Chapter 2

Iruka didn't sleep. He had too much to think about. As Kakashi gently snored against him, Iruka wondered who had raised Kakashi and how Kakashi turned out this way. Clearly, a massive amount of trauma was involved. It made Iruka's stomach clench. For Kakashi not to have gotten help before now…

It was ridiculous. There was no way that no one had noticed Kakashi's behavior before now. Gai had to know, for one. And then there was the hospital staff. Why did no one refer Kakashi to therapy? There were bi-yearly medical exams that included psychological assessments, and as far as Iruka knew they were mandatory. If the examination wasn't done, the ninja was suspended from duty. Kakashi couldn't possibly fool a trained psychologist.

Maybe he just hasn't been to a psychologist yet since his return from Wind, Iruka thought. Maybe Kakashi was coping well, and the recent trauma of his mission caused the regression I've seen. But regression of this magnitude was more common in children. Kakashi had to have some untreated condition for this to happen.

And I work with children. No wonder Gai thought I was perfect. Iruka dared to stroke Kakashi's hair.

Kakashi mumbled and shifted his head slightly, but didn't wake up.

Iruka withdrew his hand.

Kakashi whined.

Somewhat disturbed and thrown off balance by that response, Iruka returned to stroking Kakashi's silvery hair. It was unusually soft; softer than Iruka had expected.

Kakashi settled down, nuzzling Iruka's neck.

Iruka's cheeks flamed. For one small, irritated moment, he thought Kakashi was being perverted. Then it registered that Kakashi's chakra was truly at sleep levels, and he felt guilty for his suspicion. Kakashi wasn't coming onto him; Kakashi was affection-deprived.

And maybe I'm sex-deprived, Iruka thought wryly. People – usually Izumo and Kotetsu, told him it was poison for a man in his mid-twenties to be alone all the time. He usually said that he was surrounded by his students, and so not alone…to which they clarified that they meant adult company. Iruka always ended up quoting statistics that men didn't think about sex every thirty seconds, it was more like once a week, and that frequency declined with age. So he only really missed having a boyfriend once a month, and that was taken care of all by himself, thank you very much.

Furthermore, Kakashi did not and never had set off any of those special bells of arousal for him. Iruka had always thought it was better that way.

It's definitely lucky now, seeing as how he's suffering from regression and I'm in charge of taking care of him. Iruka glanced down at Kakashi, making sure he remembered to keep stroking Kakashi's hair.

The next few hours were mind-numbing. Iruka drifted in and out of sleep, always waking up to find his back stiff and Kakashi still asleep against him. Iruka imagined this was what it was like to take care of a sick child. He'd never done it, but he'd heard that parents stayed up and made sure the child was still sleeping, still alright. More than one parent had done that during a particularly bad flu epidemic two years ago. Some children had actually been in danger of dying. Iruka had been worried. Of course, he had no children of his own, so his worry couldn't have compared to the worry of the parents.

This was Iruka's first taste of actually being there for someone like that. All in all, he had to say he could get used to it. Kakashi's warmth was kind of pleasant, in spite of the Copy Nin's heaviness.

Finally, though, Iruka had to pee. He gently laid Kakashi down on the sofa, making sure the man stayed wrapped up in the blanket, and crept off to the bathroom.

He came back to find Kakashi wandering around his kitchen, trailing his yellow blanket around after him, a corner clutched in one hand.

Kakashi turned to him as he entered. "Where's my refrigerator? It's not where I put it."

Iruka took a deep breath and consciously swallowed how cute and how sad the sight of Kakashi carrying around a blanket was. "The refrigerator is not where you put it because this is my apartment."

"Oh," Kakashi said vaguely.

Then Iruka had to race to catch Kakashi before the man collapsed.

"My legs won't work," Kakashi said.

"I can see that," Iruka said gently. He clutched the man to his chest, adrenaline still pumping through his system at the way Kakashi had suddenly plummeted.

