Set in the Not Over Til The Paperwork Is In universe. Events in this chapter are alluded to in Sharpening Iron. However, this story easily stands alone.

Warning: Suicidal shinobi.

Comrade killer.

The very mention of the term elicits disgust in even the most emotionally detached of the village's warriors. The Hidden Leaf are a proud people, bound to each other by the Will of Fire. There are few crimes so heinous, so vile, as a ninja taking in cold blood the life of his fellow shinobi.

Comrade killer.

Two words that haunt Iruka, even now that he is safe in the arms of his village, away from his physical tormentors. The words mock him at the end of a long day while he lies in bed, worn out from the physical therapy.

He must relearn to walk on torture damaged legs. His right hand needs to be reconstructed and restored to usefulness. Despite the pain of rehabilitation, he throws himself into the challenge. Iruka pushes himself day and night, because he knows the moment he stops to rest, those two words will rise up to accuse him. The pain accompanying his physical therapy is a welcome distraction, but it is disheartening work. It shouldn't be so hard to just place one foot before the other- a skill he had learned by the age of one.

Comrade killer.

The Mission Room staff assures him that he is no such thing. Ibiki claims that his actions were justified. But Iruka sees the stricken face of Kyasha's little brother, the pain in her mother's eyes, and the cold blankness of the father's expression, and he knows better. Her family will not tell him so aloud, but their hearts clearly blame him.

And why not? His legs can heal. His hand can regain function. But Kyasha will always be dead because of him.

So when the nurses find him collapsed in the hallway at 2am, they rebuke him for straining his legs and attempting to walk without supervision. They say he needs to listen to his body when it tells him to rest. They don't understand that he needs the pain. Anything to quiet the condemning voices in his head, reminding him of what he is.

That's why, when a nurse returns him to his room after his late night "walks," he procures a pen and notebook, or scrap of paper, or dirty napkin, or his forearm if all the other writable surfaces have been exhausted, and proceeds to practice his penmanship.

He can't quite hold the pen right. It often slips from his nerveless grip. His characters are too large and his lines are shaky, resembling a toddler's casual scribble rather than the painstaking labor of hour upon hour. It frustrates him. He promised Kyasha that his penmanship would be better than ever, and he is furious with himself for being so slow to fulfill the last promise he made to his friend before he killed her.

He yells at his doctors. Flings his lunch tray against the wall. Argues with his nurses. Iruka is hell to deal with, and this makes him feel guilty too. After all, it's not really them with whom he is angry.

It's Spring when Iruka is able to walk out of the hospital. He can perform handsigns, eat with chopsticks, and write neater and clearer than before. The evidence of his torture has faded to only the scars on his body. And yet he is still shattered.

He resumes his normal activities, as the psychologists said he should. The children are happy to have their assistant teacher back, even if he is a bit quieter than usual. He tutors after school every Tuesday and Thursday. He is faithful to his training sessions with Mizuki, every Wednesday, and Friday.

There's a gaping hole in his schedule, where the Monday and Saturday training sessions with Kyasha used to be. Spending that time alone with his condemning inner voice becomes unbearable.

One day he overhears the jounin complaining about long lines at the Mission Desk. It turns out they are understaffed, and Iruka volunteers his time in the Mission Room, careful to sign up every Monday and Saturday.

He hasn't worked in the Mission Room long before, one Saturday, the Third Hokage stops Iruka in the midst of filing. Sarutobi's smile is full of warmth as he commends him for his diligence and work ethic. The shattered teen feels worthwhile for the first time since Kyasha's death. If he can make himself valuable to his other comrades, perhaps that will atone for his crime against one.

The Mission Room files undergo a thorough reorganization process. The new system is so efficient, Iruka is asked to become a permanent and paid member of the staff. He begins spending Sundays, his only remaining free day, in the Mission Room as well.

He invests more time with his students by taking up more after-school tutoring sessions.

Anyone who needs their shift covered knows to ask Iruka first. If his schedule is open, he will not say no. You can also count on him to pick up the slack if you need to leave early. He doesn't mind taking home a stack or two or three of mission files.

Iruka's dependable. He likes to help. He is easy to approach, though he has been known to explode in odd fits of temper. Still, people come to him for guidance, advice, or perhaps just a sympathetic ear. He'll gladly offer his comrades a shoulder to cry on, a side to lean into, or a kick in the pants for motivation.

Iruka's such an industrious young man, people comment to one another when they speak of the little sensei. If he works through his lunch break, that's his prerogative. No one sees him eat, but they're sure he must. Much the same as people naturally assume that he sleeps more than an hour or two a night. He is losing a bit of weight- enough so that Inuzuka Tsume, after turning in her mission report, hands him a coupon for Ichiraku Ramen. She claims that he needs it, since he's beginning to look like a "runty pup."

Still, no one notices that he is shattered, and he does not tell them. A comrade killer has no right to burden others with his guilt. He just needs to learn how to deal with it on his own.

No one notices Iruka's struggle to stay together, it is done so quietly.

When he finally falls apart that, too, is quiet.

When Iruka decides to kill himself, he goes about it in much the same way he does anything else- thoughtfully and efficiently.

It shouldn't be an obvious suicide; that would be a bad example to his students. No, he wants it to appear as much like an accident as possible. The investigators will not be fooled for long, but hopefully if the act isn't obvious, the final report won't be made known to the young, impressionable children.

