Face Value

by KawasakiTriple

A gritty, dark tale of man's inhumanity to man, and the light of hope that's both a curse and a promise. OOC a lot? A little? Spot on? You make the call. KakaIru, but it might not be fun. Even less likely with Ibiki in the mix. Updating finally! SLASH/ abuse warning.

31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

It took tremendous effort to control and coordinate his eyes to point where they would move in the same direction; but to his great relief, once he finally succeeded, they started to work together again to provide him with visions that he could make sense of.

The unfamiliar room that materialized before him was nothing compared to the strangeness within his own body and soul. Bits and pieces of the procedure, his identity, and his life sharpened and faded in the constant, unstable flow that comprised his reviving consciousness. The intrusion team's presence grossly inflated his internal boundaries, each one exerting so much pressure from their massive, unique chakra that they'd stretched his center out of shape. Their sudden evacuation left the environment in his head feeling hugely hollow and breathless, as if it were now grossly oversized for its meager viable contents.

Danzou's monstrous, ominous presence, embedded with the power to terminate him at will, was depleted as well, leaving still more dead space. He hadn't realized how deeply the sadistic overlord was integrated into his being, almost like a living, breathing thing in his most private of thoughts, until he felt the vacancies created when his foothold diminished. He felt violated, disgusted, and confused. His obsession with the old hawk bordered on worship, but it was devil worship, like a scene so terrible that it drew one to bear witness without looking away. Yet that urge to see and hear him was still astoundingly sharp and strong. He could not fathom why he still felt deeply obligated to perform any act that man would demand of him, nor why it felt so empty, almost starved, to be deprived of those orders. The emotions associated with it were so powerful he had to fight to keep from growing hysterical, or vomiting, or both. Danzou meant pain, and pain meant...he no longer knew what the proper reaction to it was.

Staring at his shaking hands, he jumped when the ANBU took them and held them still. This chair, in the present, in the real world, solid under his ass, furnished a room in Ibiki's kingdom, and he had to try and remember that. He was supposed to be obedient here, and evidence no inappropriate emotion, speech or behavior. They kept urging him to do otherwise, to tell them everything he was thinking and feeling, but that just confused him further. Nothing, nothing made sense, except the overwhelming weight of guilt and regret, and even that seemed to have a depth beyond his ability to justify it.

"You're doing really well. Please remember to keep your hands away from your face. If you need any help I will assist you."

It was startling when he finally got his vision and mind to coordinate and tried to comprehend who was talking. Goggles and white hair, a lab coat, and although he had a mask, it was a sanitary mask, and this was definitely not Kakashi, Ibiki or Inoichi.

In fact, now that he was getting a little more conscious of his surroundings, it seemed that no one else was in the room but the stranger in the blindingly white coat, towering above him. He was beginning to recall seeing this man before, and found the association with Ibiki and this place – but he felt no reassurance in understanding that fact.

"No," he whispered, realizing that his wrists were still encircled with straps. He couldn't get them to his face if he tried, what was the point of being instructed against it, as if he would?

"That is for your own protection. Please don't fight them."

But the culmination of such a long, grueling experience left him shaken and aggravated. He understood what he was being told but it held little weight against his need to find mental balance.

"Let me...let me go. Let me go!"

"I can't do that, not yet. Tell me what's wrong. Are you in pain? Are you afraid?"

"I want you to let me go! Get these off of me!"

Cold, gloved hands closed on both sides of his head and forced him face-to-face, goggles to eyeballs.

"You need to be mindful of your position here. You know where you are, don't you? So you know that anyone in this chair does not have the power to give orders. When I am satisfied that you are safe to move about on your own, I will convey that message to my superior. He is the only one who can order your release."

The ANBU assistant patiently observed that Iruka was not in very good control of his actions and even less controlled in his emotions. It made it difficult to tell how straight-up sane he was at this point. Similar invasive procedures often resulted in wildly flailing, incoherent subjects that could never string two words together again for the rest of their lives. This was one of the lucky ones.

Well, maybe not just lucky, either. Certainly none of them had the internal support that Hatake Kakashi provided. And inner Root strength.

The brown eyes tried to meet his. He conceded that the subject made a significant attempt at compliance before he lost it completely. The ANBU calmly tightened the straps and added more to contain him absolutely until the fighting ran its course. He thought it would end up like this or worse, but he'd nodded as if it were actually a possibility when Ibiki gave him instructions for getting Iruka situated in sleeping quarters if he became quiet and stable enough.

He considered a gag, but that wasn't one of the options he had been given, so he settled for twisting a pair of foam muting pads into his own ears. Not because it was disturbing to hear this sort of distress from a comrade; it was just to ease the strain on his ear drums.

He half-expected to see his leader step in to investigate the racket; but when he didn't, it seemed okay to take a few minor measures on his own. He hauled out a weighted blanket and reclined the chair before spreading it out over the struggling body. A psycho-sensual device, it pressed down firmly but not uncomfortably, and had the effect of stabilizing frightened or nervous people to a minor degree. There weren't any particular instructions about treating this man any differently than usual, but Moreno's tone revealed a touch of concern, and that anomaly was huge.

It didn't seem to help much. He observed, but considering his limited options, there was little else to be done. He might have tried a few words of reassurance, but at present, the level of shouting necessary to be heard would not likely be received as comforting in any way.

The earpiece buzzed; he twisted out the earplug, letting the slightly irritating noise of his subject intrude before he cupped his hand over the device and moved to the corner of the room to hear.

"Checking in. Status?"

"You're hearing it."

"How long has he been going on like that?"

"Not the whole time, but most of the while. Nonstop since it started."

"I'll inform the chief."

"I'll be standing by."

He waited just a bit before jamming the foam back in, but his trained ear did not detect any meaningful change in the intensity or incoherent nature of the screaming. The guy was stuck in a very bad place, and he'd either have to wear down physically, or get some kind of assistance that would pull him out of it.

Ten minutes later, the door swung open, and his goggled counterpart stepped in, shaking his head at the volume and incredible amount of fight exhibited by the blindly struggling man.

He supposed he deserved the slightly disapproving look when he pulled out the earplugs to hear Hide's shouted instructions.

"I don't know how well this will work. It's a tranquilizer, but it's not supposed to put him to sleep, just calm him down. This might not be strong enough."

"Try it anyway. With any luck it'll at least turn down the noise. Just go on and do it to him, I don't have to hold him. I've got him trussed up so he can't move."

There again, a slight disapproving look, before the other man moved to administer the shot and rub the injection site, scrutinizing the restraints and the subject critically.

The volume cut by nearly half in moments, and rough breathing broke up the constant vocalizations until Iruka stopped trying to make any noise at all, gasping and choking, writhing and wringing instead of kicking and fighting.

"I'm loosening these up. He's not an enemy, we're supposed to be mindful of injuring him, or of letting him injure himself. He's probably torn half his ligaments already," Hide grumbled. "You should have called for assistance."

"It's not like there was any way I was going to lose control of him. He would have settled down eventually. And you'd better stay close. I tightened those up because he wouldn't stop going for his face."

"Umino Iruka. Listen to me. You are safe and in good hands. I will loosen these to help you get more comfortable, but you must try to calm yourself and behave."

Iruka's voluntary motion had come grinding to a halt, but in its place he shook like mad now, staring without blinking into his reflection in the goggles and trying to get a real thought, any thought, to pull together in his blindingly painful head. He was seeing double somehow, or maybe this was a clone, but he hadn't seen the jutsu to produce it, and this face didn't hold the same character somehow. If this was a false appearance, it could be anyone touching him while he was helplessly restrained. Ibiki. Tsunade. Or even Danzou.

An expert through long experience in interpreting just how effective torture methods were on a variety of subjects, Hide easily recognized Iruka's challenges now, from the panic to the pain to the lack of cohesive thought.

He placed an open palm over the creased brow, allowing for the expected ducking and flinching, and steadily soothed the pain and mental static down to more bearable levels. Artfully gentle, his was a wonderfully light and benevolent jutsu technique, generally used to trick subjects into dropping their guard after extended periods of terror and torture. He was very good at it. He disliked using it on comrades despite its effectiveness, because this form of care was developed to be false and deceptive, and unlike with an enemy, he felt a little uneasy every time he felt a Konoha loyal's response of genuine relief or trust during rough debriefings.

It kind of made it feel dirty, like a touch of mental date-rape.

Poor Umino grasped onto his offer of help like a drowning child.

"I...don't...know...you," he managed to gasp.

Hide nodded with mental shrug. At least he knows he shouldn't be trusting me while he's helplessly trusting me. A sign that his ability to reason is coming back around.

"No, but it's all right. We are in the Intelligence compound, and you have been placed in my care by Ibiki-san."

"You're...not...Kak..."

"Everyone got tired. They went home to rest some time ago. It's time for you to rest, too."

"Home?"

