Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s raining. Another bleak, grey day in September. Days, which as of late, have all run together. It’s cold and slightly windy and more than half of the leaves have gone; coating the ground with drab browns of every variety while the grass becomes grayer than the crying clouds overhead.

Dozens of black umbrellas. A congregation of black canvas canopies surround them beneath the deluge. Everyone is wearing blacks and greys and the women wear veils that do nothing to hide their tears and running eyeliner.

Marbled stone, a six-foot hole, and an empty casket grace the foreground. The Fin, the Final Act for a life gone too soon. The priest’s tones of prayers lull the background like white noise. 

Hatake Kakashi stands alone in a sea of mourners.

He is at the forefront, a lighthouse whose light has gone out. Whose purpose is gone. Whose tower is empty of life.

It is, indeed, a bleak and grey day as he watches mourner after mourner place white roses over an empty casket. How can you lay someone to rest when there is nothing to lay to rest, he thinks. It’s the first thought he’s had all day.

The casket is white with the Hatake Crests carved atop the lid. He approaches the empty container and runs nimble fingers along the edge. It’s cold, both the white lacquered wood and his slender fingers. He doesn’t place a rose atop the coffin because he knows she hated roses. But tradition is tradition and he really hadn’t the energy to deliberate with the funeral director.

He watches them lower the empty box. It’s a striking contrast amongst the dark hole. When the casket has finally been lowered to its final destination, it reveals the black marbled stone that had been carved with white letters that say In Loving Memory of Hatake Sakura.

He approaches the headstone and rests his head atop of it. One final kiss is given to this stone. He can feel the dull ache in chest, and he knows it’s for the best not to linger too long. He can still hear her voice in his head, chiding him for staying out in the rain too long. So, he listens because he is a good husband.

But now he’s a widower.

How did it come to this?

∞

Five years ago, inside a one-bedroom apartment in the city, on a lazy afternoon, kneeled a silver haired man over plastic covered carpet in the seiza position. An unsheathed tanto laid in front of him. One grey eye stared at it, empty and lifeless, while the other eye, Obito’s eye, throbbed beneath an eye patch.

His whole team had been annihilated. Rin, Obito, and even Minato. All of them, gone. 

He picked up the blade and positioned the tip at his belly. He finally understood the grief and sorrows of his father—alike in the manner that they were both broken men by their circumstances. His father had lost his team because he broke the rules. He lost his team because he followed the rules.

There was no winning in this life.

With one last exhale, he whispered a final goodbye to this life; a final sorry to his friends and his ninken, and he hoped that someday they would understand.

Knock. Knock.

He froze, mere millimeters from the plunge.

Knock. Knock.

He glared at the ceiling. Of course. Of course, the universe would play one last joke. It was probably the old biddy from the apartment just below that always complained about everything in the building because she had nothing better to do. And he was sure that if he didn’t answer, she’d be there until he did.

He sighed, got up and prepared to tell the old biddy on the other side of the door that he was sorry for all the ruckus he made when he rearranged his living room. He had already planned to give the excuse of remodeling (his intestines, but no one needs to know that yet). However, when he opened the door, he was not greeted with the old biddy from downstairs.

Rather, it was a young woman. With pink hair and the most vibrant pair of green eyes he had ever seen. And holy shit, when she smiled, it was like a thousand suns because he could feel the heat in his cheeks.

“Hi! Sorry to bother you! My name is Sakura, I live just across the way.” She pointed over her shoulder to the open apartment door behind her. “I was hoping I could borrow a cup of sugar—er, well, I can't really give it back after I use it, but I can pay you for it!” Her cheeks tinge slightly at her faux pas while she scratched her neck.

Holy fuck, if she wasn’t the cutest thing he’d ever seen—and fucking hell, is this some silly romcom? For fuck’s sake, she’s wearing a yellow and purple, pig-printed apron that’s longer than the short-shorts she’s got on those long, slender legs whose feet are tucked into a pair of fox themed slippers. But never mind that—her pink hair is tied up in two separate sloppy pig tailed buns, where petal colored tresses frame those green eyes that have flecks of life glimmering in them.

Her cheeks suddenly redden even more which made her look away sheepishly, “Uh, is this a bad time?”

He snapped out it, realizing that he had just been standing there with a blank look on his probably dumb looking cyclops face right now.

“Uh, no. Not at all. I think I have a cup.”

“Wonderful!” Holy hell, can that smile get any brighter at time like this? This is so not appropriate. Really, it’s not. He turned, and with the skill of an ANBU assassin, flicked the blade he was hiding behind his back into the front door organizer bin among the umbrellas.

He cleared his throat, “Sorry about the mess. Remodeling. Right this way.” Real smooth, Hatake. He led her into the kitchen before he shuffled through the cabinets in search of the sweet ingredient. “Here you are.” He nodded at her, to which, she smiled. Again. Jesus Christ, what the fuck.

“I can’t thank you enough, er…neighbor?”

“Kakashi is fine, and it's no problem.”

“Thank you again! I’ll just go get some money—”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Ah…are you sure?” She bit her lip, looking up at him with those big, round and full of everything that life had to offer springy eyes. He swallowed. Hard.

“Positive.”

“Well, Kakashi,” She held out her hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you! I hope we can become good neighbors!” With a nod and one last shake of hands, she turned back into her open apartment across from his.

He closed his own door and leaned against it, letting out a ragged breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

What the fuck.

He leaned against his door for what seemed like several hours before he came out of his daze. He cleaned up his apartment, returning all the furniture to its original place. Unbeknownst to him, his new neighbor, Sakura, would leave him a plate of rock hard, inedible shortbread cookies that he nearly choked on with a little note that said Thank you <3 Let me know what you think? S.H.

He forgot the tanto in the umbrella bin.

∞

He’s the last one to leave the cemetery. There is a reception for her funeral at their home at the edges of the city, isolated on a small hill that overlooks it. It was secluded enough that their neighbors were only a few miles apart, enough to see the stars at night, but close enough for their commutes into the city.

When he arrived, everyone had already let themselves in. He stalked in with his usual bad posture, placing his shoes amongst the many others in the genkan. He is strong enough to power through everyone’s condolences with a mechanical nod, and perhaps, a word or two. He listens to their light banter, with their laughs peppered throughout the night.

It’s nauseating to listen to their storytelling of their past encounters with his wife, but he listens anyways; greedy and unbidden, stealing as many of the moments of time’s she’s pranced through because the memories of her are all he has left of her now. Just the realization of that alone keeps his stomach as upset as his soul.

He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes for he knows that there is nothing but pity for him; the despair is too great to hide. He can’t bring himself to care that he’s wearing his bleeding heart on his black sleeves tonight because ultimately his feelings don’t matter. Not when the universe is a cruel dictator. There isn't a moment he can find privately for himself as they all flock to him, like loyal sheep tending to a wounded shepherd. Her voice is a faint echo that tells him it's almost over. Patience, love. You can do this.

The hours seemed to slip by in an odd contradiction of slow motion in passing seconds. It felt long and drawn out as he stands nursing his glass of whiskey and rocks. He realizes he's only made it halfway through his only drink of the evening when the last guest leaves.

...How did it come to this?...

∞

The next time he encountered Sakura is was when she cornered him in the elevator. It went a little something like this:

“So? How were they?”

Kakashi shifted uncomfortably, having no more room to back up in the tiny corner of the elevator. He had just gotten back from another mission, and he hasn’t showered yet, and he sure as fuck hoped to God he did not smell like blood and ozone.

“Um…they were fine.”

“Oh, really? Then what’s this then?” She held up the paper plate of cookies, still wrapped in the saran plastic, with the one cookie he bit out of, and her noted still taped to the top. There were stains and bits and pieces of questionable sludge on the outside of the plate that he now realizes she must have found in the complex dumpster.

“…”

“Listen, you don’t have to lie. I’m a big girl and I can handle the truth.” She glared at him. Tired like the cranky old man his ANBU partners call him, he glared back.

“Well, then. You used too much salt and they were over baked.”

She squawked, eyes bugging out of her skull.

“Excuse me? Do I look like a moron to you? I know how to read a recipe. Your tastes buds are whack!”

“You told me to tell the truth.” He retorted coolly. Man, he really needed to get some sleep.

“Oh, so are you some sort of Baking Connoisseur? Because let me tell you, I’ve been baking my whole life and I can assure you, Ka-Ka-Shi, that I know what I’m doing.” At this, he quirks a brow. Was that a challenge? Why, yes it was.

Now, Kakashi was usually the sort that avoided contests and challenges, but his opponent isn’t wearing any green spandex uniforms, and the idea of schooling this little bratty tart who practically assaulted him in the elevator (while simultaneously giving him half a hard on with her attitude and manhandling), seemed rather entertaining. If all goes well, perhaps these little encounters will end when she sees how much of bad person he really is.

Because he’s the type that crushes hopes and dreams and bones, and if he must do that via baking contest then so be it.

“I can show you what you did wrong.”

“Really, now? Okay, Kakashi-sensei. Put your money where your mouth is.”

...

One shower, two askew aprons, and three hours later found flour and baking equipment scattered all about the kitchen counters and floor, while one silver head man was showing a pink haired woman exactly where his mouth was.

On her pussy, of course, while she moaned to the high heavens, laying on her tiny round table in her one-bedroom apartment. Her shorts hung off one ankle, her apron folded over her abdomen, as her neighbor was currently using his tongue to pound her into next week. With one hand threaded through his surprisingly, dry and straw-like silver hair, she guided him exactly where she wanted.

“I’m gonna cum all over your face, Kakashi!”

Naughty words that sent tingles down his spine and straight to his painfully erect cock. This was nothing like the professional raunchy adult films he occasionally perused online. Oh no, this was way better. And it only continued to get better when she shrilled his name all the while pushing his face as far into her pussy as possible and grinding.

She may have been a bratty tart, but holy shit, she was unhinged and unashamed of what she wanted. Confident and unwavering in her desires. He honestly, truly meant to crush her dreams rather than her body.

It had started off innocently and somewhat as friendly-competitive as possible the moment they donned their respective aprons. Until she started taking his critiques a little too much to heart. Then they argued and their words escalated to shouts. And as childish as bratty tarts went, she pulled no punches and resorted to insults—specifically against his prowess as man ‘who couldn’t possibly know how to treat a lady right.’

And well, the rest is history.

When she stopped her face-fucking, she slid off of the table to meet him on the floor. She licked her release off his chin and lips before exploring the uncharted territory of his mouth.

“You are the absolute worst.” She said between their battling tongues and smoldering kisses. She pushed against him, forcing him from his squatting position to sit on his ass with her between his legs.

“How grateful of you.” He hissed when she pulled his cock free, his pants mysteriously gone now, and wrapped her hot, wet, mouth around the tip. He leaned back to watch the show. Her burning bright green eyes aflame with lust as they gazed up into his.

She was definitely sinful the way she moved her tongue and how she sucked so deliciously around his head. And good fucking god, she had no gag reflex. He closed his only visible eye and mimicked the pinkette from moments ago; fingers combing through her hair to rest at the crown of her head and started to gently thrust into her very inviting, hot, and hungry mouth.

When he felt something warm and velvety around the underside of his balls, he cracked his single eye open and watched her little tongue sneak out from out her cock-stuffed mouth to lick his sac. God damn, she was skilled. Naughty and skilled.

She popped off his cock lewdly, and gave the tip a chaste kiss, still pumping him with her hand. “Can I tell you a secret, Kakashi?” She purred next to his ear. Her hand was still pumping his hard length—palm hot and slick as it glided over his tip with the sweetest amount of friction.

“Mmm?” His lust lidded eye met hers which crinkled from the way she grinned so mischievously.

“The moment you opened your door, I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Especially when I’m in the shower.” Her delicate tongue left a burning trail of saliva on the outer most shell of his ear. Oh, hell, what a sight his imagination created. Her hand began to apply more pressure as she pumped him. “I’ve fantasized about swallowing you all up.” And she returned that dirty mouth back to his impossibly hard cock, working him fervently.

Oh, fuck. Too much. There was so much pleasure rippling through his body, as if she had cranked up the voltage on the highest setting of a defibrillator, just to make his dick explode. The squelching sounds alone were threatening enough.

He looked down as she continued to orally please him—cheeks flushed and hollow, glazed emeralds alight, and vibrating throat, helped him towards the cliffs of his orgasm. His hand went to her head once more, tugging her pink tresses as gently as one can when they’re about to dive off the deep end.

“Oh, fuck!” He breathed through his gritted teeth, neck veins distended. “Just a little bit more—Ungh!” She started to hum encouragement around him and that was all he needed to set sail. He pushed himself as far her throat could allow, holding her head, and spent himself. She continued to hum appreciatively, the vibrations sending sensitive jolts through his loins. His breathy grunts followed each shallow cant as he came.

A rather undignified whine escaped his throat when she slowly rose from the base to the tip; tongue swirling over the head with an almost painful amount of suction that made his overly sensitive nerves jerk himself out of her devilish reach.

God damn. His brain was still trying to comprehend the fact this was probably the best head he's ever gotten, let alone realizing that this was the hottest fuck-without-actually-fucking he's also ever participated in. His chest was heaving as his glassy grey eye bore into her smiling jades. If he wasn’t one of the most formidable shinobi in the world, he’d have stared slack jawed at the wonderful sight of a very capable woman between his legs.

Who the fuck was this civilian woman and where had she been all this time?

∞

🎵 Forgetting You - James Carr 🎵

He is ready to settle in his now too large bed and now too large comforter that still smells like her when Pakkun comes tinkling in with the sounds of his jingling collar and snorts. The little pug lets out a soft whine, he too, feels the loss of the Hatake Matriarch.

“C’mon buddy.” Kakashi pats the bed softly and his canine friend hops up. The widowed man pulls the covers back for the both of them. Together, they settle their heads against pillows that smell strongly of the vanilla and almond shampoos his wife used to use religiously. 

He looked to her side of the bed, to her nightstand. He sees her favorite photograph of them and it's the final straw. Pakkun shuffles closer; he lets out a whine and licks at the silent tears that fall from his master’s eyes, as if to say, I’m here, I know, I miss her, too.

It was time.

The realization that this...this would be the new thing in his life now—empty beds and fading scents—is permanent. It was time to let go. A choked sob wails into the looming bedroom followed by soft puggy whines.

...It had started with a cup of sugar and it had come to a bitter end. 

Chapter Text

∞

Once they had gathered their wits about them, they redressed themselves and managed to reproduce an 'okay' batch of shortbread cookies. While they cleaned her kitchen, they fell into a relaxed kind of groove that felt quite natural—as if they were some old married couple bustling about in a tiny apartment kitchen. There wasn’t a single ounce of tension; only easy conversation, ceaseless smiles, and chuckles.

She thanked him for his lesson and bid him farewell, but not before she not-so-subtly slipped her phone number into the front of his jean's pocket.

After a couple of outings, some coffee, late night takeout’s, and a few more spontaneous adult sessions, Kakashi had learned that Sakura worked for the city in the public service sector, as a paramedic, in fact. Fun fact, he also learned, was that they both had the commonality of coming home in other people’s bodily fluids. Of course, he never told her that, and gave her the protocol excuse of working as an ‘Exterminator’ for a private business. They were both born and raised in Konoha City and were workaholics. They’re love for cooking was about as equal as their competitive natures.

Turns out, that one batch of cookies was quite the ‘coincidence’ as Sakura’s oven had broken about a day after their frolic on the kitchen floor.

They also had differences, too. He couldn’t stand the sweet things he constantly saw her shoveling down her face, and she always cringed when his spicy food got mixed in with her take out. Their age was also quite the gap; he was 40 while she was 26. But nonetheless, they never raised their voices after their initial encounter, because oddly enough, as adults, they communicated rather well with each other.

It was…nice.

She had no qualms telling him how she felt and never left him guessing. He, on the other hand, was sure to call her out on her bullshit from time to time, too. She liked to pack him little bentos with cheesy little notes and he liked to sneak protein and energy bars into her uniform’s pockets.

This was possibly the most amazing civilian he had ever been with. Their relationship was like a well-oiled machine, running smoothly without a hitch.

Until the day it doesn’t.

It had been about a few months after their kitchen sexcapade when Kakashi had woken up in his apartment one morning to the sun was shining and the birds singing. He stared out the only window in his bedroom, and for the first time in a long time, felt well rested and at peace. Bizarre. Bizarre is what it was. Thinking it was probably just one of those fluke things, he left the bed to start his day.

It was when he got to the bathroom that his stomach dropped. His eyes were automatically drawn to the basin. There were two toothbrushes in the holder on the sink. Two toothbrushes. Suddenly, everything clicked. Dread filed in like marching soldiers.

Shit.

So, what does the formidable genius, renowned Copy Ninja, in all of Konoha do? The only thing he knows how to do—destroy it. Because that’s all he’s ever known, that’s all he’s ever done, and that’s all he’ll ever continue to do.

Happiness and peace have never been a welcome guest in his life, and he is not comfortable with its alien invasion because he doesn’t know what to do and that makes him fucking terrified.

There’s a saying among his comrades in ANBU; they say, “The Devil’s always in the backseat.” It means that no matter where you go, no matter what you do, the Devil will always be there. It’s just a matter of time before the devil takes your soul. It’s the nature of the organization, and once you’re in, there is no getting out.

But if there is one thing he should have known, it was that Sakura had always been the unexpected variable in his life. And he should have known that. She was so stubborn and bullheaded as much as he was that it wouldn’t have been this easy to escape the essence of her.

The day he confronted her did not go in the way he had planned for it to go.

The plan was to let her down gently, because good god, sometimes women were terrifying when let down, and civilian women were the worst about it. He had taken her to one of the cliffs, just outside of the city limits. The first reason being that the cliffs were calming, and he’d hoped that she’d absorb the earth’s natural demeanor. The second reason was that if that didn’t work, he’d just leave her there and show her just what a real bastard he could be.

Because this was just not going to work, and she needed to see that. ANBU don’t get to live happily ever after’s and it’s not fair to such an amazing woman as Sakura. She is a gift and she deserves nothing but the world whereas he is an assassin that only brings lies and death.

So, there they are, cruising along the highway while she rattles on about her day. He listens because it’s easier to do that than think about the disaster that’s waiting at the end of this road. When her hand comes to rest atop his on the gearshift, he moves both hands to grasp the steering wheel instead.

His foot pushes on the gas pedal a little further.

Now her hand is doing that naughty thing where it starts at his knee—a light squeeze before gently massaging its way towards the junction between his thighs.

His foot pushes further into the gas pedal and the next thing he knows, they’re flirting with the red line on the speedometer. Her gleeful laugh at the wind violently pushing through the half-mast windows create a picture-perfect mirage—the sun makes her skin glow, her hair is dancing around her head like a god damn halo, and her sparkling eyes are changing colors in the golden light.

Oh, this is bad. This is very bad.

When he finally gets to their destination, he puts the car in park, and they watch the sun set from the cliffs. The sounds of the waters crashing against the rocks create a salty aroma that engulfs the entirety of his car.

This time, he lets her hold his hand and she’s got a mischievous look in her eyes that all but says ‘we’re about to fuck in this car’. She pecks his cheek and beckons him to follow her to the backseat. He glances in the rearview mirror—he doesn’t see the devil, thankfully. Just her and her rosy cheeks alight with passion. He is but a man, and sometimes, hormones really do take the wheel. So, he exists the driver’s side only to reenter in the backspace with her.

She’s relentless. Instantly, she’s on top of him; her sinfully pink lips attached to his own, and her tongue is starting to cause a ruckus downstairs. Just when she lets up, he thinks this is an opportunity to confess. Instead, his mind blanks the moment her pelvis grinds into his. Now, they’re back at it, the confession can wait, because lust has taken over his mind and body entirely.

He is sitting, with her atop him in the most familiar fashion. He leans his head back because he adores the way she bites, licks, and whispers dirty things next to his ear. It takes no time at all for him to get hard when she’s doing practically all the work. When his mouth is finally free of hers, he realizes he can’t let this get that far.

It is with a heavy heart and sigh that he stops her. Gently, he holds her wrists, and watches as her face contorts from delight to an amused, but questioning quirk of a slender pink brow.

“What do you want from me, Sakura?” At this, she hitches backwards, surprised.

“Well, I thought it was kind of obvious.”

“I’m not talking about the sex.”

She gives him a pointed look, but when she doesn’t say anything, he figures he should probably elaborate.

“I can’t give you what you’re looking for. I’m not the guy you want, trust me.”

Her eyebrow twitches; a tip off to her rising anger he’s gotten so acquainted with. “And what brought this on?”

“Your toothbrush. In my bathroom.”

“So, let me get this straight.” She clears her throat. “You’re ending this because of a toothbrush.”

“It’s more than that.” He frowns.

“Are you happy, Kakashi?”

“Pardon?”

“Are you happy with what we have, Kakashi?”

His brow furrows; his frustration is starting to bloom. “Yes, but it’s not enough. I am not enough, and I know you deserve more than this. Please understand that.”

She pins him with the most blank stare he’s ever seen on a face that’s always been full of life. She closes her eyes, takes a breath, and leans forward so their foreheads touch.

“Okay. I understand.” He can feel her tears that plummet onto his jeans, and fuck, they feel as heavy as bullets. So heavy, it makes his own eyes sting.

“I’m sorry.”

“Can you let me have one more night with you?”

A dry chuckle that leaves his throat, because, of course. What better way to start and end this with a good fuck? “I can do that.”

But it isn’t that much of a fuck at all. Rather, it’s one last sweet goodbye between them—of raw desire, passion, respect, and understanding. Love. They make love for the first time and for the last time.

A kiss that turned as hot and smoldering as the sun that sets afront the windshield. This time, he cradles her close, while his searing mouth leaves a final trail of burning wet kisses down the column of her neck. Her gasps will forever be a memento every time he rides in this car after tonight.

Now she’s pushing back, because she’s got a lot of love to shower him with. But who would Sakura be without that dirty mouth of hers? She’s back to gyrating her hips over his, hands running under his shirt to take as much as she can get, when she makes her way to one of his ears.

“I’m going to miss you, Kashi.” Her voice is sultry, full of desire and yearning. Her tears are still falling, but she’s so in tune to this moment that it doesn’t even matter anymore. She plays with his lobe between her teeth. He elicits an approving sigh from her when his fingers find their way under her dress and panties.

“I was going to ask you to move in with me, too. But you beat me to the finish line.” She whispers a bit too breathy, with her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder. Two of his fingers have burrowed their way inside her warm and slick cunt. She begins to rock slowly with his fingers.

