A/N: Thank you very much to everyone who has commented! Here is the next chapter. I hope you enjoy! Thank you.
...
"It was an accident, Kakashi-san."
Iruka turned his head to the side, speaking down into his chest. He hoped no one was listening. He could feel Kakashi's eye, sharp, on his face. The interrogation was making him feel uncomfortable.
"Kakashi!" interjected Gai, morosely. "Although you fought valiantly, it is clear that my victory has overwhelmed you, and there is no point in being a Sore Loser. There is no need to argue my win. Is that not so, Iruka-sensei?" Iruka opened his mouth to respond, but Gai continued. "Precisely! Now, Kakashi, as the champion of our Worthy Contest, it is my turn to decide the next test."
For a moment, Iruka thought he saw Kakashi's exposed eye narrow. Yet the Jounin slouched lethargically in response to his rival's challenge, and whatever emotion he had so briefly expressed was covered.
Gai snorted. Then he crossed his arms in seriousness.
"I will not be hasty. I will think of something truly befitting our youthful tribulations." Gai turned to Iruka, his tone still somber. "Iruka-sensei, do not let Kakashi take his loss too harshly," he said, placing a hand on the schoolteacher's shoulder as if he were imparting some weighty task. And perhaps he was.
"Until then!" said the Green Beast dramatically, giving his rival a meaningful, if somewhat theatrical, final look. Then, in a flourish, he was gone.
Iruka laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Where is he off to?" he asked, trying to lessen the tense atmosphere that reconvened about them. Kakashi shrugged, and at last turned away. His eye remained narrowed, however, and his tone was edgy.
"Wherever."
He kept his hands in his pockets; Iruka struggled to find something to say that would ease the situation.
"Kakashi-san," he said, at last, grasping at straws. He remembered vividly the man he had seen in the hospital bed all those weeks ago, and he could not help but concern himself. "Did you. . . Are you . . ." Iruka shook his head, and collected himself before proceeding. "Are you alright?"
He looked up in time to catch something akin to anger flicker across the other's masked features. But it was not anger directed towards him, it seemed.
Kakashi sniffed, and placed his gaze someplace in the distance.
"Just forget it," he said, and ran his fingers through his hair. Iruka's eyes followed the movement unconsciously.
"May I ask," he started, speaking before he thought, "what happened to your hands?"
Kakashi turned sharply towards him.
"No," he said simply, and without further warning took his leave.
Iruka huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"He's got to stop doing that," he said, mildly irritated that Kakashi had once again left unannounced. So be it. He knew he should have kept his mouth shut.
Yet something told him – and he could not deny it – that he would not have reacted any differently from Kakashi, if someone had suddenly discovered a secret he wanted carefully to conceal. Besides, he was pointedly aware that, behind his aloofness, there was much more to Sharingan Kakashi than he let on.
...
"Well, everything checks out," said Tsunade, placing her clipboard down on the table with a shrug. Kakashi sat on a white bench. "Still, it's not like you to get scraped up so carelessly." She turned, wiping her hands against each other. "Just a little rusty, huh?"
Kakashi rubbed his head. His chest was bandaged. He looked off to the side; he wouldn't have come to the hospital for something so minor as a gash, except that Tsunade had been unreasonably insistent that he "let her fix him up." He was not naïve enough to believe her; this was a check up, if he'd ever seen one and in that, she made little attempt at subtly.
"You know," she continued, looking him in the eyes as she took his pulse, "there is no shame in taking it slow. You were out for a while, and it's to be expected that your body needs some time to catch up." She was searching for something as she kept her steady gaze on him. Kakashi's expression did not change. At last, she sighed, leaning back against the table.
"It's no secret that I could use you in the field," she said, and did not miss the subtle twitch of the man's face beneath his mask. "Although you know as well as I, there is no point in keeping secrets."
Kakashi raised his brows.
"Tsunade- sama, if by your charts and results there is nothing medically wrong with me, I also see no point in refraining."
She looked him up and down.
"Very well," was her answer, not without some hesitation. "Then get going. But any new injuries like this one, and I want you to come see me. After what you went through, you and I both know that you need to take it careful."
After that, she freed him from her examination. He exited casually, but it would have been more accurate to say that he felt as though he was escaping. Indeed he would have to be more careful. The threat was there: forced inactivity. He did not think he could tolerate another month of such monotony.
He heard the doors sweep behind him, and he knew, with a deep sense of dread, that she had more to say to him and that he would not like the news. It made him all the more sensitive, his onetime student and her schoolteacher being there to witness, even if they could not overhear.
