#no30

"I love you," Tenzo whispered, running his fingers through Kakashi's silver hair. He brushed the soft strands away from the other man's forehead. The Copy Nin wasn’t wearing the hitai-ate that usually slanted across his face, and Tenzo let his gaze wander over the long scar that had taken Kakashi’s original eye. The jonin rarely sat still long enough for Tenzo to appreciate his beauty the way that he was able to right now. Of course, Kakashi was every bit as beautiful in motion, so Tenzo never really minded.

Kakashi looked peaceful, another thing that almost never happened. The man carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and had for as long as Tenzo had known him. Even in their early days of Anbu, Kakashi shoulders burdens far too heavy for a boy his age. Tenzo understood the immensity of an inescapable past better than most, and he'd recognized it in his captain. That had been one of the things that drew the men together. Somehow, in the darkness of Anbu, they’d saved each other.

As he gazed down, Tenzo’s chest constricted and his knees almost gave way. It hurt to draw air into his lungs. His hand slid over Kakashi’s cheek, and he leaned down to meet their lips together in a gentle kiss. Tenzo lingered, tears filling his eyes and running down his cheeks, until he heard the door open behind him. For once, the sound caught the Anbu off guard.

A feminine cough announced the presence of the Hokage, and Tenzo straightened from adjusting Kakashi’s mask over his mouth. Light brown eyes met darker ones, and Tsunade nodded. “It’s time.”

Tenzo nodded and wiped his cheeks. He allowed himself one final squeeze of Kakashi’s hand before following Tsunade from the room. He composed himself on the walk to the cemetery, recalling every ounce of training Anbu had given him. By the time Tenzo reached Kakashi’s student, his face had taken on a mask of shinobi emotionlessness.

The younger ninja didn't fare as well. Tears clung to Naruto's golden lashes, and his face was splotched in red, but he managed to hold himself together for most part. Sakura did better, surprisingly. Her hands clenched against her pants and her nose was tinged pink from crying earlier, but no tears fell. Tenzo rested a hand on each of the student’s shoulders without speaking.

Distant thunder rumbled as Tsunade began, extolling Kakashi’s strength, virtue, and sacrifice. Tenzo muted the Hokage’s words to a buzz, choosing to remember the way that Kakashi’s eyes creased when he smiled. He pictured the effortless way that Kakashi shoved his headband up and moved through combat as if he were invincible. Kami, Tenzo’s always thought he was. Kakashi was almost untouchable, in battle anyway.

Tenzo’s favorite image would always be Kakashi in bed, a gorgeous flush of desire on his pale cheeks as he watched Tenzo crawl toward him. The memory gripped his throat, forcing the air out. A sob lodged there, held there by pure willpower. Icy rain splashed onto Tenzo’s face, cold tendrils worming through his hair and down his cheeks. Warm tears joined it before he could stop them. Brilliant lightning flickered across the sky. Tenzo glanced up, welcoming the reminder of Kakashi as Tsunade drew the memorial to a close.

Slowly, people began to drift away. A few spoke to Tenzo, but he didn’t recognize the words. He probably responded, or they took his silence as an answer. Either way, the cemetery emptied of everyone except Kakashi’s team. Sakura stood by Tenzo’s side until everyone else had gone. She threw her arms around him in a tight hug, then lifted on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. Tenzo felt nothing. “Why don’t you come back to my apartment, I’ll make something for dinner and we can-

“Thank you, no,” Tenzo interrupted, forcing his emotions into a tight ball of agony that he held away from his countenance.

“We could watch a movie, or play cards, or go get ramen,” Naruto offered, his blue eyes brighter from the tears that left tracks down his whiskered face.

Tenzo made himself smile. “Kakashi was so proud of you, of the shinobi you’ve become,” he offered to soften his refusal. Kakashi didn’t say it often enough. Tenzo nodded toward the village. “I appreciate the offer, but why don’t you two go ahead? I’m fine.”

