Author's Note: Although they can be read independently, this story is actually the first part of a trilogy. The others in the series are "Flesh and Feelings" and "Mythos of a Shepherd."

Strangely Together, Uniquely Apart
by Swiss

It all began simply enough.

Treading down the main street of Konoha on a rare day of unspoiled idleness, Kakashi had nothing more on his mind than whether or not he was hungry enough to seek food. He'd planned the afternoon in the formless way of the truly unengaged, and currently it held little more than vague notions about finding a tree in a warm patch and lounging in isolation until someone caught him and dragged him back to the mission office.

All of this was altered, however, when he realized he was being hailed. His eyes instantly located his most exuberant student charging down the street, dragging a resisting body behind him. Finding it too late to vanish (read, run away), Kakashi was obliged to put on his sensei mask and wait with hands behind his back.

"Hullo, Kakashi-sensei!" Naruto bellowed once he was close enough, halting with a stumble and grinning hugely. The feisty eyesore was attached by the hand to an older shinobi in a chuunin uniform, average looking but instantly recognizable.

The exuberant greeting somehow duped Kakashi into reciprocating; he smiled. "Naruto. Being productive with your time off, I see."

The boy was unimpressed by the reprimand. "Ha, like you're doing anything important!"

Kakashi shrugged. So he wasn't. "What are you up to, then?"

Naruto actually squirmed with happiness. "Sensei and I are gonna get ramen!" he enthused. Kakashi was well acquainted with Naruto's preoccupation with ramen. Today, though, he seemed almost as pleased with his company as he did with the prospect of food.

Kakashi's gaze fell on the shinobi beside his student. Umino Iruka. Dark haired, dark skinned, with that floppy ponytail and seemingly innocuous expression. His eyes gave him away though. They were a shade of deep brown that laid a person's emotions bare to the world. Iruka's were particularly expressive. Now they were saying: "Go-the-hell-away-you-arrogant-usurper."

"Iruka-sensei," Kakashi greeted him with his most charming crescent-eyed smile, but Iruka was intelligent and that only made him look wary. "Off to feed the brat?"

Iruka's hand on his shoulder quieted Naruto's squawk. "To Ichiraku," he agreed.

"It's my favorite," Naruto blurted.

"How startling," Kakashi intoned, as if he hadn't been there with the kid half a dozen times. Not for the first time, he heaved an inward sigh over his lot as a jounin-sensei. Really; the boy had the long-term memory of a flea.

"You could come, Kakashi-sensei," Naruto invited, oblivious to Iruka's doubtful frown. The teacher was far too polite to say so, but it was clear that he would rather do almost anything than socialize with Naruto's current sensei.

And perhaps because of that quietly disapproving look, Kakashi cast aside his former plans and agreed to come along.

They reached the restaurant without incident, and then sat for a while in companionable gluttony until the adults, at least, had reached a stopping point. Naruto, unleashed by the supplementing factor of another's pocketbook, continued to gorge. This natural lull gave Kakashi the perfect opportunity to begin entertaining himself. "So, Sensei," he inquired. "How go things at the academy? I hear graduation is close."

Iruka seemed surprised that he had asked. "Things are going well," he answered after a pause.

"Ibiki was complaining about you yesterday," the copy-nin continued, scratching idly at his cowl as if unaware that he had said anything at all unsolicitous.

"Ah," Iruka-sensei said. His brow was furrowed slightly, but for the moment he seemed mostly perplexed.

"Yes," Kakashi continued. "He's convinced you're stifling the next generation's talent. Something about wiping their snotty noses into the grave."

All of this was only partially true. Kakashi had pulled the particulars from windblown rumors and so-called common knowledge. He hadn't really spoken to Ibiki, who would probably kill him if he knew how his name was being used for slander.

The slight reddening at the curve of Iruka's cheeks was inconclusive; the weather was chilly today. "How…inappropriate of you to be gossiping about me," he said mildly, carefully laying aside his pair of utensils.

