Chapter Text
There was a couch in Konoha’s Mission Room. It sat right next to the Mission Desks, where the Chunin responsible for handing out and receiving mission reports sat and did their jobs. The couch was old, lumpy, a color that could generously be called green, and creaked ominously whenever anyone heavier than a pre-genin sat down on it. No one was entirely sure who put it there originally, but for much of the couch’s life it had but one purpose.
For Shinobi, Genin and Jounin alike, to sit and redo Mission Reports that were rejected for various reasons. Some theorized that the couch wasn’t brought in by human hands at all, but simply materialized out of the ether with the construction of Hokage tower.
In more recent years, however, the Chunin’s desk sitting closest to the old couch belonged to one Umino Iruka. In part, because he was the strictest, and therefore, more frequently sent Shinobi to the couch. And then, because he seemed to be immune to the death glares rolling off of trained killers. It helped that there was an increasing number of those killers he’d trained himself at some point or other.
People didn’t normally have to sit on the couch very long, at any rate. So, Iruka always just rolled his eyes at their pouting, told them to get on with it, and got back to the next Shinobi in line. He’d learned after years at the Academy, sometimes a time-out was needed under a watchful eye to get back on track. And most of those shunned temporarily to the couch put a little more thought into their reports thereafter.
Most. But not all.
Hatake Kakashi had not frequented the Mission Room in nearly a decade. Not that many people noticed or commented on it. It was the best kept secret in Konoha that the prodigy student of the Fourth had most likely gone the way of S-class missions, reporting directly to the Hokage himself. He was perhaps even hiding behind one of the porcelain masks of ANBU, if some speculative whispers were to be believed. For years since the Yondaime’s death, the Hatake’s missions were shrouded in mystery, secreted away in clandestine files only a chosen few had access to.
Which was why Iruka might have stared a little too long when he looked up from placing a stack of C-Rank reports in a drawer to see Hatake Kakashi standing in front of his desk, awkwardly holding out a mission report for him to take.
“Oh, good afternoon,” Iruka recovered himself and smiled politely, trying to play off his shock. He could feel the other desk Chunin trying not to stare. Given the subtle, awkward shift of Kakashi’s stance, he’d noticed the attention he’d drawn as well.
“Hi,” Kakashi muttered, seeming to feel just as out of place as everyone was trying to pretend he wasn’t, “I . . . bring this to you, right?” Indicating the report scroll in his hand.
Iruka nodded, keeping his smile under control so the poor Jounin didn’t think he was laughing at him. It was just so bizarre to watch a grown Jounin exhibit the same hesitance in the Mission Room as a fresh Genin turning in his first report.
“You do,” Iruka confirmed kindly and took the report, starting to unroll it when he saw Kakashi start to move away, “Ah, Hataki-san?”
Kakashi already had his back to him, ready to leave. He paused at Iruka’s voice, shoulders tensing like a rabbit preparing to bolt. He turned back, thankfully, looking more annoyed than awkward now, “Did you need something else?”
Iruka noted the irritation and met it with a raised eyebrow that conveyed ‘ excuse you,’ but had mercy and explained, “I still have to look the report over and make sure you included all the required information,” The Chunin next to him was taking way too long to look over the B-rank in her hands but the Shinobi who handed it in was brazenly staring at the exchange, “I’ll try not to keep you too long.”
“Seriously?” Kakashi lowered his chin at Iruka in disbelief and Iruka had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. So that's how this was going to go. The situation was quickly becoming less cute.
Instead, he gave an innocent little smile and said, “Seriously.”
Kakashi looked for a moment like he might just leave anyway, but relented. He shoved his hands in his pockets, slouched, and leaned his hip on the corner of Iruka’s desk, waiting.
Iruka decided to get this over with as quickly as possible. He opened the scroll and realized immediately that he would not be so lucky.
He blinked at the form in his hands in confusion for a second, brows furrowing. Slowly, with equal parts disbelief and amusement, Iruka came to the realization, I am about to have to tell one of Konoha’s highest ranked Jounin that he not only turned this in a month late, but that he used a form that’s ten years old.
