Chapter 2


Sunlight hit him in the eyes as soon as they got out onto the street. Ibiki stopped and squinted. He'd forgotten that it was still early in the afternoon. It couldn't be later than three. And he'd gone drinking? Why?

"Bright out here," he mumbled.

Iruka steadied him, which he definitely didn't need the teacher to do, and they set off in the general direction of his apartment.

"I wasn't that close to him," Ibiki said.

"Who?" Iruka scanned the streets.

"Gekkou," Ibiki said.

"Are you sure?" Iruka asked. "Because even though you're not calling him by his first name, I sense attachment."

Ibiki gritted his teeth. "I'm sure, Umino."

"But you're upset," Iruka said.

"I'm not."

"You visited his grave today," Iruka said. "That's it, isn't it? This is the first time you had the chance, and now that you've been there, you realize that it's fresher than you thought."

"What it? What's fresher?"

"Your grief," Iruka said.

Ibiki didn't have an answer to that.

"So you came into the bar for a drink," Iruka said. "And I was there."

"Hmph. Wish you weren't," Ibiki grumbled.

Iruka steered him around people, as if he would have gotten into someone's way. Which was silly, really, because if he had strayed into someone's path, that person would have gotten out of the way, surely. He was the head of T&I. "Lucky for you that I was," Iruka retorted. "How many drinks would you have had otherwise?"

"One." Ibiki glared at him. "You're the one that refilled my glass, Umino, and I still think it was to come on to me."

"Do you talk to everyone this way, or only the ones that you like?" Iruka asked, casting him a wry glance.

"Don't be ridiculous." Ibiki frowned a very manly frown, which was certainly not a pout, and he wasn't sulking.

Silence lapsed between them. Iruka seemed to be doing his damnedest to navigate him around obstacles, and Ibiki, for some reason he didn't understand, seemed to be giving Iruka a run for his money. Why he felt the temptation to almost knock over some of the oranges from a precarious pyramidal display at a fruit stand they passed, he didn't know. He apparently felt like it, though, because his arm got dangerously close. Iruka tugged him away at the last moment.

"I'm not drunk," Ibiki announced.

Iruka snorted and gave him an affectionately exasperated look. "Of course not. You're very drunk."

"I am not. It takes more than two drinks to fell the great Morino Ibiki."

Iruka visibly suppressed a smile. "You're not taking any medications, are you?"

That caught up to Ibiki all at once. Specifically, four different medications he'd been taking for years, that he'd known said on the bottles not to take with alcohol. He'd just never had to pay attention before, because it had never occurred to him to have a drink.

He'd forgotten. It had been so long since the medication had been prescribed, he'd actually forgotten.

Ibiki swallowed, noticing for the first time the dryness in his mouth. "I'm very, very drunk."

"Oh, I see," Iruka said. He sounded admirably neutral.

"And about to get drunker." Ibiki couldn't imagine that the alcohol was even fully into his system yet. It took a while. He'd stayed at the bar what, thirty minutes? It would take longer than that to filter the drinks out of his body.

"I'm sorry that I didn't think of that sooner, Morino-san."

Ibiki glanced at him. The teacher actually seemed sorry. "That's not your responsibility," he protested. "It's mine. What are you, my mother?"

"No," Iruka said. His brow furrowed regretfully. "I'm sorry, though. I shouldn't have bought you that drink. Anything to drink."

"I would have bought it myself," Ibiki said mildly. "I didn't remember."

They needed to cross the street to get where they were going. Ibiki tripped over the curb of the sidewalk somehow.

Iruka wrapped his arms around Ibiki's waist, catching his full weight somehow, and helped Ibiki cross without missing a beat.

"I shouldn't have ordered anything, that's all," Ibiki said.

"Your actions can be excused," Iruka murmured.

"I shouldn't have even come to the bar. Why did I go there?" Ibiki frowned. He couldn't remember what he had been thinking. He'd just…wanted to go. He knew the place, from his old days, and he wanted to go, he wanted to see the interior again, because…

Because that was the last place I saw Gekkou before we split up as a team. That realization was a cold pulse through Ibiki's body. He froze, stumbling.

He hardly noticed Iruka helping him, steering him around a lamppost.

Did I really think I would see him there? Am I that messed up? Or did I just think it would be nice to relive the old days? Either way, that's sentimental. Horribly sentimental. I can't afford to be sentimental.