The response reminded Kakashi of what he so loved about quirky Iruka-sensei. He always managed to say exactly what he meant, all while managing to be so perfectly inoffensive about it.

Keeping with his act, the jounin gave an unaffected shrug, lounging in his seat as though merely to stretch his back. "Gossiping, Sensei? No, no. Well, I was on your side." He tilted his head so that the whole of his sleepy eye was full on the waiting, pinched face of his quarry. "After all," he concluded, smiling. "No one said training future murderers was easy."

There was an unmistakable twinge at Iruka's right eye. Ah, success.

"Are you angry, Sensei?" Naruto asked suddenly, a partially masticated noodle hanging out of his mouth. The boy's expression seemed to indicate that, while he was familiar with the concept, the possibility frightened him.

Iruka's eyes had narrowed in a way few creatures could provoke. "Hm. Your sensei is of the devil," he stated matter-of-factly.

Naruto's eyebrows rose, "Really, Sensei?"

"Yes, really," was all Iruka answered, and went back to the dredges of his dinner without another word.

Kakashi didn't know whether he felt more pleased or irritated. Antagonizing chuunin was one of his favorite hobbies – as was his right, being so superior in rank and skill. And this one just reacted so wonderfully; nettling silently under his heckling, his normal patient expression shattered completely by just the right words. Hilarious, enjoyable. But also somewhat frustrating, for the same reason it was fun. Iruka was an unusual chuunin. And even Kakashi – Kakashi! – didn't know exactly why.

And that was completely unacceptable.

Tsunade was looking at Kakashi as though he had sprouted an extra nostril. "Let me get this straight. You want me to assign you to a mission with Umino Iruka?" When he nodded, her expression became, if anything, more suspicious. "Why?"

The copy-nin shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm curious."

"About what?" Tsunade wanted to know, and all of a sudden Kakashi noticed that her reaction was interesting in a different way than he'd anticipated. He'd expected her to be incredulous but indulgent, assigning him to some low-level task with the chuunin as punishment for wasting her time. Instead she seemed to be evaluating him.

Fascinating. He was glad he had elected to go through with this instead of his usual sojourn with pornography. Affecting an air of nonchalance, he made a non-committal motion with this hands, "I've been spending some time with him and Naruto lately."

Tsunade seemed to be considering what to read into this. After a pause, she asked him, "Are you sure?"

The unexpectedness of the question halted Kakashi momentarily. Sure? Surely she didn't think he couldn't deal with a piddling C or B rank. Or maybe it was his (admittedly) unpredictable junior she thought he couldn't handle. Either way, he was sure he should be insulted.

Reading the answer in his face, the Godaime nodded gravely and gave her assent. "Alright."

Iruka had eyed him in much the same way the Hokage had when he delivered the sealed scrolls with their mission assignments later that week. Denial had played on his face first, followed swiftly by annoyance and finally a blank refusal.

"I don't want to go on a mission with you," he said frankly. "I would rather fester with disease."

Kakashi looked at him for a long moment, trying to decide if he meant it. Probably not. But even if he did, there was always their orders. He poked at the scroll cradled unwillingly in the teacher's hands. "Mm. Directly from the Hokage. I don't think you'll be able to get out of it, Sensei."

Iruka cast him an irritable look, but hesitantly unrolled the scroll. There was a delicately curving symbol inked in it's center; a security seal. The jounin wasn't sure if he imagined the slight slouch in the younger man's shoulders at the sight of it. "Ah," was all he said, and sighed softly. A keen eye turned to Kakashi, no longer belligerent but sharp and interested. It was a strange expression to see on his face.

"Kakashi," he asked. "Did the Hokage speak with you specifically about this mission?"

Did the old hag ever? "No," he replied.

Tsunade had given him almost no information at all about the nature of their task. He remembered a file on her desk, and that after she had agreed to his request she had pulled it in front of her and leafed through it thoughtfully. He'd had to endure long moments of her delicately thrumming nails before she'd finally looked up at him and pierced him with a glare that might have been fatal to a lesser mortal.

