Fandom Redemption [Closed] [Graverobber141/arbus]

[Graverobber141]

It was very deliberate, the way in which Satoru watched Sukea's movements, steel gaze holding the other's, and how he casually lifted one leg to fold against the other, placing his elbow against his knee to rest his chin against his fist. Very relaxed, very nonthreatening, even as those eyes of his held onto Sukea's, as if it was a challenge he wouldn't back down from, as if he was trying to silently declare 'I'm not a cornered animal, and I will not be threatened by the likes of you.'

A careful silence drifted between the two, during which the swordsman was taking his time to chose his words. Then, almost as an admittance, he stated almost flippantly, "Curiosity, mostly."

Opening his fingers so that he could tilt his head inward against his palm, after another heartbeat of silence, he elaborated further, "If you want me to even give a thought to forgiving the Uchiha, I have to understand him, and who better to give insight than somebody who has already forgiven him?" It was all very logical, the way he was explaining this, his tone matter-of-fact.

"And also because of this." His spare hand lifted to gently pull down the collar of his shirt, revealing that scarred, punctured skin that still throbbed, as if his nerves occasionally misfired. "You see, Kioshi's not that talented of a healer. She saved my life, and on some level, that allows me to trust her." Letting go of the fabric, his fingers instead ran through his hair. "My other options? The man himself, and quite frankly, the only thing I'd believe coming out of his mouth would be an admission of guilt. And, seemingly you, but..."

He smirked, yet it was sharp. "You're a liar, and also playing games. You play two parts: the dumb guard, and then the surprisingly knowledgable bishop. Of course, I suppose I have you to thank for the lax conditions--thank you--but you have to know that I find your motivations suspicious, like you're trying to manipulate me, because you're lying about who you are."

 

[arbus]

How the energy in the room had changed, now that one wasn't out of his mind, the other not feigning innocence anymore.

Sukea tilted his head in affirmation.

"I am a liar", he said, light, like it was not that big of a deal nor an especially important thing to conceal, "but we both know I'm not here to gain your trust, but as a gauge for the Hokage to judge your intentions. And right now, I'm a plain messenger. The Hokage's mouthpiece, I think you called it?"

Only when Satoru revealed the scar, and then after a long moment, did Sukea's eyes drop from Satoru's to his chest. He took his time in studying the wound as if contemplating its meaning, its consequences, and how true the other's words could be. When it was shrouded by the shirt once more, Sukea's glance lingered on the hitai-ate.

Burnt skin like bubbles, wind and the smell of fire and a blast, a cut, pain blood and surrender.

Nothing Satoru said was an incentive to adhere to his wishes, and it showed in the disinterested slant Sukea's smile took, the way his eyes traveled across the room to stare at nothing in particular.

"Don't misjudge the Hokage's generosity. It is not our task to make you forgive the Uchiha. Don't think that just because you aren't dead yet means anyone will dance to your tune." He lowered his hands, kept them folded between his spread legs. The way they were sitting, the way he kept his back bend like that, he was looking up at Satoru from beneath brown curls. A frown had formed on the formerly smooth surface of his face. "Your trust isn't required in this game. It is ours, and to be plain, nobody here thinks you will give up on your plan to take revenge. You speak of forgiveness, but you don't seem to even remotely grasp its concept. You're words haven't convinced me, they won't convince the Hokage. Your request is denied." A beat. The blink of two eyes, and the voice still pleasantly soft. "Anything else?" It sounded final, like a last chance.

 

[Graverobber141]

A laugh fell from Satoru's lips, which spread into an almost sardonic smirk. "I apologize, but...That's just so very grand: you Leaf ninja and your claims about understanding and forgiveness, and yet you clearly don't have any idea of how it actually works. Trust has to go both ways. And, no, it's certainly not on you to make me forgive the Uchiha, but it's what you want, isn't? Why you haven't already made a decision concerning what to do with me? But how can I be expected to do so in a void? How can I hope to understand him with only my own perceptions? Or is this just all another game? A facade? Claim to want to peacefully solve this situation, but take no action to actually do so. Get rid of the threat without losing face: win-win. Clever, if that's the case."

Clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth, he scoffed, before settling back down into the bed, eyes drifting up to the ceiling, as he casually crossed his arms behind his head.

"You mistake my intentions. I'm a fantastic actor, and I could have let you walk in here, bowed my head, sobbed, opened up my heart about how I just missed my precious sensei so much, and would you forgive me? Played whatever role I thought you would want to see, just so that you would release me, just so you would give me the chance to try again."

Though he was trying to look relaxed, his voice was becoming heated with every word, as if he were trying to explain this to a child, and his left fingers were curling inward. "Perhaps I should have done that, but contrary to your belief, I actually do want to understand, because that's what he would have wanted."