It’s heartbreaking to hear, but it doesn’t prevent his cock from throbbing even more painfully against his pants. Of which, her hands have repositioned from beneath his shirt to the button that’s caging his erection. Once she pulls him free, he is putty in her hands. Those wonderful and naughty hands that have learned to stroke him just right.

He pulls his himself out from under her dress to slip two slick coated fingers into his mouth. His taste buds hum approvingly. “I’m going to miss you, too.” He attempts to slurp up every last drop, but she outruns him by pulling his digits towards her own mouth to finish the job. The pads of his fingers feel the velvety richness of her tongue as she curls it here and there.

He tries his best to keep the regret at bay because god damn, he really is going to miss that naughty mouth.

“Please, Kashi.” She begs.

“Come here.” He motions, and she obeys. He leads her into slow tempo kiss while he helps her rise back to pull off her underwear. Simultaneously, she has already worked the jeans off his hips and down to his ankles.

This will be the last time she straddles him, and they both intend to make it glorious. She sinks unto him, savoring every bit of stretch and the consecutive goosebumps that pebble her skin. It’s the last time they’re ever going to feel that wonderful feeling of initial penetration, so she draws it out as long as she can.

“You feel so good, stretching me. I love it.” Although her eyes are closed, he tries to burn that image in his mind. So badly does he want to remove his eyepatch to purposefully misuse the Sharingan. But he can’t, because she’s a civilian and she’s not supposed to know about the realms he walks.

With the power of her muscled thighs, she creates a steady rhythm of ups and downs. He loves the feeling of her netherlips sliding around his shaft and she loves the way his head plunges and spreads her walls just so.

He does his best to hold back; to control the primal urge to just fuck like a rabid animal. This is for her. She likes to be in control when she’s riding.

“Play with me, Daddy.” She whines, picking up her pace. Oh, shit. Oh no. She's pulling out all the stops; playing to all of his kinks. She knows it drives him wild and sends all of his blood rushing downstream. The word alone is enough to entice the dominance that resides within.

"Open up." He commands. If she wants to play dirty, then he'll play, too. She sticks out her tongue like a good girl. Firmly, he sticks his thumb into her mouth, allowing her to lather him with saliva. Afterward, he brings his opposable digit to her clit and begins to rub soothing circles with the faintest amount of pressure.

It doesn’t take long for her to tremble. Her telltale sign of impending euphoria comes in the form of erratic and desperate movements along with manicured fingers gripping his hair just as tightly as her pussy does.

“Just like that, Daddy. Just like that!” He doesn’t stop his ministrations while she’s screwing herself to oblivion. He leans forward to tease a perky nipple through her flimsy dress with his teeth. He can feel her walls squeezing, and it takes every bit of concentrated effort not to fall over the edge with her.

She shatters around him, breathless, and the tears are flowing freely as she quakes. It’s a damn good orgasm and he can feel it with the amount of fluids her cunt dribbles around his cock and balls. When she’s calmed down enough, she braces a hand on either side of his cheeks and kisses him as if he’s going to disappear forever. Which is technically the truth.

“How do you want it, Kakashi?” She’s panting and glistening with sweat.

“On your knees. I want to feel you as close as possible.” He murmurs between butterfly kisses to her jaw and throat. She purrs in agreement, knowing exactly what he means.

When they disassemble themselves from one another, they hiss from the loss. He marvels at the creamy fluid she’s gushed around him. It’s endearing how she looks away bashfully, but he doesn’t let her. Instead, he kisses her with all the desire he can muster.

They each have their left legs kneeled on the back seat with their right legs anchored in the foot well (as comfortably as a car allows). She is divested of her dress now, since it’s hindering his sight. Gone is his shirt, too; he wants to feel her body as close to his own as much as possible. Therefore, the clothes have got to go.

He reenters her, and it’s just as breathtaking as the first time. She’s still tight and twitchy from her orgasm; it is so heavenly to be joined just so. Her hands are propping her up by the conveniently large door handle that doubles as a makeshift arm rest. One of his hands has followed her lead, also gripping at the door handle. The other snakes around her abdomen to keep her pinned snugly against his chest.

He begins a sensual grind into her hot heat; the tip of his cock massaging the tip of her cervix. It has her moaning in gratification. This has always been his favorite position. Now it’s sure to be his ‘favoriter’, if that’s even a word (it’s hard to be verbally proper right now, because, god damn if she gets any tighter than this, he’s going to spill inside before he can even enjoy the journey and that’s all he can really think about).

He changes it up and starts thrusting shallowly; he does not want this end just yet. Her cunt is so surreal, so warm, and welcoming. Her not so subtle cries, and hips that rock back to meet him half way, are dangerously coaxing that tingly fire in his loins.

“I want to feel you cum one more time, Sakura.” He murmurs behind her ear.

“Yes, Daddy!” When his thrusts have evolved into longer strokes with increasing speed, she wails, “Oh god!” She grips his hand next to hers on the armrest door handle combo. “Don’t stop!”

She's getting even tighter and he must bite down on her shoulder to keep from losing himself. His hips have begun to snap harder and harder. God damn, she fits so perfectly against him like this; the curve of her ass tucked against his pelvis, while his chest glides across her back just feels so righteous.

“Cum for me, Sakura, please!” He implores; he can’t last much longer if they keep going like this. His forehead drops to her spine in desperation. The hand that’s been pinned against her abdomen travels lower—and fucking Christ, he can feel himself jutting behind her pelvic muscles. And because he’s a god damn genius, he gets the bright idea to push his palm against it.

It had its trade off.

The moment he pressed, the following proceedings occurred instantaneously: She screamed his name and convulsed violently. Her back bowed and legs quaked under the gravity of his action. Meanwhile, her pussy had squirted all over their thighs and his leather seats. She became unbearably tight. That, along with the pressure of his palm against the drive of his embedded cock, forced his eyes to roll into the back of his skull.

Before he could stop, he was exploding inside her, like the supernova behind his eyelids, with a guttural howl, “Fuck!” His consciousness abandoned him for cloud nine while his basic instincts defaulted to autopilot. "Gah! UGH! NGH!" He kept rutting and cumming into her cunt, chasing the highest peak possible. With one last thrust that lodged him balls deep, he groaned against her spine; the last of his seed finally released.

When her sniffles and tears tug him back to reality, he does what he can only do in the moment—gently place kisses along her shivering shoulder blades and hold her tightly against his boneless body. Once she’s composed enough to speak, she’s able to stutter, “Th-that’s the first time I-I’ve ever done that. I’m so s-sorry.”

“For what?”

“Your seats.”

He titters with incredulity. Of all the times she chooses to be considerate, it’s at a time like this. He could give less of a fuck right now, and he’s certainly not going to tell her that he’s egregiously proud. So much so, he’s going to look back at this seat fondly for the rest of his life.

“Don’t worry about it.”

When they go separate ways, it’s to their respective apartments that night. When they lay their heads on their pillows, they each shed their final tears with a longing that settles heavy in their chests. They both know it’s wrong, and it doesn’t necessarily seem like it’s for the best, but they had agreed amiably.

In the subsequent days after, Kakashi does his damnedest to avoid running into her. He’s had her work schedule memorized and the fact that they're both workaholics seems to play into his favor—he hasn’t seen in her months.

The burden of their long-lost relationship still produces a profound ache in his chest. He doesn’t eat or sleep much at all and it’s driving him mad. He’s become ruthless with his kills and even more of a prick to his comrades.

By the fifth month, he gives up. He can’t take it anymore. He knows what he has to do.

The next time he’s called for a mission, he approaches Danzo-sama with the same aloof performance he’s always given. He tells him that he wants out, to which, the identical one-eyed man laughs. He counters with “There is no getting out of this, boy. That tattoo on your arm? That’s for life. Now stop this nonsense.”

Yet, when the loyal soldier doesn’t budge an inch from his stature, Danzo-sama grows serious.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“I’ll do anything. I just want to be done, and you won’t stop me either way.”

Danzo-sama narrows his eye further, hoping his killing intent is strong enough to discourage this boy. It doesn’t. Then an idea strolls along inside his head and he grins wickedly. “Anything?”

Kakashi doesn’t react in the slightest. “Anything.”

“Alright, my boy.” He leans back smugly and sneers, “I’ll give you your freedom if you can accomplish this one task”

“Which is?”

“Sarutobi Hiruzen.”

“You want me to assassinate the Hokage?”

“Problem, boy?”

“No. Consider it done.”

“Dismissed.”

When Kakashi leaves, he can still hear the faint cackles of his boss from behind the oak doors. Now that he’s by himself, he swallows. That is definitely an impossible task. No doubt about it.

It’s all or nothing, he coaxes to himself. It’s all or nothing.

It takes Kakashi two weeks to prepare. A few bribes here. Some recon there. With a little more rearranging, he finds himself assigned to the Hokage’s guard detail. It’s only when they’re away from Konoha City that he carries out his intentions.

He’s finally within reach of his goal; he’s so close he can practically taste the freedom. He can taste her. He can see it.

However, the one thing Kakashi did not see coming was the fact that the Hokage had already known of the nefarious plot to have him assassinated. In fact, he’d known about it for a long time, he tells Kakashi, as they stand in a lake of ANBU blood that is not his own, but of his comrades.

As benevolent as always, the Hokage smiles despite the circumstance. Kakashi’s response is to collapse onto his knees and choke back a sob. He will not cry over this. He will not. He does anyways because these are his comrades that he’s killed—the same ones he’d sworn to protect in a time not too long ago.

When the Hokage approaches him, there is not a single ounce of pity to be given. Surprisingly, he does not seal Kakashi’s fate as a traitor nor does he execute him to the gallows. Instead, he offers true freedom. One that Danzo-sama would never have allowed. It the guarantee of a lifetime that at this point, he clings to desperately, hopefully.

Both the Hokage and Kakashi return to ANBU headquarters and confront Danzo. In their stand-off, it appears that Sarutobi Hiruzen has, and always will, have the upper hand. Danzo has been backed into a corner and has been stripped of all of his political power but one; his seat as councilman, to which he had bartered to keep in exchange for Kakashi’s freedom.

It seems like it’s been months since he’s last smiled. So elated with joy, he rushes back to his shoddy apartment only to collapse a foot into the doorway. When he comes to nearly a day later, it’s to a carpeted floor caked with crusty drool and a very angry stomach.

After he’s put himself back together, just enough to be presentable, he lies in wait. He doesn’t have to wait too long because its 08:00 AM and she should be getting off from her shift. It’s only a 15-minute commute from there to here.

When she’s stumbling out of the elevator, no doubt dog-tired from running calls all night, his breath catches in his throat—because Jesus Christ, she’s still as captivating as the day he met her. Heaven help him. He’s been an absolute fool when he realizes just how much he’s fucking missed her.

He meant to ask her something casual and mundane, like, ‘How are you?’ Or ‘Long time no see!’ but his brain panics, short circuits, and finally says, “Will you marry me?”

A myriad of emotions plays across her face. At first, she speechless. Then she’s angry and punching in him gut (because it would be a crime to ruin such a pretty face). Next, she starts crying and telling him that he has to be on one knee to ask something like that (and since he’s already on his knees from that ridiculous punch, he just asks her again, albeit through wheezes). Finally, she cries some more, and tells him yes.

They were married a month later.

She had shown him the world. A world he hadn’t known existed outside of his miserable life filled with death. He tried his best to reciprocate. It wasn’t easy, but he poured himself into every possible moment he could. It was strange adapting to the civilian life, yet, he managed.

He got a job at one of the local book stores part-time for something to do on the days Sakura wasn’t home. Otherwise, he was perfectly content to be the stay-at-home husband. Eventually, they moved into one apartment (at her request) to help save up on the bills. He humored her for a little while before he confessed that he was sitting a mound of money—a decent Hatake Inheritance along with his blood money earned through his time as an ‘Exterminator.’

A year into their marriage, they both agreed that a house would be more appropriate for the two of them, especially after she found out he had eight dogs he had been harboring on a ‘friend’s farm,’ (his cover up for the summoning realm).

They found a lovely modern home, atop a hill not too far from the city limits that offered privacy and a giant back yard. It was during these times that Kakashi and Sakura’s social circles finally blended together; her childhood friends and the very select few of his coworkers from his ‘Exterminator’ job.

In light of modern technology, Kakashi decided to quit his part time job to work from home primarily as a dog sitter, while secretly still taking the odd job from an ‘old friend’ or two, online (mostly consults and research).

Life had been wonderful. Blissful. And it would remain so for the next three years until their fourth September together comes to pass.

It’s Kakashi’s birthday month. This one would be the fourth one they’ll celebrate together. Sakura has conspired and plotted a getaway vacation for just the two of them. While they’re on the way to the train station, they stop at a convenient store because Sakura’s sweet tooth is throwing a fit.

While she runs inside to purchase the sugar she’s craving, Kakashi misses the obvious, junky white van that pulls up. Several figures all dressed in black with ski masks, armed with weapons, hop out like it’s a clown car. Its only when the sounds of gunfire and screaming cause his head to instantly register the situation.

When he exits his own vehicle, half of the gunmen begin firing at him, forcing him to duck and cover. When the gunfire ceases, he peers over to watch the van take off. Then it dawns on him that Sakura, his civilian wife, was inside.

He calls out to her, hoping to the high heavens she was in the bathroom or some other place out of the line of fucking fire (because she’s a medic, and she fucking knows scene safety is top priority). As he’s nearing the building-turned-swiss cheese, it implodes. The explosion ruptures his eardrums while he’s cast backwards. He lands flat on his back with his breath and consciousness wretched away from him.

They never found her body amongst the burnt rubble. Only ashes and her wedding ring.

∞

Chapter Text

 ∞

White cotton sheets, a salty breeze, and golden rays of fire have set the tone for the morning he had woken up to. Beside him laid his newly wedded wife, nestled under the flimsy linen. She was curled on her side, facing him, green eyes dancing with adoration and mirth.

“Good morning, husband.” She tried, but failed, to hide the growing smile.

“Good morning, wife.” He parroted, one dimpled cheek showing the lopsided smirk. “You sleep well?”

“You mean the four hours you let me have? Then yes.”

He crawled over to her, like a lazy bulldog, “I don’t recall any complaints from your end.” He settled himself over her, caging her with a hand on each side. “Besides, it’s your fault.”

When one of her hands came to rest on his cheek, he couldn’t resist leaning into her touch. He closed his eyes when she ran her thumb down the scar on his face. He opened both of his eyes just as her opposable digit finished its round.

The sharingan was covered with a grey colored contact lens and he was beginning to thank himself for investing in that particular purchase, because now he could burn every moment of her into the archives of his memories.

“Oh?? And, pray tell, how it would be my fault you can’t keep your hands to yourself?” She raised a slender brow. Despite the question, the sly curve of her smile hinted that she knew the answer anyways.

“For being so enticing that I can’t help it.”

“You are something else, Kakashi.” She giggled when he nuzzled against the junction at her shoulder. Her fingers rose to dance upon the rippled planes of his back in slow circles. He started to place small kisses along her neck, earning him an appreciative hum from her.

When he reached her ear, he murmured, “I love you.”

∞

Whamp. Whamp. Whamp. Whamp. Whamp.

The soft click of the OFF button on an alarm clock prompts the start of his day. Sleep was not his ally this night, nor had it been the nights previously since she’s been gone. Unlike sleep, the visions of her keep him company throughout the night. The memories are just as loyal as she had been when she was here.

When the tears subsided sometime into the night, his focus had remained on the lone photograph that stood alone on her nightstand, across the endless sea of their bed. His sharingan languidly taking him for a stroll into the past. He is able to remember all of those times so vividly, as though his doujutsu refused to produce such imagery that was anything less than brilliant and evocative. He’s not sure whether he should be thankful for it or feel condemned.

They feel so real now just as much as they had been in the moments their souls had become entwined and he can’t help but close his eyes to revel in them.

∞

“Say cheese, Kakashi!”

“Hm?” He looked up from his task of lavishing her neck in nibbles and kisses, leisurely coming down from their morning adventure in the showers. Her back was nestled against his chest that’s propped against the pillows and headboard.

Sakura had her smartphone poised, their faces mirrored on the touchscreen. Once chartreuse met with graphite, the shutter clicked. Her smile was as bright as the blush that dusted her cheeks. Her shoulder covered the lower half of his face, while the right eye was obscured behind the shadows of her neck and damp hair. The photo appears to have captured a look of surprise on his face with the way his brow had arched.

“This is definitely my favorite picture of us.” She mumbled to herself.

“You certainly look radiant after sex.”

“Oh, stop.” She rolled her eyes.

“Here, let me show you.” His mouth worked against her neck once more while he quickly took the phone from her. His right hand smoothed over her breast, tweaking a nipple until it pebbled and became hard. It was enough for her head to fall back onto his right shoulder and sigh.

He set the phone down, off to the side, and he pulled the white sheets from over the bodies. His hand then caressed down her abdomen until it reached the apex between her thighs. He dipped his middle finger into her heat that was still saturated from their previous coupling. Then, he proceeded to rub against her clit, in soothing gentle circles that had her stomach muscles clenching.

Her body was his favorite instrument to play and when played right, produced the most wonderful music he had ever heard. Her sighs, pants, and gasps reverberated next to his ear. One of her hands threaded through the coarse, wet strands of silvery hair while the other gripped at the linens.

His hungry eyes drank in the sight of her writhing body against his, alabaster skin tinting pink under the late morning sun. Her legs started to quiver and close, but he swiftly anchored her heels with his own, using them to keep her spread while he worked her. Her body arched, unwittingly pressing a breast to his other hand, the washboard of her ribs apparent in the light. She turned her head, her nose tucked just under his jaw, and whimpered his name and her desperations against his throat.

His hand expertly pushed her off the ledge. As she plummeted into euphoria, the hand that fiddled with her breast hand to restrain her body against him, herding the earthquake that rampaged through her frame. Her wails and sobs were the crescendo to the musical masterpiece only he was privy to.

A glorious sight she made. So perfect. So beautiful when she fell.

He continued to hold her shaking body, peppering her neck in slow kisses while showering his praise in her ear. Once she caught her breath, she returned his ministrations. Tucking her nose once more beneath his jaw to place nibbles and kisses of appreciation.

“Look.” He hummed. She turned her head to see her phone held out for her take. The photo that stared up at her made her face redden with a hint of embarrassment.

Her head was tossed over his shoulder, face scrunched up and blushing, truly caught in the moment. The sweat gleaned over her furrowed brows, and her hair was an outright mess. But there was no mistaking it; the golden hues of the light were absorbed by the sheet of sweat which gave off a soft sort of glow.

Okay. Sure, it was a candid and raw shot, and she could understand the sentiment. But that wasn’t what caught her attention. Next to her, was her husband, watching on in adoration, worship, and tenderness. Love, pure and utter love, was painted across his features, making Sakura realize just how much she meant to him, even during their most…primal activities.

She smiled at him. “I suppose you’re right, Mr. Photographer man. But I’m not going to print this one out for everyone to see when they come to our house.”

“What is your suggestion then?”

“We can do wallet prints.”

∞

The next time he opens his eyes, he sees her afterimage. It’s like a ghost. He’s not sure if he’s dreaming or if he’s been driven to madness already. But she’s there, in all her smiling glory, with the rays of sun shining through her form like a sheer curtain.

Her fingers aren’t real but somehow, they feel like feathers when they reach to settle upon his cheek. The image speaks softly to him with her voice.

'It’s time to get up, Kashi.’

He grunts a negative. His desire to lay there and absorb the sight of her is too great an opportunity to forgo, regardless if this is just a fabrication of his madness. He’s already lost her. He doesn’t want to lose this, too.

‘Please, Kashi. Will do you do this for me?’ Her ghostly fingers caress his lips now.

He used to love seeing her beg, but this hurts. It’s too uncanny how her voice is the exact octave when she begs. The same octave she knows always makes him cave to her to whims. He lets out a pained breath. Discounting the fact that this ghost is pleading him, the ghost is also right. He does have to get up because the rest of the world hasn't stopped even though his has.

“Okay.” He concedes, because he is a good husband.

As he pushes himself up, he notices that Pakkun had shifted to his favorite spot at the edge of the bed. Kakashi had been so lost in his stroll down memory lane, he failed to acknowledge the adjustment. The little pug is snorting softly, chasing his dreams in a doggy slumber land. He gives his friend one last smile and looks over to her side of the bed—she’s gone.

Right.

He dredges up some energy to get his two feet on the floor which is nothing short of a miracle. His body is still in tip top shape, but it doesn’t matter when despair manifests as osteoporosis in his marrow and the grief has withered his veins and muscles. He feels like a block of lead when he stands.

He ambles over to his kitchen, the weight of his burdens giving him a reason for his awful posture. The simple act of walking through his own fucking home feels so alien to him. Just doesn’t feel right at all. He feels hungover from drinking half of that watered-down whiskey from the night before.

Where his mind fails him, his body doesn’t. Dutifully, it takes over and prepares eight dog dishes before starting the coffee machine. He places the dog dishes just outside the double French doors of his kitchen that lead to a back patio. He leaves the doors open and when he turns around, he sees the ghost again.

If it was hard to breath before, it’s even worse when he sees her now.

She’s sitting on the countertop in his navy long sleeves, and nothing else. She’s kicking her legs back and forth and her bright, viridian eyes are alight with mirth while her mouth hides behind the coffee mug she sips from.

‘Come here, babe.’ The ghost beckons with a finger.

Because he is a good husband, he obeys. He crosses the distance between them and settles between her translucent thighs; a hand on each side of her on the counter. She sets her ghostly mug down and presses her ghostly forehead against his. Her breath feels like those feathers again.

‘Do you remember this?’

“Why are you doing this?” His face mirrors the anguish he feels.

‘Do you remember this?’

He responds with a defeated exhale, mismatched eyes glazing shut. How could he not? This picture this ghost makes is a discomfiting throwback to the one of many moments he’s had his way with her in this very kitchen.

Of course he remembers standing between those thighs, while their hot mouths that were hungry for each other were everywhere and anywhere they could taste. He remembers how much his pride swells when he saw her in nothing but his shirts and how much it makes him want to lose control and just take her.

Indeed, it’s a felonious recollection he’s succumbs to. Ruminating the way his large hands grasped desperately at the muscles of her ass as he bucks into her. The way her breasts were bouncing so tantalizingly, he just had to latch on to them and suck hard enough that her nails were protesting against the skin of shoulder blades. Her wanton sobs of pleasure while he’s railing into her are a distant echo in his ears.

“Yes.” His admission is soft; a confession of lust and pain. “I remember everything.” From the taste of her cunt on his tongue to way she clenches around him when they come undone together. He remembers everything.

‘I’ll always be with you.’