"I'm going to give you a mission with him, Kakashi. It isn't a decision I make without reservations, but the fact remains that this," she tapped the folder lightly. "Isn't going to wait for a more suitable shinobi to become available. Iruka needs a partner."

Unconsciously, the copy-nin had straightened, a soldier. "Whatever the assignment, it will be accomplished, Lord Hokage," he promised.

The Godaime had not looked impressed. "I'm going to be very clear, brat," she said in her usual brusque, no-nonsense manner. "If you choose to take this mission, you will be responsible for getting him to your destination and back, alive, if it doesn't inconvenience you. Iruka knows what's expected of him once you've reached your coordinates. He's uniquely suited for this, so let him do his job." He remembered her eyes, somber brown. She'd said, "I know you're not used to taking a backseat, so just remember that you asked for this. Try not to make me regret it…or let Iruka pay for it."

Cryptic words, no further explanation. It was enough to make him salivate with curiosity. They were going to Shi-Tane, a costal town not far to the southeast, and he was to defer to Iruka for the time being. Apparently, whatever their objective was, the chuunin had done it before.

All this pleased Kakashi. He had meant for them to have a mission together only so he could find out a little more about the strange teacher-nin – techniques, disposition, whatever. Yet now it seemed he would learn more than anticipated.

They met early the next morning and left long before the sun, angling diagonally towards the coast through the wood. It was crisp and cold amidst the long, early shadows, and the leftover leaves were embroidered with frost. They didn't speak much as they traveled. Occasionally, Kakashi would attempt to goad his travel partner into an outburst, but Iruka seemed to have steeled himself against such petty behavior, because not even the most juvenile remarks about his profession, his brats, or his personal hygiene produced any noteworthy response.

In the end, what information he gathered about the teacher during the first part of their trip came from random occurrences and odd behavioral quirks.

For example, he had discovered that Iruka was a decent cook, an early riser, and slept on his stomach at night. Slightly more interesting was how observing Iruka explained some of his students' little peculiarities. Sakura's conscientious conservation of charka, for one. The teacher used as little as possible, though whether it was a preference of his style or a necessary limitation of his physical body, Kakashi wasn't sure. He also hummed when he ate. Kakashi hated when Naruto did that.

They did have one noteworthy conversation, only a few days into their journey, as they were preparing to settle in for a few hours of sleep. They weren't yet close enough to civilization to need to be especially wary, and it was by the light of a carefully monitored fire that Kakashi noticed Iruka come across something in his pack that seemed to surprise him. The other man withdrew a folded paper, grinning as he flipped it open with his thumb.

"What's that?" Kakashi asked, intrigued by the chuunin's softened expression.

Iruka glowed dimly with pleasure. "It's a come-home-quick-and-don't-die card," he explained fondly.

Kakashi raised an eyebrow. As appropriate as that sounded for a ninja village… "I didn't know they sold such things," he commented.

Chuckling, the teacher careful rotated the crayon-scrawled treasure. There seemed to be things sticking to it, inexpertly glued. He fluttered a spotted pink ribbon with one finger. "No," he said. "This is definitely an original."

"Naruto?" Kakashi wagered a guess.

"Actually no," Iruka answered as he carefully repacked the card. "Naruto's not the only little brat that eats my food, you know." Then, because he seemed to think a bit more explanation was needed, he clarified, "I keep a couple of kids off and on during the week. They claim they miss me when I'm gone."

Kakashi pondered this new information, not entirely sure how a person kept kids "off and on." But then he caught the meaningful look Iruka directed towards him and realized. Oh. Kids that kept up with themselves. Orphans. Konohagakure certainly had its share.

"So is that what you do? Raise kids?" Kakashi couldn't understand wanting such a life. He didn't understand the young, possibly because he'd had little enough time for that phase of life himself. How could any kind of warrior be happy with changing diapers and soothing tears?

Iruka's eyes darkened, almost sadly. "You think less of me for it."

If Kakashi was honest, he would have admitted that he did. "I just assumed that those things – nurturing children, taking care of babies – it's not something men are supposed to be suited for. And we're not just any men. We're nin."

