment door. Mizuki assured them there would be plenty of Iruka to go around later that night, even though he remained unsure that drawing a large crowd around his cagey friend would be such a good idea. And he appreciated the few opportunities he had to have Iruka alone. Mizuki rarely went out of his way to share him, but this was a special occasion. This was a homecoming.
Having disbursed the invites, Mizuki went about taking care of some chores for Iruka. He’d been in the habit of dropping by periodically to let some fresh air in, sort the mail, and water Iruka’s various succulent plants, but there was the matter of there being no fresh fruit or vegetables in the house. Also, even though he’d been airing it regularly, there was quite a dust build-up on all of Iruka’s books and knickknacks.
Mizuki tied a bandana over his hair and gave the apartment the scrub-down it deserved, knowing Iruka to be the kind of person who appreciated extreme cleanliness. He wanted to make his friend’s transition home as easy as possible, being in the rare mood to do something good for someone else. Normally, he couldn’t be bothered. Just another way in which Iruka was special to him.
Mizuki remembered his first long-term mission. He’d been infiltrating a court of nobles and merchants in a country to the south, gathering intel for Konoha’s records. A lot of longer missions were recon and weren’t really all that dangerous. Sure, he was sent to spy, but he was a peaceful spy. Konoha hadn’t been at war; they’d just been trying to gauge whether or not they needed to be at war. The answer was a resounding no. The country was peaceful, if a little uptight. No harm, no foul.
Iruka’s mission, though, must have been far more serious. The dossiers were wrapped up in so much red tape, Mizuki couldn’t even hope of learning what he’d been sent to do, let alone where or why. It seemed strange to him that the Hokage had sent Iruka on such a high-ranking mission, but it was clear he’d never know unless Iruka himself told him. He would have to find a way to get Iruka’s guard down, but Mizuki wasn’t a patient person, especially when it came to helping his friends. The only way Iruka would heal is if someone cared enough – and was persistent enough – to crack his shell.
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Iruka hadn’t slept a wink, but he didn’t say so to Mizuki. It would only have worried him more, and he didn’t want to call off the party. They ate ramen in companionable silence and did a few shots together for the road. The booze in Iruka’s cabinet was quality and went down smoother than anything, taking the edge off of life just a little bit. It pooled like heat in his stomach, and as they started towards the bar, he began to feel hopeful that things were on their way back to normal.
The bar was crowded with people, the music lively and loud. Iruka moved through his gathered friends and acquaintances with a smile on his face, accepting handshakes and slaps on the back as he ventured, slowly but surely, towards the bar. “Iruka!” the man tending bar crowed when he finally made it all the way up, “Welcome home, kid!”
Iruka didn’t even have time to place a drink order before two bottles were thrust into his hands. The bartender winked as he explained, “I’ve got a long list of pre-bought drinks with your name on ‘em.”
Iruka beamed. “Thanks.” He looked appraisingly at the one in his left hand and, at the jeered encouragement of the people around him, downed it all in a few long gulps. Another cheer rose from the crowd, and he gave them a big grin in reply.
Mizuki pushed his way forward. “Not letting you pace yourself, huh?”
Iruka shook his head. “Not our friends.”
“Not your friends,” he corrected with a wink, “I’ve still got to pay for my own.”
“Here,” Iruka said, thrusting the other bottle at Mizuki, “I don’t really like this kind anyway.”
The bartender immediately handed him another. Iruka accepted gratefully, feeling giggly and as light as air, and began to mingle with the crowd. He was surprised at how many people had shown up, truth told. He knew he wasn’t unpopular by any stretch, but there were quite a lot of ninja present he barely knew. They all seemed excited to see him, but he couldn’t help but wonder how many of them just appreciated a good party. It didn't really matter, of course. At least for tonight, they were all friends.
Suddenly, an arm hooked itself around his waist, and Iruka squirmed, his body rebelling, attempting to flee even though he knew his arms and legs were chained to the bed. Hot breath on his neck raised every hair on his body in a blind panic, and then a rough hand jerked his knee up, opening him to the man’s assault. The manacles tore into his raw skin, making him scream in anguish. His voice echoed, reverberating against the stone walls, but no one could hear him. No one could ever hear him, and even if they could, help would never come…
“Shots!!” Kurenai screeched into his ear.
