Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or the characters used in this work of fan fiction.

Warnings: Eventual Kakairu (which means male/male romance), possible future smut that will be posted elsewhere and crosslinked - R rated versions of chapters will be provided here. Rating of fic will rise to M in later chapters.

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was the pain. It pulsed in the long gash on his side, itched at the wounds on his hands, and vengefully stabbed at his head. He groaned and tried holding perfectly still with both eyes shut, but somehow it didn't seem to help. Giving up on getting back to sleep, he rolled over to face the ceiling and took a deep breath, then released it in a shudder when his ribs complained at the movement.

The second thing he noticed was the dust and the almost-mud it'd made on his skin, now dry and itchy. He pulled away from the bed and opened his eyes only long enough to verify that yes, it was indeed his apartment, before stumbling out into the living room. Blearily he looked over the mess on the floor before the sharp pain in his eyes made him growl and reflexively clap a hand over the Sharingan. He grunted as the chakra drain abruptly receded, and the room stopped swimming enough for him to look around.

Enough light was coming through the blinds for him to make out his clothing on the floor, and he groaned as he leaned down to snag the hitai-ate and tie it over his eye He picked up the pouch of painkillers almost as an afterthought and took two dry, then leaned back against the wall and let it support his weight as he slumped down. Having the Sharingan covered was helping, but nothing would change the fact that he had nearly no chakra and, judging by the gash in his side, had managed to injure himself fairly badly.

He closed both eyes and rested against the wall, trying to ignore the pulses of pain. To distract himself he sorted through memories of the night before. He remembered the pain killers. He remembered the hospital, and remembered sneaking out the window. He remembered cleaning up as best he could, washing the blood off – though a look down at his stomach that showed brown streaks of dried blood and caked dust made him think that he could've done a better job. He remembered leaving Tsunade's office, and-

Shit. Tsunade. He groaned and let his head fall forward against his knees and tried to think of an argument to convince himself that it'd just been a nightmare, but the scarily happy look she'd worn was too real for him to have imagined it. She looked like she'd just found out Konoha was going to give up the whole ninja business and establish a casino, and she was going to be the head. It was a creepy smile, the kind of smile that made him want to run away and hide, and it was a smile that he was entirely certain boded no good. Shit. A month. An entire month.

His stomach growled, and Kakashi dragged himself to his feet and slowly made his way to the kitchen. Judging by the pain in his head and how much the wound in the side had healed, he'd been out for at least two days – long enough for the need for food and water to be overwhelming. He started the sink running while he looked through the cabinet for a clean glass, and stuck it underneath the still slightly brown stream, too impatient to wait for the water to become clear. He drank the glass in two long gulps, and repeated the process three more times before he'd had enough.

There was no food in the apartment, but he'd come to expect that. His gear was still in the living room, and he rummaged through it until he found half a ration bar and a few solider pills. He ate the bar slowly, chewing every bite thoroughly – if he ate too quickly, he'd end up throwing it up. The solider pills came after, and he lazily scratched at his stomach, knocking loose dust and dried blood. One look at the uniform on the floor proved that it was useless – he'd either have to burn it or turn it into rags – so he went back into the bedroom.

The bed, dust-covered as it was, looked comfortable, and for a moment he entertained the idea of crawling back into it. Experience testified that it'd be as comfortable as it looked, and his body seemed to think that sleeping for another two days was a good idea, but he knew that he needed food. Regretfully he bypassed the bed and went for the closet instead, pulling out another uniform. He slung the clothing over one arm and headed for the bathroom, carefully avoiding the mirror.

The shower was hot and delicious and wonderful, and it reminded him of why it was sometimes good to not be out on a mission. The heat of the water soothed his sore muscles, and he leaned against the tile, letting the water sluice over his shoulders. He summoned enough energy to wash his hair and roughly abrade his skin until the dirt and blood he couldn't clean away before came free, and then stayed in the shower until the water turned cold.

The first flashback came as he was getting dressed.

His eyes were black, and he leaned over Kakashi with a smirk.

"I thought you'd be harder to capture than this."

Kakashi glared up at him but refused to answer. The man's face was hidden by the shadows, but his grin was clear, and it was the perverted grin of the truly mad. The blade touched his skin, and he fought to keep from arching up to get away from it. If he moved, it would only cut deeper – but if he didn't, his torturer would move on to other things, more painful things. They'd battle like this for hours, until all that existed was the blinding pain and Kakashi's training.

The man leaned in closer to lick at the wound on Kakashi's abdomen, and Kakashi stared at him silently. His face was visible now, though only half of it could be seen, the other half turned away and covered in shadows. It was enough to recognize him, and Kakashi let his lips curl up in a smile. He knew that the man would see it if he looked up – the first thing they'd done was take his mask – but even if he did see it, it'd serve his purposes well.

