Naruto. Not mine. Disclaimer: Believe it!
Thanks for reading and reviewing! I have a side chapter that will post up separately soon, as an act of mercy due to the sheer length of this sucker. It isn't imperative to read it, as far as this (meandering) storyline goes.
o0o0o0o0o0o0
Good night's sleep. Check. Vital signs good, no nausea, kept liquid breakfast down. Check. Responded positively on awakening, doesn't appear overtly depressed. Check. Responds to pep talk, agrees to take on the last gate. Check. Time to leave him alone to do his thing.
All of his forces, irritable in the inability to return to natural balance, worked in one unpleasant direction. As soon as he was free to travel within, all of the living essence churned him towards the final stop. It was the battle line between his light and dark chakra, the place where yin and yang touched. And it was home of the control tower for his chakra, too - something that he had missed a great deal, as if a limb had been amputated.
He hadn't had to keep an eye on this mess and to remember to keep it tightly controlled for several weeks now. He hoped he still had all his mechanisms intact for it. If they thought the restraints would be sufficient if this went poorly, they were wrong. Chakra was rather unimpressed with those kinds of weak physical barriers. He hoped that Marsh had taken his and Sakura's warning to heart about not waiting in the room this time.
Legions of things lived here that were suppressed, things meant to stay suppressed. Some were necessary evils, powerful negative forces that leaked out when events called for a little backbone. To fall into his own dark chi would be a disaster…something he couldn't afford to think about right now.
He lost focus, weakening briefly, then solidified again. Just this one final barrier, and never again. One last bit of bravery, one last gamble. Then whatever the result, good or bad, when it was done, he'd have whatever life he was going to have intact to build from again. Half-life was no life at all.
He brought his line of sight to the target: the collapsed point of entry. His pure force of will was building momentum, leeching power from the living darkness until the energy swelled and pressurized sufficiently. With grave attention to direction he flung his shadowy arms forward, fingers splayed up to keep the direction true. The power pulsed from his core and flew like a comet into the blockage.
He'd rushed it, come in quick and dirty, attacking on sight. It was overkill. The gate was close…maybe too close…but it was too late to stop it, the shot already launched. The atmosphere darkened with expanding waves of fallout and debris. Riddled with shrapnel and concentration spent, his inner form evaporated.
His awareness popped up in his head like fresh toast, eyelids lofting open. Done. Ready. Yes!
The scene around him was sharp as ice, white and silent. They had taken him seriously. No one was in the room. And his hatches were well battened - he couldn't have gone anywhere if he tried.
Other things popping back into his awareness as well, like his chakra sense, which he seized immediately. It was still incredibly weak, but now he knew its status as easily as he knew his teeth were still in his mouth.
The suppressed things, well, they had been suppressed before, and they remained suppressed after. He always knew there were things in there that had to stay put. It was a self-contained system and it continued to function as such. He hadn't damaged it with his excess use of force.
Finally. Last time waking up in these accursed cloth bindings. Last time being treated like a mental case. They shouldn't be bothering him the rest of his stay, he knew there'd have to be a few more days at least, his chakra level still majorly sucked…but now the watchdogs could watch someone else. And soon he'd go home, and sleep in his own bed, and go to work, and teach…it hardly seemed possible. The thought made his heart skip with excitement. Just a vague touch of dread whispered that he might not be one hundred percent once he got back.
Sip tea on his own futon. Make meals in his own kitchen. That sounded right. Lock his own doors. Yes, very right indeed.
Marsh walked in alone, set down the chart, watched him without comment. Iruka watched back, waiting for him to say something. But the silence stretched on, and Iruka's imagination started suggesting that the doctor was angry, or disappointed, or…
"What?" he asked,defensive. "I did it. It's done. So what, why are you just staring at me?"
"I know you did. Good work, Iruka." He sounded tired. "I apologize if I was staring. I didn't mean to be."
