(no subject)
busy yesterday, and without internet today. Gah! But! Better late than never, right? (Anyone who says 'no' doesn't get to keep reading. *fierce*)
Without further ado...
Title: Former Lives
Author: JBMcDragon
Status: Complete, 9 parts
Rating: R for violence and language
Summary: The sequel to The Kakashi Mission. Things are not perfect in any relationship, but even Kakashi knows something really isn't right in theirs. When Iruka tries to poison Naruto, he begins to think something isn't right, period.
Prologue and chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter Six
Now
"Why is there *sugar* on my floor?" Iruka nearly yelled, frustrated beyond belief, confused, and hurting. He had stab wounds he didn't remember getting on his ankles, shoulder and forearm, a small burn on his hand, and his arm was in a sling while the tendons in his shoulder mended. The sugar was the last straw.
"Salt, actually," Kakashi said, smiling brightly and rubbing the back of his head. Iruka recognized it for what it was; anxiety, nervousness, all shielded behind a mask of Kakashi-shaped sheepishness.
Iruka stared at the kitchen floor and fought the urge to throw something. Or cry. One or the other, and throwing something wouldn't hurt his dignity so much.
He'd woken in the hospital. The last thing he remembered before that was leaving the school. None of his questions had been answered, and no one would tell him why he was stitched or how he'd come to be so miserable. A week had passed and he remembered none of it and he didn't know why.
And now there was salt on the kitchen floor. He started farther inside, and stopped.
"Is something burning?" he asked slowly.
"Ah . . . no. You're smelling sage. It's out, now."
Iruka sniffed, then turned incredulous eyes on Kakashi. "WHY was I burning sage in my apartment?"
Kakashi smiled brightly again. "You weren't. I was."
That made even less sense. Iruka stared, weary and confused, around his home.
There was garlic by the windows and doors. Mirrors in the corners. Salt on the floor. He grasped that one thing and went to get a dustpan.
"Don't," Kakashi said, suddenly beside him, taking the broom.
It was too much. Too confusing and frightening and no one would tell him *anything.* "Damn it, Kakashi!" he yelled, and wrenched the dustpan away with his one good arm. "What *happened*?" He stood, trembling, as Kakashi gently took the broom and set it against a wall. Then the Jounin stepped close, wrapping slender fingers around the back of Iruka's neck.
"When Tsunade first asked you to help me make friends," Kakashi said quietly, "I trusted you and did what you said, even though I thought it didn't make sense. Remember?"
Miserably, Iruka nodded. His initial flare of anger was gone, replaced again by a hollow, not-right feeling.
"I trusted you because you knew more about people than I did. Now, I know more about jutsu than you do, correct?"
Iruka nodded again, eyes fastened on the zipper at the top of Kakashi's vest. He didn't have the energy to look up.
"Then I'm asking you to just trust me. I know this isn't easy. But, please, trust me."
"Tell me what happened?" Iruka asked quietly, pleading.
Kakashi's thumb rubbed Iruka's skin, tracing the tendon that went from collar to ear. Iruka shivered at the contact, at warm flesh smoothing over his neck. His lover was quiet for a long time, thinking. "Something bad happened," Kakashi murmured at last. "Ibiki and Hiashi used a jutsu to make you forget. When--*if* something startles you, the memories won't feed your panic . . . so you'll work out of it quicker. Later, as your memories come back, it should be small enough bits for you to handle it. But try not to hurry them. All right?"
Iruka nodded silently. It wasn't enough, but it was more than he'd hoped for. He could feel Kakashi staring at him. Examining him.
The Jounin sighed, pulling down his mask and leaning close. "Trust me," he said, mouth against Iruka's.
Iruka nodded and leaned into the kiss, grasping at something he *did* understand. This wasn't frightening. This was--this was right.
**
Kakashi seduced the younger man quite purposefully, tugging him into the bedroom where fewer things were out of place. He touched and petted and kissed, unbuttoning, unzipping, stripping them both until he could reach skin on skin, being ever so careful of injuries and bandages. He'd never paid quite so much attention to Iruka before; reactions, the way his breath caught, his taste.
They both enjoyed it--and Kakashi made sure Iruka enjoyed it several times, until the Chuunin was too tired to think about anything other than sleep.
Kakashi wrapped Iruka up, Iruka's head on his chest, injured shoulder carefully supported by Kakashi's whole one. He crossed the other man's arms and held firmly to his wrists.
Iruka didn't seem to notice.
Kakashi breathed in the familiar scent of his lover, warmth and shampoo and the faint hint of spice. "Trust me," he requested softly, and hoped that trust wouldn't be misplaced.
**
Then
"Why *not*?" Iruka demanded, following his uncle around the little apartment. "All the other kids--"
"Because you're too young," his uncle shot back, eyes red from too much alcohol the night before.
Iruka knew he shouldn't push. He *knew* his uncle would only get mad, and things would go from bad to worse. He couldn't help himself. "You're making me miss school because of *sex ed?* I'll just learn it from the other kids!"
"Enough!" his uncle snarled, whipping around. "Just leave it well enough alone!"
