Baby steps into the next phase of the journey...

Chapter 11

Kakashi had never in his life nursed a cold bowl of ramen as long as he had this one. The congealing broth and over-saturated noodles were getting to the point where his little charade of just happening to still be here eating was pretty much shot.

Iruka would come. Iruka would be angry and curious, and he'd use the crutch of an excuse that Naruto's disappearance would provide as justification. Once one of them made the first move, the other always responded. Not that it had ever been a good thing. Not that they shouldn't have been smart enough to resist one another long ago.

It wasn't the conflict that kept them apart. It was the sick possessiveness. Once they were in a committed relationship, Iruka wanted Kakashi to touch no one else, not even a hug, much less mission sex. He had tried desperately to control his insecure jealousy. He simply could not. It was a neurotic obsession. He raged and agonized and worried over it to the point of distraction, and dumped Kakashi for good dozens of times for his wanton ways over mere hugs, practice matches and sharing tents during missions. In the end, Kakashi stopped trying to be humor him. It was pointless. In the end, when Iruka made him angry, he slept with others openly for revenge. That alone was insurmountable.

And Kakashi was far worse in his own way. He wanted to possess Iruka's mind, heart and soul. He wanted the chunin to think of no one else but him. Physical fidelity came naturally to Iruka. But he publicly admired countless others. He had numerous colleagues that he respected and deferred to. You only had to observe him for a short time to witness the many ways that he cared for students and parents and shopkeepers openly. He even sought their opinions on personal matters at times.

Kakashi couldn't stand it. The level of emotional giving that his chunin showered on the clerks that bagged his purchases nearly exceeded Kakashi's comfort zone in emotional connection with this, his most intimate lover. In result his own insecurity was outrageous.

Iruka started out in the relationship with the blinding dedication of a hero-worshipper, and he saw and thought about no one but the copy-nin during those dizzying first days. It was part and parcel of the insanity of falling in love. Iruka's hero worship was the sweetest nectar Kakashi had ever tasted. When they came back down to earth into a more realistic relationship, he developed his own obsession at losing that worship and felt cheated, hungry and betrayed that he had to share a moment of Iruka's attention and goodwill with anyone or anything else.

Within it all they were in a relationship still, outwardly together and reasonably well-matched, further entangling themselves in daily concerns, sharing quarters, libidos and lives. They spent two years clutching at one another while lashing out over the behaviors they desperately wanted from one another but never received; it left them coming apart at the seams. Kakashi moved back to the Hatake Estate in a last-ditch attempt to salvage things before the damage was irreparable.

First one, then the other, tried to make their separation permanent. But when one grew weak and approached the other always acquiesced eventually. With time these periods of truce had become platonic and thorny at best, Kakashi's constant willingness and pressure to continue just the physical relationship taken as a mortal insult by Iruka.

It was hard to hear Iruka's voice and not be overwhelmed. He pictured Iruka and the many people he had continued to interact with so charmingly, and it hardened his heart with cold jealousy. The overwhelming urge to abduct him and keep him chained in a basement, to which only Kakashi had the key , to was all too familiar.

Iruka saw Kakashi through the rimmed vision that was his mask and let his emotions rise for a moment. The slut was there, his thin black sleeveless shirt showing off his lean muscled body. Everyone got to take a turn with the copy-nin. He fucked everyone, hell, probably any thing. Iruka didn't need that kind of shit anymore. He had a lot of guts to ask Iruka to meet him here and then show up dressed like a streetwalker.

Iruka sat, nodding absently to the cook, who smiled in response. Kakashi felt bile rise watching the chunin paying kindly attention to someone else for the millionth time. He wanted to haul him up on the counter and fuck him proper right in front of all of them, let them know he was already getting all the attention he needed. It was an inappropriate thought, he knew that. It didn't stop him from thinking it.

He made the split-second transition from pride-wounded manimal to first rank shinobi and addressed his mission objective with words calculated to set their exchange on mutually tolerable neutral territory.

"I'm sure Naruto would be pleased to see you make this effort. You are far too busy for the social niceties these days."