The day was a long one, more closing appointments, handing off more of his clients to the other doctors. A few of them cried, a little or a lot; and all of them made him feel like crying, which of course was not the face a doctor shows to his clients. And then there was Iruka this morning, obviously thinking he's all done, when in fact he was at the beginning of what would likely be the most difficult part…once Marsh started digging into his past it would no doubt be very ugly.
Packing up he chucked his briefcase into the bottom of the lateral file and locked it up instead. Not taking anything related to this place home tonight. He pocketed the keys after locking his desk as well, and thumbed the button to lock his office door on the way out.
He swung down the darkened hallway, silently coming up on Iruka's room. Just to be sure he's all right. The small window was blocked with the paper they'd taped up over the course of the last week to prevent prying eyes. His own precaution now forced him to crack the door and peer in like a stalker.
The dark hair fell carelessly around his peaceful face, and one arm hung over the bed, cantilevered in mid air. He was very soundly asleep, and such an endearing sight.
Rough day, but a good note to end it on.
Time to go home and see if Eddie had made any improvements from his bout with Mycoplasma. Nursing a sick rat was about all the effort he was going to be good for tonight.
O0oo0o0oo0o
Bad night. Bad morning. Iruka wrestled awake, twisted in the sheet, heart shaking him out of the nightmare, and the fear and disgust held their grip well into his awareness,.
A bad dream, just a dream. Get a grip. If something that outrageous really happened, you'd have a…
He shocked upright when his hand met the ridge of scar tissue at the base of his spine. His mind clutched back to remember the dream, even as the last chill of the nightmare was fading. Impossible.
Maybe the dream was born of guilt. He hadn't asked about Mizuki. He wanted to know, but not as much as he wanted to cling to ignorance in case the news was something he didn't want to hear.
It was just a dream. Damn all of Sakura's questions, asking about his scars, now his mind was spinning tales to account for them, and he was freaking out over nothing.
But it was uncomfortable, not knowing about Mizuki.
And mornings sometimes gave him a certain feeling that, before he relieved himself, reminded him to ask.
He was worn out before he started his day.
o0o00o0o0o0
Iruka wandered down the hall, thanking Sakura silently for the warmer robe. It was his first trip around the halls with no tubes and bags in tow, hallelujah! He almost felt like a real person.
It was in this unguarded state of mind that he was grabbed from behind and manhandled into the air. Until the voice sank in, he started to resist in an embarrassingly unprepared un-nin-like way. It worried his "attacker".
"Iruka-sensei! It's okay, it's just me!"
"Naruto, when did you get here?" Iruka grinned and clumsily regaining his balance while the sobered blond watched.
"I just got here, are you all right now?"
"I'm fine! I'm all fixed up, just need a few more days and I'll be good as new."
No…he wasn't like this before. Where were his defense reflexes? It couldn't be that training with the superior jounin and sennin made his former sensei seem inept? Could it?
No, he thought in more detail about Iruka's usual reactions compared with this. He must not be well yet. Not that he'd expected him to be. This was a huge improvement, all his senses intact, his voice just right, just like Naruto remembered it. But he wasn't all fixed up yet. Even a first glance revealed how frail and unsteady he still was. He probably shouldn't have grabbed him, either.
"Lets find somewhere to sit, Sensei, I've been running all morning to get here and I'm bushed!"
"Room 113, Naruto. That way." Iruka said, denying his own resistance to going back in that hateful room.
Naruto whipped out some cards and they played War on the bed. The latest scoop on new techniques and crazy mishaps tumbled like waves on the beach from Naruto's smiling mouth. He noticed that Iruka sighed a lot, even though he smiled, and he just didn't look right.
Not one for tact, he blurted it out. "You look better but you're acting strange. What's wrong?"
"Naruto, nothing's wrong. I'm just tired. Tired of this place, tired of waiting to get well, tired of… hey, it doesn't matter right now. I can be cranky and tired after you leave. While you're here just let me enjoy your company, okay?"
