Adult-FanFiction.org : Naruto

December	By : MuseMistress Category: Naruto > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1152 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-One
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Four
- 5-Five
- 6-Six
- 7-Seven
- 8-Eight
- 4
- 5
- 6
Rating: R for language, drug and sexual references, mature subject matter.

Pairings: KisaIta, KakaIru, a bit of GenRai

Notes- In my projected timetable, the completion of Chapter Four marked the halfway point. This is now the official second half of the story. The first half is 67 pages long on Microsoft Word and contains 41,196 words, including author notes. This one is, once again, promising to turn out just as long or longer than the last one. I�m hoping that I can wrap this up within my original timetable estimation, but there may end up being nine chapters as opposed to eight, with the addition of an epilogue Which, god help me, will be short.

Please forgive grammar/spelling mistakes. I edited really quickly and honestly, I'm in need of a beta reader.If anyone wants to voulunteer???? But I'll come back and edit this later. For now, if you find anything wrong, tell me please??

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October
I. A letter in French means nothing to Isabel, no matter how beautifully written.
"Mad as a hatter," Mom used to say in the days when Mom could say anything at all. I�d nod in agreement even though I never knew exactly why she said "mad" when the right word was crazy and who precisely the hatter was. She said it whenever Dad started talking about the house he�d have out in the country on day, with an apple orchard and babbling brooks. And when I asked her what the brook babble about, she said they babble with dreams that never came true. Like Dad�s.

She said it under her breath every time he started going on about the farm. Dad loved that dream. I liked it too. I wanted an entire field full of apples of all kinds: green, yellow, red, and yellow streaked with red. I didn�t think his dream was so crazy.

The way Itachi�s going on now, I�m inclined to think that he�s mad in both senses of the word, babbling under his breath like the brook. He babbles angry words without complete consonants. Breakfast bowels emptied of milk and Cheerios clack as he gathers spoons one handed. The clatter is loud and fills the room.

I take one last slip of water from my glass. He�s been like this since Tuesday. His psychiatrist phoned the house. I picked up the phone first before handing it off to my brother. Itachi glared at me like it was my fault that he called.

When the last dish is in the sink, Itachi spins around and rests his back on the ledge of the sink, eyes drifting up to the clock. "Time for you to go," he reminds me, arms braced on the ledge. He winces ever so slightly. "Remind Kakashi that he has to drop you off at the caf� around six."

"I will," I assure him, although assured is the last thing he looks. He nods, briefly, and hands me a brown bag with my lunch in it. For the past few days we�ve been down to the wire again, peanut butter sandwiches, canned soup, and tap water. He�s working at the bookstore again, but Friday is payday and its only Thursday. "But you have to remind him too. You see him first."

"I know," Itachi says. "I will. But you know how he is."

I do know how he is. I know how he is better than Itachi knows how he is. Kakashi can remember to put the coffee on at exactly the eight, four, and seven o�clocks and all the moves a knight can make, but he can�t remember appointments. Things in the present. Kakashi remembers ghosts every Saturday and sometimes in between. I haven�t been brave enough to say more than a few words to Obito at the end of our visits. I believe, now, that Obito isn�t a figment of his imagination, but I wouldn�t know what to say, or how to say it. I�m not sure I have anything to say except that I know how much Kakashi must miss him to come every week.

Maybe, if I had something to contribute, maybe I would say more than hello and goodbye.

"Yeah," I say as I unzip my backpack to put my lunch inside. "I know how he is."

Itachi nods again, a bit absently, but still basically here. He�s been better since the night Iruka showed up, talking to me a little bit more, his gaze wavering less. I want to say that the pancakes helped him feel better, but I think it has more to do with the psychiatrist that called. Even though he glared at me when it happened, I�m glad he called; as incoherent as it may be, Itachi�s broken language is still more sound then he typically makes. His focus, an anger that I didn�t even see in him when he killed Mom and Dad, has something to do with the psychiatrist. I can�t help but think that he did something bad to warrant so much emotion from my brother, emotion that�s leaking over to me all of a sudden. Most times I might as well be talking to stone.

I re-zip my back-pack slowly, his improved awareness in the forefront of my mind. Too bad he�s not really looking at me right now. He�s not planning on saying goodbye the way most people do. I don�t think he�s ever really said goodbye to me, or to anyone at all in the past few years. So I know that there�s no hug coming.

What would he do if I hugged him? He�d notice me, but I�m not sure he�d like it. I can�t remember even hugging him at the funeral, but I might have been angry with him then. That was back when I still believed he was a murderer.

Maybe if I just said goodbye.

I look up to meet him in the eyes, ignoring the moments they waver. He looks back at me, almost as if by accident. Aside from the slightly vacant feel to them, our eyes are exactly the same. I see myself in there, the white of my face like a flash of light across his pupils.

"You don�t want to be late, Sasuke," he says, not sure why I�m still here, looking up at him the way I am. "The bus is coming soon."

I swallow a mouthful of fear. I�ll run for the bus. "�Tachi?"

He jerks visibly. It�s been such a long time since I called him by that nickname. Since anyone did. He doesn�t answer. The fear rises back up again. I know I�ve done the wrong thing, because he�s not looking in my direction. He�s looking out the window. Like he looks out over the fire escape, making me want to erase what I�ve done.

"Nothing," I take back just as quickly as I blurted it out, answering like he�s actually said "what?" "Never mind. I have to get to school."

I don�t run. I want to run right out of the kitchen, down the street and up the four blocks to the bus stop. I want to run until I don�t want to cry anymore.

I�m almost out the door before I hear him call my name. And he follows me. Right to the front door as my hand is on the knob. "Wait a minute," he says as he crosses the tiny living room. I have to blink several times when he�s suddenly eye-level with me. Really, really eye level. Not like Kakashi on his knees where he�s still taller. "Sasuke, I need you to do something for me. Can you do something for me?"

I nod, too stunned to do anything else. Stunned by the abruptness. Stunned by the proposition. Stunned with happiness that he would ask anything of me. That he would need something from me.

"When we go to meet my doctor tonight," he says slowly, nearly reaching out to grab my hand but stopping short and coming up with air. "You have to promise that you won�t like him. No matter what he says or does, don�t like him. Can you do that?"

I open my mouth to protest, thinking about how hard it is to promise someone something like that. He�d have to be a bad person for me not to like him. You�re supposed to like nice people. He seemed nice at the caf� when Kakashi and I saw him the first time. Number eleven, Genma called him. He had curly hair. Tall. Itachi was glaring at him.

"Promise me," he says so lowly that it�s close to a whisper. I still remember the days when his voice was high like mine. Like a boy. He sounds so old. "Please, Sasuke." Black eyes bore directly into me, not wavering in the slightest for once. "Please?"

I can�t say no. Not if he needs me that badly. It�s been such a long time since he needed something from me. "Promise," I whisper back. I can�t make my voice any louder than that. It�s too much and he said please. "I promise."

As he nods in approval, I find it funny how I still want to cry. I run to the bus even though I have plenty of time.

*^*^*

The last time I threw a party was in my senior year of college, right before my senior thesis, when my future seemed like it would never arrive and alcohol was the only plausible catalyst for a good time. Few ever managed to pick up on the concepts of booze as a depressant, alcohol poisoning, or just how detrimental a hangover is during an exam.

At that point, I hadn�t put a drop of alcohol into my system for two years. Having my stomach pumped twice did the trick for me. I never liked to call myself an alcoholic because I was in denial back then, but I suppose that�s what I was. A dependent before twenty, delirious with dreams of lights and limos and lines of girl waiting to conceive my love children in the backrooms of the after-parties where everything and anything happened.

Luckily, I seem to have learned something since then. I�m alone far more often than I was before or truthfully want to be, but for the first time, I feel like my life isn�t in a bunch of little piece. It�s been a good few years since grad school and there are still things that aren�t quite right with me and my dad, or even me and alcohol, but on the whole, I�m content. And I know I�m better off. Proof is Deidara, who still stops by from time to time asking for money that I don�t have and time that I can�t give him anymore. My stomach drops to the floor whenever he wanders back into my life. He reminds me of the person I could have become, that I was well on my way to becoming until I had a moment of absolute clarity, probably at some party of another when I ended up passed out in some stranger�s bed unable to remember exactly what happened last night, showing me that my life was hell in a handbasket and I had to fucking well do something about it before I ended up looking for something that I was never going to find. Peace with the past. Acceptance. A way to make it stop. Because no one ever really finds those things, especially where I was looking for them.

It�s not that I�m a cynic. If I were a cynic I wouldn�t have become a psychiatrist. Psychiatry would be an unadvisable profession if there was no merit in it. I just don�t believe in the whole "we can make you better" concept. Like we�re actual doctors who can hand out medication for a heart that�s taken too many beatings. Psychiatry�s downfall is that no matter what we do, we can�t erase memories. Memories are what cause people so much agony. If they really could forget, or if I really could make them, no one would suffer.

But I don�t have the power to make Itachi forget what happened. I can only offer him the chance to have what I had, a moment where he realizes that he can�t go on living the way he�s living: closed-off, distant, and permanently on-guard. That he can talk to me. That I know I can�t fix him but that it won�t always hurt quite as bad if he doesn�t let it. He just has to let it first..

It�s a rather fucked-up concept and he�s not buying it.

I guess at this point I�m still trying to find a selling point. Give him the opportunity to figure out that I�m not the bad guy. This is the most unorthodox approach I�ve taken, initiating contact outside of the office. I didn�t mean to find him in the Red Lantern, no matter what he thinks. Luck of the draw on that one. This party, if I could call it that, would nothing like a college party or a journey to the bottom of a bottle in Deidara�s garage. There would be no alcohol, no blow jobs in the corner or behind the bar like the celebration after one minor gig or another we played for petty pay. Just an overworked troubled teenager and his little brother. Just a dinner.

