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Recherche	By : Eggburtshamslice Category: Naruto > Yaoi - Male/Male > Kakashi/Iruka Views: 4188 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto nor do I make any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Chapter List
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Recherché: Stitches in Time

Alas and alack, poor Ibiki.
No matter how fast or how far he ran,
from this dilemma there was no escape.
This place, always his refuge, a bastion of tranquility where the weight of the world slipped from his shoulders; today the sun beats against his back and the frigid fingers of anxiety stutter step along his spine. Artifices of the mind deceive eyes and ears; the reins fall slack in his hands as the leaves of the trees become accusations of those he’d sworn to protect. Babbling brooks in the distance are now the murmurs of a government whose laws he’d sworn to uphold. Bushes stretch forth their brambles, piercing his heart like the skepticism and contempt of the men he was charged to lead.
Finally at the place where flat landscape reached its terminus and jagged outlines of the forests begin, Ibiki guides his mount off the well-trodden path. They stand before a sentry of ancient conifers guarding the passage into the wilds.
Though soft breezes impregnated with intoxicating attars of wildflowers tug at his lingering bitterness, the sense of melancholy never falters; the weight of betrayal clings to him as a mouldy shroud. He shook his head, closing his eyes and shutting his ears to the conjured images and sounds as his mount adopts an ambling gait. “Unbelievable,” he said, as he sharply pulled back on the reins. “A woman so intelligent and perceptive, kowtowing to the fairy stories of her ancestors. Ridiculous!”
Without warning was he pitched forward, his forehead colliding with Mayonaka’s poll when the horse came to a standstill. “I apologize,” he whispered into a flickering ear.   “Been years since I worked you this hard old friend. You’ve earned your rest … here’s as good a place as any to take it, he said, smoothing his hand down the muscular neck. Gingerly alighting the saddle, a flick of the wrist brought the reins over the horse’s head. “If memory serves, there’s a little creek beyond that clump of trees … let’s go.”
The horse took a few timid steps and paused; a slight tug on the reins, he took a few steps more and pulled back against the lead.
“Okay … what’s your problem?”
Mayonaka responded with a snort and a jerk of his massive head in the opposite direction. Digging his hooves into the soft grasses, he refused to budge.
“You realize this is conduct unbecoming a patrol officer, don’t you? Come along now, I’ve had my fill of contrariness for one morning.”
This time, Mayonaka almost jerked his arm from its socket.
“Fine! I’ve no time for your nonsense either!” He stalked off toward the creek, rifling through his pockets as he went. Eyeing a smooth wide tree stump, he skirted around it, too angry to sit just now. Under the resplendent shade of towering trees, humid winds tote the call and response of the komadori and cool waters splash over smooth stones in the belly of the creek as he paced alongside the mossy bank. He stops short near a clump of eye high spindly foliage veiling his view of the town.
“I know the answer is staring me in the face … why the hell can’t I see it?”
In the distance, faint strains of a steam whistle issue from the lumber mill calling workers back to their posts; as it does, Ibiki found himself wishing to trade places with them; to daily expend his strength producing something of value. He allows himself to think how pleasant it would be - returning to his abode by evening, an honest day’s work having leached his energy that he might rest in the bosom of dreamless sleep by night.
But it was never to be so; that he knew right well.
The stillness of the forest takes him captive once more - the crunch of his teeth tearing away the tip of the cigar he’d fished from his pocket, almost deafening. Sweet cognac and bitter tobacco dowse his taste buds as he turns his back on the town and stands transfixed, watching the end piece of his cigar gracefully arc as it shoots from his mouth; an embittered laugh rises from his chest as his eyes follow the ragged wad as it bobs and floats in the dark cool creek water.
Well if that doesn’t sum up my life these past months, nothing else can.
Months pass and the center of his desk filled with paperwork about these murders; day by day, malicious whispers and distrustful eyes of the masses adhere to his back everywhere he went. These things had ripped out a chunk of his confidence and spewed it forth like tainted meat. Now, he floundered in the slow moving currents of failure with little time before the waters of bureaucracy engulfed and dragged him down.
Back to the tree stump he wandered, taking a seat and striking a match against the sole of his boot.
“Here I thought you were the only one who understood me. You know, I’ve never faced anything like this before Mayonaka; scares the hell out of me. And you, a friend … a fellow officer no less, refusing to mitigate my concerns, well .. well.”