"Gods, you and Dad! You're both such *prudes*, can't even say *penis*--"
"Enough, enough, you little snot you have no fucking *manners!*" his uncle roared, and whipped around too fast for Iruka to duck. The slap snapped his head around painfully, a starburst exploding behind his eye.
He *knew* he shouldn't push.
**
Now
Iruka woke to the scent of frying bacon. He stretched in bed and rolled sleepily, staring up at his ceiling. He tried not to notice the mirrors in the corners. He couldn't keep from prodding at the holes in his memory. It tickled his mind, like he'd forgotten something he shouldn't have. Like walking out the door without his satchel, or forgetting to turn the stove off.
Eventually he pushed himself up to his feet, scrubbing a hand through his hair and yanking out the band. He hated falling asleep with his hair in a ponytail. Always gave him a headache.
Iruka found some pants and pulled them on, then shuffled out to the living room.
Kakashi was in the kitchen, wiping off counters while periodically checking on the frying bacon. He looked up at Iruka, mismatched eyes lighting and then darkening with concern. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
Iruka smiled weakly and shrugged, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand. "Weird dreams, but I don't remember them now." Something about Naruto and his parents and Mizuki--he brushed them off.
"Dinner?"
Iruka glanced at the clock, wincing at the time. It had been early afternoon when they'd gotten back from the hospital. "Yeah. Thanks," he said quietly.
"I cleaned the kitchen," Kakashi said, swiping at the counter again nervously, not looking up at Iruka. Then he did look up, and smiled too brightly behind his mask. "I hope you don't mind."
Iruka's mouth twitched up. When they'd first started dating and Kakashi had begun to spend time at his apartment, whether or not the Jounin was allowed to clean everything in sight had been a battle. Now, he mostly kept his hands off. "I think making dinner is a fair exchange," Iruka said wryly.
Kakashi's smile eased into a real one. He took the bacon from the pan, broke the pieces up, and tossed them over the top of elaborate salads. Then he picked both plates up and carried them out to the main room.
Iruka wasn't sure what it was--lettuce with cranberries, walnuts--were those *pears*? Yes, pears, strips of steak and the bacon were things he could identify--but he'd learned that Kakashi only made good food. He ate.
It was good. He 'hmm'ed in appreciation and dug in with gusto, realizing after a moment that he was ravenous.
They ate in near silence, and Iruka could feel Kakashi's eyes on him almost the whole time. He tried not to let it bother him. When they were done and Kakashi had picked up the plates, Iruka wandered aimlessly through the kitchen, being more of a nuisance than anything. He thought about washing dishes, but with one arm in a sling it was a bit difficult. He was trying not to pick at the hole in his mind. It wasn't easy.
"Talk to me," he said finally, half desperate.
A silver eyebrow winged upward. "Oh? About?"
"Anything."
Kakashi was up to his elbows in suds, scrubbing the dishrack before he washed the dishes. Iruka kept his thoughts on that to himself.
"All right," Kakashi said slowly. "Are you really that unhappy with your sex life?"
Iruka froze. Then he turned three shades of red. "I--I--I'm sorry?" he stammered out.
"It came up." Kakashi looked vaguely guilty. "Over the last week. You're unhappy, you think I'm unhappy--"
"Did Genma--?" Iruka started. He was going to *kill* Genma.
"No!" Kakashi nearly yelped. He whipped around, staring at Iruka. "You talked to Genma about this, but not me?"
He turned redder. "I--I--" Iruka stopped and rubbed his scar. He couldn't think of anything to say, so he simply said nothing.
Water swished as Kakashi washed. "Are you unhappy?" the Jounin asked finally, voice soft.
Iruka looked up. He felt sick to his stomach, and half panicky. He couldn't talk about this stuff. It wasn't done, first off. When people did talk about it, bad things happened--and in this case he just *knew* that Kakashi would realize he wasn't great at all the sexy things Kakashi wanted to do. "I'm not unhappy," he half mumbled finally.
Kakashi frowned at the dishes. Iruka cringed internally. "Mizuki lied to you," Kakashi said at last, glaring at the soap suds. "He was angry because you wouldn't have sex with him. You weren't bad at anything."
Iruka stared, mouth agape. "How do you know--?" he began.
Kakashi didn't squirm, but he looked like he wanted to. "You told me," he mumbled finally. "Sort of."
"Sort of?" Iruka yelped, letting all the frustration he felt over everything boil into this. "What's 'sort of' supposed to mean?"
Kakashi frowned. "That's not the point."
"Maybe it should be!" Iruka yelled.
Kakashi stopped, shook excess water off his hands, then turned and leaned against the sink. He folded his arms across his chest and looked at Iruka, eyes half-lidded and entirely bland. "It can be the topic later. Are you, or are you not, unhappy with your sex life?"
Iruka stared, derailed. Then he started to turn red again. "It-it-it isn't--" he stopped, rubbing his scar. Quietly, he tried to gather his thoughts. "This really isn't something I want to talk about."
