Skimming along through the early years...

Chapter 2

"Iruka, my boy, come in and see us," the bald man said, waving a hand expansively from his seat at the kitchen table. "He's getting big, Umino!"

Iruka froze. He had been practicing his scouting stealth and here he was caught again. He was never going to get that cookie!

"It's okay, Iruka, come say hello to my guests. And grab a cookie on the way in," his father added knowingly.

Iruka picked right up on his father's insight and a flash of anger at being found out almost made him skip the cookie. Almost.

He settled into the one empty chair and looked up at his dad with a warm feeling of love and admiration. My dad is so cool! He looks like one of those tough-guy poker players!

"Hey, squirt, settle down." The elder Umino laid his cards face-down and reached for his son, giving him a manly pat on the back and fixing his little pony tail. "Your chocolate chips are melting."

Iruka inspected his fingers and licked smeared chocolate off of two of them.

"Should we deal him in?" one of the other men asked, and they all laughed good-naturedly.

But his dad regarded him with a slightly sad smile and said wistfully, "I don't know if he'll ever have a poker face."

"It's those expressive eyes. Get the boy some smoked eye-protectors. Smoked or mirrored. Then he'll be set."

"Leave it to you to suggest mirrored eyewear for playing poker…moron!" one of the other men sniped.

"Not for poker! I meant he could wear 'em for the look…all the great nins have their trademark look."

They nodded and returned their attention to their card game. Iruka, full of energy and already bored, wriggled down out of the chair. His mouth popped open and his eyes locked in when he spotted a large, hairy spider in the corner of the kitchen. He crouched in his hunting stance and pulled out his half-sized kunai.

The men at the table took notice quietly, and smiled wryly amongst themselves, watching the small boy creeping slowly in their peripheral vision as he snuck up on his prey. They expected to see a successful kill, wondering if he would stab it with the tip of the kunai or smash it with the flat of the blade.

They didn't expect that he would throw it. The little arm launched with all its might, which was considerable, and the blade hit its target but deflected off the floor's tile coving and went whistling straight back at its launching point.

Even the half-dozen elite nin jumping up from the table were unable to react in time to prevent the kunai's flight.

Iruka's fledgling instincts were the only thing that saved him. When the blade came sailing back with deadly precision on a path to his left eye, he dodged back and spun his head away. The sharp edge lanced his face nearly in profile instead, completely slicing through the bridge of his nose.

The impact of the thick metal blade was dazing and his eyes rolled up in his head before he finished falling.

His father was at least able to get a hand under him in time so he wouldn't hit the floor. The blood gushed profusely and one of the guests used his emergency healing techniques to slow the bleeding and assess the situation as urgent.

"It's very deep; take him to the hospital quickly!"

In his father's arms, gurgling blood and dizzy with pain, he was delivered to the emergency desk.

The trip was hazy but Iruka felt the throbbing pain on his face, the strange feeling of warm liquid flowing onto his cheeks, and the disturbed chakra of his father's distress. He tried to cling tight but a weakness was loosening his grip as he jarred in the arms of his swiftly traveling father. When bright white seemed to wash the world in light, strangers took him and his father's presence grew far away. Soon after, his awareness did, as well.

Many hands rushed to help the personable little boy; they'd seen him often, tagging along on hospital visits to his parents and their teammates after rough missions. He was always polite to the staff and sometimes gave them helpful criticism about their lax state of alert in the most unintentionally adorable manner.

They stopped the bleeding and the med-nin's first concern was to fix his nose so it would function properly. It was difficult to restore the structure and Iruka was weak and feverish before they could complete the initial procedure. It was feared that he might lose the ability to breathe through his nose, and his mother pressed the medical staff relentlessly. That loss would compromise his abilities as a jounin, making his breathing too loud for optimum stealth and too shallow for proper stamina.

He woke up the next day crying for his father, frightened from the pain and in confusion from the medications for fever. His mother was there and patiently talked him back into behaving properly. His father had been called away on a mission and he left the oversight of Iruka's care in his wife's steady hands.

The Uminos had often expressed concern over his girlish cuteness in private. Looking on the bright side in their waiting room conversation, they'd decided that it wouldn't be a bad thing if this uglied him up a bit. They expressly told the doctors to concentrate on function and to make no frivolous extra effort to conceal the scarring. No one wanted his abilities impaired.