Guiltily, Naruto ducked his head. "Well, I have to go here in a minute. We came for Pervy-Sennin to pick up something from Granny Tsunade. We have to get back to the halfway camp by sundown. I was going to visit with Sakura a little, but…you know, I can always see her next time. I can stay a little longer."
"You can always see me next time, Naruto. Go on, go see Sakura, you guys deserve a break. She's been an angel to me. You have very good taste in women."
He puffed in pride at the compliment. "Are you sure?"
Iruka nodded, smiling. "Of course. Get out of here. I'm honored that with so little time, you spared so much for me." Naruto hugged him and startled him with a sloppy kiss on the forehead.
"Get all the way better so we can go for ramen next time! You need some noodles on your bones!"
Iruka chuckled as he watched Naruto dash out the door, dive back in to collect his cards from Iruka's patiently waiting hand, then jet back out for good.
"Never let them tame you, Naruto," he sighed.
o0o000o0o0o0oo
"So, he needs an outing, and you've been a good boy, so this way…you both win. And that bit of business you've been avoiding will work out perfectly this way. Why aren't you happy about this?" She held her brightly-manicured hands up questioningly.
"You're not serious! My home is not…you can't just expect me to take a patient there on your order. And that "bit of business" - that's been tabled indefinitely. He's not ready, he's not even close."
"Well, you know how I feel about disobedience. He is ready, you are being ordered to give him an outing, and an "Outing" as well. Hah! Do your job. Make it nice for him. He has no appetite, no spark. Revive him, Marsh. He likes you. He gets all touchy feely with you when he gets the chance. Give the man a little encouragement for once."
"Just when I think I've seen your worst…"
"If you can't bring yourself to do it, I'll henge and do it myself. Anything more than a hand job and I'd probably lose it, but I think I could maintain for that…although he would be pretty distracting…you know, don't tell me that you haven't noticed he's more than just a little distracting."
"What are you implying? That I might have a relationship with him? Do you know how wrong that is?" And was it better or worse that molestation by Hokage in disguise? Unbelievable, Marsh thought.
"It's not against any of my laws , and I make the rules around here." She emphasized the last words with a finger jabbing the top of her desk.
"It's unethical. You sure as hell don't represent any standard of ethics, professional or otherwise!" As soon as that left his lips he wanted to recall it, but the damage was done. It didn't matter that he meant it, felt it to his toes. It was the wrong thing to say to the boss.
"All right, Mister Ethics, get this down and get it straight. You take him to your home as an alternative treatment location, you do your job as a surrogate, a job that is grossly overdue, and you give me a report with every picking detail by nine tomorrow morning. And if you fail in this I'll arrange for you to be the donor, and we'll fix Iruka's problem with a transplant. If you're not going to make use of them, somebody in need might as well get them."
"I've got half a mind to re-apply for the Writ of Hegira. The Sand will…" he was leaning forward, gripping the edge of the desk, flushed in contrast to his white collar.
"Apply all you want. It's still denied. What, did you think I'd even consider it? You have nowhere to go. Save your Writs, your applications for research, personnel exchanges, whatever. You're stuck here, and you're going to follow my orders. Period." She flipped a shooing hand at him and focused back on the papers spread across the massive desk, retrieving her pen. "This is the part where you bow and leave."
With a growl of frustration he spun and stalked out the door.
"Money in the bank," she muttered to herself with a smile.
O0o00o00o0o0o
" Can we make a couple of stops on the way?" Iruka asked hesitantly. "I'd like to go by home. Pick up a couple of things."
Marsh considered that one, it had some drawbacks. He would probably have a difficult time getting him to leave if he actually got inside his own home.
"Where else?" he asked evasively.
"I haven't been able to make my visits to the memorial since I've been, um ,sick."
"How about we compromise? We'll go by the memorial, and I'll make sure someone gets your things for you from your home. By the time we criss-cross the village to hit all these places, we won't have any time left." Marsh smiled at him, but there was a bit of authority in his voice. The question was rhetorical.
