Published: 3/20/2019

Itsuki - 1 (Chapter 18)

"Itsuki, I have to talk to you," says a cracking voice outside the window. The quiet knock wakes Itsuki in an instant, and in another he is sliding the glass pane open. Yuuya is there. He is dressed in black but has none of his armor on. Itsuki shifts so he can come inside.

A glance at the clock reveals the time as nearly three in the morning. Itsuki throws a sweater on and motions for Yuuya to follow him to the kitchen. Hot water for tea is heating a moment later.

"Your parents aren't home?" Yuuya asks anxiously as he eyes the walls as though they have ears.

"No, they're out of country right now," replies Itsuki. Actually they are quite overdue—they should have returned from their mission weeks ago—and Itsuki is beginning to suspect in the privacy of his heart that they are not coming back. But that is a matter for another time, and Yuuya does not need to hear it.

"Oh." Yuuya seems to relax a bit. The kettle begins whistling then, so Itsuki gets up and sets about to pouring tea. Once they are both settled with their mugs, Itsuki looks at his friend. Yuuya, whose facade of collection had reasserted itself between the window and the kitchen, abruptly cracks again.

"Itsuki," he whispers. "We have a mission."

Itsuki's stomach flips abruptly. A premonition of dread settles over his shoulders like a too-heavy mantle, oppressive in its weight.

"It's been passed along the division all week," Yuuya continues as he grips his mug tightly. "It went all the way through the First, but no one picked it up. We thought it was going to go on to the Third, but—but my captain said we'd take it."

Itsuki's premonition coalesces into great fear. He knows the kind of men and women in ANBU—none of them are the type to pass up assignments on a whim. No one with that kind of paltry dedication could exist in the Special Forces. There is only one conceivable reason why so many ANBU would decline a mission.

"Why?" Itsuki's demand is quiet and incredulous. "He just—just took it like that? He didn't ask you and Tomio?"

"Tomio's in agreement." Yuuya looks away. "They're waiting on my answer before they go talk to Subcommander Shiratori."

"They're pressuring you?" Itsuki asks, stunned. He hadn't taken the members of Ri-han to be that sort. The captain and the senior field member, pressuring their teammate into something like a suicide mission? Them, the pillars of Team Ri? It was unthinkable.

"Of course not," Yuuya shakes his head. "They wouldn't. But I heard them talking when they thought I was out of the lockers—they plan on going without me if I decline. They're taking it no matter what I say."

On occasion suicide missions appear in the General Forces as well, so Itsuki knows that there is a precedent for sending half-capacity teams. Doing so is a result of both a desire to reduce lost life and an inability to fill the mission roster.

"You can't tell me what kind of mission it is, can you?" Itsuki asks doubtfully. Yuuya shakes his head negative. There is a long silence.

"My first reaction was no," Yuuya continues at a length. "I never saw myself as the type who could take a suicide mission. But as time goes on I wonder a little more."

"How do you mean?" Itsuki asks as his stomach does another wild cartwheel.

"It's just—" his friend gives an anxious, helpless shrug. "It's just—who else ought to do it if not us? Ouse and Fuyu are gone. We're a cripple team without medics and we haven't run a real mission in almost a year. Tomio's an orphan, taichou's divorced, and you know my mother doesn't care if I live or die. No one needs us, and no one will miss us."

For a long moment Itsuki is robbed of all words. Something guilty lurks murkily in Yuuya's averted gaze as he speaks of Ouse and Fuyu, Ri-han's two deceased iryou-nin. Their presence, coupled with a five-member roster and summons-capable Inuzuka captain, had granted them a designation as a strike team. They had been one of ANBU's heaviest-hitting, most active war machines since the Third War's beginning, so considering their previous workload Itsuki can understand why a lack of work would be bothering his friend. But a second's introspection produces another conclusion: that Yuuya is taking their medics' deaths far harder than Itsuki had realized.

Itsuki does not know the full story. He knows that there had been a genjutsu and a diversion, but nothing more. Apparently the two women had fought like hell to hold out while separated from their colleagues, but even racking up the kill count they did had not been enough to save them from the wave of enemy shinobi. By the time Yuuya and the Ri-han captain returned to them they were bleeding out in the bushes, exhausted of chakra and unable to heal themselves.

Since then Team Ri has been running as a three-man cell without iryou-ninjutsu access. They are all elite ANBU, but somehow they have come to see themselves as a trio of unwanted men. Itsuki puts down his tea.