Just a dinner that could make or break the tragically thin line of communication we opened after our last encounter in the park. And I wasn�t really sure if they were still open or not.

I�m waiting for them outside as opposed to inside. The office is a little stuffy even with the windows flung open. The temperature out here is a fraction of a degree cooler and with my sleeves rolled up and my tie gone it�s just about bearable. I hate wearing ties. It feels like I�m choking, a slim boa constrictor on my neck. Worse than the chokers I used to wear on a daily basis as a teenager. I can�t remember how I managed to put up with those things, but I think I still have one under the lid of the piano that I haven�t opened in years. God help me if my leather pants are still around somewhere. Talk about unbearable.

There are a lot of little pieces of memorabilia floating around the apartment like litter that never made it to the trashcan. I stuck them in my pocket instead and promptly forgot about them until moments like this one, when I start to wonder why I the hell I still have something as impractical as a leather pants.

Previous patients of mine have found my history somewhat of a comfort. Who understands the rebel better than a formal rebel? I never tell anyone the story in completion. They aren�t interested in the whole story anyway, just the part than concerns them. The abused hear about the neglect. The abusers hear about the alcohol. No one hears about the music.

I wonder if that method would work on Itachi. My guess is that it would. That�s why he resists getting personal. Still, I know he might be curious. He�s only human, no matter how many problems he�s having. I want to know more about him, as much as he�s willing to share. Which isn�t much.

They come around the corner right around seven, Itachi punctual as usual. The kid with him, his brother Sasuke, looks small from this far away. They both do actually. As I expected, they aren�t holding hands, or looking particularly brotherly at all. Sasuke is off to the side, stopping ever once in a while to step deliberately over a crack in the sidewalk. Itachi has his arms crossed low on his abdomen, bad wrist clutched in good hand.

I wave as they get closer. Sasuke almost waves, but he glances up at Itachi at the last second and whips his hand behind his back forcefully and valiantly tries to pretend that nothing happened.

Trouble on the horizon.

Up close, there is absolutely no mistaking their relationship. Sasuke will look like Itachi when he�s older, no doubt about that. They look a little like elves, pale and finely muscled with slim, startling features. Tiny figurines I could keep on my shelf next to the albums of Thin Lizzy and The Monkees.

"You�re Sasuke then," I say as I jump down from the wall with a smile. "Hi. I�m number eleven."

He looks up at me with pursed lips. "That�s not your name."

"It is to some people." I�m granted with a grim look of disapproval from Itachi. "But you�re more than welcome to just call me Kisame."

He looks at up at me and I can see all the little bits of expression missing whenever I look into Itachi�s eyes. Every little bit of emotion is in Sasuke�s eyes. At one point, maybe Itachi�s eyes looked like that too. "You�re Dr. Hoshigaki," he says primly. "Itachi told me to call you that no matter what you say your name is."

"I imagine he did." A small, nearly nonexistent flash of contentment passes over Itachi�s lips before he carefully schools his features back to grim, flat look I�m most accustomed to seeing. "I�m sure he has good reasons." Itachi turns that glare of his on me, to which I can only smile. He�s going to have to be a little more creative than that, although pitting his brother against me is a strike of ingenuity all on its own. "But, I think we should get going now. You�re both probably hungry, right?"

Sasuke nods enthusiastically. I wonder how much the little thing can put down. He doesn�t come up any higher than my waist. How old is he on Itachi�s profile? Eight? Nine? "Where are we going?"

"I was thinking pizza. As long as you approve, of course," I look at Sasuke as I say it, but it�s directed at Itachi. Itachi is always in the forefront. I�d look up to see what kind of reaction it garnered from the stoic teen, but that would give me away. Let him pick up on it on his own. If he�s willing to wage war, then so am I.

"I like pizza," Sasuke says. "So does Itachi. Except he likes mushrooms." He wrinkles his nose in disgust and it has to be the cutest thing I�ve seen in a long time. "I don�t like those."

"Well, I guess pizza wins."

He nods happily, then checks himself and shrinks back behind Itachi as if reprimanding himself. The situation would be quite comical if I wasn�t on the receiving end of the treatment. It�s not fair of Itachi to color the kid�s perception before he has the chance to make his own. I�m not trying to get to him through his little brother. That would be downright dirty of me. But really, if he wants to think that I�d sink that low, maybe he deserves it.

"Sounds fine," Itachi says as motions Sasuke forward again. "Lead the way."

Lead the way I do. They keep just enough distance behind me, that it doesn�t look like we�re together at all. We�re just a young man and a pair of brothers going on a stroll, maybe to the same place or maybe not. Who can tell yet? It�s not until I hear Itachi let out a huff of air do I register the sound of light, fast footsteps beside me. Sasuke is right besides me, looking up at me hopefully.

"Can I have pepperoni?"

*^*^*

The pizza set before us is a compromise between all parties. It�s half pepperoni and half mushroom.

Sasuke keeps looking up in wonderment at the lamp above our heads. The stained glass depicts a panoramic view of an Italian city, probably Rome, in shades of green, yellow, orange, and red. The one dangling over the booth behind us looks like a scene from Venice. Sasuke keeps twisting his neck to see it.

On his second slice of pizza, Itachi pauses with his pizza halfway to his mouth to toss Sasuke a napkin before taking a bite. For some reason, watching Itachi eat is surreal. He�s so thin that I�d unconsciously dismissed eating as something he just doesn�t do. He chews just like a normal person, though maybe a bit slower. Certainly slower than Sasuke, who is eating as fast as he can manage. I�m sure it�s been a long time since either of the two had pizza. Eating out, even take-away, is expensive. This is a rare treat for both of them and the way Sasuke is devouring his food makes me glad I took a vein out of Genma�s logic and included him.

But even more so, I�m glad that Itachi said yes. Because watching his jaw actually move is more fascinating than it should be. I honestly never expected to see his facial muscles move so damn much. It�s kind of like watching Ripley�s Believe it or Not. And there�s some weird shit on that show.
Sasuke, unlike most of the little kids I�ve encountered, actually uses the napkin to wipe grease from his face. It�s then that I notice that, in spite of the drab quality of his clothes, there is not a single stain or tear anywhere on him. Lucrative funds have made them both aware of how much they can get out of a little. He even eats the crust.

Out of plain old courtesy, I let the two of them have first dibs on the pizza. I have food at home. Most of it is microwaveable and full of artificial preservatives, but that was a conscious decision on my part. I like fructose and corn syrup. These two, for all I know, might not have much of anything in their fridge. I know it�s ridiculous, but I feel a pang of guilt when I think about the Frosted Flakes and the instant rice that have been in my cabinet untouched for two months. It�s my food and I can eat it whenever I want, but I can�t make the odd feeling of regret that�s gripping me. Like the Frosted Flakes deserve better.

I don�t know if he meant to or not, but Itachi catches my eye when he looks up. I�m guessing not, because he only does that when I�ve done something he doesn�t like and the only thing I�ve said in the past ten minutes is "do you want more iced tea?" He can�t possibly be pissed over that.

He stares at me for a full ten seconds, although not intensely enough to put me on edge. He looks, well, curious. It�s a look I haven�t seen yet.

He swallows quickly, his index finger jutting out just enough to let me know that he is indeed pointing at me deliberately. He then flips his finger inward to point at himself, and mouths something while rubbing his chest.

Now, I�m pretty good at reading lips. I had lots of practice with Dei trying to talk over people in crowded, too-loud rooms. But I got distracted by the hand motions and completely missed the mouth movement.

"What?" I mouth back.

Itachi shoots me a look of supreme prissiness and repeats both actions again. I really wish he�d stop making that hand motion. I can�t keep my eyes in two places at once.

I nod as if I understand. Itachi�s gaze turns disapproving, so I know I�m caught. There was probably no point in trying in the first place. This boy notices everything. He abandons the hand motions in favor of mouth alone, moving slowly enough that any idiot could have understood.
If I thought watching Itachi�s jaw moving was fascinating, then it was nothing compared to his lips. I�d never really looked before. I hadn�t had a reason to look. Mostly I concentrated on his eyes, his general body language. It�s not even that he has exceptional lips, it�s just that I�ve never really looked before and now suddenly they�re all I have to look at. It�s like my brain is saying, "they�ve been doing that all this time? Why has this slipped past my notice? What have you been doing?"

I think I need to stop eating so many preservatives. Because I�ve missed it again.

"Sorry," I mouth back. "Didn�t catch that."

He scowls mildly, because all of his facial expressions lean towards mild, and, very discreetly, I might add, switches his index finger to his middle finger and flips it upward.

Mildly.

I don�t know whether to take offense or not. I have to deliberate a little before I decide that being flipped the bird was completely unwarranted and that retaliation is necessary. However, Sasuke is watching our exchange (and probably has been from the beginning) with something of an intensity and giving the one finger salute is sure to earn me negative points. Itachi can get away with it because the position of his right arm is effectively blocking his left hand from view. Sneaky little thing.

Sasuke is staring back and forth between the both of us curiously, trying, no doubt, to figure out what we�re talking silently about. That�s when I remember that I still have absolutely no idea what Itachi was attempting to communicate to me. And now I probably never will.

As he reaches for the last of the bread sticks in the woven basket, Sasuke points to my shirt with a sauce covered finger. "Doctor, there�s pizza sauce on your shirt." Then he licks his finger clean before wiping it with a napkin.

I look directly across the table and am caught off-guard by what I take to be Itachi�s version of a smug smile. His earlier actions click right into place effortlessly, which, of course, leaves me with no choice but to admonish myself for letting my attention wonder to the point of distraction because of some grumpy teenager�s lips.