Ibiki was suddenly afraid.

"Umino, do you even know where my apartment is?" Ibiki demanded. The street was gently spinning, the buildings looking like they were leaned forward, could fall down on them at any moment. He knew it was an optical illusion, but it was still unpleasant.

Iruka gave him an oddly stern look. "Morino-san, your address is on all the official work you turned in. Your records are on file in my department. I am the Paperwork Ninja, remember?"

Ibiki was humbled. Oh. That's right. Then, with a flicker of nervousness in the pit of his stomach: He probably knows all my secrets. All there is to know about my capture and torture…It's not sealed, any of it. Why should it be? Vanity? Vulnerability? I don't have those things. I – God, I bet he can see right through me.

He felt nauseous, and he wasn't sure if it was the alcohol and drug interaction.

"It's getting worse," he mumbled, half-consciously warning Iruka. He tightened his grip on Iruka's shoulder, wanting to speak an apology, but none would come. The street distorted in a new direction, slanting up, making it look as if he should be walking uphill when his feet told him the street was level.

Ibiki shuddered. Somehow, the effect was just too horrible. He shut his eyes.

"Maybe I should take you to the hospital," Iruka said. He sounded worried.

"No, don't," Ibiki blurted.

Iruka stopped, held him steady in place for a moment. "Are you sure?" he asked finally.

"Know how to use chakra to cleanse toxins if I'm wrong?" Ibiki asked.

"Yes," Iruka said wryly. "Everyone knows that." He started walking again, taking Ibiki with him. "Alright, Morino-san. If you get much sicker, I'll make you throw up. That should do some good."

A basic charge of chakra through the body to encourage cleansing made the patient throw up. Ibiki knew there wasn't a ninja in the village who could forget first aid because of that; they'd all learned as a class, taking turns making each other puke. For safety, the teacher said. Some people had to try three or four times before getting the jutsu just right. Ibiki had been partners with someone like that; he'd thrown up until all he could do was retch stomach acid. And there had been no complaining allowed. This procedure will save lives, the teacher said sternly.

"You ever have to make one of your kids throw up before?" Ibiki asked, suddenly struck by Iruka's responsibilities as a teacher.

"Once or twice." Iruka sounded amused. "You'd be the biggest one, though."

"Ha, ha," Ibiki said. "You try to spank me, and I'll rip your head off."

"Being drunk makes you hostile," Iruka noted.

"Being alive makes me hostile," Ibiki retorted. Then he realized what he'd said, and really wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

Iruka was silent for almost five minutes.

"We're almost there," Iruka said.

Ibiki opened his eyes, squinting. They were in front of his apartment building. "Oh."

"But I need your key," Iruka said.

"Right."

The front door of the apartment building was locked with one key, and the door to Ibiki's apartment with another. He handed Iruka both keys, no longer certain which was which.

Iruka got them inside, that was the important part.

Ibiki watched his feet while they walked down the hall towards the stairs. For some reason, the beige carpet made him want to puke. Usually, it was so unassuming.

Iruka sighed. "You should really change living quarters."

"Why?" Ibiki protested. "I like my apartment."

"Yes, but it's on the third floor," Iruka said.

Nevertheless, he helped Ibiki up the first flight of stairs, and let Ibiki rest for a few moments before helping him climb the second flight of stairs to the third floor. Ibiki was sweating heavily by the time they reached the top, and he knew it couldn't be because of the exercise. Maybe he should have just gone to the hospital.

Ibiki pushed that thought away. That is not the way to commemorate Gekkou. Then he wanted to slap himself. Suffering in my apartment is? But when he thought about it, he had to agree. Yeah. Gekkou always preferred to suffer at home rather than go to the hospital. He hated it there. He said he never wanted to go back. That's why…

That's why when the mission came up I gave it to him.

Ibiki felt a wave of almost unbearable sadness. He just felt so heavy and lifeless. Everything was sinking, and he didn't think he could stay up.

A strong arm around his waist prevented him from collapsing onto the floor. Ibiki raised his head and saw that they were in front of the door to his apartment. He could see the number.

"Stay with me," Iruka said. He seemed to be speaking softly. "I'll get you inside and help you into bed. Just hang on a little longer, Morino-san. We're almost there."

He unlocked the door and brought Ibiki inside.

