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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Recherché: What If?
Jarred from a trance like state by the noise of metal striking against stone, Iruka shot up, scanning the room for intruders; his hand frantically skidding across the mattress top as he caught his breath.
Have they found me out already? The envelope … the valise … where are they?
Bits and bobs of free-floating memories jumble together as the twilled cotton under his fingers gave way to the smooth surface of heavyweight paper. His heart jumped in his chest; of course, he remembered now, meticulously returning the weapons to their places, tucking the valise under the bed before propping his head against sinfully soft pillows and stretching out.
Imagination getting the better of me. Why the devil is there a handkerchief tied around my … oh, right, Father's knife. He used to say, ‘if ever a man desires to make the gods laugh, all he need do is adhere to the plans his limited mind conceives.’ Still, the hours behind me haven’t been a complete waste.
Leaning back against the headboard he comforted himself with the thought that this injury was another minor annoyance, a slight twist on the winding path he’d chosen. The meeting with the Chief Inspector went exactly as expected; quiet opposition, a curt rebuff and terse dismissal.   Their planned survey of the cemetery deferred out of respect; even if preparations weren’t underway for a burial, a curious sexton would surely take notice of three strangers wandering about the graveyard.   And then of course, there was the intrusion of a fast talking, overly accommodating Coroner. He rolled his eyes as an image of Genma surfaced in his mind. Definitely a fly in the ointment.
But the gods humored him, sending an angel in the form of a sympathetic clerk at the Administrative building. Masuyo was her name, the cheerful, rotund woman who left her station at the reception desk and led him into the private office of the Governor’s assistant, where she interceded on his behalf, vouching for the authenticity of the letter he’d presented as proof of and reason for his visit.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, forearms at rest atop his thighs.
“The Chief Inspector is a hard nut to crack, unlikely to give up any information. I’ll have to count on Izumo’s charm to make inroads with one of the higher ups in the constabulary. That way we stay abreast of their investigation and keep them from interfering with our prime objective. Now then,” he sighed as he stood, “what to do about Kotetsu? Lord love him, he’s quicker with his fists than his wits.” He wandered over to the open window, peering through lace curtains at the forests just west of the inn. “Hmm … that should do. Need a proper base of operations … somewhere far from the town center. I’ll have him secure a small hunting lodge where he’ll be in his element and we can come and go without attracting undue attention. Perfect.”
His hand was throbbing like mad when he flopped down on the edge of the mattress again. As for me, he thought pushing at the makeshift compress, the Governor requested my father’s assistance. Shouldn’t be hard to make her understand the reasons behind these murders and why I’m the only one who can stop them. Speaking of stopping things, better attend to this. He tried not to gag while carefully unwrapping his hand. Bright red blood slowly pooled in the creases of his palm every time he flexed his fingers. Damn, that’s deep. Shaking his head, he sucked in a breath, laughing at himself. “The one person in our group made woozy at the sight of blood is the same one determined to reach inside a chest and remove a heart.”    Pocketing the cloth, he staggered to the bathroom. Have to destroy his resting place and that means finding a way inside his lair.
Cold water splashing over his hand slowed the bleeding and he bit back a groan when the powdered alum burned into lacerated flesh. “Things shouldn’t work much differently here than they do in England,” he said with a wince, “architects have to register copies of their blueprints with the office of land management.
Assuming the old estate still stands, the information I need is over a hundred years old.” Searing pain made him squeeze shut his eyes and when he opened them, the first thing he saw was the floor.  Wood … that’s it!  They’ll have information about every domicile in the territory close to hand and they won’t question the validity of an official looking document! 
Running from the bathroom, he grabbed his jacket from the chair side nearest the bed; tucking the envelope in an inner pocket, he cast a final glance about the room.  All right then, all I need do now is figure out where the fire brigade is, he thought as he slipped on his shoes in the hallway.