“How long does this normally take?” Kakashi asked after only ten seconds of standing quietly.
Iruka bit the inside of his cheek and took a deep breath, “Ah, Hataki-san this isn’t the correct form.”
“What?”
“This isn’t the correct form,” Iruka repeated a little louder, and yes, ok, he was being purposefully impudent, he could admit that. That didn’t mean a fellow worker across the room had to choke on his tea over it and have a loud coughing fit, that was a bit much.
“I - You - ,” Kakashi started, shifting his stance and single eye narrowing at Iruka in a curious fashion. Or maybe he was just pissed that a subordinate was mouthing off at him. It was hard to say with the mask and all. Visibly clamping his mouth shut, Kakashi started again, “That’s the Mission Report form. It says so at the top.” He pointed as though Iruka couldn’t see the words right under his nose.
Iruka’s mouth twitched but he kept his face as neutral as possible, “Yes, it was . The form is updated every year. And this,” he glanced down at the finely printed date listed at the bottom left corner, touching it with his thumb, “This report form hasn’t been updated for . . . going on ten years now.”
It was hard to tell the Hatake’s reaction with three quarters of his face covered beyond a slight twitch in his left cheek, but after a moment he blurted, “ Seriously? ”
“Are we stuck in a time-loop?” Iruka replied without thinking. Someone nearby slammed a drawer too hard and apparently his other colleague wasn’t finished with his coughing fit.
Kakashi narrowed his normal eye in a watered down glare but, instead of replying to that, he sighed and rubbed his visible temple, “How much could they possibly have changed?”
“A lot, actually,” Iruka said, thankful to get on with things and reaching for a drawer full of blank, up-to-date forms, “I have some blanks here, you can just have a seat and copy what’s on this one - “
“Listen,” Kakashi said lowly, finally removing both hands from his pockets and leaning on his fingertips on Iruka’s desk, bringing his face closer to the seated Chunin, “It’s not that big a deal, can’t you just take the information you need and let me get the hell out of here?”
And didn’t that just set Iruka’s teeth on edge. Yet another Jounin who thought they were too special for a little fucking paperwork.
The change on Iruka’s face must have been more apparent than he meant, because Kakashi stood straight and rubbed the back of his neck, “I didn’t mean - “
“I won’t be doing your work for you, Hatake-san,” Iruka interrupted shortly, slipping a new form from the drawer and thrusting it and the old form at the Jounin, “You may recall I wasn’t on your mission with you, therefore I cannot accurately fill out the form. You can have a seat there,” Iruka jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the couch, “And fill out the correct form. I’ll be happy to answer any questions you might have.”
Kakashi reluctantly took the forms and held them, staring down at Iruka like he was debating how much he wanted to win this battle. Finally, after a brief staring contest, Kakashi sighed in defeat, “Fine.”
He walked around Iruka’s desk, stopped just short of the couch, looked at it skeptically (Iruka couldn’t blame him for that, really), shrugged like a man who had seen worse (he definitely had), and proceeded to flop down, the couch letting out an almighty creak under the pressure. He shot one more glance at Iruka, punctuated with a sarcastic clicking of the pen.
The Chunin next to him was still pouring over that B-rank.
Iruka nodded at Kakashi, thankful it hadn’t turned into a blow out. When he turned back there was another Shinobi standing in front of his desk, looking nervously between Iruka and Kakashi.
“Next,” Iruka said cheerfully.
“You got couched, ” Asuma had to pull his cigarette from his mouth, he was laughing so hard, “On your first report back!”
“Ha ha,” Kakashi monotoned and slouched farther into the booth across from him, “You could have warned me that was a thing, you know.”
“Warned him what was a thing?” Kurenai asked, bringing a tray of drinks over and setting it between them. She had seen Kakashi moping walking down the street after he’d escaped left that hell-hole called the Mission Room and insisted he come for a drink.
