It was windy enough to make the windows clatter, shaking in their boots. Kakashi hid behind a thick column.
"I'm telling you, she's gonna do it. Now she wants to go to The Land of Hills."
Another man laughed.
"I'm serious! I think she'll propose-... Stop laughing!"
"I can't believe you're afraid of going on a trip with your girlfriend because you think she'll propose." The wheezing laughter continued.
"But what will I do if she does?"
The sound of a thump. "You say yes, idiot."
Two men; one smoking, the other one regarding the river on the other side of the street.
"It's not that easy-"
"Say yes."
"But-"
"Do you want this cigarette in your eye?"
After sparing them a last glance, Kakashi hurried along the building. Two men outside, even more when he got in. To be spying on his own village was detestable in many regards, an eerie knocking on his shoulder, signaling mistake. The first guard was slung under his spell easily enough, new at the job, nineteen at most. Kakashi leaned his body against the wall just behind the entrance. After using the Sharingan there was a period where it was unusable. He blinked hard, once. Colors bloomed on the inside of his eyelids. The other guard was more seasoned. The quiet scuffle had set off some kind of warning bell. Kakashi got up, pulling down the fabric in front of his left eye.
It took some tinkering to unlock the door. Heavy spells had been placed upon it, like slight shimmering around the doorknob. His jutsu broke in by brute force, leaving the cabinets behind undamaged. He took out his small flashlight, its skittish light jumping from drawer to drawer. The newest contained the most recent activities. Kakashi followed the paper trail backwards in time. Five years. Ten years. Twenty.
Thick dust clad the files, precariously stacked on the metal cabinets. His steps cut out shapes on the dirty floor, soft under his feet. He picked down the file at the very top of a pile. Weather report. He put it back, then started flicking through the barely visible names of the other ones. Agriculture analysis of Konoha's surrounding areas. Maps over the biggest rivers.
Yanking the mask down, he blew away most of the dust. Quickly scanning folder after folder, looking for anything resembling the family name. He found it at the far back. A great, caved-in family registry of Konoha's population. Finding the right years went fast, but the names were taken down in small, brittle letters, following a long line of facts for each person.
Yui, Yui, Yui.
Three pages later, in the middle. Hatake Yui. She'd taken his father's name upon moving here.
Date of birth: March 28th. Place of birth: Yokkaichi. Up north. He frowned.
He froze, could only watch as Naruto put his hands on his, regarding him with big eyes.
"Your hands are cold!"
Kakashi cleared his throat, racking his brain for a response. "...yeah?"
His heart was racing like it was raving mad. Naruto looked down at the document in front of him, as if seeing it anew. Kakashi put his hand to his cheek but then took it down again.
Living was the hardest part. Working allowed his mind to wander, to disconnect. Out in the alleys or on missions his head was gloriously empty, a clean drawer. It was only temporarily riddled with commands, with versions of the truth. He did the job. The job mattered.
Palpable.
Drawing hair-thin wires across a room from a chunk of explosives to the window, or spending three days watching a nondescript glass door, those things were just that. Things. But what he felt when Naruto came in through the door, carrying a bunch of folders and brimming with ideas that were both good and bad and tedious, smiling, was times, it felt like there were no things left. The world was empty, having gone away to die someplace else, to avoid bothering him. Kakashi felt struck. He'd been hit.
They stopped to talk by a doorway, Naruto on one side and Kakashi on the other, a few inches apart. The hokage acted like it was natural, like the tones and the beats didn't convulse out of sheer, incessant longing. Kakashi was gripped with a headless lust, a disgusting ache that left his judgment in fucked-over pieces. He would go far, too far, for any possibility of smelling his skin, for the slightest of chances to undress the blond someplace private, to drag his teeth over the tendons of his neck. A few minutes each day, Kakashi desired him. His blood sang. When the illusions -dreams- had run their course -wet-, he came to his senses. Swimming in a cauldron of wrong turns, regretting every one that had made him end up there, Kakashi regarded the Hokage with a soft, resigned warmth.
Naruto mattered. His thoughts crawled across the days, ending up in Kakashi's mouth, rolling over his tongue as if it'd been his own. Kakashi was too old; years too late to get hung up on blue eyes or angular hands, hot to the touch. He had to stop.
He couldn't.
Having drawn every zipper on his backpack shut, Kakashi looked around.
"How'd the meeting go?" Hound asked. "Did they say anything about your suspension?"
He shook his head and got up.
Hound regarded the bag. "As your superior officer, I feel I have to ask."
Hatake ran a hand through his hair, glancing longingly at the exit. "I'm... going fishing."
"And when will you be back?"
Kakashi shifted the weight from his left foot to the right. "A couple of days. Before the weekend."
"Four days, at most?"
"Yeah."
The charade was necessary.
Hound leered. "Well, have fun. Don't forget your fishing rod..."