"That's not true," he says finally. "I would miss you. And you all would miss one another."

Those are the final words spoken that night. Yuuya turns his head away, but he stays a while in silence, alternately sitting at the table, dozing, and staring out the window with a face of inscrutable confliction. Itsuki is half-asleep himself when his friend finally leaves. Silently he puts a hand on Itsuki's shoulder and then slides the window open. As he leaves, Itsuki sits up and glances a look of steely determination on Yuuya's face.

A month passes. One day Itsuki comes home to find an ANBU messenger, cloaked and masked, waiting in the shadows around the corner from his house.

"Itsuki Mikawaya-san?" the messenger asks after they slide into the privacy of the alleyway together.

"That's correct," Itsuki replies slowly. He is struck with a sudden urge to run, to look away, to pretend like he never saw him—if he does not see him, he can hold out hope a little longer—

"Subcommander Shiratori would like to thank you for your service to his subordinate Yuuya Arakawa. The work of all ANBU touchstones is highly valued by the Special Forces, and according to Arakawa's reports, you have been an exceptional help. On behalf of the Second Division, thank you very much."

Itsuki's hands are curled into white-knuckled fists as the messenger sinks into a profound bow. It lasts for nearly ten seconds. Itsuki holds his breath anyway.

"I regret to inform you that Arakawa has passed away," the messenger says after he has straightened. "He has given his life in service of the village. Though no public award can be given to him, he will be remembered with honors by the Special Forces. Please rest assured that his sacrifice will not be forgotten."

For security's sake, no ANBU who dies on a Special Forces mission can have his name engraved on the Memorial Stone. Itsuki knows this, but his heart seems to freeze with its saying anyway.

"We will be holding his funeral in a week's time. Do you wish to attend?"

"Yes," he replies without hesitation.

"Understood. Please be present in Training Field 98 on Saturday at 0900 hours. We will send someone to bring you on-base."

Itsuki nods silently.

"After the funeral, please contact the Special Forces arbiter for dates regarding the reading of the will. He will be present to oversee the burial, so please find him then."

Itsuki nods again. The messenger reaches into the folds of his cloak and brings out an envelope.

"Arakawa requested this be delivered to you upon his death. Please accept it."

Numbly, Itsuki takes the envelope and stares down at it. It is addressed in the familiar cramped hand of his Academy friend simply with Itsuki. The ANBU messenger bows deeply again. Then, work finished, he excuses himself and vanishes in a soundless shunshin.

Itsuki walks the fifty feet to his front door. He steps inside, shuts it, and immediately opens the envelope.

Itsuki,

You're sharp, so you have probably known for a while. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you in person, but it's just as you suspect. I took the mission.

I'm grateful. Thanks for saying you'll miss me. It means a lot. It was good—really good. Whenever I remembered it, actually, I thought I wouldn't be able to go with Taichou and Tomio after all. But—well, you know. They were going to go alone, just the two of them. I couldn't let them take it by themselves. They're my brothers. If they have to die for the village, how could I not die with them? You really were right about everything. I would miss them too much.

I was thinking—now that news has spread, people all around here have been saluting us and telling us we're heroes. But in the end it's nothing really heroic. They say we're sacrificing ourselves for the village, but in the final analysis, I think I just can't stand to outlive any more of my comrades. If Taichou and Tomio left without me, I would be the only one. It would have been just me.

I'm sorry, Itsuki. I know that in the end I'm only passing the burden on to you. That's all I've ever done to you, really. I never realized how hard it was to be a touchstone until now. Whenever we met we only ever talked about me… I was all take and never give. I know you have your own circumstances you were always holding back on. And after all that listening and support what do I give you in the end? A letter and a headstone. It makes me wish I had taken the time to be your ears just once in this lifetime. Then I would have been a true friend.

But it's too late for that now, so we'll just have to let it be. Thanks, Itsuki. It's been a good run.

Your friend,

Yuuya

Itsuki stares at the letter a moment longer. Then he folds it, replaces it in its envelope, and sits on his shoes in the genkan until the sky is blanketed with stars. He only moves again when the wind rattles his window and makes him realize that the sound of Yuuya knocking on the glass will never wake him again.

In my imagining of ANBU, squads are designated by letters of the hiragana alphabet to distinguish them from General Forces teams. This comes from the filler episode in which Kakashi claims to be a member of "Ro-han," or Team Ro.