Reality came barreling into Iruka, and his breath returned to him in a dizzying rush. Luckily, no one seemed to take notice that anything had been amiss, least of all Kurenai, who was still hanging off of him, her soft chest pressing into his side. “Shots!” she demanded again.
Iruka managed a choked laugh. “Yeah, sure!” he yelled and allowed her to drag him away.
Back up at the bar, the server was lining up a staggering number of shot glasses, each holding a sizable pour of clear liquor. People were eagerly queueing up, so Kurenai had to shove to get them to the front. Then, with an impressive amount of grace for someone so thoroughly trashed, she leaped onto the bar and announced in her most authoritative tone, “Listen up!!”
At once, a hush fell over the room.
“Thanks to everyone for coming out tonight! We’re here to welcome our best buddy Iruka back home! If you haven’t bought him a drink yet, what are you waiting for?!”
A drunken cheer went up. Iruka blushed and dodged as more people tried to thump him on the back.
Kurenai raised her shot glass high, and everyone rushed to do the same. “To Iruka!!”
The bar roared, and Iruka’s head swam. The noise was deafening when the explosion went off. Iruka dove for the floor and watched as the wall exploded inwards, a cloud of dust and debris reducing visibility almost completely. He managed to get his shot to his lips before everything began to blur and a shrill ringing began in his ears. Men poured in from the hallway to find the source of the commotion and fell, dead, when the enemy ninja let loose a barrage of kunai. A few girls shrieked as they were caught in the crossfire. Iruka remained low and out of sight, fighting back his panic and forcing his brain to remember the faces of the attackers.
When Iruka came to, he was sitting at a table in the corner, and he wasn’t alone.
“No one noticed,” Kakashi told him, nudging a bottle of beer into his hands, “Here.”
Iruka glanced at him, puzzled. “Hatake? Uh, thank you.”
Kakashi shook his head slightly. From behind his mask, Iruka couldn’t tell whether he was frowning or not. “Call me Kakashi.”
Iruka ignored that. “What just happened?”
Kakashi shrugged. “You were overwhelmed. I pulled you over here to take a break.”
“Oh,” Iruka said simply, then sighed. “I guess I am a little overwhelmed. I didn’t realize this many people would be here.”
“You’re a crowd favorite,” Kakashi replied. He looked over at Iruka, holding his gaze steadily as he added, “Everyone wants a piece of you tonight.”
Iruka bit down gently on the inside of his cheek, then took a slug from the beer bottle, resisting the urge to cough as it went down. It tasted acidic and strange, a brand he wasn’t familiar with, maybe something imported. When he felt comfortable speaking, he said, “Thanks for your help,” and stood.
Kakashi’s uncovered eye followed him, his body language inscrutable as ever.
Iruka hovered awkwardly for a moment, waiting for some undetermined response, and then slipped away, back into the crowd.
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Something was terribly wrong. Why had Tsunade discharged him?
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Iruka was well and thoroughly in the bag by the time the few remaining stragglers were kicked out of the bar. He leaned heavily against Mizuki, giggling even though nothing was funny as they slowly made their way back to Iruka’s apartment.
“Can you believe Hayate really did that thing?! With the beer and the shoe, right there in front of everyone?” Mizuki dissolved into laughter, adjusting his grip on Iruka to keep the man from sliding to the ground.
Iruka laughed and hiccupped. “That guy’s crazy,” he slurred, “Y’know what I can’t believe? Why was Kurenai yelling like that?”
“You didn’t see what Asuma did!”
“Man, what a disaster that was.”
“Are you kidding?! That was legendary, man!”
Iruka stumbled as he lost his footing, but Mizuki had a strong hold on him. He kicked his legs forward somewhat uselessly. “Damn, why don’t you just carry me if you’re that strong?”
He yelped as he was hoisted up into the air. Mizuki planted Iruka over his shoulder and continued carrying him as if he were a training dummy or a particularly loud sack of flour.
“Hey, hey, hey!” Iruka protested, but he couldn’t manage a reproachful tone with the way he was giggling, “It’s not fair, you’re bigger than me!”