His mouth twitched, his eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped with the next offer, because it was like baring his throat to a predator, "So I propose to you the only thing I can to proof my intentions: Read my mind. You'll find that I've thought about using the metal in this headband to make a shiv, convincing you to let me speak to the Uchiha, and using the opportunity to slit his throat, but you'll also find that I have no intentions of hurting Sakura, nor anyone else."

"And if that's too much to ask, then please enlighten me on what you expect me to do." Finally he tilted his head toward Sukea, eyes falling once more on the man. "How you expect me to just get over it? Because this in the only way I know of to at least try."

 

[arbus]

A sound like a hum from Sukea's throat, small, its vibrations filling the space between them. A pull at the corner of his mouth into the ghost of a lop-sided smile like a quirk. "Don't apologize for saying something you so very obviously mean."

For a moment, the light above their heads flickered, and his gaze darted to the concealed two-way-mirror, then back to the cot.

"What makes me mistrust you", Sukea offered, and his gaze was traveling over Satoru's supposedly relaxed frame, had taken in the spasm of his fingers and were resting now on the other's eyes, "is your shrewdness. Too clever for your own good, I suppose. You are a shinobi seeking revenge, and I keep wondering, would you have sought it if the person that had killed your sensei had been someone else?" The frown, deepening and clouding the normally easy-going features of Sukea's face. "Ibiki-san called you impertinent, and I agree. Your arguments are valid and yet insignificant if, every time a shinobi kills someone close to you, you will seek vengeance." He paused to look down at his folded hands. "I assume you haven't taken a life yet, if you think to have the right to claim the Uchiha's."

Sukea turned his hands palms up, flexed his fingers in a calm, reflective gesture, and the frown smoothed from his face, replaced by a gentle smile. "You are a child thrashing and crying and stomping its feet at something it doesn't yet understand. The Hokage allowed you your sensei's hitai-ate as an emotional crutch, the equivalent of a cuddly toy. If he thought you were a threat, he would not allow you to move around this room freely, wouldn't sustain you with water and food the way he does. This cell is your playpen, and Ibiki-san your babysitter, and all the Hokage is doing is waiting for you to grow up."

 

[Graverobber141]

There was a long stretch of silence. Immeasurable, seemingly, and it felt like the only thing he could do was to control his breathing. Then, with slow movements, he slipped from the bed, standing. He didn't look at Sukea. And with the gracefulness and speed only someone who had spent their life as a weapons expert could match, he reached for the headband, ripped it from his neck, and sent it flying into the two-way mirror. The metal clanged heavily twice: first hitting its target, then the concrete underneath. Of course it wasn't intended to do any damage, he knew it wouldn't, but the gesture served its purpose through its display.

"And what does he expect me to realize in this isolated playpen, as you called it? That life is nothing but the promise of pain? That whatever we do, it doesn't matter--nothing matters--because we aren't the players, we're the pieces, always being guided by an invisible hand. Because those are the only conclusions I can reach, when all I have in here are my thoughts."

His mouth twitched furiously, and it was very evident he was fighting to keep his voice under control. "Please, enlighten me, then, how a child is supposed to grow up when trapped in a playpen? They learn and grow by being exposed to the world. At least I'm trying; he's refusing to take action, which is equally as childish, if not more so."

 

[arbus]

Sukea did not flinch. Did not so much as move. Only his eyes traveled to where the hitai-ate had hit the wall He took in the disturbance in the illusion with what could only be described as a lazy gaze, the crack in the mirror beneath. Safety glass, so not a splinter, and the hitai-ate lying on the floor like a discarded artefact.

"Satoru", he said, calm, "I understand from Haruno-san you already talked to her. You yell at me, trembling with rage and indignation, as if we both didn't know you already contemplated your actions." He sighed, then, and the sound was as worn as it was genuine. His long fingers splayed before his eyes. "And you did not answer my question." This, in a sharper note; no hint of impatience yet, but the reminder of an invisible timer ticking down. "So maybe you should have lied, then, if you don't want to confront the real issue. And maybe we would have believed you, would have freed you -- but the outcome would have been your death, and it's not neither what Uchiha Sasuke, nor the Hokage wants for you."

He stood, and as he did so came face to face with Satoru. The right corner of his mouth pulled in the same compulsion into that crooked smile, which did not seem to fit so well on Sukea's pleasant, nondescript face. "The Hokage wants to understand why you think yourself above the rules of a shinobi's life, before he can make you an offer." Though standing in dangerously close proximity, he did not move, as he added: "Maybe I haven't expressed myself clearly. So here it is, in as plain a question I can think of: How can you call yourself a shinobi, a predator by nature and raised to kill, when you hold the same thing against someone else?"

