Author's Note: The truth is that this is another self-indulgent piece of nonsense. I teased myself with a thought I had about Iruka's doppelgangers in my story "Strangely Together, Uniquely Apart", and this concept so amused me that I ended up writing about another of Iruka's missions with Kakashi. Only this time I left Kakashi behind with a clone.
Flesh and Feelings
By Swiss
At the edge of a red, barren land, a confrontation of considerable gravity was taking place. Its combatants stood toe-to-toe, on one side an aggressively poised professional killer whose very name could cause an enemy to dampen with sweat. Opposite him stood a short-statured, dark haired grade school teacher.
Two short-statured, dark haired grade school teachers actually.
"You want me to stay here with that?" the jounin demanded.
The doppelganger visibly bristled, barring its teeth, and the original Iruka gave Kakashi a deeply censorious look. "If I leave Ichi behind, you can send me a message if you need to," he reasoned.
"You named your clone?"
The strength of the Sensei-Glare x2 nearly blinded him. "Yes," the chuunin said bluntly. "I could hardly call him 'The First', now could I?" He made this sound so sensible that Kakashi found himself feeling like a slow academy student. Iruka often had this affect on him.
"I could just come with you," he put in sensibly.
Iruka shook his head, "You know you can't. You stick out too much, Kakashi. Everyone knows you. Hardly a good qualification for infiltration."
It was true, but even so… He threw a disgruntled look at the clone. "I still don't see why you need to leave a doppelganger behind."
His partner didn't deign to repeat himself. Instead, he pointed out, "It's your own fault that you're here, Kakashi."
It was a not so subtle reminder that Iruka hadn't wanted him to come on this mission, but the jounin had his reasons for insisting. He restated his most pressing one now: "He was mean."
Kakashi was referring to Iruka's usual escort, a gruff, non-descript jounin he barely knew except that he was a self-serving by-the-booker who wouldn't hesitate to sit around a league away and let Iruka go off and get himself killed.
Wiping a trickle of sweat from the side of his face, Iruka adjusted the bandana he'd tied over his head. His hair remained shorter than it once had been, but it still managed to stick to his neck when he wore it down as he was now. He spread his arms, presenting himself for evaluation. "Well, how do I look?"
Kakashi tilted his head. For this ruse to work, Iruka needed to appear to be just another refugee fleeing a bad situation or looking for work. Their target was said to be partial to rootless young men – those desperate enough to do any work. Someone from so far away as Konoha would never have escaped suspicion ordinarily, but Iruka could fit in here. His family was from the other side of fire country, but like the coastal area where he had been born, the natives of the western steppe had naturally darker complexions. A little modification, it had been decided, and Iruka could pass.
It was a drier climate here and the locals dressed in loose, coarse cottons – all earthy shades with natural dyes in their colorful sashes. Iruka had chosen a sleeveless tunic with bands at the biceps that he picked at when he wasn't paying attention. Around his neck he wore a cord of flat, closely knitted beads, and though he'd kept his sandals, he'd left his issued weaponry behind. In its placed was a wickedly curving knife bound in plain sight. He was also baring enough skin to make any Konoha shinobi over genin rank feel naked. It was funny how much more obvious the darker skin tone was in compilation.
"You look like a foreigner," Kakashi admitted.
"Flack jackets, the great equalizer," Iruka agreed, not without humor. He had avoided bathing on their way here to look a bit more trail worn, and the veneer of dirt on his face and arms made his smile stand out starkly. "Somehow even you manage to come over only slightly more abnormal than ordinary."
Kakashi peered down at himself. Hm, point conceded. But creeping up beneath his amusement was concern and a deep dissatisfaction with the way this mission was proceeding. That Iruka looked like potential prey wasn't anything to be smirking over.
Divining his thoughts, Iruka reassured him. "Stop looking so anxious. This is going to be relatively painless."
It was actually impressive how little that statement comforted Kakashi.
He reflected on their target: an older man of unknown origin rumored to be performing strange medical experiments. Some crazy, half-mad lunatic like Orochimaru, maybe, though the very thought of the traitorous sannin turned Kakashi's stomach. It was a mission designed purely to gather information, or so it had been said.
His gaze drifted to Iruka's side and had to fight back a twitch of annoyance; he'd forgotten about the clone.
