Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: None.
Saving
Kakashi was a man not many could get close to, but if they could they would have been surprised at the depth of his sentimentality. He visited Obito and his sensei every morning before lunch. He kept pictures of his teams on the shelf behind his bed. He had the last shuriken his father had given him carefully stored in his underwear drawer and his first volume of Icha Icha Paradise wrapped in plastic. A kunai that had almost killed him was driven into the bathroom wall, a reminder of his fallibility, and the shattered remains of his ANBU mask –pulverized beyond recognition- were in a box beneath his bed. He was nostalgic at heart and if keeping a few choice objects around made him seem a little sappy, well so be it.
Iruka, on the other hand… Iruka took schmaltziness to a whole new level. He was a saver, a hoarder, a keep-it-in-case-we-one-day-need-a-busted-lampshade, obsessive compulsive packrat. The cracked mug from his first year of teaching was saved because it could still be half-filled before it began leaking. The fraying rug that was more lint than pile was still in use because Iruka's parents had owned it some fifteen years earlier. The closet was jammed full of shredded, blood-stained mission clothing because it could, the chuunin insisted, still be useful as dust rags.
As if he ever deigned to dust. Dust was, after all, seventy-five percent human skin and Iruka no doubt had an emotional attachment to that, too.
So Iruka believed in saving, Kakashi believed in disposal and it was gradually becoming a problem between them.
"Maa, Iruka," he complained, fresh from the shower and dripping water all over the floor. "Are we in danger of starving?"
"Eh? What do you mean?" The teacher didn't look up from the essay he was busy grading. The paper was slashed with red, Iruka was flushed and Kakashi vaguely wished he'd picked a more diplomatic time to pick at this particular scab, or at least that he'd taken a moment to dry off a bit more thoroughly. Oh, well. His timing was never what one could call ideal and if it was, it would have seemed unnatural.
Kind of like a ninja –the very epitome of practicality- squirreling away used toothbrushes just in case they'd come in handy on some very distant and highly improbable day.
"I was wondering," the jounin began, trying to ignore the rivulets of water running down his back. "If we're so poor that we have to press all the left-over soap slivers together to make a new bar, how are we going to afford food?"
"There's nothing wrong with being thrifty, Kakashi," Iruka lectured for about the nth time. "Just because we have enough now doesn't mean we always will. Waste not, want not."
"Can we at least get new towels?" the copy-nin implored, gesturing to the tattered rag barely, just barely covering his private bits. "Something that actually absorbs water?"
His lover spared him a glance. "Aah. That one was supposed to go in the rag pile. Sorry."
"They're all like this, Iruka, and the rag pile is quickly becoming a mountain. We need to make the appropriate countermeasures. Soon."
When Kakashi stopped being pithy and started being frank, it was a sure sign that he was serious. It was also an indication that he wasn't just going to spout a few complaints before fading passively away into the background. He was looking for Attention and wasn't going to leave until he got it. Iruka knew this and so he quickly jotted an "F" at the top of the essay, capped his pen and looked up with a determined set to his jaw.
"I thought we decided I'd take care of domestic issues, seeing as you're away so often," he pointed out.
"Hai, hai. And you do a good job. But…"
"Yes?" the younger man said sharply inquired, subtly grinding his teeth. He clearly hadn't liked that 'but.'
Kakashi steeled himself for what was to come. "But there are some things in the world you can't save, Iruka."
Iruka stared at him, almost visibly trying to decide whether or not the issue warranted an argument. Kakashi stared back, knowing that to show weakness now was to invite disaster; his genin team had taught him that much, at least. To blink was to lose and to lose was to have to start this argument all over again on another day. That was counterproductive and he did so hate to be inefficient. Sometimes.
And if anybody thought it was an easy feat to stare down Iruka-sensei while wearing nothing but a threadbare towel, they had another thought coming.
Pleasantly, it was his lover who broke first. After a few seconds he turned away and exhaled heavily through his nose, looking resigned and not a little put out. "So what do you propose we do about it? The rag pile, I mean."
There were a lot more things that needed throwing away than the rag pile, but Kakashi supposed a start was a start. Besides, he had the feeling if he suggested throwing away Iruka's collection of empty laundry detergent bottles, a physical battle might ensue. It was best to initiate Iruka gently into the fine art of Throwing Useless Crap Away. A little humor never hurt anything, either.
"Well," he scratched his head, "I've always wanted to try quilting…"
Iruka looked irritated.
"…or we could weave a new rug out of them…"
Iruka looked perturbed.
"…or we could just throw them away…"
Iruka looked angry.
"…or we could donate them to--" a dumpster "--a charity…"
Iruka exploded.