He�s apparently in a good mood now, quite pleased, it seems, with making me look ridiculous. Or maybe he�s just proud to have found that I don�t always have my full wits about me as he watches me dip the corner of my napkin into my glass of water and dab lightly at the stain. It doesn�t do anything besides widen the stain, an almost black spot blooming across my blue oxford. Right where a tie would have been, had I been wearing one.

"Bleach will work on that," Sasuke says in all-startling seriousness. "The color-safe kind."

I can�t help the look of incredulity that spreads across my face. When I was nine I didn�t know about cleaning solutions. I didn�t do laundry. My dad may have been a bit of a space cadet, but he did the laundry. Most of the time. And what�s more, Itachi doesn�t seem to register that this is in any way weird. He continues eating pizza with something of a content look, more content than I�ve ever seen him. Pleased, no doubt, that his minion managed to make me look ridiculous.

"Bleach. Right." I give up on the napkin with a disgruntled sigh that Sasuke misses and Itachi catches. Did I have bleach? "Thanks, Sasuke."

He nods, taking a bite out of his bread stick. "Just make sure you use Tide. That one works better."

I�m torn between which factor strikes me as the oddest: the fact that he�s apparently tested the cleaning properties of tide and Clorox or that he chewed, swallowed, and wiped his mouth and fingers clean before speaking. Hoping that I�ll be able to push my luck because Itachi is distracted by pizza, I utilize carpe diem. "Kiddo, how do you know some much about laundry?"

The glare Itachi gives me shoots daggers. Clearly I�ve over-stepped boundaries, but too bad-so sad for him because Sasuke answers me quite happily. "Kakashi likes to clean. I help sometimes."

Kakashi? That�s a new name. Not surprisingly, Itachi never mentioned him, whoever he is. And, not surprisingly, his lips are sealed. He makes no motion to further explanation or to dissuade Sasuke from speaking again, but the latter seems to have forgotten that he ever mentioned mystery-man�s name. He�s chewing pizza with gusto. I blink a few times when my calculations indicate that Sasuke, the tiny little thing that he is, is responsible for eating an entire half of a large pizza.

This new knowledge temporarily distracts me from pondering the possible identity of Sasuke�s little slip-up. Of course, Sasuke has no idea he�s inadvertently given me information that Itachi would rather have kept under wraps. He�s more interested in food and I�m only momentarily interested in the fact that he might just have more than one stomach

Itachi ought to have known better than to enlist a nine-year old. Sasuke is an intelligent kid from what I can tell, but he doesn�t have finesse yet. I�m sure he doesn�t know Kakashi�s name is an important piece of information. Hell, I don�t even know if his name is important yet, considering that�s all I have- a name. Only Itachi�s reaction tells me that Sasuke said something he shouldn�t have said, but most things are taboo subjects around Itachi.

I send the question to Itachi. Not verbally, because that would make me a kamikaze, but with my eyes. He brought it upon himself by deciding not to use his words during our sessions, and he keeps on doing it when for the first time I can remember, he breaks my eye contact as quickly as he meets it.

Sasuke would use his words if I asked right now. We both know it.

I feel a bit criminal using the kid against him, however inadvertently. I don�t know what exactly Itachi told him before we met, but I can imagine it was something along the lines of "don�t like him" or "he�s not my friend and he can�t be yours." And he tried, valiantly, right in the beginning, but things have backfired. He�s not a chatterbox by any means, but he�s not closed off and glaring daggers at me either. It�s hard to dislike someone who feeds you pizza and although he hasn�t exactly taken to me, he doesn�t seem opposed to me. I�ll take neutrality over hostility any day.

Neutral or not, however, he�s still an effective blockade, which I�m sure Itachi meant to happen. I can�t bring up a single personal topic in front of Sasuke. Not that I was planning on doing that at all, since I promised in not so many words that I�d keep tonight free of psycho-babble. The stake on the table stands at "just dinner" and dinner is not a place to lock in our old battle.

Of course, now we�re locked in an entirely different brand of battle, one over which I�m growing increasingly angry. Maybe he does deserve it, had I actually been intending to use Sasuke as a weapon, but just the fact that he would think that lowly of me is an insult. I�m not that kind of person. Itachi, it seems, is that kind of person. Or, maybe he�s just that kind of desperate. In any case, Sasuke is still nine and not the kind of kind of kid who follows blindly; he�s not hostile or unfriendly, even when he tried to be. As much as he tried to avoid this exact scenario, Sasuke had become exactly what Itachi feared- a liability to his safety behind that damn walls he hides behind. Because Sasuke had one foot in the door and one foot outside, asking me to get him pepperoni pizza, informing me of the stain on my shirt, and willingly sharing Kakashi�s name.

And he brought it upon himself. Not that�ll he�ll see it that way. I was, after all, the one who insisted Sasuke come tonight.

How many times is he going to judge me so wrongly?

"Can I have the last bread stick?" Sasuke asks out of what feels like nowhere because I was so intent on puzzling out how we can ever see eye-to-eye on my role in his life.

So I tuck the name Kakashi away and save it for the off-chance Itachi is ever ready to talk. Because I�m not petty enough to use the only family member he has left as a weapon, even if he is. It�s a shame. The kid really doesn�t deserve that.

"Sure you can," I say with a shrug. Then, as an afterthought, because it�s something I�ve been wondering, I add, "can you always eat this much or is tonight a special occasion?"

"I haven�t had pizza in a while," he says simply. "Kakashi doesn�t really. . ."

He trails off, and I know why before I even look up. I can feel the heat of the glare radiating from him, focused entirely on Sasuke. Sasuke�s chin quivers slightly, hands snapping away from the bread stick he was reaching for to hide in his lap, as if they were the guilty party.

Meanwhile, I stare the real guilty-party straight in the face, locking my gaze when he, predictably enough, turns it on me. What I lack in the intensity of my stare I make up for her in the sheer amount of disappointment I find easy enough to load into it. It�s all-natural and completely uncontrived. It just happened.

As if once in one night wasn�t strange enough, it�s me who forces him into disengaging eye contact. It�s the second time I don�t expect to win. His black eyes drop away before I can catch whatever emotion it is that jumps across them. I hope to God its shame, but it�s more than likely some brand of shock. ****bewilderment****

Still looking at him, letting him feel what it�s like to be on the wrong side of a reprimand for once, I reach into the bread basket and take out the bread stick calmly, extending my arm until it�s within Sasuke�s range. He hesitates, looking uncertainly towards his brother for some indication as to whether or not it�s okay to take. Itachi doesn�t say a damned word, but his hand moves in what I think is a wave of permission. Still daunted, he takes the bread stick gingerly from my grasp. His smile is just as ginger when he looks up at me before it disappears in a renewed flash of fear from barely a minute ago.

Not fair. Not fair at all.

*^*^*

Saturday morning dawns like any other morning in October. Rain lurks somewhere out in the distance, the air sits heavily on the lungs as the sun hides her purity behind a screen of haze. It�s too early in the month for picturesque calendar photos of babbling brooks clogged with fiestas falling from heights. This October is the kind you don�t talk about, too muggy for a jacket but too cold for a t-shirt. The kind of October in which you sweat when you least expect to perspire.
Itachi drops Sasuke off right before I take off the coffee pot. He stays long enough to refuse a cup of coffee and promise us croissants before taking off. To his credit, the circles under his eyes are less prominent. If anything, I�m sure the painkillers are helping him sleep.

Sasuke shifts nervously, putting his weight alternately on one foot and then the other. He looks around quickly, but doesn�t say a word. I know who he�s looking for. I�m keeping an eye out for him too.

"Iruka is upstairs," I tell him, breaking Saturday morning silence for the second week in a row. Sasuke�s eyes went as wide as saucers the first time, and even now his mouth forms a little "o" of disbelief. "He should be down soon."

He nods. He has permission to talk, but I doubt he will unless addressed. Last week while the three of us had breakfast together Iruka asked whether or not Sasuke was ill. Shaken was really a better word to describe the look on his face than ill, but Iruka suddenly became intent on checking to see if he had a fever. I assured him that he was fine before he could whip out the thermometer and before I could ponder exactly why he knows where, of all things, my thermometer is.

Truth be told, he looks shaken now. He did yesterday too. I won�t go as far as to say that Sasuke is always happy, because his genuine smiles are rare. But he doesn�t look normal today. Shaken is not normal for Sasuke. Shaken implies that has thrown him for a loop, and so far Sasuke has managed to handle most of what life has thrown at him, coming out of it with perseverance I�ve yet to see in some adults. And cheek. His cheek alone would be worth cheering him up, if I thought for a second that I had any idea how to go about doing that. I�m not a normal adult and he�s well, so young. I can�t exactly take him out to the bar to cheer him up. That�s what I do with Genma.

Resigned to the fact that I�ll probably never know what to do with myself around distraught people, nine or twenty-seven, I usher him into the kitchen in hope that coffee will do something for him.

I take up my usual chair and open my usual paper while Sasuke climbs into his and sniffs the coffee I left out for him. I had to tell Iruka it was hot chocolate when he looked at it suspiciously. Unlike Itachi, who doesn�t like the addiction I�m passing on to his brother but doesn�t do anything more than protest, Iruka might have actually snatched the hot beverage away despite the high ratio of milk and sugar to actual coffee beans.

He sips carefully, as if afraid of spilling.

The aroma of coffee in the air reminds me that I haven�t taken a sip yet. No more prompting needed, I take a rather large swig. After cooling for fifteen minutes, it�s no longer hot and therefore not liable to burn my tongue.