"I fell down a couple times and banged my head, but I thought I got the hang of it," Kakashi said.

Iruka was horrified. "You should have waited for me."

"You weren't here," Kakashi said, as if that explained everything.

Iruka had to try his hardest not to cry. "I was just using the bathroom."

"Oh." Kakashi considered him for a moment. "Where's the bathroom?"

"All the way back next to my room," Iruka said.

"Where is your room?"

Iruka led Kakashi through the living room and down the hall. He pointed to the door on the right. "This is my room." Then he pointed to the door opposite. "This is the bathroom."

"Oh." Kakashi stared at the bathroom door. "I have to go."

Iruka opened the door for him. "Okay."

Kakashi didn't make any attempt to enter the bathroom, even though Iruka had hand rails installed at one point to help himself get around with a broken leg, which meant Kakashi certainly was in no danger of falling.

"What's the problem?" Iruka asked.

"You won't be here when I get back."

Iruka's heart broke. Boom. That's all it could take. He imagined it shattered inside of his chest like a glass ornament. "I'll still be here. I promise."

Kakashi analyzed Iruka with an unsettlingly adult, scrutinizing stare. Then he thrust his blanket into Iruka's hands and took hold of the hand rail on the wall inside the door, running parallel to the door frame. "I'll be mad if I come back and you've stolen my blanket." He shuffled inside the bathroom and shut the door.

Iruka stood there, bemused and uncomfortable. He could only imagine that Kakashi would hunt him down and rip him apart if he moved an inch. Even chakra exhausted.

Though he tried not to listen, his mind automatically catalogued the sounds: the toilet seat being flipped up. Urination. Toilet flushing. Water running. Water being shut off. Click as the doorknob turned.

Then Kakashi opened the door and emerged, grabbing his blanket back and rubbing it against his cheek. "You didn't hurt Mr. Sunshine. You can't be all bad, then." He gave Iruka a cheerful smile that was eerily typical of him.

Iruka took Kakashi's arms to steady him, and they walked into the kitchen. Kakashi sat down at the dining nook, watching Iruka and absently stroking his yellow blanket.

"So what are we going to eat?" Kakashi asked.

"Ah, so you're hungry," Iruka said. He smiled at Kakashi. "That's why you got up."

Kakashi nodded. He looked at Iruka hopefully.

"Well, what have I got?" Iruka scratched his chin and looked up at the ceiling, thinking. "Do you like eggs?"

"Yes," Kakashi said. "I like omelets. Those are eggs."

Iruka had to laugh. "Okay. I'll make you an omelet. Do you like fish?"

"Not so much," Kakashi said. "It's okay. I don't like salmon. Herring is good, though."

"I have some herring," Iruka said.

Kakashi lit up.

"Do you like much rice with your meals?" Iruka asked.

"Not particularly." Kakashi looked uncertain.

"So just a small bowl, then." Iruka turned up the strength of his smile. "I can do that. You just sit and relax."

"Okay."

Kakashi watched him cook.

Iruka found it unsettling at first; he wasn't used to cooking with an audience. But he adjusted and was able to concentrate within the first few minutes. He cooked rice in his rice steamer, whipped up omelets, and grilled his herring. Herring was a common snack in Konoha, especially for breakfast.

He put their omelets and herring on the same plate, then scooped out two small bowls of rice. He served Kakashi first, then himself.

"Orange juice?" Iruka asked.

"Please," Kakashi said. "I love orange juice. Especially the super pulpy kind."

Iruka couldn't help but smile and melt a little. "I think I've got the super pulpy kind."

Kakashi lit up. "Do you really?"

Iruka nodded, chuckling. "Uh-huh."

"Yay," Kakashi said. Iruka wasn't sure, but he thought that Kakashi might actually be using that word without irony.

Iruka poured two glasses of orange juice, stuck straws in them, and brought them to the table, setting Kakashi's down first. Then he did a double-take. "Oh, I forgot chopsticks." He got the chopsticks out from his silverware drawer.