"Explain." Iruka shook his head at the chef to decline the offered menu. He didn't eat in public, and he didn't eat ramen at all. The feeling of anything wet on his makeshift face, especially something slimy like a stray noodle, disgusted him thoroughly. He tolerated those sorts of things offhandedly when they were unavoidable on missions , but he didn't voluntarily subject himself to it in his off hours, nor did he have the slightest intention of paying for the privilege.

Kakashi fingered his own mask as he studied Iruka's.

"Naruto's gone missing. He didn't leave a note. I'm trying to find him. That wasn't too many words for ya, was it?" Kakashi smirked.

"Asshole."

"Language," warned Kakashi smugly. Already he was in control, all the buttons right there where he left them last. Iruka was as easy to piss off as an elite jounin as he had been as a succulent, sweet little chunin.

He caught himself slipping out of mission mode and reined in the urge to push Iruka into something physical just for the contact. The pale blue of the mask glinted as it turned away quickly.

Bet he's counting to ten, just like he used to.

"So. Anyhow. I've tried the obvious places, yours being one of them, and…no luck."

"And now?"

"Don't know. You got any ideas?"

"That's it? No other clues?"

Two sentences, Kakashi tallied with satisfaction. Already giving up on that one-word in public bullshit.

"Mmm. He trained with Jiraiya in some mighty strange places, but he'd have no reason to go there without reporting his travel to Lady Tsunade, much less the gatemen. Wash, Zoom and Ko say they don't know shit about it."

"He didn't check out?"

"Nope."

"Then why are you sure he left?"

"Where the hell could a guy like that hide in Konoha? Come on, Iruka, be serious. He might be dying somewhere while we're fucking around with this. My first thought, to tell the truth, was that he's been abducted. It's just that I have no proof. It's like, poof, he just disappeared. Just plain gone."

Iruka recognized the 'he might be dying' comment as something engineered to spur him into action. As a ninja, one 'might be dying' at any given time on any given day. You'd only bring it up for motivational purposes. His old teaching manuals had sections specifically devoted to 'inspirational' and 'motivational' exchanges and this was the one so often used it had been widely parodied as pick up lines and excuses for bad behavior. Pretty ham-fisted for a genius. It gave him the inkling of proof to validate the sixth sense tickling the hairs on the back of his neck. This whole thing smelled fishy.

"Take it back to Tsunade. Make it a mission. Why work for free?"

"That's cold hearted, Umino. Damn cold."

"You should hurry. He might be dying, you know." Iruka slid off the stool and ducked out into the street.

Kakashi felt his fish slipping the hook, and quickly followed.

Iruka halted abruptly. "What, am I missing now, too? Or do you have some other phony excuse to bother me with?"

Full, complete sentences. Kakashi hadn't dreamed he would make so much headway so quickly.

"Iruka. You don't have to believe me. You don't have to do anything you don't want to any more…do you? You're at the top of the food chain now. Right below me."

Iruka spun to face him. "What makes you think I'm below you?"

"When you go up against the title-holder, Iruka, you have to win definitively. You can't be just as good, or almost as good. You want my spot on the ladder? You have to take it. You have to beat me."

"Huh. Like I care what your little rule book says."

"We could settle this easily enough. I can reserve the training grounds. Name your time, and we'll go one round every day for a week. Best four out of seven."

"You're insane. I haven't got that kind of time to waste."

"I see. Well, I guess I'll take that answer since it lets you save face while you chicken out. Oh, sorry - save face. What an unfortunate choice of words."

"Don't push me. If I had the time, there's nothing I'd like better than to mop up the training field with your scrawny ass."

"Big talk for such a small chicken. Hey, I have a missing moron to locate, so if you're not up for the challenge, I need to get going."

Before Iruka could snap back, Kakashi's handsigns bamphed him away.