As I swallow and begin to put the coffee down, another scent, an out-of-place one for a Saturday, hits my nose. There have been plenty of new, unusual smells in the house since Iruka�s abrupt arrival. In the mornings when I wake up the kitchen will sometimes smell like eggs, sometimes maple syrup or sausage, and always the green tea he takes to work. I�m the one who has to fill the house with the coffee smell that I prefer to chase away the lingering scent of him on my skin. Certain nights have smelled like sex and sweat, leaving traces of cranberry and vanilla on my hands and wrists and arms that sneak in under the coffee.

Of all the day to have this smell on my wrists, Saturday is my last choice. I should have made a stronger brew to ward this away. Four scoops instead of three.

I read my way through the world section of the paper before Iruka comes down, hair still wet from the shower, to put on tea. He drank coffee in college, but ever since he snagged a job as a teaching assistant last year, he switched to coffee�s less potent cousin.

"Morning," he mumbles as he takes out the tea bags. "You�re starting to run out of shampoo. I just noticed."

"S�okay," I say back, even though there�s an odd resistance in my vocal chords. "I�ll go shopping soon. Sunday, maybe."

"I�ll come with you. I need a few things."

What a scene that would make. I haven�t shopped with anyone else in years, since Asuma died really. And before that was Obito, who doesn�t really count because that was in a drug store and I was helping him buy condoms when he still entertained notions of scoring with Rin. What does this scenario look like in Iruka�s head? Am I pushing the cart while he picks things up, or are two carts involved? Here�s your list, I�ve got mine, let�s meet back at the car.

Sasuke is looking at me in disbelief, as if he can�t imagine such a scene either. Looks like I�m not the only one thrown off-track by his extended visit.

"That�s not necessary. I might just stop by the store on my lunch break Monday. There�s an Acme not too far."

Iruka fills a mug with water from the sink and places it in the microwave with the tea bag, the buttons beeping while he speaks, decidedly nonchalant for what he�s suggesting. "Could you pick up my stuff while you�re there then? I�ll give you a list and pay you back later."

Somehow, this scenario is even worse than the first two. Asking things of me. Unconsciously, I�ve come to do things for Sasuke, who probably thinks I�m crazy but isn�t bothered by it. I tried to make pancakes for the kid, so yes, I�ll admit it, I accept his presence here. Don�t mind, even, the idea that he�s not leaving anytime soon. If he were an adult, he�d be perfect for me. But he�s not, and Iruka is, and Iruka has to be getting tired by now of all the boundaries that Sasuke lets be. All of the questions he knows not to ask but wants the answers to. The questions that unravel the enigma that is me.

I make a noncommittal noise as an answer, something that he can interpret as he will. He sighs as the microwave reaches the one minute mark, ruffling his hair. Irritation. Complications that I sure as hell don�t need. The little things get to him, like my refusal to let him use one of my towels or the fact that I won�t let him open the bedroom window. I wonder if he realized exactly how far he just pushed. Iruka is aggravated by my boundaries, but he respects them nonetheless. The day he doesn�t is the day we, whatever we are, will end.

It�s exactly why I didn�t want him here. I can already see him pushing.

I want to be an enigma to him. Intimacy other than sex is not what I want from him or with him and if he unravels me, sees how fucked I am, than I don�t know what I�ll do. He won�t want to stay after he realizes how much of me he can�t possibly understand; that�s why I can�t handle him so close to me. My ghosts won�t fascinate him. They�ll scare him.

I don�t want to fall for someone who will end up scared of me and run away. I don�t need that in my life. I don�t want that. I�ll just save him the trouble, not let him in at all. Save us both the trouble of having to move on.

Sasuke, yet again in recent history, reveals himself to be my savior. He puts his coffee down before he speaks. "Mr. Umino, can you make me some toast?" Sweet and hard to say no to.

Iruka smiles indulgently, happy, probably, to have someone who wants something out of him, even if it is only toast. But really, it�s not my fault I can�t eat the breakfast he left out for me in the beginning. Eating before ten makes me feel ill. "Sure, Sasuke. Butter?"

"Jam," he replies, reaching for the world section of the paper I�d discarded for the sports page. He makes a noise in return, one that I can interpret as I want. I don�t know what conclusion Iruka has drawn, just like I don�t know what conclusions Sasuke has been drawing about me, though I�ll venture to say they�re probably close to the truth. He already seems to understand that graveyard conversations are normal for me, and that I can�t stop. If he ever understands exactly why I do it, then it�ll be because he�s intelligent and insightful, not because I tell him. And I won�t mind if that happens. But I can�t explain myself. I don�t know how. "Strawberry."

Iruka gets out the bread and jam and pops two pieces into the toaster. The microwaves beeps seconds later. He adds sugar and stirs while the bread is crisping. Then a bit of milk right before the toaster pops and releases Sasuke�s toast.

I tune out until I hear the sound of Sasuke crunching. He has jam on his upper lip when I look at him over the edge of my paper. He licks it off and wipes the spot clean with the napkin I gave him for his coffee spoon. I�m more than a little surprised that he doesn�t notice. Usually he�s good about feeling my eyes on him. Then, given his mood lately, his inattention makes sense.

"Shaken," I decide, is also the wrong word. Its part of it and yesterday would have applied almost exclusively, but today is more of a base content for another ill-conceived state of being. His curiosity, his attention, his almost preternatural sense of perception, is not here. I don�t know where he left it or who took it from him, but it�s not with him.

I can�t remember hearing him say "thank you" to Iruka.

"Kakashi, do you want some toast while I�m still up?" Iruka is always offering to do things for me. His choice of profession suits him.

"Not hungry," I reply curtly. I�m not lying. Only coffee for now, before ten. I�ll take Sasuke out to lunch just like I always do. Iruka hasn�t disrupted my routine that much, and I aim to keep it that way. Then I can stop lying to him about where we�re going. Sasuke doesn�t know that he has a secret identity as a softball player.

�Right,� he says with a yawn. The yawn has a resigned tone, if it�s possible for yawns to have a tone. �Just asking.�

I �hmmm� at him, my preferred method of communication this early in the morning. Eight o�clock may not be early on some watches, but it is on mine. I find speech unnecessary this time of day for a concatenation of happenstances. I�ve always visited the graveyard on Saturday, even when I had to drive an hour and a half just to get to Obito�s grave in college. Starting out, I remember being too freaked out to talk in that morning, something like stage fright and, predominantly, pure, unadulterated foresight. Somehow, I think I knew the outcome of it all before I said those first words, in my dorm room that morning waiting for the coffee to finish brewing at eight so I could be there by eleven. The time I arrive changes, but the coffee is always done at eight and I�m always done by noon. I knew that very day that I was in for the long-haul- whether or not that�s what I wanted at the time is debatable and wholly outside of my control. Wanting to needing to having, all in increments of split seconds that didn�t register until they had passed to delegate me with a routine Iruka is already breaking by engaging me in conversations that mean so much to both of us for such incompatibly different reasons.

I wonder if Obito is resentful at all. Saturday is his day- a promise I forged it in silence all those years ago.

Pakkun stretches down by my feet. He�s like a cat, this dog, either attached to my side or completely ignorant of me, whatever suits him best. I�ve only had him for a year. Sometimes I think I should get him a friend for company when I�m not home. Of course, knowing Pakkun resentment will ensue and I don�t want to have a fight with my dog. (1) Honestly, I have enough idiosyncrasies. The line has to be drawn somewhere.

Iruka joins us at the table with his coffee and his own plate of toast, his with butter. Sasuke is on his last piece as Iruka begins his first. I glance candidly at my watch. Iruka thinks that Sasuke�s imaginary practice starts at nine, and if we drive, leaving now would make us very early. But if we walked we�d be right on time, as much on time as anyone can be for something that doesn�t actually exist.

�Nearly done, pretty bird?�

He shakes his head, putting his toast down. �No, I�m done now.�

I quirk an eyebrow just as Iruka inquires on my train of thought. �You aren�t going to finish? You barely ate any of it.�

�Not hungry,� he says in an eerie echo of me five minutes ago.

Iruka looks just as confused as I am, although my reasons differ from his. He�s wondering why Sasuke bothered to ask for toast if he�s not actually hungry. That part I understand. He did that for me. What I don�t understand is why he�s not hungry. Sasuke is always hungry, wolfing his food down and coming back for seconds. Itachi, as best he tries, has difficulties with their funds, meaning that Sasuke eats the majority of his big meals at my house. So unless Itachi had him eat before coming over, which I doubt since he eats at the caf�, then his lack of hunger is connected to his unusual mood.

If only I could figure out exactly what was wrong without asking. As a general rule I don�t care much for other peoples� problems, but when I do, the general rule is not to inquire unless I know it doesn�t really matter, the idle chit-chat garden varieties of wrong. Point in case: I took pity on Itachi and let him bring Sasuke to work. Now there�s a distraught, brooding child at my kitchen table eating my toast and drinking my coffee and damn it all if I actually care about whatever it is that has disturbed his countenance. And damn it all and sorry pretty bird, somewhere along the road I picked up enough sense not to ask.

I can, however, rescue him from Iruka�s prying eyes and inquisitive tongue. By now he�s probably certain the kid has some kind of bug. �We can head out then. It�ll take a while to walk.�

�Something wrong with the car?�

�Not at all,� I say as I toss the newspaper aside. But something is wrong with Sasuke and there�s a whole lot wrong with Iruka being here this long making me smell like cranberries on a Saturday and asking me to shop for him and all in all, I need to get out of the house for a few hours so that I can pretend he won�t be here when I come back. �But it�s a nice day for a walk.�

Sasuke scoots out of his chair and follows me out of the kitchen. Iruka lurks in the hallway, watching me shoulder the duffle bag Sasuke�s �softball gear� is stored in and not in the good way that means I want to take you when we�re alone. That�s the only kind of look I like on Iruka. His other ones- inquisitive, confused, aggravated, and always directed at me when I�ve refused him something- are signs that everything is going to blow up in my face eventually. No matter how I look at it, he�ll end up gone. The only thing I can control is how attached to we are before he goes. How much of an enigma I remain.