The chuunin looked thoughtful for a long moment. Then, his chin high, he faced Kakashi squarely. "What do you love, then?" he asked.

It shouldn't have been a hard question. His immediate answer might have been that he enjoyed his books, but raising children just made porn seem ignoble. And his work? Being a good cog in the machine meant maintaining one's professionalism. The only other option was to go crazy from blood-lust or grief. So, no, he didn't love it.

So what did that leave for him?

The realization seeped into him slowly, dew into hardened ground. He had no right to criticize. "Fine," he muttered, "But if it's true that's your life, then what do you have left for yourself? Icha Icha Paradise and sleeping late may not change the world, but it's something to separate Sharingen Kakashi from just…Kakashi."

There was a long moment between them when the quiet night echoed. It was almost as if Iruka had no answers, but that wasn't true because suddenly he began to speak. He said, "I enjoy swimming. I like visiting hot springs on the rare occasion I have the time and money. But it's true that most of the time those things are trumped by Naruto and my students. Even so, the sacrifices are worth it. They're worth it."

Kakashi couldn't stop the snide remark that came to his lips. "Orphan complex. Feel the need to save the whole world."

"No," Iruka snapped. "Compassion complex. Born into the wrong profession. Too bad being a ninja and showing mercy are such mutually exclusive concepts. It's a good thing I've already come to terms with my life as a failure."

And just as spontaneously as the sprout of goodwill had been fostered between them, it dried up in a heap. Kakashi regretted it immediately, irritated with own hasty words and with this teacher's oversensitivity. Irked to have to do so but resolved, he scratched at the place where his cheek met his mask and muttered, "I'm sorry."

Iruka snorted, and jabbed their little fire hard enough that a weakening abscess collapsed with a pop and an avalanche of ash. But a margin of tension eased from his shoulders and he didn't turn so far away.

"You're awfully annoying," the man said, and Kakashi rolled his eyes. This was what he got for an apology?

"You're weird," he countered, but Iruka only shrugged.

In a way it was a turning point. Unflinching honesty wasn't the only ingredient of a well-founded friendship, but it was one ingredient.

It grew colder as they traveled south. Without the protection of the thick foliage, the wind was a bitter discomfort, and some nights it made keeping a fire impractical. Kakashi had discovered that Iruka couldn't be trusted with fire; he had burned himself twice already tending it. Even he had to admit, though, that when they'd almost lost a folded blanket to a burst of ember it was no one's fault but the elements.

Which was how they found themselves still a few days short of their destination in a partially sheltered grove, huddled closer together than they would usually have found comfortable. Kakashi rolled his shoulders, loosening his muscles. He appreciated the warmth burning off of his companion. Training had taught him to endure any conditions stoically, but Iruka wasn't jounin or ANBU. He had no notions about staring at one another with icy endurance across a barren stretch of ground or hiding his physical reaction to the weather.

"Oh, I hate the cold," he'd stated frankly when they'd stopped for the night and it become clear they would have no tendered blaze. Then, oblivious to his partner's farcical look of sleepy-eyed indifference, he had proceeded to shove into the space that had been previously occupied by Kakashi's ribs. Thus they'd settled shoulder to shoulder for the night.

In a way, the closeness was a nice change from the low-key tension that had followed them through most of the journey. Iruka had drawn his legs close and almost fallen asleep on them. Still partially opened, his dark eyes seemed more tired than grouchy.

Too pass the time, Kakashi threaded his fingers into his jacket and withdrew a brightly colored volume. It fell open with a sigh against his thumb, so well used that the binding was as loose as a hinge. He'd been reading for at least a quarter hour before he was interrupted by a seeking hand. Surprised, Kakashi nonetheless handed over the book, a grin already starting in anticipation of the teacher's reaction to his reading material.

Idly, Iruka flipped through the pages. "This is obscene," he commented after a moments perusal.

Kakashi had to smirk. The response was just so Iruka. Gently, he teased, "Don't tell me you haven't even peeked at any of them, Sensei. You couldn't have been born a prude."

