“What’s—“

 

Midori stopped, staring not because Iruka was laughing hysterically, sitting on the floor of his living room, but because there was blood. It was red and fresh, slowly dripping from his bruised nostrils as he held a shaky hand over it. She’d come up because there had been a fight and yelling, and she’d been worried. But now worry was the furthest thing from her mind.

 

Before she even realized she was doing it, she was walking down the stairs, steps sure and powerful; eyes bled red as her hands fisted at her sides.

 

Hatake was dead.

 

Reality started to slip away from her, and on a far corner of her mind, that tiny sliver that wasn’t completely drunk on bloodlust, she realized this was not wise and she was probably going to get herself killed. The observation was quite pointless, though, given the fact she didn’t care.

 

Ibiki had decided, after long and careful deliberation, that perhaps he should tell Iruka that Kakashi had been sniffing around the File office. It would probably warrant him another yelling session, but he decided that was better to having his nose broken when the Chuunin invariably found out he had known and hadn’t thought to tell him. Again. He twitched said nose in sympathy at the memory.

 

So there he was, not particularly minding his business as he took the stairs of Iruka’s building towards the sixth floor – in a very astute technique to see if his brain could come up with a less unpleasant solution before he reached his destination – when he saw her.

 

It was pretty hard not to see her, considering she was stomping down the stairs and her deadly intent was curling around everything. With confidence no one who knew something about the Kobayashi bloodlust would dare to feel, Ibiki’s left arm shot out to catch her as she tried to sidestep him. Hoisting her up with ease, Ibiki ignored the fierce snarl as the growls grew in volume and her thrashing became frantic.

 

This was quite a better interruption than his own mind, Ibiki thought dryly, and certainly well timed.

 

Calmly, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary, he made his way two floors up to Midori’s door and dug into his pocket with his free hand for a moment, before taking out his keys and juggling them for a moment. Among the three dozens, he picked hers with ease and moved inside, unfazed by the constant clawing at his back. He kicked the door closed with his heel and moved to the bathroom, where he got the water running and watched patiently as the tub filled with icy water.

 

Through the fog of her need to find, hurt, tear and generally kill one Hatake Kakashi, Midori felt she was missing something very important in the picture.

 

It came to her the moment Ibiki deemed the tub full enough and unceremoniously dumped her into it. With a screech of outrage, the bristling woman spluttered and flailed somewhat as she was very forcefully returned to her senses.

 

“Ah-ah,” Ibiki raised a hand, stopping the string of protests, “what happened?”

 

“He signed a death wish, that’s what happened,” Midori attempted, rather pitifully, to stand up, but only managed to slip and fall down into the water again. Ibiki winced at the way her head bounced off the side, making a mental note to send her to the hospital after the day was over. “That bastard! That utter, fucking bastard! I’m gonna fucking kill him!”

 

“I got that from your expression,” the scarred man said dryly, “I’m more interested in what bastard and what he did, though.”

 

Breathing harshly, Midori glared, baring her teeth in warning. Ibiki merely raised an eyebrow and reached for a towel. She got out of the tub, looking like a drown rat, and snatched the towel without a word. He watched her with that infuriating little smile that he gave his prisoners when he was thinking about a particularly painful and traumatic way of making them talk.

 

After a long moment of silence, she looked away, mumbling something between clenched teeth.

 

“What was that?”

 

“I don’t know,” Midori ground out darkly, “okay? I don’t know. But who else would have gotten close enough to Iruka to break his nose if not that asshole? He’s fucking dead.”

 

Ibiki filled in the picture with ease – stomping hard on the little vindictive voice that pointed out about divine retribution and broken noses – and formulated a quite simple, convenient plan in his mind.

 

“Well then, I suggest you go upstairs and make sure Iruka’s alright, instead of getting killed,” he smirked in quite a sadistic way, “I’ll deal with the bastard in question.”

 

He left without giving her a chance to reply, knowing she would go upstairs and not find the man. The frantic search would keep her mind occupied and probably give him enough time to find out more details and probably beat some sense into a certain Jounin’s head.

 

--

 

“Do you know what’s the problem with you two?”

 

Kakashi didn’t look up, stubbornly fixing his tired eye on the stone of the memorial. Ibiki stood three steps behind him, hands held behind his back as he studied the silver haired Jounin attentively. Regret was a marvelous thing, Ibiki knew, it broke and shattered people with the smallest brushes, but it was how one rearranged the loose pieces that mattered in the end.

 

“You’re both too used to having one-sided conversations to really listen to each other.”

