Training Kakashi.
Lesson Six: Diplomacy.
A tiny ball of paper hit Ibiki's temple, bouncing off his skin soundlessly. He said nothing and merely continued to work in silence. Another ball flew through the office, hitting its intended target easily. Ibiki concentrated on the reports before him, trying to sort out missions– another hit, very close to his eye too, and Ibiki decided he had had enough; three hours under the attack were enough. He stood up and a rain of paper balls scattered to the floor, he turned to his left, where Midori was calmly rolling up another of her bullets. She put it in her open palm and then sent it flying with her finger.
It hit Ibiki's chest.
"Having fun?"
"You're a bastard," she looked remarkably like a three-year old, "just… bastard."
"Eh, yes?" Ibiki frowned. Well, it was a bit of an understandment that he was a bastard. It was practically in his job description, the most important requirement. Midori had never really complained before. None of his staff had.
"Just… arg, I'm not talking to you."
"…you are aware that you actually are, yes? Right this instant?" Ibiki wondered, briefly, if something was wrong with the water.
"Har-har."
Midori was sulking. Sulking. In his office. People never sulked in his office. Cry in agony, scream for mercy, ask for their mommy, sure. But not sulking. Never sulking. Ibiki wondered if this was a not-so-subtle sign from the gods that he needed to take a vacation. Preferably a long one. Away from interrogation rooms and noisy intelligence officers and overly erratic medic Nin that sulked in his office.
He'd have to sign a tower of paperwork and gamble with Tsunade-sama, but it was doable.
"What did I do now?" His bewildered tone earned him another glare and a scowl.
He was torn between amusement and curiosity, because he really couldn't remember any offence that had been bad enough to bring this bout of childish behavior from someone he could usually count as a reliable, responsible, mature adult.
Most of the time.
"You sent Kakashi on a mission," Midori said sullenly, terribly miffed and possibly contemplating retaliation involving something a bit more threatening than paper balls.
Ibiki blinked.
"Eh, no, I didn't," he quirked an eyebrow, schooling his features out of the amused expression by sheer habit, "Tsunade-sama, you know, our current Hokage, did. Very loudly and with a few threats involving unspeakable amounts of pain if he were to fail or be late again, matter of fact."
"You sent Kakashi on a mission without Iruka," she sniffed, sniffed; Ibiki wondered if he had fallen asleep on his late night shift again and this was just a twisted, morbid dream his psyche had cooked up just to piss him off, "do you have any idea of what that means?"
"Kakashi didn't want to take him along, can't say I blame him, either," when she looked ready to reply, he added, snidely, "although sure, sending that man to fend off against his former students, maybe killing them, I don't know what Kakashi was thinking. Iruka would have been delighted."
Silence.
"Yeah, well…" Caught, Midori struggled to find the words, and then glared, "at least he wouldn't be mopping my apartment right now!"
"I think you mean moping in your apartment."
"He's got a mop and a bucket of water and he's cleaning it," Midori clarified quite acidly, "He's mopping my apartment."
Ibiki stared, tilting his head slightly to the side and screwing his mouth in an unreadable expression that made the scars twitch. Midori continued to sulk. A vacation was sounding better and better by the moment, his mind supplied easily. Somewhere safe and peaceful, like a scorpion-infested patch of desert near Hidden Sand.
"…why?"
"Because he's depressed!" Midori looked at Ibiki as if she were doubting his famous grasp on the human mind. "He's lonely and he misses Kakashi, he's utterly miserable."
Maybe not Hidden Sand, but he heard the cells in Hidden Rock were particularly amicable towards stray Leafs.
"So he's cleaning your apartment because he's depressed?"
"Well, no," Midori shrugged, "he was doing nothing because he's depressed, so I told him to suck it up and do something useful. But that's not the point," she waved dismissingly, "the point is that he's missing Kakashi and it's your fault!"