 

[Graverobber141]

Maybe it was the face a breath away from his own, cornering him into a wall. Maybe it was the confrontation. Maybe it was the realization hitting him of what he just done in a fit of rage. Maybe it was because he was running out of room to circle around this conversation, and it was so very close, this thing he felt, yet had not spoken to anyone, because to admit it was--

"Because that's not what a shinobi is," Satoru practically growled back, staring at Sukea defiantly, even closing the distance between them further, as if to firmly state that he wouldn't be cornered again. "Takeshi, he taught me what it meant: he was the one to tell me that shinobi put their lives on the line so others don't have to. They protect their homes, the people precious to them; they're warriors, and they fight even when they know they'll lose. They embrace death with open arms, if only if it means that they protect what is worth fighting for. And he sacrificed everything for his village: his happiness, his conscience. He became a weapon for them, and then he died--"

Suddenly, he felt like he was suffocating, and he backed up, stumbled against the bed, if only to make distance between the two of them. His voice was faltering. "--He sent me away, and he died. I was there, escorting the Kazekage, and before he went to confront your precious Uchiha, he sent me away."

'For once in your life, boy, you will not argue with me.'

"And then he died. And I should've been there. I should've been at his side. I should've been in that fight."

One hand reached out to steady himself against the railing of the cot, the other covered his face, his hair falling over his eyes. "It should've been me, standing in front of the Uchiha, and I'm left with this--" His voice elevated again with the next part, "--knowledge that the universe made a monumental, fucking mistake in taking him instead of me."

A pause, he was sitting on the bed, head lowered, voice quiet as he finished. "And why can't you people understand that? I'm just trying to fix that mistake."

 

[arbus]

So that's what it was. Survivor's guilt.

Something in Sukea's expression softened. A shinobi was of course all of those things, and a killer nonetheless, but he understood the sentiment, the code so near to his own heart in its familiarity. The Swordsman of the Sand had raised his pupil good, it seemed, better than what had shown through the cracks of his defensiveness before this moment. Before the crack had widened and split, and the shell had burst open.

"I won't offend you by trying to make a case for Uchiha Sasuke. You are not alone in your belief that his deeds are unforgivable. That he deserves life imprisonment, or death. That the Hokage, who was his former sensei, had held a shielding hand over him out of nothing but foolhardy sentimentality. But I will say this: Your mentor died to protect you, gave his life for you, and no matter how much you lash out, how much you hate to have survived because of the sacrifice someone else made, it won't change a thing. Your death won't bring him back to life. The Uchiha's death won't, and it will not make you feel better, will not give you the satisfaction and peace of mind you seek. You want to fix it?"

Sukea's eyes, while still light in color, seemed to darken with intent, with something hidden and personal beneath the pleasantries and the unassuming demeanor. "Then stop whining, stop your selfish quest for revenge and start asking yourself how you can be as good a man as Takeshi-san. Because if what you say is true, if he was the man you describe him too be, then he would have wanted for you to build upon his legacy, not tear it down, taking your own life with it."

 

[Graverobber141]

There was truth in what was being said. Eyes fixated on the concrete flooring, dark strands of hair falling over his face, he was reminded of a conversation so very long ago, when a year or two after he had first started following him, Satoru had asked Takeshi a question, one of many to shade in how he viewed the world and himself:
'Why me?'
Why had this legend stopped to take interest in a boy, who was little more than dirt, son of a criminal, runaway and forgotten?

'Because you're clever, boy. You have been gifted with a sharp-mind, and when boys like you become men, you have the capability to shape the world; it is my hope that I can guide you to do so for the better.'

Takeshi was an old soldier. A pawn. A man who knew nothing but war, yet also hoped for the day when men like him would no longer be needed. And he thought that Satoru could be more, he offered him more...

"Not everything can be fixed," his voice was soft. Standing, he didn't look at Sukea as he crossed the room, stopping before the two-way mirror.

But...

"Are you familiar with kintsugi?" He asked, but he wasn't really looking for an answer. Bending down, his fingers grazed over the headband, over a brand new scar etched into the corner of the metal. "It's an art style, in which broken pottery is repaired with golden lacquer." Our scars define who we are, our pain molds us, our breaks are not weaknesses.

Picking up the headband, he tied it back around his neck, suddenly thinking of one person in specific he hadn't talk to in years, yet he suddenly felt the urge to reach out...connect...become a better man. "If you'll humor one last request, I'd like paper and pen. To write a letter."

 

[arbus]

The picture of an alabaster vase beautiful flawed broken golden flashed before Sukea's -- Kakashi's -- eyes, and he turned to hide the expression on his face. He needn't have bothered, because Satoru didn't pay him any attention. An ache and familiarity in a scent.

Sukea spoke, and his voice filled the cell as light as ever. "I think the Hokage is willing to grant you this much, at least." He walked towards the cabinet and produced from the inside an empty scroll of parchment, a brush and ink. Items not usually distributed to prisoners, as parchment caught fire and the wooden handle of the brush was easily made into a weapon, yet he laid the equipment out next to the soup, which must have grown cold by now.