The vein in Iruka's forehead was throbbing as he stared at the puff of smoke. He strongly suspected the copy-nin of flirting, and it enraged him more than the idea that he was lying or trying to goad him into a fight. In his effort to satisfy his own needs, he would twist Iruka around whatever setup suited his fancy. This was a huge mistake on the copy-nin's part, because he would soon find out just how strong and inflexible his former lover had become.

He hated even more that the sight of Kakashi brought back flashes of intimate memories and stray jolts of desire.

He made his own handsigns and appeared in Naruto's apartment, going straight to the footlocker and pulling it open.

The mission equipment was gone, instant validation for the very conclusion he'd leapt to. Naruto wasn't abducted. He wasn't missing, he'd clearly packed for a mission before leaving. Kakashi was lying. Not that it was out of character for the bastard, and not that it was a surprise. But it was a bit of a mystery. Kakashi was up to something more than his usual no good to have gone this far with a total lie, one so easily detected. He supposed he should go to the gatekeepers, not to confirm that Naruto was gone, but to see if they were in on the game, if it was some sort of conspiracy.

But if he knew Kakashi like he thought he did, he wouldn't have to go skulking around to find out what the jounin was up to. The man would be back, with a new angle, weaseling back into the scenery to try and get whatever result he was aiming for.

As irritating as that was, it was going to have to take a back seat for now. He had those demanding katas that Danzou had given him to practice. It was somewhat of a disappointment that he was to return to his own home after training each day. It seemed too pedestrian. He had envisioned an around-the-clock boot camp sort of initiation, something soul-shaking, abrupt and extreme. A trial by fire. Something extraordinary in keeping with the platinum elite status he would earn at the gauntlet's end.

When he asked about the uniform, he was told not to expect one. When and if he earned the right to wear one someday, it would be presented then. He was to ask no more about it.

He turned to leave and caught sight of a familiar scene protruding from beneath a pair of orange pants, thrown haphazardly on the nightstand. Pausing to retrieve and inspect it, the discarded clothing had been partially obscuring a photo of Iruka and Naruto enjoying popsicles at a summer festival, carefully preserved in a plain black frame. He hadn't seen that picture before. Their arms were linked and their heads rested against each other, each holding up their half of the orange popsicle like katana in the air. The smiles they wore were huge, infectious even in 2-D. Iruka caught himself when the corners of his mouth began to stretch up. It didn't hurt his face to smile anymore; it only hurt much further within.

It wasn't his place to identify with that photo. It wasn't even his face. He wasn't that kind, supportive person Naruto needed so badly. He suddenly felt like an intruder. He placed the picture back on the table and buried it with the dirty laundry completely.

He cursed the copy-nin silently for forcing him into all this turmoil at a time when he needed to keep his emotions on a very tight leash. So little had provoked him in so long, Kakashi's timing was just what he would expect - the very worst.

With all possible speed, he flashed away from the apartment and the reminders of what used to fill the gaping holes he had so carefully hidden within.

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He passed Kakashi just past his apartment when he left the next morning. He ignored the "yo" and the wave completely, walking past without any acknowledgement whatsoever. He let his finely-honed senses linger behind, though, tracking the high-frequency chakra so unique to the copy-nin. The silver-haired jounin didn't follow, the main thing he was suspicious of the moment he laid eyes on him.

He eventually dropped the tendril of caution, turning his attention to the next meeting with Danzou. The old man had more questions than answers, and Iruka was anxious to learn something new, something useful and unique, right away. ROOT shinobi were legendary for their extreme efficiency in the field, and they had secret abilities that were unknown in the ANBU or shinobi rank and file.

Danzou had warned him of several things, and exacted a solemn oath. He was to tell no one, not even his Hokage, of the secrets and methods to be revealed in the course of his training. There were unusual elements, things that he would likely find difficult to submit to, that his instincts would rail against. In order to achieve the level of shinobi that submits to no one, he would have to agree to submit completely to Danzou.

It fired suspicion in his belly immediately. He'd finally left behind a miserable lifetime of being submissive; he'd had a belly-full of it, and even if this step back was needed to fly a mile forward, it stuck in his throat like barbed wire.

