Author's Notes: Sorry for all the broken hearts the last chapter left behind. Naruto and characters belong to Masashi.
It was nearing the end of autumn. Classes were on a short break in preparation for the final exams, and though Iruka's class was still too young to graduate and wouldn't be given any exams, they all relished in the time off. Iruka and Genma had spent the last two days wrapped up in bed, wrapped up in each other. When someone had knocked on the door, Iruka had pulled the blanket up over his head and buried his face in Genma's stomach. Genma had spat senbons down the hall and buried them in the front door until the knocker had given up and disappeared. When the telephone rang, Genma had yanked it out from the wall. They figured that if either of them were needed for anything important, ANBU or the Hokage's messenger could get in easily enough. Anyone else could leave them alone.
They hardly left the bed for anything. They had sex more than they slept. Iruka gave as good as he got. Genma would run to the kitchen and bring them back food to eat while curled up in their nest of sheets and pillows. Genma insisted on showering alone, unless Iruka had started one without him. Anyone looking in (or living in the apartment below them) would say that they were in the height of their honeymoon phase. Which was funny, because nothing had changed between them, but their passion for each other had reached new heights.
On the third day of Iruka's week off, Genma woke up to find his lover puttering around the kitchen. Odd, it'd been Iruka's idea to not leave the bedroom unless absolutely necessary. The blond stretched and then wandered into the kitchen to find Iruka packing a basket with bento boxes. He was dressed in a nice pair of jeans, a soft, long sleeved gray tee shirt, and a black vest. His old, scuffed combat boots hadn't seen the light of day for months, and Genma was surprised to see Iruka wearing them. The long, dark hair was tied low and loose at the nape of his neck. He looked positively edible.
Genma crossed the kitchen and wrapped his arms around his Chuunin, burying his nose in the tanned neck. "What are you up to, Koi?"
"Get dressed, Gen. I want you to meet somebody. Then I promise we can spend the rest of the week eating each other. But this is important to me, please."
The melancholy that had settled in Iruka's bones concerned Genma, but he did as he was told. He dressed casually, following Iruka's lead. Jeans, a red sweater Iruka had bought him when he'd found out Genma hated being cold, and a light jacket that was a bit too big because he'd stolen it from Raido. He donned his hitai-ate and his customary senbon, then ventured back to the kitchen.
"No," Iruka murmured when he saw him, then slowly reached out and pulled Genma's hitai-ate off his head. "She won't like that. It's important. We won't be gone too long. Please, just leave it here for now?"
"No work clothes at all?" Genma asked, surprised. "Can I keep my senbon?"
Iruka's lips curled up slightly, briefly, and he nodded. "You're not really you without it, are you?" And with that, they left.
It was windy, and it was a little too cold for a picnic, but Iruka couldn't be dissuaded. "It has to be today," he'd told Genma softly, squeezing his fingers. "It has to be today."
Iruka, eighteen and still so young, walked like a tired old man. His limbs moved as if they were heavy, and Genma frowned. He didn't like the person Iruka wanted him to meet if they made Iruka feel so sad like this. But Iruka had said that it was important, had said it incessantly and with no room for debate, so Genma just held his hand and followed where the unusually quiet teen lead.
They stopped and set everything up on the top of a grassy hill that overlooked the village. They spread a blanket out under the canopy of a huge willow, and Genma was suddenly breathless at the sight before him. Iruka belonged in the foliage of that tree, he thought to himself as he watched Iruka pass through the curtain of long, wispy branches. The wind made the willow dance, and suddenly Iruka was moving as if he was gently dancing with them, like the wind was dictating his movements.
It wasn't until Iruka had pulled out the bento boxes that Genma's sinking feeling returned. One of the boxes was made of that disposable plastic cardboard, and though there were three boxes, there were only two sets of chopsticks. Iruka began eating without waiting for the third person, and when he pushed Genma's lunch toward him Genma was hesitant. "Iruka...?"
Iruka chewed his riceball slowly. Then he whispered, his eyes averted, "My mother and I always had lunch here on her birthday."
Genma began eating without another thought. There was a heavy silence between them until both their lunches had been finished. When Iruka began packing his and Genma's empty boxes back in the basket, Genma asked, "So... It's your mom's birthday?"
The young brunet nodded absently, contemplating the third, untouched lunch. His voice was soft, almost lost in the breeze as he murmured, "It was always just me and her up here. I've never brought anyone else before."
"Not even Mizuki?" The words were out before Genma had even realized he thought them.
Iruka laughed. "Not even Mizuki."
