Work Text:
His line has been moving a little slower today. But only a little. And once the nin waiting get close enough to the front to see the why, their irritated expressions fade immediately.
It's strange, in more than one way. It's only a broken wrist - one that Iruka had tried to argue was merely a sprain and not worth casting, hardly worth a band-aid, really - only to learn Nurse Himoko had mastered such a withering glare that Iruka had been silenced mid-sentence. But the presence of the offending plaster cast - it's original colour barely visible under the scrawls and signatures and doodles of practically the entirety of the academy's student body (plus a few of the faculty) wishing him well - he couldn't deny it seemed to have a calming effect on the line of unwashed ninja waiting to have their papers stamped so they could go home and collapse. Hell, the only argument Iruka's had today was when Hiro-san had sheepishly pushed forward a nearly blank report, and had muttered a meek "are you sure?" when Iruka told him to go fill out the rest of the form.
He's never known such peace while at work before.
Had he known tripping over Konahamaru would have such a soothing effect on the rest of his life, he'd let the little hellion run free more often. Hell, maybe he should take a page out of Kotetsu's book and slap a random bandage or two across his face from time to time.
"Next, Please."
He's been dreading this one.
Not because of Sayuri-san. She's lovely. Always has been. Iruka can count on one had the number of times he's ever had to ask her to correct her reports, although he isn't certain if that's because her reporting is near to perfection or if she's just so charming he can't help but ignore any flaws.
But behind her...
Hatake-san has been staring at Iruka's wrist from the moment he stepped into the damned room.
Okay, yes, it is unusual. Ninja don't like showing off obvious weakness or hurts if they can avoid it at all - it makes for an easy target. Still though, as a shinobi of Konoha, and someone who routinely annihilated their body to the point that they were confined in the hospital for weeks (if not months, as Iruka knew from Pakkun dropping off Hatake's pitiful reports in lieu,) he'd thought Hatake would have some respect for the wounded and at least pretend to avert his gaze.
Clearly, Iruka had been wrong.
He swallowed as Sayuri-san nodded her head, stepping away from the desk.
"Next, please."
Hatake said nothing, not letting his one visible eye deviate from Iruka's injured wrist as he slid his report across the smooth oaken surface.
Fine intro, suitable - wait, missing info here - but he mentions it in this section, he forgot to sign the - oh, forget this. I'll just deal later -
"Thank you, Hatake-san." Iruka said curtly, stamping the report with his left hand and using his casted right to tuck it into his to-fix-later pile. "And thank you for your hard work. Next!"
"Next!" for Iruka, meant move away.
"Next!" meant leave.
"Next!" meant stop staring at my stupid hand like that, I get it, I'm hurt, it was dumb, I don't want to hear one of your stupid one liners about desk ninja -
"Next!" - what it didn't mean was for Kakashi to stuff his hands back in his pockets, break his gaze away from Iruka's cast (finally!) stare down at his feet, and mumble -
"You're hurt."
In the flattest, most despondent voice Iruka's ever heard.
After about seventeen seconds, he replies.
"Uh, yeah."
He's trying really hard to not feel stupid. It's not working.
But Hatake-san isn't leaving.
So Iruka swallows, and tries again.
"It happens, you know," he says rather quickly. "Just because some of us don't go on as many missions, it doesn't mean there aren't threats in the village. In fact, I was just discussing with Ibiki - "
"You shouldn't do that."
Iruka blinks.
"Pardon?"
"You shouldn't do that," Hatake mumbles again, shoving his hands even deeper into his pockets. "You shouldn't get hurt. There's - " he swallows, audibly, visibly even, despite the mask - but he's still looking anywhere but at Iruka.
Not even at the cast.
"There's people that care. About you."
Iruka's sure he would have said something. Something clever. Something smart. He knows he would have.
Just trust the copy-nin to disappear in a swirl of leaves. And that was fine. Fine. That was his usual departure from the mission hall, after all.
But it wasn't fair. Not this time, when Iruka tried to call up the next person in line, and he found his throat so dry that he couldn't help but stutter.
"N-n-next."