"Yes," Hide lied. Kakashi had been transferred directly to the emergency room at the infirmary. Tsunade was most likely out drinking away her bad day; Ibiki was still grumbling somewhere around the T & I compound. But Inoichi probably went home, so a percentage of his statement had truth potential.

"I want to go home."

"I understand. But you're in no shape to be going anywhere. You orders right now are simple, you just need to let me take care of you. We're going to work on making you comfortable."

"No...no...no..."

"It's all right." He swallowed and firmed his resolve. Why this was so difficult, he couldn't quite say. He had no plan to do anything but help Umino calm down and regain his self-control. But that could change at a moment's notice, depending on his orders. Up until now, most of the work he'd performed on this man held little overt concern at all for his well-being.

"Thanks for turning down the racket," the other assistant said with a nod, tossing his disposable earplugs in the trash. "You wouldn't want to take over now, would you?"

"I'll take the rest of the watch, we'll be fine here. You can take off. Go sign out and put my name in for the night."

He let Iruka spend some time alternately batting away his hands and then holding them too tight, ready to restrain him again if he became self-destructive. He was clearly working hard at getting something straight in his head; this was not about a real-time fear or upset with anything Hide was doing.

Ibiki did express some concern and regrets when he spoke about the potential for long-term care if the recovery process went too far south. That hint of extra interest alone meant Iruka was in a very elite class of subject. It probably meant that it was all right to be feeling a little sympathy for him, although Hide knew better. In his profession, sympathy was the worst sin of all, one could not allow themselves to feel anything for a typical subject.

He finally took Iruka's hands firmly in his own and held them until they stopped resisting.

"We need to find a way for you to get some rest. You need it. And Ibiki-san has ordered it."

"But..."

"But what? Talk to me, so I can help you, okay?" Hide tried to relax into his role of caretaker. He so seldom had this sort of interaction, where his help was not actually a clever form of attack. He was beginning to notice more details, like the span of welts that showed near the younger man's belt line when he was struggling. The Hokage, in her haste to heal and run, had missed them, and untreated, they were starting to weep, and most likely were exquisitely painful.

"I'm not ready. No more. Not yet."

"You don't have to be ready. There's nothing more, Iruka. I'm just asking you to rest. I'd like to treat your sores but you have to be able to hold still." He slowly released his hold.

"I told you, there won't be any rest! I tried, and it just gets worse! There's too much more!"

"More what?"

Iruka's hands started for his face, and Hide captured his wrists, just in case.

"More things...that I...more of the time...I can see...in my head."

"Try to relax your arms for me. Are you talking about your memories?"

"I can barely hold them back. I can't let go now."

"So you're afraid that if you let down your guard, they'll be able to break through."

"Yes. No! I'm not afraid! I just...don't want to let go until...until I can build up the strength."

"Ah." Hide frowned in understanding. If he were more rested, he thought he could cope; but the very thing he was trying to cope with prevented him from getting that rest. If he hadn't just been through such a disruptive deep-mind procedure, Hide had a number of ways he could effect a sort of thought-suspension to allow a brief cradle of recovery in the midst of such highly provoking circumstances. But Iruka was in no shape for that kind of invasive mental tinkering on top of everything else.

He looked to the medicine cabinet, mentally paging through its contents and considered his options, still firmly but humanely restraining Iruka's hands with his own. The doe-eyed nin seemed to be gathering into himself a little.

"But is Kakashi coming back?"

"He spent a great deal of chakra on the procedure. Lady Hokage sent him back for rest at the infirmary. That's where he was before he came to assist."

"Is he all right?"

Hide nodded, lying without blinking or hesitation.

"He's perfectly fine. Just exhausted."

Iruka fought down the urge to tear at his face until his arms shook. It was as if someone else was trying to hurt him with his own hands. Existence itself was confusing, and the effort to find solid ground overwhelmingly difficult. The sense of being trapped in a world full of strangers and institutional surroundings and pain occluded all else, conspiring to disorient the fragile return of his thought processes.

"I don't understand any of this. Please, please let me go."

"Listen to me. Okay? Listen closely. I'm going to tighten these..."

"No! Don't!"

"You have to listen. I am going to tighten up your restraints, I know you're not going to like it, but it's not to punish you. I don't want you to harm yourself, and I can see that you're having a hard time maintaining control again. I need to go ask for permission to give you something else that will help you. I can't do that while I'm using both hands to hold you."

Iruka was breathing far too hard and fast to get sufficient oxygen, unable to find anything close to the composure he would need to even attempt to comply. His head dropped forward as he closed his eyes, fruitlessly groping for some inner path to relief.

Hide doubted that his motion, which appeared to be a slight nod, meant he was ready; but it was likely that the situation would only get worse if he delayed, so he decided to risk it.

The leather tightened, and a razor-sharp burst of memory, from behind Danzou's dark door, filled Iruka with the terrifying sensation of scorpions covering every inch of his body in a frenzy of attack. The room, the present, and his caretaker all disappeared.

Hide sighed at the futility if his efforts, the sound lost in the ensuing noise. It was a very good thing that the restraints were all tightened properly now. He was quick and efficient in securing his permissions, almost relieved when he was able to load the hypodermic and sending his screaming subject into dreamless sleep.

In the succeeding silence, he removed the restraints and set a mental timer to alert him to replace them again, to make sure there would be no surprises when the medication wore off.

xxxxx

Inoichi stepped into the entry to deposit his sandals, long black coat, forehead protector and with luck, the dark mood of his troubling day. He wasn't aware of how long it had been since his last bite of food until the aroma of dinner kick-started his self-awareness.

His wife called out in greeting, and he responded in kind, glad to see the table set for three. Ino had been in the field quite a bit lately. Tonight, her stories and laughter would be even more welcome than usual. The last thing he wanted was to go directly into dinner conversation about his day.

He nodded and wore a pleasant expression as he stepped up to help place the food on the table; his spouse of so many years knew that look and responded appropriately without even thinking. He needed his space; in recognition of that need, she refrained from asking any questions.

But she knew he would not be so lucky with Ino.

"Dad!"

"Back early again! You look well. How did your team fare?"

"Easy stuff. Knocked it out in no time. But, Dad, you're on the team working with Iruka-sensei, aren't you? I heard you guys saved him! I even heard that he might be getting out soon! Is it true?"

His smile was pained. Tsunade was still making controlled information leaks in a last-gasp effort to try and draw Danzou out; so her rumors had purpose. But Iruka's medical condition wasn't something to be blabbing all over the place.

"It's an assignment for me, Ino. You know I can't really discuss it much."

"But, why not? I mean, everyone's talking about it."

"Tell me what you heard."

"That you and Lady Tsunade pretty much cured him from his Root training and that he's practically perfect again! We were thinking maybe we could go talk to him and see if he'd like us to pick up a few things and escort him home!"

Inoichi smiled sadly and shook his head; the sadness mirrored in his daughter's eyes as realization hit, and she protested in dismay.

"Well, even if he has to stay longer, we can at least go see him now that he's..."

"No, Ino, you can't go see him. He's not ready for that yet."

"He's not even well enough for visitors? But that doesn't match the news that came from the Tower!"

"Regardless, you will let that news stand as the whole truth for now – understood? It isn't a falsehood, exactly. It could become true, at any time. We did put him back into his old form, and it seems that was successful. But your Iruka-sensei still has some way to go to make the rest of that rumor a reality. He's still being cared for in the T&I compound, and very well I might add. But I wouldn't look for his release any time soon."

"Then you're still helping him – right?"

"Of course, I'll do whatever I can – but I'm not in charge of his treatment."

"Then couldn't I help, too?"

"No, Ino, I don't think so. Not while this is still a T&I operation. Maybe you can ask Sakura if they transfer him to the medical facility."

She frowned and crossed her arms at her chest.

"If they transfer him. If? So he's not even well enough for regular hospitalization? It all sounds so fishy. Why are they telling all those lies?"

"You're just going to have to let it go, kiddo. I'd like to tell you every little detail, but I can't. And mind that you don't go asking around or making waves, either. You're old enough to know that undermining the Hokage's word is wrong. And now that you're no longer a child, the penalty for that sort of transgression is no laughing matter."

Her petulance faded with the seriousness of her father's warning. For a split second, she felt a chill in her stomach, as if he had been warning her that if she went too far, daughter of not, he would follow his duty and turn her in to the authorities.

No, she thought, he wouldn't...but he would be severely tested between loyalties, and suffer for being forced to hedge on his principles. She would never want to cause him that kind of pain. Nor would she truly want to test her faith in him in that manner.

"Shika's been grumbling about how it sounded too optimist. I'll have to think of something to tell him."

"Don't lie. Just tell him the recovery is going well, and time frames are just estimates, so you'll all just have to be patient and wait to see him when it's allowed. For now, in his best interest, he needs peace and quiet for recovery, and they need to respect that. Fair enough?"