"I know," Kakashi said, and the words sounded like they were forced out. "You don't want to talk about sex, you don't want to talk *during* sex or discuss what's wrong or what feels good or--"
"Kakashi," Iruka snapped, unsure what he wanted to say.
"--say 'lower' or 'higher' or tell me *what* you feel like--"
"Kakashi!" Iruka said louder, embarrassment riding like red flags in his cheeks.
"--what am I supposed to do, Iruka?" Kakashi snapped, as intense as he ever got without shouting. "What do you *want*? I'm trying to keep the status quo just for you and *then* I find out that you're not happy anyway and you won't *talk* to me!"
"You're not supposed to talk about these things!" Iruka bellowed. He stopped, the volume even startling himself. "I mean--" he backtracked, flustered.
"Why not?"
He paused. "What?"
"Why not? Is this something that I'm completely missing? Like a, 'normal people let others into their apartment' thing?" Kakashi asked, and Iruka realized with surprise that he was honestly asking. Frustrated, but trying.
"No, it . . . it's an Iruka thing," Iruka mumbled. Then he winced and said, "Well, an Umino thing. Can we *please* talk about something else?"
From the way Kakashi's eyes went from confused to hard, he suspected the answer was no. "Tell me why you don't want to talk about this."
He couldn't even begin to describe his humiliation. And it was *stupid.* He knew it was stupid, and couldn't stop the emotions anyway.
Iruka left the kitchen, picking up a book and stuffing it back on an overfull bookshelf. He could hear Kakashi pad into the room behind him. "My mother," he said finally, "used to talk to her friends about her and my father's sex life. She wasn't *happy,* and that alone was entirely more than I wanted to know," he said ruefully. "My father never spoke about it at all. He said it wasn't something people discussed. Ever." He picked up a coaster, looked at it for a moment, and tossed it onto the coffee table. "My father's brother felt even more strongly about it, and when I lived with him after they died he didn't . . . it wasn't an acceptable topic. Even casually." He smiled bitterly. Thoughts of his uncle did that. "He even kept me home from school during sex ed." Iruka shrugged. "I just heard it from the other kids later, of course." He glanced at Kakashi over his shoulder. "I just don't like to talk about it."
"Okay," Kakashi said slowly. "But you're not your parents, and you're not your uncle, and not talking about it is doing more damage than talking about it would."
Iruka winced. He knew Kakashi was right, of course. He knew it was a stupid embarrassment to hang onto. He was having a hell of a time letting it go.
Even more than that, he didn't want to talk about their *specific* sex life. He didn't want to explain to Kakashi that he wasn't good at sex, and didn't want to disappoint the Jounin. Talking about it, Iruka was sure, *would* do more damage than remaining silent.
Except--oh, gods--he'd *said* something? And didn't remember what. At all. He poked at the hole in his memory even harder.
"Iruka."
He almost flinched at the hand on his shoulder, and it was retracted quickly. That wasn't what he wanted, either, though. He sighed and turned slowly, edging his eyes upward. There was a collarbone, under a shirt. A high collar. The bottom of the mask, hiding Kakashi's Adam's apple. The almost delicate line of chin and jaw.
His eyes stuck there, refusing to go any higher. "What?" he mumbled.
"Help me make this better. I don't know how to do it on my own."
"One person can't fix something two people are involved in," Iruka said quietly. Cheekbones. The edge of the mask.
No, no, that was too high. His eyes slid back down to the protrusion that was Kakashi's nose.
"Then *help* me," Kakashi said, sounding frustrated. "I thought this whole thing was about what Mizuki told you, but if it's about your parents--"
Even the nose was too high. Iruka glared at the floor, then rubbed the scar across his face again. "It's--both." He wrestled with embarrassment, possible humiliation, and the chance of losing Kakashi--gods, he didn't want to lose Kakashi--and finally said, "What . . . what did I tell you?" It really wasn't fair that he couldn't remember.
Kakashi inhaled, exhaled, and started to scratch an unidentifiable stain off the table. He stopped. "You said Mizuki told you that you were bad at sex. You said you were unhappy with our sex life, and you were afraid I was, too."
Iruka winced. Exactly what he hadn't wanted Kakashi to know. If Kakashi knew *Mizuki* thought Iruka was rotten at sex . . . But if he'd said all that already, he could surely do it again. "I . . . I guess that's right," he mumbled, waiting for damning words--'Mizuki was right' or a patronizing, 'maybe you could try harder.'
"Mizuki lied," Kakashi said firmly. "You're not bad at anything." He hesitated, then added, "Well, you can't make onigiri."
Iruka felt his face turn red and ignored the attempt at light-heartedness. "Mizuki didn't have a reason to lie, Kakashi."
"He was angry that you wouldn't have sex with him."
Iruka's gaze snapped up. "Oh? And how do you know that?" he asked sarcastically.
Much to his surprise, though, Kakashi answered without dodging--or rather, he did dodge, but he did it honestly. "I can't tell you."
Iruka stared. "You're kidding," he said, but he knew just from the expression on Kakashi's face that he wasn't.
Kakashi looked at him.