It didn't like him, that much was forcefully clear. But while the being's behavior towards Kakashi was nothing if not hostile, it had proved to be quite attached to Iruka himself. It stood there now, gripping Iruka's elbow with its lips pressed together moodily. If possible, it looked even less thrilled than Kakashi about the proposed arrangement.
Refusing to acknowledge the manifestation, Kakashi turned back to the stubborn chuunin, who, judging from the dark look on his face, was beginning to loose his patience. "Iruka," the copy-nin began in his most reasonable voice. "My mission is to protect you. How can I do that if I'm atrophying by a campfire with a shadow?"
"To begin with," Iruka said, "however your brain has managed to translate your orders, your job is not to protect me. You are my escort; your job isn't to bale me out. It can't be, Kakashi."
The man's voice had lowered, resonating with a complicated kind of sadness. It reminded Kakashi of a plea that Iruka had once made to him, and he grimaced, chagrinned anew as he was each time he was reminded of that disastrous, eye-opening mission.
This was why Iruka hadn't wanted him to go on another assignment with him. And, really, Kakashi did understand. The chuunin couldn't work with someone who couldn't see past keeping him from harm. He didn't need a protector.
Seeing his expression darken, Iruka uncrossed his arms, reassuring him, "This isn't one of those missions."
Kakashi had never struggled with the ninja's role as a good tool of the village; as vessels, as soldiers, and sometimes as sacrifices. But disposable? No. The idea of Iruka as a common, clay container suited only for suffering disturbed him.
There were no words for this, however, and so instead he shifted uneasily, saying, "Infiltrations are dangerous."
With a cocky shift of his hips, Iruka offered him an uncharacteristically toothy grin. "Danger, ha," he said disdainfully.
The farce was comical enough to win the smallest smile from Kakashi, but it did nothing to ease the odd churning in his gut; premonition, unease.
"Kakashi, I'll be fine. We'll rendezvous here in ten days. No more than a fortnight or…"
"Or I should return to Konoha," Kakashi repeated unhappily. Beneath his mask, Obito's eye gave a sharp twinge. He'd have liked to dig a knuckle into it reprovingly, but instead chose to ignore it in favor of grunting with poorly concealed frustration.
Iruka grinned peacefully, glad of his agreement. "Good," he said, and nodded. "That way I won't have to worry about you getting into trouble while I'm away."
Knowing he was being baited, Kakashi didn't even deign to roll his eyes. "As though I were the one with the penchant for trouble. It's well known by now that the village owes half of Naruto and Konohamaru's antics to you."
The catastrophe in Tsunade's office with the itching powder sprung to mind. That humiliating debacle with the explosive tags and tuna paste on the jounin training fields for another.
"I staunchly deny any connection to those mishaps," Iruka said, folding his hands behind his back. "However, we all have our vices."
Vices indeed. Iruka's vice was secret evil; Kakashi had long known it to be so. But Iruka's unique blend of evil was a different variety than that which likely awaited him, and it wouldn't protect him, no.
"You're dampening my moral," the chuunin suddenly accused.
Kakashi made an attempt to look more cheerful, but it hurt his face.
Iruka snorted at the distortion. "Enough of this. I need to go." He reached for his small pack, slinging it over one shoulder and patting himself carefully as though making certain he had all he needed. As he turned, Kakashi thought he heard him mutter a soft command to his clone. Then the teacher stopped, favoring them both with a brief wave. "See you in ten days, then. Look after him, Ichi!"
The unfortunate pair watched him go until he was out of sight, gazing after him mournfully as though both had serious doubts about the wisdom of what they were doing. When Iruka had finally disappeared over the straight-lined horizon, Kakashi turned hesitantly to the being standing beside him.
"Ah," he began, not certain what one said to echoes.
But the doppelganger didn't give him time to collect his thoughts into something more profound. Scowling, it pivoted and stomped out of the camp without looking back.
"You're keeping watch, then?" Kakashi called after it, then frowned. They didn't really need much of a watch way out here – a few wards and alarms would have been fine. It was much more likely that the thing just wanted to get away from him.
He sighed. Ten days was already starting to feel like a long time.
Kakashi woke the next morning with every intention of smoothing things over between himself and Iruka's doppelganger.
Scrubbing the gummy sleep from the edges of his eyelids, he was surprised to find the double was already active when he got up. It was sitting near their fire sloshing a kettle full of water as Kakashi warily approached, falling into an easy slouch, leaning on his heels. The clone barely spared him a glance.
