Chapter Four

Iruka executed another textbook roundhouse against the training post, aiming for head-height. Again. Again. Again.

Imagining Hatake Kakashi's face on the post helped immensely with his frustration.

The day promised to be beautiful, the early morning already sunny with a breeze cool enough to allow for a vigorous workout without chilling him once he finished. The training field was blessedly empty, a rare quiet that helped to offset Iruka's tension. He figured a good workout would help him to relax a bit before facing the daunting task of continuing to clear the Lair. He'd not slept much the previous night, worried about Kimiko's disappearance and the possibility that Koya's death hadn't been an accident.

He'd also spent too damned much time worrying about Hatake's attitude.

He forced the thoughts away and tried to focus on his form. Again. Again. Again.

Damn. It was so hard to keep in shape, especially with his schedule. Though he supposed he could take his time today, since all he had to look forward to was dismantling traps that could maim or kill him and having to put up with that asshole.

The traps were definitely the lesser of the two evils. Again. Again.

"Maa, sensei, you'd be in a better position to follow through if you extended your kicking leg higher and kept your weight better centered over your pivot leg."

Iruka gave the post an extra-hard snap. "Go away, Hatake-san. I'm busy." Again. Again.

Hatake dropped lightly from the trees and leaned against another post nearby. "You're rusty."

Iruka counted to ten. "Yes. I'm rusty. That's why I'm training." Again. Again.

"I doubt that training on your own will make much difference," Hatake observed. "Your form is good, but your timing stinks. Usually enemy nin aren't keen on standing in one place long enough to let you set up a kick like that."

"I've done quite a few missions, you know," Iruka retorted. He started roundhouses with his other leg, hoping Hatake would get the message, though he grudgingly incorporated Hatake's pointers into his moves, since it was good advice. Again. Again. Again.

"Mmm. I took a look at your file."

Iruka stopped and whirled to face Hatake, hands clenched. "That's confidential! Only the Hokage has access to those files!"

"Mainly courier and simple retrievals, it appears," Hatake continued, ignoring Iruka.

"I've done A-rank missions, too," Iruka retorted. "Even though it's obvious that you don't have the decency to give me credit for them."

"Ten years ago."

Iruka blinked and paused, his automatic retort dying on his lips. Had it really been that long?

"I'm just wondering, you see, why a chuunin like you has been appointed as the Guardian?"

"You want the position? You can have it," Iruka replied, distracted, stunned by the knowledge that he hadn't gone on any high-ranking missions for… oh shit, for a decade. He abruptly sat on the grass and stared at the training post. "I don't believe it."

Hatake squatted beside him. "Neither do I. You don't have the qualifications."

Iruka ignored him. "Ten years." He'd known he'd been out of the field for a while, and his recent interactions with Hatake had spurred him to intensify his training, if only for pride's sake. But was it too late? Could he realistically ever become a field nin again? Yes, he knew the basics down to the letter, having taught them for so long, and yes, his skills were still sharp, because he had little hellions to watch over and prepare to survive in a very hostile world all while keeping them from killing themselves or their fellow students and teachers. But the instincts. How much had they atrophied? Coupled with the reluctance to kill that had taken him out of field service in the first place, could he really call himself a nin anymore?

Iruka became aware of a hard finger poking him in the arm.

"…sei. Sensei. Sen—"

"Stop poking me!"

Hatake eye crinkled into a smile and he dropped his hand to his knee. "I could have killed you a hundred times while you had your little crisis."

"You could kill me a hundred times over even if I was on my best game," Iruka said. He couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice.

"You've gone soft." Amazingly, Hatake didn't sound snide about it, even though his words were blunt. "Not your body. You still look like a nin. You even move like a nin most of the time. But any edge that you had is gone."

"I'm thirty-four," Iruka whispered. "I'm still alive. Most of my classmates—"

A sudden tension swept over Hatake, and he abruptly stood, startling Iruka. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself. So you're alive. What about it? It doesn't matter if you're alive or dead, there are always missions that need to be done."

Iruka stared at him, shocked. But before he could say anything, Hatake leapt into a nearby tree and disappeared.