“I know.”

‘You’ve let me go before. I know you can do this, Kashi.’ He can feel the lightness of her lips against his forehead and her fingers over his heart.

The sound of the coffee maker finishing the brew stirs his eyes open.

She’s gone again.

∞

The sun had rose to his highest peak in the sky that afternoon. Its generous bright rays flood the entirety of the room now, along with its warmth. They still hadn’t left the confines of their bed, too drunk in the honeymoon stage.

They were settled on their sides, facing one another. Their hands in between them, playing and dancing atop the white linen.

“Kakashi?”

“Hm?”

“I’m happy that you’re here.” She gave him a small smile.

“Oh?”

“You know, when you left…I was a complete wreck. It felt like apart of my soul was ripped to pieces, you know?” He nodded because he could certainly empathize. “I literally couldn’t stomach going back home. I think I crashed at Ino’s place for a month before she kicked me out.” She laughed despite the tears welling in her eyes. “It took a while to get there, and just when I thought I was ready to get over you, you show up. Do you know how mad I was, seeing your face, out of nowhere, after five months?”

He winced, recalling the power punch he took to the gut, “Judging by that arm of yours, I’d say I was quite lucky to walk away with only a bruise.”

“But you know what, Kakashi?”

“Hm?”

“Just the sight of seeing you again was enough to calm the rage I felt. I just couldn’t be mad at you. I feel this…I don’t know how to put it…Like, the day we met, I knew there was something about you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It made me delirious. I don’t know. I’m not making any sense, ha ha.” She was crying now; big crocodile tears pouring out with her confession. He brought his thumb up to wipe them away; subsequently, she leaned into his hand.

“I feel like I’ve loved you forever, you know? Goddamn it, it’s so stupid and cheesy, but I can’t figure out a way to put it into words.”

“Hey now, I’m all about cheese.”

“Shut up.” She laughed, playfully pushing against his chest.

He took her hands in his and his face went from teasing to affectionate, “Come here.” When she complied, snuggling as far as the contours of their bodies allowed, he wrapped his arms around her. She sighed contentedly into his chest.

He understood her admission more than anything. And he was sure, in the double worlds he traversed, that there were deities and other supernatural entities that could probably explain their feelings better than they ever could. He briefly pondered the possibility of the counterpart to the devil he grew up with, but quickly cast that idea out the window. He would no longer allow darkness a place to lay it’s head in his home.

Kakashi was never a man that was good with emotions. His ability to speak with actions was often sufficient enough in place of words. Yet, despite the fact he couldn’t quite translate his feelings either, he felt compelled to try. Just for her.

He maneuvered so their lips could meet. He let it start off as chaste, but when he titled his head, she obeyed his silent demand to plunder. His hand came to cradle the back of her neck, urging her as closely as possible once more. Once he was satisfied with stealing her breath, he pressed their foreheads together.

“I understand what you’re trying to say. I feel it, too.” He kissed her forehead. “There’s something about you.” He kissed her again, a little more passionately. A little more desperately, as if to show her exactly how much he really meant it.

Her hands glided down his chest; they reached his hips and squeezed. He brought a leg between hers, to which she graciously accepted. Their dancing mouths kept pace with each other, until she brought his lower lip between her teeth and bit down hard enough to elicit a groan. It was her only warning before he gripped her thigh, fully draping it over his own. She reached down between them and wasn’t surprised to find him hard. She shifted just enough for him to sink into her again.

“I feel like I’m actually living...for the first time.” He confessed between kisses. His hands came down to swell of her waist while she worked alongside his steady rhythm of pushing and pulling almost desperately.

“You make me feel like everything’s worth it.” She moaned against his chest, nails biting into his shoulders. He wasn’t sure if she was still paying attention until a hand tilted his head back down to her mouth. Her eyes were closed, as if savoring the moment.

“Don’t stop.” She whispered against his lips.

“You are the light in my life.”

It’s as if they were racing to the mountain top, but neither one had the desire to go faster, preferring to enjoy the journey. There was so much to be said, so much to be conveyed that it behooved them to stop and smell the roses this time.

“Leaving was the biggest mistake I have ever made.” Her nails clutched at every inch of skin that was possible, as if clinging to every word through his body. He was her lifeline and she was his. This mountain would not be the only one they would climb; their vows promising many more to come.

“You’re so good with me. So good to me.” He whispered brokenly next to her ear; he could feel the hot coils in her body ready to combust. They were almost to the tippy top, so close to the crest he could taste the fresh air of cloud nine. “F-fuck…I…n-need…I f-find…You…the most.” It wasn't a moment too long after that they arrived together, clutched in each other's embrace. 

When they broke through the threshold at the top of the mountain, it came with a weightless feeling. It was magnificent. A world wonder, as her glassy jades bore into his own. That connection they felt slinging them together as they settled amidst the clouds of their euphoria. 

Shaky, slender fingers came up to trace his scar again. Her lips followed suit while he tried to control his breathing. He pulled her flush against his body, inhaling the sounds that resounded from her neck. She brushed his sweaty hair away before laying her forehead against his.

“I’m never, ever letting you go, Kakashi.”

∞

It’s quiet.

It’s too quiet, as he stands there alone, against his countertop. His head so low, his chin barely grazes his chest while his arms hold him steady. His grip tightens against the marble.

While the ghost is right, she is also wrong. He did let her go, once. But she failed to let go of him then, and even now. It’s fucking déjà vu, and it’s so fucking eerie that it has managed to manifest as an afterimage this time around.

Perhaps it is because of the amount of love created and shared together over the last five years that allows such a heinous thing to exist. He’s not sure of anything anymore right now. He is, however, certain that this is madness. Complete madness.

His chest burns and roars with a new flame of anger. Why does her ghost torment him so?

It’s true. He left once. He regretted it. He came back. But she never let go of him, never has. She was the one who left him this time around. And her ghost has the fucking gall to tell him to let go? Now that is fucking madness and he won’t tolerate it—

KSHHHNK!

The sound of a porcelain coffee mug shattering at the opposite end of the kitchen ricochets off every surface possible. It’s followed by the soft thump of a despondent man falling to his knees in anger and shame.

He’s never brought violence into his home before. His number one rule to himself.

Strangely, it doesn’t bother him like it should. Like it would if she were here. But she’s not, so it doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t feel anything at all. He’s so empty that there aren't even any tears to cry this time.

His back collides against the bottom cupboards and just stares aimlessly at the ceramic shards for the rest of the morning.

Chapter Text

'Kashi. Get up.’

The man in question stirs lightly to the faint whisper against his cheek. Having always been a light sleeper, the sound of her voice might as well have been the sirens from the ambulances she used to ride around the city in.

He groans. Will he find no peace here?

“Go away.” He slurs under the weight of his pounding headache.

‘Kashi. So help me god if you don’t answer the damn door…’

“Tell them to fuck off.”

“Who you talkin’ to boss?”

Kakashi shifts his head just enough from his chest to see Pakkun standing across the white sea of broken porcelain.

“Nobody.”

The pug gives him a bemused look but says nothing, and trots away. He sighs deeply, feeling the consecutive cracks in his spine; the kind of cracks that resound after sitting in one spot, unmoving, for hours. He feels the strain in his neck from being hunched. It’s alleviated with a quick to and fro, each with their respective cracks, as well.

Then he hears it while he’s bringing himself to a stand. The rhythmic knocks against his front door. In the midst of shuffling towards the entrance of his home, he pushes out the thought of the ghost and its uncanny ability to apparently predict the future. He takes one final breath and slowly opens the door.

On his doorstep are three familiar faces: Might Guy, Shiranui Genma, and Tenzo. Although they certainly look out of place without their ANBU uniforms, they stand there looking like the Three Amigos, bringing with them the sort of ambiance all agents exude when a comrade falls, yet, simultaneously a curious sense of nonchalance and normalcy he hasn’t felt in years since he’s left.

It feels nostalgic to be absorbed into the folds of the camaraderie he managed to walk away from.

No one speaks for a moment as Kakashi’s singular eye drags from each face to the next. He arches a brow when he sees the wonted bottle neck poking out from above a brown paper bag that’s clasped within Genma’s palm. Said man then offers it up, like a peace offering. “We heard.”

Gai follows next. Even if his smile is bright enough to put toothpaste commercials to shame, its brilliance matches the dismal tone of the conversation, “My condolences, old friend.” He places a hand over his heart for a small beat and then presses it onto the Copy Nin's shoulder.

Kakashi still hasn’t spoken a word as he stares at the bottle.

The bottle is more than likely that of Everclear, or something of similar grade. The strongest liquor available. The only one that’s really able to suit any shinobi’s purposes—to celebrate the mighty few that fall, and to alleviate the symptoms of broken hearts and lost dreams.

The bodies of shinobi, in contrast to civilians, often undergo “extenuating circumstances” to say the least. So, it goes without saying that evolution, at its finest, has produced superhuman cells. Such as liver cells that only laugh at the thought of anything less than 180-Proof.

“Please, senpai.” Says Tenzo; his smile is a little weathered, but nonetheless sincere.

The widowed man sighs and hangs his head. He doesn’t really feel up for the company. His brain’s engine finally kicks into gear, and begins to formulate a polite decline to their company, when a voice suddenly clears their throat behind him.

As discreetly as possible, he turns his head enough to catch a glimpse of the ghost behind him in the foyer. She’s still wearing his navy long sleeve. Her arms are folded over her chest; all business as usual when she’s unimpressed with his antics. One hip is cocked like one of her slender, pink brows.

He knows that look. He’s been on the receiving end of it a dozen times or so. It’s the one that doesn’t budge. The one and only look that outmaneuvers every excuse he’s ever come up with in his entire lifetime.

Then, as if reading his mind, as she’s done many times before, she smiles knowingly with a slight nod of her translucent face. He turns to face his guests again. She's not even here and she's still commanding his moves because she is—was, she was a good wife. And because he is a good husband, he understands the wordless message loud and clear.

Perhaps the alcohol will at least silence the ghost? Only one way to find out.

“Alright.”

He steps aside; and like the conditioned soldiers they are, they file inside in a neat and orderly fashion straight to his living room. They seat themselves comfortably among the couches. Afterwards, Kakashi graciously accepts the proffered bottle from the man that always has a sharp object between his teeth, of which, appears to be a toothpick today.

With practiced muscle memory, he twists the cap off and takes the ceremonial first swig. The customary burn of ethanol also cools his nostrils as he takes in enough for himself and his dearly departed. He passes the bottle onwards to Tenzo.

Tenzo meets his senpai’s eyes; he nods, salutes with the bottle, and knocks back enough for a shot. The bottle continues through the next set of hands, and so on. The company is quiet and subdued, yet still comfortable with the silence. It truly is a throwback to the good ol' days. About halfway through the bottle, someone has found the liquid courage to speak.

“It was wonderful, wasn’t it?”

A single grey eye slides towards Tenzo, who had gotten up from his place next to Kakashi. He’s looking at the fireplace mantel that holds all their captured moments in dark colored frames. Tenzo’s fingers gingerly pick up one of those photos. In it, he sees both a smiling wife and husband at the center of a New Home Kanpai!

∞

“I’d like ta make a toast!” The drunk and overly exuberant blonde known as Yamanaka Ino has captured everyone’s attention effortlessly—as one does when they’re literally standing in the center of the crowd—with a raised glassed of clear liquor and ice. It’s been four hours since the house warming party began, but the blonde felt the need to let everyone know within the immediate vicinity of her (now drunk) monologues. Again.

“I jus’ want everyone ta know,” she slurred, “That mm super-doopy happy for ya, forehead. This house is fuckin’ beautiful. You’re beautiful. Your husband is beautiful. Seems like ah been waitin’ a lifetime for ya to get the fuck outta my ‘partment—”

“I only lived with you for a month!!” Sakura squawked but was effectively silenced by a well-manicured hand to the face.

“Don’t be rude, forehead. Mm in the middle of toastin’ you.” It had gotten quiet while Ino silently backtracked. It’s somewhat entertaining to watch the blonde stumble through a semi-coherent sentence. Until she started to cry. A rather awkward blanket covers the room while the she swiped the tears from her lower lash line with the precision of surgeon.

“Mm going ta miss your dumb face. But mm glad you found someone. Is been’a long time comin’, ya’ know?” She laughed, cheeks heavily flushed from the abundantly flowing alcohol. “K-k-kashiiiiii. Ya gotta take care o’ that beautiful moron. If ya don’t, I’ll finda way to bury ya’s without-a lick-a ev-dence, s’okay?”

Kakashi glances down at his wife briefly who, at that point, was so embarrassed that she tried to hide behind her hands uselessly. He saw her mouth a quick ‘sorry,’ before shaking her head furiously.

“Ta new beginnin’s an all the home-sweet-home bullshit. Kanpai!” The subsequent cheers were reluctant with obvious undertones of stilted discomfort before the blonde falls flat on her face. To Sakura’s immediate mortification, she scrambled over to her now unconscious best friend.

“Stop laughing and help me!” She growled at her husband. Sakura has taken Ino’s upper body in an underarm carry, leaving Kakashi to grasp at the ankles. Ino’s body was literally a heavy bag of pliable meat and bones. Together, they situate her best friend onto the couch.

As if on cue, the rest of the guests proceed to announce their farewells. They depart one by one, with Sakura seeing them off and apologizing profusely. Meanwhile, Kakashi begins to take care of the mess; putting food away, depositing dirty dishes into the sink, and clearing all the trash throughout the occupied spaces.

When the last guest has been shuffled out the door, Sakura is greeted with her husband placing one of their throw blankets over the one-woman-circus-act. As he looked up, he saw that she had placed her hands on her hips while shaking her head.

“Your cab is here, Pig.” She drones. At that, Kakashi’s brows fly to his hairline. What.

“Ugh. I thought they’d never leave. Jesus Christ.” Below him, Ino sat up and stretched. A complete 180 in behavior. “You owe dinner for every shift next month for making me get up and look stupid.”

“I would have done the same for you.” Sakura’s eyes blaze with merriment as she gives her friend a non-committal wave. Ino walked towards the foyer to don her coat and shoes. They give each other quick kisses on each cheek.

Then Ino looks directly at Kakashi, “I really do mean it, though. Screw up again, and I’ll hide your body so well that even the canines won’t be able to find you.” She ended with a toothy grin before bouncing out of the house and down to her cab.

“What just happened?” He stared at his wife, completely flabbergasted. For Christ sakes, it appears that he’s been had. Bamboozled by civilians. Civilians.

“Oh, uh." She scratches her neck sheepishly, "Ino and I have this thing where uh...when we need help getting out of uh, a “situation," we just pass each other a glass of ice water. It’s gotten us out of some really sketchy shit.”

“Huh.” Reflecting on the evening, it only made sense the more he thought about it. He actually couldn’t recall the blonde drinking anything other than wines. In fact, in the entire time he’s been acquainted with his wife’s best friend, he has never seen her drink anything besides wine.

He must be getting rusty.

He cleared his throat, “That’s…a pretty smart system, I guess. Though, I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“What is the point in throwing these parties if you have to sick your best friend on everybody?” He didn’t have to wait too long for an answer, because his wife casually stalked towards him with a dark glint in her eye. Oh.

Oh.

“I didn’t expect the party to last as long as it did, and now we only have about a few hours to break this house in. It’d be a real shame if we didn’t get to consecrate our home within the first day, don’t you think?” Her hands run sinfully up and down his chest as they walk backwards, down the hall to their bedroom.

“I didn’t realize you subscribed to any religion.” He whispered, her lips zeroing in on his.

“Only the ones that have taken me to heaven.”

∞

“Yeah. She was.” That’s all he allows himself to say before he drowns his confession with a hearty gulp of clear liquor. It's not what Tenzo was referring to, but no one bothers to correct him. 

By the time the foursome has emptied the bottle, their cheeks are slightly tinged pink. It’s hardly a dent in the matter. Though, it was enough to relax the atmosphere and the boys have all divulged to the Copy Nin of their current affairs, both in business and personal lives.

The afternoon is giving way to the evening and it’s the personal alarm of Gai’s stomach growling that they realize they should probably go eat something. Without missing a beat, Genma suggests visiting their favorite diner for a pregame meal before hitting the training grounds at an abandoned airfield suited for their purposes.

It doesn’t take Kakashi too long to agree, quickly remembering he doesn’t have much in the kitchen aside from instant ramen and dog food.

They all pile into Genma’s ride and head for the city.

Kakashi isn’t quite sure when his appetite returned, and he muses it has something to do with the familiarity of comradeship. The monotony of being a mundane civilian for outward appearances is subduing all on its own. Add to that three other quirky personalities, and it seems like the puzzle is complete.

For a while, the widower forgets he’s a widower. Forgets that there’s half a home waiting for him. Forgets the ghosts and relics she bears. It’s as if he’s submerged in a medicinal tonic that takes all the pain away temporarily.

He chuckles and his stomach muscles tingle with a long-forgotten sensation. His quick wit and manipulative charms take the reins once more as he dodges challenges and a diner bill. When they arrive at the abandoned airfield, he lets loose in a way he hasn’t done in years. Surprisingly, he hasn’t rusted all that much as his muscles sing with that unforgettable rush of adrenaline and lactic acid.

He hasn’t practiced his ninjutsu nor has he touched a kunai or tanto in the last four years. But somehow, he hasn’t forgotten how to wield his chakra or his weapons. His former colleagues aren’t at all surprised, but rather excited, and take turns trying to catch the Copy Nin off guard.

He outperforms them barely by the skin of his teeth.

He laughs, genuinely laughs at their griping (save for Guy, who cheered his appraisal of everlasting youth as per usual). Genma is the one to call it quits first and Guy is the last one reluctant enough to concede to everyone else’s desire to go home.

Tenzo and Guy take their leave the traditional way by disappearing into the treeline while Genma and Kakashi take the modern way. At Kakashi’s behest, Genma drops him off at the nearest gas station. The widowed man is feeling up for one last night cap and thanks Genma one last time.

He watches his long-time friend disappear down the road before turning into the gas station. He makes his purchase and begins the trek home. Once he finds suitable forestry and foliage, he takes to the trees. He feels the same rush he did when he took flight for the first time in his youth. It’s exhilarating. So freeing that he loses himself and defers to his body's cruise control.

The rush of adrenaline brings him to the highest summit, and the electricity in his bones gives way to a multitude of other similar sensations. The blurred greens remind him of ocular depths he’s drowned in before. His limbs and face wick up the caressing of leaves and wind. If he closes his eyes and refrains from thinking too hard, it almost feels like her fingertips. The rush of the wild that race past his ears distort into the sighs of delight and sinful whispers. It's enough to make him and his heart flutter and soar once again.

∞

Giggles of delight echo down the hall, along with the sounds of random pieces of furniture scraping and knocking. Trinkets and pictures have toppled over in their heated exchange as they ricochet against the never ending hall to the bedroom.

It’s too far. They probably won’t make it at this rate. Oh well.

Kakashi has her pelvis trapped between his and the neutral colored plaster. Briefly, he wondered if this is what people meant when they got stuck between a rock and a hard place; it isn’t much of a secret of the affair below his beltline.

Soft and delicate fingers rally against his jaw and tug upward. He looked up to see endless pools of heated green staring down at him. She brought her lips down to his to place one of the sweetest kisses he’s ever had. It rapidly segues into a battle of heated mouths. It’s sloppy and messy. It’s like a fire.

Then she took his bottom lip between her teeth, biting gently and tugging. The sensation stokes the fire in such a way that it rampaged through his body violently. It’s as if bones were made of pine and oak and her sole intent was to raze his forest to nothing but ash.

Swiftly, one of his hands left from holding her up, to quickly unfasten the button on his pants. She caught on to the abrupt lack of support and performed her part of the ritual. She pulled her dress up to the waist and pulled aside the string of material that barely covered her sex.

The second he sunk into her felt like the biblical deluge that put out the roaring, begging fire of want and need. The sensation flooded outward from their loins—her toes curled, and his fingers had probably left bruises on her thighs—the literal definition of releasing a pent up dam.

They rocked together in the same motions that water would. Fluid and unconstrained as they doused their fires together, drowning one another in Babylonian pleasure. His hips were the waves that lapped at her shoreline steadily and repeatedly. He culled from her all the moans and mewls, in the same manner the moon commands the oceans. 

They continued to surf the torrents until it progressed into the tsunami that would finally bring to rest the raging fire upon their skin. She succumbed to the undertow first. Her legs tightened around his waist, her nails windsurfed over the rip tides of his shoulders, and her voice sobbed his name over and over. It was enough for him to set sail into oblivion with her. He pressed a final kiss to her neckline before the final cascade sunk his ship.

Remaining where they were, they allowed themselves a moment to relish in the subtle rocking motion, like driftwood floating aimlessly after a storm passed. Once her legs started to shake, he released her. With trembling limbs and stuttering steps, they made sure to take their time consecrating the rest of their new home.

∞

His feet hardly disturb the grass of their backyard as he touches down from the last branch. He saunters up to the patio in his dreamlike state, still high on his frolic from the trees. But when he crosses the threshold the French doors, it’s like crossing over into a different plane. The weightlessness of his bones now feels like the lead he woke up with. The stuffiness of the kitchen robs the flow of oxygen into his lungs.

He hangs his head. Of course.

He twists the top from the nightcap and takes a hearty gulp. Sobriety hasn’t conquered the complexities of half-homes, yet. A mystery he’s not sure he’s too keen on solving. Nonetheless, he removes his sandals and takes another tentative step into his stilted kitchen.

Oh, right.

He looks down to see the broken coffee mug from earlier today. There’s a shard sticking out from his forefoot. Without a second thought, he yanks the piece from his skin with an irritated huff and proceeds to chuck it into the trash can.

Another swig.

He locates the broom and begins the process of cleaning up the shards while awkwardly shuffling on the heel of the injured foot. Careful to not let a drop of blood spill over the tiles. Though, there isn’t much of a reason to be cautious. It’s not like she’s here to chastise him for being reckless.

One more swig.

After depositing the broken pieces into the trash, he and his bottle hobble for the bathroom to begin the process of first aid. He uses the bottle as a disinfectant, pouring only a smidgen onto the bleeding cut. He’s feeling quite stingy; it’d be a shame to waste it on a cut that hardly hurts. Yet, he can still hear the nag of his medic wife in the recess of his mind.

He drowns that out with another whale shark inhale.

One piece of gauze and bandage wrap later, he’s patched up enough. He glances at the bottle and realizes he’s only smashed half of it. Oddly, his tolerance hasn’t rusted either. He shrugs and proceeds to chug the rest of it down without pause.

