Iruka could feel the pitying stares that followed him wherever he went, but he paid them no mind. It had been three years, a little more, since Kakashi had vanished while on a mission in to Stone territory. The bodies of his fallen teammates had been recovered but not his. At first it seemed as if the whole village were holding its breath, waiting and hoping for his return. As days and weeks turned in to months however, slowly the people began to give up. On the year anniversary of the day he had left, a funeral service was held in his honor and mourners gathered to say their goodbyes to an empty casket. Iruka did not attend the funeral, though he offended many people by doing so.
"Why should I mourn a man who isn't dead?" he had said. "Kakashi will come home, you'll see." That was when the pity had planted its first seed.
At first the villagers indulged him, allowing that there was always a chance for a miracle to occur. It was the Copy-Nin they were taking about, after all, and many had considered him to be infallible, indestructible. Then time had kept on passing. Iruka's calm refusal to mourn began to grate on some people's nerves and their indulgence soon turned to scorn. They called him stupid and naïve. What kind of idiot would cling to hope where there obviously was none?
The second anniversary passed of Kakashi's disappearance and Iruka never changed. He went about each day as if nothing was different and his husband had been gone no more than a week. Scorn turned to concern. The chūnin's friends began to softly ask questions, wondering if perhaps he had snapped and really believed Kakashi had only been gone for a week. They worried for the state of his mental health. Was his behavior not suspect? Their inquiries were answered with a patient smile and a rueful shake of his head.
"He'll come home, I believe in him," was what he told them. The Godaime gently requested that he speak with a psych nin. Despite exasperated assurances that it was unnecessary, he subjected himself to a long and boring psychiatric assessment. He was declared healthy and sane, under no delusions except a strangely fierce streak of hope. And that was when concern became pity.
He could feel the way eyes followed him as he went about his days. He could hear the whispers as he passed them by, nin and civilian alike. There he goes, poor soul, pitiful man, still waiting so long for something that will never happen. Still believing in a man who will never return to him. Three years had come and gone but Iruka ignored the passage of time as he ignored those who looked at him sadly, like a puppy that waited for its master. He quietly kept the faith, asking nothing from anyone.
There was nothing particularly special about today. It was his day off and he could have slept in, but some strange sixth sense told Iruka that he had somewhere that he needed to be. He had honed that extra sense a long time ago, so he wasted no time in donning a fresh set of clothing and leaving home without even breaking his fast. It wasn't too early in the morning but he was still not expecting so many people to be up and out, all of them rushing in the same direction. Something was happening, apparently.
Iruka followed along with the flow of people at a sedate pace. Faces ran past him in a blur but he calmly took his time, placing each step with care. He wasn't even sure where he was going, why should he bother to hurry? Eventually it became clear that he was heading towards the village gates and his heart, for some reason, sighed in contentment. Yes, this was where he needed to go. This was where he was needed.
Every step closer came with a sense that all was right in the world. He turned the final corner to see nearly every shinobi in Konoha gathered there packed tightly together, gasping and staring. Not a few even had tears in their eyes. Iruka stopped at the back of the crowd, unable to see the source of commotion, but still feeling utterly at peace. Then suddenly he knew.
"You're late." His voice rang out clear and firm above the din of the gathered shinobi. As if by magic, a hush blanketed the morning air. Heads turned towards him, and the crowd parted without a word. Men and women, ninja and civilian, all stepped back respectfully, awed, until there was a clear unbroken corridor between him and that which they had all gathered to see.
And there he was. Kakashi looked as if a gentle breeze would sweep the remnants of his wasted body away and crumble him to dust. His hair was long and matted, and there were patches missing. Someone had tied a handkerchief around the lower portion of his face, but it did nothing to hide his sunken cheeks or the fact that his Sharingan eye was gone, leaving the socket empty. His exposed arms were crossed with bruises and cuts. He was being supported by Yamato on one side and Naruto on the other. The residents of Konoha were silent as they looked on.
"And just what do you have to say for yourself this time?" Iruka asked calmly. Under the impromptu mask, Kakashi smiled.
"Maa, I'm afraid I got lost on the road of life." His voice was hoarse and croaky, but it was his. He sounded beautiful. He looked beautiful. Iruka shook his head.
"You've made me wait, Hatake Kakashi. I don't like waiting." It was hard not to smile when he felt so happy. He felt complete and perfect. Yet, calm. He'd been waiting, and he'd never given in. Never given up. Not even for a moment. Now here was his reward: his husband come home.
Yamato and Naruto looked at each other over the head of their shared burden. Without words, they agreed; they helped Kakashi walk down through the corridor of silent watchers, closer to Iruka. When they were only an arm's length away, they stopped and he said, "I hope I didn't worry you too much" in the flippant, offhand way he always had. Iruka let himself smile at last.
"You promised that you would come home. I believed you."
Kakashi struggled against his helpers until they understood that he wanted them to let go of him. Obligingly, they lowered his arms from around their shoulders, made a cursory attempt to steady him, and stepped back. Unable to hold his own weight, Kakashi sank to his knees and tilted his head back. He lifted one arm halfway between them, fingers stretched out, reaching.
"Say it. I've been waiting-I've waited-three years…I've waited three years to hear you say it…" His voice was thickening and his one remaining eye was watering. Iruka knelt on the ground with him, reaching out and brushing away the gathering tears.
"Welcome home," Iruka said gently. With a shudder, Kakashi fell in to his arms, and they both closed their eyes to soak in the feel of each other's long awaited touch. "I missed you," the brunette whispered. "Oh, how I missed you."
"I promised to come home," Kakashi mumbled. "That was all that kept me alive. I saw you in my dreams. Always you were waiting, so patient. You've always been so patient with me."
The journey home had taken its toll on him, and he was falling unconscious again. He had slept most of the journey back from the Stone prison he had been found in, tortured and wasting. The adrenaline of returning to Konoha and the need to see his loved one had kept him going for just long enough, but now he was in Iruka's arms. He was finally safe in the only place he had ever belonged. Iruka ran his hand softly down the dirty, scabbed head.
"Looks like I'll need to be patient a little while longer. The state you're in." He clucked his tongue as casually as if Kakashi had fallen in the mud and gotten himself dirty. Kakashi smiled and snuggled closer, completely uncaring of the people watching. Then he fell asleep, content as a kitten.
For a couple of minutes, Iruka knelt on the ground and rocked his husband back and forth, luring him deeper and deeper in to a much deserved slumber. Then he kissed his temple and shifted the slight body in his arms. When he stood, Kakashi weighed no more than a child to him and curled in to his chest like one. He said nothing and looked at no one, just turned and walked away, headed for the hospital. He was vaguely aware of a few people darting ahead of him to make sure Tsunade would be waiting with a full medical team for when they arrived. He was also vaguely aware of Yamato, Naruto, and Sakura trailing a slight distance behind him. It was they who had found the Copy-Nin, quite by accident, and rescued him.
Somewhere in the back of his mind Iruka wondered what he could possibly do to thank them. Surely there was no gift equal to the one they had brought him.
Happiness and a husband.