#maskage

kakuzu is kakashi’s hired bodyguard.

            “you know, one would think that a bodyguard is supposed to, say, guard a body,”       Kakashi is saying, calm drawl at odds with the way he’s thrown unceremoniously over Kakuzu’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. he pushes himself up slightly against the larger man’s back to shoot an unamused look that goes unseen.       “not manhandle it like you are right now.”

     He wasn’t focused on Kakashi’s words as much as he was on the rapidly approaching signatures of chakra from near every direction. With his ward over his shoulder, it would do them some benefit if they believed Kakashi was either out of commission or injured. The fact that Kakuzu was his bodyguard was laughable, he knew Kakashi was more than capable of taking care of himself. He considered himself a glorified babysitter. Make sure Kakashi doesn’t die of chakra exhaustion.

     He was prone to overdoing it.

                     “...Ah...Hokage-sama do you need help...”

          Where the hokage’s desk was meant to be, there was a stack of papers. Or at least there had been a stack of papers. It looked as if they had toppled over. Any more of them and they could probably swim in all the pages. It was as bad as the Ueda archives, what with all the mail that never got to where it was going. Saburo carefully retrieved several of the fallen pages, and set them on the edge of the desk. It did nothing to alleviate the mess, but then Saburo didn’t think it would.

                  “Arigatou, Kakashi-san. I hope this doesn’t trouble you too much.” 

         Mao readjusts the strap around her shoulder. There have been some worrying incidents along this route, especially with relations between the villages as they are. Tense. Mao didn’t know what was in the package herself, only that it was important and should not be left unsecured. It was just one of the many secrets that would stay hidden under the storage in the vault. The only reason it was Kakashi here and not some other, lesser known ninja like herself, was because his mission had coincided with hers. A rare coincidence. 

          “  … nothing. you don’t have to tell me anything.”      and he means it even if it breaks his heart. Sakura doesn’t owe him anything in spite of their shared past  —  perhaps because of it. he knows he has long since lost his place  -  as meagre and insignificant as it was  -  in her life, and Kakashi has accepted it.

            unfortunately, he’s loyal to the very marrow of his bones; even if she spat in his face or declared her absolute hatred for him, a part of him will always look out for her. he’s always been notoriously terrible at leaving the past where it belongs.       “ but it would’ve been nice to know that you’re alive and safe. we were worried. ”      

             sighing softly, Kakashi’s tired gaze drops to sandalled feet, the curve of his spine deepening further as though an unseen force is trying to see how far he can bend before he breaks.        “ you said you wanted to leave. ”      why does this keep happening? where did it all go so wrong?

             there’s a pause as Kakashi considers his words, fists clenching and unclenching in his pockets, an odd pressure seizing his throat as tension stretches taut between them.

            “ okay, ”      he agrees, because he trusts that she has thought this through. Sakura has always been the smart and rational one, after all.        

           “ okay, ”       he repeats, because he needs to convince himself that it is.

           “ i’ll revoke your rank and citizenship  —  on one condition. you’ll wait until you’re properly healed and rested, and no sooner than that. if you leave before that, you’ll become a missing-nin, Sakura. ”         his voice rings hollow. Kakashi inhales deeply, searching within himself for the strength that has stopped him from crumbling beneath the sheer weight of the hokage’s mantle.      “ do you understand? if you refuse to honor this, konoha will hunt you down. ”

No one knew the story why pragmatic, level-headed Haruno Sakura had suddenly appeared overnight in mute, ruined shock in the place where virtually nothing had broken her. Why she looked as though a ghost had possessed her, why the bundle in her arms was held with such vicious defensiveness. A second and secret life in the Shikkotsu Forest she’d been living for the past four years, culminated to nearly dying bearing the daughter of a forbidden union. 

Sakura blinked mutely from the bed as Kakashi spoke, knowing he was right. Knees curled like a frightened child to her chest, she held Sarada just tightly enough that she wouldn’t suffocate. 