There we go. Now he’s feeling it. That weightlessness. Muddled thoughts and reckless equilibrium. Perfect. All that’s left is to pitch the bottle and head to bed. He’s so far gone, that he doesn’t even think about hoping anymore: no hoping for a peaceful night, no hoping to wake from this nightmare, no hoping for his own end.

When he gets to the kitchen, he places the bottle next to the sink. The minute he moves to hit the light switch he sees her ghost again. He smiles. Not a hint of anguish or anger or sorrow to be found in the curl of his lips. As a matter of fact, he holds out a hand invitingly. If he’s going to crash in burn, then by golly, he’ll fucking go out with a bang tonight.

To his surprise, she shakes her head. Instead, she holds out a glass of ice water. ‘Here.’

He counters with an arched brow. “I’m good.”

She shakes her head again and thrusts the phantom glass in his direction. She looks up at him with a strained smile. ‘No, Kakashi.’ She presses, ‘I think you need this more than I do.’

He only has a split second of confusion before the hackles on his neck raise.

He tackles the apparition out of instinct before the French doors explode. When he opens his eyes, she’s gone. Oh, right. He rolls out of the way of an incoming blade that was aiming for his neck. Using his core, he curls his body and tumbles into a backward roll to his feet.

He doesn’t even think when he reaches for the chef knife set on the counter in the same second his opponent lunges. His small blade intercepts their tanto. With his free hand, his Chidori flares to life, and he swipes towards it towards their chest.

The impact is immediate; he feels their heart combust on contact. He dismisses the familiarity as he wrenches his arm back. Not a beat later, he’s bending his spine backwards as a right-flanked flurry of paper tags, shuriken, and kunai barely miss the skin of his teeth. He somersaults over the fresh corpse before him, nicking their kunai pouch in the meantime.

He slinks out of the kitchen just as the paper bombs go off. While he straps the pouch to his thigh, his hyperalert senses pinpoint three other chakra signatures. Amidst the chaos, he can hear his ninken engaging the intruders with their howls and snarls. He crawls over to the couch instinctively dodging the onslaught of more flying projectiles. The cross fire continues over to the mantel, piercing all the stationary keepsakes.

In one blink from the next, the celebrating-New-Home-Kanpai Sakura—his smiling Sakura—has a kunai embedded in her torso beneath the sheet of glass that shatters. Just like all of his promises. His chest constricts and he can’t breathe. His sharingan inevitably takes him back to the night they took that particular photo.

Red.

Red is all he sees. He can’t even see the flickering blue light that engulfs the entirety of his left arm. When he strikes, his aim is true. He throws his chef’s knife with precision; it embeds in one of the masked assailant’s neck. His cocked left arm follows suit and delivers the finishing blow.

His body jerks to the right to dodge the second to last assailant wielding double kunai, supplemented with taijutsu. He shuffles back, going to and fro, dodging the ceaseless cat-like swipes at his trachea. When he’s had enough of playing the carrot to this brave jackass, he surges forward into their guard. He lands a well-aimed elbow at their sternum that sends them tumbling ass over head down the hallway.

He doesn’t give them a moments rest; grabbing one of their hands and stealing one of their kunai. Shiba and Akino appear out of nowhere and induce restraint via their bloody jaws. He begins to drag the body backwards to keep them struggling, by continuously yanking on their arm, effectively inducing pain with every pull of the limb. It's a morbid game of tug-of-war.

The Copy Nin looks up; he sees the last masked figure at the end of his hallway as he backs up with his prey. He’s able to capture the final assailants gaze through the eyeholes of their mask. Of course, nothing about their common brown eyes give them away. Their masks are standard Kabuki masks and give no hint to whatever faction they hail from. In fact, none of these shinobi's have utilized any trademark attacks. Upon that realization, disquiet slithers around his spine like a pesky garden snakes.

“Who sent you.” He demands while he places his stolen kunai at the neck of his hostage.

The figure at the end of the hall just cocks his head, as if the question was laughable at best. “The contract is anonymous. You should know that.”

Kakashi narrows his eyes. “How much?”

“40 million Ryo. With the sharingan, of course.”

That admission alone was enough information for Kakashi. Without hesitation, he swiped the blade through his captives’ neck—feeling the cervical bones resist the bite—and lurched forward. “Pakkun!”

Before the assailant could launch any counterattack, eight canine jaws latch and sink viciously into the key points throughout their body. When the masked figure looks up, all they could see and hear was the flashing of blue light and chirping birds.

Once the light faded and their vision refocused, they were met with the Copy Nin, face to face, and a new hole in their chest. They brought a shaky hand to clasp around the forearm encased in their flesh. The figure chokes on their words and blood before falling limp.

Slowly, Kakashi pulls his arm from the carcass and lowers them gently to the floor. Both of his hands are coated in blood and cuts. They’re also trembling. His breathing is starting to quicken. His coherence is receding.

‘Kashi?’

Fuck.

Why now? Please, not now. Just go away. Go away. Goawaygoawaygoawaygoaway.

He doesn’t move. He can’t bare to look at her right now. Not after what he’s done. He broke his own rule. He broke his own promise. No violence. No fucking violence in the house. He falls to his knees once again. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

Her ghostly hands, soft and cold, grace his bloodied cheeks. They aren’t real, he knows that, but he feels the tug as it coaxes him to meet her eyes. Her face is smiling and undemanding. He wonders if she can see his frantic mismatched eyes dart back and forth over her countenance; looking for any sign of anger and disappointment. But he doesn’t.

‘It’s okay, Kakashi.’

He reaches for the translucent hands upon his cheeks. He so badly wants to hold her. To tell her how sorry he is. How sorry he is for allowing the darkness to destroy their home. Sorry for not protecting the last bits and pieces of her. Sorry for always failing.

“I-I…I…” He stutters. She silences him with a simple, cold kiss to his forehead. He closes his eyes; it’s all he can do. The afterimage—it’s like she’s pouring all of her soothing essence into his psyche, and he’s all but a sponge, soaking it all up.

“Bossman?” The deep voice of his long time loyal friend prompts him to open his eyes—shes gone again—and sees eight pairs of worried eyes.

He smiles at them and opens his mouth to reassure them, but falls face flat, unconscious.

“Shit.”

Chapter Text

∞

It was a hot and sunny day on the beaches of fire country. The beige sands are littered with a kaleidoscope of colors accompanied by colorful people. The clouds are few and far between, allowing the sunbathers to absorb as much of the golden rays as one possibly can. The children frolic and laugh with glee as their chubby fingers smush ice cream cones that unsurprisingly fall to the ground.

Here, it is where Kakashi and Sakura are spending their first anniversary together. They are laid out on their respective beach towels, each left to their own devices; Sakura tanning under the sun while her husband drifted in between cat naps and Icha Icha scenes.

“Hey, Kakashi?”

“Hm?” He sluggishly cracks open an eye to look at his other half.

“I was thinking about going back to school.”

Now she has his full attention. He was a bit surprised to be honest. He knew of Sakura’s childhood dreams of being a doctor, but when she had moved to the city to begin her studies, she really hadn’t expected the fast pace of bustling city life nor the financial hardships that inevitably followed. Eventually, through sheer will, she managed to find a stable niche among the high-stress culture of EMS. She was happy there—being the one to help others on the worst days of their lives. There wasn’t a day Sakura didn’t come home satisfied, except for the occasional patient that couldn’t be saved.

“Oh? What’s changed?”

“Well…” She paused as she rolled onto her stomach and settled her head over crossed forearms. “For starters, I think I’ve figured out what I want to do with my life. I want to specialize in disaster medicine. It’s a relatively new field of medicine and I think that’s where I belong, you know?”

“A noble profession.” He nods.

“Secondly, with the shortage of physicians and all, I’m sure I can find residency here in Konoha. There’s, like, a dozen hospitals here, so I mean...”

“Mmhm.”

“And if I play my cards right, I’m sure I can retire on time so I can enjoy my dream house.”

“Dream house?”

“You remember those cliffs you took me to?”

“…Yes.” Oh god, why did she have to bring that up of all times? Especially in this context. It seems rather…inappropriate? He doesn’t have much of a chance to dwell on the past because she resumes her dialogue.

“Well, as we were driving back, I saw a lighthouse and I thought it was pretty neat. I think I’d like to live somewhere calm and peaceful. Wake up to the ocean every day or something. Play on the beach whenever I want.”

“We could get a jump start on that now, if you want.”

“With what money?” She scoffed. Oh, that’s right. The Great Stubborn Sakura, Queen of frugal-dom. While it was nice to know she wasn’t using him for just his money, sometimes it was rather hard to spoil her. Nope. Everything had to be split. 50/50. Even. Halfsies. Nothing more, nothing less.

On the plus side, she was pretty good at being financially responsible, which led to an assortment of other positive qualities like reminding him to pay the bills on time, budgeting, or compulsive couponing and getting sweet deals on eggplants.

Sakura was the kind of girl that always learned from her mistakes. To say that she’d been quite cautious since her big move to the city as a doe-eyed lass would be the understatement of the year. 

“If I’ve done my math correctly, I should have all my loans paid off before I hit 50, and a decent amount in the savings. Then we can go seaside cottage hunting.” She grinned at him.

“Okay, Sakura.” He shakes his head, laughing into the sand.

∞

His eyes felt heavy and his whole body felt like he’d just made love to a steamroller. On top of that, he’s got a hangover. Holy shit. He can’t even tell which way is up or down at the moment, and he hopes he can keep his stomach down until he can get to the bathroom.

When he opens his eyes, his vision is so blurry that he wonders if he’s still wearing his beer goggles. He sees fuzzy shapes in the background and the faint sounds of nails on hardwood flooring. Ah, yes. The pack. Wait. His home. Their home.

Abruptly, he pushes up from his prone position, only to have his world rocket launch out of this galaxy so quick that he forgets to seatbelt his stomach. Now he’s wearing last nights diner burger, and jesus, does it reek.

“Here, bossman.”

He bravely cracks open an eye at the sound of glass skidding across the floor; Pakkun is nudging a glass of ice water his way.

“What would I do without my cute pups?” He groans with gratitude as his cotton ball mouth latches onto the rim. He doesn’t pause for anything until the contents of the glass have washed everything away. Oh god, that’s good. So good.

“Pups? If I recall, I’ve got you beat in dog years, brat.” Pakkun sniffs indignantly.

“I miss the days when you were just a pug who didn’t back sass me.” Kakashi grouses.

“You and me both, kid.” Pakkun says solemnly, reminiscing all the head scritches and belly rubs from neon colored and well-manicured nails. It’s quiet for a moment while Kakashi surveys the damage to his home. It’s disappointing to say the least as he scans the ruined keepsakes. “So, what now?”

“Well. I suppose I should order some takeout.” Kakashi underestimated his chakra exhaustion and had nearly fallen over if not for catching the wall at the last second. He wills himself to at least make it to the bedroom. As he stumbles through the doorframe, he makes it to his side of the bed before he collapses to his knees. He takes a deep breath to steady himself once more and reaches into his night stand.

He dispels the genjutsu over the false bottom, and thereafter, fishes out a scroll that is then unlocked with a tiny spike of chakra. After unfurling it, he drones the incantation for release and several objects appear—a cellphone, weapon holsters and pouches, and his ANBU uniform that was rolled up and secured with the strings from a wolf-like Kabuki mask.

It’s such an oddity gazing upon the vestiges of his life pre-Sakura. They look so out of place in this home; they stick out like a sore, bloody thumb. They’re so pristine, not a thread out of place since the day he sealed them four years ago.

While the phone is booting up, he rummages through one of his weapon pouches in search of some soldier pills to get him through the morning. By the time he swallows a pill down, the phone is now on the same functioning par as his brain cells. Scrolling through his contacts, he finally reaches the number he needs.

“Uh, hi. Can I place an order for delivery?...4 Anagi¹ rolls, please...” He utters his address to the voice on the other end who stumbles. After confirming that yes, the Hatake Residence is, in fact, placing an order, the voice rattles an ETA, thanks the silver haired man, and hangs up.

The prickling beneath his skin informs Kakashi that his body is revitalizing itself, bringing back such an unwanted nostalgia that he only regrets minutely. With that last thought, he climbs up from his crouch on the floor to prepare for what lies ahead.

He takes a backseat and lets his subconscious handle his affairs. It’s amusing, he notes, how easy it is to fall back into this particular routine. It doesn’t quite feel as alien as it should as he’s washing his most recent kills down the drain. He doesn’t even have to think as he packs. It’s instinct. It’s as if the pause of the last four years hasn’t happened at all; the way he inspects his inventory, the spare change of armor and civvies, and the final recheck are all mechanical. It’s been rooted into the lizard part of his brain that has always strived to endure in every way it can.

The doorbell pulls him back to reality. When he answers, his face is devoid of any emotion. He lets several figures pass through until the only person standing on his doormat is the owner of the delivery service, Orochimaru.

“I wasn’t aware that you were back, my most precious customer.” His leer is still as disturbing as ever, but Kakashi’s trained enough that it doesn’t faze him.

“Me neither.”

The snake-like man tuts, aptly reading between the lines. “How unfortunate.” He peers inside the doorway to poke his head to and fro, “I hope you haven’t mangled them too terribly. The lab is always so whiney when we receive your gifts.” He then accepts several gold coins from the silver haired man whose face still hasn’t moved.

While Orochimaru and his underlings efficiently work on cleaning up the evidence, Kakashi has finished his pre-mission rituals and informs the snake man to lock up when they’re finished. When he departs his home, he only spares one last glance over his shoulder before taking to the trees.

A few minutes of traveling through the canopies leads him to the outskirts of the city. His eyes scan around until they locate a bus stop. He plops himself down ungracefully, and waits patiently for his chariot; there is no use in wearing himself down even further by adventuring over roof tops and skyscrapers under the guise of a genjutsu. It would be much wiser, and thereby safer, to blend in with the civilians on his way to his destination.

While the minutes slowly tick by, the lone man at the bus stop feels around the inside of his olive green, hooded tactical jacket. Hesitantly, he pulls out a small compact silver trinket, connected to a chain.

∞

“I thought you said no gifts.” One silver brow arched over a scarred eye that is currently scrutinizing a silver pocket watch. It’s rather plain in appearance, but the inside has been engraved with the following: Innocence 257. 

“Yeah, well, I lied.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

Kakashi and Sakura decided to stay in for the evening, thusly, both were lounging in the large bathtub that’s steadily growing lukewarm. They sat facing each other, each giving foot massages, all the while lazing in their company peppered with anecdotes and silence in between. About half an hour into their bath was when Sakura had produced the silvery trinket from the pockets of her bathrobe.

He studied the engraving once more. Innocence 257. Well, surely there was only one ‘Innocence’ reference that it could possibly be—Icha Icha Innocence…

The tale of the Army General in the Edo period, amidst a war, whose host of soldiers procured quarters forcibly within a small village in their march towards the battlefront. This particular General had found housing in a seemingly humble gassho-styled home of a bitter and foul-mouthed matriarch and her daughter-in-law, who for outward appearances, presented as a meek and subdued maiden.

But as time passed on in that little village, the General learned that beneath that façade, was a lioness in waiting—ready to strike down the enemy forces that had invaded their village. Prior to that revelation, on page 257 that which held his favorite scripture ever written for mankind, was a marvelous soliloquy, wherein the General had realized that he had fallen madly in love.

When he returned his eyes to his wife’s, all he could see was mischief and delight, watching as all the pieces fell into place.

“Well, go on.” She prompted while she reached over the tub to pluck her wineglass from one of the tables.

“It was an evening he could not forget as he laid juxtaposed to her. The intervals spent between domestic linens were incomparable to the infinite contemporaries of the universe. He was but a baseborn sentry, and she—she was the oracle who shrived his iniquities. Her eyes beheld the long-lost kingdoms of old and her smiles were the precious aurum that the Crowns coveted.”

Hungry colors of charcoals and jades bore into one another. The tenor of his words was the match that would undoubtedly lead to a flame that, in turn, would lead to a calamitous force of primal natures that sought out every means to every end. He set the trinket down gently on the ledge, where it was safe from falling into the water.

He had approached her, slowly, through the foamy bathwater, his nimble fingers guiding his direction as they glided from her calves, to the terrain of her thighs, all the way to the valley between her breasts, to finally caressing the supple skin of her neck. She sighed and cooed, fully at his mercy the moment his nose brushed the underline of her jaw.

“It was parlous what they had done, but such grievances matter little, whereunto the talons of doves pierce his heart, he weened. Because she is amorevolous. Because, although, doves and ravens fly the same, verily yes, they cleverly soar together. Because, often when the mightiest of titans least expect it, they fall. And he had fallen, terribly so.”

His hand left her neck to brace against the ledge of the bath while his other hovered over her sex, strolling languidly between her lips. With his palm attached to her sensitive button, he introduced his index and middle fingers into her inviting heat. It didn’t take long for his ministrations to have her clenching around him, her hands grasping at the ledges for a hold onto reality as she, too, began to fall into the madness.

“What have I done? He beseeched upon the morrow…Oh, what have I done?” He whispered the last of the soliloquy next to her ear. His recital was flawless and unwavering through her exclamations as she came.

He breathed her in, admiring the way vanillas and almonds clung to her like a second skin—soft and enchanting fragrances, for it seemed that he could never get enough of it.

∞

He glances up from the silver pocket watch ensconced in his hands, having felt the city bus come to a halt. Once he registered his surroundings, he noticed that his stop was just ahead; he pulls the trip wire and prepares to disembark. He pockets the watch once more, grabs his pack, and steps off.

He navigates through the throngs of the faceless crowd with nonchalance, though, remaining on high alert. Several long minutes pass by before he arrives in front of a large building he had become acquainted with throughout his years.

Myōbokuzan Hotel.

Ascending the stairs and through the revolving door, he continues his unhurried stride to the concierge’s desk whose clerk smiles warmly at him.

“Ah! Kakashi! What a pleasant surprise!”

“Iruka.” He nodded. “Sorry for the late notice, but I was hoping I could reserve a night or two depending on the circumstances.”

“Of course.” Iruka smiles gently and proceeds to clack away at the computer for a brief second. The brunette then grabs a keycard, computes the necessary information into it, and then slides it over to the silver haired man. “Please enjoy your stay.”

“I always do.” He takes his room key and stalks off towards the elevator. After ascending to his floor, and entering his room, he takes a moment for himself on the bed. While he loses himself to his contemplations, he isn’t aware of his body drifting off to sleep.

When he wakes, it’s to the soft rap upon his door. Tiredly, he rubs his face and sets about answering the call.

“Compliments of the house.” Says a squeaky voice, which prompts the silver haired man to look down. On his doorstep is a red and brown colored toad wearing the usual happi vest of Myōbokuzan. Beside the cheery toad, is a bottle of the house’s finest whiskey with a small card attached.

Kakashi bends down to accept the token, while murmuring a quick thank you. His little guest then poofs away, leaving the man to read the contents of the card in solace. It is a condolence card scrawled with the infamous Toad Sage’s signature.

Ah, the man of the house must be in.

Uncorking the bottle and pouring himself a glass, he begins to unpack. Slipping into black pants, a black dress shirt, and a black blazer, he finishes the ensemble with a lose fitting tie. Downing another glass of whiskey, he leaves his room and heads for the private party that’s in the underbelly of the hotel.

He places a warm palm against the cool metal door and sends a minute spike of chakra into it. A black seal pulses for a few beats before fading away all together as if it never existed. Once the door opens, Kakashi lets himself inside.

The ambiance is just as he remembers it; dim lighting, traditional music, and a diverse demographic of shinobi. Most of them have chosen to wear something of similar fashion as the silver haired man (considering business is not allowed on the premises), while the select few still maintain their image as a shinobi in their full uniforms, with their kabuki masks tilted to the sides or hanging off belt loops.

He crosses the sea of his colleagues with ease, coming to a stop at the bar, where he greets yet another face from his past—Namiashi Raidō.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Hatake fucking Kakashi. Long time no see, kid!”

The man in question only shakes his head with a slight laugh, “They still let you behind the bar? How many glasses have you broken since I’ve been gone?”

Raidō immediately scowls, because of course, the most prodigious bastard of their world would bring up that ONE TIME he let a bottle of sake slip through his fingers. “What are you having?” He grinds out through his teeth because it’s just easier to bite the bullet than risk the wrath of management.

“Actually, I was looking for Jiraiya-sama.”

“Oh.” He blinks, a little thrown off guard. “His usual table.”

“Thank you.” With that, Kakashi turns and saunters towards one of the far corners of the great expanse of the basement. It doesn’t take him too long to find the toad sage; the white haired sannin is tucked away in a wine-colored booth, writing away, unaware of the on goings in his hotel. That is, until Kakashi seats himself at the end of the booth.

“I can’t give you what you’re looking for.” Jiraiya sighs heavily, placing his pen down to finally look up at the Copy Nin. “Contracts are anonymous, and anonymous they will stay.”

“I’m here for something else.” He shrugs, pouring himself a cup of the Sage’s sake. It grows quiet while the two gentlemen exchange an entire conversation in their eyes. When Jiraiya breaks away to fully look at Kakashi, really look at Kakashi, he sees the scuffs and cuts and bruises that adorn his knuckles.

“You know who put out the order then.” He raises a white brow, its more of a statement rather than question in any case.

“How long has it been out?”

The toad sage crosses his arms and thinks for a second. “Hm. I believe my informant told me last week—ah. I see.” He notices the way Kakashi’s fists tighten imperceptibly.

“That confirms one of my suspicions.” He says darkly; it takes every ounce of control to keep himself restrained. It wouldn’t do to let his killing intent leak out, not with this many shinobi around.

“Since you already know who put it out, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that only certain…folks were privy to it from the get-go. I, myself, wasn’t aware of it until after your wife passed.”

Kakashi says nothing. Instead he pours himself another shot of sake to gather his thoughts. While the Toad Sage is the easiest to get along with (not to mention a dear old friend and mentor) amongst the members of the High Council, he is also bound by their archaic codes and rules, and if there was one thing Jiraiya has only ever been known for, it was his inexorable loyalty and devotion throughout his entire life.

“Don’t forget, Kakashi-kun. You have quite a few friends in various corners of the world. Perhaps, while you relax here, you could get together and have a good bachelor of a time. Oh, yes, by the way, Happy Birthday.” The toad sage then pulls from his knapsack along the bench a book. The cover says Icha Icha Tactics. “It’s the raw cut, but I’m quite confident I’m ready to publish it.”

He recognizes the tangent for what it is—a finale to their little dialogue. Despite the irritation scratching beneath the surface, Kakashi also isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth; besides, this will be the first one he’s published in over six years. He says his thanks and bows out.