It really wasn't going to be a good day. Iruka sighed, stood, and resumed his training. Pointless as it seemed to be, now. But if he could get lost in the repetition…

Maybe he wouldn't be so disgusted with himself.

Again. Again. Again.

But his mind refused to disengage.

He was thirty-four, and a chuunin. He wasn't ashamed of that, per se – he knew his limitations, and while he was sure he could have passed the jounin exam, he was realistic enough to realize that he'd have been a weak one at best, particularly since he didn't have the mindset to be an assassin. But when he'd made that decision all those years ago, he'd really only thought about it in terms of where he could do the most good for the village. He remembered thinking the only real impact it would have on him would be on his career, and his ego wasn't so big that a modest career worried him.

He'd never given a thought to the fact that his career as a chuunin schoolteacher meant that he'd likely survive longer than his friends and peers. One by one, they'd left him behind, until all that was left was duty, and his commitment to teaching the next generation how to survive.

The irony wasn't wasted on him, now that he'd confronted it. Why survive for an empty life? A Konoha shinobi's existence was defined by the Will of Fire, the desire above all to protect his precious people. He knew he still felt that for the children he taught, but other than Naruto, who was left for him personally? Who were his precious people, the ones who fed the flames he would need in order to protect Konoha until his last breath?

Gone. His loved ones, with the exception of Naruto, were dead.

When had his life slipped away from him? How many early morning workouts, how many days of classes, how many silent nights alone, grading, at home? Though it hurt and shamed him, he could see why Hatake held him in such contempt. Hell, he was feeling something similar. When had he become content with living his life day to day, an unbroken pattern of empty rooms, full classes and the monotony of the mission desk?

Hatake didn't want him to be the Guardian. He could probably make a lot of trouble about it if he chose to, in fact. He was one of Konoha's most highly-regarded nin, and rightly so. He'd been protecting the hidden village all of his life. Hatake was older than him, yet he wasn't washed up.

Again. Again. Again.

Damn it. He was pathetic. What good did it do to feel sorry for himself like this? Self-pity was something he'd never allowed himself to indulge in before, he'd be damned if he'd wallow in it now. So what if he hadn't been on a high-ranked mission in ten years? And even though his precious people had gone before him, he still honored their memory. He refused to be weak, to lessen the sacrifice each of his loved ones had made for him and for Konoha. He was Umino Iruka. He'd show them how much he loved them by fighting just as hard as they had.

Fuck it. He was damned if Hatake would take him down. He'd be Guardian if it killed him.

Iruka's kicks took on new power.

Oo000oO

Three weeks. They only had three weeks. Less, now. Two weeks and a handful of days.

Iruka looked around the vast room, feeling desperate despite his earlier resolution. They'd never get all of the necessary traps cleared, especially not if that idiot didn't show up to help. He hated to admit it to himself, but he could have used Hatake's Sharingan and his field expertise during the past few hours.

Despite Hatake's no-show, he'd still managed to get a good stretch done. The sheer variety of traps amazed him: seals woven amongst chakra thread, explosive tags balanced so finely a breath could set them off, genjutsu hiding poisoned senbon – that last had nearly put an end to his new career, in fact.

Part of him wished he had unlimited time to finish the task. He itched to take notes on the intricacies of each trap he unraveled, but had to settle for noting patterns and layers instead, notes jotted hastily on a clean copy of the map as he tried – and so far, failed – to find an underlying pattern that could give him a clue to Koya's seemingly random collection of hair-trigger jutsu.

The rest of him wished he could burn the hellhole to the ground.

"Yo."

Iruka whirled. "Where the hell have you been?"

Hatake leaned in the doorway, his nose buried in one of his damned Icha Icha books. "A student was stuck in a tree, so I gave him a kunai to cut himself down," he said, turning a page.

It sounded like either Iruka's substitute had been overcome by the little hellions in his/her care, or Hatake was lying. Unfortunately, it could be either or both. "Oh, good. Now that you've armed a mini-psychopath with a lethal weapon, I could really use your help."

"Maa, sensei- " Hatake drawled, still reading. "Oh. Pardon me. Guardian-"

Iruka clenched his jaw, but said nothing.

"—I'm yours to command."