He didn't have to do this. He was an A-class jounin without this, and he was fully prepared to whip Kakashi's ass to take his place as number one in the rank and file.

But the lure of being not just better, but a different class of warrior altogether, was a powerful motivator. He would be beyond compare, and without peer. That was the rare prize. To leave the others behind and have a domain all his own. It was the next best thing to actually removing himself from the village.

xxx

Kakashi watched as Iruka froze him out, walking past without any change in stride or stature as he offered his meaningless greeting. There was no need to follow, he knew where the man was heading. His eyes pursued for a while, though, until the lithe body disappeared from view. Iruka's body had changed; he had trimmed and hardened, gaining the lean, steely form nearly interchangeable between the top nin. Yet he couldn't defeat completely nature's mixed blessing of symmetry and angle, and look of his body still stood out from the rest in pure raw sexuality. Kakashi supposed others noticed as well. Iruka no doubt would have stolen his crown as best mission sex partner if he'd been inclined to participate, mask or no.

He wondered what Iruka would do if he pounced, offered up a night of whatever he wanted, provided his body for service. Let the lurker in the mask choose his poison, do as he would. Control was an issue he could use to his advantage. He could have control, perhaps, by relinquishing it. Manipulate the brunette into bed by giving him the reins.

Kakashi had experienced, as far as he knew, every kind of sexual experience there was to be had. He found none of them to be unbearable, although clearly he had preferences, and some things were not much to his liking. But he could submit to any of them that involved the touch of the former academy teacher and find a level of satisfaction with it; of that, he was certain.

It was an option. An approach to keep in his arsenal for later.

It was still early in step one, and he had made a good start at cementing his role as an inconsequential thorn in Iruka's side. For now, he would concentrate on annoying him, challenging him on the training field. Even if the ROOT training suppressed him emotionally, sparring was still a neutral and perfectly normal act for them to engage in. Iruka hadn't taken his head off, or refused to talk. He'd argued. Interacted. This wasn't a lock, but it was looking much more encouraging.

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Sweat rolled down Iruka's forehead from his hairline, naked without his mask or protector. He had worn that iconic armor since he earned it in his teens, and a slight depression had formed where the constant weight and pressure of the metal plate had rested so comfortably. Even the loss of the layer of skin didn't take away that ridge. Three years of the mask hadn't quite erased it yet.

Danzou was holding that mask. He was swinging it carelessly, letting it slip, catching it just before it hit the floor.

Iruka stood balanced on his heels, arms straight out on both sides, palms up. He wore only a pair of sparring shorts, and his tanned body glistened with sweat. The spot on the wall that he had been assigned to stay focused on was straight ahead.

Each time the mask nearly fell, his peripheral vision tried to lure his eyes away.

"Heels only! Eyes straight!" Danzou barked. "Seven Eight Two Seven Seven."

It was a combination exercise that was nothing short of torture. While rigidly set, he had a series of random five-digit numbers to memorize during the course of Danzou's attempts to distract and unbalance him.

It was an excellent challenge. He could have easily used a meditative state and concentrated chakra to withstand the physical challenge. However, the task of staying alert to hear and memorize the numbers, as well as the effort to retain the full set of information long enough to impart it to back his sensei at the end, prevented him from doing so effectively. He had to stay alert and in the moment, forcing him to experience fully the sensations of his body during this exercise.

His calf muscles had been cramping after the first ten minutes from the odd position of his feet. As painful as that was, his tightening insteps were more ominous. If the arches of his feet cramped up, he might not be able to keep his toes raised to the specified height off of the ground.

He found the method to be brilliant. As a teacher himself, he recognized that this was meant to divide the elements of emotion, logic and physical tolerance .

But he certainly wasn't enjoying it.

Danzou smiled as he formed the handsigns that sent five red scorpions on a journey up his bare left leg, scrabbling to get under the hem up into the shorts.

"Heels only!"

It was better that the wasps had been, but only marginally, only because the numbers were fewer.

Danzou had been interviewing him, getting a bead on his weaknesses. He'd hit a winner with stinging insects and poisonous creatures.