Surprisingly, the chuunin didn't huff or get angry. He shrugged. It was an altogether infuriating reaction, because it gave away nothing. Kakashi was convinced the chuunin had done it on purpose.

"You could just ask me."

Off guard from the sudden question, it was with genuine curiosity that Kakashi inquired, "Ask you what?"

"Whatever it is you want to know," Iruka said.

Kakashi refused to acknowledge the perceptive remark, focusing instead on the detailed pattern of late autumn leaves against the packed ground. There was a different variety than near Konoha; he liked the delicate silvery yellow ones, semi-transparent and thin as spears.

The derailment called for a switch in conversation, so Kakashi offered up an observation from their travels. From the beginning they had followed meandering footpaths and declined the second-story pathways of the greater forest. So close to the coast, that route was no longer available, but still it puzzled him. So he said, "We aren't moving very quickly."

Iruka rubbed the ridge of his nose, the direction of his gaze falling over the shadowy webs in the foliage and rather pointedly away from his companion. "I'm not in any particular hurry," he confessed. Then, because such a statement deserved an explanation, he added, "It won't affect the outcome. It won't matter if it takes us an extra week."

Kakashi was Intrigued; most missions were time-sensitive. "I don't suppose you're ready to tell me just what we're heading toward?" he asked. It wasn't hard to press a little humor into his voice to lighten the demand, but the vein of steel beneath it was only partially hidden.

The chuunin just looked at him with eyes that seemed to darken as he watched, swallowing up his secrets. He said, "No." Then he turned away, but not before handing back the book.

"You'll have to tell me eventually," Kakashi coaxed, brushing off his irritation at being hedged. "We're partners."

Iruka disillusioned him. "Wrong. You're my escort."

Kakashi grimaced at what had to have been a deliberate barb. Like any self-respecting shinobi, he loathed escort missions as a general principle. Kakashi was all about the odd, however. And this mission, like Iruka himself, was odd.

Frustrated by the lack of answers, Kakashi attempted to sink back into his usual solitary torpor, adjusting his back against the tree to soak up what doubtful comfort he could manage and bringing up his book to his face. Iruka's voice floated to him from his position nearby. "I used to read out loud to Naruto at night. He was a late reader, you know."

Kakashi hadn't. Those kinds of lessons were long before his time, and anyway he wasn't much concerned with his students' academic wellbeing. Still, the unprompted divulgence offered him a spark of wicked inspiration. His lips quirking, he asked, "Will you read to me, Sensei?"

"From that? No." Iruka snorted. He tucked his arms between his chest and his knees, drawing himself comfortably inward. Then he yawned. "I refuse to get involved with such trash. You'll have to entertain yourself."

Theatrically moping, but not without amusement, Kakashi did as directed.

Moving leisurely, it took the pair another four days to make it to the little fishing village, Shi-Tane. It was a homely place built around an inlet like a finger-scrapping out of the shale and shoreline. Kakashi looked down on it without much interest. Whatever they were here to do, he doubted it was there.

Iruka seemed pensive. He too was looking down the cliff face, but his eyes were directed more towards the sea than the subdued bustle of the town. It was an almost wistful expression.

"Iruka," Kakashi summoned his attention. Firmly, he requested, "We've expired my mission details. It's time that you explain why we're here."

A shift and a reflexive motion of one hand, as though he'd have liked to wave off the request. But before the jounin could insist, Iruka was nodding. "The truth is," he began, "I'm angry with Tsunade-sama for going along with this. I didn't want you to come on this mission."

This odd response first of all indicated that Iruka knew Kakashi had requested to be placed with him. Nonplussed, Kakashi asked, "How did you find out?"

"I asked Tsunade-sama," Iruka admitted, and the copy-nin gave him a withering look. 'Asking' was very un-ninja like. Almost like cheating. But the teacher turned his nose up at the rebuke. "Please," he said dryly, "Not everything has to be about subterfuge."

