Author's Note: This story was written for a livejournal exchange. The request was for Kakashi and Iruka to live together and be domestic for a month. Since there was no stipulation about where they had to indwell, I decided to send them on a mission during the non-canonical period the fillers hint about, when Kakashi was Iruka's captain.

Shacking Up

by Swiss

Part One

It was late when Iruka woke up, sprawled over the low table in his apartment. The heat on his face made him blink drowsily as he stretched, wiping the residual stickiness off his face with a grunt of irritation. An oiling cloth was still bunched in his fist, and he looked ruefully at the spot where the heater still buzzed beneath the draped comforter. The weather had turned colder and yesterday was the first time he'd used it this season.

'I should have known I would fall asleep,' he thought as he rocked his neck back and forth, rolling his shoulders to work out the stiffness. 'True, I don't have a mission, but…'

It was at that moment that Iruka's sleepy mind caught up with the angle of the light on the floor, and then he was choking back curses as he scrambled for a fresh uniform, struggled into his vest and hit the door at a run. The cutting breeze almost had him ducking back inside for a scarf, but he was already running late and one simply did not keep a man like Morino Ibiki waiting.

'Blasted kotatsu,' he though as he jammed the key into the lock, simultaneously releasing chakra to snap his traps into place.

Being so near the civilian sector, he had to be especially careful with his security; too much force and an overeager home invader might end up maimed or dead. The extra moment required to double check was all that kept him from running bodily into his landlady when he jerked around to leave.

"Whoa, boy!" She stopped him with a hand that was weathered with age but still quite firm against his arm. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"I'm late," Iruka explained, smiling even as he tried to angle around her.

"Have you looked at yourself this morning?" she asked, clucking with disapproval. "Your hair is sticking out in all directions and your face it still red on one side."

Sheepishly, Iruka pulled down his tail, which was indeed hanging in a lopsided, untidy mess, and began to retie it. "I didn't end up in bed last night," he admitted. "Fell asleep."

The elderly woman watched his hurried adjustments with a keen but benevolent eye. "Did you eat breakfast?" she asked.

"I –" Iruka began, but a pair of onigiri were already being pressed into his hands, along with a fistful of rice crackers. He smiled at her gratefully. "Thank you, Ooya-san."

The landlady sniffed. "These things wouldn't happen if you had someone looking after you, Iruka."

Nodding to be agreeable, Iruka finally pulled himself away and merged onto the roofs where he could dash above the burgeoning market crowd. Someone looking after you; the words came back as Iruka shoved one of the rice crackers into his mouth, but he pushed it aside with a snort. This morning's blunder notwithstanding, he had been looking after himself for six years.

And that wasn't about to change.

Kakashi wasn't in the best of moods. He had only returned to the village yesterday, and when he'd dropped off an injured teammate at the hospital – a teammate who should never have been on a mission so high above her caliber – he had been forced to stay overnight when a pushy medic caught sight of a minor injury and insisted on monitoring him.

The fact that there had been some kind of latent toxin in his bloodstream had not improved his temper. Even now, as he maneuvered through the crowd with a bag full of groceries tucked against his shoulder, his head was still throbbing behind his eye with every squint into the sun.

All he wanted was to go home to his empty, dusty apartment, to water Mr. Ukki, feed his dogs, and then finally have some time alone.

This was so strongly on his mind that, as he paused to press surreptitiously at his temple, he didn't noticed the tumultuous chakra heading toward him until a body emerged from a side street and slammed into him so forcefully that it jarred his grip and sent his food flying into the street.

On the ground, eggplant miso seeped out of an overturned container. A carton of dry dog food was ripped at the corner. Kakashi looked at it through a deceptively lazy eye, torn brown bag still in hand.

"Ah, I'm sorry about that," a quiet voice said. The person who had knocked into him wore the dark navy blue uniform of a chuunin. An expression of chagrin dominated his face, which was a forgettable portrait of brown on brown, eyes and hair.

Kakashi took the measure of him out of instinct; his eye flicked over the vest, which was packed too lightly for anything but inner-village wear. He was also missing the kunai pouch that should have been strapped to his leg, and his neck was red from being bared to the wind. 'Sloppy,' Kakashi though contemptuously.

The flustered chuunin repeated, "I really do apologize. It's been one of those days. I wasn't paying attention."

'Clearly,' Kakashi wanted to say, but didn't. His headache had begun to throb mercilessly in time with his pulse, and his wrapped arm was stinging where this incompetent had thrown his weight against it. All his thoughts, which had been focused on food and home and rest, were beginning to drain down the tracks of the road along with his overturned soup.