Ibiki had given up understanding women long ago – specifically, the very moment he met Anko for the first time – and this particularly trying specimen of womanhood was as far away from his understanding as it was humanly possible. She was a good medic Nin, one who had the restrains and the cold blood needed to calculate the treatment to maintain alive and not heal fully. One that didn't particularly minded to treat the prisoners that went through Ibiki – or worse, Anko herself – for interrogation and who never even quirked an eyebrow at the state of affairs in the office.
But she was still a bloody child that could drive any sane man up a wall when she put her mind into it.
Ibiki mourned his strict code of conduct and wondered if it would be really all that terrible to have a stack of alcohol hidden in his desk. God knew Tsunade-sama did.
"Alright," Ibiki rubbed the bridge of his nose and felt an irritating pulse that herald a headache pushing against his left eye, "tell him to come here, I have a job for him."
--
The Kazekage was due to arrive to Konoha and there was need for a squad to escort him.
Iruka's absent mind directed his hands as they put the scroll into the S-ranked pile. He was half way through the next mission request when it hit him. His eyes widened as he reached for the precious scroll, rereading it a few times to make sure. The Kazekage. In Konoha.
Oh dear.
He hadn't been so sure when Midori had pretty much dragged him into Ibiki's office – a place Iruka really didn't want to visit all that often – especially after she had bossed him into cleaning her apartment, since she thought he was 'depressed'. Iruka would have liked to argue he didn't even know how to be depressed and while he had been quiet and contemplative the first days after Kakashi left on his mission, it was mostly due to the fact he was trying to figure out where he stood with the Copy Nin now. Of course that had been nearly a month ago and now Iruka was installed in the Mission Room, sorting out all manner of important papers and with a security clearance that most Jounins would never hope to get.
Being the Third's favorite shougi opponent had its advantages, it seemed.
It was a heavy workload, but apparently he needed it. Well, he'd always had an excess of free time, he thought wryly, and teaching in the Academy only stretched so far. After the third died, he no longer spent his afternoons playing shougi with the Hokage, commenting on the recent events. And he figured that at least now was doing something truly productive, instead of reorganizing his apartment every time he grew too bored with its layout.
But back at the matter at hand, the Kazekage was coming to Konoha. The Kazekage. Iruka wondered who had been chosen, but he didn't know enough Sand Nins to do an educated guess, so he figured this was a diplomatic – very diplomatic, at that – way of showing trust and 'apologize' for the Orochimaru fiasco in the Chuunin exam nearly a year and a half ago.
Naruto's been gone nearly eight months now, Iruka thought absently, sparing a warm smile for his former student and a plea to the heavens that his training with Jiraiya wouldn't completely turn the boy into a helpless pervert. A strong, rather unstoppable pervert, but a pervert nonetheless.
Oh well.
Now the matter was, who was he going to stick with the job of following a group of stern, stone-faced Sand Nins and their leader, and who wouldn't turn the whole thing into a bloody war zone. Sand Nins weren't the most popular thing in Konoha after the death of the Third, except around the group of Genin that had tried to retrieve Sasuke and had received support from the Sand Siblings. Iruka really hoped that they would come along the committee, because otherwise, things would be Bad and Tense.
"Enter," Iruka intoned calmly as Takato, Ibiki's main intelligence man, slumped into the room, grinning lopsidedly like the carefree, lovable idiot he was.
"Ibiki says you gotta sort this out," he dropped another tower of scrolls into Iruka's desk, "and he wants to you nominate the teams for the D and C missions."
Oh yes, Iruka enjoyed this new job and Ibiki never hesitated to take advantage of the teacher's deep knowledge of his students. The whole incident with Naruto and the Chuunin exam had taught Iruka that his students could be pushed and that they actually grew up once they left his side, but the basic strengths and weaknesses that he'd perceived in the Academy rarely changed, thus he was the best suited to nominate them for missions they had the highest chances of completing successfully.
"Alright," Iruka nodded, then smiled a bit tiredly, "Reiko's tonight?"
"You bet, man, you bet," Takato's grin grew and he nodded enthusiastically, "booze and time to chill. Just like the medic Nin prescribed."
