Author: Carcinya (Isolde on Fanfiction(dot)net)
Author E-mail: carcinya(at)aol(dot)com
Category: Humor/Romance
Keywords: Naruto Iruka
Kakashi
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Possible up to episode 90
Summary: Iruka did not hate Christmas. No, really. He was allergic to it. KakaIru, idle fluff
Disclaimer: This story is based on situations and characters created
and owned by Masashi Kishimoto, various publishers including but not limited
to TV Tokyo. The song and the plot are mine. "Warning
Sign"
is Coldplay's.
No money is being made and no copyright infringement intended.
Now, now, people. If Naruto was mine, do you really think I'd be sitting at my computer, sipping bad coffee, and writing bad fanfiction? Honestly.
Author's notes: I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistake there might be in this story. I am French, and still only learning the beautiful language that is English. Any comments are welcome, but obviously flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Or flamers.
I was trying to be funny, I swear! And I ended up with that.
Go figure. shrugs
Unbeated version.
"Merry Christmas, Iruka-sensei" Part 1/2
Christmas is a holiday that persecutes the lonely, the frayed, and the rejected.
-- Jimmy Cannon
§§§
"We wish you a Merry Christm... GACK!"
Sitting straight up and bleary-eyed on the worn futon, the biting cold of the room rapidly turning his quick, annoyed breath into light, white mist, Umino Iruka glared at the remnants of what used to be his alarm clock but a moment before. Before he had thrown it with all his might against the opposite wall, that was. Then, with a heart-wrenching sigh and a muffled groan -- that might have been a curse, had Iruka been but a little less respectable -- he flipped over like a giant waffle on the iron, and snuggled back under the thick, comfy blankets, mourning for the lost warmth.
To say that Iruka hated the holiday season would have been unfair.
No, Iruka did not hate Christmas.
Really.
He wasn't the hateful type anyway, so don't insist.
He was -- to put it mildly -- allergic to it.
The mere mention of anything Christmas-related was enough to give him the shivers. He avoided Christmas ornaments like the plague -- decorated trees were bad enough in his opinion, all flashy tinsel and garish colors, but how could anyone stomach the sheer kitsch of those chibi Santa-Claus scaling snowy chimneys and balconies was beyond him.
On the whole, Christmas cheers made him gag, and he had sworn years ago to kill on sight any red-nosed reindeer foolish enough to cross his path. Iruka was probably part of the reason -- along with the greenhouse effect and the struggle for life -- they had migrated to the Stone Country, where the locals, blissfully ignorant of the traditions of Christmas, had eaten them all with a tasty cranberry sauce.
Unfortunately for him, the poor Chuunin seemed to be the only one in Konoha suffering from this predicament.
Indeed, ritually, from December 1st to late January, the normally serious and responsible Hidden Village of the Leaf would turn into a gathering of blubbering, grinning maniacs ready to force-feed Christmas spirit to anyone judged too grim for the festive season. Those months, Iruka would seriously consider the path of a missing-nin, and the increasingly alluring prospect of a quick, merciful death at the hands of the ANBU -- a fate infinitely preferable to the slow agony of hearing off-key Christmas carols everyday.
But of course, being the conscientious soul that he was, loyalty would ultimately win over allergy, and Iruka would resign himself to grin and bear it -- even if it meant straining his facial muscles into a smile till it hurt and he was certain his face would be forever locked into a grotesque rictus.
No, Iruka really could not stand Christmas, which, as he liked to point out, was nothing but a commercial farce, celebrating Kami-knew-what, but certainly nothing of significance for them, and coming from Kami-knew-what country, but certainly not their own.
So there.
Of course, Iruka's allergy might have had something to do with the fact that he had nobody to celebrate with -- no parents, no lover, no friends, not even a cat, a rat, or a stuffed bear. Iruka didn't even have lice.
He was all alone, really.
Pathetic as it might sound, at the age of twenty-five, Iruka had no friends to speak of. Itzumo and Kotetsu were the closest thing he had to friendship, but they rarely saw each other outside from work -- if ever. He used to be very close to Anko, his childhood friend and former "partner in crime" -- but Orochimaru's betrayal had left her bitter beyond her years, broken beyond repair. She had shunned everybody out, the world in general, and her loved ones in particular -- the rare people, who, like Iruka, were still willing to stand by her.
Iruka was of those who would never forsake their friends in need, whatever mistakes they might have made -- and Anko had made quite a few. But Anko would accept help, believing, in her twistedly straightforward way, that she deserved her fate. She had left him, her best and dearest friend, before he could leave her.
It was then, at that precise moment, that Iruka had understood, with the poignant razor-sharp certainty of unwanted insight, that nothing he could say would change her mind -- he had lost her forever. And she had left, and he had watched her leave, the way all the people he had loved before had left -- without saying good-bye.
The day had been December the 24th -- Fate, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor -- and at thirteen, Iruka had been already all too aware of the pain of loss -- and he had felt this one keenly indeed.
But then, Iruka had been told, Christmas was not to be celebrated with one's friends, but with one's family -- curiously enough, it had not helped Iruka's allergy any.