As he makes his way to the elevator, he rehashes the exchange he just had in his mind, over and over, until the elevator opens up for him. Knowing what he knows now—that Sakura was just an innocent casualty of the contract—made his blood boil. It was the taste of blood that drew him from his monologues before he delved too far into his rage. He sighed, tonguing the bit of cheek he had unconsciously bit down on. Ah, well, a glass of whiskey could fix that.

Deciding he needed a distraction before he found himself without a membership, he pulls out his gift. His eyes casually take in the preface, scrolling right to left, until he reaches the bottom of the page. His grip tightens once more as he reads the notable handwriting—ribbon cutting. It would be a vague message to any reader, but not to Kakashi.

In another country, Iron Country, there was to be a celebration of the grand reopening of the Samurai Bridge. Many of the most iconic personalities would be there, no doubt, including the one that the silver haired man seeks.

The elevator chimes overhead like a flare gun to the races. Kakashi puts his book away in the coat of his blazer and heads towards his room. If there was a lightness to his step, he doesn’t quite acknowledge it, too excited and too thrilled to even care. Oh yes. Jiraiya was loyal…loyal to his friends before he was loyal to the rules. He felt a smidgen of guilt for thinking things might have changed in his absence. He chuckles; toads have always been clever creatures, especially when keeping up appearances.

When he reaches his room, he gingerly sets his new prized possession down on the bedside table. Thereafter, he fishes for his phone from one of his pockets and proceeds to create a message.

27 September 23:11:45, Hound: Need a wingman for the tailgate party

 

27 September 23:12:06, Senbon: u fuckin’ with me?

 

27 September 23:12:10, Beastboy: new phone, who’s this?

 

27 September 23:12:20, Kinoe: OK senpai 👍

 

27 September 23:13:15, Senbon: holy fuck for realz??

 

27 September 23:14:23, Hound: Yes.

 

27 September 23:14:59, Senbon: Count me in bitches

 

27 September 23:15:45, Beastboy: new phone, who’s this?

Chapter Text

'Hound, Respond.’

It was getting hard to breathe, as often as it does when you’ve got a hole in your chest that’s still bleeding and filling your lungs with your precious blood cells. When he tries to inhale, he can feel the rattle in his chest, and the flow of the viscous fluid that follows the vacuum of his airway causes him to choke again. He tries his best to swallow it down, but its futile. His jaw is clenched so hard he can hear the back of his molars pleading for mercy. He attempts with smaller huffs through his nose that seem to do the trick until another cough tears it’s way through his throat once more.

“Ack—” Another round of a red gurgling mess that soaks the fabric of his mask. He brings a shaky hand, of which he notes is cold, pale, and clammy, to pull his mask down in time for another deluge of blood.

‘Hound. Respond.’

He hears from the earpiece of his radio. He doesn’t have much energy left, and the edges of his vision are blurring dangerously. Fuck, why does it take so much effort? All he really wants to do is fall asleep, but his lizard brain is telling him to stay awake, don’t fall asleep, or you die. 

Then, he hears her voice faintly in the background, alongside the lizard. It’s been a while since he’s seen her, much less heard from her. Nonetheless, her voice tells him to respond, to hang on for just a little bit more. He closes his eyes so he can hear her a little more clearly. It doesn’t make much of a difference, surprisingly.

‘Hound! Respond!’ The command of Shiranui Genma is a little harsher and a little more desperate.

Kakashi brings his shaky hand back up; with his middle finger, he presses the button on the radio collar. “I-ACK—ACK.” He chokes into the receiver, spilling more blood in doing so. Fuck, it hurts.

‘God damnit Hound! Kinoe, I want the fucking Iryō on scene now! Beast, cover!’ Genma’s voice doesn’t even wait for them to confirm receiving his orders, ‘Don’t you dare die, you piece of shit!’

[Two Days Prior]

His hotel room is quiet, save for the tinkling of melting ice in his empty tumbler, the flipping of pages, and the soft patter of rain falling against the window. He marks his place with the condolence card and looks to his left, out of the bay window he’s currently nestled in, with one leg dangling off.

Below, down on the streets, he sees the recognizable sports car of his long-time friend pull in, despite the dark overcast and the precipitation. Shiranui Genma is the first to arrive to Myōbokuzan Hotel. In one hand, he carries a decent sized duffle bag, while the other lugs a giant case that could be mistaken for a guitar. Kakashi just shakes his head; his friends haven’t changed one bit, have they?

Just down the street, from his Birdseye view, he see’s a disturbance down the sidewalk a few blocks away. The crowds are parting, and his lone grey iris zeroes in on Gai, clad in an outdated green tracksuit, doing what Gai does best—entering the stage with Gai-flair. At least, he’s not walking on his hands. The poor valet doesn’t even see the green beast coming his way when the man surges through the revolving doors below.

After a few more minutes, the city bus passes along its route again. It’s the same one Kakashi had taken on his way to the hotel yesterday. Once the bus fades into the background of raindrops and shadowed buildings, he sees Tenzo, strolling along the same path. He can’t really see much because the brunette is currently tucked under a black umbrella, but that’s what gives him away, the Maneki Neko themed umbrella.

It’s time to go greet the boys.

By the time Kakashi reaches the lobby, they’ve all been checked in and have congregated by the complimentary coffee station. The shorter haired brunette notices his presence first and greets him with a warm smile. Of course, the rest follow suit in their old fashion—Genma’s hello resounds around a coffee stirring stick, while Gai announces to the whole lobby that his rival is still as youthful as ever.

They all embark on the elevator, subsequently stepping off on their respective floors with the agreement of meeting up in the basement for dinner later. However, Kakashi escorts Genma to his room.

“I hope that’s not a guitar in there.”

“Don’t worry your pretty face, Hatake. I double checked. Just for you.” He winked over his shoulder while simultaneously sliding the keycard in place. “So, let’s hear it.” Genma throws his duffle back onto his bed while he carries his faux-guitar case to the only table in the room, placing it down gently, as if it were his own child.

It takes several minutes for the silver haired man to formulate what he wants to say tactfully. He watches the other man open the instrument case to reveal an assortment of weaponry and pouches. While Kakashi is the youngest of the two occupants, he’s wise enough to know the number of toys in that case is more than enough to bring down a confusion of wildebeests. 

“That bad, huh?” Shiranui remarks softly, pausing from his task to glance over his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

Neither move for a moment. It’s not so much as déjà vu as this scenario has technically played out many times beforehand throughout their years together. Still, it doesn’t make it any easier with what Kakashi knows he must ask.

Genma doesn’t have to hear the shuffle of his footsteps to know that Kakashi has approached his right side. If he closes his eyes, he doesn’t have to acknowledge this transaction that they’ve done a million times before. Yet, because he is a loyal friend, he still looks anyways. There, just tucked next to a freshly sharpened set of kunai, is a blue scroll with the Hatake crest painted in silver.

It’s the scroll.

The brunette heaves a sigh, moving his gaze out towards the bay window. It’s a silent but sacramental request, one that they’ve asked of each other since their teething days, it seems. Genma has always promised that he would make sure his ninken were well taken care of in the…unlikely event. In turn, Kakashi has always promised that he would take care of Genma’s most prized collection of musical paraphernalia along with his sports car.

Nevertheless, for some odd reason, his gut instinct is telling him that this is not a parallel to the bygone days they’ve made this ritualistic oath to one another. For some reason, this nonce felt like it’s the last one they’ll make. Perhaps it was in the way, that this time, Kakashi does not voice his request. It makes it feel so much more…permanent. That’s not to say that hope has ever had any business in the status quo of their lives, because, honestly, it never has—but they were legends, and legends never died, right?

Legends always prevailed. And that’s what Kakashi has always done; no matter the extenuation of the task or mission, Kakashi was always the man who could see through it to the end. Hell, he even defied that superstitious devil that the baby-faced ANBU always terrorize each other with. He defied it. He conquered it. Walked away from it.

The day Kakashi got out was one of the greatest moments not only in ANBU history, but for Genma as well. Notwithstanding the events that made the man become some sort of morbid beacon-of-light froufrou-type bullshit symbol, it was also one of the most gratifying times Genma could ever remember being alive. That beyond the devil (that was now infallible), was a life beyond contracts and binary dominions; that someday, he too, could walk a free man when he found the right calling. He just kind of always figured that, when the day came, Kakashi would be there right alongside to celebrate with him in reciprocity.

Well, now, it seemed that that idea just walked solemnly out of his hotel room on the heels of his long-time friend.

Genma doesn’t dwell too long on the intangible. He briefly notes how much heavier his guitar case has gotten with the weight of that promise; he locks it back up and stores it in the closet. Thereafter, he proceeds to dress into something more suitable for the long ass evening that’s ahead.

It only takes an hour of settling in and refreshing up before the foursome regroups into the belly of the hotel. While they appear aloof and carefree, any shinobi worth their salt knows that even in the pits of the safest place of hell, there are always snakes in the grass. It’s always best to mind your p’s and q’s, anyways.

When they’ve had their fill of food and drink, they slip Raidō a gold coin. Their efforts earn them a private red room in the back for appearance’s sake. Then, they slip past those rooms and straight to Jiraiya’s office. It’s more of a bachelor’s pad, really, equipped with a full-on kitchen, bedroom, bathroom—the whole nine yards.

It pays to be the #1 Fan sometimes.

While they settle themselves around the dining room table, Kakashi informs the group—nary a codeword peppered in—of everything. From the contract, to Sakura’s death, to the attack at his home, to the person responsible.

No one says anything as the weight of his words hang overhead like it’s the coming of another apocalypse, which may very well be the case soon. The weight is so heavy, that not even Gai moves under the duress.

Despite the wordless turn their conversation has taken, they still seem to speak in an ancient language known only to gentlemen of their caliber. The same archaisms their fathers’ fathers spoke with. They speak with their bodies and their energies. They force themselves to breathe slowly. To coach the sinews of their veteran muscles to remain calm. To quell the tempestuous rage their chakras are melding to.

“He’s currently in Iron for the ceremony.”

“It would be most unwise trapezing on foreign soil without legitimacy.” Gai mumbles, referring to a valid contract that would allow them immunity from committing their volleys on extraterritorial lands.

In fact, it goes without saying, but it would more than likely lead to their capture. While it would certainly mean an end for Kakashi given his circumstance, Konoha’s organization of antiquated bylaws would default the other three as acting without precedent, and therefore, their motherland would, without a doubt, abandon them to the mercies of their captors.

“Perhaps we could try a different approach.” Tenzo voices aloud, thoughtfully. He mulls over his next words while three other pairs of eyes wait patiently for his elaboration. “I have an old friend that’s still in the ranks.”

Genma and Kakashi briefly exchange a glance. There is only one ‘ranks’ reference that Tenzo could possibly be referring to—ROOT. While Kakashi and Tenzo had both dabbled in their own stints in the underground’s underground, the two men aren’t exactly ignorant of the quality that’s churned out of that hell hole. They’re fine shinobi, down to their very bones, no doubt, and therein lies the problem. They’re shinobi and that’s all there is to them.

The only eccentricities to their name are the fact that they are eccentric-less. Brainwashed to the degree that the concepts that make up a good person, a good human, fall quite short. Which is certainly the understatement of the year. Things like loyalty and trust and rights and wrongs hold no dominion over ROOT. There is only one thing that matters and that’s the completion of the mission. The mission is everything.

Tenzo’s suggestion won’t be taken lightly.

[One day Prior]

“…”

“He’s just a fucking kid, Kinoe. What the fuck.” Genma growls from behind his monkey mask.

The offending kid just stands in front of the four masked men, a placid expression so serene on his face that it’s definitely got to be fake. The kid tilts his head, “I am 31, shinobi-san. I believe I have achieved the biological milestone of young adult.”

“In other words, you are still a brat, so mind your manners.” Genma huffed.

Kakashi just heaves a sigh and remains silent, scrounging for nonexistent words in the back of his brain. He’s got nothing and he’s inclined to side with Genma, because what the fuck was Tenzo thinking.

“Perhaps you should lead not with an ‘old friend’ next time, Kinoe.” Guffaws the Tortoise masked Gai, as he lays a heavy-handed back pat to the aforesaid man.

“Sai and I go way back. I trust him.” Tenzo wheezes under the slight from his senpai.

Kakashi sighs heavily and finally speaks for the first time, “If Kinoe trusts you, then by extension, so do I.”

The four men watch as a genuine grin spreads across the pale boy’s face. It’s so pure that if they were ninja of lesser caliber, the sinister way his lips reveal the top row of teeth would have been neglected. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend, I believe the expression goes.”

“What have you got, kid?” Kakashi asks.

“Danzo-sama always has an escort of a three-man platoon. They are the highest-ranking individuals of ROOT.” The boy named Sai pulls out three manila folders from his satchel and lays them out onto the table.

“Par for the course.” Genma mutters into his mask, already perusing one of the proffered files.

“There are a few cells out on missions, though, I do not anticipate their return for quite some time, allowing you the window of opportunity you seek. The others that are dormant, will be…shall I say, incapacitated for the duration required.”

“Do you have an estimated arrival time?” Tenzo asks.

“Tomorrow evening. Is there any more that I can do for you, Shinobi-san?”

“No, this will be enough. Thank you.” Kakashi nods towards the young man, who in turn, bows his head.

“I shall begin my preparations for the evening. Best of luck to you.” With that, the placid-faced boy turns on his heel and walks out of one of the red rooms the foursome had used for their meeting place. They take their time, analyzing the given profiles of Danzo’s platoon guard, and discussing stratagems that would provide the best chance for success and survival.

When enough time has passed, the foursome changes into their civvies and head for their respective rooms.

Tomorrow is going to be a long day.

[20:59, Day of]

With the minutes counting down, everyone had taken their positions. Genma, Tenzo, and Gai had taken up residence within the pillars’ shadows of the great chambers in the underground of ROOT’s headquarters. The very chambers Kakashi and Tenzo remembered proving their worth countless times during their yesteryears under Danzo’s tutelage.

It was called The Great Hall. At the end of this great hall, atop a few stairs, stood a rather flamboyant chair, with golden trimmings and bedazzled with gaudy pieces of gems and jewels. Danzo’s throne. His position of power. The man certainly took great pride in his place, so high up, as he looked down at his underlings as they dueled each other. Often times, those duels were to the death. Punishments anywhere from failing missions to insubordination to having one tiny thread out of place in your uniform landed you in The Great Hall.

Prove your worth.

Prove your value is better suited in life rather than death.

Kakashi reminisces from his perch upon the throne. His legs kicked up over the sides carelessly while he watches the seconds hand on the pocket watch nestled in his gloved hands. Absentmindedly, the silver haired man runs a thumb over the engraving to the left of the watch. The seconds continue to run out while he delves deeper into the past until the doors to the hall open at the strike of 21:00.

Danzo had always been a punctual man. A creature of habit, like Kakashi himself.

He doesn’t turn his gaze away from the watch as he hears the footfalls of his adversaries. There will be plenty of time later to stare into their eyes in the heat of battle. For now, he’d like a few more precious moments with one of the last memories of his wife before he confronts her killer.

“Comfortable, isn’t it my boy?” Came the smooth tenor of Danzo-sama’s voice, echoing around the pillars of the vast chambers.

A single grey eye slides towards the owner of the voice. The soft click of the pocket watch is dwarfed by the palm of his hand before it’s slid into one of his pockets.

“Not really. I’ve developed a kink in my neck waiting for you.”

“Pity. If only you’d sat in it properly. But, then again, you were never one for the rules, anyways.” He drawled. “I suppose the rest of your little friends should come out to play.”

On cue, the other three that had been hiding in the shadows emerged, forming a triangle around the arriving entourage. Meanwhile, Kakashi has risen from his seat at the throne, descending the stairs at a languid pace, eyes never leaving those of his previous boss.

Kakashi draws his sword, likewise as his compatriots do. Danzo patiently unravels the bandages of his right arm.

“You could have been so great, my boy.” He sighs. It’s almost dramatic, but Kakashi knows better.

“She was great. She still is.” He responds; as the last of the bandages fall to the floor, Kakashi strikes, blade flickering with the energy of lightening.

The chambers of the hall descend into chaos.

Exploding tags, extravagant and marvelous jutsu destroy pillars, walls, and pieces of the ceiling. Kakashi’s companions are wise enough to avoid the duel between the ex-Master and servant, however, their opponents? Not so much. It takes Danzo kicking one in the back with a chakra infused foot for the message to become crystal clear. The members of his platoon guard then find it within themselves to abandon the hall for much more advantageous grounds.

Now that the space has become much more infinite after their departure, Kakashi is able to pull all the stops; he no longer must worry for grievously wounding his partners. Danzo, on the other hand, continued to maintain his aggressive counterstrikes.

They clash in another fit of Kakashi’s lightening katana verses Danzo’s wind coated kunai. As they each press their weight into the other, Danzo leans forward, as if he was going to whisper the secret of a lifetime. In a way, it probably is.

“I have the report from that day, you know.” Danzo doesn’t miss the whitening of his opponents knuckles around the hilt. “I read it to the new recruits as a lesson to be learned.” When Kakashi looks into the eyes of the former boss, the psychotic grin stretches wider over his scarred face. “Would you like me to orate to you my favorite excerpt?”

Kakashi snarls. He spins his body to place a kick to his chest once he parries their blades off to the side. Of course, Danzo dodges effortlessly, reappearing behind him. Kakashi only has seconds to dodge the onslaught of the wood release that barrels forth from the right arm of his opponent.

“She screamed as my operatives gutted her. She screamed your name. It was pathetic really. She was pathetic.” He taunted.

If Kakashi’s blood hadn’t been rushing, it is now. Rushing with rage. Wrath. Hate. Killing was something Kakashi never enjoyed, but he was beginning to have a change of heart. He would enjoy this. And he had every intention of dragging this out, until his very bones whined from the stress.

“Look at you. Look at what that harlot has done to you. You can’t even hold a blade without shaking. You were my best soldier.”

Danzo spit out a rather impressive fireball technique that had the arches of his brows sweating as he ducked. Using the large flame as a cover, Kakashi was easily able to sneak past his defense, the tips of his blade piercing through the rib cage of his opponent. The image of Danzo flickers before he reappears behind him, wind coated chakra ready to pierce into his spine.

After jumping a safe distance out of the way, Kakashi notes that one of the ten of the eyes had closed on his arm.

“Once this is over, I’ll be taking your sharingan to replace this one.” The man then coats several shuriken in wind chakra, giving their blades an extension before flinging them towards the silver haired man. Activating his mangekyō and subsequently his Kamui, Kakashi’s eye swallowed up the projectiles only to fling them back at the owner with an even more impressive speed once he was within Danzo’s guard.

Danzo took the strike with a growl; he disappeared again and reappeared further down the hall. Another sharingan eye closed.

“Fuuton: Shinkuuha.” He inhales and exhales; the whipping air forces the man to dance out of the way lest he be cut in half. More wind coated projectiles follow.

Kakashi is still agile as ever; weaving this way and that over steel and flexible blades of air. With his Chidori coming to life, chirping loudly with rage and flickering with wrath, he is but a blur of blue light to the untrained eye.

Danzo parries the lightening coated limb but realizes a second too late the flurry of shuriken that the other limb had sent his way. He has only a moment’s notice to parry those too; he dips his hand into his back pouch as fast as he can to pull out a kunai and counterstrike. He successfully redirects a few, but some manage to embed in his flesh, and one had nicked his jugular.

Kakashi has always been his best soldier. He’s down three sharingan now.

The two men continue to exchange blow after blow, jutsu after jutsu, until steadily Kakashi manages to force Danzo to use Izanagi ten times. Both men have been stewing in their anger and it’s been threatening to boil over for the entirety of their battle. Danzo’s finally boils over the minute he’s forced to use Shisui’s eye that he’s been saving under the wraps of the right side of his face.

Kakashi’s anger then boils over at Danzo’s next words: “It’s time for you to lay down and die like the dog you are. I’ll send you to rest with that bitch of a wife of yours.”

With his emotions at an all time high, something the other man would never have allowed of his subordinates, Kakashi’s vision bleeds to red as he notices the edges glow light blue. Unleashing Obito’s Susanoo, Kakashi knows he only has precious seconds before it’s gone along with the rest of his chakra. The blade of his Susanoo lights up with a tenfold version of his Raikiri as he prepares himself to launch his final attack.

In the split second it takes the two fiercest shinobi to clash together, Kakashi’s mangekyō zeroes in on the tip of the giant blade; he swings his arm back, his Avatar of chakra mimicking his action, and with the precision of nearly two decades of practice, thrusts his arm forth, piercing the flesh of Danzo’s chest.

Only when his Susanoo fades, does Danzo fall to his knees, the blade no longer holding up his body. Yet, the moment his knees fall to the ground, he disappears. Its only years of experience that allows Kakashi to keep his eyes widening for more than a bare millimeter.

“Kotoamatsukami.”

Danzo’s voice is strangely calm from over Kakashi’s shoulder. When the silver haired man turns around, he’s greeted with a serene smile that’s almost a shit eating grin. It’s the checkmate in Danzo’s language. Briefly, Kakashi notes how surreal it was to deliver that final blow—feeling the last of his chakra being violently sucked from the coils in his belly as he carried out his last attack, the doujutsu none too gentle in its manipulation.

Of course, he would use the ultimate, legendary genjutsu.

“It’s a shame. You really could have been great.” Danzo says through a smile full of teeth. Afterward, the next thing Kakashi registers is his wind coated kunai piercing through his chest. Suddenly, it’s getting harder to breathe and when he coughs, his mask is full of blood. “Tell the Devil I said hello.” Danzo says while reaching up towards his face, no doubt, to grasp at his sharingan.

But Kakashi’s hand snatches it midway, surprising Danzo with the amount of strength left.

“Tell him yourself.” He wheezes through his blood coated, gritted teeth. Danzo’s eyes widen like he’s never seen before as the tip of his long-gone Susanoo surges forth through the telltale twisting of air. The ROOT leader realizes the moment the tip of that lightening blade severs his head from his shoulders that the silver haired man, this boy, had used his kamui as a failsafe.

Kakashi was several steps ahead of Danzo the entire time it seems. He had planned for Danzo’s trump card. His counter checkmate, to sacrifice himself to land the finishing blow.

His severed head is not able to draw the scowl and anger he feels while it plummets to the dingy, beat up floor. Before the lights go out, he sees his best soldier finally collapse. It would seem as though they would both be greeting the Devil tonight.

[Presently]

‘Don’t you dare die you piece of shit!’ Genma’s voice snarls into the earpiece.

