Thanks to my beta ShipperTrish for her time and effort on this chappy!

Chapter 11:Pride and Paper Cuts.

Umino Iruka, like the many desk workers before him and probably the many desk workers that would come after him, hated Mondays, but he really hated Mondays. He hated everything about them: The 4:30 a.m. start, the fact that the coffee machine was always in need of a refill, and the fact that his whole body protested the return to the bone grinding routine so vehemently. He hated Mondays with an unparalleled and fiery passion, mainly because Mondays were known as "Hand In Day" and "Hand In Day" was a day when it seemed like every man and his dog were out to make his life a seething, crawling misery.

Since his colleagues and superiors were ninjas who were not often afforded the luxury of a weekend, none of them seemed to take notice of this fact…or quite deliberately ignored it.

It was almost a given that if a team came back from a mission on a Friday night, Saturday, or Sunday, then their mission report would somehow fail to see the light of day until late Monday morning. Usually, all ninjas were given a day or two of "down time" after each long mission, but the ninjas that came back to the village on a Friday evening quite often had to be hunted down like animals if you expected them to go back on duty any earlier than Sunday night.

Iruka himself always had Saturday evenings and Sundays off and because of the high stress nature of his other job teaching prepubescent hell beasts how to throw sharp, pointy objects. He really thought he deserved the thirty-six hours of bliss that was his "weekend" to ward off the gray hairs and worry lines that threatened to mar his kind and youthful face.

Juggling work at the Academy as well as his frequent shifts at the Mission Room really did wear him down. His timetable was an extreme patchwork of events that often required him to be at two places at once. Thank the gods for Shadow Clones.

So, Iruka treasured his weekends, quite often rejoicing in the fact that for a short period of time he could get away with doing absolutely nothing, but just because he was one of the few ninja in the village that could count on a relatively peaceful, glorious, and relaxing weekend didn't mean he deserved the hideous torture that was the Monday morning ritual of rounding up late mission reports, sorting through the bogus ones, and getting those rewritten.

Bogus mission reports were a constant thorn in the Academy sensei's side because quite a few of the jounin had come to find it to be fucking bloody hysterical to see whose report would be the first to get cute, blushing little Iruka-sensei to blow a gasket on a Monday morning.

It had become a game, one that had originated a little over six months ago when a team of the village's most elite jounin had come back from a particularly brutal mission, bone weary and all ready to drop dead late on a Friday night. Instead of seeking out medical assistance and handing their mission reports in like good little ninjas, they had gone down to the pub and gotten completely and utterly obliterated. At some point Raidou, one of the more sensible members of the group, had spoken up, reminding them all about the compulsory mission reports and that had resulted in eight drunkenly scribbled and blurry accounts of what had happened during their three week long mission to Lightening Country. The reports Iruka had found crammed into his pigeon box on that Monday were inaccurate, vague, and largely irrelevant. In fact, Iruka could remember word for word all eight of those reports, which he had found beer stained and almost illegible that fateful morning.

Genma's in particular had held such a poignant resonance with Iruka that the poor chuunin had found himself reciting it in the shower on many a rainy day.

*

There was a fat whore from Lightening,

Whose smile was less than inviting,

But she flashed me her jugs,

Then gave me a tug,

And I came even though she was frightening.

Signed: Genma (the stud)

*

Iruka hated limericks and hated vulgarity, but he had to admit, Genma had a way with words. It was damn catchy. If the poem had focused more on the strategies or logistics employed in the apprehension of the group of lesser known missing nins that were financially backing an underground drug ring, Iruka might have accepted his mission report. No, he would have if, IF it had been even slightly relevant or IF one of the other men in the team had handed in something more detailed and accurate or even vaguely mission report shaped.

But he didn't. THEY didn't…Not even close.

It also transpired that Genma had used his share of the "expense fund" to procure the attention of said "frightening whore from Lightening." You really weren't supposed to do that…

That day Iruka had cried, laughed, and cried some more.

Then, he had found Kakashi's report, scrawled across a yellow napkin in red leaky ballpoint, a mysterious almost butterfly shaped red symbol printed in the top most corner and Iruka, being the diligent hard working ninja he was, had trotted off to the archives with a small following of trainee code breakers in the hopes of finding which elusive cipher the Copy Nin had used to encode his mission report. Iruka was sure the Great Sharingan Kakashi, who had obviously spent time using an elaborate code to secure the contents of his report, would definitely provide some proper intelligence into the elusive crime syndicate where the other seven men had failed.

