| [Apr. 22nd, 2018|08:48 pm] |
Protests rose, automatic. I didn’t say that or Didn’t I just tell you or Why do you think? They didn’t make sense together, though. Ryouma was starting to wonder if anything he was saying made sense.
It didn’t seem to, for Kakashi. His hand still curled around Ryouma’s bandaged wrist, loose enough to bracelet instead of shackle. The pebbled thickness of his knee protector was rough under Ryouma’s palm. His eye hadn’t left Ryouma’s face.
“I,” Ryouma said. Stopped. Swallowed again.
Kakashi waited.
It wasn’t in words; you couldn’t line them up all neatly and trot them out in regimented rows, ready to conquer any objections. There were words behind it, certainly: the old, razored ones, still sharp despite the years, but they were distant now, disordered. Not something you could send out to the battlefield against Kakashi, because he’d see the holes in their ranks, he’d exploit them mercilessly, and Ryouma—
Wanted to let Kakashi in. Wanted to hear him say, It’s not true. Still remembered the gritty feel of Kakashi’s hands cupping his face, and the black tomoe spinning in Kakashi’s Sharingan eye.
He found his voice. “I know I’m a valuable member of this team. A valuable shinobi. But I also know what I owe the village. And there’s an arithmetic to sacrifice on missions, you know that as well as I do. Besides,” he added recklessly, “I told you I’d show you a jutsu if you showed me your face. So then I’ll be less valuable, and you’ll be more.”
Kakashi was silent for another long moment. His eye had gone dark. His hand closed a little tighter around Ryouma’s wrist.
Then he said softly: “Ryouma, your worth isn’t your jutsu. It’s the mind that created it. Your skills make you valuable, but you aren’t expendable when someone else has more.”
He turned Ryouma’s wrist over, and began to pry at the stiff knot on the bandages.
“I could die to save Minato-sensei and the village would call that a smart trade, but he wouldn’t. Naruto-kun wouldn’t, no matter how much you explained the math. And it’s not because I’m special. It’s because I’m worth something to them, more than my ability to yank hearts out.”
The knot loosened. Kakashi tugged the end of the bandage free, unraveled the loops, and dropped the dirty mess at their feet. His thumb rubbed gently between the long, scabbed scratches. “You probably saved our lives, but I don’t think that’s even occurred to you. They wanted a sacrifice and you offered yourself because you think it paid a debt. You don’t owe a debt. You’re owed the right to be alive, because you’re you.”
“You used my name,” Ryouma said, stupidly.
It was the least consequential thing Kakashi’d said. It seemed like the only thing Ryouma’s brain could fix on. He wanted to push up and move, to pace through the cool grass, to run: to find some place where he could spill out the rest of those thoughts and finally piece the shards together. He could feel Kakashi’s hand like a brand on his wrist.
“I did,” Kakashi said. He didn’t loosen his hold. He didn’t move away, or say anything more, or do anything but sit there holding Ryouma’s wrist, shadow-eyed, waiting. |
|