The lamp guttered out in the early hours of the morning, plunging the cell into darkness. Halfway to dozing, Kakashi blinked wide awake and caught his breath. Then released it slowly. He'd been expecting this.

He wasn't afraid of the damn dark.

The blanket rustled as he rolled onto his back, arms folded beneath his head, and stared blindly at the ceiling. There was nothing to see. Nothing to do, either, unless he started running sit up drills again. Regular shinobi were coached to use quiet moments like this to organize their thoughts; review everything they'd learned, consider the weaknesses of their enemy, but for most ANBU that was such a ground-in habit it never actually stopped. And with Kakashi's memory, trying to recall pertinent details wasn't exactly a hardship.

He sighed, concentrating on the feel of air flowing over his lips and through the mask. Closed his eyes, for all the difference it made, and inhaled. Exhaled. Cut his mind loose to sleep, reaching for peacefulness and patience. Inhaled.

Tasted smoke.

If a civilian had tried to move so fast, he would have wrenched something. Kakashi had his feet on the floor and his back away from the door before he had time to breathe; before he had time to remember what'd happened the last time he'd gone through this, when his own mind had taken up the slack in Takajin's absense.

A tiny orange light gleamed by the door, illuminating the hand that held it. The face behind it.

"Mornin', champ. Sleep well?"

Kakashi's skin crawled, like it wanted to be inside itself. He bared hidden teeth. "Takajin. I'm touched. Did you miss me?"

"Oh, every minute. I hear you've been calling my name out in your sleep. Didn't realize you were sweet, Hatake."

"Yeah, well--" Kakashi began, but no snappy come back presented itself. He'd talked in his sleep? Maybe, but unlikely. He snorted, shook the thought off. "Here to play headgames, or is there something specific you're after?"

He could see a little more, now. The half-open door (why hadn't he heard it clang?). The way Takajin was lounging against the frame, all tall, casual grace and broad shoulders. The cigarette flared, filling the cell with the stink of burning tar. Kakashi's stomach tightened.

"Just thought I'd drop in," Takajin said. "See how you were coping without your friend, have a chat--"

"Break the treaty?" Kakashi suggested.

"Who, me?" Teeth flashed in the dark. "Wouldn't dream of it. We're all about compromise now. Doing our best to work out these difficult circumstances, what with you being such a complicated prisoner. Political, y'know. Did you really have to sprain Kumoto's poor thumbs?"

"Seemed like the thing to do."

Takajin chuckled, head tilting back to rest against the door frame, and Kakashi realized the torturer looked unsettlingly like Fujita. Both black-haired, good looking, lethal. That was not an association he wanted to make.

"Do you really think you're getting home?" Takajin asked suddenly. He blew out a thin stream of smoke. "I mean, really. After everything you did in the war?"

Faux-casual, Kakashi shrugged a shoulder. "I wasn't the only player. People died on both sides."

"True, but you killed a council member's son." Takajin's smile was darker now, framed in the glow of his cigarette. "Well, Akio wasn't on the council then, but you can bet he still remembers. He's lobbying for your execution. Death by the sword -- very dramatic."

"Your mind games are interesting," Kakashi said blandly. "Do you have a news letter?"

"Funny," Takajin drawled. He exhaled a last ribbon of smoke, stubbed the tiny light out on the wall, and -- shimmered. Then vanished.