Naruto started to argue, but Sakura caught his arm. She bit her lower lip, eyes watery. Tenzo hated the feeling that she saw through his guise, hated the knowing expression. “You know where to find us if you want to talk. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

The rain increased, slicking Sakura’s pink hair to her face. Tenzo mumbled a thank you without meeting her gaze. He watched the pair leave, disappearing around the bend that led back to Konoha. Thunder rumbled again, and Tenzo moved closer to the flower covered slab that held an image of Kakashi. The photograph didn’t look like him; the hokage robes weighed down his shoulders, and the hat shadowed his beautiful, charcoal grey eyes. Kakashi stared soberly back at Tenzo.

Fingers traced the cold, damp glass that differed so much from Tenzo’s memory. Even so, it was Kakashi, his Kakashi. Pain flared from Tenzo’s knees when his legs gave way, cracking against the hard stone. A sob rose in Tenzo’s throat before he could stop it, and for once, he didn’t try to hold it back. The strength of emotion took him by surprise, squeezed his chest until the world grew dark at the edges. Tenzo sucked a desperate breath into his lungs, only to sob it out the next second. The noise was louder than the rain, louder than the thunder, louder still than the heart beat that he wished would simply stop.

Tenzo crumpled forward, head resting against his knees until the sound quieted. The sobs never ended, but his body had nothing left to give. He stayed there until he felt a hand touch his back. He found Tsunade above him, a bottle of sake in the hand that wasn’t touching him. “Mourn him in private,” she offered, voice gentle. “Not here, and not like this.”

Before Tenzo could think of an answer, the former Hokage pressed the bottle into his hand. He stared at it in confusion, before tipping it toward the sky. The alcohol burned his throat, somehow loosening the pain he’d held there. The tears started again. “I can’t do th--”

“Yes, you can,” Tsunade interrupted, taking the bottle back. She took another long drink, then sat it on the stone and pulled Tenzo to his feet. “You can, and you will. Kakahsi wouldn’t want you to fall apart because of him.”

Tenzo nodded, unable to form words. He didn’t need them; Tsunade continued. “He’d want you to be there for his team when he can’t, for his friends. You’re the last piece of him that they have.”

The blonde’s eyes took on a distant expression as she spoke, and Tenzo knew that she was speaking from experience. He blew out a breath. “How do you do it?”

“Copious amounts of alcohol and sarcasm,” Tsunade laughed, releasing Tenzo to take another drink. “But, you’ll probably manage through gardening and yoga or some shit like that. But you have to keep going; don’t let his sacrifice be in vain, Tenzo.”

The man lifted his head to meet Tsunade’s eyes, surprised that hearing his name sent a flash of warmth through his frozen chest. For years, it had been Kakashi’s to use, something private between the two of them. Now, every time that Tenzo heard it, he would think of the changes that Kakashi had brought about in his life.

Scott was undoubtedly the worst when recovering. Always eager to return to duty he was known for pushing himself too hard too soon and setting himself back five paces. Glares from a specific brother and threats to stay in bed were about all that would get him to rest. It was frustrating for all of them that nothing could be done about his insistence to follow rescues during his recovery, contributing even where it was unwanted and winding himself up that he was not there to help his little brothers. 

John’s recovery was of a different kind, less often injured the space bound brother more often struggled with returning to normal levels of gravity. Space sickness crippled him after long stints in orbit but not even Grandma could convince him to spend less time in the office, not since their father at least. He was probably the quietest in his recovery, willing to take himself to bed and sleep off the effects the best he could. 

Whilst Virgil had medical training, it did not make him the best patient. True to his nickname of a bear, recovery left him tired and grouchy with painkiller often doing little to aid him. His brothers knew to expect trouble if Virgil’s injuries stopped him from doing his art or playing the piano, no outlet led to pent up frustrations. Each had their own ways to distract him, each had varying degrees of success but he appreciated that they tried. 

Nobody dared voice it out loud but Gordon was perhaps the best patient of the five of them. He had definitely learned the hard way how to be a good patient, bad luck forcing him to figure out how to make the most of being hospitalised. Nurses had picked up on it before his brothers had, that humor and lighthearted demands covered for the pain and nightmares. Not that it had taken long for his family to catch on and intervene in the way that only brothers could. From then on they knew what to look for from the start.