Never Gonna Let You Go
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Author's Note: Kakashi Yuugao dribble that is basically a one-shot. It has nothing to do with my previous stories about them (Water Violet, Dear Chicory, and eventually Oak). I began this very spontaneously, inspired by the song of the same name. By Stacey Earle and Mark Stuart. Worked on it well into the night. (Check out the song…squee…)
(P.S., one quick reference joke from Cou in here. SQUEE.)
Disclaimer: Do not own Naruto nor do I own the song. I simply was inspired by both.
Genre: General with some Humor. (Some mindfunk too).
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Now I'm laughing with you.
Now I'm talking with you.
Now I'm holding you, and I'm never gonna let you go.
Now I'm touching you.
Now I'm looking at you;
Now I'm loving you, and I'm never gonna let you go.
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She wasn't even sure why he needed a team. But hey, there you go. Yuugao had signed in, signed up four weeks ago, and here she was with the copy nin and one other. Assassin ninja. On a mission. A cold one too. She relied upon his judgment, his lightning quick decisions, watched him lay traps, and watched him watch. It was an intense process with a simple ending. Success.
And as another four weeks passed with this man, the copy nin, she found him easing responsibility to her. She was more than ready. Proud of being capable, she executed all her assignments with his process in mind. Their team grew to be a strong one as she continued learning, continued watching. Success. Success. Success.
Until one day, Kakashi was injured quite badly. Their other teammate was two days away in the dark of information hunting, and their supplies were running low. She had taped him up best she could and all she could really do was wait for some strength to recover in his body and soul. Until that time, she laid traps, set decoys, and did everything he would have done to deflect both attention and intruders. She came back one night, and stoked the fire again. She swished her canteen and looked over quickly at his bruises once again before she drank. He opened his normal eye and glanced at her. She seemed to catch a smile in his voice as he suddenly spoke, "'Nother ten minutes…we can resume the mission."
She laughed. He chuckled lightly, and then he burst forth a string of apologies for his current state and she shook her head, flushing pink and red, "Oh no, no…" she assuaged with a smile. She looked back into the gentle snap of the fire and disciplined herself for blinking such eyes at him when her eyes belonged to someone else. But. Success. She was laughing with the copy nin.
It was a bright and warm feeling.
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She wasn't sure why she was here again. It was the second time in an hour, standing in front of the memorial stone like a violet haired ghost. The hazel-gold around her eyes was paired with pink in the white. The flowers she'd left for Hayate were still there, matted by the rain and lilting. Some bit of rage remained in her—frustration and angst over his death. His death in the shadows. Where no one knew his last words or the furtive secret that prompted this silly war.
She'd just come from Sarutobi-sama's funeral. The hokage had died for it too. Except his battle an entire ANBU squad had been witness to. And he went down like a hero. Fighting. Like…Hayate. Yuugao wiped her tears away again and struggled with the word. It seemed so final. At last she offered up one more emotional prayer because praying meant a great deal to her and when she turned she blinked in surprise. Her senpai was standing there.
He was a sensei now, of three bumbling genin. And his presence, too, was the second time in an hour. She had already met him there that morning. And suddenly, seeing him here, Yuugao didn't feel so alone. She turned her head away swiftly, quickly drying her eyes again. She'd teased him a bit for being here so much, but here she was: guilty of that and more. "Senpai…" was all her throat could utter.
Kakashi stood beside her. A small smile seemed to be present in his voice when he spoke, "Come on…You don't want to end up like me, do you?"
She laughed—she cried, but she laughed. And he slowly began to talk intoxicant like she'd never known, "One time I stayed out here so long the groundskeeper thought I was a decoy for the real Hatake Kakashi. He did not believe I was actually myself, and summoned an ANBU unit to capture and interrogate me. Oh you laugh, but it's true. A Konoha prison is not a pretty thing. Sarutobi-sama bailed me out though," he finished quietly. His visible eye smiled. "Never was I happier to see him. He was pretty bemused by the whole thing though…"
She was smiling. Yuugao listened intently to the copy nin's voice as he talked. It was a beautiful thing. All of a sudden, she was prompted to return the favor with happy memories of Hayate. She talked with her senpai a great deal that afternoon.
