This is my entry for the blindfold challenge for the kakasaku livejournal com. Thank you to my betas, you both are so wonderful and I luff you!
It was one request. A specific appeal that had taken him five years to acknowledge.
Kakashi's sun-warmed skin shifted slowly against smooth white sheets as his dark eye watched a sunbeam finally touch the large toe of his left foot.
He twitched the toe slowly once, then three more times making the total the same as his original 4 man team.
Once that was done, Kakashi was finally released from lying on the bed. It wasn't the same bed he'd grown up with, but the mattress didn't matter, only it's placement in the room in accordance with the window and the sun. Luckily enough, when he and Sakura had moved into the new home, it hadn't been a point of contention.
Pushing the covers back, Kakashi sat up on the edge of the bed, his hands splayed flat on his thighs.
He knew, even after all these years, the routine was ingrained in his being, like the trajectory of a kunai thrown to pierce an enemy's heart. The weight, how his little finger flicks up at the last moment to strengthen his deadly accuracy, all these things were inveterate.
They were rituals he must complete before he doned his Anbu uniform.
His skin started to prickle with the need to move, but he waited. He needed to wait, breathing shallow breaths until 452 seconds had passed since he sat up - one second for every life he'd taken while wearing the white mask of Konoha.
Once completed, he pulled out the wooden box that housed his Anbu uniform from underneath the bed.
Closing his eyes, he laid it where he'd just been sitting. He knew these contents. He knew exactly how to lay out each piece in order on the bed while reciting six rules as a shinobi – the same six rules that he'd broken on his first mission as leader exactly in the order that he'd broken them.
"A shinobi must see underneath the underneath." His pants and shirt came out while he thought of Obito. "A shinobi must always put the mission first." His utility belt was next.
Then came his arms pads; he unstrapped each. "A shinobi must never question their leading ninja."
"A shinobi must kill their emotions." Kakashi uttered as he laid out his boots and chest pad.
Grabbing his white mask in one hand and his katana in the other he spoke the last rule that he would break again and again while being a shinobi, "A shinobi must never show tears."
Kakashi opened his eye and focused it on the sugi paneled walls of his home, their home, where he and Sakura would usher in the next generation.
Always think positive of his home, no matter how hard it was after remembering. It helped him to break the rules again and again.
Mechanically he took off his night clothes and threw them in the laundry basket.
"Are you feeling alright Kakashi?" Minato asked, his ghostly voice echoing in his head as he reached for his pants.
"I'm fine." The same answer he'd respond with every time.
"Are you sure?"
Every time he put on his uniform, this was the point where he could feel the warmth from his long dead mentor's hand on his shoulder, just after he pulled on his shirt. It would last until he started to count.
Shkwiiiick. The sound of the tape being pulled off the roll vibrated loudly in the tense atmosphere of the bedroom.
Helpless in his need to continue, Kakashi breathed out, "One." And felt his sensei's warmth disappear as the tape made its first rotation around his right thigh. Seven more wraps joined the first until he tore the tape free. Eight was the number of scars he carried on his legs.
His chest shield was the easiest of all to put on. Slipping it over his head, Kakashi settled it back and forth fourteen times, the number of wounds that had slipped past its protective plates. Then came the tapping on buckles.
With each hit it released something inside of Kakashi and he could feel himself relaxing into the killing suit.
His head twitched from side to side as he slipped each glove up and over his elbows. Twelve times.
The tape was pulled out again. Twice around his right bicep for the two times he's been a part of a genin team. Seven times around his left, one for each hokage, whether he'd liked them or not.
His wrist guards hadn't started to represent his parents until after the rituals had begun. His mother was carried on his left - his weaker fighting arm with the katana ,but better with defense. The guard had so many nicks and scratches on it.
The left guard represented his father after he'd come to understand that his father was a hero. His actions were something Kakashi held close to his heart and tried his whole life long to live by and follow. His father's strength was in this arm.
When his left held his right down, Kakashi liked to think that the lessons he'd learned from both his parents helped fuel chidori.
His blade was next. He picked the katana up, only to return it to its place on the bed. The blade was a representation of life versus death, never to be taken up lightly. Thirty five times he would pick the blade up, each time it getting heavier and heavier before finally being allowed to place it on his back the thirty-sixth time. The number of years he'd carried this responsibility.
The mask had to slide on last, and then his rituals would be complete. It's chilled porcelain glided along his skin, from forehead to chin, when the latches latched into place. It was like switch turning off.
"For the many."
Many, because there were. Reasons that he put this uniform on. None like this. This time, it was for Sakura, because she'd asked. It'd taken a few years until he'd felt comfortable enough to do this for her.
She'd never understand just how hard it was to put the uniform on. For her, for some silly holiday... and yet it was one of the easiest times he'd had of it.
And he hoped it was the last.
He leapt out the window towards memorial stone to give his respects before Sakura came home.