Archive of Our Own ^beta

Surveillance Blues (The Unintended Repercussions Remix)

by samsarapine

"Boss—"

The brat's single visible eye conveyed lazy impatience. Pakkun suppressed a growl. Damned Hatakes. Always more trouble than they were worth. Here was the latest one, who had been on the front lines since he was six, but twenty-odd years later still acted like he'd got stuck somewhere around the mental age of sixteen.

Of course, Pakkun would still do anything for the idiot. "They call this stalking, you know," he snapped.

"Maa," the brat said. "Think of it as stealth training."

"Three big steaks," Pakkun insisted. "Thick and bloody. Loin cut. No sharing."

The brat waved a hand as if he were shooing off a fly. "Two. Done the way I like them. You can have the leftovers." When Pakkun bared his teeth, he sighed. "Fine. One for you and one for me, and I'll make mine rare."

"Only if you're talking a couple of pounds apiece." Huh, the kid must be desperate. This was the best deal Pakkun had got in a long time. He filed the knowledge away for future reference. Might as well bleed it dry while he could. The brat had a tendency to get bored.

"Fine." The brat pushed away from the tree he'd been leaning against. "You know what to do." He disappeared in a swirl of leaves.

"Bastard!" Pakkun yelled, but only for form's sake. A bloody loin steak and a half for an afternoon of spying. Yeah, the kid was definitely desperate. This could be a gold mine. He stood, shook himself, sniffed the wind to locate his target, and vanished.

***

Pakkun narrowed his eyes to examine the man jogging down the street in his direction. Right smell? Check. Chuunin? Check. Hair pulled up in a ridiculous high ponytail instead of lopped off short like any sensible shinobi would wear it? Check. Scar across the nose, probably due to lapses of judgment like the ponytail? Check.

The target had his arms piled high with papers held steady by a neat little stabilization charm, and was hurrying with the surefooted confidence of a busy paper-pushing shinobi who wasn't paying a fig of attention to his surroundings.

Yeah, this was going to be the easiest steak and a half he'd ever earned. Pakkun's mouth watered and he licked his nose. All he needed to do was to keep out of sight and well away from any commotions, and he'd be eating--

A giant hand landed on Pakkun's head, squashing him into the street with a barrage of affectionate pats.

"Hail, my Eternal Rival's faithful summons!"

Everyone on the street turned to watch. Pakkun groaned. Even the target was looking at them with curiosity plain on his face. "Gai, you're blowing my cover!" he wheezed.

The hand disappeared, and Pakkun gasped for air while Gai, lowering his voice to what he called confidential, but what Pakkun and any other sane dog or human would call 'slightly less booming,' said, "Have I disrupted a Vital and Necessary mission, my rival's tiny ninken?"

"It's 'Pakkun,'" Pakkun grumbled. "Why can't you ever remember that? And I'm not tiny, I'm compact!"

The target was within a few feet now, politely looking away, but Pakkun could smell the curiosity wafting from him. Damn. Now he'd have to come up with a Plan B.

"Just carrying a message," Pakkun lied as the target passed them.

"To whom? I may be able to assist you!"

The target turned into the mission office. Pakkun could feel relief pouring through his veins. He should be able to figure out a reason to hang out there, now that his cover was blown – he was a ninken, after all. "Thanks, but no. I just have to drop off a report—Urk!"

Gai rubbed his face against Pakkun's, clutching him in a joyful grip. "So Industrious and Loyal! I shall not delay you a moment longer from your Assigned Task!" Pakkun omphed as Gai dropped him back to the ground and saluted him. "Farewell, my Eternal Rival's Faithful servant!"

"Yeah, see ya, bye," Pakkun gasped, then darted across the street while Gai tearfully sparkled and waved after him.

The brat had the weirdest friends, honestly.

He darted through the doorway to the mission office, only to narrowly escape death by genin as a trio of trainees leaving the office tumbled over him. Extricating himself from the sea of waving limbs and curses, he left the brats to sort themselves out, sniffed the air and headed toward the assignment room.

The target was sitting at the assignment desk, a long line of shinobi already stretched in front of him. Pakkun pretended to scratch for fleas as he took in the most advantageous positions available to him. Not many, unfortunately. He'd just have to make the best of it. Using the line of shinobi as a shield, he settled under the dark end of the table, close enough to listen in, but far enough away not to be obvious in the shadows. Once he was in position, he assessed the target.

