Naruto: Pretender
Chapter Four
Wounded

It had been a little over the expected that week that Kakashi, Naruto and the rest of the team would come back. Iruka was worried. He knew he shouldn't be. It was only two days extra. Maybe they had gotten held back by an extra job or something of that sort. That thought satisfied Iruka until he heard two other teachers gossiping together.
Kakashi-sensei... the one with the mask?
Yes. I heard that he and his team were ambushed. The students got out fine, but Kakashi was wounded badly while protecting them.
Oh, dear, how is he?
I don't know.

Iruka's stomach knotted, almost making him double up in pain. He rubbed at his abdomen. No. No, this couldn't be happening. He couldn't lose Kakashi. He couldn't lose his spark. Iruka quickly resolved to go see the Hokage about this. He hurriedly left for his office.


Yes, Iruka-sensei?
I... I heard that Kakashi-sensei was wounded in an ambush on his team.
You heard correctly.
How is Kakashi-sensei?
Very well. In fact, this morning he deemed himself healthy, fought off the hospital staff and went home.
Oh, that's nice to hear. Thank you, Hokage-sama.


Iruka lay on his couch, unease filling him, that odd feeling that he was being watched. So many people that got close to him were hurt or lost. His parents had been killed by the Fox, he had never seen the boy again, Naruto was shunned by the village and Kakashi had almost died.

Iruka couldn't stand this continual ache, deep in his chest. It was driving him mad. He had to stop it somehow. Iruka couldn't pretend any longer, the sorrow and pain was far too much to bear. The only way to stop it... he would never see what Naruto would grow up to be or feel the boy's fingers, so intoxicating, across his skin, or learn what Kakashi felt about... anything, everything, him. But it was all he could do.

Iruka sat up and pulled one of his kunai from his belt. He looked at it, the razor sharp, gun metal edges that reflected is haggard eyes. He placed it's tip into his wrist and began to press into the soft flesh that gathered there.
O, happy dagger, this is thy sheath! There rust, and let me die, whispered Iruka as he watched a drop of blood begin to well up, contrasting against his faintly golden skin.