Mayonaka quietly approached, his pasterns brushing over tender ground cover with a swish and crisp leaf litter crunching beneath his hooves. He stands to Ibiki’s right, fixing him with the equine equivalent of empathy.
“No apple till you hear me out,” he said with a chuckle, “deal? Alright, here it is in a nutshell … if I go along with this piffle about undead creatures on a rampage, there’s no way I can justify that nor encourage my men to continue investigating. Calling in a demon hunter takes the constables out of the equation and make us an even bigger laughingstock.”
Mayonaka snorted.
“My sentiments exactly. But, if I follow my gut that’s telling me this is the work of one or more deranged human beings … how the hell do I prove it to the Advisory Council and the people of the territory?”
Mayonaka shook his head as he drew closer to his troubled master.
“The way I see it, Umino is an agent from another nation jealous of our prosperity; by sending him, they hope to scare us away establishing trade with the West. Then again, he could be working for the religious nutcases inside the territory. Either way, I figure Umino is an accomplice or accessory to murder. Wait a minute,” he said as he stood. “There is another powerful and extremely vocal faction who oppose trade with foreign lands, though their worries have nothing to do with the loss of culture or heritage. On the contrary, trade would increase their wealth. What they fear is losing control over the minds of the people.”
Once more he took to pacing as Mayonaka positioned himself by the creek for a drink.
“Shimura Danzou and Kokucho Orochimaru … two of the oldest and most influential members of the Advisory Council; they spend their days exerting pressure on the Governor and me by extension to get a handle on these killings so it looks like they have the interests of the people at heart. But with the murder of Hyuga Hitomi, each of them gains leverage to unseat the sole heir of the Senju legacy.   They know I’d never consider them suspects and they’ve tolerated me this long, because I’ve been discrete . . . kept my mouth shut about their … unnatural relations.” With his mount quenching his thirst, Ibiki rummaged through the saddlebags. The water in his canteen surprisingly cool, fresh and sweet; a backward swipe of his forearm sopped up the moisture clinging to his lips. And with the other hand, he absently cards through Mayonaka’s silken mane. A cloud of smoke enfolds him as he leans against the sinewy shoulder of his mount. “I’m damned either way I turn … aren’t I? No idea how to proceed … not sure if I want to anymore.
Whether intended to bat away a biting insect or to knock some sense into the dejected officer beside him, Ibiki laughed at himself when the tips of the horse’s heavy tail thumped against his back.
“Okay … message received,” he said with a sigh, “should be an apple or two in your saddlebags. And, if you’ll just go with me to the crime scene, I promise to stop feeling sorry for myself . . . okay?”
Recherché
It was quarter past the hour when she left the office. Squaring her shoulders and scurrying across the plaza, she saw a fresh troop of horses and their handlers lining up for inspection outside the constabulary; she immediately considered doing an about face.
No, Lady Tsunade is depending on me.
The mounted patrol. Over the last four months, they’d seen an increase in their workload as more of the concerned rich demanded protection around their estates. Cocksure and enterprising, several of these men earned money under the table working as private security forces; for this she did not begrudge them. Yet it was the selfsame reason she didn’t fancy being in their presence. In her mind, some of them were no better than thugs, wearing uniforms to cover their cowardice, willing to fleece the rich as long as they could and ready to flee at the slightest hint of a bugbear.
With the changing of shifts Shizune realized the Inspector might be unavailable for an indeterminable time. Nevertheless, leaving the Governor’s note with anyone other than him was out of the question.
Taking a deep breath, she squeezed through the clutch of officers as they entered and exited the building, nodding in acknowledgement and smiling politely as they passed her by. Once inside the squad room, she ducked into a corner; out of the patrolmen’s way yet with an excellent vantage point to catch sight of the Inspector. To the left of the watch commander’s desk stood an orderly line of constables, laughing and talking as they waited their turns to sign in. Over the din, Ryota called out, beckoning her to come alongside his desk.
“Shift change” he said. “What can I do for you ma’am?”
“Need to see the Inspector …is he here?”
Ryota shook his head sadly.
“Lady Tsunade ordered me to put this note directly in his hand; have you any idea where I can find him?”
“Nope and I can’t promise he’ll see it today, but I’ll make sure he gets it,” he said, holding out his hand to receive the small envelope clutched against her obi.
“I can’t.” Looking around the room once more, she held the note tighter.  “Are you sure he didn’t sneak past you? Perhaps he’s in the restroom? I mean with all this commotion, he could have?”