“Poor bastard just had his first encounter with little Iruka-sensei,” Asuma went into a fresh round of giggles, “Got couched for his trouble.”
Kakashi arched an eyebrow, “ Little Iruka-sensei? I beg your pardon, but he’s a giant pain in the ass.” A very cute pain in the ass. Kind of refreshingly impertinent, too. “And borderline insubordinate,” he added to Asuma and Kurenai to try and bury that thought.
“Careful,” Kurenai smirked, glancing over at Asuma and pinching his cheek, “You’re speaking to oniisan.”
Asuma batted her hand away gently, but was still smiling, “Stand down, lady.”
She giggled and handed Kakashi a beer (unopened, and the weakest thing they had on the menu that wasn’t water, just like he liked). He took it and tilted his head, “I’m sorry, what now?”
Asuma waved it off, “Iruka used to spend a lot of time at my dad’s when we were kids. Come to think of it, he still spends a lot of time with the old man. He mostly works within the village these days, at the Academy, more than the desks.” He shrugged and that seemed to be all Kakashi was going to get for now. Not that he needed some random desk worker’s life story, anyway. It was just Kakashi’s luck that he would try to make a quick escape by choosing the desk closest to the door, only to find someone mildly interesting sitting at it.
“So,” Kurenai chirped, pouring the sake for herself and Asuma, “Was it your shit handwriting or what?”
Kakashi huffed and popped the lid off the beer, “Apparently, they change the forms frequently.”
“Not that frequently, just every year,” Asuma said, taking a sip of the sake Kurenai handed him.
“How was I supposed to know that?” Kakashi asked moodily, “Why do you know that?”
Asuma held up his thumb and replied, “One, my dad’s the Hokage,” he held up his index finger, “Two, I haven’t made it my goal to avoid every living being that’s not a dog for most of my life.”
Kakashi casually flipped him off. Asuma just smiled and took a drag of his cigarette.
Kurenai’s red gaze narrowed at him over the rim of her sake, “Wait, how old was the one you turned in?”
“I dunno,” Kakashi said irritably, “I just found an old blank one I had laying around my apartment and used that. Umino said it was like ten years old or something - ”
Asuma almost shot sake out of his nose. Coughing, he sputtered, “Holy shit. And you got away from Iruka with your ass intact?”
“It was a close call,” Kakashi muttered ruefully, remembering the way the Chunin’s face had changed in an instant from politely (gratingly) amused at his incompetence to the strange mix of disappointment and anger at his suggestion of copying the report. Kakashi hadn’t thought it was so outrageous at the time but Umino’s barely contained ire made him want to crawl into a corner and think about what he’d done, “Figures he’s a teacher.”
“You didn’t seriously think that was gonna fly, did you?” Kurenai shook her head at him.
Kakashi was saved from having to answer that (because, yes, obviously he had because he’d done it ) by none other than Gai finally arriving on the scene. Well, Gai’s arrival kept Kurenai’s question at bay but did nothing to improve Kakashi’s mood.
“My rival!” Kakashi was already slouched as far into the booth as he could go, but Gai’s slap to his shoulder nearly sent him under the table, “You have decided to join us!”
“Good to know I still get to decide some things for myself,” Kakashi spat, surprising himself with the slip of anger. Still, he refused to look up at Gai’s, no-doubt, blindingly cheerful smile. Gai’s back stiffened immediately and he withdrew his hand from Kakashi’s shoulder like it burned. Asuma and Kurenai exchanged a look.
There was an awkward silence between the four Jounin until Gai cleared his throat and said with a watered down version of his typical gusto, “Well, I cannot stand in a bar with nothing to drink! I’ll be a moment.”
He walked away, Kakashi watching his green clad back and too-stiff shoulders uncomfortably until Kurenai’s furious gaze drew his attention.
“What?” His voice was still too harsh for his own liking, but he couldn’t seem to tramp it down. Asuma shot him a look, but said nothing.