Sharing a laugh, feeling like a part of the complex clockwork already, Iruka figured that he was quite lucky, even if he still hadn't figured out Kakashi's place in his life.
Life was good, nevertheless.
--
The Kazekage was in Konoha, but Iruka still didn't know who he was. Truthfully, he had avoided the knowledge, because certainly someone – anyone, really, who had a lower clearance than him, and that was many people – would try to wrestle the information out of him. The head of Hidden Sand was to stay with them until the start of the Chuunin exams in a week and a half, and he would not reveal his face to the public eye in Konoha until then. Maybe. There was a lot of secrecy involving him and of course a lot of curiosity, which naturally mean that everyone was speculating and throwing wild guesses about it. So Iruka had merrily carried on with his work and avoided the name attached to the title like the plague. After all, no one that knew him, however marginally, would try to question him further after he looked at them and told them quite sincerely that he didn't know.
When he explained his logic to Tsunade-sama, she had looked at him a bit oddly and asked him about Kakashi.
Iruka didn't read Kakashi's team's reports either, so he told her quite sincerely that he didn't know.
Tsunade laughed, offered sake – Iruka always declined – and then kicked him out of the office for at least a week, saying that way he would know even less about the Kazekage. His identity was to be kept secret for the time being, since apparently he was Too Important, so Iruka was glad to be back to his apartment every afternoon after Academy classes were over and his students were done with their daily pleas for him to give them extra lessons. Never in the history of Iruka's teaching carrier had a whole class begged for extra work, but then again, this generation had seen not one, but two incredibly odd and uncommon situations in which it was established that Iruka Ruled. He'd kicked someone's ass, rather soundly at that, in front of them and he'd also caught the great Sharingan Kakashi off balance; that basically made him into their One True Hero and there was no shaking that.
At the thought of Kakashi, Iruka's mood still darkened a little.
The second day of his 'leave' from the Mission Office, Iruka found that he was getting antsy. He had the oddest urge to rearrange the furniture in his apartment into new, inventive ways and he couldn't really concentrate on grading papers. He'd taken to lessen the brunt of written examinations, because he didn't have the time to grade them now – and his students had fallen into line so perfectly, he really didn't need to punish them that much anymore – and now he had an empty apartment, a free afternoon and nothing to do.
Five minutes later, he was walking up the mountain trail towards his favorite thinking spot and Not Thinking about Kakashi or the Kazekage or any other bothersome topic that could give him a headache.
Iruka knew he was doomed to fail, but he tried, nevertheless. He always did.
--
"Naruto is not in the village," a bored monotone interrupted Iruka's contemplations, startling him almost to the point he fell off the head of the Third's monument, "why?"
He stood and turned around to face whoever had sneaked on him in a single, fluid movement – it had to be a Jounin to have gone undetected by Iruka's sharp senses – and froze when he caught sight of the impassive green eyes that bore onto him. Gaara of the Desert stood despondently in front of him, seemingly waiting for an answer that Iruka could not really formulate since he was too busy trying to set his breathing and heartbeat into a sensible rhythm and not get killed in the process.
True, Naruto had prattled on and on about the great progress Gaara had made after their battle, and he and his siblings had even helped the Konoha's Genin while they hunted after Sasuke, but it was one thing to have your overly excited former student going on about the one-eighty the container of the one-tail had gone through and quite another to be face to face with the results of it.
"Naruto is not in the village," Gaara repeated calmly, monotonously, when he realized Iruka wasn't answering him, "why?"
"Oh, eh," Iruka wondered if he should be afraid, but he was more curious and shocked than anything, "he left the village a while ago."
Gaara's expression turned sinister and rather scary, despite the fact not a single muscle in his face moved, and Iruka had a moment to realize how his words had sounded. Smooth, Umino, he told himself dryly, real smooth.
"Not like that!" He yelped loudly, waving his arms as if to shield himself from an attack that wasn't coming, though Gaara's chakra seemed to thicken a little bit; "He's on a training trip, with one of the Sannin. He'll be back." Eventually.
…I hope.