"Write your letter", he said softly, retreating to the door. "Ibiki-san will collect it in the morning. You know, of course, that we will have to read it before we decide if we will forward it, or not." With his hand already on the handle, chakra flaring to unlock the door, he added: "Forgiveness doesn't come easy to any of us. Personally, I find it hard to forgive. Often. Hardest of all, though, is to forgive oneself. At the end of the day, it is a burden every single one of us has to bear."

Then he left, and with the door firmly closed and locked and sealed behind him, Sukea Kakashi leaned his head against the wall, pressing first his forehead and then his cheek against the cool concrete, a balm on his heated skin. Another door opened, and Ibiki's footsteps fell heavy. "Everything alright, Hokage-sama?"

"Hm." Kakashi didn't yet bother to remove the wig, kept his eyes closed, and breathed.

„I don‘t know why you bother so much with that cretin“, Ibiki stated, devoid of any apparent emotion. „He won‘t learn. And in two days's time, he‘ll be the Kazekage‘s problem.“

Kakashi smiled a lazy smile that was his own but not quite, because he hadn‘t yet dropped the illusion jutsu. „You heard what I said. He‘s just a kid. And he‘s right in saying that trust goes both ways. If we can save a life, we will work as hard as we can to do so.“

Ibiki grunted, dissatisfied still but silenced by the sight of his Hokage, face and palms pressed flush against the wall. That Hatake fellow had always been a bit peculiar, he thought, watching as the other finally moved, dropping the charade and the wig and the softness of his voice — watched him gather himself, and reapply yet another mask as he pulled the fabric over his chin and nose.

„Now then“, Kakashi said, „there‘s much to do. I still haven‘t talked to Naruto and Sasuke, and the announcement is tonight. Be so kind as to send a message to the both of them. Tell them to meet me at my office.“

He walked away, then, so Ibiki refrained from reminding him that the Uchiha was actually staying at his house. Shaking his head, Ibiki retreated into the other direction, to do as he was told.

 

[Graverobber141]

Some things never changed, as if the universe had a certain order about it. Even waiting a while after the summons, a test of sorts, taking his time as he meandered down the streets of the village (glancing up with softness at a certain balcony as he passed under it), Sasuke was still the first to arrive in the Hokage's office. A half-amused scoff fell from his lips into the empty space, and he took up a position leaned against the back wall, hand shoved into his pocket, missing his cloak, because it helped him to feel less awkward about the empty sleeve hanging from his other side.

Naruto stumbled in next a few minutes later, looking a bit flustered, again, but positively beaming. They'd met over the course of the last few days for a training session, mostly as a way to continue the rivalry, and the soon-to-be-father was just as giddy then. There was an air about him, thrumming with excitement, that could cause someone to wonder if he wasn't the one pregnant instead of his wife, because he was also practically glowing.

"Ah, bastard, Kakashi-sensei's late again?" The blond huffed, shaking his head.

"Hn." Sasuke barely tilted his head to the side in his direction. "This time you should go for the window."

Naruto looked like he was considering it for a second, like a dog sniffing around the table for leftover food, but then he was plopping down on the couch, kicking his feet up on a nearby pile of books, and quite unsubtly deciding to use this time for something else instead, "Sakura-chan stopped by the house the other day to visit Hinata."

"Hn." This grunt was a lot firmer, a warning, because it had been hard enough to confide in Kakashi, and with his mind already settled on what he needed to do, he didn't want to hear one of Naruto's speeches, which he was growing suspicious of those things being preprepared after the cheating-by-writing-on-an-arm incident.

"I'm mean, I'm just bringing it up," the blond continued with a shit-eating grin, crossing his arms behind his head, "Because I'm wondering when you're going to stop being a little bitch and do something."

The edge of Sasuke's mouth twitched ever so slightly. "I suppose when the world ends." A satisfied smirk pulled at his lips at the burn.

A book was thrown across the room, but Sasuke's hand darted out to catch it before another copy of Jiraiya's series could collide with his face.

"I'm just saying that even I, the supposed dumbass of the team," Naruto was finishing, "am tired of how stupid the both of you are being."

"Hm," that noise was more of a hum, a consideration, as Sasuke carefully laid the book he was holding on the nearest pile.

 

[arbus]

"Ah, Sasuke-kun, don't tell me my exquisite taste in literature is rubbing off on you." Kakashi had choosen this moment to enter through the door, his eyes catching the movement of Sasuke's hand. "And Icha Icha Violence, a great choice. You should consider reading Paradise first, though, as it sets up Yuna's backstory and gives you a deeper insight in her feelings for Taro."