The other shinobi lifted the container with a frown. "This is ruined," he commented, unaware of the way Kakashi's fingers had begun to clinch around his useless paper bag. After a moment, however, the young man's face cleared and he dared to smile, offering, "I could buy you lunch to replace it, if you'd like. Ichiraku has an excellent miso ramen."

It might just have been the single most unwelcome invitation ever issued.

"Perhaps your time would be better spent practicing reflex maneuvers," Kakashi said coldly, and had the sour satisfaction of seeing the chuunin's good-spirited expression fade under a streak of red. It made an odd scar across his face stand out palely, almost as palely as the lips he compressed together.

"I didn't mean to run into you. I told you I would pay to replace the groceries," he said. The overtures of friendliness had completely withered under the chill of Kakashi's insulting refusal. He reached to recover the torn bag of dog food, but Kakashi waved him off.

"I'd prefer it if you just leave before you cause a bigger mess. I'm tired of cleaning up after people playing at being a ninja."

The fierceness of the flush redoubled on the chuunin's face, his expression sealing off completely even as his hands fisted. Kakashi didn't give him time to muster up the audacity to do something stupid, however. Instead, he scooped up what remained of his groceries and continued on his way without so much as looking back.

Kakashi's time of relaxation was not meant to be. He had barely stepped into his apartment and toed off his sandals before a messenger was at his door, asking him to meet with the Hokage at his earliest convenience. Sitting aside the ruined remains of his lunch, the weary jounin took only a moment to lean broodingly against the counter before readjusting his mask and heading for the spiraling central Tower.

By the time he reached the office, he was openly scowling, an expression which caused an arched, bushy eyebrow to raise. "Kakashi," the Sandaime greeted, setting aside his stylus. "I'm aware that you just returned to the village. I also received a report from the hospital –"

"I'm fine." Kakashi answered the unspoken question, straightening his shoulders and attempting to make his face expressionless so that it would seem like less of a lie.

"I'm glad to hear that," his Hokage said, and gestured to the open scroll on his desk. "I have something rather delicate and time sensitive here and I need my most dependable shinobi handling it."

Kakashi was gratified by the compliment, though he kept it to himself. It was almost enough to lift his lingering frustration. "A solo mission?" he wondered, just a touch hopefully.

The old man chuckled, obviously picking up on his tone. "No, Kakashi. I'm sorry. It's an infiltration mission with some unique qualifications. I've selected a partner for you that I expect will give you a much greater chance of success."

The idea of a teammate made Kakashi irritated again, but he resolutely pushed the feeling down. "Who is it?"

"He should be here momentarily. I doubt you've met, at least not professionally." A timely knock at the heavy doors interrupted, and the Hokage said, "Ah, here he is. Come!"

Kakashi kept his expression carefully neutral as he turned to meet his partner…and then he froze. For there before him was a familiar portrait of brown on brown. It was, in fact, the very same chuunin who had collided with him on the street that morning.

"Kakashi," the Sandaime introduced them, cordially sweeping his hand toward the newcomer. "This is Umino Iruka. I've selected him to be the second shinobi in your two-man team."

Iruka, for his part, looked just as surprised to see Kakashi. His expression, which had been a little tentative as he slipped through the door, shut up like a portal. "Sandaime," he said formally, all while steadfastly ignoring the other man in the room.

One didn't become Hokage by ignoring undercurrents, and the little zings that Kakashi and Iruka were bouncing off of one another could not have been mistaken as even ambiguously friendly. Eying the two identically hostile postures, the Hokage asked, "Iruka, have you met Hatake Kakashi?"

The question forced the chuunin to recognize the jounin or be judged insubordinate. Ducking his head minutely, he acknowledged, "Hatake-san."

His tone was so featureless and unimpressed that Kakashi was provoked to respond in kind: "My subordinates call me Taicho."

Iruka's response was calm. "How unfortunate for them."

A growl passed Kakashi's lips before he had a chance to call it back, but the Sandaime neatly superseded any further devolution by beginning to speak. "Now that you're both here, I'll explain your assignment." He waited until he had their full attention. "As you know, our financial and political stability as a shinobi village depends on an intricate balance of power between the kage and the daimyo."

It was, in fact, something that every shinobi child knew. From the time the Hidden Villages were founded, there had always been a connection to the daimyo. The powerful territorial lords put food on a ninja's table; without them, Konoha would have neither purpose nor income.