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She wasn't certain when he'd wake up. And being still in ANBU, she couldn't stay with him as often as she wanted to. Kakashi was unconscious—as best as any of the medics could explain it. And the copy nin simply wasn't coming out of it. Soon after the village's infiltration by Orochimaru and Sandaime's subsequent death, Uchiha Itachi returned. But the copy nin had little affect on the younger man of Uchiha blood. And only a true Uchiha could have pushed Kakashi that far. That far indeed.
She had trouble focusing on her missions. Her thoughts fled back to his hospital room where she wanted to be; sitting, watching, and waiting. She'd lost Hayate; she didn't want to lose her senpai, too. But the mission, the stress and anxiety of peril soon woke her up again, momentarily blocking the image of her sleeping captain.
Then one day, after returning and scribbling a report only a monkey could read, she dashed to the hospital only to find his room now occupied by a very old man. Backing out of the room with a quick apology, she nearly bumped into Sarutobi Asuma who had been leisurely walking down the hall at the late hour, probably to check on Raidou, which she should too, but, "A-Asuma-sensei, d-do you know if…?"
"…Kakashi?" he confirmed. "Back home…" As soon as he said it, she was off and running. Asuma chuckled a little at her dark violet hair, flapping in the wind as the chuunin medics stared at the back of it angrily.
But after all her running, Kakashi was not at home. Yuugao ran again, and sure enough, there he was at the memorial stone. The cover of night shaded him. She paused. Her thoughts seesawed between her overwhelming concern, and thoughts of leaving. She probably never appeared sillier—running though Konohagakure all night. But she found she was rooted to the spot. (Pardon the pun to the ANBU root division). Then, after a time, Yuugao advanced slowly, concern winning, and stood beside him. Her presence almost pretended she was here for Hayate's sake.
She had view of Kakashi's right eye, the only part of his face truly visible. Yuugao studied it with an instant's gaze and immediately she apologized properly and came forward with her intentions, "I only wanted to see that you were all right," Predictably, he did not say anything. "…Now I have, and I will be going. I am so sorry, senpai…"
"…It's fine," he said quietly. "You don't have to leave."
She glanced at him again. His stare at the stone continued and did not waver. Like his body, he seemed fixed to the spot as well. Yuugao couldn't stand him looking so unbearably sad. So she reached out slowly, and held his free hand in hers. The movement caused him to flinch slightly. Holding him in this manner was truly the craziest thing she'd ever done but the spontaneity made it worth it after a while when his posture relaxed slightly. It was around the same time hers did too.
They stood there in silence for the longest time—Yuugao wished she didn't have to let go.
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At first, she wasn't sure why quite a few jounin she recognized were wearing the black of mourning. Many men had died recently while they battled the group called the Akatsuki in their own robes of black, spotted with menacing red clouds. Kakashi's remaining genin was having such a mad time with them too—then again, so was Kakashi. But the copy nin, as well as most of the village's jounin, had been battling enemy forces throughout his entire life.
She had to find out from Genma. And it broke her heart. She moped around the village that day, with the knowledge of Sarutobi Asuma's death. Yuugao bought some flowers and found herself on route again to the memorial place where she laid them with a heavy sigh and a sad prayer. She wondered about Kakashi. She wondered about him until she heard about him joining team ten, Asuma's cell, going after the pair of Akatsuki men. At which point, she wondered about the copy nin in a different way: she worried harder. Sick with it, she took on a mission with some chuunin and she nearly walked straight into a perimeter barrier that would have burned her to cinders where she stood. The phrase, "spontaneous combustion" always comes to mind…Yuugao continued to make the mistakes of a genin. It was a wonder she wasn't demoted over the whole thing. Perhaps her monkey scribble saved her, and in her report, she attributed the success to the "brilliant, intelligent, and resourceful chuunin with whom I served, who should all be considered for promotions." Which, effectively, kept them quiet over her idiocy.