People never realized that torture revealed as much about the person doing it as it did about the person being tortured. Kakashi had revealed his face and that he wouldn't talk, but his torturer had now revealed his face as well, and his questions had shown Kakashi what he wanted to know. It was enough. Kakashi easily slipped his hands free from the chakra cuffs and gripped the man's throat. He forced his head up enough so that the man could see his smile, then pressed with his thumbs and applied enough force to snap his torturer's neck.

He had what he needed. He retrieved his gear with little hassle, and silently killed those who'd seen him. This group was unimportant – merely tools, like himself – but they bore the marks of their master in the information they'd demanded and the faces they had worn. He knew who the traitor was, now, and that was enough. The fools hadn't even reported capturing him. They'd been too excited at their cleverness in restraining the Copy Nin, and had wanted to impress their leader with more than just news of a body. The display of ego made it easier for him. There were fewer people to kill to cover his tracks.

On the way back the missing nin attacked. This memory was a blur of sweat-covered bodies and jutsus, knives sliding against flesh and the choked cries of death. He remembered the jutsus more than the faces, the dancing fire and the slashing earth, the wind that pulled at him but was slow, too slow to catch him, and then there was pain, rough and tangible, cutting and crushing. He twisted away and sent kunai flying for the person who had hit him before pressing a hand to the wound, and watched as she died. He stayed only long enough to destroy the bodies before heading back up into the branches. He was supposed to report three days ago. If he didn't arrive soon, they'd proclaim him dead.

Kakashi was shaking when the flashback ended, and he allowed himself a moment to tremble before pulling the ANBU top over his head and fixing the mask over his face. It always happened after a bad mission. The memories would slam into him and take away his breath, and then they'd slowly pull back, leaving barbs and slashes in his psyche. It was common among shinobi, and he knew that it was his mind's way of dealing with the stress, but he didn't like it. It was part of the reason that he stayed on the field. The flashbacks never came when he was out on a mission.

None of the memories did, even the ones that weren't created on the field. When he was gone, it was as if nothing existed but the mission. He didn't have to remember the way he'd failed every person who had ever mattered to him. He didn't have to remember disappointed eyes, or even worse, the lying eyes that said it wasn't his fault. He knew how to handle people trying to kill him. He didn't know how to handle those trying to sympathize with him.

He ran the towel roughly over his hair and looked into the mirror, careful to keep the Sharingan eye closed. The visible part of his face was clean, and as his hair started to dry it stood up in the familiar silver spikes. By the time it was dry and he'd finished dressing, he felt almost human. He stopped in the living room to get his supplies from the ruined flak jacket and transfer them over to the new one, then gathered the clothes and took them into the kitchen, where the fire wouldn't be as much of a danger. He burned them with a quick jutsu and spent an hour on the floor paying for the use of the chakra before he could head out the door.

***

There was no one at the memorial stone, and Kakashi stood there silently until the sun began to set and the change in light told him it was time to leave. He traced his fingers over the names before turning away, but the feeling of the kanji carved into the stone remained on his fingertips long after the monument was out of sight.

***

He was halfway to his apartment before his stomach growled, reminding him of why he'd left in the first place. The ramen stand had the one redeeming quality of being the closest place with food, so he pulled the curtain back and sat down at the bar silently. There were no other customers, and it took a few minutes for the owner to notice him sitting there. When he did he smiled brightly.

"What can I get for you?"

Kakashi thought for a moment before answering, distracted by the smell of food. It suddenly felt like years instead of weeks since he'd eaten a hot meal, and his stomach growled again, more insistently this time. Kakashi sniffed at the air and hesitated, then donned the curvy-eyed smile when he realized he was being stared at.

"Miso ramen."

The old man smiled back and nodded, then turned around to prepare the noodles. Kakashi took the opportunity to look around the small booth, automatically noting the most defendable positions in the event of attack. It didn't take long – he'd been there before – but it made some of the tension leave his shoulders. The lack of customers also helped. Not only would it be his first real meal in weeks, if he was lucky it'd be a meal that he could eat relatively uninterrupted. If the owner kept his back to him, he might even get a chance to chew.

A bowl of steaming miso ramen was set down in front of him and Kakashi glanced up to see the owner politely turning away. He sniffed at the ramen, both to enjoy the smell and from the long-ingrained habit of checking all food for obvious poisons before consuming it. It wasn't that he had any particular distrust of the food – it was just that, like most Jounin, he was cautious to the point of paranoia. The habit had saved his life more than once, so while he tried to be discreet of it while in the village out of politeness, he still refused to eat anything without first being relatively certain it was safe. If the man behind the counter took any offense he didn't show it, and Kakashi broke open his chopsticks in preparation to enjoy a leisurely meal.

"Kakashi-san!"