"Without the daimyo, we could not survive, but to become mere vassals as some in history have done..." The Sandaime trailed off, shaking his head slowly. "Because of how important this balance is, there are sometimes actions taken by an individual which I am forced to ignore. In contrast, there are others that I cannot afford to dismiss."

He gestured the two men forward to where a map had been spread over his desk and pointed out an outlined section on the southern coast.

"These are the landholdings of Lord Ohidai. His manor and the village that supports it are on a bay that shelters a lucrative fishing trade. Word has it that Ohidai may be parlaying with Mist. His loyalties have always been perilously close to the edge, and we cannot allow our enemies to have such a powerful ally. So you are tasked with infiltrating this village and discovering whether dealings of any kind are taking place, as well as determining how deeply the common people there are implicated. This will be important when and if we decide to become involved."

Kakashi felt conflicted, even after their mission parameters had been highlighted. He looked at Iruka and was forcefully reminded of his last disastrous assignment, which had been all but sabotaged by an unqualified colleague. "Sir," he addressed his Hokage. "Respectfully, I would prefer to have a more experienced operative paired with me on this mission."

The Sandaime gestured toward the silently bristling chuunin. "Kakashi, while I note your concerns, you should know that Iruka has training in undertaking this kind of infiltration. Moreover, he has several skill subsets which will be necessary for your cover."

Instinct told Kakashi to be wary. "Our cover?"

The old man's sudden grin made all the wrinkles in his face stand out. "Ah, yes," he said, almost whimsically. "You will be posing as fishermen."

A stunned silence followed, broken only when Iruka muttered, "You're joking." He was blinking in a slow, hesitant way, as though he did not what to believe what had been said.

Their leader disillusioned him. "It isn't a joke, Iruka. You two will enter the village and pretend to settle in for the winter fishing season. A house has already been acquired for you, as well as some basic supplies and a small, seaworthy boat."

"A boat," Kakashi repeated numbly.

Seeing their twin expressions of dismay, the Sandaime's own became firm. "I don't expect you to put your personalities aside. If you did so, you wouldn't be suitable for this mission. That being said, I'm placing my faith in your ability to establish and maintain your cover for the duration of this mission. In no way should any personal prejudices jeopardize this," he said, and there was a warning in his voice. "Am I understood?"

Both men straightened like the shinobi they were. "Yes, Hokage."

Before he left, Kakashi made one final attempt to talk the Hokage into giving him a more capable partner. Unfortunately, it was a point on which the older man would not budge.

"Kakashi," he had said with a sigh. "The fact of the matter is that, however talented you are, Iruka has more social skills in his little finger than you do with all your one thousand jutsu. You'll need him to complete this mission."

Kakashi did not have nearly so much confidence, but when Iruka finally broke the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them during their first few days of travel, asking – "Is it really going to be like this for the entire mission?" – Kakashi had the sense to feel slightly ashamed. A month was a long time to hold a grudge about spilt miso, and even if they didn't get along, there was no reason they couldn't act like teammates.

So, rubbing the back of his neck, Kakashi reigned in hard on his ego. "I apologize for what I said on the road," he said, only a little stiffly.

The rigid line of Iruka's shoulders loosened immediately. With a bit more grace, he said, "I also apologize."

At the time, they were camping for the night to eat and rest, and the forest took up their awkward pause, graciously obscuring it with the fitful movement of leaves in the highest branches, and the creaking, quiet movements of wood. It gave them time to find their footing and begin a more natural conversation.

Kakashi reached for solace in a familiar refuge: work. "The Hokage told me that one of the reasons he selected you for this mission was because you speak the coastal dialect. That's an unusual ability for someone from Konoha. How did you learn it?"

"My father always spoke as though he had been born in Konoha, but my mother was a stubborn woman," Iruka answered. A faint trace of humor curved his mouth, though it remained almost rueful, as though the memory was complicated in some way. "She spoke awa-ben with me until she died. Told me that if Konoha found a use for me, it would be because of what made me different and not what was the same."

"I suppose she was right."

"I suppose she was," Iruka conceded. "Though it's been a while since I've used it."

Slouching, Kakashi let out a sudden sigh. "Fishermen," he grumbled.

"The true glamour of the shinobi life," Iruka reflected, chuckling. "Imagine if they told the pre-genin that they will spend their first few years after graduation weeding gardens, and then, even as elite, they might still be asked to serve Konoha by gutting fish."