Three hours later, Genma had turned up to personally apologize for the state of his own report and to let Iruka know he was going to reimburse the funds he had taken for his night of questionable pleasure. Upon seeing Iruka elbow deep in cipher scrolls and pouring over tables of elaborate symbols and hieroglyphics, Genma leaned over to peer at the scuffed and folded yellow napkin with his brow knitted in confusion. Then, he started laughing quietly, the ever present senbon perched between his lips bouncing up and down rhythmically with each shaky chuckle before saying the dreaded words:

"Iruka-sensei, that's not code, that's just Hatake's writing."

Iruka's face had crumpled in incredulity and Genma, taking his disbelieving expression as consent to translate, had snatched up the napkin to read aloud around a toothy feral grin.

"It says, 'We went to Lightening. We killed the criminals and saved the day. It took ages. Now I am going home to screw this pretty waitress. The end.' Hahaha! I saw Hatake leaving with her and I know for a fact that she doesn't look half as good the day after. Hey, Iruka, your eyebrow's twitching. Maybe you should get that seen to…Iruka?"

He was right. The large butterfly shaped symbol had turned out to be the smudged lipstick print of one of the looser waitresses of "The Silver Kunai," a jounin haunt that was at the epicenter of Konoha nightlife.

Iruka had punched the special jounin clean across the room and into a plate glass window. Talk about shooting the messenger.

Now almost every weekend the jounin would deliberately place bogus mission reports in Iruka's pigeonhole on a Saturday night after one too many bottles of beer. This was apparently done in "good humor" and they would always turn up after lunch on Mondays, otherwise known as "Hand In Day" to expect the wrath of the famously temperamental chuunin and to watch in awe as his cheeks flared more vibrantly red with each passing hour. Eventually, he would explode in a fiery display that would have the walls of the Mission Room quaking before collapsing into his worn leather chair with a look of complete dejection. The lucky jounin whose tatty faux mission report had been the straw to break the proverbial camel's back would, in compensation for his injuries, be treated to a large bottle of expensive sake and Iruka would always find two tickets for free Ichiraku ramen on his desk by Wednesday. So while Iruka hated Mondays, he loved Wednesdays.

So Iruka approached his worn wooden pigeonhole outside the Mission Room's double doors with an air of resignation, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and preparing himself for the inevitable. Then, his mouth dropped open upon realizing his pigeonhole was completely empty, no bogus reports, no doodle covered napkins, no signed lacy undergarments. Iruka looked in shock and confusion over his shoulder at the large calendar hanging in the too bright corridor.

Yep, definitely Monday. Hmm...

Feeling a growing sense of suspicion and optimism at the same time, Iruka strode purposefully through the double doors and into the Mission Room. There, he spotted Kotetsu and Izumo chatting quietly by the coffee machine and Genma, Mr. Stud himself, lounging casually in his chair with his muddy sandals on his beautiful walnut hand carved desk.

"Genma, feet." Iruka said with a deep scowl.

"Iruka-sensei! How goes it this fine morning?" Genma greeted back with his trademark lopsided grin as a thin metal senbon seemed to roll of its own accord across the thin line of his lips.

"Fine, thank you, Genma. What, no witty limericks to keep me busy? No purple prose to brighten my day?"

"Iruka-sensei, your sarcasm wounds me." Another grin and another circuit of thin metal. "Naw...To be honest, everyone's a bit freaked out about this mole problem. Doesn't seem the time for practical jokes, hmm?"

Kotetsu spoke up from around a polystyrene cup of bitter filtered coffee. "Wow, a whole week without you psychopathic jounin extending our already criminal working hours?"

"Psychopathic?" Genma asked, quirking one suspiciously well manicured eyebrow.

"No need to be rude, Kotetsu." Iruka murmured. "What do you expect from men who learned to kill before they could spell their own names?" He couldn't help the tiny tug of a smile that pulled at his lips. It was a well known fact that to progress beyond the rank of chuunin you needed to be both talented and borderline certifiable. The prerequisites for ANBU were even foggier.

"And what was the last mission related injury you sustained, Iruka? A paper cut?" Genma bit out from around the lethal toothpick. "I'll have you know the ladies love us unpredictable, highly ranked types. Us psychopathic jounin? Swimming in women. Swimming." He stated smugly while miming the breaststroke.

"Swimming in STD's more like." piped Izumo.

"Won't it be sad if it drops off from over use before you can make any little screaming Shiranuis?" Kotetsu giggled.