He leans against the wall as I look over my shoulder to nod a goodbye. His eyes are dark, knowing something. �Looks like its going to rain to me, Kashi� he says softly, just as I�m out the door. I could have played it up to a trick of the wind if there was any.

Rating: R for language, drug and sexual references, mature subject matter.
Pairings: KisaIta, KakaIru, a bit of GenRai

Notes- In my projected timetable, the completion of Chapter Four marked the halfway point. This is now the official second half of the story. The first half is 67 pages long on Microsoft Word and contains 41,196 words, including author notes. This one is, once again, promising to turn out just as long or longer than the last one. I�m hoping that I can wrap this up within my original timetable estimation, but there may end up being nine chapters as opposed to eight, with the addition of an epilogue Which, god help me, will be short.

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four, Part I
Chapter Four, Part II
Chapter Five Part I

October
II. Nothing is under the bridge but water.

The only things in the duffle bag are a blanket and a bottle of water. We�re both sweating by the time we cover the ten blocks between my house and the cemetery. Hot and muggy are two very different things. Heat seeps into your skin. Mugginess sits on it.

So far, the clouds haven�t darkened enough to indicate that rain will fall anytime soon. But I�m waiting for it. I�m anticipating it.

Sasuke slides down the tree closest to Obito�s grave, the same one he always leaned against in the beginning. He skipped last week, when halfway into the visit he wandered off somewhere. I didn�t question him because he came back before we had to leave. I never said he had to stay. He finally figured that out I guess. He might leave again. It�s probably better for him if he does, although I can�t say I haven�t gotten used to him here as much as in my house. I lie to other people, not myself.

The blanket I brought is woven in deep blues, burnt oranges, white and green. It�s been in the trunk at the foot of my bed for three years. I never used it after the road trip to New Mexico where I bought it in a gift shop in Santa Fe. Asuma thought Iruka would like it, and as usual, he wasn�t wrong. Iruka pulled it out of the trunk the other night when it was actually cold. We didn�t speak the next day.

But now that�s its out, Sasuke can sit on it. I just don�t want it on my bed.

He�s tracing the patterns as I take a seat to the left of the headstone, running delicate fingertips over the zigzags. The effect is almost instant, the movement of his hands helpfully mesmerizing with my head against the coolness of the stone. He�s here. I always feel him here as smoke, a thick, overwhelming, hazy presence that enters my lungs and spreads. I can�t breathe him out.

I remember him as a sixteen year old, unpredictable and thoughtful when he least meant to be. Black hair that curled slightly, a lopsided grin, and dark eyes that laughed, like he did. He�s in the hockey jersey he wore before and after he tore a hole in the sleeve and he�s laughing, pouting, grinning, shouting, kissing the curvature of my neck the way I liked it. Not crying though. Never crying because he didn�t cry when he died, he just bled and bled and bled and I cried and cried and god but that was a cold night.

�It�s warm out,� I tell him because it�s muggy out; mugginess sits on the stone, doesn�t sink in, so under that thin layer of heat I can feel the chill that�s really there, the one he feels down there under all that earth. Don�t the dead deserve to be warm? �I remember Octobers that actually had a nip in the air. Leaves falling.� Falling in patterns, or following them, like Sasuke�s fingers. �You ever jumped in a pile of leaves, Sasuke? I can�t remember the last time I did. That was a long time ago, though.� Long time since I saw you last. I remember you at sixteen, at fifteen, at fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven, but never past sixteen. That�s eight years. �Eight years is a long time, Obito. Almost as old as you are.�

Eight is half of what his life was. Is, was, is not and will never be. Verbs aren�t subjective to time here, because he�s here, I always feel him here as smoke that Asuma used to blow into my face, a thick, overwhelming, hazy presence that enters my lungs and spreads so that I have cancer everywhere and I can�t breathe them out. I can�t breathe at all. I�m drowning like Obito with the sticky liquid in his mouth, the sticky red blood.

All that red, red, blood.

It�s in his mouth, his nose, his pores, that blood. So much of it and so very red, like the leaves that are swirling in patterns around Sasuke�s hands. Has he already jumped? �Did you want to jump in a pile of leaves, Sasuke? I do. I want to jump and I want to drown. �Dad keeps the rake in the shed. We have to go back and get it.�

Don�t know why we had a shed really. Dad wasn�t much for outdoor activities while he was getting high. No volleyballs to house, no paint cans to stack, no wheelbarrow for carrying plants. Just a few pieces of plank wood and rusty rake with missing teeth. The rake always missed a bunch of leaves and more fell anyway. In October, they never stopped falling. The grass, the sidewalks, the roofs of cars, my lap.

My lap?

Red, green-tinged yellow, brown and orange leaves are on me. In my lap.

I blink several times, effectively stirred out of my reverie. Rain- thunder and lightning included- has failed to break me out one of my deviations, but leaves on my lap can do the trick. Lots of leaves, as if the tree took a handful and reached over the expanse of grass to drop them on me in a perfectly neat pile.

Someone knew I wanted to drown in them.

�Thought you might want some,� a familiar voice resounded. Bounced off the stone, I think. �You were talking about them.�

The consideration is oddly complimentary. Unwelcome, but complimentary.

�Pretty bird,� I begin to say before he cuts me off. With his eyes. With his posture. Not his words. If ever there was anyone who recognizes trouble on the mind, it�s me.
He takes one hesitant shuffle of a step forward before they turn strong, two quick strides. Then, it could be fear that moves him quickly to the grave, stone epitaph to marble white face. There ought to have been some color in his cheeks.

�I guess Kakashi told you some things about me. Right? He hasn�t told me anything about you. But I can guess. He did tell you I�m smart.�

I don�t say anything to him. I�ve no idea what to say to this sudden display of- what? Support? Comradeship? Sasuke doesn�t have any ghosts to talk to here. Are his parents buried somewhere in this graveyard? As far as I know Sasuke�s lived here his entire short life here and Arden only has on cemetery to lay name to. If not for me, who�s namesake does he evoke in Obito?

�You know I�ve been coming here for a while. I said goodbye a couple of times, don�t know if you remember or not.�

No matter how often I close my eyes, he�s still there when I open them and I�m still very here, in the graveyard with a pile of leaves in my lap. Obito just isn�t with me. He�s here, in the graveyard, but I can�t see him or hear him now. Just a feeling of knowing.

Does Sasuke feel him? I�m torn between hoping that he does and knowing that it would be better if he doesn�t. But from the incident two weeks ago, I think he does.

�Pretty bird,� I say. As a warning.

He goes on.

�I figured that as long as I�m going to keep coming here, I should say something more than just goodbye. But I didn�t have anything to say before. I do now.� He takes a deep, somewhat shuddery breath.. �Maybe you�ll understand. I did something bad. I didn�t mean to or anything, but I did it.�

A grave as a confessional. Precisely what I�ve never used it for.

�My brother asked me to do something for him. I promised, too. And I let him down. I didn�t mean to like him.�

I�m quiet, listening, almost enraptured, to the honest cadence of his voice. I don�t know what shocks me more, his willingness, his ease talking to a dead boy he does not know, or the guilt he feels. His mood for the past few weeks resounds in perfect clarity now, part guilt complex, part fear.

�I think he�s mad at me now. I�m scared. I don�t want him to hate me. I tried.�

The warble in his voice is killing me.

�Have you ever done something bad?� The tone of his voice changes slightly, the inflection pointing right at me. �Something you don�t know how to fix?�

Plenty, pretty bird, plenty. More than enough to last me until the day I die. But aloud? There have always been things I won�t say aloud. I�ve never been adept at expressing myself. I keep the things he feels, the things he has the courage to actually say, inside, let them wander around my head. It�s not even that I care if he knows. I cared at one point, in the beginning, but since then Sasuke has demonstrated, repeatedly proven to me, that he understands things that Iruka- that friends my age- have not been able to comprehend so thoroughly. I can�t cast him away. He soaks up my eccentricities like a sponge and being around me so often, every single goddamned day of the week, there�s no time to dry out, to let my life-style evaporate from him. It�s not good for him. I�m not even sure if it�s good for me. But to have a companion in all of this. That�s enticing.

I touch the epitaph on the gravestone, finger on the date he died. It astounds me, to the point of anger with myself it astounds me how open he can be. I�ve come here every Saturday for the past eight years to tell him and the words never fucking come out. I tell him about the weather, the hockey scores, my dog, but I�ve never told him anything that mattered. And here Sasuke comes along to confess his sins to my ghost when I haven�t even asked him if mine are pardoned. What we�ve both done to need to confess isn�t even important. Just the fact that he can do it after I�ve being trying to in vain for years is enough to elicit disappointment in myself. In my weakness. Sasuke�s called me a coward without realizing it. So he still doesn�t understand it all.

I�ll just have to give him more time. We have plenty. After all, this isn�t my routine anymore. It�s our routine.

I nod. Like most things, I didn�t see it coming. Didn�t see him coming. �We can�t fix everything,� I say carefully. We can try as hard as we want with nothing of it. �Sometimes we can�t fix anything at all. You understand that, right?�

He nods back, taking a few steps forward before bending his knees to sit on the other side of the grave. We flank Obito on the left and the right. In a long moment of silence, strangely comfortable for all this moment means, I contemplate the idea of us. Sitting here me and him, a kid and an adult, at a grave with no flowers. What a strange, fitting pair we make. �Who was he Kakashi?� Sasuke says finally, head leaning on the side of the stone. His dark bangs are growing too long, falling into his eyes the way they are. He needs a haircut. �Obito?�

So many times he�s proven to be insightful beyond my expectations. I trust him. �Who do you think he was, pretty bird?�

His eyes lower, hand coming to rest on his knee. I want him to know. It�s been a long time since I�ve wanted anything this badly. "I think,� he says slowly, knowing as well as I do that this is important. This is confession and resurrection. �I think you were in love with him."