The intervals between blinks feel like a lifetime. It’s getting harder to stay awake, but it’s getting oh, so easier to close his eyelids. He’s not even dead yet, but it feels so peaceful right now. With every flutter in his vision, the face of his wife becomes clearer and clearer.

She’s smiling. It’s such a golden smile that the rest of the room brightens. It’s so lovely.

A fleeting thought crosses his mind; he wonders if he’ll be allowed a small interlude before he must greet the Devil and face the eternal punishment for his sins. There is no way he could follow where she goes, not after the atrocities he’s committed. Just one more moment, one more minute with her would be more than enough for him.

Another round of blood makes its way past his trachea and lips. It’s not so much painful as it is annoying. Suffocating has always been a terribly, long-drawn out business. But beggars can’t be choosers, he supposes.

By the time Genma reaches him, Kakashi has been flirting along the line of death; dosey doeing back and forth, undecided on when to officially cross over.

“God damnit, Hatake!” He nearly screeches. Then, out of nowhere, Genma has produced some bandages and some hemostatic product that’s meant to stem the bleeding rapidly. It seems like a futile effort, especially when he has no desire to see his friend’s face when he can close his eyes and see his wife’s face instead.

‘Iryō are here, Saru. They’re on their way to you.’ They both hear from Tenzo in their ear pieces. Genma doesn’t pause in his effort to stuff the area around the wound with more hemostatic agents while holding direct pressure.

“Fuck you and your fucking promises. I am NOT taking care of your ninken if you can’t even fucking ask me, so you better fucking get over yourself right the fuck now.” He mutters throughout his ministrations. Ah, right. Kakashi supposes that promises should only be valid if you actually ask them first. He wants to laugh at the thought, but he’s not really strong enough to do so.

When two chakra signatures invade the hall, Genma directs them over. For a short time, Kakashi can quickly make out the garb of the Iryō; they, too, wear Kabuki masks. Although, their masks are blank, save for the red cross painted over it, and the Iryō symbol etched over the left side of their white, hooded jackets. Not a scrap of identity to be revealed.

“Report.” One of them says, their voice muffled by the kabuki mask.

“He’s been down for at least ten minutes. I don’t know how the chest wound happened. I’ve crammed four hemostatic rolls atop the hole, with direct pressure.” Genma rushes, as he watches one of them place their green glowing hands over his body; one over the wound, and one over the neck.

“Let’s load and go. His airway is still intact, but his right lung is practically obliterated. He’s going into shock, Taichou.” The one from the floor says to the medic nin speaking with Genma.

“Shinobi-san, please help us with the stretcher. Are there anymore of you that require healing?” The Lead Medic-nin drones as they prepare to move Kakashi. He notes absently that they both sound feminine, but no less confident than any shinobi he’s ever met. A canvass stretcher is unsealed from a scroll while the other medic continues to heal.

“A few of us have bumps and scrapes, nothing major.”

They say nothing as they continue to prepare the mangled man for transport. With only the speed of experienced shinobi are they able to move him, swiftly and precisely, out towards the exit. Its only a quick glance, but Kakashi sees from his supine position, all his comrades had made it out fine. Though, Genma may have underexaggerated the ‘bumps and scrapes’ part in his report.

The boys look like shit, especially the taijutsu master, whose arm is dangling unnaturally at his side.

“Get these men healed ASAP. We’re off to Shikkotsu Tower. If I hear about any fuck ups, I’ll have your asses and licenses, understood?!” The lead medic barks as they’re loading Kakashi into the ambulance. “And you three better behave or I’ll make sure you never find work again. Got it?” They growl before slamming the back doors shut.

“What do you need, Taichou?”

“Get a line started.” She commands, a little nicer than her previous one. When he opens his eyes, the bright dome lights overhead are almost blinding. In his peripherals, he sees the Taichou has taken the seat behind his head and is currently spiking a bag, presumably saline, and a smaller red bag, presumably blood.

He barely feels the other med-nin obtain an IV before she’s reaching out for the tubing of the fluid set up. The next thing he hears is the rattling of a case. When his eyes focus enough, he sees the med-nin next to him with a syringe and vial. In the next blink, she’s pushing whatever it is into one of the tubing ports.

Meanwhile, an oxygen mask has been placed over his face and his uniform has quickly been torn away from his chest. The cool gel of electrodes that were placed on his shoulders and hips startle him minutely before he’s covered back up with a warm blanket. Not so long after, he feels the blood pressure cuff squeezing the life out of his arm.

It’s all so much; his head starts spinning and he feels like he’s going to vomit. He turns his head sideways and starts coughing and simultaneously dry heaving. He hears the clinking of another vial from behind his head. He wants to tell them to stop, to let him kick the bucket, but that’d be rude, especially after all the hard work they’ve done. Ah, well. Let’s just let nature take its course. That’d be easier.

“Ten minutes are up. Let’s go. I’ll finish the chest.”

“Got it.”

He can feel the change in chakras. The new chakra is a lot warmer, softer; he’d go so far as to say inviting, too. The nausea he was feeling earlier dissipates slowly, and he can feel himself start to relax. He’s not sure if it’s because of their quick team efforts or if he’s actively dying, which he technically is, but either way, he let’s himself succumb to the weightless feeling.

It’s a strange sensation when the world moves from beneath you, as the ambulance is no doubt flying through the streets; the sirens is faint, but he can still hear it from inside the cab.

He finally looks up into the kabuki mask that’s been hovering over his face; one of her hands leaves his chest and rests upon his forehead.

“You did well, Shinobi-san.” It’s so soft, their voice. “Rest now.”

Chapter Text

When he opens his eyes, he finds himself staring at the pinkest sky he’s ever seen. Sitting up, he acknowledges how little effort it requires. Looking over himself with his hands and inhaling the air, he realizes he remains uninjured.

Around him, he sees nothing but a desert panorama for miles in every other direction. Under the strangest, neon pink sky. He can see the sun in the far distance; it’s a different shade of pink, but it’s there in the background.

“Huh.” He muses aloud.

Death sure is a weird concept, he thinks. With that, he reckons he should at least figure out where he is, if there is even a point to that. There’s nothing in his pockets. He can’t feel his chakra. More importantly, he can’t see with the acuity of the sharingan, thus deducing, that he is, in fact, probably dead.

A step forward and it doesn’t feel quite as daunting as he imagines it should be. He’s got all the time in the world now. He doesn’t feel sadness or the fragmentary remains of unfinished business. He just feels peace. Light, too. Of which, he can’t quite recall ever walking into the mythical light, but he’s not going to complain. It is quite picturesque; and pink has been his favorite color for the last four years. Perhaps everyone’s heaven is different?

Anyway.

His stride is lackadaisical. There are no obligations, and everything is timeless now. His eyes scan the horizon and his natural eyes take in the surroundings with a little more appreciation. He can see the bespeckled sky glittering with stars. The sand is soft between his toes despite the contrast to the many dead, leafless, dry trees he’s passed.

Is that snow?

In one blink from the next, the air is permeated with floating precipitation. No. It’s not cold enough to be snow. Holding out a hand, he lures the flecks into his palm. With the other, he assesses the texture and temperature. Its soft and dusty. Perhaps ashes? Yet, with another inhale, he can’t quite pick up any signature smells of smoke and fire.

Interesting.

A strong gust blows past him, nearly pushing him over. Jesus Christ. The wind continues to blow at him; he can track the direction the flecks of the dust-ash-whatever goes . For some reason, he feels compelled to just follow along. Going with the flow, as they say.

After what felt like several minutes of aimlessly wandering while being pushed to and fro, he comes upon a rocky formation. As his eyes take in the precarious geography before him, scaling up slowly, he finally spots a figure atop of the massive boulder.

His breath hitches.

“Sakura…” He breathes.

She hasn’t noticed him. It looks as if she is standing guard, though, her expression is quite relaxed as her eyes take in the stars above. The gusts of wind and cottony dust continue to blow past her, creating a halo of pink tresses that frame and whip across her face like some magical fairytale scene. She’s wearing a lightweight, white dress that succumbs to the thrills of the wind. He can hear the tips of the fabric snapping with the breeze. It’s got a Grecian touch to it, or, at least it reminds him of such ancient times. 

Gods, she’s a dream.

He doesn’t hesitate; he makes a mad dash for the rock formation. Without chakra, he must scale the heights like civilians do. He’d be greatly irritated, but the rush of adrenaline at seeing her there outweighs the negative feelings of his powerlessness. Besides, he’s had plenty of training climbing canyons with one hand anyways, and now that he’s using two, he closes the distance at double the speed.

When he reaches the top, she’s gone. Again.

He jogs to the edge of the formation to get a better look across the landscape, frantically searching for her. His chest is heaving. Not from physical exertion, no. He aches with longing. He reneges on the whole Heaven idea. This is Hell; always a step behind. Always being taunted with her afterimage, it seems.

Death is cruel, he thinks—

A pair of arms thrust from under his own; petite hands coming to grasp at his chest, pulling him backwards gently. A warm breath ghosts over the shell of his ear.

“Kakashi.”

He knows that voice.

When he turns his head slightly, all he sees is bright emerald. So fucking bright that he thinks he’s witnessing the height of a striking supernova. He forgets to breathe, his jaw dropping slightly. He can’t feel his knees, even as they threaten to give out from beneath. When she smiles, he regains his composure, not wanting to waste a minute more gawking in their reunion.

“Is…are you…is this real?” His voice is barely a whisper; too afraid that she might disappear again, as she’s done since the day she’s died. He feels so incredibly vulnerable right now as he pleads. Briefly, he thinks of how small he feels; all the greatest shinobi, the ones made of nothing but cold stone, born without emotions, are probably rolling in their graves.

She tilts her head, her smile glowing with delight. When her hands smooth over his chest, his arms, the side of his neck—everywhere really—he finally realizes how warm and solid she feels against his spine.

“Do you want it to be real?” Her nose tucks just underneath his jaw. Like the missing puzzle piece, she fits; he feels so much more wholesome. It’s such a relief. Such a rush. So… intense.

He should be ashamed at how desperate he sounds when he answers, “Yes.” It’s not quite so much a squeak, but he knows that his voice cracks breathlessly under the deluge of emotions.

She only hums, pulling him towards her. When her lips meet his, he can’t hold himself back. He turns into her, his fingers skimming over the suppleness of her neck while the tips of his fingers curl into the hair at the base of her head. He anchors her because he’ll be damned if she disappears now.

He pushes his face into the kiss, pillaging and plundering the treasure troves of her mouth. It’s a needy and desperate kiss alright. He doesn’t care in the slightest. This is real. He’s not letting go for nothing. He feels one of her arms slide over his shoulder and her elbow cages him in; the other arm snakes around his ribcage, her fingers clutching at the base of his clothed spine.

The next thing he knows is that his world has gone from erect to upside down. She had pulled him towards her, and now they’re free falling over the edge of the boulders. Instinctively, he crushes her to his chest, shielding her from the inevitable fall.

“You did well, Shinobi-san.” It’s so soft, their voice. “Rest now.”

It’s familiar. So very, familiar. Past the soft timbre her voice had undertaken, he peers into the round eyeholes of the kabuki mask, seeking confirmation. He could have sworn the sky was pink. It feels like slow motion as he blinks; from one reality to the next. He’s delirious. Maybe his body can’t decide whether to cross over or not?

It takes a lot of concentrated effort, but he manages it all the same. With a trembling right hand, he brings it towards their mask. “I know that voice…” His own is raspy and weak in contrast to when he said it previously not a moment ago. His eyes start to burn with tears and his chest hurts with a different reason.

The Iryō sitting behind his head, allows his hand to continue its feeble exploration. His slender fingers curl around the right side of her mask before tugging it down. His eyebrows are pinched in pain as he carries on, searching for an answer to a question only he knows.

When the mask falls away from her face, it feels like all the breath has been wrenched from him. Yup. I’m seeing shit. This can’t be real. The pounding between his ears has only increased in its intensity and rapidity the longer he gazes up at the countenance before him.

Because those eyes he meets are ones he’d reunited with a few blinks ago. Like that voice, he knows those eyes, too. Fuck, these realities are blending together. He wants to laugh, but it hurts too much. He wants to go back to the pink, dream land. He’s seeing shit that’s not there, and quite frankly, he’s done with this world. Nope. Fuck this. He’s not going to bother hoping to live through this. For fuck’s sake, he is hallucinating.

“Wha…” He croaks. Nothing makes sense right now.

His bloody hand comes to rest upon their cheek, wrought with panic as his digits quiver against the soft and warm curves. This cannot be real, he convinces himself. Yet, the moment her own hand encompasses his upon her cheek, he knows that this moment is not a fabrication of crossing over into the veil.

But how can this be? How?

He can see the reflection of anguish on his face in the glassy mirrors of her eyes. He blinks and the figure behind him turns into the dream land Sakura from minutes ago, white billowy dress and all. “How?” His battered voice croaks from under the oxygen mask. His dream Sakura is staring down at him with a soft smile; it’s a small one and he feels compelled to run his fingers along the seam. God damn. He’s ready to die, he announces to himself.

“Sleep.”

It’s the last thing he hears when his vision fades into the darkness.

He’s back to plummeting with the love of his life clutched tightly in his arms. When he opens his eyes next, he notes that the world is right side up now. However, instead of the desert, they’re standing atop water. Overhead, the sky is a navy so dark, that it’s almost black. The moon is shining, surrounding them in a brilliant light. The stars continue to glitter, like diamonds etched upon velvet.

Her hand upon his cheek prompts his gaze to return to hers. There is a mischievous glint in her green eyes, causing his heart to flutter and stir with unbidden, nostalgic excitement. It feels like it’s been forever since he’s seen that sort of shine against the backdrop of viridian irises.

Now she’s pulling him towards the shore, her eyes never once leaving his. She is his shepherd, and he follows her unquestioningly. He’s so focused upon her, his peripherals miss the change of scenery. He misses the fact that they’re walking up steps, through a door, and down a hallway.

It’s when she falls back into black, silky sheets—a stark contrast to her white dress—that he recognizes they’re in a bedroom now. He grins like a kid in a candy store. Oh yes. He doesn’t need the prompt, though, she still crooks her finger at him. He pounces; he’s on top of her, not fast enough.

The kiss is impatient, rough, yet, still sweet. Likewise, so too, are their hands. They’re everywhere they can grab and tug. Clothes and fabric are ripped away methodically, eliciting wonton sighs and heady growls. She runs her hands purposefully over the skin of his abdomen and chest as she wretches his shirt from him. His hands caress the flanks of her thighs, sliding up the hem of her dress. Up past her sides, past her breasts, and finally over her head.

He marvels. What a sight she is.

Alabaster skin, so alluring and radiant amongst those black sheets. His slate eyes dilate while he drinks her in. She was wearing nothing beneath that Grecian throwback. Fuck, his pants are unbearably tight now.

He reaches for her possessively. First her thighs, squeezing and digging while he settles himself between. He sees how her stomach ripples in anticipation. Her chest heaves excitedly; arching her spine as if presenting herself as his very own private art gallery viewing. Bringing his hands under her knees, he maneuvers her legs such that they’re hovering parallel to his chest.

Not once breaking their eye contact, he leans towards her left knee. He kisses, nips, and finally scrapes his teeth across the sensitive skin. It’s gratifying, seeing her writhe and cry out. He would provide the same treatment to her other knee, but there is plenty of time for that later, and he’s not feeling particularly patient right now.

He lets her thighs go (silently promising to himself to treat them right later) and leans over her. He places his left hand near her head, pressing it into the black silk. Her half-lidded eyes watch his every move, hypnotized alone by his sheer touch. His cock hardens even more painfully against the confines of his pants; Jesus Christ. He loves that he can make her surrender to her primal instincts. The other hand comes to rest upon her neck, tenderly, unlike his lips that capture hers, fraught with wild need.

“I’ve missed you.” He confesses after stealing all the air in her lungs.

“I’ve missed you, too.” Her lips curl into an apologetic smile. “But I’m not going anywhere, now. I promise.”

“I know. I won’t let you.” He murmurs while pressing his nose to the underside of her jaw, inhaling the scent of her skin. Quickly, he works his pants over the crest of his hips with one hand. And like the good wife she has always been, she assists him, using her feet to help them down his thighs. His legs are able to finish the job, shimming out of them in seconds.

“Aw, fuck!” His groan is broken from the pleasure of sinking into her. It’s been a lifetime since he’s felt anything like it. Her hiss and sigh next to his ear tells him she shares his sentiment. She’s impossibly tight around him, the heat of her sending tingles all the way to his toes.

As he starts to move inside of her, he feels his chest flutter, like his heart is about to explode, and he’s suddenly left breathless. Gods…yes.

“SHIT! Kage Bunshin no Jutsu!” The Iryō in the back with the silver haired man snarls. “He’s fucking coding!”

Without further ado, several clones pop into existence, already getting to work. One begins compressions, while another slaps the defibrillator pads onto his chest. The original Iryō, still sitting at the head, preps for intubation. Cautious and methodical, but zips through the motions like a calculating cheetah.

“Get another bag of blood hanging now!” The Taichou barks at her clones.

Once the breathing tube is secured a minute later, the first round of CPR has been completed. With no change in a cardiac rhythm, they’re resuming compressions, the clones having already swapped out. Another IV is obtained. The clone working the medications prepares a syringe of epinephrine before pushing it.

“Shikkotsu Tower, Unit 23. Shikkotsu Tower, Unit 23.” One clone radioed to their destination.

'Go ahead, Unit 23.’

“En route Code Red, Code Blue. I have a 44-year-old male on board with a penetrating chest injury. Bleeding controlled with chakra and TXA. Estimated blood loss is 2.5 liters. Patient is now in P.E.A; CPR in progress. Currently sedated with genjutsu and intubated. Two IV’s established with fluids and blood going. One round of epi given. ETA seven minutes.”

' See you on arrival, Unit 23.’

The next 420 seconds couldn’t have passed quickly enough.

He must reign himself in, otherwise, he’d be jerking into her roughly and spilling at the same time, and that just won’t do. Oh, no. He pulls back slowly, savoring the feel of her lips gliding around his shaft, her slick providing that incredible friction of flesh against flesh. And slowly again, he plunges back into her until his pubic bone is smothering her clit. Reactively, she angles her hips against his, chasing that sensation.

With one hand in her hair, the other grasping the outside of her thigh, his rhythm picks up. He is deliberate in his movements. He wants to hear every mewl, every gasp, and every cry that escapes from her. He will reap from her everything in this nonce; as though she were the personification of his last name that she wears. He is her scarecrow, as much as he is her farmer; to protect, to harvest.  

“I want you. I want everything.” The husk of his voice sends shivers from the crown of her head to the arch of her heels. “Give it to me.”

“Yes.” She groans, turning her cheek so it rests against his while they glide against each other. “Always, Kakashi.” The way she pants his name is almost his undoing. A near miss.

It’s bizarre; to feel so alive in death is such an absurd notion. This life, this universe, so full of ironies. But right now, he appreciates it for what it is in the moment.

It takes a tremendous amount of discipline to wretch himself away from her. He jerks back before it’s all over too soon. She howls; so close to the bliss. With respect and gratitude towards shinobi reflexes, he hoists her up in seconds.

Slender legs are thrown over his shoulders while he sits back onto his heels, toes tucked inwards. He’s haunched over her, curling slowly into her form, face buried between the most delectable, pink lips. The curve of her buttocks is propped against his chest, thusly coercing her weight upon her shoulders and neck. He stares with the precision of an eagle, eying the entirety of her destruction wrung with pleasure.

No matter how far he presses his tongue into her, no matter how much his arms pull her towards himself, he just isn’t close enough. It’s not enough. Not until she’s coming. With a harsh suction against her clit, he is rewarded for his efforts.

The shudder of her legs tightening around him segues into a full body spasm that conquers the rest of her. It is a world wonder in and of itself. His eyes never once leave the catastrophe unfolding beneath him. She starts to convulse, such that her cunt is thrusting against his mouth, chasing the final remnants of her orgasm. Fuck. Her arousal and epiphanies are suffocating; drowning him in everything that she is.

He doesn’t cease his assault, not until she’s crying literal tears. He’s a dastard savage for the way he revels in the caveman pride that encourages the fire in his belly and loins. No one else in this galaxy will ever have this pleasure. Only him.

Kakashi finally releases his hold on her hips, allowing her boneless figure to slide downward. With smug satisfaction, he feels more than sees her grool and feminine come that coats his chin and chest. He watches her eyes shift from hazy chartreuse to downright burning pine green; ablaze with nothing short of passion and desire and longing.

His fingers come up to his face, wiping up her come. Once he’s collected a healthy amount, he leans over her like a predator. It’s a tango they’ve danced before, and she anticipates the next step excitedly. They share a quick kiss, before one of her hands impatiently brings his fingers into her mouth. Her silky tongue nurses from him, consuming her nectar with a raging hunger. It causes his heart to flutter dangerously. He doesn’t wait for her to finish her tasting. He shares it with her, his fingers wedged between their greedy mouths, fighting for the last drop.

“Tsunade-sama.” The lead medic nods towards the green haori clad, pig-tailed blonde, while continuing to wheel the stretcher into the building along with her posse of clones that are still working on the patient.

“How bad is it?” Tsunade grunts. Her hand, already lit green, is pressing against the bandaged wound to assess the damage.

“It must have been some sort of ninjutsu because the entire right middle lobe is destroyed, including a partial of his upper lobe, too, and the leftover chakra is continuing to necrotize the tissues. We’ve managed to control the bleed, and we’re still able to ventilate, but if he ever wants to walk up a flight of stairs, he’ll need a transplant.”

Tsunade nods gravely as they continue their way into one of the trauma suits located in Shikkotsu Tower’s ER. “We’ll start with the Hashirama cells and see if that will regenerate. Otherwise, have Shizune contact Orochimaru. Let’s get some labs and get him cross matched.”

“Yes, Tsunade-sama.” Says one of the staff members in the background.

“Rhythm check!” One of the clone’s shout.

A few seconds elapse, “Continue CPR! Push the Epi!” Tsunade barks, having taken over all aspects of the silver haired man’s care. “Move it, people!”

He feels like he’s floating, the longer they continue to stare into each other’s eyes. When they break for air, mixing their inhalations and exhalations, they bask. Her fingers brush lovingly against his brows before threading through his hair. He can’t quite tell if it’s a possessive hold or if it’s a desperate hold.

“I love you.” It’s a gasping admission that takes them higher.

With her thighs, she coaxes him forward. His shaft glides along her slick pleasantly. No more waiting, their souls beseech. He pulls back enough for the head of his cock to prod at her entrance; he’s plenty hard that he requires no more assistance other than sinking into her again with a single forward motion.