"You're jumping the gun if you think Genma or any of those other crazies will be selectively reproducing anytime soon. That implies an ability to hold down a steady relationship. These guys can't even hand in a mission report!" Iruka said, laughing heartily as narrowed eyes slid to appraise him coldly.

"Actually, I have that base covered. Konoha's sperm bank is the proud recipient of twelve vials of prime, red blooded, devastatingly attractive micro wrigglers ready to bring joy and happiness to infertile couples everywhere, so don't worry about my legacy. It's all in hand." Genma smiled once again, waggling his eyebrows in perfect synchronization with the bobbing senbon.

"God, I hope they put warning labels on those things. Seems unfair that potential mothers would have no idea what they were getting themselves in for." Iruka commented dryly before continuing with mimed air quotes. "Warning: Contains notions of grandeur, impossibly large ego, and tendency to flock to reflective surfaces. Inseminate with caution. Hell spawn may arise…"

Suddenly, the special jounin was on him, pulling his arm behind his back and rubbing his knuckles across his pony-tailed scalp viciously.

Iruka shrieked in outrage as he was unceremoniously face planted into his desk and long strands or dark mahogany hair came loose around his shoulders.

"Genma! Get offa me, you jerk!"

"No…say 'Genma is the man and I'm a boring loser'…"

"Eh?…OW! NO!"

"Say it. Say it!" Each word punctuated by a sharp burning rub across Iruka's skull and much to his annoyance the sound of laughter emanating from his traitorous companions.

"Genma, you're a freakin' idiot. Ow, ow, OW!"

"Ha. I am not letting you go until you say it…"

"Arg! FINE!" Iruka screamed. "Genma is the m-"

"How wonderful to see my esteemed colleagues enjoying the spirit of camaraderie! It fills my soul with the springtime of youth and makes me glad to be alive and part of this great and wondrous nation!" A familiar bellowing tenor boomed.

"Saved by the overbearing personality." Genma hissed in Iruka's ear from the corner of his mouth.

"Gai-san…" Iruka puffed through a curtain of disheveled hair as Genma begrudgingly released the stranglehold on his arm. "What can I do for you?"

The eccentric jounin stood in his familiar green spandex, beaming across at the two men, and displaying two rows of perfect white teeth.

Iruka was, for what must have been the thousandth time, almost blinded by the luminous smile that seemed to be a light source all of its own in the dingy room. Honestly, Iruka had often wondered if Gai had to duct tape his mouth shut on night ops. One, because the green clad jounin was so exuberantly loud that in theory he could wake the dead and two, as soon as he opened his mouth in the first place, even the eternally dark and swampy forests of Earth Country would be lit up by a light source almost as radiant as the sun. It must be a real pain on stealth missions.

"Ah, my dear Iruka-sensei. I have come to hand in my report!" Gai said, brandishing a crisp and pristine sheet of A4 paper in one hand and giving him a bold thumbs up with the other.

Iruka let out a relieved breath and smiled kindly at the older man. He looked over the form and nodded in appreciation. Gai was the only jounin who handed in his reports on time, which were also filled with impressive, if slightly glorified detail. His writing was always neat, his spelling and grammar flawless, and Iruka often found his sensei persona, wishing he could reward neat, accurate mission reports with gold stars. One day he would have to let Gai know how much he appreciated this. Quite often when reading some of the other jounin mission reports he had the overwhelming urge to whip out a red pen and stamp "–F" in the corner with "must try harder" written in the margin.

Turning his not so blinding smile up to the tall, fuzzy browed man, Iruka said with great honesty, "Thank you for your hard work."

Yes, if Iruka could give out gold stars, then Gai would be at the top of the class.

As Iruka watched Konoha's self professed "Beautiful Blue Beast" leave the room with another mission scroll gripped tightly in his fist, he couldn't help but think that this Monday wasn't turning out so bad after all.

That was until a large bandaged dog jumped through the window behind him and landed with a clattering thud on his desk as large claws tore deep grooves into the beautiful walnut surface.

Iruka, Genma, Kotetsu, and Izumo all stood open mouthed as the dog turned to level them all with a stern and appraising doggy look before it chuffed dismissively and leaped onto the floor, made its way over to the double doors, and skilfully pushed them open with its front paws before leaving the room without a backwards glance.

"My…my desk…" Iruka whispered mournfully, tracing the thick scars across the once brilliant and flawless surface. He had managed to keep that desk free from coffee rings and ink spillages or any other tarnishing mark for well over a year. He had bought it with his last field mission pay slip, which had been a hefty B-rank that was the equivalent of a good four months of his teaching salary. He didn't really want to take another B-rank mission anytime soon. Genma was right, paper cuts and screaming demonic children were about as dangerous as his life got these days, although children could be quite dangerous.

