Yamato had barely finished speaking when Kakashi found himself running to the hospital in at top speed.
Even in the short seconds that transpired between hearing the heart-sinking news and his arrival at her room, he began to conjure up images of Masako bleeding, in pain, broken. This blind panic only retreated slightly at the sight of her sat on the bed furthest from the door, swinging her feet and lost in her thoughts; twisting around, she straightened slightly at the sight of Kakashi and raised her hand in acknowledgment. He took in the sight of the bandages winding their way across her body, underneath her clothes, and felt slightly sick - he knew that the damage must have been extensive.
Not trusting himself to speak just yet, he placed himself in the nearest chair.
"Hi." Her voice was almost inappropriately cheerful.
"You almost died." Due to his excellent control, he didn't betray any sign that would indicate that he had run the fastest mile of his life.
"The key word is almost. Almost died. It's a very important distinction to make." Her attempt at humor was slightly forced; the medic-nin had told her that she should, by all rights, have died. The joy of survival was thus slightly tempered by the reeducation on her own morality.
Nevertheless, the mission was completed despite the setbacks, and she was still alive to find those worthless mercenaries to pay them back in kind, so she thought it best to joke about her experience lest it overwhelm her.
"They managed to get most of my organs back into me, so I'll count that as a victory."
He tried to level a glare at her, but failed to summon any of his usual gravitas.
"That's not funny," he said, leaning back. "You almost died." Belatedly, he realized he had repeated himself, and was slightly embarrassed at sounding like a broken record.
"I noticed," she replied, furrowing her eyebrows in annoyance.
It was strange - her talent in assassination made it inevitable that she would be ANBU, where she worked almost as long as he had, but he had never seen her come out of a mission with an injury that couldn't be healed in a few hours. Though he had come to terms with the inevitability of death over the years, up until that day he had never even considered applying that mindset to Masako.
She occupied a strange part of his life, constantly and inextricably linked with the shinobi world that he had made his life's work – but in all his nightmares, the memorial stones never bore her name.
Taking his silence into stride, Masako spoke again, feeling slightly ashamed of her mulishness. He was clearly worried about her, and he didn't make any feelings – outside of indifference – clear very often.
"You know what it's like, all these 'political intrigues'," she said, emphasizing her words with air quotes. Kakashi was quick to notice that this movement made her shift to compensate for the pain that probably radiated up her side.
Snapping back to reality, he realized she was still talking.
"–sides, you shouldn't even know that I'm here. What's the point in calling the mission classified?"
He gave her a slight shrug. "It's useful to know these things."
"Hm," was all she said. A comfortable silence crept over them, as her gaze drifted back to the window and she resumed her contemplation of the sky. Though her face had been an open book as a small child, years of training meant that her expression was often one of studied blankness.
Not that that ever really stops me from knowing what she's thinking, he thought wryly. She had never truly shied away from talking to him candidly in a way that made their fellow ANBU flinch, and she had only grown bolder of late.
"You're right though," Masako said finally, breaking his reverie. "It isn't funny. It was terrible. I genuinely thought that I was going to die in that room." Somehow, she felt like she was talking both to Kakashi and herself.
Her serene expression didn't budge, but Kakashi detected a sorrow in her voice that made his heart constrict.
"But it was a wake-up call," she said. "To be honest, Kakashi, I think that lately I've lost my way."
Tilting his head slightly, he waited for her to continue. Catching his eye, she gave him a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"I'm ANBU because they need me to be. But all these solo missions - I've spent the last few years of my life in silence, and in the shadows, and so often I'm alone. It made me realize that if I'm not careful, soon it'll be all I am."
As clever as he was, he had no idea what he could say. All rational explanations - that she was doing important work, that the ninja way of life was integral to their village, that to have gotten as far as she had was a great honor - they all seemed flimsy in the face of her vulnerability. And so, he stayed silent, though he hated himself for it.
"You feel like that too, sometimes." It was half statement, half question, one that he didn't particularly feel inclined to answer; though he did suspect she already knew what it would be.
"Yes," he said hesitantly. Not wanting to breed misery, he quickly added, "You know, you can always come to me."
The words that came out of his mouth surprised him somewhat. Their friendship was defined by mission briefings, debriefs, and the odd training days squeezed in when their schedules permitted. It was odd, moving in stops and starts. But it was there, and he valued it. Some would have called it weakness, but at that moment he didn't care.
Masako was visibly touched, and gave him a smile, a real smile.
"And you can always come to me," she said sincerely.
She's beautiful when she smiles, Kakashi thought suddenly. When did she become beautiful?
Before he could fully comprehend his own thoughts, he sensed the approach of a nurse and quickly stood up. Masako quirked her eyebrow at him and waved goodbye as he jumped nimbly out of the window. She hadn't noticed his slightly unsettled demeanor, much less noticed that she was the cause of it - all she knew was that the heaviness that had been slowly building on her felt lighter, and she was thankful.
But though Masako slept deeply that night, Kakashi wasn't as lucky. As he revisited his memory, he wondered at her unexpected effect on him; but conscious of the possible consequences of this train of thought, he quashed down all opportunity for any sort of epiphany.
However, despite his best efforts, his scattered dreams that week always came back to the warmth of a certain pair of deep brown eyes.
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