What the hell did Kakashi see in this guy? He looked like an average, not-ever-going-to-be-elite shinobi, one who had settled for the relatively safe rank of chuunin and the even safer job of doing administrative work. He even smelled like paper. Maybe this was all some elaborate trick of the brat's. If so, Pakkun was going to kill him dead.

The target seemed to get on well with most shinobi, particularly the genin, who all seemed to know him by name and addressed him with wary warmth. For the most part, he did his duty efficiently as far as Pakkun could tell, though the unsteady pile of papers he'd brought with him still verged on sliding out of control at the far end of the table. He certainly did the job much more quickly than his co-workers.

Pakkun snorted to himself. What a bureaucrat. The more he watched the target, the more he was convinced that the brat was pulling a prank on him. The two men could hardly be more different. It was obvious that this guy was a shinobi in name only, given just how good he was at pushing papers.

A familiar presence slipped into the shadows next to him.

"Yo, Pakkun."

"Yo, Hiba." Pakkun made room for the snake summon. "What's up?"

"Her Highness," Hiba pointed his tongue at Anko, who had just entered the room to the terror of the rest of the shinobi already there, "has a craving."

"Again?"

Hiba rolled his eyes. "When doesn't she?"

"Which one this time?"

"Asuma."

Pakkun grinned. "Won't work. He's with Kurenai."

"Yeah, that's what she's counting on. I'm supposed to hang out here and follow Kurenai, while Anko takes Asuma. She wants 'em both in her bed at once." Hiba's tone was resigned. "I keep telling her, 'keep me out of this,' but does she? No."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"I thought yours was all about the book stuff."

"He's on a weird kick lately, what can I say?"

"Which one?"

"The chuunin that smells of chalk and ink."

Hiba's tongue flickered in the air and he looked at the target. "Funny type, isn't he?"

"Yeah. I think the brat's finally gone over the edge. Hey, got a minute?" When Hiba nodded, Pakkun grinned. "What do you think of rounding up a few of the Inuzuka mutts and a summon or two and playing a few hands of cards?"

"Sounds good," Hiba said. "I'll be right back."

***

The mission room was busy, so Pakkun concentrated on his cards and cleaning out his opponents. He was ahead when the target pushed his chair back and said to his companions, "Be right back."

Pretending to be regretful, Pakkun put down his pair of twos and said, "Work. Wouldn't you know? Just when I had a great hand." He left to a chorus of curses, feeling smug. He'd collect his winnings later.

The target jogged out of the mission office and headed down the street. He passed several doorways before he ducked under the ramen shop curtain.

Lunch. Suddenly Pakkun was ravenous.

Damn. It really sucked to be on assignment during lunch. He dodged between two civilians and slipped into the back of the ramen shop, and tried to squelch the growling in his stomach by promising it a steak reward later.

"Three bowls with pork, please," he heard the target say.

"Extra ingredients?"

"Of course."

"Coming right up, Iruka-sensei."

Sensei, eh? What did the target teach? Paper-pushing 101? Pakkun sniggered to himself. He crept closer and hid under a chair.

The target accepted a stacked carrying box from the ramen guy. "Thanks!" He lifted it over the counter, turned--

--and tripped over the chair hiding Pakkun.

Pakkun yelped as hot broth and noodles poured over him. "What the hell!"

"Sorry, sorry," the target said. He seemed to be trying to help Pakkun get out of the mess, but all he accomplished was to get Pakkun even more tangled in noodles and pork. He also seemed to be trying to keep from laughing, the bastard. Dump ramen over him and see if it was funny.

"Iruka-sensei! Stupid mutt. Here, please, accept these replacements with my apologies." The ramen guy handed the target another stack of carrying boxes, then grabbed a broom. "Get out of here! I don't allow dogs in my shop!"

Pakkun dodged the broom. "I'm not a dog! I'm a ninken!" he growled, but decided that retreat was the better part of valor. He ran down the street and into an alley before he shook himself thoroughly, trying to get as much of the remnants of three huge bowls of ramen off as possible. When he was finished, the alley looked like a small food fight had just taken place. Crows were already flocking to snatch at the remains.

Cursing to himself, Pakkun raced around the market until he found a water trough. After he'd rinsed himself and shook himself dry, he looked around frantically.

No target.

Dejected, he headed back to the mission room. After all, the guy had told his co-workers that he'd be right back. He peeked around the corner from the hallway.