Kakashi eyed the thing with uncertainty. Just what was he supposed to say to the voiceless copy of a companion he wasn't even sure always liked him? "Er. Good morning," he tried awkwardly, wiggling a few fingers.
The doppelganger huffed over his chore, but made no answer. It even hunched and turned its back more firmly away when Kakashi leaned sideways to catch its eyes. The jounin frowned, puzzled by the cold reception. Even the real Iruka wasn't usually so cranky. And this one couldn't even tell him what he'd done wrong.
No one to be easily deterred, Kakashi decided to try again. "Oi, Iruka-like double…thing?"
Now the creature was openly scowling at him. The familiar expressive face glared daggers, undoubtedly imaging him being pierced by something unpleasant. But at least it was looking at him.
"This is a little weird," Kakshi began, scratching the fine hairs at the base his neck as he searched for suitable words. "But then, Iruka's always been a little strange." He lurched to a halt, considering it. "Ah, that is to say, you're a little strange."
Maa, this was bad. The clone was growling. Leave it to Iruka to have murderous shadows.
Kakashi sighed, giving up on introductions and pleasantries. Obviously it knew who he was and didn't care for him, nor was it feeling very sympathetic about the awkwardness of the situation. Trying to convince himself there was nothing to fear, he set his mouth and continued, "Mm, sorry about that. But you do see my position, right? What am I supposed to do with you?"
The smack that rocked Kakashi out of his crouch was so unexpected that it landed him on his backside in the dirt. A sizzling sound near his hand made him jerk back; he'd almost stuck it in the fire when he fell. 'Iruka' stood over him, shivering lividly. Its anger awakened Kakashi to his stinging face, and he reached up tentatively to stroke his lip through his mask. That thing had struck him!
Still somewhat stunned, Kakashi demanded, "Who said you could do that?"
The double snarled and crossed its arms, unapologetic. Undeniable in its eyes was the sense of having been insulted, as though it was something more than a body that looked and acted something like Iruka-sensei. It was a look that said, 'Respect me, dammit!'
Kakashi blinked. Right. The clone was talking to him with its eyes.
"Something's wrong with you," he said with conviction.
Doppelgangers didn't have self-agency. They did as their originator willed. Apart from them, a clone should have been like a mirage – residual emotion, inclination, and a general drive to fulfill the directions it had been left with. But a self-directed attack out of irritation? No, it shouldn't have been possible.
Their fire pit had been built up next to a large shelf of rock and Kakashi plopped onto it now, irritably favoring his mouth with one hand. A metallic taste was pooling around his teeth and he turned his head and spat. I've been assaulted by a figment of my ally, he thought with disbelief. This was turning into a great trip.
Now that the moment had passed, however, the mercurial brown eyes of the clone had lost their jagged edges and its expression turned to a begrudging kind of regret. It tilted its head, as though trying to get a better look at the mark it had left, and while Kakashi wasn't sure, he had the notion the thing felt guilty.
This thought was confirmed when the creature took the initiative to dig through their pack for a rag and dampen it. Then it came to sit by Kakashi on the stone. A feeble gesture with the cloth, like a flag of amnesty.
"Now you're sorry," Kakashi refused to forgive, turning away grumpily.
Unfortunately, the double was just as stubborn as Iruka himself and was oppressed by none of his notions about personal space. When the copy-nin did not voluntarily present his injury, the clone forcefully turned Kakashi's jaw and so unceremoniously yanked down the mask that Kakashi was too startled to contemplate resistance. Tension easing slowly, he chose to sit still while the other went on dabbing at his mouth with the moist cloth. Privately, he was amused; the determined expression 'Iruka' wore was plainly comical.
When it had finished, the doppelganger nodded at him firmly before returning to the abandoned kettle left simmering throughout the dramatics. It filled a cup, which was then held out imperiously for Kakashi to take. The jounin sniffed, catching the rich, flavorful aroma.
A crest of silver eyebrow lifted. It cooked?
The clone shoved the cup so hard into his chest that a splash leapt up to dot his cowl. He scratched at the damp material irritably, grimacing. Itchy.
As it turned out, 'Iruka' didn't really need words to communicate. Kakashi had never seen someone whose body language spoke so much. A quirk of its hips, a ruffled brow. And of course, like its original, the thing did know the hand signals that all Konoha shinobi learned, although so far the only thing it had used them for was to swear at him.
Exasperated, Kakashi resigned himself to existence without reconciliation between them.