"Sure! As long as you say he'll be okay, we'll be okay with waiting to see him. We're all pretty excited. He's been through so much! We just want to talk to him and thank him. Until you get older, you don't realize how important it is that someone cared enough to help you start out on the right path when you were little. Now, maybe, we can give a little of that caring back."

"Well, then, you don't have to worry." Inoichi chuckled, fronting his best relaxed expression. "All that fuss for nothing. Of course you'll be able to see him. Just not right away."

They settled into eating, the women chattering about the changes in Shikamaru and Choji, how their faces were becoming more mature, and by inference, more attractive. Inoichi felt relieved with the change of subject.

As far as he could tell, Iruka was more than capable of survival. But as yet there was no prognosis for the recovery of his personality, his memory, indeed, even his sanity, because it was still too touch-and-go. Tomorrow they should get a better sense of the damage and what his future might hold.

Tonight, he was deceiving his daughter, pure and simple. She would have to understand, should that fact ever come to light.

He sincerely hoped that enough viable remains of the unique and kindly Iruka-sensei she was was so eager to visit had survived. It would be a difficult development if a there was little left of his personality upon his resurrection in the body hailed by the same name. Ino would be saddened; and the concern over his future as a loyal to Hokage could turn into something much more ominous in terms of his freedom in the village.

Tomorrow he would arrive early and make sure that he had a place in the recovery team. It wasn't just his skill, but his keener interest in treating Iruka humanely that set him apart from the general plan. They lacked conscience a little too conveniently, and like it or not, he did not intend to allow it to continue.

He would not feel right about facing his little girl otherwise.

xxx

"I'm better. I'm okay." Iruka rubbed his freed wrists, eying his captor cautiously. "See?"

"I'm glad that you're more comfortable."

"No. I mean it. I'm really okay now. You can unlock the door. I think I can go."

Hide considered his best course of action and decided to be proactive in his tactics, before this turned into an argument. He fully understood the desire for freedom, but he sincerely doubted that there had been any plan or thought beyond that point. Umino was in no way stable enough to be wandering around on his own recognizance; but after two days of discouraging lack of recovery, he was suddenly behaving much better than expected, hence this awkward stage where he could almost feign reasonable competence.

"Since you're okay, let's try a few exercises."

The goggled ANBU turned and moved to the counter, fiddling with something hidden from view for a moment before returning to make good on his suggestion.

"Now stretch for a moment. Loosen up if your arms are stiff. That's it. Now reach out your hands to me, palms up."

Iruka did as he was told and Hide's hands came to rest in the upturned palms.

"Now, Iruka. Tell me. Don't look, just feel. Do my hands feel the same or difference? Describe them to me."

Iruka self-consciously moved his hands to get a better feel. His brow knit, because unless there was some trick to this, he couldn't find anything notable.

"Same or different. Tell me, please."

"They both feel the same to me. They're...a bit warm"

"You're sure? Are they sweaty, then?"

"No. They're warm and dry."

"Stop!" Hide ordered. He lifted one hand and held it up. Beads of water rolled into tiny streams, heading for his wrist.

"But..."

"Now what about this?"

He reached out after showing his other, clearly dry hand, and slipped that hand under Iruka's shirt. When his palm touched the heat of Iruka's midrift, the smaller man shocked upright.

He was without words until the significance moved him to speak.

"It's ice cold. And the other one is..."

Hide wiped his dripping hand across the back of Iruka's neck; it was satisfying to watch him shiver involuntarily.

"Is what?"

"Wet," Iruka said finally, staring at the water that had been deposited in his palm, seeing but not feeling it at all. He felt as troubled and unsteady as he now appeared to Hide's critical eye. "So I'm not okay. I wouldn't even get that I'm having a problem if it wasn't for this you."

"This me?"
"Oh..." Iruka shook his head hard; despite his effort to normalize, or to at least appear to be, he was failing on every front. "Shit."

"I'd like you to explain. Our interactions are important, and how you perceive me is a significant element of that."

"Yeah. You got me again, I guess. Well, it's because you're with me all the time, see, but I...somehow...you don't always seem like the same person."

"Really." Hide had to admit, he was getting more than a little bit invested in his task of rehabilitating Iruka, and his counterparts hadn't really shown a similar bent. But for Iruka to sense it, and be able to put it into words – they'd made decent progress in some areas of his perception after all.

"I guess I'm not grasping much of anything the way it really is."

"Now, wait. You saw the wet hand, and you felt the cold on your body and the wetness on the back of your neck. You did interpret those conditions correctly. Hands are a different matter. Your hands are not giving you accurate feedback because of the chakra damage. Your mind is filling in the blanks through intuition."

"So your hands were warm and dry because that's how I wanted them to feel."

Hide observed Iruka's deep crimson blush and tried to absorb the inference. If the subject was getting attached to him, and many of the methods used by the assistants were meant to encourage just that, along with dependence and overmuch trust, that would normally be a big stride in the right direction.

But having had a few more face-to-face meetings with Ibiki to report his progress, Hide wisely determined that in Iruka's case, it would greatly displease his boss if he manipulated him into emotional attachment of any kind.

But there again, not paying as much attention, his counterparts were probably working on orchestrating a relationship full steam ahead without realizing their error – leaving the greatly impaired and disadvantaged Iruka cluelessly blushing and wishing for warm hands.

"Let's not go there," he said very gently, then wished he hadn't. Wrong tactic, being too gentle would only decrease the aversion to getting close. This double-reverse psychology was no piece of cake. He soldiered on in a better direction.

"I'm sure that's not quite what it means. It means that you made that assumption based on past experience with similar situations. I'm sure that it doesn't have anything to do with me specifically, since we've only know each other for such a short time."

Iruka nodded and gazed worriedly at the door, still bolted against both intrusion and escape. He wanted to assure them that despite his discomfort with being held here, he had no plans for flight – but the possibility of more invasion and forced debriefing hung over him like a gathering storm, and he wasn't sure that bravado would hold up if they came in proposing to start again.

In truth, he felt that he had reached his limit. One more round would surely break him, there could be no other result. His very own hands just finished lying to him in a conspiracy with his brain that tricked him completely. He had been 100% sure that he felt what the felt right up until it was disproved with irrefutable evidence of the truth.

"I know this has been very difficult, and that it's still unpleasant for you, but you must understand that releasing you too soon would put you at great risk. It's vital that we monitor you until you are truly stable."

"Zora isn't your real name, is it? I remember now, I'm sure I heard you introduced to someone else; Ibiki said your name was Hide. So much that I can't remember, but that...I know what I heard."

"You know how this branch of the service works. We usually don't deal in real names much." Hide frowned inwardly. Time to warn the others that they'd all have to use his name now. "But since you know, it's fine if you call me Hide. Call me whatever you like."

Iruka looked through the reflection in the glare of the lenses, searching for more clues in Hide's expression. Maybe he could become friendlier, and perhaps get more warning as to what might be in store for him.

He gave up and shifted in the damned chair again, impatient with the feeling of being caged and berating himself for thinking the anyone on Ibiki's staff would have a soft spot for a person in his position.

But he figured he'd ask anyway, despite the fact he knew he would only get the answer deemed appropriate for his inquiry, not necessarily the truth.

"So what happens to me now?"

"That's a fair question. I've been given some latitude today. If I feel like you can handle it, I can take you across the hallway and see how you do resting on a proper bed. Well, as proper as any bed is in this place. I imagine it's not like home, but it's far better that what we have in here."

Iruka went to his feet and Hide stayed in easy grabbing distance. He'd hit a strong chord with that statement.

"I don't want to be in this room anymore. I don't want to get back on that table," he gasped, stumbling in the direction of the door, knowing he should wait, that there were probably some other conditions, or instructions, or whatever, but his self-control was shaken by the surge of hope that they were actually planning on helping him recover and letting him go. Just like he would have expected them to, back in his ridiculously naive younger days.

Hide caught him easily but didn't throw him back or take him down – he just slowed his progress and moved along with him until the still-locked door stopped them cold.

"I want out. Please. Let's go now. Just let me go."

"Easy, Iruka, you have to get in control of yourself before I can do that."

"I can do it if you let me go, I'll be in control, I promise, but I have to get out of here, I can't stay. I can't. Hide, please!"

Hide got a better grip on his subject until he stopped pleading and squirming. Despite his slight panic attack, Iruka had remained coherent, non-violent and relatively quiet, no screaming or significant struggle. Just a compromised man overwhelmed by a situation that still edged just past the point of tolerance. He showed absolutely no sign of the previous episodes of the uncontrollable urge to self-harm. Hide strongly suspected that those were remnants of the agitated Root personality surfacing before being assimilated.

By the time he was quiet, his back leaning heavily against the door, Hide was starting to have to hold him up. But before he could attempt to start a calmer conversation, the outer lock made a familiar report.

"Hold up!" Hide yelled, banging back at the wall. The door began to unlock anyway; with the excellent soundproofing, if the person entering didn't use more than just their ears to listen, his warning did no good.

