| [Oct. 19th, 2015|12:00 am] |
Katsuko went still.
“I do,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
“It was the first time you showed me something you didn’t mean to,” he said. Two little bodies ripped apart by demons, stuffed under tatami mats like pickle jars. “They shook you. You didn’t know them, but you pulled them up, wrapped them in blankets, and took them to the family altar. You’re not religious.”
Katsuko shook her head silently.
“We didn’t have time, but you took it anyway — and then you went back to the mission and never mentioned it again.” He looked back at the river. “And later, at the end of it, when we got word about that Broken Arrow code, you knew I wanted to leave. You didn’t try to stop me, and you didn’t mention that again, either.”
Her eyes hooded, deceptively sleepy. “It would have been different if you’d actually left.”
“I know,” he said. “It was a mistake. I wouldn’t make it again.”
“I know.” Her voice glimmered with approval.
Kakashi drew a shallow breath through his nose, and pushed his train of thought to its conclusion. “After Iebara, Tousaki got me back to the bunker, but he wasn’t okay. You watched over both of us. He found my tanto; you gave it back to me. The lieutenant thought you’d take the captain’s suspension hardest; that we’d have to support you. But he gave you good news in that meeting — you came out happy — and you haven’t said why. You haven’t asked for anything. You took me out to play sensei, and buy swords, and make sure I wasn’t about to snap over inherited issues.”
Silence settled between them, filled with the dull edges of distant guilt. It had been ten years. Anger had had plenty of time to paper over shock and loss, and mostly that was the emotion that stayed, but sometimes he still heard Obito. The White Fang was a hero! And he knew that he should remember the man as dad, not Sakumo — someone who’d tried, instead of a legend who’d failed.
Katsuko sat upright, echoing his posture by bracing her good elbow on one knee.
“You’re one of mine,” she said quietly. “My team.”
There it was again. A complexity cut down to something so simple, like it was easy.
“My last team ended poorly,” he said.
“My genin team died.” She paused reflectively. “My last team was better.”
Kakashi laughed, surprising himself. It was a short bark of not-really-humor, and Katsuko’s mouth curled up in a sardonic echo. There was nothing funny about her loss, and only bitterness in his, but the laughter was there all the same.
He’d never thought he’d look at Katsuko and find common ground, but the things that shook her — bloodied girls, badly buried bodies — had only made her focus clearer, like the hot edge of a butane torch. Ryouma was still raw in places, fresh to trauma. Raidou was steady right up until he wasn’t. Genma worried for teammates before he worried about the mission.
Katsuko had looked at her darkness and weaponized it, like Kakashi.
He said, “I’ll be glad when the captain comes back, if he does. But I don’t know that I’d trust him like you do.” He glanced at her, weighed the risk, and added, “I don’t distrust you.” |
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