He hisses, brows pinched minutely. Gods, yes. She’s always tighter after the first orgasm; covetous and domineering of his presence inside her—unwilling to let him go.

There is nothing more, he thinks, that feels so right. They are the perfect algebraic equation, now that she is no longer the missing variable. They are balanced such that the rarity of the sun and moon’s eclipse will never hold a candle to their amalgamation. 

Her lips raze along the edges of his jawline and his resolve when they whisper, “Come with me. Please, Kashi.” It’s ruinous. And he’ll be glad to stay ruined so long as it’s her; with her. Until the end of time.

When her teeth tug on one of the lobes of his ear, his discipline crumbles at last.

His hips surge forward, faster and harder. He can feel her readjusting her hips to further cultivate their carnalities. Their hands anchor to one another where their lips can’t. Despite the lusty haze invading his mind, he can still comprehend her wails and moans that serve to encourage him.

The faster he goes, the wetter she becomes. The harder he pumps, the tighter she gets. They’re all symptoms of an impending, blissful orgasm.

Twelve hours later, a handful of exhausted medical personnel, and one Director collapse among the trauma suite.

“It’s over. It’s finished.” Tsunade murmurs to herself. Her eyes scan the room until they fall on the original medics that brought this particular pain in the ass patient in. It’s been a while, she muses, since she’s seen the legendary Copy Nin, much less treated him.

The last half day they’ve spent in this very room was nothing short of a battle in and of itself. The first round of Hashirama cells were disastrous. But with her fleet of experienced healers beside her, they were able to yank them out before the damage was irreversible.

It was sheer luck that Orochimaru’s organ had arrived when it did. Tsunade remembered briefly during that chaotic mess what a godsend he was. She’d have to buy him a bottle in the near future. Rounding back to her original train of thought, she realizes that the two medics had fallen asleep over each other, huddled in one of the far corners.

She shakes her head. “Alright. Get this patient up to the ICU.” She snaps off her gloves and heads for the sinks. After washing her face, she watches as her battered team begrudgingly rise to their feet to finish the rest of the job.

Her steps are slow, but eventually she reaches her office where she can hide away behind her desk in the embrace of warm sake.

With the amount of sweat that cascades down his ridges of his vertebrae, one would think they’d been going hard nonstop for countless hours. Not that time is relevant in death, but for outward appearances, it's an ostensible truth. It’s invigorating, to become so reacquainted with that addiction of being so enthralled by her.

“I love y—fuck.” He grits his teeth, all too aware that they’re past the point of no return. He cannot stop. His fingers bury into the flesh of her thighs, grasping his lifeline. In turn, the hand in his hair is pulling so tightly, that it’s the only hint to the grand riddle of her body locking beneath him. Her soprano, a fortissimo to their motif, postmarks the highest crescendo they have ever achieved.

His hands move beneath to roughly grip the curves of her ass, pulling her towards him while his hips force hers into the mattress below. He wants to be buried so goddamn deep; as close as possible, and the only way to is to melt their pelvises together barbarically, so primally.

He spasms wonderfully, sporadically. The velvety richness encased around him against the barrier of her cervix is an evocative comfort that cradles him so lovingly. A sensation long lost, but now found; he propels himself further into her with the strength of his tingling toes.

His eyes have long disappeared into the recesses of his skull; the heat of their orgasm is searing behind his lids that flutter shut. So burning, so searing, that it’s almost white hot in nature.

Pure white.

“Jesus Christ! Get the fucking crash cart!”

An announcement is made over head, alerting the rest of Shikkotsu Tower that an active Code Blue is taking place in ICU Room 7.

“What’s happening?” Tsunade's voice booms overhead the hysteria, already gloving her hands.

“I don’t think the antibiotics are working, Tsunade-sama! He’s going into septic shock!” Someone shouts.

“We are well past the point of septic shock!” She counters, her chakra already having identified the cause of his ‘crash’. “For fucks sake! Page Orochimaru! Out of the way, Shiranui!” She maneuvers said man away from the bedside and begins compressions. “Where the hell is Shizune? Get her down here now!”

Genma wastes no time corralling himself and his friends from Kakashi’s bedside. They’re calm and collected in their visages while they watch the medics pull the curtain around, effectively shielding the stage. Such a mundane act, but it stirs the emotions all the negative emotions inside their intestines.

They aren’t the ones actively dying, but with the way fear mangles their spines, it seems like they, themselves, are fighting in a life or death situation.

It’s a waiting game now, and not one person is happy to play.

His eyelids flicker at the sensation of warm fingers dancing over his temple to his cheek. When he cracks open an eye, he sees fields of evergreen, framed by vibrant, pink chrysanthemums and cherry blossoms.

“Are you ready to go home, love?”

They’ve spent a dozen moon cycles, in this place of endless lifetimes. They’ve reacquainted the feel of skin on skin, teeth and tongues, and never-ending I love you’s. They’ve narrated their wedding vows a million times over and reiterated their dreams to one another.

“Only if you’ll be there.”

“I’ll always be there.” With her hand over the beating heart in his chest, she pushes him down into the silky black sheets. At first, he finds it charming, until he feels it give way to what can only be described as black ink; dark and watery in texture.

He finds himself breaking through a surface, which was beneath the plane he was resting atop. He looks around and finds himself suspended in the bluest ocean he’s ever seen. He continues to wait for her reappearance as he holds his breath.

His lizard brain kicks in and is threatening to take over if he doesn’t resurface for air relatively soon. Tucking his suspicion and trepidation beneath the rug in his mind, he propels himself upwards. He could wait for her above the water.

Yet, when his head breaks through, he finds his reality has changed yet again.

His entire body feels heavy. Like a block of lead sitting at the bottomless pits of the ocean, stranded and unmoving. In contrast, his consciousness feels afloat, like it’s bobbing over and under water. If he concentrates enough, he can crack his eyes open for a sliver; they're so heavy. And it’s blurry. Nonetheless, he can still see.

Shadowy figures cross back and forth against the stark contrast of the hospital room. At least, he thinks he’s in a hospital. There aren’t very many places that have blinding white tiles, he concedes. Aside from the hazy vision, his keen ears start pick up the distinct babbling around him. They’re muffled and muddled. So it goes, though, when you’re herded through various planes of existance. Perhaps this is a sort of jet lag...a supernatural jet lag.

Time is a fickle thing, especially when, for the majority of it, you’ve been gallivanting in a blissful purgatory it seems. It only feels like a small blip, but he’s ignorant of the many weeks that’s passed since his last round of consciousness. Only today, it seems as though he’s finally ready to wake.

When he blinks, his sight clears with each open and shut until he’s graced with the white dotted, textured ceiling panels overhead.

Subconsciously, he takes a big breath in. He feels his ribcage expand, although, somewhat constricted with the bandages wrapped around his torso. Even so, he is still able to breathe without the obstructions of pain or blood.

“I see you’re awake. Welcome back.” A feminine voice drones somewhere off to his left. Slowly, he turns his head towards the sound. Right next to him is the ever famous pig-tailed Sannin. She’s got a pair of reading glasses perched on her nose as she scribbles away on documents atop his bedside table. She doesn’t look up from her task despite his staring.

Three Sannin in less than a month. What luck, he considers. It’s a short-lived thought because the moment his consciousness awakens fully, his dry, cracked throat attempts speech for the first time since he’s been out.

“Ch-christ.” He stutters as he tries to sit himself up. It’s certainly a struggle given his predicament. He can feel the tug on the various wires and tubing that are ostensibly attached to every surface of skin available. Whether it’s out of pity or annoyance, he can’t quite tell, but the blonde Sannin next to him heaves a sigh before getting up to assist him.

Once he’s settled into a more comfortable fowler position, she pulls her stethoscope from around her neck and gets down to business. She moves the bell across his chest while he breathes. Thereafter, she reaches for his chart at the foot of his bed to jot down her findings.

“Where is my wife?” He croaks a little more confidently, albeit still quite dazed.

“Wife?” The Director pauses in her writings to give him a pointed look before crossing her arms. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.” He furrows his brows in frustration. “From the look on your face, I’d say you were a little confused right now, Hatake.”

“What?” He manages dumbly, watching as the blonde resumes her seat next to him to continue with her paper pushing.

“Perhaps you’re still under the effects of the sedation genjutsu. It should wear off within the next day or two.”

Ah. Right. Life is such a bitch, sometimes.

“In the meantime, there are more important things we need to discuss. Such as the contract.”

“It should be void.” He deadpans. Setting aside his growing irritation, he directs his focus to the topic at hand. He has no uncertainty that the news of Danzo’s death has reached every corner of the underworld.

According to the bylaws, contracts, while anonymous to everyone else aside from the High Council and the owner of said contracts, are to be considered annulled in the event that they are either pulled from the pool (per request of the owner), or if the owner dies (as there would be no one to pay out the reward).

“While that’s true, you’ve also managed to cause quite the power vacuum and the Council is having a field day. This is a mess, Hatake, and I don’t need to remind you that this is your problem, too.” When he doesn’t respond to that, she continues on, “You’ve made quite a few enemies as Danzo had many friends in various places. With that said, the council members and I have deliberated. We’ve decided to grant you a freebie of your choosing to help you out. Think of it also as our thanks for getting rid of the biggest thorn in our sides.”

Honey colored irises broke away from his charcoal ones to fish around the bedside table, moving papers here and there, until she found a manila folder that she passed to him. When he opened it, he was faced with official parchment paper, written with actual fountain ink. Tsunade resumes her dialogue, narrating the contents of each page.

“The first one is an official binding contract to ROOT. As it currently stands without a leader, we’ve decided to allow you first pickings, seeing as you’re the one who did all the work.” Looking at the bottom of the contract, he noted that this piece was penned and signed by Orochimaru. Kakashi had the urge to roll his eyes, because of course, Orochimaru would certainly come up with the idea that would benefit him and his business by keeping the Copy Ninja in the field.

Definitely no.

“The second contract would be an official position amongst the High Council. The Sandaime will be retiring shortly, and again, since you have taken out Danzo, who was technically next in line, we decided we would allow you his slot. And yes, it comes with all the perks, including immunity from all the incoming contracts you’ll no doubt be accruing.”

Glancing down to the author of this contract, he was surprised to find this one was drafted by the Slug Princess herself. At his arched brow, Tsunade met his stare head on.

“I’ve read the novella that’s known as your file, including the repertoire of consultations online. You have a skill for leadership and strategy, and I’d wager you’d do well in the political arena. It also gives me ample opportunity to groom you as my successor since I’ve drawn the proverbial shit stick and I’m stuck with rising to Godaime Hokage.” She gave him a evil smug grin.

“The third option is we can place you in ‘protective custody,’ if you will. We can arrange for new identities and safe houses that will be on a rotating schedule, of which, will be on the Councils’ terms. While we can only do so much in preventative measures, it’ll still be up to you to handle your own affairs.”

He didn’t have to read between the lines to know that he’d still be at the mercy of assassinations every now and then. Reading the author of this one made sense with the proposition of identities and safe houses. Jiraiya had an extensive spy network that spanned the entire globe. This one would essentially just be one long term mission until everyone that was out for his hide was dead and gone. Without the pay, he might add.

“I suggest you take the time to figure out what it is that you want. In the meantime, I have three antsy shinobi causing a ruckus in my cafeteria, so I’ll send them your way.”

Tsunade then gathers all her paperwork into a neat pile before turning on her heel to leave. When she exits, however, she turns and gives the bedridden man one last look, “It was nice seeing you, Hatake. Take care.” She doesn’t wait for his response and proceeds through the door of his room.

He took the time to reread each legally binding document carefully. If he wasn’t mistaken, these options all screamed ‘give and take.’ Each proposal offered a symbiotic relationship; everyone would benefit, if not the Council themselves moreover. But such was the life of those that lived underneath the underneath. Everything had its price, he supposed.

“Freebies, my ass.” He muttered aloud. None of these options were what he wanted. A deprecating chuckle rumbles from his belly. Figures. The last four years never really mattered, did they? Because that Devil had reared its ugly head once again in his life. There was no getting out, indisputably.

With that thought, Kakashi had made his decision. He just hoped it be the one that was the least pain in his ass.

A moment later, he hears a knock at his door. Predictably, they don’t wait for a response before they come barreling through with their merriment and laughs. He can only shake his head. Tenzo smiles a big wide smile, as if he’s proud of him, before offering him some food off his tray. He declines, though, he does accept the mini pitcher of water from Gai who had plucked it from the night stand.

He listens to his friends speak amongst each other as he greedily drinks the water ensconced in his hands. Dutifully, they recount their own battles. Gai had his arm broken in several places and Tenzo nearly lost his leg. Genma seemed to be the only one who actually got out with minor scrapes and bumps.

Therapy was a bitch, he griped. Scratch that. His new lung was a bitch. Somewhere, in the recesses of his mind, he was of the opinion that Orochimaru had purposefully given him the most out-of-shape organ on the entire planet, because good god, everything burned inside his chest no matter what exercise he performed. Kakashi wouldn’t put it past him, the snake.

The recovering man had learned that he had flirted with death a few times throughout his month-long coma. The three amigos were gracious enough to recap everything that had happened. He had gone into anaphylactic shock with the implanted Hashirama cells. After another round of emergency surgery, he only lasted a week on the first lung before his body ultimately rejected that one, too. Now that he was on his third organ, they were monitoring him constantly and it was driving him up the wall.

He returned to his room, where his devoted friends were waiting for him. In an effort to elicit more sympathy, he made a mountain out of a mole hill by flopping onto his bed with an exaggerated groan.

“Now, now, my precious Rival. Youthfulness only goes so far in charm, and the youth of a toddler is unbefitting of you.” Gai tuts.

Kakashi’s response is to grunt into the plastic hospital pillow.

“Well, at least the good news is that they’re discharging you today, senpai.” Tenzo chimes from his seat next to the green jumpsuit wearing shinobi.

The car ride is quiet, save for the loud purr of the sport’s engine and the white noise of the Genma’s rock and roll playlist that’s drowned out by the hog like snores of Gai snoozing next to an equally knocked out Tenzo in the back seat. It’s comical, watching from over his shoulder. Tenzo is curled up so close to the door in a subconsciously futile effort to get as far away from the overly-draping green jumpsuit shinobi who’s using the wood-release user as a human pillow.

They’ve been out of the city for at least three hours now, traveling towards the southern coast of Fire Country. Their destination is a seaside port, where he will be ferried across to the isthmus north of Tea Country. They still have another hour before they arrive.

Resuming his place in Icha Icha Tactics, Kakashi proceeds to lose himself amongst the written elements for the next sixty minutes. Listening to the lulls of the cacophony that remain steadfast in the background.

When they finally reach their destination, it seems they’ve all agreed silently to prolong this Goodbye for as long as they can.

Gai, for the first time, practices patience and keeps to himself all his raging youthful declarations. Instead, the Beast shakes his hand. It’s full of promises that hint at future endeavors and challenges they’ll do together, some day. Just not right now, but someday.

Tenzo, who hasn’t quite yet mastered the puppy dog look like his senpai, he still tries his best to guilt trip the silver haired man. It’s cute, but puppy dog looks don’t really suit Maneki Neko kittens.

Hell, who is he kidding. It works; he smiles and shakes his head, giving his kouhai a brief hug. They’ve weathered many trials together and it’s only beginning to sink in that they’ve managed to destroy the tormentor of their adolescence.

Finally, Kakashi stands eye to eye with his long-time friend and most treasured confidant. While he has broken bread many a time with all three on various, separate occasions, Genma seems to be the only one who has seen Kakashi at his absolute worst. While the other two know only fuzzy details of their S-Ranked adventures, only Kakashi and Genma truly know what it means to bathe in blood.

In Genma’s proffered hand, he extends a familiar scroll. Kakashi chuckles before he wraps his hands around the brunette’s. Together, they each throw and arm over the other’s shoulder. “Hope this works out for you, Hatake.” The brunette murmurs into his ear.

“Yeah, me too.”

He breaks away and proceeds to toss his duffle over his shoulder in what Gai would call a ‘Cool Guy Fashion.’ The Three Amigos watch as Kakashi ascends the ramp to his ferry. Just as he hands over his ticket to the gate agent at the top, he looks back at them from his height. With one last lazy salute, he turns and vanishes over the deck and out of their view.

After all, it’s not really goodbye.

Not when you’ve ascended to the chair amongst the High Council. And council members always ride in the backseat alongside the Devil.

Fin

Chapter Text

[One Year Later]

Shhhhhhhh. Shhhhhhhh. Shhhhhhhh.

The soft rhythmic whispers of the ocean lapping and crashing against the sand is a soothing sound. It’s a fertile environment for reveries to run rampant alongside a pair of footprints that stretch along the wet shoreline. The dusk is giving way to a picturesque morning. Crisp colors of every ink bleed across the sky beneath greyish blue hues of thick clouds. 

The soft croons of a seagull ring amongst the foreground of watery whispers as they sail on torrents of salty breezes. It’s charming in its own subtle way. So much so, that the owner of the footprints takes a moment to pause in their barefoot journey across the serene landscape.

Kakashi looks up, watching a pair of birds fly overhead; a new thought blooming across his mind. He allows himself to smile. He empathizes. Ponders. He’s as free as they are as they slowly fade into mere specks in the distance. With his hands in the pockets of his light cotton pants that have been rolled up to his ankles, he continues his observations.

He breathes deeply with the new rush of air that whips across his equally light cotton, half buttoned shirt. The elements soak into the very capillaries of his lungs and bleed into his bones. Sakura was right, he thinks, waking up to the ocean every day is calm and peaceful. There just isn’t anything like it.

Not a single dash of urbanization to taint this organic dominion.

Just another moment to enjoy himself, he muses, while the brisk morning breeze caresses the apples of his cheeks and strokes the coarse strands of his hair and skin. The foamy water licking at his toes keeps him rooted as his soul balms in his private moment.

He’d never been much of a morning person. But as of lately, these days, while he has very little, he still has some reasons to get out of bed in the morning. The past year alone is evidence of that. Years ago, he’d ignore the day until he was ready to acknowledge his biological functions. These days, he wakes before the sun, sometimes by choice, sometimes not. These days, when the opportunity presents, he prefers to lounge in bed, basking in the coming of dawn between his sheets before he starts his day.

This morning was one of those rare opportunities, and the urge to trapeze along the place where water meets earth sounded like a rather great idea. How things change over time. Which is okay for Kakashi, despite the fact his household of two is no longer the status quo. In the face of the turmoil of the previous year, things worked out, in their own funny way.

As the wind settles, so too, do his thoughts. Glancing back, he sees that the ocean has erased his footprints in the sand. How symbolic. Everything, up until this very instant in time…there is only going forward now. There is only peace now. Nothing more, nothing less.

And he’s okay with that.

With each step, he forages on. While he knows where he’s come from, he also knows that his footprints no longer define him. Even though lifetimes are brief, there is still a life to be lived. It’s never too late to get a move on that. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to do this by himself. Although he’s got more fingers than he does the number of individuals he trusts enough to be friends, he still has friends. Friends who he carried and who have carried him in turn.

Speaking of which, today would be the anniversary. Well, it’d be an anniversary of many things, actually. Rather than the typical feelings of dread he’d normally feel at having to do anything else other than nothing, he instead feels contentment and perhaps even slightly a little anticipation at what the day has in store for him.

Though, if there is one thing that hasn’t changed, it’s his stride. He continues his languid stroll along the beach. There is plenty of time in the day and he is in no hurry quite yet. He’s come so far already doing what he’s always done.

∞

[One Year Ago]

“So, this is your decision?”

“Yes, Tsunade-sama.”

The Director gives the Copy Ninja one last once over before she nods sharply. She proceeds to sign at the bottom of the official document, right next to the infamous henohenomoheji. She finalizes the proceedings with a swift stamp in the bottom right corner. Thereafter, she seals it up in an envelope whose lips are doused with a generous amount of deep red wax, and then stamped again with the High Council’s official seal. 

“Congratulations, Councilman Hatake. Glad to have you on board.”

“Hn.”

“You’ll be assigned to the Southern Coastline where it’ll be your job to manage the Portside International Beacon. There is a heavy amount of traffic, but given your notoriety, I’m sure you’ll have no issues babysitting those dimwits. Are you familiar with Nara Shikamaru?”

“Shikaku-sama’s boy?”

Tsunade nods. “He’ll be there as your advisor and will help get you settled.” Leaning towards one of the drawers of her desk; she rummages around for a split second before she pulls out another envelope, though, of regular letter size. She passes it to him, “Your ticket and keys to the Beacon. For what it’s worth, I think you’ve made the right decision.”

Her smile isn’t smug, but rather, warm and genuine. It’s somewhat discomfiting. The warm and fuzzies weren’t exactly synonymous with the destructive Slug Princess, but he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth today.

Honestly, he’s just glad that it’s all over.

“Thank you, Tsunade-sama.”

“As always, Hatake. It’s been a pleasure.”

This time, though, he doesn’t miss the mischievous glint in her honey colored eyes. He hesitates in returning the shake of her proffered hand, briefly wondering if he’s about to get punk’ed. When nothing happens to him, he gives her a final bow before ducking out of her office and back into the world.

His posse waits diligently outside, next to Genma’s sports car. The minute he settles himself into the shotgun seat, he feels, for the first time in a long time, a little relaxed; he allows himself to sink into the leather seat as they make way towards his soon-to-be vacated home.

When they arrive at his house, they notice that a majority of his belongings have been packed for him; a moving vehicle with employees branded with some sort of cheesy snake logo indicate to whom this service is coming from.

Kakashi wastes no time in packing his essentials. Everything he needs is either sealed into a scroll or folded neatly into the duffle bag. Once he’s finished, the foursome departs on their four-hour road trip.

After they arrive at their destination and say their goodbyes, Kakashi finds himself a seat amongst the rest of the passengers on the deck. It’ll be about another hour of traveling by ferry to his assigned station. Rather than waiting amongst the rest of the passengers, he decides to isolate himself to the deck. There are a few individuals who had the same idea in mind, but not enough so that he isn’t able to find a suitable spot to sit.

He pulls out his gifted book once more, enjoying the salty breeze of crossing the ocean and distracting his mind with delightful imagery.

Before he knows it, he’s reached the isthmus.

It takes him another hour of waiting patiently amongst the crowds to disembark. It’s not as if he’s in a hurry anyways. When it is his turn to descend the ramp and into the gates of the port, he picks up the signal of someone flaring their chakra.

“Councilman?”

Said man turns to the lazy voice that rumbles beside him. Standing just a few feet away is a spiky haired brunette, taking in a long drag of a cigarette. The narrow eyes and bored expression all but scream Nara genes.