He took Iruka under the armpits and pulled him away quickly, making him trip and stagger with the unexpected movement, just getting him clear so the door wouldn't nail him.

Ibiki swept in, still in his long coat, in a hurry to see if things had progressed since he left the facility. He frowned harshly; Iruka looked a mess, and Hide was having to move him about with force.

"Still no progress?" he growled, lower lip pushing up firmly in an unmistakable expression of disgusted disappointment.

Iruka's reaction to his sudden appearance didn't help his cause; he gaped, filling with terror, until it suddenly just shut off, leaving him with a strange look, almost giddy from the sudden drop in blood pressure. He forgot to be afraid. Ibiki became a blank human form, his situation sort of blurred out, and he just stood panting, wondering at his own racing heart and shortness of breath, feeling lucky that someone was holding him and helping him, so that he wouldn't fall down, which seemed the most likely fate if that person with the warm hands were to let him go.

"He's been getting better, he just...hey, Iruka. Hey. Can you hear me?"

Ibiki swooped in closer and put his face right up to the scarred nose. Iruka's head wobbled a little as he tried to evade that glare before turning slightly away and tuning it out instead.

"Has he been having these events?"

"No. He was getting over-excited because I was going to let him try sleeping in the room across the way. He's getting more claustrophobic and the aversion to this room is growing stronger."

"Let's put him on the table."

Hide hesitated, greatly disliking that approach. If Iruka had any wits left about him, he might fight. If he didn't fight, it was a sad testament to how far and how fast he'd dropped out of touch.

"He has a huge problem with the table."

"I doubt he does at the moment. Let's strip him down, I want to examine him. If he acts up I'll deal with it."

Hide moved to do as instructed. A glance from the open door to Ibiki, still in his long coat even as he snapped on sterile gloves, spurred him to make a detour and without asking, he closed and locked the door. Maybe they didn't really see Iruka as an equal while he was in such a state, but the disregard for his dignity was pervasive through every part of every procedure that Hide had participated in, so much so that it seemed purposeful on Ibiki's part. He began to wonder if it was competitiveness with Danzou, or irritation with Kakashi, or transference of blame for the errors the torture specialist himself had made in his use of the former sensei. None of it seemed to have any basis in wrongdoing on Iruka's part.

Whatever his commander's motivation might be, Hide knew well that any thinking person should do whatever they could to avoid incurring his dark interest and wrath. He promptly did as he was told, setting aside his personal opinions, and assisted through one of the more intrusive physical examinations that he had ever seen.

Did he think one of us was doing something improper to him? Hide finally realized that what he was seeing was a search for evidence of abuse. It was fortunate that the subject was so detached; he had no reaction to the most indelicate of inspections, and no longer seemed to distinguish Ibiki as anyone capable of harming him.

Ibiki tossed aside the used cleansing towels and rubber gloves, making it clear he was finished.

"Keep a closer eye on his hygiene and his hands, cut the nails as short as possible and smooth the edges. I don't want to see any more newly healed abrasions, period. Did it happen on your watch?"

"No. But I performed the healing, and I caught him trying to inflict the wounds again and stopped him several times. He seems to have learned that it's no longer an option for him."

"Well, this is shit. There's not much else I can do at this point."

"I'll get him dressed."

"Put him in something light to sleep in. Use heavier blankets if he gets chilled."

"Right."

"He eats?"

"Off and on. He took some soup at lunch. Nothing before. Nothing after."

"You feed it to him?"

"He isn't receptive to that. He manages on his own, but it takes significant effort. His hands are slow coming back. Sensory burnout is still pretty severe."

"I don't like it. He looks far too fragile compared to the reports I'm getting."

Hide wasn't sure how to respond to that so he merely nodded while finishing the task of dressing the mute figure on the table, noting how seldom his actions caused the dark, distant eyes to move in his direction.

"The recovery curve we projected didn't allow for such slow progress. I need to pinpoint the problem. There's no sign that he's suffered anything in the way of significant injury or mishandling, so it's not that."

"With respect, I think you might want to try a blind observation. It looks to me like he shuts down each time he sees you."

"So now it's me, is it?" Ibiki asked, looking down his nose at the form quietly gazing back on the table. "He's so terrified of me and that table that he's nearly asleep."

"He's not falling asleep!" Hide protested. "He's..."

Ibiki held up a hand to silence him.

"Relax, I just wanted to see your reaction. I'm well aware of what you're saying; he's shown signs of this all along, just not to this degree. I recognize defensive withdrawal when I see it. It's not baseless fear. It's very specific to the trauma he associates with my presence. It's no secret that I hold tremendous power over him. I have placed him in dangerous situations that had grim results for him. I've colluded in the plans of others with that same result. You might even reasonably argue that his keen sense of self-preservation is dead on and not a sign of mental injury at all."

"So if you can observe him without being seen..."

"No. I have your report. I don't have any interest in watching you babysit. Inoichi will be by later, I understand he doesn't have a problem talking with him. Keep me updated. I want you posted here until I relieve you. Power nap during Yamanaka's session, no more switching off with the other assistants. If you think he can handle it you can ditch the disguise. Your reports are far superior to the others; so is your level of care, so I'm making this your responsibility. I want all substitutions eliminated. No exceptions without my direct consent. Keep up the good work."

And like a black leather whirlwind, Ibiki spun on a boot heel and was gone, storming down the hallway, leaving Hide to catch himself and quickly secure the door.

"Let's get you off of here," Hide sighed, lifting the unresisting body and hefting him over into the chair. With that move, Iruka's body found its bones again and sat firmly upright.

"I know you're awake. I'm hoping that you can hear me. Ibiki left; he won't be coming back tonight."

Like a time-lapse film of a blossoming flower, Iruka revived, drawing up into his own control again, blinking, aware, shaking his head just slightly.

"Of course I'm awake. Did you think I would fall asleep or something?"

"Do you have any idea what just happened?"

"What just...what are you talking about? You know how much I want to leave. Making me sit here all day – the door is right there, I had to try something. It just got to be too much."

Hide let it go and changed the subject – it seemed that Iruka was unaware of the time spent in his waking coma.

Much more composed now, Iruka was easy to direct and no longer charged the door or exhibited much anxiety. It would be reasonable to assume that the move to the next room could now be accomplished without a fuss.

At least for now. But a man could not hope to live his life without ever crossing paths with Ibiki. Especially this man, in particular.

With mixed relief, he considered how fortunate he was that his commander merely left him in charge of care, and not of cure.

xxxx

"It's very hard to believe. The latest story on the street is that he's alive and functional. Seems that most everyone has been made aware of it, so I'm certain that this was no inadvertent leak of information. Still, I'm quite confident that at the very least, he was rendered incapable of giving them any incriminating information. Otherwise, they would have stormed in here already to take us by surprise. This way, they wait and watch to see if we react in a way that might reveal our guilt in their pathetic witch hunt."

Danzou barely sealed the door before launching into his rapid-fire report. Jeninki stared, bemused, and nodded.

"Probably not 'we'. Just you. If they knew about me, that would be incrimination enough."

"True. True. So they are still very much in the dark. He can't have given them much of anything if he told them nothing about you."

"Yes. So for once – all news is good news."

"You certainly take it calmly," Danzou said, slowing to think with more care, removing the false front of old age while scrutinizing his friend keenly.

"I'm working on being more patient and less impulsive. There's no point in jumping to conclusions. We will see how much truth there is to this functional state they're claiming. If they're not lying, he'll surface in due time."

"Mm...yes. Yes, that's a good and patient approach. A little rare coming from you, but I like it very much."

"I've managed to find something to interest me, and it keeps my mind occupied. That does make it easier."

"Mind if I ask..."

"It's not important," Jeninki said with a shrug.

"You're not going to tell me who it is?"

"I like the way you just assume it's a 'who'."

"It's not?"

"Well, yes, it is, but...never mind, it's nothing for you to worry about. Just a little harmless voyeurism. No need to elaborate on who it is. Nothing may come of it. Probably. Maybe. We'll see."

"I knew it! I knew you were up to something. You should be bouncing off the walls, hearing that you still have a chance to take Umino!"

"Oh, I'm bouncing a bit, inside. But I just finished going through this big emotional and rational process of giving up and letting him go for good. That was really hard for me. I'm not used to losing at all. I've already been here several times with him, thinking it's going to work out when it doesn't, and I'm not in a big hurry to have to go through that all over again. Don't you feel the same way?"

"It's not the same for me. I don't believe for a minute that the Even I created could have survived the placement of my trap. And I don't really care much about Umino's remnants, one way or the other – except for your interests. Naturally, I'd want this to turn out well for you, if for no one else at this point."

"I just think that I've gained a little perspective. You may have been right again, Danz, I might have been somewhat unreasonably obsessed."