But one day, she finally saw Kakashi back in the village. She met up with him very early one morning just before daybreak at the memorial stone, bearing Hayate and Obito's names. Yuugao stood beside the jounin quietly. She apologized. "I heard about Asuma-sensei…Senpai—I am so sorry." The copy nin's lone stare seemed more fixated than ever upon the gray. He even smelled a little of Asuma's cigarettes—Yuugao knew he must have haunted Asuma's favorite bar. For old time's sake.
But any trace of hangover was lost on her. And both his hands were taped up now after battling Akatsuki once again. Success was a word long lost, for it didn't really feel like a win. It was simply retribution. Senpai's hands had been bloodied once more. His stare seemed lost. Yuugao reached out slowly with her own clean hand and touched his arm just as daybreak flooded yellow behind them. He flinched. Her hand followed slowly down his arm where she took his hand and held it in front of her. The warmness in her touch gradually perished the cold. She would have touched him more, but she knew enough not to.
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She still wasn't sure why it always had to be Konohagakure. The poor village suffered enough. But now, it was a cavernous wasteland that Shukaku could have used as a dance floor. Only the perimeter fence at the top remained along with the kage faces, looking over this mess still with a hopeful gaze. Thanks to Godaime, they still had each other.
She was glad such havoc had destroyed all those clean white report papers she had to fill out after every mission. When them gone, at least she had a legitimate excuse not to write one up. But she knew they'd come again soon. Thanks to Yamato, a few buildings had sprung up thanks to his Mokuton. He only had the trait thanks to Orochimaru, who had cruelly experimented with the first hokage's DNA. So really, Orochimaru could be thanked for helping rebuild the village. With some makeshift housing under way, the workers—carpenters soon arrived and yes, things were moving along.
She still felt like crying though. So much had been endured. So much had been given, and so much taken away. Her weakened spirit smiled briefly though when she remembered Kakashi's little genin. Not so little anymore for defeating the Akatsuki member and saving them all.
Yuugao hesitated taking the first couple missions, but she did so anyway. She took them with chuunin, genin; anyone who was a shinobi. Some things got done, and then she returned. She returned to the scant border guards, and freakish sight and wept all over again—what would Hayate think! She wiped her eyes soon enough and took a walk around. Someone had opened up a convenience store. Success! How convenient. She'd have to swing by later when someone bothered to re-stock the shelves. The place was totally barren. The violent-haired woman walked all through the cluster of activity, taking in the brief images and sounds of normal as some lucky chuunin was kissing a sake cup fervently at a new odenya she hadn't seen before. She rolled her eyes, smiling. Then all of a sudden, outside the banks of this normal, she walked up to a lonely plaque.
Someone else had been standing there too. His silver hair slanted sideways over his hitai-ate headband and gave him away as the copy nin. He was standing there, softly silent in his blue clothes and green vest; his body glued to the spot with both his hands stuffed in his pockets. But he noticed her and he asked her how she was. She shrugged half-heartedly, a mixture of sorrow and delight. The plaque read, simply, 'To Our Fallen', and engraved in the wood beneath was some saying about the will of fire, the leaf shinobi's mantra. She became aware he had moved his head a little, toward her. And he was looking at her again, searching, with a coal color gaze his years at ANBU had made empty. The look was chilling but Yuugao knew he was simply pondering something. When she could not bear to look at the plaque anymore, she looked at the horizon. And soon, she could barely handle that. "Senpai," she admitted, "I'm lost."
His voice sounded light when he responded. And for a moment, you believed he wasn't empty by any means, "I've never seen you look lost."
"Well. I am. I'm lost."
He chuckled lightly. "Come on…You don't want to end up like me, do you?"