There�s a breath I didn�t realize I�d been waiting to take and a melancholy satisfaction. He�s right. I knew he�d be right, and for once that�s why I asked. I let him answer his own question, but in no way do I like the answer. Yes, we were in love, but I didn�t mean to let him do that. Never mean to let anyone do it again. No one should fall in love with me: for sanity, for preservation, for posterity. I don�t condone it for anyone�s sake. Getting close to me killed Obito. It killed Asuma. It�ll kill Iruka too. And then it�ll kill me, all the leaving.

�I was.� I grant him the courtesy of confirmation instead of evasion. He kept asking and asking, and no he got an answer, even if he provided it for himself. It�s the least I can do now. �I really was.�

�I love my brother,� he says almost too softly to hear. �I don�t want him to hate me.�

Itachi is oftentimes curt and unfriendly, but he could never hate Sasuke. He might be mad at Sasuke, but I find it hard to believe that he hates him for whatever it was he did. Cold on the surface, hot in the center where he�s corked everything. He would have let Sasuke be taken by a foster home if he didn�t love him. A devotion like that is too strong to be broken by a brotherly spat, although the details are hardly clear. I don�t know who �him� is. Still.

�Itachi�s not dead, pretty bird.� You, pretty bird, you still have a chance, whatever it is you�ve done. And you�re advised to do it soon. Guilt is such a terrible, unsavory thing to have on your conscious. It brings me back here week after week. �He can forgive you.�

�I hope so, Kakashi.� Through the melancholy he smiles in belief. In trust that I won�t steer him wrong. I�ll only promise not to steer him anywhere, because I don�t have as much faith in me as he does. But I�ll let him follow if he wants, and hope I don�t lead us both into destruction. Maybe he�ll turn back at some point, when he realizes that I walk too thin of a line to be considered sane, psychiatric evaluation or not. He has after all, already used Obito�s grave for the purpose I always intended. So maybe I will, one day, say what I come here to say and we won�t have to worry about crossing borders. Maybe someday soon.

I take a handful of leaves from my lap and not-so-surreptitiously drop the pile on his head, just to hear the squawk of indignation that predictably follows. It feels good to chuckle, Obito. �I hope so too, Sasuke.�

*^*^*

�Raido,� Genma mock whispers loud enough for the stage. �I think Itachi lost his watch. He�s still here.�

I roll my eyes. So does Raido.

�I�m pretty sure he knows that,� Raido returns normally, furiously drying a sauce pan with a green-checked dish towel that looks like it�s contributing to the water build-up instead of soaking it up. My shift ended twenty-five minutes ago and I haven�t found the energy necessary to get off of my stool much less collect my jacket and keys from the closet. Motivation is eluding me.

Any kind of peace is eluding me.

The Red Lantern is nearing closing time. Dessert hour lasts until nine, so around eight-thirty the staff starts taking small measures to clean up and prepare, sweeping the floors, wiping down counters, taking stock in their storeroom. The curtains are still thrown wide open, the artificial white lighting of the street lamps spilling over the tables. The caf� is unusually dark thanks to several burnt out light bulbs in the overhead fans. Shadows are more pronounced than usual, making for interestingly intimate or mordant lighting for the few couples scattered about, depending on their constitution of romantic. I�m not usually around for this portion of the night, which is slow and tired, spent instead of meditative. It matches my mood the past two days.

Everything that could have gone wrong on Thursday did. I should have known Sasuke couldn�t do it. I should have left him home. Had I been hoping Dr. Hoshigaki would magically decide to drop me as his patient just because I brought my little brother around to dinner? Did I think that this dinner was the cure to our battle? Something else equally idiotic?

My frustrated sigh matches Raido, who accompanies his with the tossing of the dishrag somewhere done along the counter. �Long day,� he comments in what seems like idleness, but I catch the sly sideways glance of his eyes. �Saturday�s always pretty busy.�
�Yes,� I reply half-heartedly, unwilling to go where I know it�s headed. Busy is good. Busy gives me little to no time to think about what happened on Thursday. About how wonderfully nice he was, to both of us, and how perfectly Sasuke had responded. I knew it would happen. And so did he.

I couldn�t have been a bigger fool showing up.

�There�s not much to do here. Genma and I can handle clean up.�

�You know,� Genma cut in as he waltzed by with a broom. �Kind of like we do every night without your help.�

�I�m aware,� I say as chillily as I can. In the end, I think I come out sounding more pathetic than I do stony. Raido smiles sympathetically.

�Come on, you could use some sleep,� he says, gently but firmly.

Genma hops up on a stool, the broom leaning against the counter and the pile of dust and trash waiting for him in the center of the room. �You�ve overstayed your welcome, kid.�

Genma jokes, Raido cajoles. Both leave me with no room for argument. I have to get up, which I do without any more resistance, albeit slowly. I�m already on the way to being late picking up Sasuke. Kakashi probably won�t be mad. Not that I care much. He likes him enough to tolerate and extra hour of time with him. And since he�s late to everything under the sun, I can�t feel bad.

The rain that�s been threatening all day still hasn�t dropped. It hangs suspended up there in the clouds, waiting for something that signals the time is right. I wish it would fall already. Our roof is still leaky at the apartment and we�ll have to walk home in it, but I think the soak will do me good.

I wave goodbye to Raido, and Genma, who waves with the broom. The final clang of the bell seals my departure.

I�m not looking forward to going home. Home puts me in close quarters with Sasuke, who I can�t look at right now. So I take a left instead of a right, the same way I took the night I was propositioned in the park. I need quiet before I go home, because even though I don�t want to think about it too much, I have a beginning of a bad headache. It�s gathering, just like the storm.

Like last Saturday, there are still kids in the park. Time rarely matters to kids, and the lamps give them plenty of light by which to play. Only the mothers worry, some biting nails as one of their brood decides to attempt the slide in the dark. I head towards the bench I usually occupy during my lunch break when the weather cools. Once October hits, I anxiously wait for November to follow. November promises the chill that I cherish in the air, the kind that bites appropriately. I eat outside everyday in November-slight flurries a non-issue- without so much as a jacket. I gave Sasuke my old coat when he outgrew his. It�s too big on him, but it keeps him warm and I don�t need it.

It�s coming. Not nearly soon enough, but its coming.

As I get closer, following the bend of the path that twists just around a cluster of elm trees, I spot something out of place. In no way do I think I own the bench. Often there�s already an occupant when I come during my break and I simply find another bench. But even from afar, the figure on the bench tonight looks unsettlingly familiar. Taller than Kakashi, dark skin washed out under the lamp, black hair curled and unruly. Like the good doctor.

Not at all what I need right now.

I have time to turn around. I don�t think he saw me. I can just find another bench or abandon it and just go get Sasuke. I am late already.

A child shouts from the playground, which snaps Dr. Hoshigaki�s head up in my direction, the playground almost directly behind me. The recognition is instant and I�m a deer in the headlights.

For the first time we�ve been alone together, a scowl settles on his lips. Not a frown. A scowl.

Anger.

As if he has a right to be angry. I didn�t do anything to him without fair warning.

Resigned to the fact that we�re destined to have yet another confrontation, I stride over to the bench, arms crossed over my stomach. I�m not in the mood to deal with him, but if I walk away, he might just follow me. And I don�t have any more complications to this whole affair. I never have wanted anything to do with him, so minimal interaction was already too much trouble. This feud we�ve embroiled ourselves in, this battle of wills to see who will cave first, this is ridiculous. No middle ground will ever be reached. I�ve seen what he�s capable of doing to people, rendering them of their sense of caution. He did it to me in the office with his damned book, and he did it to Sasuke in the pizza parlor. And he can do it to me again if I don�t get him away from me.

�Did you enjoy the pizza?� he says first, not waiting more than a second or two after I stop a good six feet from the bench.

Not the conversation I had in mind for the scowl on his face.

�It was pizza,� I say with a shrug. �It was good.�

�How about Sasuke?� he goes on as if I said nothing at all. �Did he enjoy it?�

Judging from how many slices he had, I�d say he enjoyed it immensely. If pizza were less expensive I�d try and buy it for him more often, but finances are usually just enough to pay the electric bill, water bill, and the rent. That�s why our roof still leaks. �I think we both know he liked the pizza, Dr. Hoshigaki.� You knew he would.

He clicked his tongue against him teeth, tsking tsking a chiding. �Always with the formalities. If we know each other well enough to be this hostile then I�d think we�d be on first name basis.�

Round and round in circles we go. �I think we�ve both established that I don�t hate you. Multiple times.�

�I can�t rationalize any other reasons for you behavior. I�m beginning to think I was wrong in thinking that you keep me away because you like me. You really do just hate me.� He crosses his legs, arms down at his side, perfectly ready to pick a fight. His stance is like Genma�s when he�s ornery, open and ready to take anything. I fight with my arms tucked around me, protecting things from coming out as opposed to blocking them from reaching me. Defense in reverse. A clash of methodology.

My arms are steel against the onslaught of ruin that�s bubbling within me, keeping down my rational explanation. He doesn�t deserve it and needs no further encouragement in the pursuit of my mental health.

�And involving your little brother like that. Let me ask you, have you always been a bitch, or is this part of your reserve artillery?�

My jaw slackens and my eyes narrow at the same time, a double reaction for a double pronged attack. �You�re a little old for name calling, don�t you think?�

�I think,� he says with pointed deliberation, �that I�m sick of dealing with you. You and all your secrets. Christ, everything is a secret with you. How the hell is he supposed to know what�s okay to say and what�ll make you mad? He didn�t deserve that from his own brother."