“Bigger, stronger,… How would you survive without me?” Mizuki clucked his tongue. “Honestly, ‘Ru, you’re lucky you’re so cute.”
“I’m what?”
Mizuki didn’t answer. He started whistling instead. Iruka allowed himself to be carried, thinking warm, happy, drunk thoughts the whole way home.
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Iruka woke up from a dreamless sleep with cotton in his mouth and a throbbing head. He lay awake in bed, attempting vainly to banish his hangover through force of will alone, but when that proved fruitless, he forced his body out of bed and all but fell into the shower, peeling his clothes away as he groped blindly for the taps.
The frigid cold water was electrifying. Of course the water heater would be slower than usual; he hadn’t used it in over a year. Now thoroughly awake, Iruka reached for his bar of soap, but once he started lathering, the familiarity of his favorite sandalwood fragrance caused a lump to rise in his throat. He gasped several times in lieu of actually crying over something so innocuous and tried to get ahold of himself, but it was more difficult than anything else he’d endured yet. Here he finally was, back in his old apartment, using his usual soap. The towels were soft and familiar. Even the erratic pulse of the water pressure coming out of the long-dormant pipes caused his chest to constrict with its familiarity. He had come home alive, and it was unbelievable.
Iruka was crying in earnest now. The water had finished heating up and was close to scalding. He adjusted it with shaking hands. He was home; he was safe.
I’m sorry.
He remained in the shower long enough to calm down and get clean. Then, he changed into some loose pajamas and a robe and resolved to get a pot of coffee going. Once he made it out of his bedroom, however, he became aware that the apartment already smelled like coffee. Curiously, he ambled into the kitchen. There was a full pot of brewed coffee resting on the stove, the scent of coffee and cinnamon thick in the air. Iruka let out a sigh involuntarily. He’d missed coffee.
There was a mug set out on the counter, light blue ceramic with a pattern of clouds. A piece of paper had been folded into an origami star and rested inside of it. Iruka unfolded it curiously. Good morning, was all it said. Iruka frowned. Has Mizuki done this for him? He didn’t own grounds with cinnamon, so whoever had made the coffee had bought it special. Iruka placed the note aside and poured himself a cup. It had to have been Mizuki. He was the only other person with a key to Iruka’s apartment.
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Mizuki found himself idling outside of the mission room, ogling the pretty girl who ran the desk. He didn’t particularly want to go on a mission, but he hadn’t felt like doing anything else, either. He was too hungover to train but too restless to continue taking it easy.
Kakashi walked into the room with a scroll tucked under one arm and a dog under the other. Mizuki sneered behind his hand, pretending to yawn. He’d never had a good poker face, and he’d never been able to stand Hatake Kakashi either. The man was an insufferable know-it-all, and he had almost no respect for the people around him. Really, who brought a dog into the mission room? Even the Akamaru’s knew to have their animals wait outside.
“Good morning, Kakashi,” the desk ninja simpered, holding out both hands to accept his scroll.
“Yo,” was his simple and – in Mizuki’s opinion – insubstantial reply. When the cute desk girl blushed at you like that, it was almost rude not to flirt with her.
The girl unrolled the scroll and frowned. “Kakashi,” she said, this time a little reproachful, “This report is covered in slobber.”
Kakashi jostled the dog under his arm. “Shiba helped me write it.”
Mizuki rolled his eyes.
__
After turning in his mission scroll – which was only two weeks overdue this time – Kakashi made his way over to Hokage tower. Tsunade had summoned him two hours ago, which meant she wasn’t expecting him for at least another thirty minutes.
He was concerned about Iruka. They didn’t work together due to their rank, so ordinarily Kakashi would have kept out of the situation and left it in Tsunade’s capable hands, but Kakashi knew a thing or two about PTSD, and he suspected the mission dossiers Iruka had generated would remain classified for the foreseeable future. That meant Iruka was limited as to who he could go to for help, if he even realized he needed to talk to someone at all. Kakashi wasn’t offering, of course, but still, it had to be noted that somebody had to do something.
The coffee hadn’t meant all that much, or at least, that’s what Kakashi was telling himself. It was a simple thing to slip through the window. Iruka’s wards were no hindrance to him, although the child-like traps did give him a moment of small amusement. It didn’t mean he was taking a special interest in Umino Iruka, even if he had let the man’s penchant for cinnamon influence his decision on which grounds to purchase.