"So I'm just supposed to take your word for it--" Iruka began, unaccountably angry.
Kakashi yanked his mask down, caught Iruka, and kissed him thoroughly. It took Iruka more than a minute to respond--he fought between the desire to stomp on Kakashi's foot and kiss back.
Eventually, kiss back won out. A tongue teased his lips, and he softened slowly. Hands curled around the back of his neck. Kakashi broke the kiss, standing so close they touched at hips and knees. "You," he said firmly, "are great in bed."
Iruka thought he might die from the blush. He started to pull away, but strong fingers just tightened. "Kakashi--"
"No. Listen." Kakashi took a deep breath, let it out, clearly organizing his thoughts. "Mizuki was an asshole who tried to kill you. Twice. He had no reason to tell the truth. I am your current boyfriend, and I have a lot of experience having sex with you. You have . . ." he paused, and smiled slowly. "Amazing hands. You're sensitive, and you know how to judge my reactions. I love that little shiver you get--yes, that one. Your tongue can do the most incredible things--"
"Kakashi," Iruka said sharply, head actually hurting from too much blood--though, even as embarrassment twisted in his stomach, he was inordinately pleased.
Kakashi laughed softly. "Iruka. Really. *Talk* to me. You're not bad, and it can only help."
Kakashi was right, and Iruka knew it. It didn't help the butterflies in his stomach, or the iron-strong feeling that it was simply wrong and degenerate to talk about sex at all. At least he wasn't being told that Mizuki was *right,* and that helped.
"I know!" Kakashi said cheerfully. "You could read Icha Icha. Out loud. It'll be like homework."
"Kakashi," Iruka said warningly.
"Or I could read it to you," Kakashi suggested cheerfully.
"Kakashi!" Stomping on his toes was looking better and better.
Kakashi beamed. "I love you, and you're phenomenal in bed."
Iruka squirmed, uncomfortable with the subject, the compliment, the whole thing. And knowing if things were going to get better between them, Kakashi was right. He had to talk. "We should, uh, finish the dishes," he said at long last. He'd had enough emotional upheaval for one day. They could come back to this later.
Kakashi was quiet for a long time.
Iruka finally looked up, meeting the other man's gaze. He didn't know what Kakashi saw in his--possibly the very real feeling of, 'oh please oh please not now too much stress'--but the Jounin just nodded. With a final lingering kiss, Kakashi stepped away and headed into the kitchen.
Iruka sighed and rubbed his temples.
**
He vomited for the third time in twenty minutes and sagged back against the wall. After a moment he rinsed his mouth out and staggered into the bedroom, trying to see through the migraine spots coloring his vision.
Whispers echoed around his mind, laughing and giggling in a hideous backdrop.
Kakashi was gone--paperwork to fill out and file. Iruka had pulled the blinds when the migraine started, blocking out even the sunset. It wasn't helping.
He collapsed into his bed, yanking the covers up over his face.
He'd killed Naruto.
Iruka shuddered and tried to ignore the insidious thought. If he'd done something like that, he wouldn't be wandering around free.
He'd killed Naruto. Poured bleach into his ramen. He remembered it suddenly, as clear as anything else. As clear as the conversation with Kakashi the night before. The way the off-color liquid had streamed into the bowl, falling nearly silent. Broth rippling, sloshing against the edges. Noodles and vegetables shifted by the addition.
No. *No.* He staggered out of bed, heading toward the kitchen. He found the bleach, uncapped it, stared into the contents of the bottle sightlessly.
His vision went black and gray before finally coming back up. The world lurched sickeningly around him.
The bleach was a new container. But it wasn't full.
No.
His legs wobbled.
He'd killed Naruto.
They'd jutsu'd him, sent him screaming in pain.
No.
He set the bleach on the floor before he dropped it, felt his legs give out. His muscles spasmed painfully.
He remembered Kakashi coming at him, mask up, eyes hard, shiny silver weapons exposed--
No!
Chakra swarming over him, drowning him, hearing his voice speak and his mouth move and being unable to stop or control the things coming out--
Mizuki's laugh. Laughing and laughing and laughing.
"Stop," Iruka whispered, staggering to his feet, nearly bouncing off the cupboard, out of the kitchen.
Too bright. It was too bright.
Chakra swarming over him--
Drowning--
Pain--
Giggling. Whispering. Mizuki's voice, Mizuki's words, Mizuki's scent filling his nose.
"No. Stop it!" Iruka shouted, and nearly fell into his bedroom. He didn't make the bed. It all came crashing in, everything over the last week smashing through his mental barriers, flooding his mind. He scrambled for protection, unable to see, pain blazing through every injury both real and mental. "Stop, stop, stop," he begged, nerves on fire.
He was going crazy.
He found a corner, curled into a ball, clutched at his head until he felt his nails rake his skin, ignored the blaze of pain from his shoulder. "Stop it!" he shouted, nearly sobbing. It wouldn't stop. None of it.
Drowning in chakra that wasn't his. Feeling something enter his body, something black and oily, feeling it eat at a soul and then start on his own and he couldn't make it quit.