He was no fool, and was well aware that Sakura had gleaned some information on his situation. How much, he could not be sure; in any case, she had seen him come in, seen his bumps and bruises, and was no fool herself. It did not take a genius to deduce that he was off his game.
To have Tsunade call him out in front of the pair made him tense. The fifth Hokage was not exactly discreet. When she called him over, his heart dropped.
The other two were out of earshot, at least.
"What is it, Tsunade-sama?" he asked, trying to sound unconcerned, and above suspicion.
"Kakashi," Tsunade drew him in close, her voice deep. She flipped through a few pages on her clipboard. "I glanced through your secondary evaluation one last time. There are . . . Some things which don't quite add up." Kakashi made an effort to appear oblivious, and was relieved when her next words were inconclusive. "There is nothing I can pinpoint, but . . ."
"Tsunade-sama," he said, in the most convincing tone he could whip up, "I understand the concern, but if it cannot be pinpointed. . ."
She held up a hand to silence him, irritated.
"Kid, don't try to pull the hood over my eyes. Although it might not be worth a damn in gambling, as a medical professional, I know when to go with my gut. I can't say anything definite, but I've dealt with you long enough to know when something just isn't right. So I'm leaving you with this: don't overdo it. This next mission is A-rank. Nothing you can't handle, but I want you to be conscious of your condition. You'll leave in a week. Don't do anything stupid."
...
It was half-past four in the afternoon, and Iruka sat at the missions desk, staring with unreadable expression at the notice on the table.
His shift had started normally enough; he arrived, relieving the worker before him, and bringing with him some busywork to occupy his mind. He had only lifted his pencil, slipping into the comfortable groove of grading, when he heard an unexpected voice just outside the door. It was cracked open ever so slightly; he could very vaguely see the forms of two people.
"I see," said the shorter one. It was a woman, and her voice was familiar. "But I will need you on your mission, and it is too last minute to reassign your squad. You would be the best choice to accompany him, given the circumstances. He trusts you. Unfortunately, right now, I can't afford to have two of my top Jounin on the same team. "
"Godaime-sama," said the other, taller, and masculine. Iruka sat up at the mention of the Hokage. What was she doing here? For the sake of decency, and respect, he made a conscious effort to focus on his work. He knew he had no right to eavesdrop on their conversation. "I think that I have thought of an acceptable substitute."
"Who did you have in mind?"
The doorknob tuned as though the two would enter. Iruka sat up straighter, but no one came in. Instead, the door clicked shut. They must have realized it had been left open. They were still outside, but the voices were so muffled now that he could not have made them out if he wanted to.
Half an hour later, an indistinctive ANBU arrived in front of him, and placed the troublesome document on his table. He continued to stare at it.
He had been given a mission. He would leave tomorrow evening.
...
When Kakashi was informed that he would be accompanied on his next mission, he was immediately suspicious. It could not have been simple happenstance; the change was too abrupt. This was a mission that he should be able to complete himself. Backup was unnecessary.
Kakashi wiped some sweat from his brow. He was at the training grounds, and the dummy that he had been practicing on looked as though it had seen better days. His body ached, but he knew that he could not stop. He would have tomorrow to recover, and then he would be off.
He spun, he dove, he kicked, he punched. He imagined attacks from all angles, and swiftly deflected them. Briefly, it crossed his mind that this may be good for him; his taijutsu was admireable, but it was out of use. He looked at his bruised hands as he swung his palm towards the wooden post, then stopped, fingers millimeters from its surface.
An unwelcome thought entered his mind when it should have been clear and focused: who was he kidding, when he told himself that he did not miss it, that he did not worry, and that it was "no big deal"?
In frustration, he let his hand fall, and his head followed it, forehead sinking forward to rest against the wood of the training post. It was growing dark, and in the deep blue light he could still vaguely see his slender digits and worn knuckles. His eyebrows furrowed angrily.
In the same way that he had done since he was a child, he breathed deep, closed his eyes, and searched for that something which he had somehow misplaced. His fingers bent slightly, in the way that they always did before an attack.
This time there was no flash, not even the jolting pinch of a short circuit; simply, there was nothing.
Instead, he punched the post on his own, the wood cracked and splintered around it. That he felt.
...
Iruka watched from the distance as a single figure moved swiftly and surely on the training grounds. They were working intensely, and at times Iruka could barely distinguish kicks from punches, or exactly where they landed. The speed was incredible, and the precision almost frightening in its relentlessness. He was wearing only his issued black top and pants, and his movements in the diminishing light were stunning, to say the least. Like a living shadow.
He knew it was Kakashi, however, and he knew what the Jounin was doing. He only wondered how the man would react tomorrow evening, when he learned just who his back-up would be.
. . . . .