She’s exhausted, and she wants to sleep. But, she can’t. Everywhere she looks, some Danzo in the darkness is waiting to snatch her baby’s eyes, and she has to remain vigilant here. Sakura misses the endless howl and roars of the Forest’s kaiju already. 

“I’m sorry,” Sakura managed to say, lower lip worrying, too exhausted to stifle such frank emotions. Her voice is hoarse with disuse. “B-But, please, don’t-- don’t tell anyone who she is! I-If they find out, she’ll--” Bitterly, she can’t even finish the thought, shoulders shaking as she chokes on a sob. 

How does she articulate her gratitude? For all of Konoha’s flaws, the black roots she’d helped expose, its Hokage were kind. Sensei, friend, or otherwise. 

But it’s not safe. Sarada is a target if her heritage was revealed; greedy people hungry for Sharingan and their secrets liable to circle like vultures. Sakura’s stronger now, isn’t she? She’s a sage. Even if not a fully-mastered one, she’s more powerful than she ever was. Rheumy teal eyes wander to one of Katsuyu’s cat-sized clones, a smaller one guarding the perimeters outside. It was irrational, but it was enough. 

It’s terrible how much rain one outfit can absorb in 5 seconds. Though Sasuke had known that his sensei must be correct, he woulnd’t have thought that the rainfall would be ‘this’ bad. The wind howled outside of the cave and with his clothes being wet, he started to feel cold.

“I know, I know. I was just so on a roll.” He secretly enjoyed it very much whenever Kakashi trained him on his own. He knew Sakura and Naruto sometimes also received training alone with their sensei, but he had the feeling that his training was the one that progressed the best. He was absolutely thrilled that Kakashi trained him in the art of the chidori. Surely ‘that’ must impress his father.

∘ ∙ — misc sentence starters  // @maskage

              It seems the temperature has dropped within the last moment, all of a sudden Tenzo feels cold. The weight of spoken words heavy on his frame, Tenzo crosses his arms protectively and slumps back against the wall they’re leaning on with a silent exhale.  Sometimes Kakashi opens up tiny windows with cracked casement and black tinted glass–– an invitation and a warning at the same time. To know what it’d show inside, Tenzo doesn’t need to look. Memories surface, images of the Hatake disappearing between tombstones in the graveyard, standing stiff as though he wants to become one of them.

              What is it that you need? What can I do?, he has wondered for as long as their friendship withstands. You don’t want to talk or be touched. And even if he did, Tenzo is sure he can’t provide the words of comfort or friendly shoulder clasps that would soothe a wound that doesn’t want to be healed. Kakashi wants to be alone. Perhaps, as selfish as it is, that afflicts the younger more than his inability to lift his comrade’s pain: the distance Kakashi keeps between them. Terrible things happened, but haven’t there been good things too? People that care for you now? Haven’t I been a good friend to you? It’s silly to think, he could be enough, but years ago, Tenzo had hoped he could be that person as Kakashi had been for him. Back then.

After all these years, all there is to offer is his loyality, his time and his patience. And in the rare times, when Kakashi is accepting, he will give.

              “I know,“ he finally says, and for a moment Tenzo searches for his friend’s eye, daring Kakashi to met his. Then, briefly after, he averts his gaze, breaking whatever may have lingered, tentatively, within the exchange. In the same extent of seriousness, he adds, “Jiraya’s books really are quite disturbing. I don’t know how you do it.“

There’s something familiar about this place. Something he can’t quite grasp, like sand slipping through his fingers. A feeling he can’t place as he stares at this stone with hundreds of names. He’d been wandering aimlessly for days. Exhaustion clung to him like a second skin, settled deep within his bones. 

He senses the chakra before it truly stops behind him. Minato doesn’t take his eyes away from the names (so many names), on the stone in front of him. 

“Where am I?” Voice raspy from lack of water, dehydration had begun to settle in a day ago. Perhaps he was in shock. It sounded right in a way, Minato couldn’t help but notice. Seven days of traveling, four without food, two without water; he’d been grasping at shattered memories, trying to piece everything together but it would not fit.