This is definitely Nara Shikamaru.

“Ah. Kakashi is fine…Nara Shikamaru, I presume?”

The boy only nods before turning on his heels. “Correct. Do you have everything you need, or do we have to wait for extra luggage?”

“No, this is it.” He gestures to the lone duffle bag in his grasp.

“Good. Simple. I like it. I think we’ll get along rather well.” The older man chuckles with a shake of his head. Oh yes, this is definitely Shikaku’s boy, inside and out.

Together, the two males traverse the crowds unhurriedly and with ease. Eventually, they make it through the Harbor’s International Port wherein Kakashi presents his traveling credentials prior to exiting to the pickup and drop off zone.

“Do you mind?” The younger gentleman waves his pack of smokes up after he’s belted into the driver’s side of their innocuous sedan.

“Not at all.” He says absentmindedly, taking in the environment with his eyes, the sharingan now underneath another grey contact lens.

The city is rather large, if not as almost large as Konoha. He can see why it is an international traveling port, much less the amount of tourism. It’s so convenient; surrounded by Tea Country, Wind and River Country probably about less then a day’s worth of ship travel from the west, and Mist Country just Northeast. And the Land of Waves in between.

They continue to drive along the highway, bypassing every exit into the city, and out into a more rural area on the outskirts. After about fifteen minutes pass, they’re pulling up the driveway to a little seaside cottage. It’s rather quaint and simple in its design.

The silver haired man looks over at his companion with an arched brow, whose only response is a shrug with a sigh. “Sir, I just do what I’m told.”

“I just kind of figured I’d be at the Beacon, though I’m not averse to the solitude.”

“Not all council members reside in their towers. Some prefer to have a home away from home every once in a while.” Shikamaru shrugs, half smile gracing his tanned cheeks.

“Oh. Wonderful.”

“See you tomorrow, Kakashi-sama.”

“Please, just Kakashi. And thanks.” He offers the young man an eye crinkle before getting out of the vehicle. With a few steps forward, Kakashi hears the crunching gravel beneath the sedans tires but doesn’t look back.

Heaving a sigh, he pushes through to the last few steps until he’s at the front door. It doesn’t feel quite the same as his home back in Konoha, but there’s no use in crying over spilled milk. The past is the past, and he can only hope that the rest of his days steer clear of further trouble. With his newly gained status, he doesn’t foresee that to be an issue, though, one can never be too confident.

A hand on the doorknob, and one final sigh, he twists, and pushes through.

Inside is a rather modest living room with all the comforts of home: couches, coffee table, entertainment stand, rugs, and a key dish. He closes the door softly behind before toeing off his sandals. At the door’s soft click, a rather curious scent is picked up in the wafting air. Is that Miso soup?

An inquisitive noise leaves his throat. He saunters through the living room, taking in the décor about him. It’s very similar and homely in comparison to his previous one in the city.

Continuing his exploration, he passes under the archway to the kitchen only to pause. On the stove is a medium sized pot, its contents bubbling from the small gas flame below. Upon closer inspection, he notes that there is a hint of eggplant to it. Now that is curious, he thinks.

When he turns off the gas stove and moves the pot to an unused burner, he senses another chakra within proximity. It’s faint and muted, but it’s there. It’s familiar. He’s encountered this chakra before, but where? He takes a minute to assess where the source is coming from. Looking all around him through the Sharingan yields nothing until he looks up and sees the distorted pulsing coming from above.

He walks back through the living room, trying to place where he recognizes that chakra. It’s warm and soothing, with a subtle relaxed vibration to it. When his mind finally snatches the memory out of the pits of his skull, he runs a hand through his hair.

Sigh.

It’s the Iryō that had healed him in the back of the ambulance whose chakra was everything like he was sensing now—calm and gentle. He wants to roll his eyes. He already scheduled his follow up appointments, but then again, he’s been known to ‘forget to show up to them’ on occasion. This is probably one of those situations where they hunt him down. Though, it is a bit early for his follow up considering he had scheduled it for next month.

Must be one of those worry wart medics.

The chakra signature remains steady and grows with every step he takes. For some reason, he can feel something odd settle into the marrow of his bones. It’s a jittery sensation. His body recognizes something that his mind cannot. Unsettling is what it is.

He’s finally back to the original starting point in the living room when he spots the stairs next to the doorway. Instinctively, he begins the trek up. The closer he draws to the faint reverberating chakra, the more his keen ears pick up the distinct sound of footsteps shuffling across the old hardwood flooring.

Once he arrives at the top stair, he sees a few doors. In front of him is the bathroom. To the right is another door that’s closed. To his left is also a closed door, though, it is where his sharingan is picking up the increasingly stronger vibes of chakra.

With a pulse of his own energy flaring out as an acknowledgement to theirs, he pauses with his hand on the doorknob. The footsteps behind the door cease for at least sixty seconds that only serve to make his brow furrow and his eyes narrow. What would this intruder do now that they’ve been caught in the act, he ponders while he pauses for them to reveal themselves.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he opens the door. When the Iryō-Intruder is finally unveiled, his duffle hits the floor with a soft thud. His hands grow cold and numb. His heart does somersaults like an Olympic competitor. His blood pressure drops, he’s sure, as he becomes increasingly lightheaded.

Pink hair. Green eyes. Cream colored skin. Petite frame. Standing in the middle of the bedroom, hands with neon-colored nails, wrung nervously in front.

Not a ghost.

Organic.

He’d question reality if it weren’t for the fact that he is now very much aware that she is the one who is emitting those soft pulses of energy; as if she were a lighthouse in the middle of a raging, stormy night, guiding him to her. A fact that is further compounded by the sharingan that lies beneath a slate colored contact; watching her chakra ripple outwards, as if her body was suspended in a transparent pond—airy and a translucent mint green, rolling out in tiny waves from the core of her body.

She is of flesh and bone, full of life and energy, and very much real.

“Hi.” Her voice and smile are nothing short of bashful, punctuated by the slight blush on her cheeks. It’s not dissimilar to the way children often behave when they feel as though they have done something they shouldn’t have.

In a way, it’s true. He should feel angry, or at least hurt. But he doesn’t. Instead, he feels somewhat at a loss. Confused in the way two plus two just won’t compute at the moment. He doesn’t know how to react, how to feel, or what to even say. Déjà vu akin to the day they first met. Which, suffice to say, is very well the case. She is as much of a stranger to him now; it’s just that now she is an ever-larger captivating enigma than before.

Before his mind can even scramble to throw a cohesive jumble of words together, his knees give him the option of either moving forward or collapsing.

Well, some truths are self-evident.

He doesn’t quite register the overwhelming sense of relief, joy, or tears that escape him; he places one foot in front of the other until he’s crushing her very real body against his own. He lifts her up to stare into her eyes, as if inspecting the diamonds in the sky, searching for the silver lining in a shooting star. Briefly, he realizes that she’s crying, too, the moment her salty tears drip onto his cheeks.

Her warm and soft hands come to rest upon his face, thumbs wiping away the flow of saline that fall from his eyes. One more intense look takes place, seeking confirmation for no real rhyme or reason, before the weight of the moment settles into an equally intense kiss.

And if the world had never felt so right before, it does now.

There is so much passion and longing that fuels that kiss. They could have stood there for hours and it wouldn’t have mattered. Not one bit.

When his lungs begin to throb from the lack of oxygen, he can feel one of her palms slide over his breast. The tell-tale sensations of invading chakra come in the form of a relaxing coolness; like standing in front of an air conditioner on a hot, sweltering day. Such a small thing it is, yet, it only serves to cement the evidence of the truth.

Kakashi lowers the woman while his own hand, larger, rougher, reaches up to grasp the one soothing the burning organ suspended in his chest. As he breaks apart from her, she continues her ministrations; her nose brushes along his cheek, under his jaw, as she pushes him backwards onto the bed. She straddles him before finally resting her forehead against his collarbone.

They hold on to each other. No words, just holding. They stay like that for a while, neither of them actually counting the seconds that tick by. He starts to rub circles into her back, eliciting sighs that release with the pent-up tensions in their bodies.

“I missed you.” She confesses in a whisper. It prompts him to grasp harder and pull her closer.

“And I missed you.” He parrots back softly to the crown of her head. To further prove his point, he pulls back to meet her eyes. His free hand thumbs over her cheek lovingly, tenderly, before he leans back to perform the same action with his lips against hers.

Its par for the course; their kiss becomes needy, desperate, and ravenous. Predictably, her hands find their way beneath his shirt, leaving not one inch of his skin unattended. Likewise, the hand that was on her back dips below the waistband of her spandex shorts, fingers none too gentle in their obsessive digging as though they were searching for the long-lost empire of Atlantis.

It feels like picking up an instrument after years of non-practicing. They bump teeth in their ardent attentions. Bruises are left behind in the aftermath of their blazing fires. No sigh or mewl or groan goes unheard while they battle each other for the title of who missed who the most.

With strength she has never before displayed, she wrangles him back onto the bed, him pinned beneath her. Although her face is cherry red from excitement, her smile is quite smug. When she grinds her pelvis over his, he almost gives in.

“Fuck…” He hisses between clenched jaws. Suddenly, it’s too warm in here for the amount of clothes they’re wearing. He sets about correcting their affairs accordingly. As much as it has always pleased and aroused him with her rough handling, he simply cannot play along. No, it’s time to reclaim what was, and still is, his.

The instant she leans down to attack his neck with more bites and bruises, he’s bucking her off before proceeding to cast his frame over hers. While his mouth nurses from the junction of her neck and collarbones, his hands are tearing, literally tearing her spandex shorts apart.

The sound of fabric ripping coerces a heady groan from somewhere in her heaving chest; her hips bound upwards either in an effort to assist him or to feel the most intimate parts of herself glide against any part of him possible. His nose instantly picks up the spike of her arousal as the last of her shorts are shredded away to reveal sopping wet panties.

That caveman, savage pride is slowly beginning to take over all civilized rationality in his head. Fucking hell, she is such a sight to behold; truly the eighth wonder of the world. And it is all his. That alone sends him into a frenzy; if he hadn’t been fervent enough, he is thrice more than he had been.

She isn’t able to keep up with his eager ferocity; barely able to wretch his shirt off before his mouth is on hers, stealing away all of her breath into his own lungs, all the while biting and gnawing on her bottom lip intermittently. There is two months of lifetimes to convey every emotion in the dictionary and so little time to accomplish such a colossal undertaking.

Her fingers attempt to work the button of his pants, but they’re halted by his own and are subsequently brought over her head to be restrained into the soft gray sheets. His half-lidded eyes bear into the glimmering heat of emeralds.

“Please.” Is all he says out loud, but between the two of them, they hear what’s left unsaid. And it is more than enough for her to melt into the sheets, at his mercy. He needs this, she knows. Her turn will come soon eventually, and Kakashi has always been a considerate gentleman in more ways than one.

Feeling the resistance dissipate from beneath her skin is akin to hearing the commencement shot at the horse races. He wastes no time in tearing away her panties and her top. He settles between her inviting thighs, massaging them while he latches onto an already hard, pert nipple.

He is precise and deliberate in his affection; the time he spends suckling, nibbling, and kneading is equal between the two now engorged, abused buds. Despite the terrible ache below the waistband of his pants, he takes a few precious seconds to appreciate the fruits of his labor.

His wife is flushed and panting feverishly, hair wild as her chest sucks air in avidly. Her arousal is thick in the atmosphere as it floods the sheets and his thigh. It is then that Kakashi truly understands why males are driven to that primitive possessiveness of their keeps; understands why that little voice in the back of his skull constantly chants ‘mine, mine, mine’ every time she comes undone around him. 

Today will be no exception. While he almost always defaults to his laissez-faire persona, he embraces that archaic masculine trait buried within the helixes of his DNA. The one that urges him to act, spurred on by barbaric behavior and instinct, hunting for an end drenched in endorphins.

Quickly, he works his pants off his lower half, cock springing outward and anxious to be entombed in her flesh. Patience has always been his virtue, unlike that of his wife, who’s hankering eyes have become much more darker in color. Like burning pine.

Roughly, his hands grasp at her hips, bringing her soft body against his. She angles herself upwards, covetous as always. He positions himself carefully, precisely, before plunging into her dripping heat. The feel of her slippery muscles stretching and giving way upon his deep intrusion is gratifying. So tight. So hot. Intimate. Extraordinary. A feeling like no other.

He’d heard in his youth the phenomena of seeing the truths of the universe under the influence of particular fungi, but is it possible to experience such a state when two individuals merge as one? To see nothing but the colorful palette of the ether behind heavy eyelids?

It’s nothing philosophically profound, but nor is it anything short of the reverence one feels in the presence of saintly hymns in ancient Cathedrals.

They’re trembling. A unity greater than either of them had dreamed. It’s almost taxing. He burrows an arm beneath her waist, to lift and bring her closer. She obliges; her legs, strumming with chakra below the surface of her skin, rise, allowing him to seat himself comfortably and deeply.

The skin of her thighs is so warm and inviting as they stand sentry beside his hips. With one arm braced against the small of her back, the other comes to rest beside her head, letting go of her makeshift restraints. He leans over her subdued frame until her bottom lip is between his own.

And so, it begins. It starts as a sensual rhythm of grinding, seeking entrenched pleasures until the friction yields to the ache for more. More tension, more pressure, more bliss. With each stroke of his cock, with each grasping suction of her cunt, their movements extend further a part followed by their refusion that echoes against harder and faster thrusts.

The periodic knocks of the bedframe against the wall increase alongside their heart rates while he continues his plunder into her depths. With each passing second, she grows wetter and more pliant around him enough to make his head spin. He can hear the complaints of the sheets straining from the grips of her hands.

Words have no sanctuary here. Only babbles, unfinished syllables, expiratory noises of every tonal range. Her thighs begin to quake and she’s getting progressively tighter; her hungry cunt squeezing the length of his shaft and tip so sinfully that he’s hard pressed to stay put and give in.

Forwards. Backwards. Hard. Harder. That spot, right there.

She’s crying out his name, begging for the end they both seek. When he turns his head, his cheek skimming alongside a breast, he latches. His hot tongue and teeth work relentlessly to give her everything she desires until he culls from her the loudest wail that’s followed by her thighs locking inward.

The very reality of her coming undone around him is tantamount to uncovering the lost haven of Atlantis. Electrifying and enrapturing. Her end is his end, and together, they fall. One by one.

The hand that had been holding him steady joins the other around her hips to bring her as close as possible, pressing his hips as far inwards as physically possible. The veins in his neck swell with every breath released through his strained jaw as pleasure ransacks the neural network in his spinal column and limbs. Fuck, right there. Yes.

When her hands have latched onto the silvery roots of his hair—pulling—all the fight in his body disappears and he succumbs; shuddering and groaning into the bones in her collar in perfect timing with the last few pumps of his cock.

They are slow and reluctant to disentangle themselves. Their hearts and breaths begin to settle, while they shower each other in small affections—fleeting kisses, languid licks, and caresses and nuzzles. Once he is thoroughly spent, he falls to the side, taking her with. He holds her so possessively, like she might disappear. Ghost or not, he doesn’t want to risk the chance.

As time continues forth, the sun begins to set, lighting their room in an orangey fire. The newly reunited couple had finally found themselves beneath the soft gray sheets, facing one another as they reorient themselves outside of carnal endeavors.

It wasn’t so much awkwardness or walking on eggshells, but rather relearning how to navigate together. They were comfortable, but not quite exactly sure how to address the proverbial elephant; each having their own questions and curiosities that needed satisfied but wondering how much it would be worth voicing the unspoken and ruining the ambiance.

Something had to give eventually.

They both opened their mouths, cocked and ready to fire the first syllable, before recoiling sheepishly like high schoolers on their first date stumbling over one another.

Kakashi clears his throat, “Ladies first.”

Sakura just grins, shaking her head. “Where do you want me to start?” Her eyes squint from the slight flinch that crossed her features. It was cute, but he hated it when she retreated inwards, as she often did when she was unsure or lacking in confidence.

He reached for her hand, mostly for reassurance and partly because he still wanted to touch her (the novelty of everything was undeniably compelling). The moment his fingers squeezed around hers, he could see the worry resolve, but the uncertainty remained.

“Start where ever you’re comfortable. There isn’t anything you can tell me that will change my mind. I’ve always loved you. I’m just happy that you’re here.” He emphasized his last words with a stronger grip on her hand. “Unless you plan to tell me you’re leaving. In which case, I will have no choice but to use any and all force necessary to keep you hostage in this bed.”

At that, she laughed, whisking away a stray tear. “I won’t be going anywhere, soon. I promise.” To hear those words felt like having the rain clouds disappear and make way for a clear and sunny afternoon. “Is there anything in particular you want to know first?”

He takes a minute to mull over which bit of information he’d like to start with. They’re all equally important, he supposed, but by the same token, there will be ample opportunity to unearth all the answers they will undoubtedly encounter.

Eventually, he asks quietly, “Have you always known?”

“Kinda.” By the intense look in his charcoaled irises, she elaborates further. “Well, I hadn’t always known you were the Copy Ninja, but I had my suspicions that you were a shinobi. It was when you retired from your ‘exterminator job’ that just so happened to coincide with the rumors that the Copy Ninja retired, really solidified my hunch.” She shrugged, as though it really wasn’t that big of a deal, which to him, is quite the contrary.

The Copy Ninja wasn’t known for creating the good feelies, and generally most folks tended to steer clear courtesy of the Friend Killer connotation.

“How long before that did you know?”

“The day we met.” The incredulity that immediately took over his face made Sakura laugh. Her laughter was further compounded by his look that morphed into something between a mix of annoyed and insulted. “Umbrella bins aren’t a very good hiding place for tantos. Just so you know.”

“And how long were you planning to keep this information to yourself? Hm?” He accused with narrowed eyes.

“Once I realized that I married the retired Copy Ninja, I figured it wasn’t worth bringing up if you had left the life, you know? Obviously, you got out for a reason. So.” Again, she shrugged with a half-smile. “I was going to leave the life, too. Live a normal life with you. White picket fences and all. Which reminds me, your birthday gift!” She beamed, rolling over onto her side of the bed towards the nightstand.

She pulled the drawer open to pluck out a small white box that was secured with fabric set into a neat bow. It found its way onto the bedspread, staring up at him innocently. He shook his head; how absurd. Two months past his birthday and of course she wouldn’t forget about it. But that’s how she’s always been, why she’d change now would also be an equally absurd thought.

Tugging at the bow was easy. Lifting the tiny, white lid was easy. The way her hand came to rest upon his cheek tenderly was also just as easy.

But looking at the contents of that little white box was hard. Made it hard to digest. Made it hard to breathe. Made it hard to think clearly.

“Happy Birthday, Kakashi.” When he looked up, he was greeted with a kiss to his forehead.

∞

[Presently]

The silver haired man sidled up the trail leading to his home. Once he had scaled all the way to the top and onto the cliff of his backyard, he took one last look out over the morning seaside view.

He wouldn’t change a thing about it.

Turning on his heel, he saunters past the clothesline and various dog toys scattered about. He enters through the backdoor into the kitchen, careful to dodge more toys littering the floor after wiping his feet onto the rug. The house is quiet, too, and somewhat dim, only lit by the rising glow of the sun. It’s so peaceful. So homely. Wholesome.

It’s second nature to funnel energy to his lower limbs to silence his weight on the charming hardwood flooring. At the top stair, he turns left into the open bedroom.

The room hasn’t changed in over a year of inhabitance. Gray sheets and gray curtains. Though, it does probably seem smaller with the amount of clutter and everything else that indicates a well-lived in home.

Looking towards the bed, he sees a tuft of pink hair poking out from beneath the gray duvet. The metronome of her breathing denotes that his wife has yet to rouse from her slumber. Which is fine, sometimes, the days are long. Besides, he doesn’t mind spending his mornings alone; it’s good for the mind every now and then.

Unfortunately, such is not the case for the other occupant.

A small coo and gurgle chimes from Sakura’s side of the bed where a puppy-paw print themed bassinet stands. Approaching the modest sized piece of furniture, he reaches down into the cradle to grasp his seven-month-old daughter. Tucking her head of thick, spiky pink hair beneath his chin, he begins to settle her with gentle rocking motions.

It works dutifully; Sakurako tucks some of her fist into her mouth before dozing back off. With her nestled against his chest, he decides to spend a few more moments of his morning with his family. With practiced ease, he is able to climb into bed with his precious cargo without jostling her awake.

His upper body is propped against pillows and the headboard. The tendrils of spiky dusty rose-colored hair are soft beneath his fingertips. It’s such a wholesome feeling, each and every time. To feel such a tiny body, one entirely dependent on others, against his chest is nothing short of a miraculous feeling.

Sakura has always been his first of many things in life, but this by far, has been the best first.

Speaking of the devil, the mature copy of the miniature in his arms finally stirs. The change in her breathing is the signal before she rolls over to face him, snuggling closer under the warmth of the duvet. She gives him a sleepy smile before she whispers her morning greeting, upon which he parrots back.

“Did she wake you?”

“Not at all. In fact, I turned the tables and woke her up first. Now who has the last laugh?”

“You’re unbelievable.” She rolled her eyes before making her way to burrow into his side for extra warmth, his arm extending out to allow her sanctuary.

“It’s not stupid if it works.” He grinned.

“You’re terrible.” Her cheek is placed upon his chest, just next to their daughters’. “I see Genma’s awful dad jokes have infected you as well.”

“That’s quite the roundabout way of telling me I’m charming, but I’ll take it.”

She doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, she clucks her tongue. With nimble fingers, she caresses the side of Sakurako’s cheek, jade eyes softening.

“Are you going in today?”

“Nah. I think I’ll take a personal day.” He brushed his lips along her hairline briefly before relaxing his cheek against the same spot. “Maybe make one more of these things.” He gently rocked the sleeping infant against his chest.

“Oh, my god. Did you at least tell Shikamaru?”

“Of course not.”

“Kakashi.” She deadpanned.

“He’s a smart boy. He’ll figure it out eventually.”

“You wretched, wretched man.” She pinched the bridge of her nose while he smiled shamelessly.

“You love me all the same.”

And their banter drawls into the rest of the morning until they deem it appropriate to begin the day. Sakura departs for the kitchen to start coffee and breakfast while Kakashi changes Sakurako into a new nappy and a shuriken themed onesie.

In that time, Kakashi thinks to himself as he stares into the big round grey irises of his daughter. He thinks again that these two pink-haired individuals are the only reason he looks forward to tomorrow; and no, no he wouldn’t change a thing about the path that lead him here.

fin