And there the bastard was, laughing and eating delicious-smelling ramen with the others, acting like he didn't have a care in the world. The long lines of shinobi were gone, but a few still hung out, chatting with the target and his friends as they ate, or filling out reports that hadn't passed muster. The poker game had packed up, so Pakkun's cover was gone, and the brat's instructions had been clear.

Find him when the target was alone.

Pakkun sighed, hid himself in a niche in the hallway, and watched.

***

"He's as alone as he's going to get," Pakkun insisted. "I've done what you asked me to do. Now give me my steak."

"I'm not carrying meat around in my pockets," the brat said. He smelled strangely nervous, with a strong undercurrent of mating pheromones. No accounting for taste, Pakkun guessed. "I'll give it to you later. Just the other two workers?"

"That's what I said."

The brat looked undecided, then nodded as if Pakkun had asked him a question. He picked up a rock, transformed it into a battered-looking scroll, and sauntered into the mission office.

Pakkun waited less than three minutes before he appeared again. He carried himself in his normal lazy, slouchy way, but Pakkun could see he was disappointed.

"These things take time," he said when the brat reached him.

"How would you know? Dogs just fuck each other whenever they feel like it."

Most of the time, the brat was nasty only when he was upset. He must really want this chuunin guy for some reason. "I'd be insulted, but frankly, I think it makes more sense," Pakkun said. "And just for the record, I've seen you fuck other humans whenever you both felt like it, so don't give my species shit." He frowned. "What's different here, boss?"

"History."

"History? But your scent's all--"

The brat held up a hand, so Pakkun shut up. Then the door of the mission office opened, and the target stalked out.

"If you want to talk, then you're buying me coffee, too," the target said, his voice grim.

"Okay," the brat said. Hope filled his scent with sandalwood and thyme. He made the hand sign for 'get lost,' so Pakkun faded into the shadows. He watched the two walk away, and sighed.

Well, there was always hanging out with Hiba. At least the snake summons would appreciate his company, especially if Anko was either fucking someone or getting pissed because she didn't have anyone to fuck. Since those were her two most common modes outside of missions, Pakkun thought he'd have a pretty good chance of finding Hiba at loose ends.

***

He and Hiba were on their way to the training field to hunt mice when they passed by the brat's apartment.

The target sure was loud when he was chewing someone out.

***

Pakkun finally made his way home around moonrise, hoping against hope that the brat would have remembered to leave his steak-and-a-half outside the door. He was pissed, but not surprised, to discover he hadn't.

He passed through the wards, trotted to the bedroom door, and released a tiny burst of chakra. While he was waiting for the brat to deign to answer him, he took stock of his surroundings.

The apartment reeked of sex and burnt meat. Either the brat and the target had had a hell of a fight, or they'd cooked a meal for themselves. The dishes and glasses scattered around the kitchen area argued the latter, but the raised voice of the target earlier in the day made Pakkun suspect that the former might not be far from the truth, either.

The brat slipped out of the bedroom. "What? I'm a little busy here."

"You were sleeping," Pakkun pointed out. "I want my steak and a half."

Kakashi leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "Why should I pay you if you didn't do your job?"

"I did my job!" Mostly.

The brat rolled his eye. "Gai assaulted you in public and you got doused at the ramen stand. Tell me how that qualifies as 'stealthy intelligence gathering.'"

Damn. How'd he known about all that? "I was making sure that I didn't stand out."

"You're wearing a hitai-ite."

"I planned for that. I wasn't the only summon around. I was blending in with the others," Pakkun said, hoping he sounded more dignified and competent than he suspected he did. "Anyway, the point is, I didn't screw up. All the things that went wrong were someone else's fault. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"He said you were playing poker in the corner of the Mission room."

Crap. The target had noticed him, after all. Pakkun growled to himself. Did that mean the ramen dump had been deliberate? "Thanks for reminding me. I need expense money for today, too." He could bluff with the best.

"Sell shares in your steak," the brat said, turning back to the doorway.

"It's a steak and a half." Pakkun squared his shoulders. "Where's my payment?"

"I'll give you something at dinner. If I feel like it."

"It's past dinner, boss!" Pakkun caught his breath as a horrible thought crossed his mind. "No," he whispered.

"No, what?"

Pakkun looked at the brat, really looked. "You didn't."

The brat stuck a finger in his ear. He pulled it out, examined it casually, then flicked it.

"You fed him my steak." The injustice of it twisted in Pakkun's gut. "My lovely, two pound, bloody, loin-cut steak."