Recherché
Against a backdrop of stationary taupes and variegated greens, how wondrous the synchronization of their rapid breaths; Ibiki’s tawny flesh, swathed in dark blue, his partner beneath him, ebony, formidable and sinewy.  Wrapped about an experienced hand, supple cowhide slides through his fingers, slapping against his wrists each time the one between his legs rockets forward.  Astride a partner so powerful, responsive to his mood and eager to please, how good it felt to have control freely restored. Shards of exasperation pierce the leather beneath him, translating into stentorian hoof beats against flagstone streets.
How sweet the adrenaline singing in his veins as they bolt from the plaza, how satisfying to catch glimmers of respect in the eyes of the people, to hear their collective gasps as he and his mount zip through the side street markets.  Over hard packed dirt roads, clods of earth erupt in dusty explosions as they breeze past tracts of tidy wooden bungalows; divots of soft grasses fly up in their wake as they gambol through parklands dotted with aesthetically pleasing flowerbeds and lined with trees. 
By the time they reached the outskirts of town, a chunk of his harbored anger broke free from its moorings; the sting of the Governor’s words, the pain inflicted by her lack of confidence, clung to and twisted around his emotions.   The winds wildly whipping past his ears taunt him, whispering the same question over and over:
What if Lady Tsunade was right?
Ever onward he rides, refusing to entertain such notions, fleeing like an escaped felon to the only place in the territory where succorance lay.   The bosom of the forest, it was his sanctuary, his island of objectivity, far removed from the maddening cries of civility.  Here in the dense woods, every major decision of his life was made; here he was imbued with strength, anointed with the fresh oil of perseverance. Today, he’d walk into the vast weald, not knowing whether he’d walk away from his post in infamy or if he’d stumble across inspiration amidst the majesty and serenity of the timberlands.
Recherché
How softly fell the filtered light through overhead windows, splattering across tense shoulders as Tsunade hunched over her desk. How gently it warmed delicate fingers splayed over papers filled with row upon row of blurred lines of text.  The need to stay busy occupied a mind and heart brimming with regret; it was at once, urgent and impossible. Twinges of compunction which began the second her office door clicked behind him, transmogrified into a burning lump looking for a means to escape the pit of her stomach.  This new revision of the trade agreement had to be reviewed and passed along to the Advisory Council members by close of business today. With a shake of the head, she chided herself stay focused on the task at hand. Yet, as they’d done before, the static rows of black lettered legalese tap dances across their off-white parchment platform, melting together and spiraling downward into a blob of grandiose nothingness.
The image of Ibiki’s face ghosted over the papers under her hand; she saw the corner of his lip twitch as her words, like a scorpion’s tail, lashed out and stung him.  That disillusioned look in his unblinking eyes as her words became daggers plunged into his soul and then there was the bitter refrain incessantly screeching through her brain:
What if Ibiki was right?
Pushing the hummock of papers out of sight, her pince-nez silently retracts to its rightful place as her elbows crashed against the desk’s surface; shaky hands sweep over and keep covered tired eyes that no longer wish to see. “I’ve lost his allegiance,” she breathed.  “the only man in Konoha I could rely on … alienated; shoved away, the one man who understands how weighty the obligation, how vehement the opposition which comes with protecting the public.
What the hell was I thinking?
Acupressure to stave off a blossoming headache, that’s what she told herself as the delicate jasmine scented heels of her hands ground against her eyes . . . no time for frustrated tears. Could’ve walked across the street, looked him in the eye, talked this thing over with him, but no, I reached across an ocean, begged assistance from a relative stranger, a man considered lunatic by his peers. Nearing the end of a swiftly unraveling emotional tether, she flung herself against the chair’s back, unsure whether to scream, cry or break something; the sudden movement sent the small notebook in her lap tumbling to the floor with a thump. Eyeing it with a measure of disdain, she leans down and salvaging the artifact penned by a long forgotten ancestor.   Reverently, she laid it in her lap once more, smoothing down several pages bent after an indecorous plunge. “Worried myself to sleep each night when trade between Europe and Konoha was but a pipe dream,” she whispered to the little bound tome. “I turned to you, the wisdom of my ancestors and found peace.” A solitary, salty tear skidded down her cheek and splashed against the book.  “These last months, each morning after a full moon, after a madman skulked through the land, I turned to you … and you supplied me with fables.  What am I to do now?”