Kakashi closed his eyes and bit back a sigh at the interruption, then turned around with a smile, two fingers extended in a lazy salute.

"Yo."

"I didn't realize you were back in town." The speaker was a tanned man with a scar across his nose wearing a standard-issue flak jacket. Kakashi only vaguely recognized him, but his mind immediately provided the rank – Chuunin. He shrugged and maintained the smile.

"Got in a few nights ago."

The Chuunin took that for encouragement and sat down a stool away from Kakashi. He sighed internally. There went his chances of a peaceful meal. He waited until the man turned to order and took the opportunity to quickly down half the bowl of ramen.

"I haven't seen you here alone before. Do you come often?" the Chuunin asked.

Kakashi looked up at the smiling man and shrugged.

"Maa, not really," he said.

The man's smile fell slightly, and he looked sad for a moment.

"I see… I miss him too."

Kakashi raised a brow at the odd response, but before he could question it the man's food arrived and he concentrated on eating. Kakashi took advantage of the silence to gulp down a few more bites of the ramen, and when the man didn't look up, he cautiously slowed down enough to chew his food. It wasn't the best thing he'd ever tasted, but it was infinitely better than ration bars and had the benefit of having been prepared by someone else. Food that required no work always tasted better, and he held up one finger to the owner in a clear request for another bowl.

"Have you heard anything from him?" The question was sudden and the man's tone was wistful. Kakashi hid his surprise. When he didn't respond, the Chuunin nervously pushed the noodles around in his bowl, and then looked up with another smile that didn't quite cover the worry in his eyes.

"I thought maybe he'd write to you… I mean, he's pretty much forgotten me by now, but I was sure that he would've gotten into contact with you at least once, even if it was just to brag about some new jutsu or complain about how Jiraiya-sama is an even bigger pervert than you are," said the man.

Kakashi stared at the man for a moment, confused. What did any of this have to do with Jiraiya? He opened his mouth to reply, and then paused, eyes focusing on the scar crossing the Chuunin's nose. Perfectly straight and bold, it bisected his face, underlining worry-filled, chocolate brown eyes. Add in the ponytail, and…

"Ah. You're Naruto's Iruka-sensei," Kakashi said. That explained it.

The man – no, Iruka – blinked and gaped at him, then nodded.

"Ah… yes." He seemed surprised and a little hurt at not having been recognized, but he quickly covered it up with a smile.

"And you're talking to me because you want to find out how he's been," Kakashi continued.

The teacher blushed and looked down at the table. The silence was interrupted by the owner placing the second bowl down in front of Kakashi, and he nodded his thanks.

"That too…" the Chuunin murmured. The words were so quiet that Kakashi almost didn't catch them, and he was certain they weren't meant to be heard, so of course he responded to them.

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow at Iruka, but it went unseen, because the other man was still staring at the bar. With a philosophical shrug Kakashi started eating his second bowl of ramen. If the teacher didn't want to talk, all the better. When he felt Iruka's eyes on him everything made sense, and he set the chopsticks down and glanced over at the other man.

"Maa, Sensei, I don't know what you've heard, but I'm not that easy," Kakashi drawled, putting special emphasis on the title.

The teacher stared at him, terrified, face flushing red. Kakashi just smiled and held up his empty bowl.

"See? All done," he said.

Iruka looked confused for a moment, then slowly relaxed.

"I wasn't trying to see under your mask."

Kakashi tilted his head to the side slightly, curious.

"What then?"

The teacher looked down again and muttered under his breath, but they both knew Kakashi could hear the words.

"You looked like you wanted company."

Kakashi blinked.

"You must've been mistaken, Sensei. I already have plenty of company, see?" When Iruka looked up Kakashi proudly held out his book, smiling. The teacher blinked.

"You call that company?" he asked.

Kakashi nodded happily. "In this one the hero runs across a set of triplets. Bisexual, kuniochi triplets. All veeery flexible. You should read it!"

Iruka looked like he couldn't decide between blushing and screaming, so Kakashi helpfully opened the book and started pointing out the illustrations, hoping to provoke one reaction or the other. The Chuunin settled on blushing and sunk down into his barstool as if he wished he could disappear. Kakashi glanced at the book – surely the pictures hadn't been that dirty? – but decided to leave before innocently-blushing turned into suddenly-homicidal. He didn't remember much about the Chuunin, but the foggy memories he did have seemed to hint at an amazing temper. He dropped enough money to pay for his meal down on the bar.

"I'm sorry, but I haven't heard from Naruto, Iruka-sensei." He smiled his curvy-eyed, stay-the-hell-away-from-me smile, then left the ramen stand. He tried to ignore the feeling of the teacher's eyes on his back as he walked away, but the sensation lingered far after he was out of sight, and he couldn't quite figure out why.

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews! All feedback is appreciated.