The brat shrugged. "He seemed faint."

"He was sleeping!" Pakkun howled. "That's what you do after you mount someone! You sleep! You don't eat other dogs' steaks or give them to someone else!"

"We left you the bones," the brat said. He reached into the room and pulled out a bag. "Here." He tossed it to Pakkun.

Pakkun let it slide across the floor to his feet. He refused to pounce on it, even with the lovely smell of beef wafting through the paper.

"You got me to spy on him, you lured him out, you mounted him, you woke him up and you fed him my steak." Pakkun shook his body, releasing as much hair as he could because he knew it annoyed the brat. "My perfect, big, bloody steak." He glared at the bag. "I smell what you've done. It's just bones. Burnt bones."

The brat rolled his eyes. "Go away," he said. "I've got a man to ravish, and I don't want you sniffing around our private... business." He slid the bedroom door shut.

"As if I'd sniff your private businesses," Pakkun grumbled as he nosed opened the bag. He was only a bit mollified to see that they'd only half-finished the steaks, and there was plenty of meat left on the bones, even if it was scorched.

When he was finished, he burped, circled, and settled in on the bedroom threshold. If the brat thought that he could get away with paying him leftovers for a steak-and-a-half job, he had another think coming.

***

He was battling squirrels wearing acorn hitai-ate, when Pakkun was startled out of his nap by the sound of the bedroom door sliding open. He glanced up to see the targ-- he shook his head -- the brat's mate, it was beginning to look like -- put a finger to his lips and slip silently out of the bedroom, pulling on a robe. When the mate beckoned, Pakkun followed him into the kitchen, wondering what was going on.

"I heard something about a steak?" the mate murmured as he opened the refrigerator.

Pakkun squinted at him, dubious. "Yeah. So?"

"I think I saw something earlier," the mate said. "By the way," Pakkun gasped as he suddenly found himself hanging from a firm grip around his neck, "the next time you spy on someone, it had better not be me. Agreed?"

"I wasn't spying on you!" Pakkun choked.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

"I was just playing cards!"

"Your stare was so blatant, the back of my neck was tingling all day. No more spying on me. Agreed?"

"Sure," Pakkun gasped. The grip loosened and he fell to the floor. He coughed and pawed at his throat, then blinked as a huge, raw steak was pushed under his nose. "What's this all about?"

"A little apology for the ramen," the mate said. "You were pretty obvious, you know. By the way, my name's Iruka."

"Pakkun." The steak smelled delicious; Pakkun's mouth watered. But he hadn't been trained as a ninken for nothing. "This is more than an apology, though. What's the catch?"

Iruka tilted his head at the bedroom. "Background on him."

Yeah, too good to be true. "Can't," Pakkun said. "He's my boss." So much for the steak. He sighed, then sat stoically as Iruka continued to examine him.

Finally, Iruka nodded. "I get it. I won't ask about him. But I am going to ask this. Why me?"

If Pakkun could have shrugged, he would have. "Dunno."

"I think you do." Iruka dropped to the floor and sat in front of him, his legs crossed. "I've never liked him, much. So. Why me? Why now?"

"Wait a sec." Pakkun frowned. "If you don't like him, why did you mate with him?"

Iruka's face bloomed red. After a moment, he laughed weakly and rubbed the back of his head. "Ah, did you hear us?"

Pakkun gave him his best 'you're not the sharpest kunai in the pouch' look. "I'm a ninken. I don't need to hear you. I can smell the pheromones alone from miles away."

Iruka buried his face in his hands. "Right," he mumbled. His shoulders trembled, then he dropped his hands, shaking his head with a rueful smile on his face. "Okay, fair's fair. I, er, mated with Kakashi because, well..." the blush was back again, "as much as I've never liked him, I've always sort of admired him. When we were kids--" He hesitated. "I guess it's complicated."

"Humans," Pakkun said. He sighed and lay down, resting his chin on his front paws. "Well? What the hell's so complicated?"

"He saved me from the Nine-Tails."

Pakkun blinked and jerked his head up. "And that made you hate him?"

"Not hate. Resentment. Dislike. Avoidance."

"You're really not very smart, are you?" Pakkun observed. "I mean, resenting someone for saving your life is bad enough, but then mating with him?"

"It makes sense," Iruka insisted.

"As much sense as threatening me and then giving me a steak?"

Iruka put his fists on his hips and glared. "Yes. No. Just shut up, okay? It's hard to describe."