He strolled towards the desk, admonishing Naruto's lazy position with a quick sweep of his leg, which made the tower of books sway precariously, before he took a seat and bend to open the lowest drawer to fetch a thick, heavily stamped file, which he placed in front of himself. Flipping it open, he leaved through the pages until he found what he was looking for. Folding his fingers on the desk, he looked at the both of them for a long moment.

"I have exciting news", he declared with the air of someone reciting from a grocery list. "On the Raikage's extensive solicitations, the Five Great Nations will be holding a tournament this coming spring, to commemorate the end of the Fourth War five years ago. The tournament will be held in Kumogakure, hosted by the Raikage, and attended not only by delegations of all five nations but representatives of many smaller shinobi villages. The intention is to bring the shinobi world closer together in a", his eyes dropped to the file before him", 'friendly comabtative assembly of the finest shinobi on the continents'". He coughed. "You two are to be considered guests of honor, which basically means you are excluded from the combatitive aspect of this friendly assembly of finest shinobi." He raised his eyes. "It was the Kages' unanimous wish to extent to you their gratitude for your contributions in the war." Now, a smirk pulled at the fabric of his mask. Maybe it was just a twitch of his lips. "But you are considered too strong to be partaking in such a tournament. You are, however, part of Konoha's delegation. You, Naruto, will help organize the event and are to travel to Kumo after the holidays, where you will act as Konoha's official representative. Congratiulations to your promotion."

With his tone being as dry as Konoha's roads in high summer, it was hard to see the smile crinkling his eyes as anything but show.

"Sakura will hopefully be back from her mission by then, to see you off. Any questions?"

 

[Graverobber141]

Sasuke offered Kakashi a glare at his recommended reading, and that glare was then redirected at Naruto, who had set him up for that, yet his eyes softened with a tug of his lips upwards in a smug expression of schadenfreude. With grumbling under his breath about how the couch smelt like dog anyways, Naruto joined Sasuke in standing before the Hokage's desk, the two looking almost like respectable--Naruto with his dumb grin, Sasuke with his perpetual half-scowl--ninja.

Naruto's reaction to the news was almost comical in the number of times it changed. First, excitement like a puppy at the mention of a tournament, a chance to show off his skill, then disappointment shadowed his bright features upon the knowledge that he wouldn't be allowed to fight, but it didn't keep him down for too long, as his wide smile was back upon the revelation that he was getting promoted. And what a chance it would be, to see the greatest shinobi the world had to offer, displaying their strength and skill in friendly competition, held in his honor, no less? "Count me in, Kakashi-sensei. I wonder if they'll have a festival as well? They always have such great food at those things."

Sasuke's expression remained restrained, as always. His head did tilt slightly, however, his brow lifting upward in skepticism, because while Naruto saw an opportunity for friendly competition, he saw the chance for the nations to display the strength of their shinobi, in a way of baring fangs in warning: this is what we have to offer, and this is what you'll be facing if you attack us. Out of curiosity, he would have asked who was representing the Leaf in this tournament, because they needed to put their second-best forward, yet two things drew his attention instead.

First, Kakashi had specifically been addressing Naruto when describing what the knucklehead would be doing in the next few days, which left Sasuke to wonder what was planned for him. Yet more importantly, his brows lifted, as he found himself asking, "Sakura's on a mission?"

 

[arbus]

Many things could be said about Naruto, but he was certainly optimistic. Kakashi watched the array of emotions flit over the blond's features with the faint interest of someone watching a nature documentary. His index finger tapped against the knuckle of the other hand, and this was about as much of an indicator of his restlessness than he would allow himself to display.

"The tournament is supposed to take place over the span of two weeks. There will be hundreds of competitors, as shinobi of all skill levels are encouraged to participate in the roster of their respective rank. It's an organizational and bureaucratic nightmare and will cost a ton of money", he replied, "so yes, you can expect festivities." He gave a long-suffering sigh. "And food. I will announce the news to the village in an hour, and staff will be sent out to distribute leaflets with the details afterwards." His eyes, heavy-lidded with either boredom or fatigue, fell onto Sasuke. He studied him for a beat. "Hm. I would have expected she'd have told you. She left with a team this morning."

Silence ensued, and Kakashi had deliberated how much to tell, but both Naruto and Sasuke enjoyed a high enough security level to share the information. "It's the beginning of a diplomatic mission to Sound." He paused, as if curious for Sasuke's reaction. "I will travel there as soon as negotiations have successfully started." If. The small word itching on the tip of his tongue but withheld, for now.

 

[Graverobber141]

Hurt. It slipped underneath Sasuke's surface, dripping like water down the logical part of his mind, and he tried so very hard to rein it in, to crush that feeling, because he had no right to feel hurt that she had neglected to tell him. She obviously needed space and he understood that, respected that. She was a grown woman, was not tied to him in any way, and certainly wasn't obligated to share anything with him. Yet, still, it illogically persisted, that pestilent feeling, against all reason. But over the hurt, more prominent, more demanding, was the worry that began to nag at him, set off by the mention of Sound.

