| [Sep. 7th, 2013|02:16 am] |
“Ye of little faith,” Kakashi said, mouth quirking. “I would have thought of something.”
Rin took a sip of her wine. “Before or after you sustained brain damage?”
“I would have thought of something really fast,” he said, which didn’t do much for the hard, angry lines cutting around Rin’s mouth. She had her own family—a mother and a father who were still living, both ninja, and loved her—and they both had Minato and Naruto, but it wasn’t the same. If Kakashi lost her—
He couldn’t lose her.
Gently, he tapped the back of her hand, still lying on the table. “We’re both still here.”
Rin glanced at his left eye, safely hidden behind the slanted hitai-ate. Her smile softened. She knew who ‘we’ meant. “Keep it that way.”
He flicked a two-fingered salute, fingertips brushing one temple, and looked up as Mahito returned with a tray of small dishes, which he laid out neatly. Sesame-tofu in miso paste. Miso-eggplant. Spinach in sesame sauce. Agedashi dofu. Skewers of grilled pork cheek. Salted, grilled smelt. Steamed rice. The waiter bowed, vanished, and then returned with one final plate, which he placed in the center of the table.
A salt-fried red snapper, perfectly cooked, lay gently steaming on pristine china.
Kakashi blinked. “We didn’t order that.”
“For the celebration,” Mahito said. He sketched a quick, curling spiral on his right shoulder. “Congratulations, Hatake-san.”
How did he—
Kakashi abandoned that train of thought. Nothing was secret in a shinobi village. And nothing he or Rin did ever stayed unremarked on for long, no matter whether it was actually remarkable. Part of it was Minato-sensei’s reflected light. But part of it was just... them. They were good stories, in success or failure.
Especially in failure.
Happily, not today’s issue. Kakashi started to incline his head in thanks, stopped, and tapped his left shoulder instead. His instinct was good; Mahito’s mouth curved, and he echoed the salute.
“Enjoy your meal,” the waiter said, and stumped away.
Rin watched him go thoughtfully. “I always wondered if he was ANBU.”
“Me, too,” Kakashi said. He couldn’t feel an ANBU tattoo-spark from the older man, but perhaps the jutsu was removed when you left the service.
“Itadakimasu,” Rin said, picking up her black lacquered chopsticks. She selected a bite of sesame-tofu. “You didn’t finish telling me about Tousaki. Actually, you didn’t start telling me about Tousaki.” |
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