Kakashi detected a slight bunching around his eyes as he spoke, though. It resembled melancholy, or maybe irony. Iruka continued after a moment.

"I'm almost always placed with certain people, so I knew it couldn't be a random assignment. I was sure that you hated me, so I couldn't figure why you would request such a thing." Perplexed, he asked. "The Hokage didn't have a real answer. Will you tell me why?"

"I wanted to irritate you," Kakashi said, and it was almost the truth. He wasn't sure why it almost shamed him now, though possibly it had something to do with the way the other man seemed to wilt with his words.

"I see," Iruka said. Then he straightened, his face shifting. "That's fine. In fact, it should make things easier."

Curiosity strong in him once more, the jounin shifted closer. "What is this mission, Iruka?"

The chuunin did not hesitate like before. "We're here to reconnoiter a possible group of insurgents. The Hokage and the others believe they are threatening to Konohagakure." His head bowed, and he finished quietly, "The goal is ultimately their complete elimination."

Kakashi took a moment to resettle these parameters in his mind. Complete elimination of a potential threat. It was the kind of activity most of Konoha's people were privileged to believe didn't happen, and it also explained the high security clearance. But he still didn't understand why the two of them had been sent to accomplish it. Iruka seemed all wrong for such a task.

"It's been pretty well established that their camp is located near here," the chuunin continued to share out details. "We'll spend a couple of days watching them before taking any action. I hope to be heading home in less than a week, but getting us back will be largely your responsibility, Kakashi."

The copy-nin's eyebrow quirked, but he remained quiet.

Iruka had insisted on a brief stop in the little village near their quarry. The jounin thought it was extremely unwise and said so, but then the teacher had looked at him and so he'd let the stubborn, suicidal chuunin do as he pleased while Kakashi waited nearby, establishing their camp.

Iruka wasn't gone very long, only a few hours, and when he returned he was smiling much more easily than he had been earlier in the morning.

"You look pleased with yourself," Kakashi commented wryly. He frowned disapprovingly as he eyed the prominently displayed leaf hitai-ate tied around the younger man's forehead. Who, by the way, seemed more than usually young today for some reason. The copy-nin studied him carefully, trying to discern what created the impression.

There were little things: His forehead plate was knotted inexpertly, like a nin who hadn't seen much field work might tie it – it would come loose during any heavy exertion. Also, Kakashi could tell were his weapons were easily. The shirt he'd changed into before he left seemed looser, and two of the buttons on his jacket were undone. He looked…ruffled and inexpert. More, Kakashi suddenly realized, like he would expect a desk-working chuunin to look.

But he didn't understand. Because if there was anything Iruka-sensei wasn't, it was slovenly and inexpert. Which led to the question. Why? This wasn't discrete. It was deliberately not so.

"Well, that's done," the chuunin exhaled, casually pulling off his ill-fitting gear and replacing it with his previous uniform. He tugged off his hitai-ate. "Now we just need to survey the camp. I gather its just an hour or two south of here. All one unit, too, thank the Hokage. There were so many of them that I worried they might have split camp."

Many. What exactly was meant by that? Just many, as in you-take-two and I'll-take-two? Or many, many – as in more than could easily be dealt with? Camp splitting seemed to indicate a lot of manys. Kakashi sighed. Best just to get this over with. He stood and stretched, ready to exercise a little stealth. "So, how are we doing this, Sensei?"

Iruka scratched behind one ear, averting his eyes. "Er. Actually, neither of us are going anywhere just yet."

There was a pause. "What?"

More fidgeting. "Ah. Well, you see, this really has to be done a certain way, and…but you've sort've…oh." The chuunin seemed to deflate, looking unsure.

It was peculiar, and interesting. "So, neither of us will be going to investigate the enemy camp?"

"Well," Iruka began.

"But you do plan for it to get done somehow?"

"Y-yes."

Kakashi entwined his fingers together behind his back, amused by the extreme discomfort his companion was currently exhibiting. This was bound to be good. He requested, "Pray tell. How?"