Anyway.
Kakashi couldn’t remember his first long-term assignment. He’d been on so many and from such a young age that they all blurred together in his memory. Still, there was no way to forget the feeling of loneliness, of isolation, especially when sent to a country where no one spoke your native language. It was a simple thing, and even if you understood the local tongue, it didn’t help the homesickness, sometimes so real as to be a physical ache in your chest. He also remembered the nights undercover, behind enemy lines and on constant alert, knowing at any moment if you dropped your guard, you would be as good as dead. But how could you cope with a danger that was always present? The short answer was, you didn’t. You managed as best as you could, shutting off your emotional responses one at a time until you were almost as unfeeling as a statue.
And then you came back, and you tried your best to turn everything back on. But with the return of emotion comes the pain, the nightmares. Sometimes, it was easier to remain stone.
Forty-five minutes later found Kakashi standing in front of Tsunade, who was sipping, thin-lipped and tensed from a sake cup in spite of the early hour. Coincidentally, she had what looked like Iruka’s dossiers spread out in front of her. The hand not holding the cup was clenched on top of her desk, her knuckles popping as she flexed them with methodical slowness.
“Hokage,” Kakashi greeted respectfully, bowing low as he did so.
“Hatake,” she replied lamely, inclining her head to him without looking up, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“It seems to me like you might already know.” Kakashi walked forward and tapped two fingers on the open page of the notebook.
Tsunade rolled her shoulders and neck, then looked up. “Something about Umino?”
“Why’s he not still under surveillance from the medical staff?”
Tsunade blinked slowly. “What makes you think he’s not?”
“I-,” Kakashi faltered.
“Shizune was at the bar with him last night. She told me all about it.” Tsunade flipped a page. “ All about it.”
Kakashi’s visible eyebrow rose. “Then you know he’s experiencing flashbacks?”
“What would you have me do, Kakashi?” She sighed. “He’s a shinobi. We all have flashbacks. Iruka’s fresh off a mission. No one’s surprised.”
Kakashi bit his tongue.
Tsunade raised her eyebrows. “I’ll ask you again. What would you have me do?”
“He needs to talk to someone.”
“I agree,” she said blandly.
Sometimes, talking to Tsunade made him feel like an idiot. “He hasn’t so far.”
“It’s been a day. Give him time.” Tsunade scratched the side of her neck with a long, painted fingernail, looking up at him appraisingly. “Have you ever talked to anyone?”
“I’ve talked to you.”
She arched a brow. “Debriefings do not count as therapy.”
Kakashi shrugged. “It helped, either way.”
Tsunade sighed. “So you say.” She steepled her fingers and stared pensively between her hands. “If you’re worried about him, try talking to him. I don’t see what you want me to do.”
“I want you to talk to him.”
“I’ll debrief him when he stops passing out in my office.”
Kakashi contained his concern with some effort. “He fainted?”
“Yup, right after I asked him to name and describe his captors. We already had a few of them on record, and his written journals are very-,” she paused, seeming to suppress a shudder, “Very thorough. Still, we need the verbal debrief before we can do anything with the information.”
Then, Tsunade laid her palms flat on the table, looking down at the dossiers. “I see an issue with who he confides in, of course. His friend Mizuki can’t be allowed to know even the most basic details of the mission, let alone the things Iruka will need to discuss.” She gave Kakashi a long, meaningful look.
“I understand, Hokage.” Kakashi stuck his hands in his pockets and bowed his head.
“Do you now?” she asked, sort of incredulously, but waved him away all the same.
Instead of leaving through the door, Kakashi disappeared in a puff of smoke and reappeared atop the Hokage tower. He knew she hated that, so if she was going to have the last word, he would have the last laugh.
__
Tsunade sighed and polished off her sake. She smoothed a hand over a wrinkled, water-stained page of Umino’s mission journal. Unspeakable things had befallen the Chunin on his year-long mission, and though she’d learned long ago to harden her heart against feelings of pity or guilt, she couldn’t help but blame herself – just a little bit – for the young man’s current plight.
He’d known, of course, what he was signing himself up for, but that hardly mattered now.