"There are various options we can pursue, Hatake-Jounin but there's no sure way to know they will work. The poisoning is aggressive and there is no solid way of stopping its progression."
"How long does he have?"
"We could attempt another chakra—"
"How long?"
"—We're looking at about forty eight hours at the most, sir."
Kakashi turned on his heels, and wasted no more time as he stalked away, outlined only by the dim glow of the overhead lights to show him the way to his partner's room. He looked calm, his demeanor and familiar hooded gaze betraying none of the mess his slowly unraveling thoughts were becoming. Kakashi could hear whispering at his back, questions he would not entertain.
'He looks so calm.'
'—doesn't care, he never did. Look at his face,'
'Hush now—!'
'Those Jounin type are all the same..'
—Half dead, broken things, unneeded men in times of peace, Kakashi completed the thought as naturally as breath came to him. How correct, how utterly expected that the very people the Shinobi alliance had risked their lives to protect would turn their spiteful gazes on them, their soldiers, those that held the weapons—on those that killed. The times were changing, and Kakashi had slowly come to understand that he would be forced to stand alone and weather those changes.
—
How long?
Iruka had long gone silent, finally at peace and distanced from the poison that had rendered him a pain-riddled shell of his former, vibrant self. Kakashi held him despite the droning, singular pitch that told the Jounin of his partner's passing. Instead he remained solid, waiting and quiet as though Iruka spoke softly, hushing him in the ways which had become painful in the chuunin's final months of life. He eased the monitor from Iruka's slender digit and huddled close, burying his unmasked face within the nape of Iruka's cooling nape.
"Looks like it's finally over, eh," and Kakashi's words stirred the still, unbound hair peppering his lover's neck, "I know you must complaining now—I hear where people like you go is awfully boring. Nothing to do, all of the good things and nothing worth screaming over. You must be disappointed."
The heard himself chuckle, and instinct impelled his arms to pull Iruka's body closer as though the two shared a bed far from the hospital's confining walls and the invading sunlight outlined them in a bothersome morning glow. He'd hated early mornings when it meant work beckoned, and he hated scrambling late for work even more—he would complain, look to cover his neck in a fuss— and yet Iruka was always happy in spite of the frown, of the berating words, Iruka could never hide the light behind his eyes.
It was a light, the Copy-Ninja realized with a dawning sense of dread, he would never behold again.
"I can't do this—" Kakashi frowned, and the agony cloaked by his mask pieced itself into view slowly, his expression torn and rubbed raw, "I know I said I would, that I would be fine but—Ah, Aha I'm a liar. I'm the worst and I lied, and—" A pause, an attempt to swallow the gathering lump in his throat, "I'm not good like you. I'm not patient, I'm not honest—I'm terrible. I'm the worst kind of person…" Kakashi breathed in that scent, the wilting hints of vanilla before he broke one last time and offered one last promise.
"I'll be with you soon."