He screamed and screamed and screamed.
*****************
Without further ado...
Title: Former Lives
Author: JBMcDragon
Status: Complete, 9 parts
Rating: R for violence and language
Summary: The sequel to The Kakashi Mission. Things are not perfect in any relationship, but even Kakashi knows something really isn't right in theirs. When Iruka tries to poison Naruto, he begins to think something isn't right, period.
Prologue and chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter Six
Now
"Why is there *sugar* on my floor?" Iruka nearly yelled, frustrated beyond belief, confused, and hurting. He had stab wounds he didn't remember getting on his ankles, shoulder and forearm, a small burn on his hand, and his arm was in a sling while the tendons in his shoulder mended. The sugar was the last straw.
"Salt, actually," Kakashi said, smiling brightly and rubbing the back of his head. Iruka recognized it for what it was; anxiety, nervousness, all shielded behind a mask of Kakashi-shaped sheepishness.
Iruka stared at the kitchen floor and fought the urge to throw something. Or cry. One or the other, and throwing something wouldn't hurt his dignity so much.
He'd woken in the hospital. The last thing he remembered before that was leaving the school. None of his questions had been answered, and no one would tell him why he was stitched or how he'd come to be so miserable. A week had passed and he remembered none of it and he didn't know why.
And now there was salt on the kitchen floor. He started farther inside, and stopped.
"Is something burning?" he asked slowly.
"Ah . . . no. You're smelling sage. It's out, now."
Iruka sniffed, then turned incredulous eyes on Kakashi. "WHY was I burning sage in my apartment?"
Kakashi smiled brightly again. "You weren't. I was."
That made even less sense. Iruka stared, weary and confused, around his home.
There was garlic by the windows and doors. Mirrors in the corners. Salt on the floor. He grasped that one thing and went to get a dustpan.
"Don't," Kakashi said, suddenly beside him, taking the broom.
It was too much. Too confusing and frightening and no one would tell him *anything.* "Damn it, Kakashi!" he yelled, and wrenched the dustpan away with his one good arm. "What *happened*?" He stood, trembling, as Kakashi gently took the broom and set it against a wall. Then the Jounin stepped close, wrapping slender fingers around the back of Iruka's neck.
"When Tsunade first asked you to help me make friends," Kakashi said quietly, "I trusted you and did what you said, even though I thought it didn't make sense. Remember?"
Miserably, Iruka nodded. His initial flare of anger was gone, replaced again by a hollow, not-right feeling.
"I trusted you because you knew more about people than I did. Now, I know more about jutsu than you do, correct?"
Iruka nodded again, eyes fastened on the zipper at the top of Kakashi's vest. He didn't have the energy to look up.
"Then I'm asking you to just trust me. I know this isn't easy. But, please, trust me."
"Tell me what happened?" Iruka asked quietly, pleading.
Kakashi's thumb rubbed Iruka's skin, tracing the tendon that went from collar to ear. Iruka shivered at the contact, at warm flesh smoothing over his neck. His lover was quiet for a long time, thinking. "Something bad happened," Kakashi murmured at last. "Ibiki and Hiashi used a jutsu to make you forget. When--*if* something startles you, the memories won't feed your panic . . . so you'll work out of it quicker. Later, as your memories come back, it should be small enough bits for you to handle it. But try not to hurry them. All right?"
Iruka nodded silently. It wasn't enough, but it was more than he'd hoped for. He could feel Kakashi staring at him. Examining him.
The Jounin sighed, pulling down his mask and leaning close. "Trust me," he said, mouth against Iruka's.
Iruka nodded and leaned into the kiss, grasping at something he *did* understand. This wasn't frightening. This was--this was right.
**
Kakashi seduced the younger man quite purposefully, tugging him into the bedroom where fewer things were out of place. He touched and petted and kissed, unbuttoning, unzipping, stripping them both until he could reach skin on skin, being ever so careful of injuries and bandages. He'd never paid quite so much attention to Iruka before; reactions, the way his breath caught, his taste.
They both enjoyed it--and Kakashi made sure Iruka enjoyed it several times, until the Chuunin was too tired to think about anything other than sleep.
Kakashi wrapped Iruka up, Iruka's head on his chest, injured shoulder carefully supported by Kakashi's whole one. He crossed the other man's arms and held firmly to his wrists.
Iruka didn't seem to notice.
Kakashi breathed in the familiar scent of his lover, warmth and shampoo and the faint hint of spice. "Trust me," he requested softly, and hoped that trust wouldn't be misplaced.
**
Then
"Why *not*?" Iruka demanded, following his uncle around the little apartment. "All the other kids--"
"Because you're too young," his uncle shot back, eyes red from too much alcohol the night before.
Iruka knew he shouldn't push. He *knew* his uncle would only get mad, and things would go from bad to worse. He couldn't help himself. "You're making me miss school because of *sex ed?* I'll just learn it from the other kids!"
"Enough!" his uncle snarled, whipping around. "Just leave it well enough alone!"