Danzou shook his head. If only they'd come to this understanding when the Uzingan user was first restored, and Jen hadn't insisted on reversing the process that created Even. None of this would have ever happened. Even would have continued to evolve, and Root would have flourished with such a fine specimen to trot about as a showpiece. The Hokage would have been forced to acknowledge his brilliance, and with her objections proven to be groundless, the ban on recruitment lifted. He should have been molding fresh flesh to his will on his stainless steel altar by this very day.

But there was no use hashing that over yet again.

"Better late than never, I suppose. Just mind that you don't turn one bad habit in for another. Whatever you're entertaining yourself with now, keep it out of sight and do not involve me. I can occupy myself."

"Almost noon. I was leaving anyway. They feed my new potential pet on a schedule. I kind of like to watch."

"A schedule? Don't tell me you're inmate-poaching in the prison again!"

Danzou growled in frustration as Jeninki took his leave without responding, still suspicious and curious why he didn't have a stronger reaction to the news about Iruka, grand explanations of personal maturation aside.

Jeninki moved on, turning Danzou's words of warning over in his head. He really was growing more and more fascinated with this new – project, he supposed he would call it. He'd have to do better than last time, think things through a little more before acting. Make that a lot more, really.

At least this project needed no lesson that required the removal of a face. This man would not benefit from any sort of deconstruction.

He kind of liked the idea that all of that sort of softening up had been taken care of for him already. Other circumstances had conspired to place this person at the very end of the fading light of his last ray of hope, and no one else had even come close to making the right moves to save him. But as the head of a magical village, he could descend like a god with an offer of true salvation to tear away the otherwise inevitable iron jaws of fate.

The choice was his, and his whimsical side gleefully approved. The stereotypical role of the noble hero riding to the rescue on his shining white horse was arguably his style. And it might go a long way in softening his regret over his gross mishandling of dear Iruka's failed conversions.

He hadn't quite given up on making things right for his former cellmate yet. It was certainly nice to have more than one option, more than a single interest to explore. It made him feel balanced again.

So balanced that his handsome, young incarnation began to exhibit the reserved yet heartfelt smile of a proper, God-like king.

xxx

"He is cooperating to the fullest. Doesn't mean he's remembered every little thing yet, or that he's achieved equilibrium in his emotional or rational center. But to the degree that he's able, he's given up everything he knows," Ibiki said, arms folded, standing back while Inoichi presented the red folder to Tsunade. For his part, his job was done, but he had no intention of dropping the matter so easily. The loose ends held his interest still. "Not to mislead you, though – I don't think he's capable of subterfuge at this point. As he recovers, we'll see just how voluntary his cooperation truly is."

"And this is it?" she asked, thumbing through the scant pages, but just going through the motions. She'd been advised that the report held little that she did not already know. "There won't be anything more of substance?"

"Kakashi saved a great deal of Umino's functional mental structure by taking the bulk of the damage himself. But the memories that were earmarked by the second seal were all either destroyed or damaged to the point that they make little sense," Inoichi said. "Collateral damage was not extensive, the Root side of his chakra was more scrambled than obliterated, but...the localized target area was sabotaged very effectively. He does remember some of his actions on his missions, and a few of his thoughts during those activities. But anything directly related to Danzou – the specifics of his orders, his personal information, and heaven knows what secrets – all seems to be gone. I'm sorry. I even tried checking for old image impressions that might have been cut loose. There might be some small improvement, perhaps a few threads will pull back together in time, if we're extremely lucky. Danzou's work is nothing if not deadly serious. If not for Hatake's bold move, I believe that his existence would have been erased completely."

Ibiki suppressed a grunt. Kakashi this, Kakashi that. His presence in Iruka's head may well have been the complicating factor, the marginally necessary distraction, that caused Ibiki to miss the second seal. The copy-nin had ulterior motives that were advanced by his time infiltrating Umino's thoughts. Ibiki was not fully convinced that his benefit outweighed his negative impacts.

"His 'bold move' was sloppy; it left remnants of that booby trap everywhere. He even took some of it with him on the way out. Not the cleanest save I've ever seen," Ibiki snorted.

"Those remnants are very small, otherwise I'd have been able to clean them out; as would you. I doubt any one of them will amount to more than just a few minutes of discomfort or confusion before it's all spent. Nothing either of them can't cope with. And Kakashi absorbed nearly all of the diffuse chakra poisons. Which was a remarkably wise move in and of itself; as hard as it's been on his powerful system to try and purify it, Iruka never would have survived it. I still find it hard to believe that in the few seconds he had, he was able to identify and selectively control as much damage as he did."

"So," Tsunade interrupted. "What do you propose next? Until I see him closer to full recovery, it's too problematic to even begin to speculate where he belongs when he's returned to service," Tsunade said.

"The T&I facility isn't very medical-recovery friendly, in my opinion. We've been able to monitor Kakashi adequately enough in the infirmary. I'd like to suggest moving Iruka back there as well," Yamanaka said quickly, steeling for Ibiki to take offense.

"Moreno? You concur?"

The leather-clad shoulders shrugged stiffly, his crossed arms tightening .

"We've been providing his care and there haven't been any particular problems. I've got a man working with him that was able to gain his trust. He's a far cry from being the most disturbed individual we've had to deal with."

"But he's basically alone all the time, except for the guards and the de-briefings. At the infirmary, there are more people to interact with. It's not as oppressing. He can have casual visitors, look out the window, that sort of thing. Brain trauma and brainwashing are tricky to recover from. The more gentle stimulation he gets in a safe, familiar way, the better," Inoichi pointed out, careful not to say anything to further annoy Ibiki.

"I see," Tsunade nodded, then looked to Ibiki. "You're not arguing that he needs isolation, are you?"

"No. Just saying it's not correct to describe my facility as inadequate to house him. This is about preference, not falling short on any standards. And he still needs around the clock supervision."

"For his needs, it's not sufficient. The isolation is actually damaging, it smacks of imprisonment. He's getting clinically depressed. Each time I've worked with him, I've observed that he has been growing more and more morose," Inoichi emphasized, worried that Tsunade might decide against his recommendation.

"Yeah. Well, we're not equipped to cheer people up in my shop. If that's the goal, get him out now. I can station a man to keep an eye on him anywhere he goes."

"Agreed, then, that he needs to continue his convalescence in the infirmary. I'll have Shizune coordinate with the medical staff immediately. At the very least we can get him some friendly surroundings and try to make him more comfortable," Tsunade said, purposely making her decision immediately to avoid more carping between the men.

"Some of the things he's remembered are troubling him significantly, despite the fact that nothing we've mined was really all that far afield from missions he might have been assigned to outside of Root. He has vivid nightmares about the training phase; they interrupt his sleep quite frequently," Inoichi said.

"As expected. Any sign of an intact Even persona still lurking about?"

"Not exactly. He had exhibited... I guess what I'd describe as an Even-ish mood a couple of times. But no signs of insubordination or violence; he just becomes somewhat critical and distant and aloof. Other than that he is primarily confused, sad, worried and upset. I think it's fortunate that his chakra structural damage needs more time to heal; if he thought we were keeping him here just for his mental issues it would probably add to his distress."

"That's all true when you're making nice with him. Get a little more direct and you'll see more of what I'm talking about. You put pressure on him and you can watch the disassociation process. It doesn't take much. If I turn up suddenly, without giving any warning, and he's startled, he'll fail to recognize me. If I immediately start to pressure him at that stage, no matter how hard or how long he tries, he will be unable to identify me while we're still in the room together. He can't place me at all. Not now, not in any memory in the past, period."

"He doesn't know who you are now?"

"So far, that stress amnesia goes away when I do. As long as I step out for several minutes, and return in a quiet and non-threatening manner, it's as if he never had that blackout."

"I make it a point not to stress or startle him. Nothing like that has happened in my interviews."

Tsunade held up a hand and nodded to them, showing her approval of both methods. "Well, I'll grant you it doesn't sound like a very kind approach, but it's extremely valuable to know that he's not just automatically recovering more and more every day as might be assumed otherwise. Good work ferreting out his instabilities, Ibiki. I'll make it a point to look in on him myself more frequently. And I appreciate that you've taken up the lead supporting him in his emotional recovery, Inoichi. I've just been too swamped. Now, what about your take on Kakashi?"

Moreno cleared his throat. Tsunade wasn't sure if it was annoyance or just a coincidence, but she decided to find out.

"You're free to go if you like. You can start making the preparations for relocating Iruka."

"I'd rather stay and hear this, if it's not a problem."

She nodded and returned her attention to the telepathic nin, meeting his level gaze.

"Damage from the trauma aside, he troubles me a great deal."