Ibiki couldn't hide his relief. There was something more real about the familiar space of his apartment than there was about the hallway or the streets. Something steadying. The same white tile and pale wood of the kitchen, the same beige-gray carpet in the foyer and the living room. The hallway leading from the living room to the back of the house, where his bedroom lay.

He really wanted to lie down. His legs felt like they were made out of cotton.

"I killed him," Ibiki blurted. "I killed my friend." He shook his head, trying to clear it. Not now, Morino. Pull yourself together. Not while the Academy teacher is watching. For god's sakes… Look good for him, at least.

Iruka supported him while he stepped out of his sandals. Then, somehow, he was shedding things: his bandana, his coat, his gloves. They all seemed to be just falling off somehow.

Then he twisted and caught Iruka hanging up his coat on a peg by the door and understood. "Hey, give that back. You don't know that it goes there."

"But it does," Iruka said. He turned and took Ibiki's arm, securing it over his shoulders and helping Ibiki walk across the living room.

Ibiki's vision was fuzzy. "To the left. At the end of the hall."

"I know," Iruka assured him. "I'll find it. Don't worry, Morino-san. I've got you. I've got this taken care of."

Ibiki wondered what Iruka could possibly mean.

Iruka got him into the bedroom, and over to his bed, somehow able to pick him up and help him in, pulling back the covers. He sat up against the headboard, his pillows cushioning his back, and looked at Iruka. He felt oddly underdressed somehow in nothing but his T&I uniform. Oh… Ibiki looked down at his scarred hands, inspecting them as if for the first time. He'd never really looked before. Just tried to get on with his life. His hands felt cold, too.

But Iruka wouldn't know he normally kept his gloves on. Iruka was just trying to help.

Just like Iruka was trying to help now. The teacher leaned over and unbuttoned his slate blue jacket, revealing the white t-shirt Ibiki wore underneath. He pulled his arms out, allowing Iruka to take his jacket off.

"Whatcha gonna do with that?" Ibiki mumbled.

Iruka chuckled and opened the closet. "I'm guessing it goes in here."

"Good guess." Ibiki watched the teacher hang his jacket up in the closet. He sighed. Now his neck and his arms up to his biceps were exposed, allowing Iruka to see the ravaging scars there.

Iruka closed the closet and padded back to the side of the bed. "Do you want your pants off, too, Morino-san?"

Ibiki shook his head.

Iruka slid into bed beside him and pulled the covers up over them both.

"Who invited you?" Ibiki protested.

Of all the galling things, Iruka hugged him, pressing their bodies together. Ibiki closed his eyes and let his head fall on Iruka's shoulder. He felt disoriented and confused at the warmth of the teacher's body. No one held him like this. He hadn't felt the warmth of a human body in years.

Ibiki felt himself shaking, his body disobeying his commands, and heard a small sob escape him. Then he was crying, hot, painful tears. They slid down his cheeks, stinging. "I can't do this anymore. I don't have any friends left." He didn't know what he was talking about. It had to be the alcohol. He wouldn't talk this way. He wasn't this weak.

Iruka hugged him tightly, rocking him.

Ibiki fell on him, pinning the teacher to the mattress with his weight, and Ibiki didn't have the strength to sit up.

"It's okay," Iruka said softly, pulling the covers up tighter around them. "It's alright…let it out. Morino-san, it's alright to cry." Iruka stroked his back with a warm, gentle hand. It felt better through the thin fabric of the t-shirt than it had when his body was muffled up in so much extra clothing.

Ibiki hiccupped, and didn't have a ready reply. He couldn't think of one. His head was packed full of aching emptiness. He let his tears trickle down and soak into Iruka's vest. "I didn't want him to leave. I knew he was suffering, but I didn't want him to leave." As soon as he said it, then he was really sobbing. All the guilt. It crested over him in a wave, drowning him in self-hatred. "I wanted him to go slow. I wanted him to die slowly, so I could count every breath. I'm a sadist."

I am a sadist. He always told himself that he wasn't, he always brushed off the criticism. Telling himself: I'm doing this for the good of Konoha. They don't understand how cruel I need to be. They don't understand the kind of people I deal with. I'm keeping them safe by doing this.

"I wanted to breathe with him," Ibiki begged, knowing it was already too late. "I wanted to breathe for him, to help him breathe. But I knew it couldn't be that way. So I should have let him go."

"You did let him go," Iruka said.