"Gods, you and Dad! You're both such *prudes*, can't even say *penis*--"
"Enough, enough, you little snot you have no fucking *manners!*" his uncle roared, and whipped around too fast for Iruka to duck. The slap snapped his head around painfully, a starburst exploding behind his eye.
He *knew* he shouldn't push.
**
Now
Iruka woke to the scent of frying bacon. He stretched in bed and rolled sleepily, staring up at his ceiling. He tried not to notice the mirrors in the corners. He couldn't keep from prodding at the holes in his memory. It tickled his mind, like he'd forgotten something he shouldn't have. Like walking out the door without his satchel, or forgetting to turn the stove off.
Eventually he pushed himself up to his feet, scrubbing a hand through his hair and yanking out the band. He hated falling asleep with his hair in a ponytail. Always gave him a headache.
Iruka found some pants and pulled them on, then shuffled out to the living room.
Kakashi was in the kitchen, wiping off counters while periodically checking on the frying bacon. He looked up at Iruka, mismatched eyes lighting and then darkening with concern. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
Iruka smiled weakly and shrugged, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand. "Weird dreams, but I don't remember them now." Something about Naruto and his parents and Mizuki--he brushed them off.
"Dinner?"
Iruka glanced at the clock, wincing at the time. It had been early afternoon when they'd gotten back from the hospital. "Yeah. Thanks," he said quietly.
"I cleaned the kitchen," Kakashi said, swiping at the counter again nervously, not looking up at Iruka. Then he did look up, and smiled too brightly behind his mask. "I hope you don't mind."
Iruka's mouth twitched up. When they'd first started dating and Kakashi had begun to spend time at his apartment, whether or not the Jounin was allowed to clean everything in sight had been a battle. Now, he mostly kept his hands off. "I think making dinner is a fair exchange," Iruka said wryly.
Kakashi's smile eased into a real one. He took the bacon from the pan, broke the pieces up, and tossed them over the top of elaborate salads. Then he picked both plates up and carried them out to the main room.
Iruka wasn't sure what it was--lettuce with cranberries, walnuts--were those *pears*? Yes, pears, strips of steak and the bacon were things he could identify--but he'd learned that Kakashi only made good food. He ate.
It was good. He 'hmm'ed in appreciation and dug in with gusto, realizing after a moment that he was ravenous.
They ate in near silence, and Iruka could feel Kakashi's eyes on him almost the whole time. He tried not to let it bother him. When they were done and Kakashi had picked up the plates, Iruka wandered aimlessly through the kitchen, being more of a nuisance than anything. He thought about washing dishes, but with one arm in a sling it was a bit difficult. He was trying not to pick at the hole in his mind. It wasn't easy.
"Talk to me," he said finally, half desperate.
A silver eyebrow winged upward. "Oh? About?"
"Anything."
Kakashi was up to his elbows in suds, scrubbing the dishrack before he washed the dishes. Iruka kept his thoughts on that to himself.
"All right," Kakashi said slowly. "Are you really that unhappy with your sex life?"
Iruka froze. Then he turned three shades of red. "I--I--I'm sorry?" he stammered out.
"It came up." Kakashi looked vaguely guilty. "Over the last week. You're unhappy, you think I'm unhappy--"
"Did Genma--?" Iruka started. He was going to *kill* Genma.
"No!" Kakashi nearly yelped. He whipped around, staring at Iruka. "You talked to Genma about this, but not me?"
He turned redder. "I--I--" Iruka stopped and rubbed his scar. He couldn't think of anything to say, so he simply said nothing.
Water swished as Kakashi washed. "Are you unhappy?" the Jounin asked finally, voice soft.
Iruka looked up. He felt sick to his stomach, and half panicky. He couldn't talk about this stuff. It wasn't done, first off. When people did talk about it, bad things happened--and in this case he just *knew* that Kakashi would realize he wasn't great at all the sexy things Kakashi wanted to do. "I'm not unhappy," he half mumbled finally.
Kakashi frowned at the dishes. Iruka cringed internally. "Mizuki lied to you," Kakashi said at last, glaring at the soap suds. "He was angry because you wouldn't have sex with him. You weren't bad at anything."
Iruka stared, mouth agape. "How do you know--?" he began.
Kakashi didn't squirm, but he looked like he wanted to. "You told me," he mumbled finally. "Sort of."
"Sort of?" Iruka yelped, letting all the frustration he felt over everything boil into this. "What's 'sort of' supposed to mean?"
Kakashi frowned. "That's not the point."
"Maybe it should be!" Iruka yelled.
Kakashi stopped, shook excess water off his hands, then turned and leaned against the sink. He folded his arms across his chest and looked at Iruka, eyes half-lidded and entirely bland. "It can be the topic later. Are you, or are you not, unhappy with your sex life?"
Iruka stared, derailed. Then he started to turn red again. "It-it-it isn't--" he stopped, rubbing his scar. Quietly, he tried to gather his thoughts. "This really isn't something I want to talk about."