Kakashi actively grimaced, an expression he knew was evident even through the mask. The sad thing was, it really was true.

By the time the air turned briny and gained a nasty, cold edge, Iruka and Kakashi had settled into a working relationship. During the times when the mission was being discussed, both of them were immaculately professional. They conferred about the daimyo, their destination, their strategy for infiltration. They also spent the trip getting used to one another's modus operandi.

Kakashi, for example, learned that Iruka was as unprepossessing as his first impression made him appear…but with a temper that could easily provoke him into becoming something far more interesting. Iruka, on the other hand, learned that beneath the underneath of Konoha's famed copy-nin was a keen but unpredictable sense of humor.

They hardly began to like one another overnight, but after two weeks of steady travel, they were at least comfortable. Or, anyway, no longer sniping at each other's throats.

Having reached their destination, Kakashi finished sealing the last of their shinobi gear into a tree and straightened to take stock of himself. Instead of wearing his usual body suit and armored jacket, he now wore a shirt and vest so coarse that it already prickled mercilessly. His hardy regulation sandals had been replaced with boots sealed against the water. His pants and jacket were also sealed, and they smelled. In fact, everything he wore smelled – like turpentine and salt water and fish.

"Makes you think better of your regulation uniform, doesn't it," Iruka commented wryly. He was wearing a veritable patchwork of garments, not a single one of which looked remotely as though it belonged to any other.

"This stuff itches," Kakashi complained, while Iruka nodded.

"Yeah. Konoha really spared no expense, did it?" He swung some of their equipment – their new equipment – onto his shoulder. "Are we ready?"

Kakashi bit into the fleshy part of his thumb to draw a fat bead of blood. "Almost ready," he said, and called on his Contract. There was a brief puff of smoke, and then a small floppy eared dog appeared, sporting a flack jacket and forehead protector.

He looked up at his master through squinting eyes, taking in their unsual garb, and then sat down hard on his rear end. "This is going to be one of those sucky missions, isn't it?" Guruko asked.

Kakashi's visable eye turned up into a smile. "Strip," he commanded, and the little dog groaned.

"Definitely one of those sucky missions," the ninken confirmed less than an hour later when they found the building that was going to be their home for the next four weeks.

It was set apart from the village by a considerable distance and had its own small wharf which sagged into the water as though it had seen better days. The inside was just as underwhelming. Guruko eyed the cobwebs and fine layer of sandy grit over every surface and gave an overdramatic shiver in the damp air.

"I suppose it's a step up from the forest floor," Iruka said, but he sounded dubious as he lifted a matted clump of hair and bone from the windowsill. "It seems we have a cat."

"No, we do not," Kakashi said firmly. He pointed. "We have a dog."

"I like cats. And there are mice here." The chuunin eyed the droppings meaningfully. There were certainly enough to catch the eye.

"Guruko can manage the rodents."

"I cannot!" the outraged dog protested. " Do I look like pest control to you? I'm a nindog."

Iruka pinned his lips together in a determined sort of way. "It's really not so bad. We can clean it up."

Kakashi disagreed. "A hovel is a hovel," he said stubbornly.

"Exactly. And you can't expect it to be what it's not." Iruka was trying to force open the shutters. Unfortunately, they were so rotted that Iruka's hand went straight through, sending fragments falling into the weeds outside.

Crossing to his teammate's side, Kakashi heaved a heavy breath. "I'm going to hate this place, aren't I?"

Iruka was sucking on his palm, which was bleeding. "It won't be so bad," he insisted, and Kakashi felt the urge to pick the man up bodily and throw both him and his stubborn, unwarranted optimism out of the splintered window.

It was very cold that night.

The planks of the shack were ill fitting, as though the person who built it had merely picked up whatever pieces of wood were at hand and pounded them together by sheer force of will. The result was that the formidable draft off the ocean wheezed through every niche, rattling throughout the creaky house and making it almost impossible for the small, potbellied wood stove to provide anything but the most proximal warmth.

It had taken five minutes of silent stoicism before both shinobi came to a mutual decision to use whatever resources were available to them. Which was how they both ended up on the single, musky smelling mattress, shoulders pressed together while Guruko shivered miserably between them.

"I have to admit," Kakashi muttered after a while. "This is not how I usually imagine going to bed with someone."

Guruko made a kind of low whining sound that was split between incredulity and disgust. "Innuendo, now?"

Iruka made a faint, undignified giggling noise, but it might have just been his teeth chattering together.