The wound healed far slower than it should have; it was plagued with infections and was well on the way to leaving a satisfactory wide scar that would be the center of attention on his small, sweet face. After a sad and solitary period of indoor recuperation, he resumed his errands with enthusiasm and brought notes and coins again, taking away the various herbs and medications as before. Now and then he picked up a new one that helped with his chronic headaches from his scarred, reassembled sinuses.

He didn't have to reach up quite so high to reach the counter the first day he came on his mission after his injury; on tip-toe he could see her easily now, even when she was seated. His ravaged nose just cleared the counter's edge and she winced in worry that he would bump that painful wound while stretching up to see her.

Mikoko had a great deal of experience in matters both medical and medicinal, and the scar that was forming was destined to be quite remarkable. In her opinion, the decision to forgo scar-reducing preparations was nothing short of shameful. She had her suspicions that his parents might have some hand in it, or at the very least, were pleased with his disfigurement.

"Do you like my wound?" he asked proudly. "I got it hunting; it was a rick-o-shay!"

She smiled at him, nodding. "It's a mark of courage, I see that! You brave shinobi take many risks for the village. We're all in your debt."

He puffed up and slapped the coin and paper on the counter. "More soldier pills for Mom!"

"Mom uses more of them than she used to," the old woman mused aloud, going to the glass container to scoop out the requested pills. "Does she go on missions more often?"

"All the time! More than Dad, and now that I'm going to start at the academy, they're going to go together at the same time sometimes. I'll be the one to keep things safe at our house when they're gone, 'cause I'm bigger now!"

Five was not an unheard of age for boys to start taking on such tasks, but this boy, with his beautiful eyes and innocent fearlessness left her heart aching for more peaceful times.

"You know, Iruka, if your parents aren't home and you need someone to…report suspicious activity to, I am certified to hear that kind of classified information." Run to me Iruka, if you get scared, her heart whispered between the lines.

"Really?" His big eyes seemed brighter as he looked at her, the edge of his hidden relief showing. "Okay, I'll remember. "'cause I was wondering what I should do if there were, like, missing nin in my closet, and I was just me home."

She nodded back. "If that happens you report straight to me and we'll take it right to the Hokage if need be. It's not just your home, but the village you're standing guard over!"

They made their own little pact that day. It gave her a sense of relief to think that he would come to her if he was alone and in trouble. Over time she began to think of Iruka as her surrogate grandson.

And he came to think of her as his Mikoko-baachan, and more than once he sought her out when he was alone and frightened while both of his parents were away, at least until he became a man of eight years and too old for such weakness.

Still, he ran the errands and visited at the herb shop, and he came to notice more about her and her life, sometimes lending a hand with heavier work and watching out for her when she seemed under the weather. The lessons she taught him were subtle and unspoken, but he learned them well, finding a special reward in caring and watching out for one another person even though they were not blood relations.

o0o0o0o

Iruka was getting bigger and stronger, heading into the last stretch before cresting the hill into his teens. He spent more time training, working out, doing tasks for his parents. His responsibilities had increased along with his years and now he was charged with keeping the larder stocked and the yardwork done; the housekeeping and laundry fell to him as well, and he did his duty unquestioningly. It left him no time for the kind of horseplay the other boys seemed to get up to after classes. He would hear the tales of their antics here and there during breaks in the school day, and think to himself just how much trouble he would be in if he tried to indulge in such nonsense. He was well-liked as a classmate but after turning down all invitations to hang out or come over, he became somewhat of a non-entity in the pre-teen social circles. He shrugged off the stigma, too busy and dedicated to his family and work to worry about it.

His mother had already made it clear that every effort he made in the home that relieved his parents of a task reserved their strength and mental clarity, therefore making them more effective tools for the village. When one did their best, no matter the task, the benefit rippled out and made things better for everyone in some way, even if it was so slight it could barely be detected. Of course, as shinobi, they were at the masthead of benefit to the land, directly performing the most needed and noble of duties. This was just remedial morality building for the boy. He was destined to be a special jounin, perhaps even a sannin in his later years.

Even as he passed counter height, he still held the same soft eyes when he came to the herb shop. He was kindly and respectful when he came for the supplies. And now, once in a while, he picked up something that was for him to use, when he was going out in a group on a C-rank.

Soon, she realized, he would be coming in for his own blood pills and soldier pills and healing powders, and then battle wounds that faded to scars would begin to decorate him. She dreaded it a bit. So many of the nin that came in changed over the years, hardening with bitter experience. And eventually, a day would come when their visits would end abruptly. It usually coincided with the latest interment ceremony at the memorial grounds. So many had come and gone, most lives lost too young, she had seen them in multitude.