"This is a serious job," Iruka said. He was proud that he'd managed to keep his tone somewhat even. "Even if you find me contemptible, you should honor the mission we've been assigned. And if it's impossible for you to act professionally, at least shut up and have the decency to think of what might happen to Konoha if we screw up."

Hatake lowered his book, rolled his eye and sighed. "Yes, sensei. Where would you like me to start?"

Iruka rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "I've been thinking that we should try to stabilize the areas we don't have to clear right away and focus on the areas where the most dangerous scrolls are stored. Do you agree?"

"Sounds as good as anything." Looking a bit less antagonistic, Hatake raised his hitai-ate and scanned the room with his Sharingan. "I'm impressed," he added.

"By what?"

"Your progress."

Iruka blinked. "Um, thanks." He waited for the snide comment sure to follow, but was surprised when Hatake turned back to him with a smile, instead.

"You've managed to get quite far since yesterday." He lowered his hitai-ate to cover his eye again.

"Check in, here," Iruka said cautiously. "Are you being sincere?"

Hatake's eye closed and curved in response, and though Iruka knew the smile wasn't real, he wasn't sure if it was forced politeness or just plain mocking. "I see you managed to disable that particularly nasty decapitation trap," Hatake said.

Iruka suppressed a shudder. That trap had been pure evil. "Yes. Well. I think that one took about ten years off my life."

"Ah. Perhaps it's regressed you back far enough to remember being a shinobi."

"And my question is answered," Iruka muttered to himself. "Right," he said, addressing Hatake. "Do you think if I gave you a five-minute opportunity to make as many rude comments about my qualifications as you can, you might get enough of your resentment out of your system so that we can get to work? Because I'm willing to take a short break. After all, I've been here for several hours already."

"Improv works best for me, I find," Hatake replied. His thumb caressed the cover of his Icha Icha.

Iruka rolled his eyes. "If you put your porn away, maybe some of your blood might leak back up to your brain and inspire you to be more original."

Hatake's eyebrow rose and he looked at Iruka, speculation plainly showing through his mask. "I thought this was my turn to insult you."

"What? Afraid of something an expendable chuunin might say?"

Hatake suddenly leered. "You know, you remind me of an Icha Icha heroine, all smartass comebacks. If you weren't such a prudish control-freak, you'd be almost attractive."

Iruka froze. He could feel his face flushing dangerously red as he tried to rein in his immediate homicidal impulse. "I'm not a prude."

"Spank me, sensei," Hatake drawled.

"Are you sure you want to let a kunai-carrying chuunin like me get that close to the Hatake jewels?" Iruka asked, narrowing his eyes. "Because I'd be only too happy to oblige."

Hatake blinked and a genuine grin slipped out, obvious despite the mask. "Now that sounds like a challenge."

Iruka rolled his eyes. "Hardly. Not interested, Hatake-san."

"So meticulously polite." Hatake shook his head. "Maa, sensei, since it seems like we're destined to be enemies, why don't you just call me by name and drop all of the honorifics?"

"I'm not your enemy," Iruka retorted. "I'm just not your friend. Now, are you going to help me untangle that mess of fire traps in front of us, or shall I just use you as a battering ram and have you spring them all with your inflated ego?"

"I'm not sure the Hokage's tower would survive the combustion," Hatake smirked.

A grin tugged at the corner of Iruka's mouth. "At least you have a grasp of the obvious."

Another leer. Strange, how much the man's single eye could express. "I could take grasp of your 'obvious', if you like."

Iruka snorted, but chuckled. "I'll pass, thank you. Hatake."

"Iruka."

"Kakashi."

Iruka grinned and Hatake grinned back.

"I think my five minutes are up," Hatake said. "Pity. It was just getting interesting."

Iruka snorted, annoyed and amused. "You just wanted to get up my nose."

Hatake leaned against the doorjamb again and crossed his arms, his gaze traveling down Iruka's body. "I wouldn't mind getting up other bits of your anatomy, too, sensei."

"Easy shot, I gave you that one. But getting back to the non-sexual task at hand," Iruka replied, hoping the tentative camaraderie might last at least a few minutes, "what are your thoughts about how to tackle that mess in front of us?"