It was natural, feeling Kakashi's eyes on him, Naruto's following suit, this insistent urge of his to guard his expression, to press his lips into a firm line, to make his dark eyes hard.

Naruto looked surprised, as if he was just catching on to that significance. Blue gaze softening, he offered, "She didn't tell me either."

And a bit too harshly, Sasuke snapped back, "Don't." A pause. He closed his eyes, pressed a few fingers into his forehead, and upon regaining control of his voice, clued the idiot in. "She obviously didn't want either of us to know, and we shouldn't dwell on it. Especially while we're here on business." Ignoring the very firm, displeased looked the blond was shooting him--the one that said 'I will hit the stupid stubbornness out of you if need be'--Sasuke turned his attention back to the matter at hand, his gaze shifting to Kakashi, "You gave direction to Naruto, yet didn't specify if you wanted me to travel with him. It's a waste to send the both of us to a pointless event, particularly when I have experience dealing with both Sound shinobi and their leader."

 

[arbus]

Another sigh slipped from Kakashi's lips, just as weary as the first one. This time, though, it was directed at Sasuke.
"A pointless event", he repeated lightly, "don't say that in front of the Raikage. Anyway -- although you have experience in dealing with Orochimaru, this is not your mission." A sternness had crept into Kakashi's voice, and his eyes were directed unrelentingly at Sasuke. I know what this is about, his gaze said, don't make this hard for me. "I have assigned the most suitable Konoha nin, and am not planning to send anyone else. For you, I have another job."

He closed the file before him. Tapped his finger against the cardboard. Contemplated.

"I received a letter from the Kazekage last night. He has agreed to our terms and we plan to transfer Kokoro Satoru the day after tomorrow. I need a capable guard for him, and I could think of no one better than you, Sasuke-kun." Kakashi smiled. "You will escort him to the border, and on your way, you will set him free and let him confront you. If he flees, so be it. But it he aims to kill you, you will do what you have to."

 

[Graverobber141]

Sasuke-kun.

Something about that suffix made his mouth twitch momentary in fury, before his expression was once more carefully composed. Dark eyes holding Kakashi's own, as if he wanted to challenge what he had declared, Sasuke finally looked away, giving in with the simple gesture. At least, one way or another, they would be finished with this Satoru business, that would be one thing laid to rest, and he would be spared from faking interest at such a lofty event for now. His only verbal confirmation was a single word uttered with a huff of air that was practically scorched: "Fine."

Naruto looked between the two, arms crossed, looking like he very much so wanted to say something about Kakashi's usage of the phrase 'do what you have to', but his eyes softened with a reluctant knowledge, as he glanced at his friend's face, studying his pale features, came to a conclusion, and let it go. Instead, he merely stated, "Just be careful, bastard." And try.

"Hn." Another one of his sharp, dismissive grunts given out when he desperately didn't want to talk. He just wanted this conversation to end, to get out of this office, to get away from Naruto, and the conversation he would want to have, because there wasn't anything to discuss.

"Is that all?" Sasuke asked, in a tone that said he had meant 'can I leave now?'.

 

[arbus]

Sasuke's chagrin was as palpable as heavy fog would be, and like fog left moisture on everything it touched, Sasuke's sore mood left the air in the room thick and uncomfortable -- though maybe this was nothing more than a certain fatigue pulling at Kakashi, because the confrontation with Satoru, the constant need to make decisions, had left him drained. In a way, most of his days ended like that now, with doubt and the fear of miscalculation worrying away at him like a sore tooth. He inclined his head, dismissed Sasuke with an unimpressed "That's all", and swiveled around in his chair to get a look out the window, to gain a change in perspective that would open his mind again.

The relationship between Sasuke and Sakura -- and the irony of this reversal of positions didn't elude Kakashi, because how often had Sakura been the one on the receiving end of this specific scenario -- turned out to be one more thing to add to his growing list of worries, and he hoped, sincerely, that whatever they were doing, they would handle it like the adults they had grown to be.

He rubbed his hand over his face, the drowsiness from his eyes.

"Ah, Naruto", he said into the silence behind him, "I have seen Hinata has been taken off the roster already. I hope you remember to remind her that she is still allowed to do suitable D-ranks, if she wants. Congratulations, by the way, on the baby." Because the hospital was obliged to notify the mission administration about the shinobi's health, Kakashi had seen, and signed, the entry to suspend Hinata's status due to pregnancy. It was a good thing, an unexpected joy in an onslaught of paperwork, tripled by that damn tournament. Kakashi had been glad that Shikamaru had been heading out the office that moment, balancing a stack of scrolls, because he would not have wanted anyone to know about the way his eyes had watered. He cleared his throat. "You can go, too."