"I know," Kakashi said, and the words sounded like they were forced out. "You don't want to talk about sex, you don't want to talk *during* sex or discuss what's wrong or what feels good or--"
"Kakashi," Iruka snapped, unsure what he wanted to say.
"--say 'lower' or 'higher' or tell me *what* you feel like--"
"Kakashi!" Iruka said louder, embarrassment riding like red flags in his cheeks.
"--what am I supposed to do, Iruka?" Kakashi snapped, as intense as he ever got without shouting. "What do you *want*? I'm trying to keep the status quo just for you and *then* I find out that you're not happy anyway and you won't *talk* to me!"
"You're not supposed to talk about these things!" Iruka bellowed. He stopped, the volume even startling himself. "I mean--" he backtracked, flustered.
"Why not?"
He paused. "What?"
"Why not? Is this something that I'm completely missing? Like a, 'normal people let others into their apartment' thing?" Kakashi asked, and Iruka realized with surprise that he was honestly asking. Frustrated, but trying.
"No, it . . . it's an Iruka thing," Iruka mumbled. Then he winced and said, "Well, an Umino thing. Can we *please* talk about something else?"
From the way Kakashi's eyes went from confused to hard, he suspected the answer was no. "Tell me why you don't want to talk about this."
He couldn't even begin to describe his humiliation. And it was *stupid.* He knew it was stupid, and couldn't stop the emotions anyway.
Iruka left the kitchen, picking up a book and stuffing it back on an overfull bookshelf. He could hear Kakashi pad into the room behind him. "My mother," he said finally, "used to talk to her friends about her and my father's sex life. She wasn't *happy,* and that alone was entirely more than I wanted to know," he said ruefully. "My father never spoke about it at all. He said it wasn't something people discussed. Ever." He picked up a coaster, looked at it for a moment, and tossed it onto the coffee table. "My father's brother felt even more strongly about it, and when I lived with him after they died he didn't . . . it wasn't an acceptable topic. Even casually." He smiled bitterly. Thoughts of his uncle did that. "He even kept me home from school during sex ed." Iruka shrugged. "I just heard it from the other kids later, of course." He glanced at Kakashi over his shoulder. "I just don't like to talk about it."
"Okay," Kakashi said slowly. "But you're not your parents, and you're not your uncle, and not talking about it is doing more damage than talking about it would."
Iruka winced. He knew Kakashi was right, of course. He knew it was a stupid embarrassment to hang onto. He was having a hell of a time letting it go.
Even more than that, he didn't want to talk about their *specific* sex life. He didn't want to explain to Kakashi that he wasn't good at sex, and didn't want to disappoint the Jounin. Talking about it, Iruka was sure, *would* do more damage than remaining silent.
Except--oh, gods--he'd *said* something? And didn't remember what. At all. He poked at the hole in his memory even harder.
"Iruka."
He almost flinched at the hand on his shoulder, and it was retracted quickly. That wasn't what he wanted, either, though. He sighed and turned slowly, edging his eyes upward. There was a collarbone, under a shirt. A high collar. The bottom of the mask, hiding Kakashi's Adam's apple. The almost delicate line of chin and jaw.
His eyes stuck there, refusing to go any higher. "What?" he mumbled.
"Help me make this better. I don't know how to do it on my own."
"One person can't fix something two people are involved in," Iruka said quietly. Cheekbones. The edge of the mask.
No, no, that was too high. His eyes slid back down to the protrusion that was Kakashi's nose.
"Then *help* me," Kakashi said, sounding frustrated. "I thought this whole thing was about what Mizuki told you, but if it's about your parents--"
Even the nose was too high. Iruka glared at the floor, then rubbed the scar across his face again. "It's--both." He wrestled with embarrassment, possible humiliation, and the chance of losing Kakashi--gods, he didn't want to lose Kakashi--and finally said, "What . . . what did I tell you?" It really wasn't fair that he couldn't remember.
Kakashi inhaled, exhaled, and started to scratch an unidentifiable stain off the table. He stopped. "You said Mizuki told you that you were bad at sex. You said you were unhappy with our sex life, and you were afraid I was, too."
Iruka winced. Exactly what he hadn't wanted Kakashi to know. If Kakashi knew *Mizuki* thought Iruka was rotten at sex . . . But if he'd said all that already, he could surely do it again. "I . . . I guess that's right," he mumbled, waiting for damning words--'Mizuki was right' or a patronizing, 'maybe you could try harder.'
"Mizuki lied," Kakashi said firmly. "You're not bad at anything." He hesitated, then added, "Well, you can't make onigiri."
Iruka felt his face turn red and ignored the attempt at light-heartedness. "Mizuki didn't have a reason to lie, Kakashi."
"He was angry that you wouldn't have sex with him."
Iruka's gaze snapped up. "Oh? And how do you know that?" he asked sarcastically.
Much to his surprise, though, Kakashi answered without dodging--or rather, he did dodge, but he did it honestly. "I can't tell you."
Iruka stared. "You're kidding," he said, but he knew just from the expression on Kakashi's face that he wasn't.
Kakashi looked at him.
"So I'm just supposed to take your word for it--" Iruka began, unaccountably angry.