Sometime during that afternoon he'd sulked off to the only tree in a vast expanse of densely packed earth and shadeless sun. There, beneath the stocky Kurrajong, he'd summoned Pakkun for some sympathetic company.
This had immediately backfired, of course, since the mutt was nothing if not infuriatingly noncompliant. Instead of commiserating with him, the pug had ended up slouching opposite him, glowering with the dourest expression of indifference a canine muzzle could form.
"It's fickle," Kakashi complained, shading his eyes from the light flickering through the waxy leaves. "The mood swings are even worse than the original."
"How many summons do you know that appreciate being treated like an idiot?" Pakkun countered, grimacing as though reliving some personal experience on the subject.
The jounin had a brilliant retort in mind about how Iruka's doppelganger wasn't a summon but an abomination, but was interrupted when said abomination chose that moment to disregard all sense of propriety and slink over to the join them. With no greeting but a bland, vaguely curious expression, it sunk into a crouch between them, creating a triad of confidence.
Pointedly, Kakashi said, "Excuse me, this is a private conversation."
But the only response was a tilt of the head, cheek to palm. 'Iruka' remained, kneeling casually on his haunches. It stayed there, planted firmly, wholly immobile.
Kakashi's eye twitched with annoyance at the blatant disregard of his wishes. "You see." The copy-nin gestured towards Pakkun, his expression somewhat troubled. "The real Iruka would never do that. Butt in. Stay unwelcome."
"Maybe he'd like to," Pakkun said blithely, eyes half-rolling.
Kakashi disagreed. "The man's too damned accommodating." And because the clone looked offended, he continued, "Moody, oversensitive, temperamental, straight-laced, vacillating…"
"I like Iruka," the dog interrupted. "He's capable and clever, but he's not an arrogant meat-withholding bastard like some people I know."
The clone snorted at the description, and Kakashi glared at it warningly. "You stay out of this," he ordered.
Pakkun sighed, sounding very put upon. "Fine, you want to be stubborn about this?" The dog inhaled deeply, an evaluating sniff. When he was finished he simply flapped his loose-skinned neck, saying, "It's Iruka. That's all."
Crossly, Kakashi insisted. "Not quite."
But the dog was having none of it. He said, "Quit being stupid. It's just not all of Iruka."
Meanwhile, the clone – who had been gazing fixedly a the little pug for some time now – finally gave into its impulse and reached out, grinning goofily. It scratched Pakkun's jowls and underneath his chin until the animal was reduced to a low whining growl of pleasure. The dog edged away only when it began to look as though a cuddle was imminent.
"Bit cheeky," he judged, and 'Iruka' deliberately showed its teeth in playful challenge. The summon gave a huffy canine laugh. To his master, he asked, "Is that all, or shall I take my leave?" He made a show of looking at Kakashi's empty hands.
Kakashi withdrew them sulkily. "No rewards for unhelpful beasts," he castigated.
"Humph. I give good advice: Get along. Try not to be unduly insulting. Give it a steak."
"It hit me!" Kakashi repeated in an outraged voice.
"You probably deserved it," Pakkun dismissed his concerns out of hand, waving a paw as though disturbing an annoying swarm of flies. The clone nodded agreeably.
As if its opinion counted.
"Traitor," Kakashi hissed at the little animal.
But Pakkun merely stood on his stocky brown legs, stretching stiffly. "Grow up. Make human friends, if you can," he offered by way of farewell. Then, with a final half-nod to 'Iruka' the dog dismissed itself, evaporating in a pop of displaced air. The clone waved its palm slowly through the dissipating smoke, wafting it curiously.
Meanwhile the jounin let out an aggravated breath. Make friends. It wasn't as if he hadn't tried. He and Iruka had become better acquainted in these last months. Both were intensely private people, but one small crack in the shell had been enough to form a kind of trust, a gradual opening up in small, carefully restricted doses.
If he were honest, it was one of the reasons the clone's hostility bothered him so much. Since their first mission, Iruka had always been kind, approachable, even occasionally prone to tease. His clone, however, reflected none of these outwardly companionable feelings. It made Kakashi feel uncertain, a bit left footed.
Where exactly did they stand?
Author's Note: Although the process of making these stories available again has been my pleasure, the review count of stories is still a major indicator that readers use to judge whether they will read a story. For this reason, I would very much appreciate if you would share your thoughts, even if your entire review is simply copying and pasting a line that stood out to you. You're wonderful. Thank you.