He gave her a big grin as another officer dropped off his report, “Nothing or nobody comes through here without my notice. And, if the Inspector were in the building, we wouldn’t have all this hubbub.”
She glanced around the room a final time, “I don’t mind waiting--”
“Hope you packed a lunch then.” Turning to straighten the pile of papers at the corner of the desk he said, “Ibiki was a wee bit ‘preoccupied’ this morning; whatever happened during that meeting with the Governor… brought out the worst in him--”
“We had an interesting morning on my side of the street too; that meeting did nothing to improve Lady Tsunade’s state of mind either.”
“Now, now, I’m just stating fact; no need to get yourself riled up.”
Just then, the clock in the station room chimed the half hour and the noise level in the room dropped down to hushed whispers as the men clustered together in the center of the room.
“Here's the deal, Ibiki went out to a crime scene; I guarantee he ain’t coming back til afternoon, if at all.”
“Those two, like peas in a pod. Lady Tsunade excused herself from the office as well. Claimed she was going for a long walk but I know she didn’t get far. Probably sitting under her favorite tree in the park, people watching or else she’s holed up near the sea, watching the waves roll in.”
Quickly looking his left and right as a few of the constables milled about, he leaned over and whispered, “The Inspector, the Governor, stubborn as two swaybacked pack mules under heavy loads. With everything going on lately, is it a wonder they’re frazzled?”
Shizune bent down propping her elbow on the desk. “They’re cut from the same cloth” she whispered. “Completely unyielding when they think they’re in the right … quick to apologize when they find out they aren’t.”
Jotting down a few notes from the thin manila folder before him, Ryota mumbled, “With that swarm of solicitors descending on her like fussed up hornets and tragedy striking one of the richest and most powerful families in the territory weighing on Ibiki’s mind, both of ‘em were pushed to their limits --”
“And when they bumped heads” said Shizune, “there was an explosion--”
“Exactly,” he said, closing the folder. “They just need a little time and a lot of space to cool down . . . that’s all.”
“Right,” she said tucking the note inside a ruck of her obi, “not like this was the first time they fell out.”
“They’ll meet up at the tsuya tonight, dance around each other as if nothing happened … by tomorrow, all will be forgiven and forgotten.”
“Thanks, Ryota.” Standing taller now, Shizune smiled at the sage watch commander, “Just in case the Inspector does come back, would you ask to stop by the office?”
“Sure thing. See you tonight Miss Shizune.”
Recherché
The closer they came to the appointed place, Mayonaka exhibited a growing reluctance to follow his lead; that was unusual, yet forgivable, for there was an intangible eerie sense in the atmosphere. A few gentle strokes of his hand along the velvety soft nose and a couple of calmly spoken words made it possible to tether the reins around a tree trunk. But before going deeper into the gloaming, Ibiki extracted one of the daggers holstered inside his boot.
He no longer needed the map; the forest floor was swept clean in this space and not by the winds whistling through the trees. Sawdust and straw meticulously raked in a circular pattern made it hard to miss the footprints of Raidou and Aoba. All of the trees in here were hewn to the same exact height, which wasn’t unusual.   Lumberjacks often tied ropes around a clump of trees at a preselected height, he’d long since forgotten the reasons why. However, at the base of each tree stump lay a garland of dead, dried flowers; that wasn’t something lumberjacks did as a rule. One thing more; the bark of the trees had diagonal lines gouged in the wood. Again, he shrugged it off.
These gouges are deep and randomly spaced, torn off by an animal’s claws no doubt. Our hunter likely met his fate at the paws of a hungry bear or a famished mountain lion. But wild animals don’t leave behind memorial garlands.
He ascended a ridge above the trees and from this vantage point two things were clear; t least six feet of space separated the trees on each side; their uprooting and culling from the cluster was recently done. “Together,” he mumbled to himself, “they resemble an arrowhead with its tip pointing due north.
Why the hell is it pointing toward the cemetery?”
Notes:
Komadori: robin(s).
Poll: name for a part of an animal's head, referring to a point immediately behind or right between the ears. This area has a slight depression and is very sensitive. Since the crown piece of a bridle passes over the poll joint, a rider indirectly exerts pressure on the horse's poll by means of the reins, bit and bridle.
Pastern: parts of a horse’s leg between its fetlocks and hooves.
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