Kakashi yanked his mask down, caught Iruka, and kissed him thoroughly. It took Iruka more than a minute to respond--he fought between the desire to stomp on Kakashi's foot and kiss back.
Eventually, kiss back won out. A tongue teased his lips, and he softened slowly. Hands curled around the back of his neck. Kakashi broke the kiss, standing so close they touched at hips and knees. "You," he said firmly, "are great in bed."
Iruka thought he might die from the blush. He started to pull away, but strong fingers just tightened. "Kakashi--"
"No. Listen." Kakashi took a deep breath, let it out, clearly organizing his thoughts. "Mizuki was an asshole who tried to kill you. Twice. He had no reason to tell the truth. I am your current boyfriend, and I have a lot of experience having sex with you. You have . . ." he paused, and smiled slowly. "Amazing hands. You're sensitive, and you know how to judge my reactions. I love that little shiver you get--yes, that one. Your tongue can do the most incredible things--"
"Kakashi," Iruka said sharply, head actually hurting from too much blood--though, even as embarrassment twisted in his stomach, he was inordinately pleased.
Kakashi laughed softly. "Iruka. Really. *Talk* to me. You're not bad, and it can only help."
Kakashi was right, and Iruka knew it. It didn't help the butterflies in his stomach, or the iron-strong feeling that it was simply wrong and degenerate to talk about sex at all. At least he wasn't being told that Mizuki was *right,* and that helped.
"I know!" Kakashi said cheerfully. "You could read Icha Icha. Out loud. It'll be like homework."
"Kakashi," Iruka said warningly.
"Or I could read it to you," Kakashi suggested cheerfully.
"Kakashi!" Stomping on his toes was looking better and better.
Kakashi beamed. "I love you, and you're phenomenal in bed."
Iruka squirmed, uncomfortable with the subject, the compliment, the whole thing. And knowing if things were going to get better between them, Kakashi was right. He had to talk. "We should, uh, finish the dishes," he said at long last. He'd had enough emotional upheaval for one day. They could come back to this later.
Kakashi was quiet for a long time.
Iruka finally looked up, meeting the other man's gaze. He didn't know what Kakashi saw in his--possibly the very real feeling of, 'oh please oh please not now too much stress'--but the Jounin just nodded. With a final lingering kiss, Kakashi stepped away and headed into the kitchen.
Iruka sighed and rubbed his temples.
**
He vomited for the third time in twenty minutes and sagged back against the wall. After a moment he rinsed his mouth out and staggered into the bedroom, trying to see through the migraine spots coloring his vision.
Whispers echoed around his mind, laughing and giggling in a hideous backdrop.
Kakashi was gone--paperwork to fill out and file. Iruka had pulled the blinds when the migraine started, blocking out even the sunset. It wasn't helping.
He collapsed into his bed, yanking the covers up over his face.
He'd killed Naruto.
Iruka shuddered and tried to ignore the insidious thought. If he'd done something like that, he wouldn't be wandering around free.
He'd killed Naruto. Poured bleach into his ramen. He remembered it suddenly, as clear as anything else. As clear as the conversation with Kakashi the night before. The way the off-color liquid had streamed into the bowl, falling nearly silent. Broth rippling, sloshing against the edges. Noodles and vegetables shifted by the addition.
No. *No.* He staggered out of bed, heading toward the kitchen. He found the bleach, uncapped it, stared into the contents of the bottle sightlessly.
His vision went black and gray before finally coming back up. The world lurched sickeningly around him.
The bleach was a new container. But it wasn't full.
No.
His legs wobbled.
He'd killed Naruto.
They'd jutsu'd him, sent him screaming in pain.
No.
He set the bleach on the floor before he dropped it, felt his legs give out. His muscles spasmed painfully.
He remembered Kakashi coming at him, mask up, eyes hard, shiny silver weapons exposed--
No!
Chakra swarming over him, drowning him, hearing his voice speak and his mouth move and being unable to stop or control the things coming out--
Mizuki's laugh. Laughing and laughing and laughing.
"Stop," Iruka whispered, staggering to his feet, nearly bouncing off the cupboard, out of the kitchen.
Too bright. It was too bright.
Chakra swarming over him--
Drowning--
Pain--
Giggling. Whispering. Mizuki's voice, Mizuki's words, Mizuki's scent filling his nose.
"No. Stop it!" Iruka shouted, and nearly fell into his bedroom. He didn't make the bed. It all came crashing in, everything over the last week smashing through his mental barriers, flooding his mind. He scrambled for protection, unable to see, pain blazing through every injury both real and mental. "Stop, stop, stop," he begged, nerves on fire.
He was going crazy.
He found a corner, curled into a ball, clutched at his head until he felt his nails rake his skin, ignored the blaze of pain from his shoulder. "Stop it!" he shouted, nearly sobbing. It wouldn't stop. None of it.
Drowning in chakra that wasn't his. Feeling something enter his body, something black and oily, feeling it eat at a soul and then start on his own and he couldn't make it quit.
He screamed and screamed and screamed.
*****************