"Thank you," Kakashi said. "Though I would have tried to eat with my hands. I'm not picky."

Iruka gave Kakashi a strange look, startled. Then he shook himself. "Well, dig in." What did he mean, eat with his hands? He'd eat an omelet and herring and rice with his hands?

"Yum. Itadakimasu." Kakashi pulled down his mask and took a bite of omelet. "Excellent, Iruka."

"Oh, you can call me Ruka," Iruka offered. "I don't mind."

Kakashi smiled. It was a remarkably sweet, grateful smile. "Okay. Ruka."

"My parents used to call me that," Iruka explained. "I like it. And it's been years since I heard anyone call me that…so…" He didn't explain it had also been years since he had shared living space with another human being. He blushed slightly.

Kakashi looked sad, and somewhat concerned. Iruka was startled at how easy Kakashi's expressions were to read without the mask on. He'd expected Kakashi to be…stoic, or something. "My parents called me Kakashi, or called me Son. I don't have any special nicknames like that. You do, so you should hear it. You should hear it from somebody…I would be happy to call you Ruka from now on."

Iruka nodded and looked down at his plate shyly. "Thank you, Kakashi-san."

Kakashi shifted uncertainly. "It can be just Kakashi, if you want it to be."

"Kakashi," Iruka corrected himself gently. "You're right. I should call you Kakashi."

Kakashi gave him a tentative smile. "Your omelet's really good, Ruka."

Iruka beamed. "Thank you, Kakashi. I'm just glad you like it."

They both chuckled at that bit of practice.

"Why do you wear your mask?" Iruka asked, cutting into his own omelet.

Kakashi looked startled and uneasy. He picked at his food.

"I'm sorry," Iruka said. "I thought the explanation would be straightforward."

Kakashi shrugged. He stared down at his plate.

Iruka felt terrible. "Kakashi, you look ashamed. Please talk to me." He had to gamble that his teacherly concern, a certain tone and poise he'd perfected over the years, would get Kakashi to open up.

Kakashi sighed and raised his head to look at Iruka. His expression was vulnerable as he scanned Iruka's face. Then, without preamble, he started talking. "I was raised in a top secret organization. No one knew I was there. I only assured Minato-sensei that I was taken care of. He was concerned, many times, and attempted to come to the apartment I kept for appearances. I was almost never there; only once when he came around. I explained to him that I was training, and he left it at that. The truth is, I wear a mask because I'm not good at hiding emotions."

Iruka found the first part of the explanation disjointed from the last part. He tried to piece it together. "This organization…wanted you to control your emotions?"

Kakashi nodded. "They specialized in teaching children – young children, troubled children, children like me – how to control or sublimate our emotions, so that we could not be affected by what happened to us. It was considered saving us. Even when I was schooling my emotions in that program, I couldn't school my face. So the trainers asked me to wear a mask. To see if I could handle my emotions better if I wore one. It worked. Many kids were taught the same way; I wasn't the only one walking around in the compound wearing a mask. Some of us were better than others; that was all." He shrugged one shoulder.

Iruka knew from working with children that shrugging a single shoulder was an unconscious expression of uncertainty. "You don't really believe that. You don't believe emotions are bad."

"Now I don't," Kakashi corrected. He ate a bite of omelet. "Back then I did. All I could feel was pain over my father's death. I needed something to take me out of that pain, and this program did that."

"What was it called?" Iruka asked.

Kakashi shook his head. "After it was disbanded, we all promised never to talk about it."

"But why?" Iruka asked.

"Because too many people still thought it was a good idea," Kakashi said. "Many people thought the program had failed because the children weren't strong enough, not because the teaching methods were flawed. The teaching could have gone on forever. We couldn't have that."

"Why did the teaching go wrong?" Iruka asked. "How?" He absently noticed that he was clutching his chopsticks too hard. He reined himself in just enough not to snap them.