"Hmph." Nothing wrong with not having time left when they were done walking around if he couldn't go home. And the visit to the doctor's house was obviously Tsunade's idea, Marsh didn't seem comfortable with it either. Iruka waited benignly.
"We should get going. You might meet some folks along the way that want to chat. Will that bother you?"
Yes, of course it would - how mortifying, being taken for a walk in public by your shrink.. "No, it's okay," he sighed. The prospect of having to make small talk made him tired already. The only part of this that really appealed was the trip to the stone. It would be his luck that the one time his parents would finally decide to forgive and give him a sign of mercy, it would be when he missed his regular visit. Well, better late than never.
There were few people out, the timing was good - just late enough in the morning that workers were working, students were matriculating, and Hokages were hokage-ing, and too early for anyone to be on breaks or sneaking off to early lunch yet. They took a route that was a little longer but less likely to busy, and after settling in to a comfortable pace and tentative silence they made good time reaching the obelisk.
Marsh joined Iruka for a moment, looking closer at the stone that was just a part of the village scenery with an interesting history to him. Up close it looked different, it wasn't just a massive rock, polished and carved and stuck in the ground. There was a very palpable air of solemnity around it, and a sense of longing for and by lost souls.
The impression that he should stop intruding came through loud and clear, and he retreated to a marble slab bench across the path and down a hundred feet or so. It was a nice day just to be outside, and he tracked his patient's movement and timbre from the corner of his eye.
The ancient towering Redwoods knew Iruka well, as they knew all of the visitors, and the bits of their lives that played out as they came to pay their respects. Iruka came alone these days, and people who saw him there were respectful of his privacy for the most part. Those who couldn't resist talking to him did so in friendship and made no negative implications about a man standing in honor to the dead. So unlike his first visits here, years ago.
o0o0o0o0o
The massive silent trees saw Iruka at the monument frequently when his parent's names were first added to the list of sacrificed souls. They watched from high above as Iruka periodically faded into their protective cover, then reappeared after any passers-by were gone. He had the look of someone who was crying quite freely, but his cheeks were dry and he repeatedly clenched his fists to his side. When the coast was clear he would poke a finger at the obelisk and his lips would move, his hushed voice telling secrets and pouring his heart out to a block of stone, waiting timorously when he finished and anticipated their responses. He seemed to arrive fully expecting that his parents would reach out somehow and at least let him know they still knew he existed. His cute, almost girlish face and liquid brown eyes would be painted with a fresh sense of abandonment when the replies never came.
At that point, in his renewed despair he would forget to hide, and eventually someone would come and cruelly remind him why he had been so careful to conceal himself.
After a bellyful of the beatings and humiliating taunts from his schoolmates he made a quantum leap from mother's perfect boy and father's faithful protégé to unabashed delinquent. You weren't going to like him anyway, so why should he try? People were only interesting in that they gave him a target for his damaged emotional energy. If he pissed someone off they didn't get the chance to attack on a personal level and hurt him; he could control them by directing their attention to his actions.
If he treated them to hateful actions he had them cold. The ass that cut the down the tether balls (no one would play it with him, now it was a non-issue); the jerk that got everyone banned from the day hike (so much for their opportunity to shove him into the poison ivy); the creep the blew up the toilets and caused the May Celebration to be canceled (guessing that they weren't going to elect him the May king anyway, ne?) He already had a friend anyway, how many did you need? And his friend cheered Iruka on, the more he rebelled the better.
The problem of having only one friend (above and beyond the problem of the friend himself) became nightmarish when they had a disagreement. Iruka quickly learned the skills of deference. He couldn't afford to anger, or be angry with, his only friend unless he wanted to be in isolation. So as he grew he also learned to smile defensively and keenly sense mood, perfecting the body language of submissiveness, developing the ability to anticipate need and deflect anger. With a new face to present in public, he found it quite effective on his classmates and senseis, and eventually the need for preemptive pranks fell (mostly) by the wayside.