"Hn. You can bill Hatake for that when he gets back from wherever the hell his is." Genma supplied helpfully, reading the younger man's mind.

"Huh?" said the three chuunin in unison.

"Well, it's his dog. I swear that's the one that's always trying to hump my leg."

"'Bout the only thing that will…" muttered Kotetsu.

"Kakashi's dog?" Iruka groaned. "I'm never going to get compensation from him, am I?"

Yep, Monday, also known as "Hand In Day" was the day when every man and his dog seemed out to make Iruka's life a seething, crawling misery, even the ones who weren't currently in the village.

Tsunade sat at her desk with her fingers steepled carefully in front of her face and stared with mixed amusement and annoyance at the scene before her. Shizune was holding a squealing and clearly terrified Tonton high above her head in both hands while a large bandaged brown and white canine that looked a mix between a Doberman Pincher and an Ibizan Rabbit Hound wove in and out of Shizune's legs barking something that sounded suspiciously like "Sausages" and spraying saliva as it went.

Slamming her hand down on the desk with splintering force, Tsunade instantly commanded the attention of the excited mutt who shot Tonton one last longing look (accompanied with a long lick of a pink tongue over white muzzle) before tottering over to sit beside the Hokage diligently, presenting the scroll tucked into its bandages with an oddly majestic low bow.

It was then that Shiranui Genma entered the room carrying a precariously tall pile of mission reports to be stamped.

"Are you bothering my desk workers again, Shiranui? Don't you have a home to go to?" Tsunade asked without looking up from the scroll she was now unsealing.

"I'm just helping Iruka with his paperwork, Hokage-sama. He seems to have had a slight nervous breakdown on account of his desk being ruined."

"What, that nice expensive walnut one?"

"The very same."

"Shame."

"Shame indeed."

"Well, you can make yourself useful and stop gawking at my assistant. I need you to find me the Nara boy."

With a sly wink, Genma dragged his eyes away from the now furiously blushing Shizune who was trying to coyly play with her hair whilst keeping a wriggling pot bellied pig out of harm's way.

"The Nara boy? Shikamaru?"

"Yes. He's one of the only code breakers I can trust with all this conspiracy rubbish that's been going on."

"If I may, Hokage-sama," Genma started, peering over at the abstract shapes and inked angles covering the scroll laid out on the desk in front of the Hokage's ample bosom, "You don't need a code breaker, just someone who can read Hatake's writing." He screwed his eyes shut in preparation for a blow that would send him flying through the Hokage's fourth story window…It never came.

Tsunade huffed in exasperation. "Well then Shiranui, What. Does. It. Say?" she said this slowly as if talking to a child while pushing the paper towards him with one manicured finger.

"Fine. Pen and paper? Just keep that bloody animal away from my leg."

Mission Reference: C12 T7.5

Enemy Base of operations found at 34.7832°N, 138.733°E

Infiltration can confirm large organized enemy contingent with access to heavy artillery. Recommend that preparations against imminent hostile attack be put into place.

Units 012607 and Root0048 are MIA, presumed dead. Request immediate recovery team of trusted ANBU to coordinates provided. Recommend my old squad as excavation is most probably required.

Recovered intelligence that one Nakamizu Hiroto may have some links to organization and possibly a direct link to individuals in Konoha. Will investigate further. Expect myself and Unit 012601 to return within 72 hours of receiving this message.

009720

Tsunade sighed long and hard after rereading Genma's translation and moped her brow with a shaking hand. Opening a drawer in her desk, she withdrew a small blank scroll and an ivory handled fountain pen before writing down her reply in her clear precise script:

Find out what this Nakamizu Hiroto knows, then extinguish the lives of anyone involved in the plot against Konoha. Subtlety is requested. ANBU unit will be dispatched. Rest assured we will bring our boys home.

Rolling the short note up, she slipped it back into the dog's bandages who gave a very human nod of understanding before trotting across the room and slipping quietly out into the corridor. She quirked an eyebrow up at Genma who was standing stock still and to attention, the senbon tucked neatly behind his ear and his keen honey eyes fixed firmly on the Hokage's.

"I suppose you've gathered that Kakashi is pulling you out of retirement?"

"We both know ANBU are never really retired, Hokage-sama."

"Well, I suggest you dust off that porcelain cat mask of yours and go find your former teammates. Tell Ibiki I need to see him while you're at it. I have evacuation procedures to put into place."