"I see," a tiny frown marred Gaara's features, a cross between perplexity that Naruto wasn't available and maybe irritation because of it.
Iruka really hoped it was mostly perplexity, because he was pretty sure he couldn't handle an irritated Gaara.
He wasn't entirely sure anyone could handle an irritated Gaara.
"You don't fear Naruto," it was a statement, not a question, but it was laced with a hint of curiosity that made Iruka quirk an eyebrow.
"Of course not," the teacher blurted out the answer without thinking; it was automatic and he couldn't stop it, but the notion was ridiculous. "He was my student and he's a good boy, there's no reason to fear him."
Gaara seemed to be perplexed again, and the frown deepened somewhat.
"Naruto has enough power to destroy Konoha, if he chooses to," the way Gaara said it, it sounded terrible, something to be afraid of, but Iruka could also read beneath the words what went unsaid: so do I, and my people fear me for it.
"Well, yes, but he would never do such a thing," Iruka smiled reassuringly; that, too, was an automatic response and he didn't even think about it, "he loves Konoha and he will protect it from everything, even himself, if he has to."
Gaara seemed to ponder his words, because his expression turned blank – and that was strange, because his face had remained still through out the exchange – and he favored Iruka with a piercing green stare.
"You are his teacher, then," the redhead said after a long moment, "what's your name?"
Iruka gave Gaara a fascinated stare for a moment. It's not every day that a boy who's nearly half your age comes up and asks you your name, more so when that boy is powerful enough to kill you with a flicker of his wrist.
The Chuunin decided his days were getting stranger and stranger and wondered what that could possibly mean.
"Umino Iruka," he answered eventually, feeling his name inadequate as it passed through his lips.
There was something off about Gaara, though, something insane and something thoughtful, neither of which he could hope to understand. Gaara didn't present himself, but Iruka had expected that. It wasn't like he needed to be introduced. Iruka took advantage of the long silence and studied the boy in front of him; from his violently colored hair to the kanji on his forehead to the gigantic gourd he always seemed to be carrying about. The was something that called to Iruka in the way Gaara contemplated his words, deep into his own thoughts, similar to the way the shunned blond boy in Iruka's class had called to him, once upon a time.
Naruto wasn't the only shared acquaintance between them, Iruka knew in a moment; Loneliness was Gaara's companion as well.
Silence was thick and it was slowly turning uncomfortable for Iruka. It wasn't that he couldn't stay quiet, because he could, but he felt there was too many things unsaid hanging around the deceptively frail-looking child before him, and it was in his own nature to try and lessen that burden, even if it was clear he had no way of doing so.
"Kazekage-sama!"
There was relief in the gasp as a Sand ANBU materialized behind Gaara. Two seconds later, three more masked shinobis were standing at a prudent distance behind the redhead, though Iruka felt their stares on him. It made his skin tingle somewhat.
"Kazekage-sama," the first ANBU said anxiously, "we've been looking-"
Gaara turned his head slowly, tearing his gaze away from Iruka and centering its intensity on the older man.
"Silence."
The order had the immediate effect to cut off the man and a tense anxiety settled in the air instead. Iruka had gone white. Ka… Kazekage? And his eyes were getting round and large as well.
"Tomorrow," Gaara said calmly, still not looking at him, "we will speak again, Umino Iruka, and you will tell me why you don't fear Naruto."
It wasn't so much a request as an order and a threat, so Iruka nodded a bit dumbly. Gaara didn't see him, but he didn't seem to be expecting an answer either, because seconds later, he and his ANBU disappeared in a whisper of sand. Iruka stood there, on the head of the Third's monument and stared some more at the empty space before him.
Kazekage. Gaara of the Desert was now Kazekage of Sunagakure. And Iruka had just spent about half an hour talking and being quiet next to him. Talking about Naruto. And he apparently had been appointed to do it again, tomorrow.
He sat down on the hard rock because he felt he would fall down otherwise and, ever the diplomat, voiced his thoughts with as much coherency and eloquence as he could.
"Shit."