Why is he dwelling so much on Sasuke instead of me? The conversation keeps winding back to him. He�s not part of this.

"I never-" Then, abruptly, I stop myself. Because what I was about to say would have come out as a lie. Maybe I hadn�t wanted to hurt him, but I�d be an absolute idiot if I can�t admit that I knew I was asking too much of him. I knew the second it left my mouth that I shouldn�t have said it. Still, though, I hadn�t meant to hurt him. I didn�t ask him because I knew it would put so much weight on his shoulders. I just wasn�t compassionate enough to stop myself.

He hasn�t said a single word to me since Thursday night. Why the hell did I think he could handle me?

Yes, just chalk a little bit more onto my guilt debt. Like I need any more.

Kisame is a mind-reader, I think, because his voice cuts me off at the same time I cut myself off. As if he knew whatever I was about to say wasn�t entirely true. "You put him in a horrible position. And why? Because you want him on your side, like he�s some kind of human barrier that I can�t hurt but you can? He�s your brother, not some tool for you to utilize. You want to build an army against me, pick people who won�t get hurt when you step on them.�

�An army?� I repeat blankly, processing the vitriol. I feel the swell something foul afoot, a misconstruction of evidence. Yes, I asked Sasuke not to like Dr. Hoshigaki, and yes, I want him on my side. But he�s my brother. He�ll always be on my side, and that�s part of the problem. He hurt my situation more than he helped.

�A united stand. I�ll give you one thing, the kid sure does love you. Fucked if I know why, but there it is.� His hands fly into the air, and I�m struck by the revelation that aggravation and exasperation are not the same thing. �He looked like he was going to cry, did you notice that?�

�No,� I admit quietly. �I didn�t notice.� I�d been angry at the time. But not so much with him.

It didn�t occur to me to feel guilty for asking for his help. It was asking a lot, I knew, but I�d been hoping, vainly and stupidly hoping, that the consequences would cancel out the repercussions I�m facing now. I knew he couldn�t, but I wanted him to, because if he�d been able to summon the tiniest bit of disdain, then I wouldn�t feel like the bad guy right now. I would feel justified in refusing Dr. Hoshigaki�s company. His help. Right now, I can�t look at him without feeling like a jackass. It�s the same reason I haven�t been able to face Sasuke, although now it seems as if I ought to be even more ashamed for my actions. Crying. I hate when Sasuke cries. It reminds me of the first few months after Mom and Dad died and I don�t need any more guilt tagged unto what I�m dealing with now as I do my best to avoid the royal blue of his eyes. I�ll end up with a mile long trail of bereavement for my transgressions, tight little knot of kite-tail regrets, all of them interlocked.

Round and round in circles we go. "That�s not why I did it," I say honestly.

"Then why did you? Or is that a taboo subject too?"

"Yes, it is." I�m not admitting everything to him. I�ve said enough. He�ll have to take my word. I glared at Sasuke because I felt my defense crumple around me, fear of my suspicions� affirmation. The powerlessness that he entices in close quarters was so powerful in that moment that I broke down and glared to scare away the one who confirmed what I�ve feared all along. If I prolong contact, I will end up liking him. Sasuke did within two minutes.

And I can�t even make myself walk away from this bench.

When it happened, I don�t know, but the truth sucks the breath out of me. Whether in little steps or one moment, all of which slipped by unnoticed, I like the guy. Fighting has done no good. The harder I resist the more places he finds to break through. I cracked, slowly, fissure by fissure. He�s sweeter than he has any right to be, both to my brother and to me, intelligent, perceptive enough not to give up soon enough. There are admirable qualities in him that I can�t pretend disgust me, employed against me or not. His only fault is circumstance. In another time, if I were a different person with different problems, if he weren�t a psychiatrist. I wouldn�t have fought. Because even after avoiding him, ignoring him, and fighting with him, I still like the bastard.

I wish to God he were a bad person. Then I wouldn�t feel this moral compulsion to clear the air.

I meet those stunningly blue orbs he has the audacity to call eyes. Apologies aren�t my strongest suit, so I word it in a way where I can fool myself into believing I have no compunction. It�s just easier that way. �And really, doctor. I don�t hate you." I duck my head when his eyes fill with surprise, cursing inside at the way they draw me in so easily and trick me into reaction. They did it at the pizzeria, holding such disappointment that they made me step back for a minute, bewildered by the force by which they pulled me in. It was such a moment of clarity between us, nothing hidden or not communicated on his part. I felt like he�d invaded me.

The way his lovers must feel when they gaze into his eyes. It�s what I once imagined sex would be like.

So in an instant I know he realizes that this is hard for me, because his eyes soften drastically, although he retains a steely core that�s probably always there. No, I don�t hate him. With eyes like that, no one could. �Really, I don�t.�

He blows out air, steam perhaps, with a half pacified, half daunted by all we still have left to fix, if we so choose. I feel the road in front of me stretch, Dr. Hoshigaki in no way behind me. "Well maybe you should stop trying so goddamned hard," he says with an under-the-breath laugh.

I�m starting to agree with that assessment. Despite myself, I want to believe that I can trust someone, even if I�m still not ready to talk.

He sighs again, standing up and closing some of the distance between us. �Look Itachi,� he says firmly, �I don�t know if you and I are ever going to see eye to eye. And I don�t enjoy arguing with you and more than I enjoy you sitting there in a silent huff. So there�s no need to come to your session next Thursday or any of the rest for that matter.�

�What?� I blurt out, all the analytical portions of my brain in hibernation. Somewhere in my mind is the reminder that this is exactly what I wanted, the permission to go on to number twelve, but other parts of my mind, the less rational and more susceptible ones, got very used to his determination to help and subsequent persistence in sticking around. It wasn�t a good feeling, but it was a substantial and it didn�t hurt. I never once expected him to back out. For all my scheming, I never expected to be standing in front of him feeling betrayed by someone I hardly know.

It hurts way more than it has any right to hurt.

He shrugs as if it doesn�t matter. And it shouldn�t. �What we�ve been doing hasn�t gotten us, you anywhere.�

But it does.

He seemed so genuine in his desire to help me and as much as a pain in the ass as it was, this feels like abandonment. �I�ve done everything possible on my part to earn your trust. To convince you that I�m not out to get you. But you just don�t believe me.�

There�s no relief, no sense of the victory I felt are warding off my other psychiatrists. Abandonment with nowhere to go. �So it�s your move now.�

My body snaps into alertness so fast I think bones might have broken. �My move?� My articulation appears to have disappeared. I�m down to repetition.

He nods, the steel sparking. �There�s no need to come. Unless, for some reason, you want to.� His legs move backwards, carrying him away from me with his hands hooked into his pockets. �Your call,� are his last words before he turns around and walks forward, disappearing beyond the circle of lamp light while I remain caught in it, two choices in front of me. Come back and talk or never see him again.

Once, that would have been easy.

*^*^*

I told Kakashi everything on the walk home. And he listened. He didn�t share anything in return, but that�s okay. I�m just tired of being tuned out, like I�m not there at all. Itachi treatment.

I told him about Dr. Hoshigaki, who is too friendly not to like. Smiles come easy to him. I counted them in the short span of time we were together. Seventeen smiles in total, all at things I wouldn�t have thought called for a smile. He smiled at the waitress who brought us our pizzas, he smiled when he first said hello. He smiled when I asked for the last breadstick.

I told him how delicious the food tasted.

�Better than mine?� he shot back teasingly.

�You don�t make me pizza,� I shot right back.

I told him about the stony walk home, the rigidness in my brother�s posture. Never had I felt so isolated from him before, even right after Mom and Dad died. Then I still felt a connection, an anger knowing that it was his fault. Thursday�s walk was all my fault and I�ve been afraid to say anything, afraid that I really messed up something important to him. Afraid that I�m not a good enough brother for the one who spends most of the hours out of his day working to keep me alive and out of foster care.

And I don�t know how to say I�m sorry to him. The way he�s been since that night, I doubt he�ll really hear anything I say. It seemed like he was getting better staying out of his thoughts, but I�ve ruined that.

That�s why he�s late tonight. It has to be.

Kakashi looks at his watch for the third time in ten minutes. All of Kakashi�s clocks read a slightly different time. I checked the other day, when Iruka and Kakashi were whispering in the kitchen, the tension in the air driving me out and bolstered by my curiosity. Clocks seems like they�d be more important to Kakashi, since he has so many of them, but yet they all read differently and between them all he�s still usually late. The sunflower clock in the hall is four minutes behind the one on the microwave, which is two minutes ahead of the clock on the kitchen wall. The one in the living room is ten minutes ahead of the clock in the hallway. I have a feeling they�re all wrong. The correct time, I have a hunch, belongs to the one he keeps on his wrist.

Iruka, which he said is okay to call him outside of school but still makes me feel like I�m behaving inappropriately, is humming a song while he prepares oatmeal at the counter. We had dinner around seven, and it�s tiptoeing close to nine o�clock. (2)

�It�s really not like him to be late,� Kakashi murmurs as he stirs the inch of cold coffee in his mug. On the way home from the cemetery we stopped at the tea shop in town, a roundabout route home, and Kakashi let me pick out a mug to replace the one Itachi broke. I chose one with tiny paw prints winding around in a spiral trail, finishing with a flourish on the handle. It reminded me of Pakkun, and the dog that I still want.

I don�t say a word, fearful of the worst. Had he had enough of me? Does he want to leave me here? Or has something else bad happened?