This year, he had wanted to ask Naruto to spend the blasted holiday with him, and in all honesty the mere thought would have had him fidgeting with gleeful impatience, but for the fact that respectable shinobi teachers like Iruka certainly did not fidget.
It had not quite gone like he had expected.
§§§
-- Three days ago --
Sitting behind his desk in the mission room, Iruka was waiting for the most infamous Genin Team in Konoha to appear.
But before he could ask, the blond boy flung himself at him and started explaining, in his loud, brash way, how Kakashi-sensei and Team 7 -- minus Sakura -- would celebrate Christmas together. Though he kept smiling, Iruka felt something constrict painfully in his chest. But in all the years he had known him, Naruto had rarely looked so happy -- he was positively glowing -- and anyway, Iruka hated -- pardon, was allergic to -- Christmas. So why did Iruka find it so difficult to breathe?
Iruka ruffled the boy's hair and laughed. Though it sounded horribly hollow to his own ears, Naruto probably did not notice. When he looked up, however, he a met a single, piercing blue eye riveted on him. Kakashi-sensei looked perhaps a shade too pale, but maybe it just been the artificial light of the room -- terrible for the complexion, or so Kurenai-san always said.
The Chuunin forced a smile to his lips and wished them both a Merry Christmas.
But Kakashi was not so easily fooled. Being his annoyingly perceptive self -- even with the Sharingan sagely concealed under the black forehead protector, which incidentally gave him an odd, bushy-haired, pirate-like air, and -- where was I? Oh, yes -- so Kakashi indeed noticed the odd gleam in Iruka's eyes as he stroked Naruto's hair benignly, that odd mix of stifled old pain and genuine, profound tenderness the young teacher seemed to radiate with whenever Naruto entered his field of vision.
Feeling uncharacteristically benevolent - or maybe he was just bored -- Kakashi ambled over to Iruka, and raised his right hand, lazily, in a semblance of greeting.
"Yo," he said, "Iruka-sensei."
The Chuunin blushed lightly, a faint dusting of pink across tanned cheeks, as the syllables of his name rolled off Kakashi's tongue like silk gliding over a naked body.
"Kakashi-san," he replied, as pleasantly as he could manage. He forced another smile. "How are you today?"
"Still wandering on the road of life," Kakashi drawled, before adding conversationally, "What about you, sensei?"
Iruka's smile was growing more strained by the second. I'll feel better as soon as I can get out of here, he thought and kept for himself.
"Why, I feel perfectly fine. Thank you for your concern," he managed to say, almost smoothly.
Ever polite, Kakashi thought, even when he is about to break down.
He cocked an eyebrow.Interesting.
"You do look a bit pale, though," he pointed out, a note of wry amusement creeping into his voice.
In spite of his best efforts, Iruka's smile shone achingly fake, the glint of bared teeth too bright and too white against dark skin and even darker eyes. A swarthy-skinned, fine-boned hand shot up, scratched nervously at scarred nose, fell back to the side. Iruka kept smiling, shrugging on the cheerful facade like an old, comfortable shirt. Unlike Kakashi, Iruka did not cover his face -- no, his own mask was more subtle, less tangible, yet no less efficient.
Iruka was too young to be hiding behind a smile. The thought had stirred something in Kakashi, though outwardly he showed no reaction. Maybe there was more to the mild-mannered Chuunin than sweet smiles and blushes.
"Would you like to join us for Christmas?" Kakashi suggested.
Iruka seemed to consider the offer, torn between intense longing and deep-rooted pride. He frowned slightly, fake smile still firmly in place.
"Thank you," he replied, "but I'm afraid I'll have to decline."
"Why is that?" Kakashi inquired curiously, taking a step closer.
Caught unaware by the indiscreet bluntness of the question, Iruka's mind desperately fumbled for an answer.
"Er... I..." he stammered, mentally berating himself for his carelessness.
The Jounin took another step. They stood so close now he could feel Kakashi's body heart warming up his very bones and hear his light, easy breathing.
Iruka blinked. Had the man no notion of personal space?
"Why won't you join us?" the older man repeated.
He had taken his hands out of his pockets, Iruka noticed vaguely. They dangled at his sides, the scarred fingertips but millimeters away from Iruka's palms. Almost imperceptible, a single finger ran lightly over the smooth, sensitive skin. The unexpected contact, oddly intimate, elicited a violent shiver from the Chuunin.
Deeply troubled, Iruka blushed darkly, hating himself for it.
"I have other plans," he said firmly, struggling to regain his composure.
"I see," said Kakashi, though it was hard to tell if he really did. He looked bored and indifferent, as he did most of the time, but for a second Iruka was certain he glimpsed disappointment in that single blue eye.
Iruka felt a disconcerting flash of longing surge through his body when the Jounin took a graceful step back. He let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.
The older man surveyed him pensively for a few seconds, then he turned away and made slowly for the door.
"Merry Christmas, Iruka-sensei," he offered without turning back.
Iruka sneezed, eyes watering.
Damn allergy!
§§§
-- Back to present time --
At lenght, after a particularly annoying sneezing fit, it became obvious to Iruka that he would not manage to go back to sleep this morning. So much for sleeping in and hiding all day long under the covers, he thought regretfully, crawling out of bed with a weary sigh.