Ibiki was confused. Then he remembered: the mission, Gekkou asking to go, the argument they'd had, his friend's eyes pleading with him. The way he'd eventually relented, after hearing Gekkou cough. Gekkou's lungs struggling for air, because he'd forced his friend to argue. He'd let Gekkou go. Knowing. Just knowing. This was Kabuto. Who was he kidding? Kabuto and Baki, the top teacher from Sand. Gekkou was a dying special jonin. They'd find his friend out. And they'd kill him before he had a chance to get to safety.

But that was what Gekkou wanted.

Ibiki's stomach churned. He'd waited, and waited, pacing in his office, just knowing. Knowing before he heard the report hours later that Gekkou hadn't survived. Knowing that they'd find Gekkou's body before they did.

He just hadn't expected the mutilation. The moment he saw that, the moment he looked down at the body and saw how badly mangled, how badly cut up it was, the tiny part of him that cared, that he'd allowed to feel, curled up inside. Hiding. Hiding from the friend that was no longer a human being. A friend who no longer existed. A corpse, a used up thing, best to be discarded, the human being memorialized on a stone.

That was what he got, for letting Gekkou go up against Baki of the Sand.

Ibiki shifted against Iruka, moaning and retching.

Iruka tightened his arms around the interrogator. "Morino-san? Do you need to –?"

"I don't know." Forcing out the words was an effort.

Iruka helped him up, helped him through the door into the bathroom, and lifted the toilet seat.

Ibiki threw up painfully, feeling like his stomach was a tube of toothpaste being squeezed and rolled up.

Iruka thoughtfully shot a charge of chakra through him to aid in the process and made him throw up again.

Ibiki felt much better after the second, chakra-induced time.

Iruka helped him rinse his mouth out with mouthwash and flushed the toilet. Then they stumbled back into Ibiki's bed together and curled up under the covers.

"I loved him," Ibiki mumbled. "I really loved him. He was my friend."
"I know." Iruka stroked his head.

Ibiki didn't have the heart to tell Iruka he didn't let people do that.

Yuugao's face suddenly flashed through his mind. "He had a loved one." Ibiki didn't know why he was saying this to the chunin; it was all too personal. Secret, even. "We all met in ANBU. He wasn't unloved. She wanted him to live, too. Wanted him to find a cure." Tears of frustration streaked his cheeks. "If he'd just lived to see Tsunade's return –"

Then he held onto Iruka dearly, with all his might, sobbing so hard he made himself cough. "He could have lived." This strained, desperate, forlorn voice couldn't possibly he is. "If he'd just hung on, he could have lived. I know she could have saved him. She could have. If he'd just…not…gone on that mission. I –"

Ibiki's breath hitched as his true horror unfurled inside of him. "I sent him to his death when it wasn't necessary. Tsunade could have healed him. He and Yuugao could have gotten married. We could have – we could have all lived through this stupid invasion –"

His breaths came short and fast, gasping. "It's my fault. It's all my fault he's dead. It's my fault he died. I killed him. I killed him."

His head was pounding, threatening to burst apart. It hurt so much. More than anything, he wanted to stab himself. Cut out this part that hurt and rip it out, throw it on the floor, declaim it. Erase it. Stomp on it. Torch it. Anything. Anything to get rid of the torture.

"I can't do this," Ibiki said. At this point he was just babbling. He knew it. "I can't do this anymore." He looked at Iruka with wide eyes, unable to take back what he'd just said now that he'd said it. He'd gone over the line.

"Then don't do this anymore," Iruka said softly.

"You make it sound so easy."

"It is." Iruka rubbed his back.

"But it's not. It's really not." Ibiki heard the catch in his voice and knew he was close to crying again. God damnit. Why won't this stop?

"Trust me," Iruka whispered. He rested his face against the side of Ibiki's head.

It was like a dam broke.

"The first time, they just broke my arms trying to make me tell," Ibiki said. "Th-That was in Iwagakure, during the war. Not the official war, the secret war. You know the one." Hostilities had actually continued for another five years, under the table in both countries. Outwardly, they'd declared peace, but inwardly, they still fought, unwilling to expose their hostilities to the other nations.

He pressed himself against Iruka, taking comfort from Iruka's solidity. "How I begged. I begged and begged. I told them they wouldn't get what they wanted, and they still went ahead." His voice tapered off sadly. "Didn't believe me."