"Yes, well, I've yet to meet anyone who took a good, close look and didn't hold that opinion. Troubles you how?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? He behaves as if he has a death wish. As morose as Umino is, his savior is twice as much. I felt it was important to determine if it was a side-effect of the incident or simply consistent with his usual self-image; he had to lower his guard while I was assessing the damage anyway, so I thought I might be able to see some indication one way or another. He knows Iruka was spared for the most part, and that absent his intervention the results would have been tragic. Yet he earnestly sluffs off his actions as pathetic, as if he failed the mission. And he refuses to recognize how badly he's been injured. Some of that seems very likely to be part of the effect of the tag, though. The disruption was not of a single type, but several. Its payload was tuned to destroy memories, short-circuit logical thought processes, suppress vital bodily functions and amplify self-destructive impulses. Now, not all of that was released – Ibiki, your attempt to disarm it reduced its viability somewhat. But this is a very difficult sort of scatter poisoning to exorcise. Especially in someone so...unique...that's it's hard to tell what self-destructive elements are from the seal and what, sadly, is his norm. Is he usually monitored?"

"My performance reviews have been sufficient to keep him going. I wouldn't call it monitoring, exactly," Tsunade replied.

"I always keep an eye on him. He's not just destructive to himself," Ibiki said offhandedly. Inoichi was reacting to this as if it were something new, when in fact it was some of the oldest news in the book. This was getting boring.

"It's been difficult trying to communicate outside of diagnosis and treatment. Mind-link is not a good option given his techniques; if I touch on the wrong area of damage and he reacts to my presence as a hostile one, I would be at serious risk. He's been reluctant to talk in depth. But the work-ups on the physical side are complete."

"I read the results. Quite a mixed bag."

"In some ways, he was incredibly fortunate. And in other ways, very unlucky. In time he should be able to effect a 95%, if not full, recovery – organically."

"Do you think this will have an impact on his professional abilities?" she asked, suddenly very worried. Kakashi's skills, while not taken for granted, were heavily relied upon for the welfare of the entire village. The income alone made a huge impact. This recent stretch of having him off-line was showing up in red ink in the books already. She shuddered to think how it would be if they lost his insane level of diligent service permanently.

"I can't say at this point. It certainly is a possibility, given how much of his skill centers on his intelligence and his brain's incredible adaptation to using the Uchiha implant. I feel that there is no such thing as too much support for his recovery. And perhaps, it might be wiser to wait a while to return him to duty once he's whole."

Ibiki caught the meaning in Tsunade's frowning glance. It would have made a lesser man very uncomfortable. He easily saw it go through her mind: of the three of them, if the choice had been up to her, Kakashi was not the person she would have sent in as a sacrifice to smother the tag. He was certain that of the three of them, Yamanaka would have been her choice – but from that look, he would have been second choice, and it would have been a close call.

Her Ladyship was delusional. Kakashi was the right man for that job. Overestimating his worth was a sin the entire world seemed to be guilty of. Closeting his own worth and working triumphs hidden in the shadows was Ibiki's lot; he did it so well she forgot to remember it. So be it. No part of that unfortunate incident could be reversed now anyway.

"Maybe not. Kakashi needs serious mission work to stay whole," she countered.

"I don't see it."

"He isn't just skilled at the most heinous aspects of his job. He needs wet work. It's his addiction, it started when he was a young child. If he goes too long without a kill, he could become a very volatile man. I'm not the first Hokage to recognize it; nor am I the first to consider whether to try and cure him, only to set that notion aside for the good of the village. His dark addiction is our salvation. I do not want him offline too long, lest he lose his need. He has to be made to draw fresh blood, and soon."

"I haven't been working with him long, but with respect, I don't think that's right. He values peace, and he means to protect; I saw nothing of joy for hurting others."

"He's a different beast when he's on task. I'm sorry, Inoichi, but you should know better. Restricted to the hospital bed, softened with medication...I imagine he fairly marinates in regrets over the lives he's taken. But having a conscience and having self-control are two very different, distinct things. He has uncontrollable blood lust. We keep it in hand by directing it for positive purposes, so it does not need to be cured, and there will be no effort made to that end. None. Do I make myself understood? The cure we are attempting to effect here is to return him to the state he was in before all of this happened. Nothing more. Nothing less. Know that I will be stepping up my involvement in his treatment as well, and there will be absolutely no temptation to vary from my orders."

Inoichi nodded, just to put an end the frustratingly fruitless exchange, still certain that she was wrong on all counts.

At least he managed to get Iruka pulled out of the T&I facility. Any movement in the direction of a normal life had to take that step first.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Foreign mud, and the strong scent of blood, filled Iruka's senses. Strangely lacking the sense of alarm such impressions should inspire, he was searching for the source of that blood, finally feeling a weak but familiar vibe. Somehow, the identity of the victim materialized in his head, without any other clue.

He discovered Genma, unconscious and in a terrifying state, bloody and dying in the frigid, wet filth alone. But while his heart and soul screamed out to swiftly do everything in his power to save his former friend, a far colder barrier stopped him.

It seemed like a bad dream as he mechanically lifted the injured man and delivered him to the minimal care of strangers, mere civilians at that, and deserted him there, without any regrets, while his conscience railed unheeded, like a forgotten prisoner. Yet as he drifted through the experience now, trying to come to terms with the memory, clarity did not simplify the matter. As it unfolded in hazy segments that then abruptly sharpened with gut-wrenching detail, a new layer of regret and guilt assaulted him to an incredible degree in the present.

Because a fast forward to newer memories sent him stiffly upright in his hospital bed, jolting into the ugly present, to the replay the secondhand words that triggered that particular segment of his past. Overheard during a therapeutic walk up and down the hallway, a discussion between an orderly and some unknown party lamented at length about the eventual outcome of his callous and insufficient care for that man. Shiranui Genma's abandonment to unskilled civilians and rogues had left him with nothing but lifelong suffering, when the proper attention he should have received could have given him a full and perfect recovery.

In contrast, memory revealed that Kakashi had done no such thing to Iruka upon finding him poisoned, despite knowing of his heartless behavior toward the gravely injured assassin. Kakashi saved him, by confiscating his pills, by providing an antidote, by partnering and supporting him. His mission was unknown, erased, as were the motivations for his inexcusable behavior, but there it was. As they returned to the village, the fate of Genma left to others, all he could remember thinking about was the need to find a way to eliminate the man who saved him, the same man who formerly was his most intimate partner in all the world.

So this was the precious time of glory he was so anxious to reclaim? If the balanced of the lost segments of memory, some bursting painfully alive into his brain on their own intrusive schedule, were anything vaguely similar, it was a wonder he was being allowed to live.

He hopped off the bed too fast, further frustrating himself with how slowly his recovery was going, and then feeling rotten for being so childish – this was nothing compared to Genma's lot.

The hospital setting was more difficult than the T&I facility in some ways. All the ANBU were faceless, the rest of the staff nearly as blank as their masks, whether they wore them of not, and he hadn't realized how much that spared him. Only the kindly yet enigmatic Hide and his scarred leader came across as having any individuality or emotion. That scarred man's identity grew and faded in his head, much like the person called Danzou. They seemed to be a major influence on all that had happened, yet they were the hardest to pin down, coming off more like ghosts or apparitions from bad dreams than real people.

Visitors were rarely allowed in the other facility, so he didn't have to wonder why certain people didn't come to see him there. Here, it was another story altogether. He hoped for company even as the prospect of it filled him with dread.

Time for another walk; he had developed an internal rhythm to match his schedule, and rose to find his slippers when he startled, then stiffened at the shape in the doorway, large and looming, moving in without a word of warning.

"How are you progressing?" Ibiki demanded immediately, seeking to start off with enough pressure to keep Iruka off-balance.

Iruka's head shook back and forth, just perceptively, as he tried to assimilate his heightened sense of threat, his inability to place this obviously familiar person in any part of his mental landscape, and his need to respond like a good little subordinate.

"Fine," he managed, doing his best but fully aware that he was not one bit convincing, adding to his tension.

"You don't look fine. Who am I?"

His mouth fell open for several long seconds before he snapped it shut, struggling, fighting the glitch that made him feel fully like the fool he must surely appear to be.

"Let's try something more simple. Who are you?"

Iruka's sudden change of expression bemused the torture specialist. Who, indeed, was going to answer that question, wearing that indignant, churlish look? Was Even trying to do a little face time today?

"If you came here just to provoke me, I've got better things to do!"

"Answer the question," Ibiki said flatly. But the upturned eyes were belligerent and he did not get his reply.

He reached out quickly, in a motion meant to be intimidating. He had to do it twice before it worked; the second swipe came off like a thrown punch, but it got the desired effect. When the smaller man ducked and finally saw his threat potential, his Even moment caved in and fell away.

Ibiki's palm came to rest on his forehead with the next invasion of his personal space.

"Stop trying to think about me. Say a name. Any name. Now. Fast. Don't think, spit it out!"

"Danz...Danzou!" he blurted.

His reward was a long, hard stare.

"And you know who Danzou is?"

Iruka nodded, slowly, stiffly, as if he expected to be punished for saying that name.

"Tell me about him. Tell me about Danzou."

