Could It Be I'm Haunted
Summary: Kakashi. Tsunadé. Jiraiya. Sakumo.
Spoilers: We'll make it there eventually. :) (Concerning Ji.)
Author's Note: I'm so terrible at breaking up my work without a set purpose, if you haven't noticed. This is no exception, but I hope this has remote justice to it. (Great thanks to the song 'Best I Ever Had (Grey-Sky Morning),' by Vertical Horizon.) And probably...the best and greatest thanks goes out to the song, "We Know Where He Is," by the Del McCoury Band.
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. (However hard I may wish.)
Genre: Mind-funk. I need to learn to just put this every time…:)
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1: Denial
(An Old Joke)
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"Jiraiya-sama,"
You.
Yeah, well, a lot of people did that.
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"Jiraiya,"
"Oh—hey Tsunadé! Oi, you been out lately?" Hint hint alcohol.
Yeah, well, she eventually grew to like that.
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"Sakumo…you bastard…" Conversation.
Dead.
Yeah, well, dead people sometimes get that a lot.
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"Jiraiya!"
"Sakumo! Hey! You seen my pants?"
Yeah, well…we still don't wanna know about that one.
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But that was damnedest thing these days. If he tried talking to another Hataké, he got all quiet like that. No he can't easily acknowledge anyone else because they tell Jiraiya he's dead! So what if he saw the body?! That doesn't make it any more believable; trust him. Ahaahaahaa—haa! Tsunadé, is that not funny?
"Jiraiya,"
"Oh—hey Tsunadé! Iwagakuré is playing today! Hahaha! I hope they don't rock the court! Ahaahahaa!"
Yeah, well, she eventually put up with that.
But he was always like that. Such constance nobody could kill. Such laughter. Such victories over the defeats. Some people have that…that kind of muffled laugh, a fake laugh that came from the back of the throat. But Jiraiya…he could laugh from his own zori on up. And since that particular time, it became increasingly difficult.
"Jiraiya,"
"No—Tsunadé. Don't bother. I don't…hell I don't need any idioms—'cuz quite frankly I'm already an idiot—and I…appreciate the gesture, but I don't need anything."
Yeah, well, a lot of people say that.
But what makes it harder is that they never mean it. At least not anybody she knew (though with the possible exception of Orochimaru). And of course that makes her job much more difficult. Cooperation was key. But…being a member of the medical corps, Tsunade's had just a little bit of experience with such indifference in the gravity of loss.
"Jiraiya,"
"What?"
He looked like he lost his bicycle.
She half-smiled. "It's not going to be ok."
I know, so stop telling me.
"You'll…probably never get over this."
Which really sucks.
"And…" carefully, she eased (sneeked) the cup of sake away from him, over to her side and out of reach. "You will have to deal with this."
"Hm…?" He finally looked to his left, first noticing his drink was gone. "Hey—" Then he saw her pick out a paper from a small folder on her left. He was confused. "What…what is that," And then he corrected himself. "Why you?"
"Because," she let him take the sheet of paper. "Everything's better coming from a woman," she winked. She turned away from him and decided to drink her own sake and count chopsticks until he produced a tangible response.
At first he objected. "No—no, I will not have this. It's crazy. No—" But then he couldn't help but take a second look at all the polite-looking ink. "No," But then a third, as it cordially invited him in. "No…" And then a fourth. Against his will he ruefully continued to read the lonely five-hundred and thirty-seven words.
Twenty-six chopsticks. Dear God how did they cram that many in that little tube? Tsunadé then idly wondered how many chopsticks could be made from one of those big trees just outside the edge of the village…
"Fourteen," Jiraiya burst into a grin as he finally found something to scorn. "F-Fourteen…!" Happy. Delirious. Disbelief. He started laughing, in such a way, Tsunadé wouldn't have minded joining in on. But sadly, it wasn't her joke. He laughed because it was funny. It was a huge laughter, but it was shaking in it's own sense. He could never keep still anyway. It was almost like he'd choke on it any second, but he kept laughing. (Because it was just that funny.) "When I was—When I was fourteen, I was freakin' screwing with ev—" And then he remembered who he was talking to. "I was…young—ger," he corrected.
They were silent for a moment.
Suddenly, he pushed the paper back over to her, as if a little kid didn't want to sign up for swimming classes. "That's nice," he said. An old joke meaning it was pure bs.
She pushed it back. "It is yours," she said. "In fact," she set forth on the counter the small folder, gently edging it towards him. "All of this is yours."
I know, so stop telling me. And where the hell is my alcohol?
"Jiraiya,"
"I want my saké back."
Yeah, well, people in hell want ice water.
But Jiraiya's case is only days old. Safe to say he's pretty much still in denial in his own way. And as far as he's concerned, he'd be forever content to stay that way. It's not like he can't find his friend because nobody died. Perhaps damn skeptical if you ask Tsunadé, but she won't pursue anything serious. Yes he saw the bloodstains. He believed they came from Sakumo…but Jiraiya also knows Death with a capital 'd' is overrated. So the next time anyone goes onto glory, don't say they died. The paperwork's just a pain in the ass. Safe to say…he just wouldn't believe it anyway. Jiraiya's friend. His brother. His comrade—which was an old joke meaning they despised socialism.
"Jiraiya,"
"Dammit I want my drink—" But he sighed, letting out some frustration. Getting angry with Tsunadé was the last thing he or anyone in the galactic population ever wanted to do. He didn't feel like bargaining or any kind of negotiation…how could you argue with the 'dead'? And Jiraiya doesn't buy into that whole depression crap; he doesn't get down that much. So all that leaves is acceptance—and he'd be damned if ever willingly did that. After all…what is there to accept? "Why me?" he accidentally wondered aloud.
Tsunadé's gaze drifted away from him to consider this. She could only think of the simplest answer, so she gave it. "Because you're you."
He continued to stare perhaps a little vacantly in the grains of wood and the random patterns they made. Well what a nice thing to leave him with. The past. "Well then I don't want to be me anymore."
"Jiraiya, if that were true…" she passed his cup back over to him. "You would be finished with this already."
He never gave her up that easy. "How do you know that isn't my first?"
"Because you're a bad liar."
Which was fair enough.
He took a shot of the all and powerful. "He always said the same thing," Jiraiya looked at the sheet again. "Bastard."
"Well then," Tsunadé rose from her seat, at first a little wobbly. She steadied. "I'll leave you alone."
He looked back to her. "Thank you, Tsunadé. I…I hope they paid you well."
She grinned. "You may be happy to know it was nothing less that what you'd expect from the Shiroi Kiba," They exchanged somewhat of a knowing air, and then she brushed aside the cloth with a feminine touch and walked out of sight.
He was left with a difficult task.
(Of finishing his saké.)
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All the divine knowledge Jiraiya ever had came with him pre-packed and pre-sealed in him since the day he was conceived. He was pretty much immaculate until he found out he was born in bed with a woman. So then he kept on sinning like everyone else, but he was driven by a compassion to do otherwise. Go against the grain—try and do things right. (An old joke God laughed at.) He became a ninja—a legendary one at that—way back when, when all you needed to pass was a sufficient tolerance at the sight of blood. And then he met you. And together they grew up and became the askers and the answers for all the rest to follow. So—what if one day there is no question?
…there is no answer.
And so what if one day there is no answer?
…there was no question.
Well. It's a darn fine thing he's still in denial.
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