"Kakashi, what charity in their right mind is going to accept a pile of ripped up, blood-stained mission clothes? What are they supposed to do with them? They're falling apart, more than a little dirty and frankly they reek. They're practically useless–" Iruka cut himself off and blushed. "Oh."
"Yeah," Kakashi agreed. "Oh."
"I guess it has gotten a bit out of control," Iruka conceded, looking aggravated at having cornered himself.
"A bit," he concurred, hitching the towel –rag- a bit higher on his hips.
"I supposed I could weed out the more useless ones…" Said with great reluctance.
"Burnables are collected on Tuesday," Kakashi reminded him carefully.
"Alright. Alright! I get the point. I'll take care of it when I'm done grading these," Iruka promised, taking up his marking pen once more.
"Thanks," Kakashi said and headed off to the bedroom to put on some clothes. That had gone surprisingly well. Iruka hadn't even yelled at him for making a puddle on the floor. Then again, he might not have noticed it yet.
Kakashi decided it was best to go out for a while.
It was hours later when he returned from his daily rounds, limited though they were. Kicking his shoes off at the door and dropping the sack of groceries he'd bought, he entered an unnaturally silent apartment.
It was… unnerving. Iruka was only quiet on two occasions: when he was brooding and when he was sleeping. Although he wasn't above taking a nap after particularly grueling days, cleaning out the linen closet could hardly be called taxing, especially for a man who taught five year olds for a living. Iruka therefore had to be brooding and Kakashi knew he'd be sleeping on the couch if he didn't tread carefully.
"Iruka?" he cautiously called. Not because he didn't know where he was, but rather because he didn't think his lover knew he was there. It was the little courtesies that made relationships work.
He knew he'd startled the chuunin from the heavy thump and muffled curse that came from the hallway. "In here, Kakashi!"
He found him sitting on the floor next to the open storage closet, neatly sorted stacks of rags piled around him. He'd been making progress, it seemed, but at some point he'd drifted off to wherever it was that Iruka's mind tended to wander. An old shirt of Kakashi's was draped across his knees and he didn't look all there. Kakashi was just glad the chuunin hadn't picked up Asuma's cigarette habit.
"Iruka?" he queried, squatting down amidst the rags. "Everything going okay?'
"Aa," he sighed, a faraway look in his eye. "Do you remember this, Kakashi-kun?" He fingered a long slash bisecting the shirt's front.
Kakashi looked at him consideringly. "Mmm. That's from when you attacked me with the kitchen knife, right?"
"Ye- no!" Iruka was startled out of his pensiveness. "This is from the last S-class mission you took, the one you didn't tell me about, I might add."
"Hai, hai," he soothed, prying the shirt of Iruka's fingers and tossing it casually aside. No need to dwell on old wrongs, especially his own.
"And do you remember this?" Iruka continued, holding up a blood-stained sheet and thrusting it in his face.
"Not really," he admitted.
"It's from when you snuck out of the hospital after the S-class mission," Iruka frowned, "against doctor's orders and all common sense."
"I needed to water the plants," he justified, smiling in what he hoped was a placating way.
"And what about this?" the chuunin demanded, discarding the sheet in favor of a very sorry looking pair of pants.
"I think those are Asuma's," Kakashi said helpfully.
"No, they're not. They're yours and you're lucky you didn't lose your leg."
"It happens," Kakashi shrugged.
"And this," Iruka continued, shaking a mangled pair of jounin gloves. "What convinced you you could stop an acid jutsu with your hands is beyond me."
"It worked," he pointed out.
"You wore bandages for two weeks!" Iruka reminded him exasperatedly.
"Did you save those, too?" Kakashi asked, poking one of the piles with exaggerated curiosity.
"No, and would you stop being such an ass?" the chuunin glared, shoving a vest at him. "Don't even try to claim you don't remember this. Not even you could forget a katana in the chest!"
Kakashi poked a finger through the hole experimentally. "I've never been stabbed there before," he denied.
"Obviously you have, Kakashi," Iruka seethed.
"No, I haven't," he insisted. "This one is yours. It's from the time you took that A-rank mission without telling me."
"I've never…oh. Yeah." Iruka blushed, abruptly losing steam.
"And this is from the time you took that B-rank mission without telling me," Kakashi continued, holding up a shirt with a missing sleeve, "and these pants are from that other B-rank mission you took without telling me and this shirt is from that other B-rank mission you took without telling me and--"
"Alright, alright. Stop. I'm sorry, alright?" Iruka was blushing furiously, but he was frowning, too.
"Ahh, the memories," Kakashi mused, examining a neatly severed sandal –Iruka's, from yet another B-rank mission he hadn't deigned to share news of.