Iruka's mouth gaped open but no sound came out.

"There's no seal. No excuses. Talk, damn it. Now!"

"L-lord Danzou...is a...revered...no, he's...an elder..."

"Why do you care? Why is that the first name you think of?"

Iruka's eyes cast down, his head ducking low, as he raked though his boiling brain for an answer that would make this person stop and go away. It was Lady Tsunade who was supposed to be here, he could have sworn it, and he didn't have any idea why this ominous stranger's demand brought the feeling of being strapped down in the midst of Danzou's cruel loyalty tests. He buttoned his lip in determination, not knowing if this was friend or foe, growing unsure of his surroundings.

"Why? Fucking why? Talk to me, you piece of..."

"What is all this noise?" Sakura bellowed, surging up to take charge of the situation. "He just received a dose of 4-8, this is not the time to be yelling like that!"

"When? Who ordered it?"

"I administered it about fifteen minutes ago. Lady Tsunade wanted him prepared."

"And you just left him here alone?"

"I had an emergency in another room. And your man is at the doorway to stop unauthorized visitors. So please, step back and give me a chance to do my job."

Ibiki grumbled, a little regretful that he came at Iruka so hard while they were purposely disorienting him with strong chemicals. This, this kind of situation is where the environment in his facility shined. The lack of supervision and control practically guaranteed slip-ups and incidents far worse than this. People came and went a little to easily here, security and precautions were too haphazard.

She reassured her patient, assisting him to a chair and faced him in the direction of the window, kindly pointing out the view and patting his shoulder until he relaxed and appeared untroubled. The medication was taking full effect, and he would no longer be wanting to make any movement without permission.

Ibiki was not fond of 4-8 but he knew Inoichi fairly swooned over it, attracted by the comforting nature of the trance he was able to induce using his unique skills in combination with the drug's effects.

But he wasn't sure how Tsunade's methods would benefit from it. She approached most problems from the chakra side. Her primary tactic on the psychological side was incessant talking in one form or another. She relied heavily on her position of power to intimidate her subjects into submission.

It wasn't long before he had his answer. Lady Tsunade's voice carried, and the approaching conversation was like a nail hammering into his skull.

"Of course, this is a wonderful opportunity for you to get your feet wet. Your clan's skills have been a great blessing to us all. And I've arranged some preparation, so there's no risk of aggression or unpredictable behavior. I'll be with you every step of the way. It's good to get some tutelage from another mentor from time to time. I'm sure your father would agree. When he gets back to the village, if he has any questions, just send him to me."

Ino laughed a little nervously and smiled in agreement, thinking how timing had conspired to place her in this nerve-wracking position. Her request to help Sakura barely left her lips when she came to realize that her Hokage was in earshot; hijacked and hauled off for instructions as to just how she was going to provide that help in treating poor bedraggled Iruka-sensei.

It sounded like Tsunade was expecting her to perform a full-on mind link, something she never, ever wanted to do to her sensei. She would see things she did not want to know, and he would be aware of her intrusion on some level, there was just no way around it. She often wondered how Sakura managed the more embarrassing parts of her job, like sponge baths and enemas and catheters and the like, doing those things to people that she knew, and knowing that she would see again later outside of the medical setting.

This seemed far worse. All people had secrets, a fact that her clan knew all too well, and each and every person has things they hold deeply inside to maintain their public persona.

But this would be her first time trudging around in the mind of someone she respected and had great affection for, and even worse, her first mind invasion without either the guidance of her father or the sturdy support of her teammates. She did not want to do it. She did not want to invade Iruka's privacy and possibly humiliate him in that way.

Apparently, she was not the only one. The looks that passed between Tsunade and Ibiki could have melted glass. But in the end, he was made to move on, and the Hokage used the passive man just as she had planned. The session failed to unearth any truly new information or insights into the former Root operative's past.

But Ino received an eye-opening lesson, unprepared at just how incredibly naive she had been in her assumptions about the lives of the generation before her. This was not so much an attempt at securing new information as it was an audit, a second check, an outside verification of the reports her father and others were submitting. Trust, it appeared, was not a given, no matter how long and loyal the service might be.

She wondered if she and Iruka-sensei would ever be able to meet face-to-face again without cringing.

xxxx

Daylight bloomed yet again through the streaky window, dotted with small droplets of condensation along the bottom edge of the glass. As his recovery marched forward, he had begun to realize that he had no idea where his recovered self would be marching to. He'd shed his first vocation and his friends years ago, in favor of the job; he'd shed the job in favor of an experiment; and now the experiment had caused so much damage it was doubtful he could return to the job as he had before. The vocation seemed like a very old and obsolete uniform, too small, tight and worn to hold any appeal; reclaiming his old circle of friends was similarly uncomfortable to contemplate.

Kakashi came to mind then, and with it, came the nervous feeling that the elite nin might have reconsidered and decided to stay away for good this time. All his life seemed laid to waste; if he walked out of the infirmary, free to do as he chose, what could he possibly do with himself? Hide in his apartment, read some books, learn to knit?

The sun toyed with the grass, glinting tiny starbursts of light wherever it found plump spheres of morning dew. Iruka could imagine how that grass would feel, how chill and damp the air would be, how nicely the direct rays from the sun would take the edge off that chill. The smells, the sounds...he was so ready to stop imagining, and to get out there and experience those tiny blessings firsthand once more. The conflicting desires to run free in the open air, and hide in dark solitude forever hidden from everything else alive, tore at him uselessly, because neither option was his to select. As Jeninki ever sought to convince him, back in what seemed to be a different lifetime altogether, he was not a free man, and had never been. All freedom was mere illusion, one that could only be kept alive by succumbing completely to the lie. You were free to do your duty, free to follow orders, free to live by the rules, giving your life to those who knew best. Please them, and you were free to do more of the same. Displease them, and you became a criminal, and criminals lost all their freedom. There really was no option for actual freedom that did not invoke the charge of treason. Leave and you would be branded missing nin. No other village's system of government was any less oppressive; most moreso. To maintain the status quo all established villages shared in the enthusiastic hunt for missing nin; to allow successful defection was to create awareness of an open door, and the opening and closing of a door to a cage brings more awareness of the oppression of its restricting boundaries, of the imprisoning properties of that cage. No village wants that; no government would wish to foment general dissatisfaction in the ranks of ninja-level men groomed to perfection in their irrepressible destructive powers.

So here he would be and here he would stay, in Konoha, in this village heavy with his baggage of shame and regrets and embarrassment and derision and degradation. It wasn't easy but it was an undeniable fact. He would muster the strength to stand up and step back in. Wherever they put him, however it played out, he would not lie down and die. He would not give up. It wasn't in his nature to deposit the pain of his life at someone else's feet. He would not beg or plead or request relief even if he could think of what that relief might be; he would not be careless enough to let his life slip away and make his precious students mourn their former sensei prematurely.

He would not be the one to cause Kakashi's mask to darken with tears that flowed from both eyes.

Bloodied but unbowed in this unofficial captivity, he faced yet another day.

xxxx

Kakashi balanced on the high limb as the last rays of light extinguished with the setting sun, using every ounce of his concentration to perform up to what would usually be his casual, auto-pilot level of stealth.

It was pushing it to be out here on a mission of this caliber while he was not 100%. It wouldn't be so bad if he had a definitive handicap, say a broken arm or a sprained ankle. But the sudden skips and lags in his mental abilities were unpredictable and frequent, and the only approach he'd managed to come up with to compensate was an increase in his concentration and caution, mated with reduced speed and tighter attention to defense and fallback planning.

The five rogue nin were arguing over watch schedules and drinking heavily; he'd never been more relieved to see easy marks in his life. They didn't seem like they deserved the fate he was about to deliver to them, but mission orders were mission orders, and only by delivering their decapitated heads could he fully satisfy those mission parameters.

He knew they weren't in the bingo book. He disliked that the Hokage would accept a commission like this without modifying the order for the heads. There were no eye technique users, nothing about them that indicated that they had some jutsu to steal posthumously from severed body parts. If there was no bounty, it was disrespectful of the dead, rogue or not, to treat their heads as a prize.

The other challenge was from fatigue. Recovery had taken a lot out of him. But the specifics in the mission scroll, even more irritating and burdensome, called for decapitation low on the neck – a bloodier, messier, more physically demanding method than his usual – and a detailed preference that the caps be delivered while still warm.

If he didn't know better, he'd think that somebody was totally fucking with his head.

Taking a page from Genma's specialty, he selected highly poisoned senbon as his first strike and darted the lot, dropping them in suffocating paralysis before the liquor bottles hit the ground.

It was just way too easy. He sent a thread of chakra out, to search for ambush or something, anything that would have called for his expertise to justify participation in something so simple.