He made a beeline for the coffee-maker, turned it on and headed for the bathroom. The blue and white tiled floor felt like raw ice under his bare feet; he cringed. Shrugging off his gray, faded pajamas, he stepped into the shower stall and turned on the hot water -- full blast.
A heartbeat and a manly yelp later, he sprang out, arms flaying wildly, teeth chattering.
No hot water.
It was Christmas morning, his allergy was acting up, and there was no hot water. Fortunately, there was enough coffee for the day -- God forbid -- or else Iruka would probably have locked himself in a closet and swallowed the key.
He toweled himself energetically, trying to regain some warmth.
At least I am awake now, he thought wryly.
Still feeling unpleasantly chilled, shaking like a leaf, Iruka padded across the flat to his room. He sneezed. And sneezed again. And again. Sniffling miserably, he put on worn sweatpants and a clean white shirt.
Damn allergy!
Well, anyway, the prospect of spending Christmas Eve in blissful drug-induced stupor held a certain, distinct appeal. Iruka even managed a small, wan smile as he dragged himself to the coffee-maker. He watched, enraptured, the precious black liquid drip-dropping with agonizing slowness into the small porcelain cup.
Iruka hesitated, then grabbed the bottle of Tylenol lying on the counter and shook it hopefully. He popped open the white plastic cork and swallowed dry too many pills -- not that he was in any state to realize it. His hand closed loosely around the coffee cup.
He sneezed.
The cup fell to the floor and shattered.
Feeling vaguely desperate, Iruka stooped down and started picking up the pieces. An ominous bang above him made him start. He banged his head on the Formica counter, and gave a yelp of pain as a sharp shard of porcelain cut his hand viciously. Sucking on the injured finger, he rubbed cautiously his bruised scalp with his other hand and got up slowly.
Iruka surveyed the scene for a moment, forlornly, and let out a sigh of infinite weariness. The coffee-maker, wretched, selfish machine that it was, had decided to kick the bucket.
It was Christmas Eve, there was no hot water, and there was no coffee.
No coffee.
No.
Coffee.
Life's cruel, Iruka thought, before he resolutely made for the closet.
§§§
-- A few hours later --
Iruka woke up to the persistent, annoyingly shrill tone of the doorbell. Sprawled haphazardly on the futon, he gave a heart-wrenching groan. The closet had been a complete disappointment -- it was full of disgusting creepers and gave off a terrible, moldy stench. Anyway, he had lost the key. He had thus ended up back on the futon, where he had slept like the dead for a few merciful hours.
Not again, he thought, hiding his head under the pillow. Let me die in peace.
Oblivious to his ire, the bell rang again.
"Go 'way," he croaked out, his voice raspy and thick with sleep. He willed the unwelcome visitor to take the hint and leave him alone.
They did not.
Obviously very much intending to wear him out -- and his patience thin -- the visitor pushed relentlessly the bell button. Iruka gave in after the forty-eighth chime.
"Ah, to hell with it," he murmured, definitely peeved. "Comin'!" he called out as loudly as he could manage.
The infuriating ring-ring stopped at once. Iruka shot a dirty glance at the door over his shoulder. He ran a hand distractedly over his hair, trying to smooth it down some -- in vain --, not really caring about his disheveled state. Still shivering, he draped himself in a blanket -- he had piled them up on the futon and huddled under them like a marmot hibernating in its burrow -- and tightened the rumpled fabric around his body.
The Chuunin trudged to the front door and opened it wide, without even bothering to check the identity of the untimely visitor -- Iruka half-hoped it would turn out to be a serial-killer who would mercifully put an end to his suffering.
No such luck.
"Kakashi-sensei," Iruka wheezed, gripping the threshold for support as a spell of dizziness hit him hard. "What can I do for you?"
The Jounin looked faintly puzzled. His gaze raked over Iruka quickly and thoroughly, taking in the clammy, sallow skin, the puffy nose and disheveled dark hair. Iruka turned away abruptly and sneezed -- once, twice -- hiding his face behind his hands.
"Are you ill?" Kakashi asked intelligently, raising an eyebrow. "You look terrible."
Gee, thanks! That makes me feel so much better, Iruka thought, annoyance and humiliation flaring.
"You should really get some rest, sensei," the Jounin advised, nodding sagely.
Iruka scowled. I was resting!
"Was there anything you wanted, Kakashi-sensei?" the Chuunin asked, too tired to try and keep the bite out of his voice.
"Well, now that you mention it..."
Iruka's vision suddenly went from blotchy to downright hazy, and he had to grip the door handle tighter. He took a deep breath to steady himself.
"Iruka-sensei," Kakashi called, faintly alarmed. He sounded very far.
Iruka's perception of his surroundings was quickly turning into a weird, distorted, black and white buzz.
Uh oh.
"I am fine," he mumbled vaguely. Kakashi, and the rest of the world suddenly tilted at an odd angle.
The ceiling definitely needs repainting, Iruka thought distinctly.
Then everything went black.
Told you it was weird.