 

“Did I ask for your advice?” Kakashi bit out harshly, moving his head slightly to the side to glare properly at the taller man.

 

“No,” the ANBU leader replied pleasantly, “but I doubt Iruka asked you to break his nose, either.”

 

“That’s none of your business.”

 

Kakashi suddenly found himself lying flat on the grass, with Ibiki’s considerable weight pressing him down and the sharp tip of a kunai digging unkindly into his tender neck.

 

“Quite the contrary,” came the smooth drawl, “it is very much my business.”

 

“Why?” The Copy Nin rasped out sarcastically. “Worried one of your ANBUs might be getting much too comfortable with someone? Or are you just too bored that you want to play mind games with me?”

 

“Your egomania will be your downfall, Kakashi,” he found himself roughly set back onto his feet, but the kunai hadn’t been removed, “one day you’ll have to learn that the world doesn’t revolve around you. And maybe then you’ll stop spitting Providence in the face.”

 

“I could spit at you if you prefer.”

 

“Move, Hatake, I think there’s something you should see.”

 

--

 

Aburame Shibi sat atop the roof of the main building, overlooking his domain thoughtfully. From his advantaged point of view, he could see every house and every garden, pinpointing every member of the clan as they went about their business. He could also see the shrine that housed the mausoleum, behind the rose garden he and his mother had planted after his father died and he took seat as Head of the clan. And since he could see the shrine and catch the faint glint of the black plaque, he could also see the young man sitting before it, staring absently at the unmoving stone.

 

In six years, Iruka had never come to visit, and now that he did, Shibi was curious.

 

He’d never really liked Iruka, truth to be told. There was always something lurking behind the smile that only someone with the patience of an Aburame could hope to glimpse at. But Shibi was in his debt, in more ways than one, and he was not going to break his word. Over the years, that patent dislike had mellowed into curiosity, because despite his best efforts, he couldn’t really hold himself above the man’s innate charm. That, and the fact he’d doted on Shino while he had been his student, teaching him like only someone who knew their clan and their traditions from up close could.

 

So yes, Shibi would never really understand him and he was never going to be ‘friends’ with him, but he did respect Umino Iruka a great deal and he would take any offence against the man as one against him.

 

Thus he watched, silent and brooding, as Ibiki led Kakashi to a tall, old tree that shadowed upon the shrine of the mausoleum, and waited patiently.

 

For what, he couldn’t tell, but it was what Michiru would have wanted.

 

--

 

Kakashi forgot to feel indignated and irritated at Ibiki’s rough manhandling when he caught sight of Iruka staring at the ornate memorial with a little, melancholic smile. He didn’t notice when the bear of a man beside him disappeared, nodding to himself. Instead, he studied the Chuunin attentively, not failing to notice the eerie similitudes in his posture to his own when he sat before the hill memorial, talking quietly to those that could hear but couldn’t answer him. It just wasn’t right.

 

He knew he shouldn’t have snapped that harshly at him earlier, and he knew he definitely shouldn’t have hit him, but Iruka had, unknowingly, stepped on nerves that were still too raw to be handled so clumsily. Maybe if Kakashi had told him about his mother and the Tea House, Iruka wouldn’t have suggested that they spent the evening there. And maybe if Iruka knew he was the first person Kakashi had ever felt this – whatever this was – for, he wouldn’t have taken the rejection as a general negative to be seen with him.

 

And maybe if Kakashi got his act together, this wouldn’t fall apart right before his eyes.

 

“Do you ever miss your Genin teammates, Kakashi?” Iruka asked him softly, feeling the slight rustle of cloth as the Jounin landed silently behind him. His smile widened fractionally. “I do. Some days I still wake up and expect them to be waiting for me at the gates. I see things in the street and think of buying them as gifts, only to remember a moment later they’re not around anymore.”

 

“My teammates have been dead for quite a while,” the Copy Nin murmured, looking down at the man that refused to cry even if his voice carried sobs within the words, “but my sensei used to say that so as long as we remember our loved ones, they aren’t truly gone.”

 

“Yes,” Iruka sighed, “I guess that’s true. Your sensei must have been a very wise man.”

 

“He was.”

 

Kakashi tried to figure out a way to apologize, but he couldn’t really imagine one that wouldn’t make him sound insincere. He was sorry, he really was, but he was Hatake Kakashi, and regret had never been something people could easily associate with him.

 

“I shouldn’t have hit you.”

