A/N: This was written for the KakaIru Winter Fest over on LJ as a gift for Lysambre. It's in four chapters and I hope you'll enjoy it too!
Rumours
Of course, there were rumours. There had always been rumours. Gossipping about secrets was a national pastime in Konoha and ANBU secrets were the most closely guarded and the most coveted of all. Nobody was supposed to know who hid behind the porcelain masks, but enough shinobi had seen ANBU soldiers come and go at all hours to not be curious about the identities and special skills of those who wore them. And the tasks that were asked of them for the good of Konoha.
Iruka had always had a better than average grasp on ANBU matters, and that grasp only improved when he started to work the mission desk. He noticed when shinobi were unexpectedly unavailable, when they were suddenly listed as injured without having officially been out of the village, or when they appeared in the line before his desk sporting bandages and trembling hands and haunted eyes.
More than once, Iruka had closed his eyes at the sight, had clenched his hands into fists where nobody could see, and cursed fate, the Sandaime Hokage… and his own weakness. Because while Iruka had a good handle on the identity of a number ANBU operatives, he was still looking for ways to help them when the demands made upon them brought them close to breaking. He couldn't just offer a shoulder to cry on or a sympathetic ear, even if someone simply being there when they returned seemed to be what most of the men and women needed.
He couldn't offer his other skills either.
Iruka often wished for the Third's advice. The Sandaime Hokage wouldn't have found it odd that Iruka asked about the welfare of Konoha's ANBU. And while he would not have changed his decree, or even answered Iruka's questions, he would have listened to Iruka's concerns.
It was a shame that Iruka didn't have quite that kind of relationship with the lady Tsunade, which meant he had to keep his concerns to himself.
Until he literally fell over one Hatake Kakashi one night, when he was on his way home after working the mission desk. He'd taken a shortcut through a small alley, the faster to escape the rain, when his foot caught in a bundle of cloth and Iruka almost went flying.
Iruka wouldn't admit it under torture, but ever since their infamous argument over the chuunin exams he'd had a soft spot for the copy nin. Kakashi was a pain in the ass; aloof, annoying, arrogant and any manner of other things that should have rendered him a pariah in Iruka's mind and life, but the sad truth was that Hatake Kakashi held an attraction that Iruka just couldn't shake.
Not a physical attraction, necessarily, though Kakashi was easy on the eye, from the endless legs to the catlike grace of his movements. But what attracted Iruka was more than grace, a curvy-eyed smile or an elegant back worth drooling over. Trite as it was, it had been Kakashi's mind that had first captured Iruka's attention. Nobody in Konoha had ever seen Iruka's little games for what they really were. Nobody had ever taken him up on his hidden challenges, or had returned them wholeheartedly. Nobody, except for one Hatake Kakashi. Whose unmoving form he'd just tripped over. In an alleyway.
His first thought—after recovering from the shock of recognition—was that Kakashi had to be drunk. But the familiar smell of sake was absent and Iruka remembered soon enough that Kakashi drank only rarely, and never to excess. It had been a bone of contention between them, that constant need of Kakashi's to be in control, his inability to relax and just let go, and over the span of weeks they'd argued it to death.
Now, Iruka wished that this was simply a case of Kakashi taking his advice and cutting loose. If it were, he could make fun about the copy nin being a lightweight, instead of being so desperately worried when Kakashi didn't react to being touched and having his name called.
He turned the still figure over, curling his body protectively to shelter Kakashi's face from the rain. Kakashi didn't stir, even when Iruka slipped a hand inside his vest to check for a heartbeat, blood, open wounds… only to find ice-pale, clammy skin, a fast pulse and rapid, shallow breaths. He contemplated taking the copy nin to the hospital in case he'd been poisoned when he saw the telltale tracks of dried tears on Kakashi's right cheek.
And in that one moment, everything changed.
His mind supplied the details of the mission Kakashi had been sent on two weeks earlier and without conscious thought, Iruka wrapped his arms around the still figure and cradled Kakashi against his chest while his fingers formed the seals to take them home.
xxX oOo Xxx
"You're a lot heavier than I thought you'd be," Iruka grumbled half an hour later as he dragged Kakashi's now clean, but still-unconscious form onto the bed. Unresponsive, Kakashi was a dead weight, and getting his filthy clothes off him in order to check more thoroughly for injuries and make him comfortable had been a struggle. At least until Iruka thought of using a clone to help.
While Kakashi's state worried him, Iruka was actually grateful that the copy nin had been out cold for the proceedings, or there would be another person in Konoha who could attest to Iruka's impressive vocabulary of swear words and curses. It wasn't as if Kakashi needed more blackmail material.