 

[Graverobber141]

Naruto's blue eyes followed Sasuke as he exited the office, his brow furrowing, and a very disgruntled "Idiot" fell from his lips. Part of him wanted to chase him down the hall and smack sense into him, but he knew, from experience, that'd only make the situation worse. Letting out a huff in frustration, the blond's gaze snapped back to Kakashi at mention of Hinata's pregnancy, and a sheepish grin overtook his features. Nervously rubbing the back of his neck, he quickly apologized, "I meant to tell you sooner, Kakashi-sensei, but you've been busy with the whole running the village thing, and I've been busy with the whole freaking out over being a father thing--ugh, do you know how many books there are on pregnancy? Anyways, I guess you're going to be a grandpa now."

-----

The cool winter breeze was refreshing, calming, and helped to settle Sasuke as he made his way back to the mansion. His mood was further--improved wasn't quite the right word, but perhaps dulled--once he focused on preparing something for Ari to eat. He was, at least, able to think and focus on his assigned mission, puzzle out ways in which he could reach out to Satoru. Eventually, he ended up hunting down a shogi board, scavenging up a book on strategy, and practicing for the game that would probably be as much fought with words as pieces.

Loneliness, that had been one of the traits belonging to Satoru that Sakura had pointed out during their first meeting, and Sasuke silently mused, then, how alike they were. His fingers tapped two pieces, the pawn and king, wondering in that useless way about second-chances, and when people finally were able to stop running.

It did not escape him, the silence of the room, filled only with the occasional scraping of wood against wood as he pushed pieces forward and back.

 

[arbus]

**********
​

Konohagakure, Eleven Years Ago

The Hokage was dead.

Sarutobi Hiruzen was dead, but the village's grief did not extend towards the man, but the symbol. With the sheltering hand a Hokage held over his village gone, Konoha felt emptied and shell-shocked amidst the ruins of their betrayal. Sand and Sound, merging into the brutal concept of an enemy and the whispers of war. Nonesense, Kakashi thought. They lacked the numbers, the strength to go into war. Nara Shikaku was thinking along the same lines; the Jonin commander had basically taken charge of the village's administration, and luckily, he was a strategical thinker, cool-headed and not stirred into rash actions. Danzo wanted a war, but why, was hard to tell. Kakashi thanked the gods his genin were save, and there was the matter of Gaara, an incident he felt they could use to their diplomatic advantage.

"I hope you find we treat you well", he said into the darkness of the cell. He was standing in front of bars, the rough stone walls echoing. Water was dripping from a burst water pipe; T&I had been damaged during the fight, and the building was too small to hold all the prisoners they had made, mostly from Sand. They had started the transfers already; Sand shinobi for food, ryos, construction material. The Swordsman of the Sand, however, was too valuable to trade for materials or money, even though they were sorely needed, so he was kept underground, in a cell without windows, with a cot and a toilet and the possibility to walk two steps before running into the far wall. "Doesn't look very comfortable, but you have a high flight risk, so they don't want to take any chances."

His pose was relaxed. He stood, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched and hitai-ate askew. He wore his uniform, and bandages from the cut of the chokuto underneath. He had worn black not an hour ago, in a sea of black that had been his comrades, bidding the Hokage goodbye at his burial.

"We've met, once, already", he continued, because it had been a constant feeling nagging at the back of his mind, "haven't we? But I was just a small child back then, and you were much younger. You haven't been the Swordsman of the Sand yet, and I never thought that the young man sharing a drink with my father was the same one that became one of Sand's legends. But now I remember."

 

[Graverobber141]

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The water was a constant rhythm, like the steady beat of drum. Seated with his back against the cool, concrete wall, cross-legged upon the floor, nestled within the small space between the bed and toilet, one of his hands rested against his knee, while the other was lazily extended, facing up, letting the water fall within the crevice of his palm, sliding along calloused skin to slip down his wrist, between his fingers.

Takeshi's eyes did not open at the sound of the familiar voice. He only stirred at the word legend, which drew forth a rough grunt from his throat, the rumbling sound tinged with just the slightest bit of humor, though it was hard to tell if it was meant more as a scoff, chuckle, or mixture of both.

A stretch of silence followed, during which the declared Swordsman of the Sand remained meditatively still. Then his outstretch fingers were gently curled inward, collecting one last drop of water upon his thumb, before his palm pressed into his other knee.

"I'm just a soldier, boy," he stated in a quiet voice that somehow still had the ability to overtake the room, amber gaze finally opening to settle on his visitor. "Like you are. Like your father was." A heartbeat of silence. Another one of those barely understandable expressions of dry humor, this one shown in a hard exhalation of air. "But I remember. The young have a tendency to cling to legends without knowledge of what burdens those lofty titles come with. I was no exception. It was an honor for me, a foolhardy youth still wet behind the years, to have been indulged by a man with the legacy your father carried."