 

“No, you probably shouldn’t have,” Iruka smiled, twitching his nose as he did, “but I probably shouldn’t have said what I did, either. It was… callous of me, I’m sorry.”

 

But Iruka could apologize and sound like he meant it. Irrationally, Kakashi hated him a little because of it.

 

“My mother founded the Tea House,” he said instead, fighting the urge to fidget, “when she died, I vowed I wouldn’t set foot on it again.”

 

The wind rustled the roses, spreading the sweetness of their scent all around them as the sun agonized in the distance. Silence stared at them impassively, standing between them like a blessing and a curse. Iruka never asked, but now Kakashi was starting to understand he had to answer regardless.

 

“Let’s go home,” he said, feeling sick of the flowers and the monument and the silence and himself.

 

“Where’s home Kakashi?” Iruka asked, standing up in a fluid motion.

 

He looked small and defeated, and the Jounin hated himself when he realized it was his fault.

 

“I don’t know,” Kakashi murmured sincerely, looking down at his feet, “I don’t know.”

 

--

 

On Friday, Akito seemed to know something was not entirely right with Iruka, because he swallowed most of his remarks. He took the brunt of the class and entertained the brats the only way he could, drawling out his lecture and using complicated words he refused to explain, while Iruka sat on his desk, grading some papers and fixing his lesson plan. Every now and then, the Chuunin would look up and give the room a distant look before returning to his work. Even the students noticed, because they were just as subdued as their teacher.

 

Or maybe it was the fact Konohamaru had end up hanging from the ceiling, caught in a very inventive trap created from a rosary and a kunai.

 

Akito really didn’t appreciate the brats attempting to escape his lecture.

 

Regardless, he watched his ‘mentor’ carefully, wondering what exactly could have put the Chuunin into such a pathetic mood. He figured it was none of his business, though, and didn’t ask when he didn’t tell. However, as morning moved into noon, he became less introverted and skillfully projected an image of his usual self to those around him, smiling and laughing like usual.

 

Akito’s eyes could see beyond illusions, though; he wasn’t fooled.

 

“You should really let him come down now,” Iruka said with wry amusement, watching his most troublesome student struggle against the beads that held him tightly in place, “it is recess time after all.”

 

“Bah,” Akito said with a snort, “he’s supposed to be a ninja, right? He should be able to get out of such a simple trap.”

 

“I really don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to use a rosary though,” the Chuunin grins, unwrapping the bento box absently, “that ought to be a blasphemy somehow.”

 

“It’s my Buddhist way,” Akito replied snottily, tilting his chin upwards with a faint sniff.

 

“Um, yeah, I don’t think Buddhism works that way either.”

 

“It does, for me.”

 

Staring a bit oddly at his companion, Iruka shrugged. He really didn’t want to know.

 

--

 

“Aw, shit, Iruka.”

 

Blinking at the groaning Chuunin before him, Iruka tilted his head to the side. Midori scowled down at her plate, poking the apple pie she’d brought to cheer him up moodily. She was Calm and Rational and most certainly Not-Murderously-Insane now, listening to the details of the rather disastrous fight. Fucking Iruka had to go and take away her perfect excuse to make herself a Kakashi-hide rug. Bastard.

 

“What?”

 

“I’m gonna be sick for saying this, but shit, you owe the man an apology,” Midori looked quite green around the edges; the mere idea of taking Kakashi’s ‘side’ on anything was outrageous for her. “Couldn’t just stick your foot into your mouth, could you? You had to go and swallow it up until you licked your knee.”

 

“He, may I remind you, hit me,” wiggling his nose to prove his point, the Chuunin scowled, “and I did apologize. He didn’t.”

 

“It’s not like he will,” she pointed out, a silent ‘duh’ hiding behind her words, “that’s why you have to apologize and clear this mess on your own.”

 

Iruka had a funny stage-process to deal with stressing situations. First and foremost, he laughed. He laughed until he couldn’t breathe anymore and only stopped because he really didn’t like passing out randomly. But once he’d laughed until he wheezed, he withdrew. He thought about things, rationalized situations and put a nice and lovely tag into each feeling to sort them out properly. And once he was done explaining to himself what and how he felt, then came the most famous part of his grieving process: he got indignated and angry. Eventually anger would give in into resignation and things would go back to Normal and Status Quo, his favorite state of affairs.

 

But right now, Iruka was pretty damned pissed at the whole situation.