"The training that was supposed to make us strong made us brittle, weak," Kakashi said.

"I don't understand," Iruka said softly.

"It's like glass." Kakashi gestured. "The trainers in the facility made us cold. Very cold. It felt good. But we were also rigid. A mission is a hot situation. When a cold child met with a hot situation…we shattered. Like glass." He ate another bite of his omelet. "I wasn't the only one; I was just the most famous one. I was a poster child, for the few that knew the program existed. Sakumo commits suicide, mother already dead, no living relatives…yet the child remains a shinobi and is able to function?" Kakashi raised an eyebrow. "Remarkable."

He sighed. "But I wasn't proud, because pride is an emotion. I felt nothing for being the flagship student of the program. It was meant to be that way, I think; that is one of the only things that saved me. To have failed again – at something so many people believed in, so many people wanted me to succeed at – it would have crushed me. Besides the crushing defeat that Obito's death handed me."

"So you shattered because of Obito-san's death," Iruka whispered.

Kakashi nodded. "I was glad, in the end. Please don't be sad, Ruka. My training was wrong. The fact that a comrade's death shattered me is proof of that. I should not have been shatter-able if the training had been correct. The idea was to help children endure, not set them up for failure."

"So what happened? In the end?" Iruka stirred his orange juice with his straw. The pulp had settled somewhat. He didn't like ending up with a lot of pulp in the bottom and no juice for it to go with.

"Sandaime shut the program down," Kakashi said softly. "The director of this program was one of his associates; a colleague from past experiences, I gathered. To be any more specific than that would be to commit treason, I'm afraid. The records are all sealed, and I probably shouldn't have told you this much." He looked at Iruka with an almost-smile. "But I felt like telling you, and you asked so nicely. Most people just demand that I explain being weird, or make fun of me for wearing the mask."

"I'm glad," Iruka said. "I'm glad that you told me. I want to get to know you, Kakashi."

Kakashi nodded – or maybe he was just ducking his head. He went back to eating his breakfast, without another word.

"So the other children," Iruka said. He felt compelled to ask; partly because he was a schoolteacher. "You don't know them? You don't know what happened to them?"

Kakashi shrugged and shook his head. "We weren't trained to know each other. We were trained to be detached. We didn't even have real names within the organization. We were called things like…Ine." Ine meant rice plant. "Short names, spelled with single kanji. Easy to remember. Detached. Like us."

"What was your name?" Iruka asked.

Kakashi shook his head. "You don't get it. We got a new name every mission. We weren't supposed to be attached to anything, ne? So we didn't get attached to our own names. We understood what was us for the mission, and then we put the name away again. To avoid confusion, no two names were ever used twice, but only for that reason. There was no sentimentality." He shrugged one shoulder. "Sentimentality was an emotion; one of the things discouraged."

"Sentimentality…" Iruka ate thoughtfully. "I'm not sure it's as simple as an emotion. Or, I think it's a lot of emotions, rolled up into one concept. I think sentimentality is more like a human urge, not a simple emotion that can be set aside." He waited for Kakashi's reaction.

Kakashi swallowed his last bite of omelet. "You're right, of course. I couldn't help being sentimental. It was an urge. There was one woman I knew, but she's dead now."

"Who?" Iruka asked.

"Ine." Kakashi smiled ruefully. "That's why the example leapt to mind. Her name was Ine when I worked with her, and I liked her a lot. She had long, dark hair, that dark misty blue that Hyuuga children can get sometimes. But she wasn't a Hyuuga. If she were, she would have been taken in. No, she was clanless. Like me. My clan was all dead, and so was hers, and they had both been prominent clans in their day. She was a lot like me. Her father committed suicide, her mother was already dead. We…connected."

Kakashi looked away and tensed.

He expects to get in trouble, still, even after all these years. Iruka's heart ached for Kakashi. "You got in trouble."