"Did he smell good or something? Is that why you ended up mating?" Pakkun shook his head. "You shouldn't let your nose rule you, you know. The brat can be a bastard. Doesn't even realize it. A lot of people hate him."

"I hated him--" Iruka snapped, then paused. His hands relaxed and fell into his lap, and his shoulders slumped. "He kept me from trying to help that night. That's all."

Ah. That was it. "Who did you lose?" Pakkun asked quietly.

"My-- my mum and my dad," Iruka said, his voice thick. "He took me away from them."

"The kyuubi took them away from you. The brat just saved a life."

"He said it was going to be okay. Everything would be okay. But it wasn't."

The brat hadn't had it easy, either, not after Sakumo, and then the kyuubi... well, no need to dwell on the past. "You know, maybe you should think of it less like he saved you and more like he gave your parents something precious."

"And how's leaving them to die 'precious?'" Iruka whispered, clutching his hands into fists.

Pakkun sighed. "We all die sometime, pup. So tell me, will it be easier for you to die if you know those you love are safe, or will it be easier to die and know that your loved ones will die horrible deaths next to you?"

Iruka paled. "The first."

"Which is why you mated with the brat, I'm thinking," Pakkun said. "You already knew that. You're not as dumb as you seem. Just stupid."

Iruka blinked at him. "What's the difference between being dumb and being stupid?"

"People can't help being dumb," Pakkun said. He sat up and raised a hind leg to scratch behind his ear. "You have to work to be stupid."

Iruka's chuckle was warm and low and carried a strange note that sounded almost like sadness. Something in his scent changed, though, went away, as if he'd let go of something he'd been carrying for a long time. He ran a hand over his face and then met Pakkun's gaze. "You still haven't answered my question, you know."

Pakkun fell silent. Why Iruka, indeed? The brat hadn't shown any more than a passing interest in anyone else. But this time was different. Pakkun knew how the brat smelled. Before this target, he'd always smelled of casual lust. This time the brat's smell was more complicated, but Pakkun was pretty sure 'need' was as big a part of it as 'want,' which was new. Somehow, the brat had decided he needed this deceptively-sneaky-paper-pushing-mixed-up shinobi in his life.

"I don't really know," he finally said. "But I can tell you this. It's real."

"What's real?"

Pakkun shifted uncomfortably. "He needs you. I doubt he even knows why. For a genius, he can be--"

"—really stupid," Iruka finished. He smiled and pointed with his chin. "Finish your steak."

"Naw, not right now." Pakkun yawned until his ears nearly touched behind his head. It had been a long day. "You can put it back in the fridge. Though you'd better put a big sign on it to tell the brat that I licked it all over so he doesn't cook it for breakfast."

Iruka smiled. He stretched his back neatly, like a cat, and stood, dusting himself off before leaving the kitchen. A moment later, Pakkun heard the slide of the bedroom door and a quiet question from the brat, a few rustles from the blankets, and then silence.

Pakkun sighed and wondered if Iruka would ever give any consideration to the idea that maybe Kakashi had hated him just as much that night, for needing to be rescued. The brat had never said anything to Pakkun, but he'd overheard him whispering apologies at the Memorial Stone, loads of times, for not being there when his loved ones had needed him.

The brat had loved the Fourth. And now that Pakkun thought about it, the Fourth's brat had mentioned an 'Iruka,' and had seemed to have strong feelings for him. Was that what had spurred Kakashi into seeking out this man? He'd said 'history' when Pakkun had asked him what the difference was. If so, karma was a bitch, and Kakashi was liable to be burnt.

But then, this Iruka guy seemed decent, strangely honest and open for a shinobi. Maybe the brat had found something worth more than a fuck and a good-bye wave, after all.

Whatever. He lay his muzzle on his front paws, stretched his back legs out flat behind him to take full advantage of the lovely, cool floor and closed his eyes. Circular logic and karma and divine pattern things made his head ache. All he really knew was that whatever brought them together, maybe they were just stupid enough to find some happiness together. He was a bit surprised to find that the idea didn't really bother him.

There seemed to be more to Iruka than just paper-pushing, after all. The steak was still lying on the floor. It would be nice and ripe by morning.

***

Pakkun dreamed that a ninja squirrel dropped an acorn, and it broke open to expose a small, delicate, delicious-smelling bone that shone in the darkness.

It tasted of prime loin steak.

~fin~