| [Aug. 1st, 2016|10:24 pm] |
One day Kakashi was going to peel open Ryouma’s head and figure out how he tied ideas together, because it was not obvious from the outside.
“No,” Kakashi said.
The grill pan was ready. He turned out four hand-sized pancakes, topped them with sliced bacon, and set the bowl aside. The young-man-and-hair-products smell of Ryouma’s apartment was gratifyingly improved by the scent of cooking okonomiyaki.
Kakashi turned and leaned against the counter. Unbidden, Katsuko’s final request came back to him: Keep the others safe for me, alright, Kakashi?
As if he wasn’t already. He’d watched Ryouma all day. Where was she?
He clawed a hand through his hair, shaking the thought loose, and looked at Ryouma’s stiff-legged, uncomfortable seat on the bed.
“I’m trying to be a good teammate,” Kakashi told him. “Ueno leaving is…” He groped for words and settled on: “Bullshit, but unrelated.”
Ryouma fidgeted, long fingers picking at the rumpled blue blanket. “D’you believe Taichou and the lieutenant? About this being her choice and the best path for her and everything.”
Something about the way Ryouma asked that put Kakashi forcibly in mind of Naruto. Which was laughable: Ryouma was at least four times Naruto’s height and five times his age, but maybe it was the restless air, or the plaintive edge, or the fact that he so clearly wanted a kind answer, but he was asking Kakashi.
Kakashi’s operating policy for Naruto was honesty, always. An adult, fully-trained ANBU should be able to handle the same.
“No, I don’t,” he said. “I think, best case, her father pulled some strings because he could, and Ueno’s obeying orders. She was good here. We’re worse without her. She knew that.” He turned back to viciously flip okonomiyaki. They were browning well. He put the spatula down again. “The lieutenant can call it a choice, but when was the last time you turned down a direct order?”
Or a family member.
Ryouma shook his head. “I’ve disagreed with commanding officers. Argued with ‘em. But an order…” He found a loose thread in the blanket, and snapped it. “That’s the thing, though. If it’s an order, and she had to obey, we can be pissed off, but there’s nothing we can do.”
If I had a choice, I never would have left at all, she’d said. But he’d seen her lie, and he’d seen her enjoy it.
“If it wasn’t an order, then she wanted to go,” Kakashi said, managing, just about, not to snarl. “So pick your poison: she had no choice, or she prefered Iwa over us.”
“I’d prefer the one that isn’t poison. But — she didn’t throw us away,” Ryouma said, with sudden certainty Kakashi didn’t follow. “You’re right: she was good here, and she knew it. She liked us.” Another thread snapped, but the anger was righteous now: aimed at circumstance and higher command, not Katsuko.
Kakashi didn’t want to switch targets. He could hold his anger like a coal, flaring only when he thought about Katsuko. If he laid it at Sagara’s feet, or worse, Minato’s, he’d have to confront more than just one absent teammate.
If he started examining his problems with Konoha, there was no good stopping place.
He flipped the okonomiyaki again, judged them done, and slid them onto two plates. Mayonnaise, okonomi sauce, and bonito flakes finished the meal. He filled two of Ryouma’s mugs with water, collected chopsticks, and carried the lot over to Ryouma.
“Here,” he said, handing Ryouma a plate. “Take your painkillers.” |
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