The village was empty. Heavy green branches hung over the tired streets. The houses, tiny dust-colored boxes, stood abandoned. Thick boards covered the windows, some doors were barred. Kakashi stopped to look at the map again, squinting at the streets that eloped from the main road. A wrung-out restaurant sat on the corner, its sturdy wood chairs having been flipped over. Crushed plates shone weakly from below, a mishmash of old table cloths and discarded napkins scattered across the floor like the aftermath of a hurricane. A malnourished fox jumped out from behind a waste basket, rapidly scurrying into the shadows of the alley. The air was taut with desertion, smelling of forest and leaves. He went right, passing by cracked windows and ducking under low-hanging clothes lines. Behind the houses there was a steeply curved bridge, bucking over a slowly flowing river. The banisters were made out of stone, cold to the touch. Vegetation had begun to overtake it, crawling across from both sides. In the distance several birds were singing their hearts out, trying to enchant the entire world. Behind another bend of the road, there was an old, dreary complex, its brown buildings grappling out across over the clearing, groaning over the gravel-covered yard. Despite its size it had been abandoned too. A weather-beaten wood sign hung from rusty chains, creaking in the slight wind.
Crackling, stepping over branches. There was another person there, having caught him unaware. He put his hands up, away from the painfully sharp combat knife in his thigh holster.
"I've got a bit of a beef with you, Hatake."
His fingers twitched. He refused to turn around. It would give his attacker a perfectly sound reason to slew and maim.
A woman. Older than him.
"Turn around and let me look at you."
He edged around carefully over the bundles of leaves and tired roots.
She had long brown hair, dark eyes that pooled over her white cheeks. Barely discernible freckles like minuscule splatters of paint. Her long sword glinted in her hands, a shivering prayer of steel and thousands of hours of work, drawn into one single blade. She was more muscular than him with round thighs and broad shoulders, sturdily rooted onto the ground. Despite his name and stature, she seemed secure. The sword was steady.
"Get inside."
He did so, achingly conscious about his hands and his options that rose and fell, dependent on what he decided to do. The house was shoddy on the inside, its slanted roof kneeling down to bite his hair. In the corner, an altar. It's little wooden shelf was barely enough to support a picture of a woman. Dust covered every horizontal surface, sticky gray residues. She glanced outside before shutting the door.
"What are you doing here?"
Honesty? Or something else?
"I came here to see if there was anything left."
"Who sent you?"
"I sent myself."
"Oh?" She taunted, her smile a sneer. "Looking for your mom?"
"No," he said.
"They left. Not your mommy of course, but the others. I'm the only one here."
"They left you," he surmised.
"Someone had to stay behind. To deal with the likes of you." She lowered the sword, looking him over. "That's what kind of people they are. Always ready to cut their losses and start over somewhere new. I bet they're up in the mountains." She raised the sword again. "Cowards, all of them. That's what your family is like. Whenever a problem arise, they tuck their tails between their legs and cower in a corner."
"Did you know my mother?" They were similar, as if the artist that had drawn her had made another sketch.
The woman smiled. "Did I know her? I grew up with her. I followed her around, wanted nothing more than to be like her."
Kakashi shifted to the left, trying to get past the fire place.
"Slow down, super spy."
They stood opposing each other, two people in a cramped room.
"Yui was my sister."
Sister.
"She was three years older than me. My family had just moved here when I was born, bringing a bunch of unruly kids. I grew up here. The fifth child that no one cared about. She was the oldest daughter. Very pretty. You know how it goes."
He tried to swallow down a lump in his throat. Uncooperative.
"She was engaged to a merchant's son, a good man in every way. He was set to take over his father's business. But Yui-" her voice shivered. The eyes burned, another corrosive smile crept up on her face, "-that mindless, stupid woman-..." She sighed abruptly. "She found someone else to marry. A common soldier, passing through. I hated him."
Glaring at Kakashi, she continued, "He had the most horrid white hair, he looked like an old man. She deserved so much better, she just couldn't get it through her head. My mother was set on her marrying the boy from the village and Yui ran away. Like a common tramp. We heard of you later on."
"I never knew of you," he said.
"Hardly surprising. In this perfect family, nothing ever happens."
Rain tapped on the roof, pallid insistent fingers wanting to come in. As a blanket the sound unfolded in the air.
"Have you found out what you came for?" she asked.
"Yes," Kakashi said.
"I can't let you go," the woman said, once again holding up the sword.
Kakashi stood still, his shoes touching the same floor as his family had played on. The boards they had slept on, where they had planned strategic marches and assaults. His blood had put them there, shaped them, lived around them. A piece that was undoubtedly him had rested here. Fireplace, bed, sliding doors.
"I've read about you, you know."
"..."
"I know how dumb it is to challenge you."
"..."
"I have to."
The brawl was short, a clashing of breaths, of wills. She could have pursued. He stopped running. She was chained. Eternally bound to an empty house. There was only bamboo behind him, a faint rustling of downpour. Green leaves.
Kakashi sat on the railing. He opened his flak jacket, drew a sigh of relief.
Naruto shaded his eyes with his hand. "There was a break-in at the document processing facility a couple of days ago."
"Huh," Kakashi said, sliding down from the edge, put a hand in his pocket and the other on the rail.
"The thief only looked at a certain section of the gathered info."
"They must have been really curious."
"Whoever it was got past five guards, yet no one has a clue as to what they looked like."
"As I said. Curious."
Naruto went to stand beside him. Below, the village went about its usual business. "Not very clever, though," the Hokage said, focusing on some point below the tree line far away.
"No?" Kakashi said, looking at the man beside him, then looking away.
"They could have just borrowed my key," Naruto said, leaving.