Then he took off down the hill at a slow pace, Genma once again trailing behind. They wound through the village streets, walking through the quiet of the autumn afternoon instead of speeding along the rooftops, and Genma hung back when the memorial stone appeared in front of them. He watched as Iruka knelt down in front of the stone, his fingers tracing a name solemnly as he left the bento box as an offering. The bronze young man stayed kneeling there for a few more moments before standing and turning to Genma, a small smile on his lips and a hand extended in invitation.
The tokujo stepped forward, fingers lacing with Iruka's as the younger of them pulled him into a warm embrace. Iruka contemplated the stone again, and Genma looked more closely, finding two Uminos near the base of the memorial, almost hidden in the grass. Iruka rested his head against Genma's shoulder, whispering, "They really would have liked you."
"Yeah?" the blond murmured, rubbing gentle circles into the shoulder of Iruka's vest.
"You would have made her laugh," the teen mused, a quiet amusement in his voice, "And my father would have wanted to spar with you."
"Is that how all the men in your family make friends, sparring?" Genma asked, his smirk evident in the sound of his voice.
Iruka chuckled, then placed a soft kiss on Genma's jaw. "Pretty much."
They stood there like that together until Iruka felt Genma shiver, then they started to meander home. Genma didn't let go of Iruka's fingers for even a moment until they were back in the apartment, and even then he kept the teen close. Iruka was thinking, his eyes cloudy and distant. He slowly peeled his clothes off and crawled back into bed. Genma followed, tucking Iruka under his chin and holding him against his chest, his fingers combing through the thick dark locks. "What are you thinking about, Koi?"
Nothing was said for a long while, and Genma was resigned to the fact that Iruka would never let him that far in when he was startled by the sound of that soft voice. "I was raised to love the village before all else. Nothing is more important than the village." Genma tightened his hold on the Chuunin but didn't say anything. All shinobi were raised like that, and even the civilians to some extent. The permeating, all encompassing love of the village forced a severe sense of duty into all of the citizens, a sense of duty that could not be matched or broken by any of the other hidden villages. Konoha was known for the strength of the loyalty she could breed in her shinobi. "That night," Iruka continued, "they both left the house to face Kyuubi knowing that they would die. They went out prepared and willing to give everything of themselves for this village." It was a story Genma knew well. The Kyuubi had left many orphans that night, and though everyone in his own family had managed to somehow make it through those dark hours, most families hadn't been so lucky. And similar stories had come out of the war as well. Lovers, bands of friends, whole clans putting the village before all else and supporting each other in their deaths. Genma heard all the stories. ANBU operatives, Jonin, all the elites were made to eat and breathe those stories so that when the time came, they would know what to do. Iruka's voice was no more than the whisper of the breeze as he went on, "But when it came down to it, that night, they didn't die for Konoha. They died for each other. I'd followed them out of the house even though they'd told me to stay put. I hid and I watched. My father, he moved like nothing I'd ever seen before. He became some sort of beast; the strength and speed he showed was phenomenal. A threat within our village walls? Unacceptable.
"My mother was helping with evacuations when, I don't know why or how she knew, but I saw this look pass over her face. She abandoned her task and sped toward my father. He'd been caught under some rubble and the fox was going to raze his head with the backswing of one of its tails when she threw herself in front of him. And in that moment I knew she hadn't done what was best for Konoha. She hadn't even been thinking of Konoha at all. She'd been thinking of nothing except my father.
"And my father rose from the rubble like a phoenix from it's own ashes and he charged the fox with everything he had left. Not for Konoha, but for her. He died not protecting Konoha, but avenging her. Maybe that makes them bad shinobi, but I don't think so. They lived for our village. Every day, in all their actions and everything they taught me, nothing was more important than devoting your life to Konoha.
"And I do. And I will. And I try very hard to teach that to my students." Then Iruka twisted in Genma's arms so that they were nose to nose, looking into each others eyes. "Genma. I will always live for Konoha. I will always come when she calls, and I will live on my knees if she asks me to. I will always live for Konoha. But I would die for you."
Genma stared into Iruka's dark eyes, watched as love and affection, devotion swirled in the dark irises. He was completely speechless, he had no idea how to respond to a statement as weighty as that. He just stared, and Iruka, understanding, planted a barely there kiss on the tip of his nose and closed his eyes, curling against his chest, putting an ear to where he could hear the beat of Genma's heart. The tokujo held him, arms loose around his body, and buried his face in the dark hair. All he could think to say was, "I love you."
Iruka's fingers rested on Genma's skin. "I love you too," he murmured, heavy with sleep, "always."