“Kakashi - “ Kurenai cut herself off with a sigh, her red stare boring into Kakashi with a mix of frustration and sadness that made Kakashi want to hide. He could swear, in that moment, the genjutsu master could see more than the sharingan could ever hope to. Finally, she gathered herself and finished quietly, “You’d have done the same for him.”
Kakashi wanted to protest, he really did. But he knew he wouldn’t have been able to do so truthfully.
And Kurenai had an annoying habit of being right about these things.
Gai - as weird, intrusive, and over-zealous as he was - had only ever wanted what he thought was best for his precious people. And for whatever god-forsaken reason, Kakashi was counted among that number.
So, without a word Kakashi stood, tipped his beer to Kurenai, who smiled brightly in return.
Gai was easy to find even in the semi-crowded bar and seemed surprised when Kakashi tapped his bicep with his knuckle. Gai looked at him and Kakashi tried not to feel bereft at the lack of rapturous exclamation at his appearance at his side. Instead, this time, Gai waited. Kakashi opened his mouth. Then closed it.
Kakashi wished then that somewhere in his training Minato-sensei, or his dad, or someone had covered how to navigate interpersonal relationships. Or maybe they normally did. Kakashi had skipped a lot of steps in his advancement through the ranks, so that could have been a chapter in one of his old academy books he’d mostly ignored.
Thankfully, Gai was Gai, and had seen Kakashi flounder before. So, he merely smiled, clearly holding back laughter (or poetry, both were equally possible) and let Kakashi choke out, “Gai . . . Can I buy you a drink?”
Gai hummed in response, side-eyeing Kakashi cheekily, “Is that your choice , my rival? Or is someone making you?”
“The sass that I have had to endure today . . . “ Kakashi grumbled, copying Gai’s posture and leaning his elbows on the bar. As grudging as it came, however, he was grateful for the teasing, “Do you want an apology drink or not?”
Gai laughed, too loud and exactly as he should, and nodded, “I would be honored, dear rival!”
“I think the honor is supposed to be mine, but sure,” Kakashi began trying to get the bartender's attention.
He got Gai’s favorite, but chose not to go back to Kurenai and Asuma yet, preferring to stand at the bar a little longer. They stood in silence for a moment. Kakashi knew he hadn’t actually apologized yet. And Gai knew it, too, because his next words were, “How long do you intend to be angry with me?”
The question wasn’t accusatory, almost companionable. And had anyone else asked, he might have tried denying it, at least at first. But Gai was his oldest friend, and he’d never get away with it.
“I dunno,” Kakashi sighed, only half-joking, “Give it another week and check back in.”
Gai huffed a laugh, shaking his head. It still wasn’t an apology, but Kakashi would get there and Gai knew it.
Another beat of silence passed before Gai gave in to the urge to fill it.
“I overheard you were couched on your first day back in the Mission Room,” Gai said with a smile that was far too exuberant given the topic.
Kakashi glared at him heatlessly, “Is there anyone who hasn’t?”
The Green Beast laughed heartily and slapped him on the shoulder again, which Kakashi was prepared for this time, “No matter, my friend! It has happened to the best of us. I can help you next time if you like?” Gai sounded hopeful, but Kakashi shook his head.
“I think I should figure out how to handle a little paperwork on my own, thanks. Especially, since, you know . . . I’ll be doing it more,” Kakashi said the last part carefully, hoping Gai wouldn’t think he was being petty again. He noted Gai’s sideways glance followed by a small, approving nod. The small sense of relief drove him to go on, “And besides, it feels like I have something to prove to a very irritating Chunin.”
“Am I sensing a rival for our rivalry?” Gai asked, mock aghast. Or maybe real aghast. It wasn’t always easy to tell.
That actually made Kakashi chuckle, “I’ll try to still make time for you even while battling Umino over travel expenses.”
Gai laughed and it sounded genuine. And Kakashi couldn’t help but feel pleased that he’d gotten his friend to smile again.