The Trick Is Not Minding

A/N reixgaara - calm down, I have no intention of stopping (at least not til I reach the end). that being said, this one will be done within the week. are you interested in another? if so, post a review and give me some ideas. Sorry for the cliffhanger, but the next chapter will be up very soon. Thanks for reading!

Chapter Twelve

Morning was a long time coming. Iruka slept fitfully after finally crying himself out. He tossed and turned, haunted by his dreams. Kakashi walking away, a beaten and broken copy-nin being dragged away by his hair, turning his back on the teacher as he was swallowed by a rising tide of blood. His unconscious spending the night continuing the torment he’d consciously inflicted on himself the previous evening. When he finally rose he couldn’t help but be struck by the contrast between the cold unwelcoming bed he was gratefully abandoning and the bliss he had felt waking in his beloved’s arms.

Looking in the mirror he tried to compose himself, the last thing he wanted to do was appear even needier. He splashed water on his face and dressed with care, every hair neatly captured in his ponytail, the plate on his hitai-ate perfectly centered on his forehead, efficient, orderly, completely normal . . .except for the dark circles under his eyes and the sadness he couldn’t completely banish from their depths. It’s as good as it’s going to get, he decided, so he dragged himself into the kitchen for breakfast.

Kakashi didn’t wake to the wonderful smell of breakfast cooking. In fact, he didn’t wake at all, merely rising from his fitful thoughts to become conscious of the stirring outside his door. Sitting and listening to the chuunin sob his heart out the night before had been a test. He wanted to comfort him, say it would be alright, give back some measure of the peace he’d been given. However, he also knew it would be a huge mistake. Ending this now was the right thing to do. Iruka was far too precious to be wasted on the likes of him. I’ll get out of here right after breakfast, the jounin thought, the sooner the better before I do something else I’ll regret. That decided he quickly dressed yet again in borrowed clothes, concluding that having clothes that actually fit was, indeed, at least one thing he had to look forward to.

Once again the copy-nin found himself observing the chuunin as he bustled about the small kitchen. Unlike the day before, today there was no dancing or singing. The teacher doggedly shuffled from the refrigerator to the stove, adding milk to the oatmeal, a small frown etched on his face. I did that, the jounin berated himself yet again, he’s miserable and it’s all my fault. “Iruka,” he spoke, startling the chuunin, making him splash milk across the surface of the stove, “I’ll be going now. Thank you for your hospitality, I will treasure it always.”

Iruka spun in place, mouth dropping open, desperately wracking his brain for any excuse, any delaying tactic, any anything that would keep the copy-nin from walking out the door. “Uh, don’t you want some breakfast first?” he tried, but received only a head shake in response. “So,” the chuunin continued shakily, “when will I see you again.” “I don’t think that would be wise.” was the jounin’s solemn reply. “Fuck wise,” Iruka exclaimed, “I don’t want to give you up.” “That,” the jounin bit out crisply, “is not up to you.” and with that he made the hand signs that would transport him to his home, leaving the teacher to stare tearily at the dissipating smoke left by his passage.

Appearing in his living room Kakashi dropped to his knees and wailed in agony. Why did everything have to hurt so much. After a few short minutes he rose, wrapping his tattered mask of dignity around himself like a shield, and headed into the bedroom to clean up the mess he was sure remained after his flight. That was only a couple of days ago, he mused, it’s amazing how much can change in such a short time. Then he sighed, but now things are back to ‘normal’ . . . oh goodie, his mind sarcastically interjected. He squared his shoulders and turned to the task at hand, stripping the scorched and blood-soaked sheets from the bed and stuffing them in a trash bag, quickly replacing them with fresh bedding to hide the cavalcade of stained reminders the mattress presented him with.

Once the worst of the damage was taken care of he slumped on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, and tried to figure out where everything had gone so wrong, and if there was anything he could do to save himself. Maybe, he thought, I’ve been looking at this the wrong way. Death took my parents, my team, my teacher . . .maybe death is my savior and I’ve been fighting my own salvation. When Aoshi finds me, and I’m sure he will, I’m not going to fight anymore, it’s time to finish this.

Feeling inexplicably lighter, despite the serious nature of the decision he’d just made, Kakashi rose and headed to the mission office, ready to report for duty . . . and wait for his release.

Iruka sat on the kitchen floor in the exact same position he’d been in when the copy-nin departed . . . two hours ago. Try as he might he just couldn’t seem to summon the will to rise and go about his day. He tried to cheer himself up with thoughts of the time he had spent with the jounin, telling himself he should be grateful for the time he’d had with the man he desired. But those cheerful thoughts were continuously derailed by the mournful voice in the back of his head that kept reminding him that he’d blown it, permanently, never again, no way, fool, stupid, gullible, naive, idiot.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the door open or soft footsteps ghosting up to settle behind him. “Hello,” a mirth-filled voice startled him from his introspection, “I’m afraid we haven’t been properly introduced, I’m Kuroshin Aoshi,” he extended a large hand toward the man on the floor, “you must be the bitch who likes to touch what’s mine.” With that he clasped his hand firmly around the startled teacher’s wrist, yanking him up and quickly pinning his other hand.

Iruka struggled and squirmed but he couldn’t break free from Aoshi’s iron grip. He willed himself not to panic, he might not be able to win, but he’d make sure to inflict as much damage as he could, thoughts of the copy-nin’s burnt and bleeding back giving rise to a growing tide of rage.

He willed himself to go slack, allowing the larger man to maneuver him as he wished, waiting for an opening and biding his time. “Quiet now, huh, guess I’m the one with some tricks to teach Moreno-san.” Aoshi smirked. “What does Ibiki have to do with anything?” the startled chuunin asked. “I saw you arguing with him the other day and I wondered how he could stand such a mouthy bitch, but you seem to know your place with me. Hmm, did having a bitch of your own make you mouth off . . . did he punish you for it sensei? Speaking of a bitch of your own, I hope you properly appreciated mine. You really should have asked before you borrowed him . . .” he shook his head in disapproval “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask for payment for the wear and tear on my property. Did he bleed for you? He looks so beautiful when he bleeds.” Iruka’s brain finally caught up with what the jounin was saying. “Kakashi’s not my bitch, he’s my friend. I would never want to hurt him.” he cried, as he shoved his bound hands hard into his captor’s chest, catching him off guard and managing to free one hand. He struck Aoshi hard across the face, shattering his nose, blood spraying across the pair.

“Enough” the larger man bellowed. He grabbed the teacher by his ponytail and dragged him to the bedroom, lifting him by his hair and one hand and slamming him onto the bed, crushing him under his larger frame. Iruka fought with all his strength, bucking and squirming under the jounin, trying to break free. Aoshi tired of this game, he was more than ready to move on, so he knocked the teacher out with a well-placed blow to the back of the head.

Whistling a merry tune, the victor sat down to unwrap and enjoy his spoils.