 

It had been a fairly innocent suggestion, born out of affection. He’d only wanted to spend a few hours in Kakashi’s company somewhere it wouldn’t be loud or noisy and talk for a while. He liked talking to Kakashi a great deal, because underneath the backhanded humor, the Jounin knew many interesting, generally amusing things. He’d only wanted to get to know him better, perhaps give a sense of solidness to their strange, often awkward relationship. And yes, Iruka had overreacted at that remark, but he was the first one to admit he didn’t handle rejection very well. In the end, though, it was Kakashi’s fault for being his stupidly elusive, secretive self. He could have just said he didn’t like the Tea House, or that he had bad memories, and Iruka would have backed down at once. He didn’t even have to explain every detail, but just being rational would have done the trick.

 

Of course, Kakashi had to be stubborn as a mule, closing up like a clam and implying unintentional things with all the grace of a hippopotamus dancing inside a chinaware store.

 

“What? You're on his side?” Iruka asked with a frown, looking a little bit betrayed.

 

“Now pal, I’m on no one’s side but the right side,” Midori shrugged, “and really, in the end, Kakashi implied, you stated. That tilts fault on your side of the table.”

 

“So what, you’re saying I should suck up anything he throws at me, just because he’s too hung up on his secrets to give me a clue where I’m standing?” Iruka snorted, poking his pie moodily.

 

“Like you’re one to talk,” Midori rasped out snidely, giving him a glare that wasn’t particularly friendly, “and shit, Iruka, some of us go along with less than that.”

 

That shut him up with a wince, but not for the reasons Midori meant. Iruka didn’t know she was, in fact, a wee bit more entangled with her boss than implied. No one could really know, because Ibiki depended on his bastard persona to function properly at his job, and a quirky, often obnoxious Chuunin as a girlfriend wouldn’t do him any favors. She was expendable, a pleasant risk he indulged in because he liked her, but she’d acknowledged long ago that he only loved Konoha. And it was okay, really, because if he changed that then he wouldn’t be Ibiki and Midori wouldn’t be fanatically in love with him.

 

But understanding didn’t take away the sting of having to hold back from her best friend when something particularly hopeful happened to her, like that time they’d given each other a set of keys to their apartments. Understanding didn’t make up for the occasional lonely night she spent pondering her awkward life and Ibiki’s rather central place in it. Understanding didn’t mean she didn’t want to be affectionate in public, or kiss the man when he was being particularly bitchy, or hold his hand while they drank themselves silly every Saturday night. Understanding didn’t dull the rage at the hushed whispers behind his back, attempting to belittle him or find a way around his intimidating presence, and it didn’t make it any easier to reign in the impulse to hit someone and scream at them to shut the fuck up, because the only reason they were still alive was because that hunk of lovable idiot worked his fingers to the bone every fucking day of his life.

 

Jounin, Midori thought dryly, and the stupid Chuunin who love them.

 

“I—“

 

“Keep going Iruka,” she said with a roll of her eyes, “at this pace, you’re gonna swallow your thigh before the tea is over.”

 

Still mildly miffed, Iruka sulked in silence, conceding defeat.

 

--

 

Kakashi took a really deep breath and knocked on the sturdy wood quietly. When Iruka opened the door, looking at him through hooded eyes, he almost called the Plan off and ran back to his apartment with his proverbial tail between his legs. Instead, he stood as tall as he was, swallowed hard and nodded slightly in greeting.

 

“Iruka-sensei.”

 

The Chuunin smiled sarcastically at the honorific, remembering he’d told Kakashi to drop it around the third day the man had spent half comatose in his living room. Instead of voicing his rather snide thoughts, though, Iruka nodded back, just as politely.

 

“Kakashi-sensei.”

 

“I… eh,” Kakashi resisted the urge to scratch the back of his neck, “I’ve been thinking and… um…” Iruka raised an eyebrow, bracing himself. “I mean, would you like to go to the Tea House with me?”

 

The teacher tilted his head to the side, brown eyes curious. Kakashi looked endearingly uncomfortable standing there, shifting his weight from one foot to another. Iruka thought he could even forgive him for being an insensitive, secretive idiot.

 

“Only if you really want to go, Kakashi-sensei.”

 

The Jounin smiled awkwardly.

 

“Well,” he said, giving up and going with the impulse to scratch that nervous itch at the nape of his neck, “I figure that it’s not the place but the company that matters, right?”

 

Iruka smiled, a tiny twitch of lips that Kakashi treasured more than any other expression he’d ever seen adorning the Chuunin’s features. It made his own smile into a relaxed, pleased gesture.

 

Maybe there was hope for them yet.

 

“In that case, I’d be delighted to.”