His evolving social acumen equipped him with a brace for every situation in his new life, where he could no longer afford the luxury of honest, unguarded reactions. Being everything to everyone became second nature for him. It nearly defined him by the time he reached adulthood.
The aggressively honest, fearlessly loving, secure little boy who had been the light of his parent's life was shackled securely in the past; as carefully sealed away as any nightmare. There was no place in the world he belonged any more. The only people who would have realized he'd been lost were already listed in elegant carving on the dark glistening stone.
O0o0o
"All ready to go?" Marsh smiled, rising off the marble bench and shaking his pants to unstick them from his behind. It had been a good forty-five minutes, a lot longer than he would have liked to think that Iruka needed.
The brunette just nodded as he walked up, hands shoved a little too hard into his pockets, frowning slightly.
He's leaving because I'm waiting, thought Marsh. Wonder how long he would have stayed just now if no one kept track?
"It's this way. I actually live pretty close to the medical center. It's convenient."
"Oh. Sorry, then. Sorry I took us so far in the wrong direction."
"It's all right, Iruka. A walk was part of the plan anyway. This way I didn't have to think of where we'd go."
"Hmn."
"It's a lot of walking when you've been stuck in bed for so long. How are you holding up?"
"Fine. This isn't a lot of walking." He was a tad indignant. I'm strong, don't patronize me, he thought. Especially when I'm starting to feel winded.
He's not communicating well today, Marsh observed sadly. Lousy day to try anything new.
o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o
They arrived at the front door, which looked exactly like the other dozen or so front doors segmenting the long apartment row. Iruka thought it reminded him of the way the square fish tins nested in stacks at the market. So compact, identical and impersonal. He would hate to live in a place like this.
Marsh unlocked the door and gave it a push, motioning for Iruka to go in ahead of him.
"It's okay ,Iruka, go in. There's nothing in there that will bite…well, except the rats."
Iruka smiled politely at the lame joke, the stopped in puzzled observation at the cage just past the entry with its fleece tubes, wheel, toys, treats, bells and tiny hammocks…and damned if there wasn't a rat in there.
"I thought you were joking," he said, leaning in closer. "How many are there?"
'Well there were two, but I lost Ed - er , one of them died earlier this week."
Iruka kinked up an eye in disbelief - did he detect some kind of sorrow directed toward a dead rat? Maybe he would drop the subject. He straightened and took in the rest of the room. It was kind of boring, lots of grays and beige, and a light coating of dust on just about everything. If the wasn't for the live rat he'd have sworn that no one had lived here in a while.
"This is nice," he lied politely.
"Thank you, but I know it sucks. I'm not here much during the day. Excuse me."
He disappeared down the short hall and Iruka eyeballed the white furry butt and scaly pink tail hanging out of the little dome shaped structure on the second level of the cage. Well, no mistaking that it was a male - mother nature went overkill on rats, apparently. Little showoff.
He went to the overstuffed narrow bookcase and started scanning the book spines, hoping for something of interest.
A few horror novels interspersed with non-fiction relating to medicine, behavior, sociology, and writing. A couple of books that looked like encyclopedias proclaiming their contents to be an unabridged guide to human sexual behavior and response. Well, at least it was a step up from IchaIcha, which of course was NOT among the volumes here.
He smiled as he thought of that snarky jounin, reading his porn in defiance no matter who clucked for his attention or tch'd at his poor taste and general pervy-ness.
He wondered if Kakashi was away on a mission, or sleeping in, or still sleeping on or in someone from the night before. It was hard to separate the guy from his intimidatingly smexy reputation. They were such opposites, it made their friendship more interesting. Over the years they'd picked up a lot of each other's likes and dislikes, so they were a lot more alike than they used to be. They were still miles apart, though.
Marsh interrupted his thoughts, dragging a thick, new double futon pad into the living room and shoving away the small tea table with his foot to make room to lay it out flat in the middle of the floor.
"Massage table. Pretend it has legs. I didn't have time to borrow a proper one, sorry."