So seppuku and hanging is out of the question.

It also needs to be absolutely lethal. Surviving a botched attempt was not an option.

Exploding tags are perhaps the best guarantors of success. He can stage it to look like he'd accidently set off a home security trap. But a blast strong enough to ensure fatality will also endanger anyone who may happen to be in the area, as well as damage infrastructure. And it will require a lot of unpleasant clean up.

He can allow himself to be killed on a mission. But that will likely entail failing the mission, which will in turn damage the reputation of Konoha.

Perhaps he should reconsider the security trap ruse, but employ a variation that will result in his beheading instead? …Still, it's a messy way to die. The gruesome nature of the death could prove quite traumatic for whoever eventually finds him. A last resort, then, if he can think of nothing better.

The sensei puzzles over this for a while longer until he settles on poison. The right concoction can mimic a heart attack, stroke, or seizure. Iruka isn't familiar with the arts of the apothecary, but research should remedy that deficiency. Seventeen is a rather young age for heart attacks, but not unheard of among shinobi who routinely pushed their bodies to the limit.

Having decided on the method, and after meticulous library research and careful inquiry among ninja skilled in the art of poison brewing, Iruka had only to choose the day and time of his death. Friday, after school, seemed most convenient. It gives the Academy an entire weekend to find his replacement.

On Monday, Iruka pays off his few debts, and sets his affairs in order. The teen's desire to update his will is not unusual. Most shinobi want to be prepared for the inevitable.

On Tuesday, he writes a detailed explanation of the new file system he recently developed for the Missions Department and leaves it in a conspicuous spot on his desk for his successor to find later.

On Wednesday, his coworkers idly comment on how much more cheerful Iruka seems all of a sudden.

On Thursday, Iruka decides to gift Mizuki the short sword that had belonged to his mother. Hayate is delighted to receive an expensive, calfskin leather weapons pouch. Anko throws the valuable Water Country medallion back in his face, offended that he'd assume she wants jewelry just because she's a girl.

It's a silly contention, since the medallion had actually been his father's, and Iruka isn't about to bicker with the exasperating kunoichi the day before he dies. Instead he brings the medallion to Ibiki. The interrogator is an esteemed mentor, so Iruka doesn't mind offering him the treasured possession.

Now Ibiki- psychology expert that he is- recognizes the warning sign and promptly tosses the startled chunin into a holding cell. Ninja are deployed to investigate the teen's apartment.

It does not take long for them to find the recipe for the heart-attack inducing poison, along with all the ingredients necessary for its concoction, arranged neatly in his cupboard. Iruka is sent to a rehabilitation center.

Coworkers and students are told that the little sensei is on vacation.

They say time heals all wounds. Iruka is surprised to find that, when dealt with, this can include emotional ones as well.

At the Center, he comes to terms with the choices he's made, including the one to kill his teammate. He starts to differentiate between diligence at work and unhealthy obsession.

Ibiki is there to evaluate him before he is cleared for release. He's a hard man to convince. The last two times the Center cleared Iruka for check out, the interrogation specialist had overturned the decision, claiming that the teen wasn't ready yet.

This meeting is different. After a lengthy session, the jounin offers his pupil a rare grin. "You're coming along, Umino."

"So I get to go back to work?" Iruka perks up at the prospect.

"You get to go home," Ibiki corrects. "You'll go back to work once I'm convinced you can do so without harming yourself."

"Very well," Iruka concedes reluctantly. "I guess that's good enough. I can't wait to get out of here."

The young chunin fidgets, and Ibiki sighs, "If there's something else you want to tell me, then go ahead. You know I hate it when you waste my time, boy."

"Oh," Iruka blushes and rubs his scar nervously "Well, I just- I just wanted to say thank you, you know?"

"No, I don't know," Ibiki replies gruffly, his usual tone whenever he suspects that what he's about to hear will be sentimental.

Iruka's gaze turns serious. "I realized something while I was here, Ibiki-sensei. I realized that I never truly wanted to die."

"Of course you didn't," Ibiki casually responds. "Few people actually do. Why else would you have tried to give away your things to me of all people? You were counting on me, perhaps subconsciously, to see through your actions. With my experience in breaking spirits, I'd be the most likely to recognize the signs."

"And you helped me," Iruka continued. "I'm lucky to have a friend like you."

"Now hang on a second, Umino," Ibiki barked. "I never said anything about being friends."

"You've been watching out for me this whole time. You won't let me leave until you're convinced I'm ready, despite what the doctors here say." Iruka grins as he glanced at the clock. "And you've just stayed with me a half hour longer than your maximum allotment for our sessions. I'd call that friendship."

Ibiki grins right back. "Sorry to disillusion you, kid, but it's called 'protecting the village resources.'"

"And you claim I have a problem with denial."

In the Fall, Iruka returns from his "vacation" and once again his students are thrilled. His coworkers welcome him back, just as oblivious and even a little jealous of their comrade's extended time off to tour the beauties of southern Fire Country.

Iruka smiles genuinely as he says that it is very good to be back.

It still hurt. Kami, did it hurt. And he suspects it always will- much like the lingering pain in his hand that the doctors say will flare any time the air pressure changed.

Yes, Iruka may still be a bit broken, but at least he is no longer shattered.