Kakashi glanced at him sharply. "It was forbidden. We did the wrong thing. We put others in jeopardy. We – I…didn't want to tell. But she did. So she did. She told me that I had formed an attachment with her, and she was sorry. Then she turned herself in. We were separated."

"Separated?" Iruka asked. "Did you sleep in the same room or something?"

Kakashi looked at Iruka for a moment without answering. His good eye was full of pain. "No. Normally, operatives are mixed up together freely, all encouraging each other. My classes and Ine's classes…never met again. And of course she wasn't called Ine. I never saw her again. We were separated; strained out from the group, from each other. Reprimanded." He sighed. "I wanted to see her still. I wanted so badly to break the rules. I was ten, and I think…she was my first crush."

He bowed his head, looking so ashamed that Iruka got up from his side of the table and crossed over to Kakashi, squeezing Kakashi's shoulder.

"You have nothing to be ashamed for," Iruka said softly. "It's natural." He reached up and stroked Kakashi's head, afraid he was crossing a boundary and also hoping that it would work to soothe the man.

"I attempted to find her," Kakashi said miserably. "I wasn't very subtle. Not subtle enough. D – The Director, caught me, or word got back to him, or something, because I was called into his office. He said I as good as killed her. She was trying to leave her past behind her, and our shared circumstances were dredging it back up for her. She'd been crying. She didn't want to see me. I was unwelcome."

Iruka was horrified. He bent over and wrapped both arms around Kakashi tightly.

"I was unwanted. I went back to my training and redoubled my efforts so that I could forget about her." Kakashi grudgingly admitted, "But it didn't work."

Iruka squeezed him.

"I worked and worked, but I couldn't suppress my emotions good enough after that," Kakashi said. "Not good enough. Obito got to me. I got irritable. Everyone suspected something was up. And I just denied it, over and over again…until Obito died. I snapped. I didn't know what to do. My friend had just died, and I didn't have the resources to stop from feeling in myself – this feeling of – it was so…"

Iruka could feel Kakashi shaking. He kissed Kakashi's temple. "It's alright. Let it out."

"Unfair," Kakashi said. "It was unfair. And I shattered, it was beyond repair, and when I was in the hospital Sandaime visited me and told me it wasn't just me. All the people in the program were shattering. Twenty-two. Twenty-two of the children, including me, had all shattered in the past two months. It was just being covered up from me. From everyone in the program. It was like…they didn't want to ruin morale. Even though we weren't supposed to have morale, and we did, they wanted to preserve it but they couldn't, because Sandaime shut the program down and too many of our friends had disappeared –" Kakashi held his head in his hands.

For a moment, Iruka thought he was overwhelmed at the subject matter. Then Iruka remembered the pain pills. "Shit! I'll be right back!" He ran to the living room and got the bottle, then administered two pain pills to Kakashi and watched the man wash them down with orange juice.

"That's an un-teacher-ly word," Kakashi commented, smiling weakly.

"I know it," Iruka shrugged. "I'm an adult the same as everybody else. And don't think most of my students don't know it already, too. They do. I have to paint over the graffiti on the walls sometimes in the bathroom."

Kakashi snorted, almost choking. "I see."

Iruka grinned. "Yeah. The travails of being a teacher."

"Yeah," Kakashi said, a chuckle trembling in his voice.

Iruka noticed that the subject they had been talking about effortlessly slipped away, and the air was lighter. Kakashi was smiling again. I really like your smile.

He couldn't say such a thing to the man. After all, Kakashi was still an adult, even if he was bouncing back and forth between normal maturity and trauma-induced regression to a more child-like level. Kakashi would take his compliment all the wrong way and try to – Well, Iruka didn't know what, but he was sure teasing would be involved. And Iruka did not like to be teased. Not on certain topics.

"How would you like to go back to the living room for some couch snuggles after you're finished eating breakfast?" Iruka asked impulsively.

Kakashi grinned. "Great."

Iruka felt his worries melt away.