"You look sad today, Mikoko-baachan," Iruka said in pert concern, leaning on his elbows on the now mid-chest-height counter.

"Oh, it's nothing, Iruka-kun, just thinking too much." She smiled and slipped on her glasses, hand out. "Let's have it, boy."

"I don't have an order today. I just finished my D-rank getting a family of skunks moved out from under the tea house just down the block, so I wanted to come by to say hi."

She peered at him over the spectacles and took them off again to let them dangle by the beaded chain. "You must have been quite good at it…I don't smell a thing."

Iruka grinned. "I just used my head."

"That's the way. What did they do with the pelts?"

"Pelts?" Iruka's eyes widened. "I didn't kill them, I re-homed them. There was a whole family with little babies!"

"How on earth did you pull that off without getting sprayed?"

"Knocked 'em out with Kiwi gas," he said simply. "Just rolled the can under and waited til they were all asleep before I got them out."

She nodded. "Smart boy. So are your parents off on another mission?"

"They're due back today. I gotta get home and make sure everything's clockwork before they get there." He took his thumb and rubbed it absently at an old gouge in the glass of the countertop. "Then they leave again Wednesday."

"Well, they're fortunate to have you taking care of everything for them."

"Aw, thanks. Is there any help you needed today?"

"No, dear boy, not today."

"Okay, I should get going then. See you later!"

"Bye, Iruka-kun," she laughed softly at his energetic kick-turn and sprinting exit. As he went bounding out the door, she heard a gruff "Hey! Look out where you're going!" and Iruka's muffled apology, followed by the piff-piff-piff of his sandals as he darted back down the street.

"Damn little punk," grumbled Asuma, his fresh young face cranked down in a frown. He swaggered into the shop and towered over the counter and the wizened herbologist. "Pills, woman. Eight soldier one blood; then a vial of code-green 42 and a vial of the antidote."

"Hmph," she said in annoyance. Now THIS was the typical shinobi boy. Big for his britches. "No poisons under eighteen without a jounin card or an adult to sign for it."

"I'm over seventeen! That ought to be good enough for you!"

"Sorry, young man, but rules are rules." She held her hands out in a helpless shrug. Asuma scowled and stared her down for a moment, then left the shop without a word – no doubt to get his jounin sensei. The old woman smiled to herself…at least he didn't launch into his usual tirade about just who she thought she was and did she know who his father was and so on and so forth. She knew his father agreed with her, that the boy needed to learn just like everyone else.

Instead, a skinny, hardened boy she'd seen many times came in with Asuma behind him. Well, this was one other way around it. This boy, with his shock of white-blond hair, was only two or three years older than Iruka, yet he was a seasoned veteran and ranked at full jounin level. He was already battle-scarred and matured far beyond any youthful bravado. When she looked in his pale eye she already saw the toll that dealing death had taken. The ragged scar that striped his closed eye like some macabre harlequin's only added to what she felt was his air of tragedy. A child sacrifice to the gods of war, deflowered and devoured; and now he lived on, the skilled killing machine that had birthed from the remains.

He spoke with her quietly, which always surprised her no matter how many dozens of doses he'd purchased. He was just a touch uncomfortable in one-on-one dealings; at least in those where he wasn't dealing death.

He was one of the few things that sometimes made her question her chosen profession. No matter how she tried to warm up to the boy, to draw him out into at least the familiarity that a frequent customer has with a shopkeeper, he remained quiet and distant. Years of trying had no effect.

He handed her Asuma's order and the money, looking at her over his silk mask with a bored expectation of her usual small talk.

"This is your responsibility, then?" she asked, and he nodded predictably as Asuma's frown reappeared. He wasn't 'getting away' with anything. Kakashi was being held responsible as befit his rank.

She filled the order, holding up the vials to show them before bagging them. "This is a new size, the fluid amount is increased by half again, and the antidote is the same size as it was before but the strength is increased to compensate. Keep that in mind if you're dividing this up; you shouldn't combine the old and new formulas."

Kakashi nodded and they took the supplies wordlessly.

She reflected on the difficulty Iruka must have getting along with such eccentric and self-centered people.

On the other hand… later that day Kotetsu and Izumo came squeezing in the doorway giggling and shoving, treating her to their goofy, boyish enthusiasm…it wasn't so bad here really. For every dozen flint-hard, grim, difficult shinobi, there was a giggling, kindly diamond-in-the-rough as a silver lining.

tbc