From across the room, there came a tiny voice.  “About what ma’am?”
Loose pages flung themselves into the air from the tourbillon created as her palms slammed onto the desk. “How many times have I warned you about sneaking up on me Shizune?”
“Sorry milady” she said over the noise of the silver serving tray clattering to the ground. “I knocked . . . twice. When you didn’t answer, I just walked in … you were so deep in thought . . . figured if I were quiet, I wouldn’t disrupt--”
“Calm yourself,” she said rising from her seat, the book in her hand and a tight smile on her lips.   “I’ve been cooped up in this office too long today ... the walls, closing in on me … didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“My fault entirely ma’am,” she said stooping down to clear away the mess. “Should have waited till you called for me.”
“If I don’t step out for a breath of fresh air right now, I’ll go mad.” Coming alongside her wide-eyed assistant, she patted her on the shoulder.  “Be a dear ... reschedule my afternoon appointments--”
“Already taken care of. Figured you might need a lay down before tonight, which reminds me … should I lay out your clothes now or do you wish me to wait until later?”
“Clothes . . . for what?”
Shizune cocked her head and carefully studied her mistress’ face where irritation was striving for dominance over confusion.  “Hitomi ... tsuya … tonight?  The Hyuga and the Advisory Council members expect you to make an appearance at the Temple--”
How could I have forgotten?” Tsunade’s back bumped against the office door and for a moment, it looked as if she’d slide right down to the floor. “I trust you’ll find something appropriate for the occasion … call my hairdresser, tell her I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“One more thing before you leave, ma’am.  A young man came to see you . . . claimed to have very important information for your eyes only. I couldn’t get him to divulge the nature of--”
“Can’t deal with another lawyer now, Shizune--” 
“Ma'am, this young man is a Doctor, just arrived from England--”
“I don’t give a damn if he’s the Daimyo descending from the heavens on a cloud! I’m not in the right frame of mind to discuss anything with anybody,” she barked over her shoulder while fumbling with the doorknob.  “Shoo him out of the building with a smile and a shove.”  Once the door finally swung open, she said, “On second thought, give the little pissant an appointment for next week sometime.”
“Yes, ma’am but --” 
SLAM!
And . . .  she’s gone.  Oh dear, I shouldn’t have pressed her.
Seconds later, fine china slipped from the tray and onto the rug again when the door swung open.
“This young man Shizune . . . you said he was a Doctor . . . from England?”
“Yes ma'am. Doctor Imono . . . I think that’s what he said--”
“Umino, was it?”
“Yes,” she said brightly.  “I’m sure that's the name!  He wanted to talk with you while the Inspector was here.  I spoke with him for a few minutes and as I tried to say earlier, he refused to tell me why he needed to see you so urgently.  Rather pushy he was, insisting he’d traveled to Konoha at your behest, even had a letter signed by you to back up his story.   I gave him an appointment for tomorrow afternoon--”
“What? Tomorrow is too late!  I need to see him immediately,” she roared as she stooped down to still Shizune’s wrists.  “Where is he now . . . in the waiting area?”
“That was some time ago . . . I doubt he's still out there.  Lady Tsunade, please, you’re hurting me.”
“Did he mention where he's staying?”
“No, but I have to imagine he's in one of the inns down the street.  What's wrong . . . what’s going on?”
“I’ll explain later,” she said running back to her desk. A note, hurriedly scratched across the back of a fallen piece of paper was thrust into Shizune’s hands. “Leave that mess where it is . . . take this to Ibiki, and tell him to meet me here in an hour, understand?”
Recherché
Notes: 
Masuyo: “benefit.”
Stentorian: very loud or powerful in sound.
Weald: wooded or uncultivated country.
Hummock: an elevated tract of land rising above the general level of a marshy region; a knoll or hillock.
Tourbillon: a whirlwind, or something resembling a whirlwind.
Tsuya (Japanese): a wake, the night before the funeral.
Sexton: a church officer or employee who takes care of the church property and performs minor duties such as ringing the church bell or digging graves.
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