His lips quirked up into a familiar lopsided smile. "Great, an old family reunion. I'm sure Tenzou and Yugao will be as pleased as ever to see me."

"You'll let Tenzou take point on this, Genma. He has invested interest in those kids."

"I'm sure the Root kid and the Kyuubi brat are fine, Hokage-sama," he replied, trying to make light of the situation and ease the older woman's obvious distress.

"Bring my boys home, Shiranui. That brat is like a grandson to me. Do not even think about walking back through those gates without them whatever condition they're in. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." Deliberately keeping his eyes fixed on his feet as he moved, Genma spun on his heel and strode purposefully out of the office. He had politely averted his gaze when the Hokage's eyes had started tearing ever so slightly and even though the small break in her voice could have been blamed on any number of things, Genma knew without a shadow of a doubt that this retrieval mission was highly personal to the fearsome woman.

When Kakashi had walked back into the hotel room at dawn, he had been greeted by what could only have been described as one of the most endearing sights he had ever seen.

There, sprawled across the middle of the bed, was one Haruno Sakura. She was wearing one of his now clean jounin shirts while her own uniform still hung drying on the radiator. The long navy blue sleeves completely covered her hands and her chin length hair fanned out across the pillow. The soft light that was just starting to filter in from underneath the curtains picked up the soft highlights of her hair so that it shone like a halo around her delicate features. She had one arm slung possessively around the small bundle of fluff and folds that was his favorite ninken who had corkscrewed himself tightly into the curve of her side.

If it wasn't for the lurid leopard print backdrop, Kakashi thought that the image before him looked almost like the type of scene depicted on charmingly ambiguous greetings cards. You know, the kind you give harmless deaf grandmothers to thank them for useless book vouchers. Cards with photographed pictures shot with soft bloom lighting that often depicted cherub faced little girls hugging fluffy bunnies, but from the way his oversized shirt was riding up over the high curve of her ass, he knew she was no cherub faced little girl and his passive-aggressive summon, he knew from experience, was no fluffy bunny.

Pakkun himself had been apparently disrobed, his little blue jacket and headband neatly folded on a footstool at the end of the bed. This rankled Kakashi slightly as he stood gazing at the content duo. The dog threw a hissy fit every time Kakashi tried to take Pakkun's clothes off to give the pug a bath, the phrase "I'm naked!" thrown in amongst colorful expletives and dangerous growls, but here his summon was looking every bit like a normal dog in the arms of a girl who was treating him like a favorite old teddy bear. He was more than a little surprised the volatile little monster had allowed it.

As if sensing his master's close scrutiny, the pug cracked open an eye and spoke in a low raspy voice.

"Stop staring at her ass, Kakashi."

"I'm not."

"Then stop staring at mine."

"You're naked."

"She said my headband was scratchy and that she couldn't rub my belly properly with my jacket in the way."

"So to get you in the bath I need to promise you belly rubs?"

"You're not as good as her. Longer nails, you see."

"Traitor." mumbled Kakashi, easing himself into the plush heart shaped armchair in the corner of the room and propping his feet up on the footstool, ignoring Pakkun's grumbles about getting dirty sandals on his clothes.

"So, had enough time to 'think,' eh Kakashi?"

"Hn."

"She isn't the delicate little flower you think you know."

"I don't think that."

"She told me what happened."

"Hn."

"Well?" the dog growled.

"Well, what?"

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing."

"She likes you."

"Shut up."

"So…why not?"

"A hundred reasons."

"Like?" the pug prodded.

"Like she's too young, she's my subordinate, I used to be her teacher, she still calls me 'sensei,' she's just lost two of her teammates, two of her closest…Why are we even having this discussion? Since when did you show any interest in my love life or lack thereof?"

"(huff) I just like her, that's all. She smells nice and actually holds quite a good conversation for a human."

"She smells of you. That doesn't equate to smelling nice."

"It's better than smelling like a brewery." The pug shot back.

"I was following up a lead…or at least I ended up following up a lead."

"Anything important?"

"Yes, actually."

"Well, shouldn't you wake her and get moving?"

"I already have a plan and we can't move till nightfall anyway. I don't think strolling back into Taki in broad daylight will go down too well, not after we conveniently disappeared after the explosion on their territory."

"Well, shouldn't you fill her in on the details?"

"I'll let her sleep a little longer. She looks peaceful like that." Kakashi murmured sleepily.

"She's not the only one who's lost two teammates, Kakashi."

"I know." Kakashi mumbled almost incoherently before closing his own eyes and slipping into a restless sleep.