When Kakashi's clothes and most of the mud and filth were gone, Iruka once more contemplated taking the copy nin to the hospital. For one, he felt like a voyeur paying such close attention to Kakashi's body while the man couldn't say whether he wanted to be stared at or not. For another, Kakashi looked as if Iruka's junior class had used him as a target during shuriken practice. For years. New scars overlapped old scars, fresh bruises covered large areas of unexpectedly soft skin and with Kakashi unconscious Iruka had no way to determine whether any of the hastily field-dressed cuts had been made with a poison-tipped blade or not.
He decided against it in the end, knowing how much Kakashi disliked hospitals. And—maybe—because he could admit to himself that he relished a chance to take care of the copy nin, like a tiny bit of payback for everything Kakashi had done for him without even being aware of it.
Kakashi stirred while Iruka cleaned the worst of the wounds, thrashing weakly and trying to get away from Iruka's ministrations.
"I'm sorry. You're safe. I'm sorry. I'm almost done," Iruka repeated like a mantra over and over, tensed to evade in an instant should Kakashi attack him.
But the copy nin just slid from unconsciousness into dreams. Dreams that quickly turned to nightmares. Iruka's heart hurt, just watching. He had a fairly good idea what Kakashi was dreaming about and it was his considered opinion that nobody—civilian, shinobi or ANBU—should ever be forced to carry such burdens.
For long moments, his hands hovered over Kakashi's forehead, fingers poised to form seals.
But that way lay madness, lay pain and danger. And all Iruka could hear in his mind was Sarutobi Hiruzen's stern voice.
He withdrew his hands and folded them tightly in his lap. He closed his eyes and breathed until the rage inside him calmed, until the fierce need to help… act… do…was under his control once more.
Like acid in a vat of paint, Iruka's imagination swirled around the parameters of Kakashi's mission and produced images for Kakashi's dreams. Vivid, colourful images that burned his mind, that made him wonder if… He shied away from the thought once more and tried to wake Kakashi from his dreams instead.
He failed.
The nightmare had too firm a hold. Kakashi trembled under its onslaught. His eyelids fluttered and he muttered words, too low and slurred to make out, under his breath. His skin was chilled and clammy to the touch, and Iruka piled blankets all around him. Even after Kakashi's shivers subsided, he sat on the bed, ran his fingers through silver hair that was much, much softer than it looked, and murmured words to soothe and calm.
He woke at dawn, still fully dressed on top of the blankets, with Hatake Kakashi curled tightly around him, warm and alive and clinging like a vine.
It felt surprisingly nice.
So nice, that Iruka allowed himself a few moments to return the embrace, to bury his head in Kakashi's shoulder and just…be.
He eventually made it out of bed and left breakfast and a note for Kakashi in the kitchen. He wasn't surprised when the apartment was empty when he returned home that night. He wasn't surprised, either, when Kakashi never once asked what had happened or alluded to the fact that he'd woken in Iruka's bed.
Kakashi just didn't think that way.
xxX oOo Xxx
Late winter slowly morphed into spring. Iruka packed away scarves, hats and gloves and traded his heavy, fleece-lined shirts for lighter ones. He relished the soft air and remnants of daylight that greeted him when his shift at the mission office ended, and he rearranged his schedules so he could use the lighter evenings for training and take care of grading and lesson planning before classes started in the morning. His days were long this way, but Iruka didn't mind. Even if—most nights—he had barely enough energy left when he came home to brew and enjoy a single cup of tea before he fell into bed, and housework was left for the weekend.
The loud knock on his door in the middle of the night had him shoot upright in bed, eyes barely open and mind heavy with sleep. In Iruka's experience, nightly disturbances were never good news. Trepidation coiled, deep in his gut, and he stumbled through the living room, moonlight as his only guide, to slowly pull the door open.
Then he stared.
At one blood-and-mud-spattered copy nin, leaning against the wall outside his door in an exhausted sprawl, a large bag of takeout at his feet.
"I thought I'd better add dinner to the invasion."
It was said softly and without a hint of challenge in the deep voice. Kakashi wasn't smiling either, and when Iruka searched his face for a clue, he turned his head away. Confused and still half asleep, Iruka blinked.
"You… what?"
In the space of a single heartbeat, Kakashi's expression turned sheepish. He slowly started to back away from the open door. "You told me you'd always be there if I needed a place to come home to," he mumbled. "I just thought…"
Suddenly it all made sense.
Iruka flushed bright red at the idea that Kakashi had not only heard all the crazy stuff he'd said that night six weeks ago, but that he felt comfortable enough with Iruka to believe that the chuunin had meant every word. It warmed him like few things ever had and there was just no way he would let the copy nin walk away now. He stretched out his hand and grabbed hold of Kakashi's sleeve, yanking him back into the apartment.
"Get your ass inside, Hatake," he mock-growled. "And don't forget that food. I'm starving."
