°sigh° I want to get on with the plot, I really do. I'll try in here. And finally let out the secret...what's on Naruto's thigh?

Maybe even a teeny weeny little smudge of KakashiIruka!

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randomness: Subway to Sally. "Unterm Galgen." (live)

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Whore Street

"Where'd you go last night?"

No reaction.

"Gaara! You know that this is a real chance for you. If you go on doing shit like this, you'll be right back where you were before this; In the high security area of the CiJail."

The redhead just continued staring out the window.

Iruka sighed and sat down next to him on the couch. This whole thing with Gaara had been walking a thin line between disaster and perfection ever since its conception. Which, he admitted, had been his fault. It had been his idea to use Gaara to help in the investigation, after all.

But he'd thought of something along the lines of a six-Forcer guard around the kid at all times and a straitjacket. In-stead, his superiors had added three Forcers to his team, handed Gaara over in lasercuffs, and told him to deal with it. They didn't hesitate to add that Iruka was to provide room and board, as well.

Obviously it went wrong.

On the first day, Gaara scared everyone on Iruka's team – including himself – shitless by showing just how useless the lasercuffs and his three 'guards' were. The second day was the fiasco with Sasuke and Naruto, the third day a continuation of it – the fourth day had been blessedly uneventful --, the fifth he'd disappeared for twenty minutes in the afternoon(They still didn't know what that had been), and yesterday he'd vanished into thin air for two hours in the very early morning.

Today...had been calm. They'd continued their sweeps, continued following Gaara around whenever he showed interest in something, and had maybe even stumbled on a clue by asking the old whores a couple of thousand questions.

Iruka watched the unmoving face glare out the window, the slim yet muscular body tense and constantly alert, the scar in the form of the kanji for 'love' silvery on the pale forehead. One arm was thrown over the backrest of the couch, the other was curled around the knee that the redhead had pulled up to his chest. The scars on his wrists glinted in the half-light of the dusk. His kohl-lined eyes were expressionless, his lips in the usual thin line. It was the relaxed pose of a resting predator.

At first, Iruka had been completely scared out of his mind at the thought of sleeping anywhere under a kilometer close to the kid; he was the Sandman, for God's sake!

He still froze up from time to time, whenever he saw Gaara with a sharp object or something potentially dangerous. Of course it was senseless; if Gaara wanted to kill him, he would. Not even Iruka's originally hoped-for six-Forcer escort could have had any affect on the outcome of a situation like that.

But he'd gotten sort of used to the kid. There was a partnership of sorts between them, one of convenience. If Gaara did well, Iruka would get rewarded. If Iruka would get rewarded, he could put a good word in for the redhead's release. After all, his superiors had all but outright proclaimed their willingness to forget about Gaara's lifelong tenure if they could solve this...stuff.

Iruka got up. "Are you going to be leaving tonight, as well?"

There was no answer, but the head shifted – a millimeter, maybe two. With Gaara, every tiny movement held meaning.

"Don't endanger your situation."

Gaara continued looking out the window.

Iruka walked through the warm darkness of his apartment, heading for the kitchen. Once he reached it, he turned on the light and began fixing himself something to eat. The kitchen was tiny and narrow, but Iruka loved its linoleum-lined impracticality, the way everything seemed never to fit in to the corners and the water-marked walls. It had... character.

Well, one could say that of his whole apartment, actually. It was a pretty rundown affair, but Iruka liked it that way. It was a great place to come home to after an exhausting day.

Filling himself a bowl with rice and canned tuna, he went to his bedroom to eat. Gaara ate when he wanted to and what he wanted to, which seemed to be very rarely and pretty much anything that fit into his mouth.

Once he was in his room, Iruka's mind turned to the only thing that currently occupied his mind beyond the case. A certain silver-haired thing. Kakashi.

He hadn't found a possibility to talk to the man since the time at the Konoha three days ago, but he was sure that if he did, even his mind could come up with some funny remark about the warning sign's size. Then he could kind of test the waters. After all, Kakashi was only two years younger, but he lived a completely different life. Iruka had a very strong suspicion that the silver-haired man was... well, maybe not really up for something serious.

He wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not.

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WOW. Plot! OMG! did you guys just see that! The plot ran past us on little padding feet!

randomness: Subway to Sally. "Das Opfer."

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