"Who's getting a massage?" Iruka asked, pretty much knowing the answer to that one.
"Carl."
"Huh?" Iruka asked, confused.
"Never mind. You, silly, you're getting a massage."
"Oh."
"Don't sound so thrilled. You have a better idea?"
"No."
Greeat, thought Marsh. Single syllable answers. Not good. There is no mistaking the mood here is somewhere between dentist office and funeral parlor.
Maybe he should call Tsunade and let her and her hand-job henge take over.
Okay, let's not panic yet. The day is young.
"How about some tea?"
Iruka nodded, and with relief Marsh went into the kitchen with something to do. His captive guest followed him.
Well, Iruka thought, this is an improvement. There were a number of gadgets he identified with mild envy sitting on the spotless counters. An ornate wheel-spun coffee grinder. A very fancy hand-cranked apple peeler. A commercial quality rice cooker.
When Marsh handed him the teacup it jogged him with the reality that he hadn't been given anything to drink in something breakable in a long time. His host raised an eyebrow at the odd look.
"I'm sorry, I should have asked if you had a preference, I have some herb tea if you prefer."
"No, it's fine, really. Thank you." Iruka sipped appreciatively, enjoying the feel of china on his lips and the taste of the fresh, properly steeped tea. "You have some nice things here."
A tiny trace of discomfort ghosted up from the back of Iruka's neck to the top of his head. He scratched at the patch of short new growth with his free hand.
"Does that still bother you?" asked Marsh conversationally, offering a chair at the kitchen table.
"It's just annoying, the hair growing out. I guess I should just be happy that it didn't leave a big old bald scar." Touching the spot again, he winced.
"Hair growing doesn't hurt, generally. Is that headache bothering you again?"
"I don't know what it is; this just started." He pressed the palm of his hand on the offending spot, applying a little pressure. What that was supposed to do he did not know; but he did it every time he had a headache. Push on the spot that hurts. What, so you can say, yep, that hurts?
"Maybe that massage would help." Nice segue, he congratulated himself.
"Maybe after our tea?" Iruka was reluctant to give up the civilized enjoyment of the tea for the unlikely chance he'd be able to stand anything in the way of being handled on a mat on the floor of a strange apartment.
"Absolutely." Marsh pulled a miniature zip-lock bag from his pocket. "Here, let's not forget your pills. I'll get you some water."
Iruka shook his head and took the half-dozen pills dry with ease. Marsh thought wryly what an interesting and contradictory act that was. Taking the pills soldier-style while completely disregarding the unusual number and types of pills he was taking. He didn't even look at them.
o0o0o0o0o0oo
"Stop asking me that, you shit head. I'm not doing the same thing that bastard is. I just want to be around and keep an eye out. I can't believe how fast things went downhill for him. And it would be a huge mistake to try and get in his pants right now. You screw somebody when they're down, they're not going to want to look at you when the world pieces itself back together."
"Is that how it was with us, Gen? You somehow resent me for the problems you were having?" He detected the familiar strained quality again, creeping into the voice that normally flowed like butter.
"I can't help it. It still feels like it." Genma looked at his folded hands, calming deliberately as best he could. "The person who's there when you're working it out, it gets mixed up."
"But he has a therapist to help him. Isn't that what they're for?" Raidou watched closely, confirming that Genma was purposely avoiding eye contact.
"So what? So did I. It's supposed to be what they're there for, but those guys are useless - they want you to talk about your feelings but they never say anything, never do anything. You could put a dog in that chair and be better off."
"Maybe you had a lousy therapist."
"Maybe. But I still wouldn't keep pushing him like Kakashi's doing"
"Did I do that? Did I push myself on you?" Look at me, dammit, Raidou willed. But the shaggy head remained tilted down and away.
"No. It was my fault. I drug you into it. Kicking and screaming behind the club, if I recall that night correctly. I wanted..no. I really needed you then. More than anything else in the world."