He decided it was the reprehensible nature of the request that landed it up his alley. With his reputation, he could hardly argue. He shook out the bag and wasted no time in severing the heads, unmindful of where they were looking as he focused on making his cut in the prescribed area. By the fifth head blood was covering him from forehead to knees, and the bag received the last cap just barely, the drawstring difficult to tighten up enough to get it fully closed.

Kakashi wobbled and had to catch himself when he misjudged the weight of the last body, nearly falling with it into the stack of the headless dead. Easy as this had been, he still acutely felt the risk of being in the field alone should his condition sudden become a serious handicap.

He watched the flames just long enough to make sure that no amount of effort would stop them from erasing the bodies that fueled them. Glazed in gore, he gathered the bag and set on his way. He could not recall a time when he felt so unsettled and vulnerable completing an easy, successful mission. He fled in haste, not just in compliance with the mission objectives, but in escalating need to get back within Konoha's protective walls.

He would have to tell Tsunade he needed more recovery time. He hated to do it, but this was no way to be conducting assassinations. He could not afford to become overly cautious, and perhaps even fearful, in executing his duties.

The blood grew sticky and stiff as he moved with all possible speed through the dry air, and he turned his head side to side to break up crusting sections that permeated his mask. As he approached the gate in the glare of the full moon he realized what a ghoul he must look like; worse, probably, under the stark floodlight at the guard station. He would have preferred to clean up along the way but it was not worth the risk in this situation.

He caught the double-take in Izumo's eyes, the glance at the bulging bag every nin could identify from a mile away, and the knowing, approving nod. The patron saint of murder, painted in blood and laden with freshly stolen lives, was back on the job, and all was right with the world. They were always comforted in their reactions of revulsion and grudging admiration as they took in his familiar sight, just as he was snug in his knowledge that he'd managed to flawlessly maintain his carefully crafted reputation once again.

Izumo held out the board and Kakashi, playing bad-ass to the hilt now that he was on home turf, ignored the pen and signed in with the jab of a bloody thumbprint and moved on, trudging for the morgue.

One final step remained, for tonight anyway; relinquishing the caps for a receipt to submit with his assignment scroll and mission report.

He wasn't sure if any of the heads were still warm. He doubted it. But he couldn't very well stop and tidy up while he still had the bag. Despite the late hour and the relatively short path, he managed to startle half a dozen people with a visual they would likely be talking about for days. He was very glad to find that the attendant at the morgue knew he would be making this delivery and already had the form partially completed. Man, how he hated having to explain this kind of thing to non-nin cold.

It was only when he was halfway to his estate, noting with a bemused frown that he'd gotten bloodstains on the receipt and the scroll, that he realized he hadn't spoken a single word. Not to the victims, not to the gatekeeper, not even to the morgue attendant. Everyone knew who he was and what he was about. He didn't have to say it, and they didn't have to hear it, or comment on it. It was not an uncomfortable silence, people weren't struggling to think of what to say to make conversation. They were just wishing away his abominable presence, and they had the professionalism and maturity to keep that wish to themselves.

With just the sound of his boots on gravel, it struck him that he didn't care. There weren't many voices he himself longed to hear, either. Most had been silenced forever, long ago.

But that ache revived in his chest when he thought of the last time he tried, and was denied, a visit with Iruka. Just a few more words, just to hear how he sounded, to see if he was still really all right like they said. Their interactions while they were both in the hospital had been short, heavily supervised and constantly interrupted, but he went over and over everything the man said in those all too brief periods, picking apart the words, the intent, the relative health, the emotional timbre. Had he done enough? Had he protected him sufficiently? Did Iruka blame, did he regret, did he mourn the loss of his Root secrets? How much did he remember about their fledgling steps at reconciliation? They never managed to get much past greeting one another for the interruptions, and there wasn't any privacy at all. He thought he could see, somewhat, that he was not an unwelcome sight. But Iruka's recovery did not appear to be going smoothly, and it was hard to get a good take on his condition or his reactions.

He came to understand that he was still standing at his front door because he was reluctant to undo the lock. Inside it would be dark, empty and cold. The wood floor still bore stains from their insane attempt at sheltering here together while wounded; he hadn't yet overcome his aversion to removing those stains, the visible evidence that he had been relied upon and trusted above everyone else, at least that one time.

Ah, his mind, his fucking mind, this was part of the after-effects of the tag they'd warned him about, the monkey wrench of poison that was still banging around, almost forgotten until it came flying out of nowhere to derail his logic. Of course the place was empty, it better be, he lived alone, and those stains better be there, because they were there when he left and nobody else should have been in here fucking around playing fairy godmother to clean it up.

He released the lock, then his security measures, then fairly kicked the door open, impatient with his maudlin mindset. He was filthy and exhausted and looking at a huge, pain in the ass clean-up before he could start grabbing some shut-eye.

The Hokage never did anything by chance. She sent him out to do exceedingly dirty work on purpose. He got the message now, loud and clear. Don't think that a little session of pretending to be caring and going out of your way to help someone else is going to fool us. We know what you are, and what you always will be. Don't start putting on some fake human being act now.

He stepped in to the steaming shower fully clothed, to allow the majority of the gore to wash away down the drain before peeling off the soaked material. Naked, yet unable to relax despite the soft warmth of the cleansing water, he tried to get his brain to stop, just stop, stop making him turn everything over and over and over. What they thought of him, what he thought of himself, the moments he wished he could take back that would never stop replaying...just stop all of it, because it always came out the same, no matter how he agonized over it, he was never able to justify his behavior or even his existence sufficiently. Sometimes weeks or months would pass before he fell into one of these mental hamster wheels but he always ended up doing this same idiot exercise over and over again, and it never went anywhere but in an endless circle of guilt, never resulted in any reduction in his disappointment in himself.

On a mechanical level, irrespective of his completely preoccupied mind, the clean-up was finished and he twisted off the taps. His task was nearly complete. He stood and dripped on auto-pilot while wringing out the dark-stained clothes and only merged his thoughts back into the present at the sound of something small and hard plinking off the tile and bouncing across the floor.

He spotted the tooth near the wall and shook his head, feeling inside his mouth with his tongue to take a quick inventory.

Not his. His relief gave way to confusion, then a kind of heavy realization. It wasn't from today. The heads had all been severed more or less cleanly.

He went down to one knee, still naked and wet, just holding the towel in his hand, lowering his head to stare. It was an incisor, fairly large and noticeably white, as if it had been quite well cared for.

Some other victim, then. Some person he'd attacked so brutally that their tooth was knocked out hard enough to lodge it somewhere, probably in some crease in his vest since it was last cleaned a few missions back, and it was so well embedded that he hadn't even noticed. There were no live prisoners missing teeth from any altercation he'd had in recent memory; so the former owner of this one was no longer in this world, and Kakashi had been the one to removed him – or her - from it permanently.

Stop thinking, he told himself, pushing down a crest of reaction to this sudden, irrefutable evidence of his status as inhuman monster. Dry off. Go to bed. You have to write a report in the morning. And then you have to turn it in to the mission desk where someone will make that comment for the millionth time, about how they wished Iruka was still taking his reports to keep him in line; because they were desk-bound chunin and nervous and sometimes swallowed really hard when they read the less than delicate particulars of his reports, and they had a tough time finding the courage to talk to him, much less smile at him, if they didn't have that old joke to hide behind.

It's not about me. It doesn't matter if I deserve to be with him, just so long as I can make things better for him, and I know that I can. He deserves my help, and no one, with their holier-than-thou judgment, should deny him based on my sins.

Halfway to the bathroom door he dropped the wet clothes on the floor and stalled out again, only this time it was because another touch of Danzou's foul sabotage broke loose to interfere. His massive thought process evaporated, and his empty mind came grinding to a frozen halt. He wasn't dried off, he wasn't sure where he thought he was going with the dirty laundry, and he couldn't remember whether he'd locked the front door when he came in. He pushed the bathroom door shut, but that wasn't right, so he opened it again and shook his head. It was cold and he wished he could get dressed but he was still all wet. It all just seemed like too much to cope with, but the cold won out on a basic animal level, pushing him to finally make the effort to dry off and pad across the hallway to find clothes.

When he recalled that he left the dirty laundry on the bathroom floor the distraction nearly prevented him from pulling on his shirt, but again, the cold exerted more influence on his behavior.

Finally, dressed well enough to be warm despite his wet hair, his thinking began to pull back together. The fleck of poisoned tag petered out and evaporated.

Numb but improved to the point of being able to keep simple focus, he towel-dried his hair and moved the laundry to the utility room, where it belonged, where it always had belonged since he was a child growing up in this efficient and functional environment. Of course he knew that. And now he was done. Right? He could go to sleep now? Was that okay?

Was it? He hesitated before turning down the comforter, shuffling for the source of the nagging doubt. As strange as everything felt, exhaustion dropped him then and there.

He barely pawed the covers up to his chin before sleep took him away into a dangerous depth, front door ajar, the moonlight streaming in unabated to illuminate his bloodstained floor.