This is a short piece I wrote a while ago. It's meant to be a two or three parts thing, but who knows, if you guys are interested, maybe I'll expand it into something more substantial once I finish writing "A New Life".
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"Anko! How can you even think this can be called anything like a mission report! Even my pre-genin can't do anything so outrageously subpar!"
"But Ruru, school was a long time ago..."
I really couldn't understand jounins. They were even worse than kids. I rose to my feet and came so close to her that our noses were almost touching.
"If you need a refresher, my students will be more than happy to teach it to you!" I replied with a smirk.
"Ruka kun, pleeeeease!" Anko pleaded with her most innocent smile. "Only this once..."
"Oh, so it's laziness then? Do I need to grade your mission reports for you to put some efforts into them? I can give you stickers if it helps... Rewrite it!" I said slapping Anko's so-called mission report on the desk. "Now go and don't come back until you have a real mission report to submit."
I knew that if she would only take the time to sit down more than thirty seconds to write it, she could easily submit flawless work... But she never did, and because of that her mission reports could have been the worse in all of Konoha... if it hadn't been from those of another infamous jounin that was even more lazy and childish than her...
To say Kakashi's reports were bad was an understatement.
The intentional messiness of it all, the horrible chicken scratches that he dared pass as writing, the creative stick figure drawings he included with the very objective of taking away a few years out of my life each time he handed in a report... it just made me feel like cutting his leg and kick the lazy bastard in the butt with it.
Anko could probably reach that level if she ever tried to. That was why I had to extinguish that interest immediately.
She pouted and went away. The room became infinitely quiet for a while, then the usual chatter started again. I let out a sigh and sat back on my chair.
I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Woah, Iruka! Rough day today? What did those hellions you teach at the Academy do to you?"
It was Genma. Despite his apparent arrogance, I knew the man had a good heart.
"I am sorry," I said knowing I had gone overboard with Anko.
"Keep your apologies for later," he said with a smirk. "I can feel your best buddy nearby..."
I felt around for chakra signatures... Kakashi. I had hit the jackpot this evening.
The jounin slowly walked inside. He wasn't limping, but his feet barely left the ground. He was covered in blood, the dark red liquid dripping around and over the pouches of his flak vest. By the livid expression in his eye and the absence of expressiveness and energy in his gestures, one could tell it was the blood of a comrade.
The whole mission room fell silent. Something had gone horribly wrong.
He carelessly snatched a brush, some ink and a blank scroll and dragged the writing material with him to the closest available seat. He pulled a chair and let himself drop on it without even acknowledging the gazes that scrutinised him. He looked as if nothing could be important enough to make him snap out of it. He took a deep breath and paused, probably thinking about what he was going to write, then pushed on the scroll to open it and pinched the brush between his thumb and index to smoothen the tip, before dipping it in the black ink and starting to write.
Looking carefully at his upper torso, I could see the imprint of a bloodied body on him. His left shoulder was covered in blood falling diagonally against his chest. The crimson fluid had also found a way to his right hand with the distinct pattern of drops falling down his forearm. In his always shiny silver hair, there was now an uncharacteristic red-brown strand...
People watched in fear, not because the mighty sharingan copy-nin was in a horrifying state, but because they all knew he was a jounin sensei; the shinobi equivalent of a father... or even a mother... a very overprotective mother!
But what made it even more terrifying is that all knew that Kakashi had been a stone hearted ANBU, trained to see his teammates injured in front of him and remain focused on the mission. Seeing him in this state spelt death or multiple deaths... or even worse!
Everyone stared at him, but no one reached out to talk or comfort him. I usually hated the jounin, but this evening in the mission room he looked devastated and alone.
I walked to him, sat on the chair right across his and took the brush out of his hand.
He raised his face to look at me. I finally saw a deep pain.
"Kakashi san, tell me what happened."
His eye stayed cold, but I could feel the emotions lurking right behind the façade.
"I-I can't," he said stuttering.
Kakashi, the mighty copy-nin was stuttering... I put my hand on his shoulder.
"I am sorry," I replied simply. I was about to get up when I heard his voice again. It was barely more than a whisper, but I felt utterly crushed by the despair in his tone.
"Please, stay with me, Iruka sensei..."
He took back the brush and dipped it in the ink again.
I looked at the tool effortlessly tracing neat characters on the off-white paper. There was a stunning beauty in the flow of his strokes entirely legible despite the fact that the brush barely left the paper. Was this truly his natural handwriting? I was pissed and in awe at the same time. If I had known the eccentric jounin could write so well, I would have probably made him rewrite his mission reports until his hands bled to death!
The mission room closed. We stayed together for another half hour as I watched him write in silence.
After he finished, he blew on the ink to dry it, rolled back the scroll and handed it to me. My hand brushed over his grabbing any opportunity to give the broken man a little human warmth. I couldn't believe I felt so much compassion toward the jerk who used to put all his soul into making my mission room shift into a little hell.
"Read," he said.
This single word...
I unrolled the first inches of the scroll and saw Kakashi's face slump in his hands.