He'd intended the comment to further rile his lover and was surprised at his quietly murmured assent. "…Yeah."
"Iruka?" he asked questioningly, dropping the shoe and leaning across the mounds of battered clothing between them. It seemed his misgauged Iruka's mood. How sloppy –and unfortunately consistent- of him.
The chuunin laughed a little, distractedly putting the nearest pile to rights. "It's stupid, huh? To hang onto these things, I mean. These aren't exactly the fondest of memories."
"It's not the sanest thing you've ever done--" the copy-nin agreed.
"Kakashi!" Iruka interrupted with a glare.
"—but I understand why you did it," he finished smoothly.
"Oh…" he frowned and smoothed the shirt he'd just finished folding.
"You don't have to save these, you know," the jounin continued, efficiently wadding his old, mutilated pants into a neat ball. "I'm a pretty tough guy to kill."
"Don't!" Iruka snapped, grabbing the pants. "Don't make promises you can't keep."
He raised an eyebrow in honest confusion, rubbing the back of his head. "I don't recall promising anything."
"It was implied," Iruka said curtly, adding the now-folded pants to the discard pile.
"Mmm." He hummed noncommittally, studying his lover. Iruka avoided his eyes, folding shirts with a speed that would do him well in battle. He refused to look up.
Kakashi sighed. "Ne, Iruka?"
"What?" came the testy reply.
"Wait here," he requested, standing up and taking the few steps necessary to reach the bedroom.
"Where else am I going to go?" the chuunin mumbled churlishly behind him.
When he returned in a few moments' time, one hand carefully held behind his body, Iruka looked at him suspiciously. Kakashi made his best who-me? face and nudged a stack of clothing aside with his foot.
"I've been meaning to give you this for a while now," he said seriously, squatting down before his lover.
Iruka stared at him. "I swear to god, Hatake, if you give me a ring I am going to shove it so far up your ass not even Tsunade-sama will be able to find it."
"Good thing I'm not holding one, then," he mildly replied and held out his hand.
"It's… dog tags," Iruka said, taking them with a baffled expression.
"Looks like it," he agreed, settling cross-legged on the floor.
"I don't understand," the chuunin confessed, reading the stamped letters. "Who's Uchiha Obito?"
"'In the world of the ninja, those who violate the rules and laws are called trash," Kakashi recited. "However, those who don't take care of their comrades—"
"—are worse than trash," Iruka finished, watching him with an odd expression on his face. "I've heard you say that several times."
"Right," Kakashi smiled, "but the words aren't my own. Obito was the one who first said that. He also taught me exactly what it means. Ultimately, he died doing so."
"And you carry these out of guilt?" his lover queried, making to give them back.
"No," he returned, taking Iruka's hand in his own and wrapping his fingers around the dog tags, "out of gratitude. Keep them."
"Thank you," the chuunin said uncertainly, blinking at him owlishly. "Are you sure?"
"Completely." And he was, or as sure as he ever was about anything these days.
"I… I don't have anything…" Iruka stuttered out, looking simultaneously self-conscious and ashamed. "I've saved all this… this stuff, and yet none of it…" he trialed off.
"Iruka," Kakashi said with fond humor, "are you trying to force me into saying something that will embarrass us both?"
That served to truly embarrass his lover and also to shut him up, which suited Kakashi just fine. He was sentimental to be sure, but that didn't mean he was a raging romantic. Even he had his limits.
Now," he proposed briskly, rising to his feet, "what do you say we finish up here?"
Iruka surveyed the heaps of rags surrounding them and winced. "I'll get the garbage bags," he offered, tucking the dog tags into his hip pocket.
"I'll help," Kakashi cheerfully announced, following him into the kitchen. "Say, Iruka," he asked, leering only a little bit as his lover rooted around under the sink in pursuit of said bags.
"Yeah?" came the muffled reply.
"I don't suppose you'd be willing to part with some of those detergent bottles?"
"Don't push your luck, Hatake," Iruka warned him, emerging with the bags in hand and a few cobwebs clinging to his hair.
"Hai, hai," he soothed. "What about your collection of empty soup cans?"
"Those are for a class project!"
"The grocery sacks you've hidden on top of the fridge?"
"They might come in handy."
"The used toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet?
"They're good for cleaning. And whatever you're about to say next, the answer is no."
"What about the—"
"Kakashi!" Iruka's tone was a clear warning.
"Maa, maa, I get it," he placated, holding a bag open while Iruka shoveled armloads of clothes into it. "You're a saver."
"And you're obnoxious," the chuunin returned, but with a smile.
He could live with that.
-the end-