"My feelings haven't changed. Why don't we try again? I'm not going to go off on you when you get like this. I know you can't control it. If you'll let me help we might be able to get a handle on it."
"I don't want to go backward Rai, I barely made it out the first time. I do have a handle on it any other time. Just… not when I'm with you."
"So I'm your trigger. I'm the only one?"
"Yeah. You are. And it doesn't…it doesn't make it any easier to be without you. It just makes it necessary."
"I still don't understand. That night with me and Iwashi, there wasn't anything you said no to. I thought maybe things were getting better. Then you give us the cold shoulder at the club."
"Do you listen to yourself when you talk? Three of us, Rai, does that sound intimate to you? It's just sex, some dirty fun. And with your boyfriend, don't you give a damn about Iwashi? Our grief is what happens to the two of us together. Look at me, I'm already getting so pissed off I'm shaking again. How the hell do you not see the difference?"
"Iwashi and I aren't serious. Just think about it, okay? We can take it easy, go slow - start over. You aren't okay on your own all the time."
"You're not listening, you're not caring , you just want whatever you want. Same old fucking Raidou, you want it rough when I'm down and tired, you want it gentle when I'm ape-shit, you gotta have me right now when I need to be left alone, and you don't want me at all when I need you! Thanks for coming over and making my damn day! Now get the hell out before I throw you out!" He screamed it so loud the last words were hoarse and spittle flew from his lower lip.
Raidou raised his hands helplessly. He should just stop talking now; instead he found himself still trying to get through. "None of that is true, Genma. I try to read you, I try to tune in, and you throw a fit and then you throw me out! You're still fucked up. You know what, I think you still want this to work. You just want it to be somebody else's fault if it fails."
"It failed already! It was all my fault! Happy? Don't call me unless it's at least a foursome next time! I don't want to be able to tell which dick is yours !" he punctuated the last word with the shattering beer bottle he spiked in blind rage at the tile floor. A string of obscenities without a noun to modify streamed from his lips, and he caught up a side table with one hand and flung it into the wall. He glared up at Raidou and never stopped cursing as he started toward him.
"You…" Raidou gave up. He thought he'd had him calmed down earlier this morning, but he was getting himself too worked up again. Genma was having the worst day he'd seen in the last two years. There was no use trying to talk to him at this point. If he stayed any longer this would get really strange. He kept his hands up and open, backing up to the front door and slipping out. He guessed that it would still get stranger, only Gen would be alone to cope with it until it passed.
Maybe he was the trigger. No one else ever mentioned spells of Gen acting strange, needing help, crying, wilding out and edging towards violence. He was the good guy, for an assassin. Always up for a good time. Always there for a pal. But it seemed like he'd been troubled more often since all this stuff started with Iruka. It seemed to remind him of his own injuries and long stay with the psyche nins. They hadn't done much more than remove him from circulation while his wounds healed, then flushed him back out to deal with his nightmares on his own.
Which he'd handled well enough, with the exception of the occasional bad day or night. As the door slammed in his face and the windows flexed and rattled with the force of it, Raidou turned and somberly parked his butt on the edge of the landing and settled in. A sheepish Genma should make an appearance eventually, maybe an hour or so from now, with a guilty apology and no clue as to why he lost it. Until then Raidou would wait, and make sure nothing disastrous happened.
O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o
Taking a patient for a walk to the memorial stone. Now, that was interesting. Kakashi had moved away from them to observe them at the very edge of his chakra range, to make sure he wasn't detected.
His last mission, more of an errand really, didn't even last a day. He'd had a full night's sleep and risen early to visit the stone and then perch in the tree to read and supervise the morning foot traffic…and look who's here. Iruka looked a mess. An adorable, desirable mess, but a mess nonetheless. He was visibly uncertain about being out in the open. Kakashi thought the doc was kind of cruel to leave him alone at the stone for so long. After ten minutes or so a shoulder to lean on would probably have been welcomed. If Marsh was waiting for him to ask for comfort, he'd petrify on that bench first.