Still, Iruka bore it. With every sting he tolerated, with every minute he held fast, new strength was building in his mind and body. He could bear it. He could bear anything. It was only reality, and it was only pain.

As time progressed, the addition of different and diverse sources of pain, fear and revulsion began to have the opposite of their natural effect. The worse the assault, the less it mattered. Slowly, the sweating stopped. The cramping ceased. By the fourth hour, well into the second wave of fire ants, he could have been a stone carving of a man.

Danzou himself was amazed. This should have taken months of repeated sessions. Where had this inner strength come from, the seeming familiarity with tolerating the intolerable? Surely, as a chunin schoolteacher, his life was had been one of relatively sheltered ease. He'd been jounin such a short period of time. Perhaps a natural talent?

"Enough for one day," Danzou said doubtfully. Here he was, calling the end to it, instead of giving in to his student's screams for mercy. Maybe there was something amiss here. There were some mental deficiencies that caused some to be tolerant of tortures beyond reason.

Iruka did not respond, and that was troubling. Perhaps he'd failed after all.

"Numbers. Recite."

Still staring straight ahead, still rigid, Iruka called off all twelve numbers accurately, in the order given.

"Stand down."

So ordered, Iruka lowered his toes to the ground. Loud cracking and popping in the stiffened joints, audible from across the room, accompanied the descent. His arms lowered to his side, with a final salvo of sharp reports from his neck and shoulders.

"Do you want your mask back?"

It got the first detectable reaction. He suspected that Iruka had forgotten his appearance, and the lack of mask, somewhere around the end of the first hour. Self-awareness was slow to return. That was good, and bad. It would need to be honed. It was desirable to be able to disregard your corporeal and emotional being; it was folly to be unaware of it. Your body was, after all, your most valuable and deadly weapon.

"Your level of immersion is impressive. Tell me, Umino, what was your approach?"

"I tolerated it." His voice was tight and dry, filled with tension, validating his words. "At first I tried to find an angle, some way to withdraw or rise above. But there was none."

"I see. Did you lose touch with your senses? Were you able to suppress the pain?"

"I desensitized far less than I would have predicted. The final pains were as intense as the first. Still are."

"Really? And yet you endured. Fascinating." Danzou toyed the mask on the table beside him, tracing the eyeholes with his index finger. "What training have you had in this area?"

"Standard torture resistance."

Danzou shook his head. "Strip and take your place on the table."

His student laid out for healing, covered in red, oozing welts punctuated with broken stingers, pustules and blisters. Danzou worked over him with chakra, moving with steady efficiency. Once finished with the front, he had Iruka roll over, and sections of damaged skin stuck to the metal surface and peeled from his back. The wounded jounin made no sound and betrayed no change in expression.

Danzou nodded in satisfaction. He offered no painkillers, and used a method that disregarded the discomfort of the subject. The chakra in the room remained even and neutral. The man was fitting in perfectly.

But Iruka seemed barely aware of it.

"Explain to me how you deal with this pain."

"It surprised me, but…after a time…it was not important. At one point, when I thought I couldn't bear it, that's how the pain shifted. It went from being provoking and upsetting to just…information. I felt it like…say…the temperature on my skin. Or…the sensation of wet in my mouth. That kind of feedback, information about the state of my body. The pain was a message. The urgency to do something to stop it just vanished."

"So, truly, you have learned the first and perhaps one of the most difficult lessons of all. Mastery takes time, of course, but…you've achieved your first success rather quickly." The healing completed, the old man's hand traced over every inch of the exposed tan flesh, feeling for imperfections in his work. This jounin had exquisite skin tone and musculature.

He was testing for flinching or tensing as well. His touches found their way into places his subject couldn't very well ignore. He probed everywhere to test for a reaction.

"Turn."

Face up again, Iruka stared at the ceiling as Danzou's hand traveled freely. Tiny, barely perceptible tensing had accompanied all of his explorations when he reached intimate territory. The control was decent enough. The reactions were within the realm of a standard shinobi.