Iruka joins us at the table, another cup of tea by his bowl. Kakashi�s boyfriend (more terminology that makes me feel like I should get a detention), I�ve discovered since his arrival, can only make certain types of edibles: foods that come from a box and an assortment of breakfast foods. He doesn�t make much meat, chop vegetables, or whip up any salads like Kakashi, and is a fan of take-out. I�ve been eating a lot of Chinese noodles lately. Not that I�m complaining. Before Mom and Dad died, Monday nights used to be take-out nights in our house. After the relaxing weekend and harrowing day at the clinic, Mom didn�t feel like cooking. She�d call us up at home and have Itachi order Indian, Italian, or Chinese, whatever she was in the mood for. Mom was the dictator when it came to the things that passed in and out of our kitchen.

I peer into the bowl and make an immediate face. Oatmeal is not high up on my list of edible foods. It�s right above mushroom and right below broccoli. I can�t stomach a food that can�t decide if it�s a liquid or a solid.

Smells pretty good, though. Iruka stirred in a lot of cinnamon.

Kakashi looks at his watch, again, and clangs the spoon against the mug. �Let�s go wait out on the porch, pretty bird. There�s a breeze out there.�

Iruka looks up from his oatmeal, question-marks written all over his face. He has no idea how big of a deal it is that Itachi is late. No one ever filled him in. He doesn�t know how Kakashi and I do a lot of things around here. I wanted to teach him the rules when he broke the unwritten silence clause last Saturday. At the very least I expected Kakashi to set the same guidelines he set with me, but instead he let it go.

I�ll figure out why eventually. For now I can only speculate that it has something to do with the hushed conversations they have, during which Iruka is cajoling and Kakashi is intractable. No one gets anywhere, and Iruka tends to wind up leaving for a few hours until the air has cleared.

One of them started when Iruka touched the sugar bowl. He only moved it out of the way, but Kakashi was watching and he didn�t take it too well. And I�m starting to know him too well to feel like he blew things out of proportion. Kakashi is a sentinel when it comes to his personal life and it takes compliance for acceptance to start.

Still, I feel bad for him. I was never excluded from the graveyard like he is. He must feel so alone when we go off together, like we�re conspiring against him. Especially since he�s supposed to be closer, being the boyfriend.

I�m certain that things aren�t as they appear. With Kakashi, they never are.

Leaving Iruka out of the picture and to his own devices, Kakashi and I head out to the porch to keep an eye out for my wayward brother.

Kakashi was right about the breeze. Where in the morning there had been no breeze, now it�s downright nearing gusty. The leaves of Kakashi�s warped and in need of pruning elm tree sound like a hundred or more birds flapping their wings, puffs of air entering and escaping through the gaps in the foliage. With the living room and porch lights on, I can see all the way to the sidewalk. We settle down on the creaky steps, the sound blending with the tree leaves. Kakashi doesn�t have any chairs on his porch, but at least he has a porch. All we have is that loathsome fire escape Itachi likes so much in December.

He rests his head on one of the posts holding the porch aloft. A quiet Kakashi isn�t unusual, but tonight his quietness is more than just his nature. He�s tired. After what happened in the graveyard, I�m tired too.

Obito. Kakashi�s dead lover. Iruka is the new one. He actually helped me solve some of that mystery. I didn�t know that Kakashi liked other boys before he showed up. The rest fell into place after that. I feel him there. I feel Kakashi�s grief hanging around the stone. He touches it like you touch people, like Mom did when I was on the verge of falling asleep in her lap.

Right now, he looks ready to fall asleep.

I scoot over a bit, deciding that his thigh looks like a comfortable place to rest my head. Without asking, risks fully known, I lie down. The fabric of his jeans is surprisingly soft on my cheek. They must be old. He looks down at me with one eye, and does nothing but twitch in response to his lap�s use as a pillow. His hand rises, as if to nudge me away like I thought would be his most likely reaction, then settles in my hair. Just like Mom used to do.

I breathe in, relaxing as best I can while we wait. I keep my eyes open, not sure if he�ll come after what I did. But God, it was so hard not to. He gave me pizza. And he was funny. He kept trying to make me laugh after Itachi glared at me, scared me. I would have if I�d been in the mood.

It doesn�t take long before I drift off into a light nap, the winds like a lullaby, hush little baby by Mother Nature.

We don�t say a word.

A drop of moisture on my ankle, which is dangling over the steps where the roof ends, stirs me from my nap. I open my eyes, see the knots of the elm tree, Kakashi�s jeans. And Itachi.

I go to dart upright, but I�m hindered by Kakashi�s hand clutched in my hair. His grip tightened at some point while I slept. �Itachi?� I ask as I stop trying to sit up. Kakashi isn�t letting me. �Why are you so late?� Making sure he�s not an apparition of some kind. That he�s really here.

He�s not far away, about halfway up the sidewalk. And still moving. No answer. But he�s here, and that�s all I care about. I like Kakashi, his house, his dog, our rituals. I wouldn�t even mind living here. But I�d want Itachi to live with us too, so that he doesn�t have to walk so far to work, so that we don�t have to bring out all of the bowls when the rains fall. Itachi would only have to pay half of the costs because Kakashi can pay the rest. He won�t have to work two jobs, either, so he�d be less tired. Maybe he could even go back to school.

It would be like to having a family again.

The drop of moisture I felt on my ankle is turning into a steady shower. Itachi is soaked within a minute, just like the hem of Kakashi�s jeans. We�re all motionless, waiting for something to happen. For a while, there�s nothing but the sound of rain and Itachi�s wide eyes, trained on me. His bangs are plastered to his face, which is twisted into indecision. It�s a look I see on Iruka when Kakashi�s back is turned.

�It�s ten twenty-seven,� Kakashi says without looking at his watch. I don�t know if he really kept track of all that time passing in his head or he just made it up to sound impressive. �I think I�m rubbing off on you.�

Itachi stares at me for a minute longer, as if gauging something, before Kakashi�s words seem to penetrate. Either that or he decided that I passed his inspection. �God help me, then. We don�t need another one of you.�
�Those are fighting words.� I stretch and twist my head to look up at Kakashi. His mouth is twisted into a wry kind of smile. One of those smiles he gives when he knows something that I don�t. �Get your ass out of the rain, Itachi. You look drowned.�

Itachi glares at him. �Don�t curse in front of him.� I could jump up and down in elation. He hasn�t done that since before he cut his hand. Most of his protective gestures have disappeared since that night. He hasn�t smacked Kakashi in ages.

�Noted,� Kakashi says in way that we can all tell he doesn�t intend to do a single thing about it.

Itachi makes a scoffing sound, but ends up doing what Kakashi suggested and ducks under the safety of the porch. He drips water on me as he step over my body, an action Kakashi would have never have done. I would have had to move for him.

He settles down behind me, his clothes squelching. A freezing cold hand announces itself on my arm. Unlike most people, he�s not shivering in the slightest. Not enough exposure, not low enough of a temperature. He rubs softly, much like Kakashi�s fingers are still doing in my hair. Kakashi relaxes me, Itachi keeps me on edge. It�s not like him to touch me unnecessarily. Something is still wrong. My heart sinks. For a minute, I thought he was feeling more like the Itachi I knew a few short months ago. Not the one I knew two years ago, but still more comforting than the one of the past few weeks.

The fingers press urgently. �I�m sorry, Sasuke,� he murmurs gently.

I freeze. Kakashi continues to rub steadily, as if he knew this was going to happen all along. And maybe he did. Either that, or he really is unflappable. But, knowing Kakashi, he saw what I didn�t. That maybe he felt bad for glaring at me. That maybe he was never mad at me to begin with.

�I didn�t mean to,� I murmur back, wanting to puzzle this all out quickly. Every once in a while, it is refreshing to be given a reason behind their actions without months of detective work and lying-in-waiting. To know instead of guess why he�s apologizing to me when I�m the one who betrayed his. It�s not something I�m typically granted.

His whole hand covers the upper part of my arm. The very center of his palm is warm from clenching his fists. It matches the warmth of Kakashi�s jeans. �Neither did I.�

I nearly laugh. So much for knowing the reason from the beginning. Still, I�m getting good at working things out on my own, cryptic statements or not. It doesn�t even bother me like it used to. I�ve learned better. Nothing they ever give me the first time, if they give me anything at all, is the end of the story. I�ll always ask, because that�s a natural reaction that I don�t think I�ll ever be able to stop. It complicates the process, but it doesn�t stop it. Sooner or later, when none of us are expecting it and it seems like the mishap has blown over, the reason will reveal itself. I won�t even have to search. I just have to pay attention. Grown-ups are good at lying, but they aren�t quite as good at keeping secrets.

�We should get you a towel,� Kakashi says with no real conviction. Itachi murmurs some words of agreement and none of us move. We go on sitting as the rain pours into puddles and rivulets in the sidewalk, thunder rumbling somewhere way, way off. Iruka is still inside where it�s dry, the television colors filtering through the gap in the curtains. Just three crazy people, two with secrets thick as the gale and one holed up between them. Waiting.

TBC

*****

(1) As we know from the anime, Kakashi does indeed have conversations with Pakkun. He also has more than one dog in the anime. He does not here, and for a specific reason which will only manifest itself in the sequel.

(2) One of these days I�m going to go back and fix my times officially, but they will be correct in all future chapters. Itachi gets off work at 8 and picks Sasuke up around 8:30 everyday besides Thursday. It�s 9:30 on Thursday due to the 7 o�clock appointment with Kisame. The psychiatrist�s office is further away from Kakashi�s than the Red Lantern and as you can see, Itachi doesn�t own a car. He can�t even drive yet.

End Notes: This was indeed longer than Chapter Four. 28 pages, 16,714 words. If any one is interested in beta-reading, drop me a line. And even if you aren't interested, drop me a line anyway. I love hearing from you guys.

Art for December by imlikat (yaoi is my antidrug). Go to my lj (CrimsonCourt)to find it. It's beautiful and simply must be seen.
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