His head tilted just so with that, eyes traveling over the shinobi on the other side of the cell in consideration. "The legacy you have now inherited."

 

[arbus]

Burdens indeed.

Kakashi smiled. Let the comment pass right over his head as the irrelevancy (lie misconception empty phrase) it was, and said with mild interest: "But you weren't supposed to sit together and drink like old buddies, were you? My father was a ninja of the Leaf, and you of the Sand. The nations were at war, one they say my father started."

Drip drip drip drip.

A slight shuffle of his feet was loud enough to produce an echo from the high ceilings, and he regretted having moved at all. While his eye lay lazy on the Swordsman, while his stance was casual and his pose relaxed, a fine observer would register the faint tremble of a racing pulse against the dark material covering his throat, a tension in the neck, in the way he purposefully did not move.

"I could not have been much older than five, but I recall asking you for a fight. I was offended when you declined."

 

[Graverobber141]

Yet another grunt, this one almost like it was a question: 'what exactly are you trying to ask, boy?'. Takeshi took his time to mull over his answer, watching Kakashi with a contemplative look, noting that subtle way in which his mask moved as if had a pulse of its own, thrumming against the Leaf shinobi's neck almost like a wire waiting to be tripped.

"But we were not on the battlefield in that moment. And you were an inexperienced child, while I was already a Chunin, on my way to becoming a Jonin," he finally stated simply, as if it was obvious. "That is what you wanted to ask, isn't it, boy?" Another huff of air that formed a hrmph. It was familiar in a comforting way: how his captor danced around the issue apparently plaguing his mind, much like a particular child he had left behind.

His eyes closed then, and his hand, though it remained resting upon his knee, slowly turned its palm upward once more to catch the water dripping overhead.

"Humor me: What is it that you think separates a shinobi from a mercenary, a common killer?"

 

[arbus]

Kakashi knew he had been found out. He was too obvious in his nervous energy, which, thought tightly contained, must be like a neon sign to the veteran. He shifted again, inadvertently, and the rustle of clothes another too loud noise. But the tilt of his head was a restrained motion, the lilt of his voice still easy enough.

"Nothing", he offered, let the word hang in the air to taste its staleness, its truth, before continuing: "but the ideology he believes in, that he gives his skills to and sheds his blood for." Ideology was, of course, the contrast of nothing, of nihilism. Ideology was what kept Kakashi going; his father's ideology, his friend's ideology, his sensei's ideology. His village's ideology.

He devoted himself to their cause, his cause, with lock, stock and barrel -- he was nobody, but the people he fought for were everything. To never again let a friend die, to protect his people, was what kept him standing through the pull and ache of a fresh wound, through the agony that had once crept up on him in a man lying on the floor, curled up on himself and bleeding from a mortal wound, and never left.

"Sakumo's ideology was to save those precious to him. To put a single life over his duty, over the lives of a thousand others." A dry chuckle. "You might have been one of the last people he ever raised a glass with. You must know what he did to himself not six months from then. Have you been speaking about this? Is this why he chose to drink with you, instead of killing you?" A pause. "You were sent to kill the White Fang, weren't you? For murdering two of Sand's most renowned puppeteers?"

 

[Graverobber141]

Takeshi's normal stone-like features shifted, just so, and as Kakashi talked, his head tilted as he listened in this meditative-like state of his. When his eyes, layered with a look of patience and understanding, once again opened, his amber gaze sought out the dark one of the man before him. "And yet we define ourselves with our ideologies; at our core, we act based upon what we believe, and we can only be judged by those actions."

A pause. He shifted his jaw. "Indeed, I was sent to kill your father. I didn't, however, because contrary to popular belief, a legend is easier to kill than a man."

Slowly and deliberately, his movement easily watched and displayed for the benefit of his captor, the warrior lifted himself up from the hard floor, walked a step forward so he was before the bars, able to observe this man before him, who was in pain, searching for some meaning in death and sacrifice, answers to questions unasked but loud in their significance.

"Do you want me to offer you some insight, to give you a reason to either glorify or demonize your father and his ideology?" A softer grunt fell from his lips. "I can do neither, because at his core, he was simply a man. The problem with legends and ideologies, boy, is that people are not simple. They cannot be summed up with a few choice words. But I will give you this: For years I lived my life shutting out connection so I could do my duty, and yet, recently, I had a choice to put someone I hold dear in danger, to benefit my country, yet I chose not to, for he wouldn't be in a cell; he would be in a grave."

His eyes softened. "Sometimes we need reminders of what is worth fighting for, and I wonder, Kakashi-san, if you've ever stopped to consider that?"