That would have to be improved upon. He made a mental note.

When he slid his grip around that sculpted throat the tensing returned, stronger. Again, normal.

He slid his hand up the curve under the chin to rest his fingertips on the edge of normal flesh. He was curious about more than just the reaction now. What did that strange, matte finish of bare sinew and muscle feel like? His fingers advanced, up over the chin and intruding over the stretched dark red landscape of cheeks and forehead. It wasn't smooth exactly, almost spongy in places.

The anxiety level spiked accordingly. Normal as well, he decided. The body beneath his hand had remained motionless and controlled throughout, with no change in facial expression. The man was indeed fully jounin-level in self-containment.

He stood back then, and experimentally laid the mask on the table at one end of the room, and the clothes on a chair at the other.

"Get dressed. You may re-mask as well."

As he suspected, Iruka went for the mask first.

"You are such an unusual candidate. Tell me, what do you think of me? What feelings do you have for me right now?"

Iruka snugged the strap on the mask and froze for a split-second. Then he considered the question further as he crossed the room to retrieve his clothes.

"Danzou-senpai, I feel gratitude and respect. I think of you as the best mentor I could hope for."

"Mmm. Grateful. How would you show me your gratitude?"

Iruka's head turned slightly. He stepped into his pants, aware of the eyes watching him with burning intensity.

"By working hard and meeting your expectations. By serving under your orders to the best of my ability."

"My orders. You've agreed to them. Anything I say."

"Yes, Danzou-senpai. I am to submit to your commands."

The old man's eyes narrowed, and he seemed to be wrestling with his next words, his next move.

There were so very many possibilities here, it was difficult to know which way to go first.

"And this feels right to you?"

"It feels necessary."

A decent response. "Then sit and enlighten me. Start at the beginning. Tell me about the enemy that took your face. Tell me exactly how this came to be. Leave out no detail, no matter how personal or seemingly insignificant."

Iruka sat carefully, and took a moment to gather his thoughts. While he had replayed every scene from the mission in the prison a million times over and virtually every day since it happened three years ago, he hadn't repeated the tale to anyone. Ever. It had, with the exception of a few of the moments alone with Jeninki, been witnessed by Ibiki and Kakashi. They had filed the accounts with the mission office, and fleshed out the rest verbally with Tsunade. He had not been made to create any report, official or otherwise, on the incident.

Often, when he thought through the events, it played in his head as a narrative in his own words, like a spoken confession. Indeed, as it ran through his brain, he longed to give voice to it, although he never figured out who it was he was so desperate to relay it to. No one he actually knew, he had supposed, he just envisioned the sort of friend or confidante he assumed that most people had.

So it was almost rehearsed, and while he wasn't sure at first, soon the words were rolling off his tongue as if talking nonstop were his passion in life.

Danzou was rapt, asking few questions, listening carefully. Jeninki sounded so very ill mentally. He occasionally asked for details on their interactions where Iruka seemed to hedge. He pinned him to the truth. Jeninki had won him over, heart mind and soul, and had him helplessly by the throat, in spite of being fully insane. The Uzingan had worked perfectly, its owner the fatal flaw.

With meditations designed to exorcise hidden feelings at the organic level as his homework , Iruka left for home, feeling a little lighter. Telling his story was like unloading a burden, a burden he hadn't been aware he could lay down. It might have made him a bit happier, if happy were a state of mind he was allowed. As it was, it removed a measure of tension and for once, he didn't find himself thinking about the incident at all.

Danzou was dedicating so much time and effort, and he dealt with Iruka as a worthy disciple. After spending so long in isolation, trusting no one, the relinquishing of all his defenses to stand nakedly in the control of this one man had been the hardest step of all. Now the hints of true trust and dedication were brewing, slowly shaking off the dust of disuse and reminding him of the positive aspects of those abandoned principles.

Four hours of continous interrogation-grade torture, pain-inclusive healing, invasive pawing at his face and his feelings…with all the special attention that Danzou had given him, it had been one of the best days he could recall in, well…three years.

tbc