But before petrifaction set in, Iruka left his respectful stance and then he and Marsh were walking, heading back in the direction of the hospital.
Well, it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on them until they made it back. Iruka was still below par, after all.
They veered in direction just slightly north of the final path they should have been taking. The watchful eye narrowed above the mask and he applied a carefully controlled jutsu to cloak his presence completely. He closed in to watch every move when they went into the apartment. There was so many things wrong about that. And the whole atmosphere around the complex was negatively charged. What has that doctor up to, what was the idea taking Iruka here? He debated whether to wait outside or go in.
It took all of his willpower to wait on the roof with carefully scanning chakra instead of going straight in to see for himself. The back of his neck prickled in alert - the unmistakable warning of imminent threat and enemy presence.
Kakashi continued to lie in wait, primed to respond to the first sign of trouble. If he tries to hurt Iruka, they won't be able to detect his blood type from the tiny smear that will be left of him afterward.
But the level of interaction in the living space below was low key and mundane. No sign of a problem. Iruka was actually slightly less tense than he had been outside in the open.
Kakashi stood by his instincts. Until Iruka was back in the secure environment of the medical compound he would watch over him.
o0o0o00o0o0o
The relaxant was kicking in, and Iruka was loosening up a little, finally submitting to the massage. He was comfortably dressed in a set of thin, soft pajama-like shorts and t-shirt Marsh had given him to change into in the bathroom. Marsh had changed into classic locker room masseuse gear, gray sweatpants and a white T. He had laid out warming massage oil, towels and a handful of well-polished wooden pressure-point massage toys. Iruka scanned the wooden objects for any possible nefarious use. They were all too large or incorrectly shaped for it to be likely that were for anything but massage. That he automatically screened the items showed how deeply ingrained that instinct still was, for a man who blindly took pills from the same perpetrator minutes before.
Face up and occasionally stealing a glance at the man kneading the front of his shoulders into warm pudding, Iruka couldn't rub the right brain cells together to remember why he'd had any objection to doing this. Other than feeling a little guilty about doing all of the taking in this exchange, it was nice.
Marsh smiled, dispensing another dollop of the warming oil into his palms and moving down to the pecs, purposely not treating the sensitive secondary erogenous areas any differently than the surrounding muscular landscape. It would allow his patient to experience the beginning sparks of arousal without having to address it directly or feel like this had to lead somewhere. It was only a dirty trick because it was so calculated, and calculating things were okay here. It wasn't personal after all, and a good thing too, because this was far and away the most incredible body it had ever been his pleasure to massage. Kneading a few more appreciative sounds and shivers into life for good measure, he moved lower and attacked the half-tensed abs, feeling them harden just a little more.
This wasn't supposed to be a relaxing massage in the long run anyway. He pointedly drifted his hand south past anything too obvious and dug into the upper thighs. Iruka was sensitive and ticklish there, and it was a pleasant skirmish to finally get into the deep tissue, first on one leg, then another. By the time he was at the calves his patient was squirming a bit, wanting to turn over. Probably to hide what the thin shorts were no longer able to. Things were going along smoothly, building predictably in measured steps.
Face down now and distracted by the urge to grind into the mattress, Iruka's body, mind and instincts battled openly. His body, well, it was rather obediently paying attention to the matters at hand. His instincts were bawling a red-alert warning at having someone at his back, at being aroused, at the hoard of bad things this would lead to. His mind was trying to mediate, but oh Kami, it was too difficult. Especially after whatever that was that the doctor had given him. He let his own responsibilities in the situation fade into the detectable haze of the light tranquilizer. The firmly kneading hands were dragging fingertips up to pull on the muscles over his ribs, pulling the flesh tighter across his chest. His body responded favorably, more enthusiastic than he recalled it being before; but his instincts hunkered down defensively. His mind figuratively buried its head in its hands and despaired of any good coming of this.
And those hands just kept adding fuel to the fire.
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