The condescending note in his voice seemed to eke through the chuunin's hesitance, because Iruka stopped fidgeting and turned red-faced. It was a flare of temper Kakashi was familiar with and he crossed his arms, waiting.

The chuunin gave him a briefly defiant look, but it quickly faded under what looked like nervousness and embarrassment. He brought his hands together, folding them expertly. The words came out whispered under this breath, too fast and soft for Kakashi to hear.

And then suddenly he was among a small multitude.

Kakashi whistled low. Eight. Too many for a regular shadow clone technique. He lifted his hitai-ate just slightly, eyeing them to be certain. Yes, definitely not the regular breed.

"Iruka-sensei," he commented, deliberately infusing an 'aren't-you-naughty' quality to his voice. He reached out to prod the nearest clone, which recoiled with a scowl and glared at him. He grinned. "You've been keeping secrets."

The chuunin seemed pained. "Naruto's got it in his head that we're a clan. So I indulged him with a few family tricks and he insisted I learn the Tajou Kage Bunshin no Jutsu. I tried to explain that perhaps I shouldn't learn a forbidden jutsu (which, of course, only confused him), but then he looked so sad, and he kept saying that he had a lot to make up for since I taught him so many jutsu, and so I…caved."

He wouldn't admit it, but the copy-nin was amused. "Thus," he indicated the fidgeting, temperamental doppelgangers.

"Yes. This is as many as I can make, however. I just don't have Naruto's charka stores."

"Who does?" Kakashi wanted to know. He was glad of his mask, because he thought the sensitive teacher might think he was teasing if he saw his grin. Naruto's clan techniques, indeed. What a bag of tricks. Good-naturedly, he cautioned, "Be careful, Sensei, or next he'll be wanting to teach you the sexy-no-jutsu."

Not surprisingly, Iruka flushed red, but then his eyes ducked, chagrinned. "Uh," he admitted, sounding more than a little mortified. "Actually, Naruto may have picked that one up from me."

It was a good thing Kakashi had been trained to impassivity; his eyes didn't bulge in the slightest. "Sensei?"

The teacher looked ready to melt in humiliation. "I actually created something similar to that jutsu when I was younger. Mission-related of course! But as a child Naruto used to spend a lot of time around me. It's possible he saw me use it once or twice and got the idea in his head for his more…sordid pranks."

The implication was that Iruka had not designed the move for dishonorable purposes, but now Kakashi wasn't even sure he believed him. Make that the Umino-Uzumaki Clan Techniques. He decided it had a ring to it.

"What else did you teach that brat that I ought to thank you for?"

The chuunin's flush was leaving off embarrassment and becoming something more like indignation. "You're the one who taught him that technique for stripping people to their underwear. You have no right to complain."

"Conceded," Kakashi put up his hands. He might normally have ventured an inquiry about the true origins of the sexy-no-jutsu, but the teacher showed unexpectedly potent murderous qualities when he was feeling stung, and currently his glowering expression was sending off waves of warning. Instead, he asked, "So you're a clan of two. I've never heard of such a thing."

He had also never heard of fabricating a clan of unrelated individuals, but that aside...

Iruka shrugged. "He was feeling lonely and left out, I think. Clan identity was so important to my students at that age. Neither of us have family, so I suppose it just never occurred to him that blood relatedness ought to be a factor. When I tried to insist that I cared for all my students, he got upset that Sasuke was part of the family – insisted we throw him out."

"Naruto's weird," Kakashi commented seriously.

"Yeah," the teacher grinned. "But also special."

Kakashi coughed, "Special," but then Iruka was glaring at him again and he knocked it off. Though not without a private thought that probably weirdness passed down through families.

They spent another night under the sky, chilly and black like only the winter firmament could be. Iruka reached for their pack and began rooting around inside it. For dinner, it became clear a moment later, when two packaged ration bars appeared between his fingers. Kakashi frowned. Too close to the enemy for a fire, thus more dehydrated nutrition. Yummy.