Iruka stroked his head. "I'm so sorry."

"I woke up in the hospital being wheeled down the hall on the way to surgery," Ibiki said. "They had to reset my bones and I don't know what else. I was in so much pain. They had me hooked up to a respirator and I didn't know how to breathe. I'd never been on one before." He was tense, quivering. He remembered the bright lights and the echoing of the wheels as they hit every spot where two floor tiles met. The noise had seemed a deafening clatter to him at the time.

"I cried the whole time. I just cried. I don't know why." Ibiki remembered being humiliated. Feeling utterly worthless. "Gekkou was there. When I got out of surgery. He stayed by my bed in the recovery room, and he went with me down the hall to my real room, and he sat with me." His lips twitched in a trembling smile. "That cough of his…it sounded good to me. To hear it again…I liked it. Even though I knew it meant he was suffering, it was familiar. I…I'm so sorry." He squeezed his eyes shut, but tears pushed their way out and rolled down his cheeks anyway.

"For what?" Iruka asked softly.

"Telling you all this stuff." But that wasn't all. Ibiki forced himself to relax. He fell limp with a shaky breath. "For feeling like Gekkou was my lifeline." He swallowed, and added, "Yuugao visited, too. She came to stand by me, and Gekkou, and we saw this through together. I was so happy to be out of the hospital and be on my…on my own again. Because…I'd beaten them. I hadn't said anything, and they had tried to hurt me, and I still didn't say anything. I stayed true. I was loyal."

"It's everything to be proud of," Iruka reassured him. "I would be proud, too. You were amazing, to withstand that amount of pain and not break. I can see why you got promoted to Head Interrogator so quickly after that. You'd proved your loyalty in a way no one could ask of you. And you passed that test with flying colors."

"Isn't it weak? Isn't it weak, to want to rely on people to be there for you? To make people stay, because you need them so much?" Ibiki asked.

"I could never say that," Iruka said. "Without my precious people, I wouldn't be here today. I couldn't survive on my own, Morino-san. None of us can. That's why Sandaime called us a big family. We're all supposed to be here for each other."

Ibiki clung to him and choked down a sob, his breath hitching. "I'm so scared that now that Gekkou's gone away no one's going to love me anymore." It was the most pathetic thing he had ever said, but he blamed the medication interacting with the alcohol, and the touching, and the crying, and the way Iruka seemed to encourage his confessional behavior, gently absorbing his words and urging him on.

"I love you," Iruka said, his voice low and soft. "So you don't have to worry about that anymore."

"Yuugao's bitter now," Ibiki said. He didn't know what prompted that. "She's hiding, in ANBU. For good…I think that, anyway. I can't blame her. It's too awful, what happened to Gekkou. She blames me. I think she does. I hope she does. She shouldn't blame herself. She wasn't there. She wasn't the one that ordered her fiancé…ordered him to go out and kill himself for the information he could collect. I'm not – " Ibiki swallowed. "I'm not going to hold her responsible. No one should. It was me. It was all me. I'm why…I'm the reason why Gekkou died. I was the cold bastard that ordered him out into the slaughter. Gekkou, against Kabuto and Baki? A slaughter. I knew I shouldn't have done it. I knew I shouldn't have…I…I failed."

"You aren't responsible, any more than she is," Iruka said, sounding distressed. He rocked Ibiki gently. "You did what you could. Hayate-san wanted to die on the field instead of in the hospital. You told me that. He wanted it to end this way. You didn't know there were any other options, that Tsunade was going to come back. You couldn't know. You couldn't know anything like that, and he begged you to let him go. You were selfless."

Selfless? That shattered the last of Ibiki's self-control. "Well, I can't stand to be selfless anymore!" He clung to Iruka as hard as he could. "I don't want you to go! I'm selfish. Very selfish. And I need you. And you can't." Iruka had signed a warrant by taking him home and going this far. No one could care about him this much and then leave. They couldn't. "You can't go!"

Iruka jolted, alarmed. "I'm not going. I'm not going anywhere. Morino-san…"

"I mean ever!"

Iruka stroked his head. "Then I won't go, ever."

"You won't?" Ibiki mumbled.

"No," Iruka said gently.

Absurdly, Ibiki felt exhausted as soon as the panic was over.

"Go to sleep, Morino-san," Iruka said. "I will be here when you wake up. I promise."

Against all odds, Ibiki went to sleep.