Tears overflowed from her eyes. They dropped to the ground. Perhaps they'd help the flowers grow. She looked at him again; the look in his deep gaze was so safe, so warm, so strong that she felt whole while in his presence. And considering how broken he was himself, well…it was quite a gaze that entrapped her body and soul. "Senpai," she murmured, wanting to grab hold of him and sob inside his chest, fall to her knees and hold him so long…
The copy nin withdrew his hand and offered it to her. She took it and wrapped her fingers around his. She smiled as she drew the warmth near her. This would be enough for now. This and his soft stare, looking upon all the madness—at all the uncertainty unmoving and resolute. She looked up at him again and he did upon her. The look seemed to say, while we're together, nothing will shake our world.
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She returned from the war…and wasn't quite sure what to expect. The war had changed every living shinobi, including herself, and to pretend otherwise meant you needed counseling (many did resist). She wasn't quite sure what to expect because life rolled on as it always does and brings more things to laugh and cry about. (Success if you talk to a therapist). But after a time…she sought him out.
She found the ever elusive creature early one morning, just before daybreak, standing ahead of the wooden plaque that had been neglected to be taken down even as the permanent graves and memorials had been set into place. She smiled a little as she saw Naruto's face on the mountainside, peering out just over his sensei's shoulder. The little genin had come far. Approaching quietly, suppressing the urge to hold him—or his hand, she took in his presence like a drink of water to her thirsty frame. After all they'd gone through, here he was, one more time.
The images of pain and memory clouded her view as she stood by his side and she noticed he'd been crying again. The blue was damp. Both his body and his eye stayed silent upon the words as if he were trapped in some horrid genjutsu cast within them. Well. They had been. To some degree. She spoke his name very quietly, but he did not speak. She did not expect him to. Instead she stood with him for a time, remembering some old mission all of a sudden that seemed like ages ago when he laughed at his injuries just to try and make his kohai feel a little better while she was looking after him like he was the most useless thing in the world. Such laughter was such a welcome relief. So bright and so warm.
All their conversations filled the void. Echoes like bird chirping. Most of the words and phrases in their lives toward each other had been short, but the one after Sarutobi's funeral stood out and made her smile. She heard him talk incessant for the first time since she'd known him, and it cheered her up. And damn. Was he so funny.
She frowned, feeling his cold, two feet from him. Holding him was the only cure and right now he wasn't quite ready. She had to stay still and quiet and bit longer. The thought could have driven her crazy but the gesture had been driven by the impulse in the first place. And that kind of crazy required no psychiatric evaluation whatsoever. (Wouldn't Ibiki be happy.)
When dawn broke over the lush green, growing full and tall again in Konohagakure, he flinched slightly, as if the light had physically touched him. He always shuddered at anyone's touch. He still shuddered at hers. Yuugao glanced at him. His stare was downcast yet, and empty in his reverie. So tall. So broken. So stubborn. So short.
Life was such. Yuugao read the plaque again to confirm it soberly. When she looked to him again, he blinked slowly. The look in his eyes seemed to confirm it too, but still he held back. Held straight. He was afraid. He did not make the expression often. She smiled. One more push.
She took an item from her pocket and wasn't sure what number headband it'd been. Eighth, ninth—no the tenth was lost when the village was decimated. It must have been number eleven. She folded back the blue, and laid it ahead of the plaque. For a moment, the leaf insignia burned in her eyes. It was a burn not from nightmares and the promise of duty, but from some twisted sense of success. Some achievement she had to her name. Some sense of strength. Some sense of honor. She waited. After a long respite, Kakashi untied his, and living up to his name, mirrored her motions. The woman held out her hand. Kakashi took it.
Yuugao smiled. She repeated his words. "Another time…we'll resume the mission," she said. And while he didn't laugh, his eye seemed to smile. She could sense the emptiness leave him slowly. And she was certain she could feel a curious new feeling hidden and writhing within their palms like a gift soon to be opened. The best kind of gift. It would be bright, and it would be warm, like the sun smiling over the village. The village that they left. Hand in hand. And the feeling grew. Love always does. And loving him was so beautiful and so alive like her hand in his for the rest of their lives. And they were never, ever, going to let go.
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-By Caliko