They settled in under the patchy forest canopy, arranged near one another but not so close as to feel smothered. The copy-nin's mind grinded as he worried away at the processed food block, wondering about all that he'd learned that day. Iruka ate slowly, taking small bites.

"I've never known shadow clones with so much personality, Sensei." Kakashi broke the silence, finally. The group had spent most of the time huffing and frowning at him before being sent off.

Iruka shrugged a shoulder. "I don't think they're very special, aside from being forbidden. Aren't yours that way?"

The jounin didn't wonder that Iruka knew he was also capable of the Tajou Kage Bunshin no Jutsu. Undoubtedly the boy he had copied the technique from had told his beloved teacher so. Like Iruka, Kakashi couldn't create the thousands Naruto seemed capable of, though he'd always managed more than eight. He had noticed they were a different breed of clone, of course – a little sturdier, a little more independent. But he had never used the technique for anything other than combat situations, and so they were never around long enough for him to discover anything truly unusual about them.

Like, apparently, that they were capable of antipathy.

It made sense that Iruka would use his doppelgangers for reconnaissance. It was a common application of the more usual version of the skill. But usually the bodies were sent merely to see and then disappear, allowing their origin to absorb what they had learned. Iruka apparently had something more detailed in mind, though he had kept to himself exactly what.

Just then a particularly hard kernel cracked against his teeth, and Kakashi moaned, rubbing his jaw. He spat, scowling at the last few bites of his ration bar. "Couldn't you have brought back something decent to eat from that village since you insisted on visiting?" he complained.

"Actually, I did buy you something," came the unexpected answer. Iruka reached inside his jacket, and pulled out a narrow hardback in a glossy, colorful binding. It was roughly the same size and shape of an Icha Icha volume.

Kakashi's reaction of astonished pleasure was curtailed almost immediately by the certainty that Iruka would never, never bring him back one of those books. What, then, had he bought?

"Night Voices," Iruka quoted softly. "They're poems. Some of my favorites. I thought they might be a nice substitute for your usual reading material."

Kakashi accepted the offering dubiously, unsure what to do with it once it was in his hands. On the front cover was a silhouette of a winter tree, bare and black against a sky with a moon and a pool of water full of stars. A soft pink image of a flower was pressed into the upper left corner. The jounin wrinkled his nose at it.

Clumsily, he rotated the little book in his hands. Iruka paid no attention to his examination, apparently lost in thought. Seeing that abstracted look on his face reminded him of a past conversation, and on a whim Kakashi reached out to prod the chuunin gently with the edge of the cover. Unsure, the teacher looked at the offering, bemused.

"Read me something," Kakashi requested.

He'd half expected to be refused, but instead Iruka lifted the volume from his hands and flipped through it slowly. "Ah," he voiced softly after a moment, separating two pages and spreading them down over his lap. His voice was a lull, low and smooth. He read:

"Irreconcilable we were,

as nettle and burr.

Unalike as bramble and a flower,

Or so we thought for an hour.

Until we realized that we are,

Like the sun and a star,

Strangely together and uniquely apart.

Like a symphony and a song,

Like something right and something wrong,

Like dewdrops and a mist,

Like all the ones that you miss.

Like minutes in an hour,

Like kisses and a flower,

Like rainbows mixed with thunder,

Like a family torn asunder.

Like a hope and a fear,

whether we be far or near,

The relationship is there,

Like a breath and the air.

Like a ring without a barer,

We're something less if not together.

Like a thought without a voice,

Or a decision without a choice.

Like a keen and a cry,

Like a moan and a sigh,

Like a voice and the wind,

Like the things we believe in.

Like teardrops and terror,

We'll be bound here forever,

Strangely together and uniquely apart."

When it was over, they both sat in the evening's deep, abiding quiet. Silence had lungs in the wood at night, even the brushy, unimpressive sort one found here – it was a sigh, and a hundred undistinguishable phantom sounds. Kakashi broke it with his own voice only reluctantly. "What is it called?" he asked. "The poem."

Iruka closed the book, held it loose in one hand. "The same as the repeated line," he answered. "Strangely Together, Uniquely Apart."