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2015-03-04
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4.

For the first time since the war and everything that followed Gai wakes up in a bed that’s neither a hospital bed nor his own. He hurts, his body seemingly vibrating with pain like a sword after striking stone. He lies very still and keeps his eyes closed. Although he knows exactly where he is and who he’s with, he doesn’t feel ready to face the aftermath yet.

He’s too ashamed.

 

2.

Gai is on the floor, tears in his eyes, tears of frustration, tears of anger, tears of pain. The voices around him a blur, wet colors bleeding into one another. Kakashi barks an order, the doors bang shut and all goes silent.

“You can’t, can you?” Kakashi, crouching next to him now, to Gai’s left, the desk to his right and the wheelchair behind him, out of reach. “You want to, but it’s impossible. You have to accept that.”

It’s never going to be the same again. I’m never going to be the same again.

He’d known, of course he’d known, on some level he’d known the very moment he woke up in his hospital bed that first night, alone, a doctor or nurse, someone – his mind was too blurry to tell – ducking out of the room to call Tsunade. He’d known then, laying there, his body a patchwork of pain and paralysis, he’d known, even before Tsunade came to him with her diagnosis.

But it’s different now, he’s on his stomach on the floor of Kakashi’s office and the knowledge is like a sledgehammer coming down onto his back, shattering him.

“Gai.” Kakashi touches him then, a hand on his shoulder and it’s too much.

With the last of his strength, Gai lunges.

 

5.

Crumpled-up documents, his wheelchair lying on its side, Kakashi’s coat tossed over the office chair, drops of dried blood on the floor.

Kakashi’s hand is stroking him through the spandex, the sensation of fabric rubbing almost violently against his hard flesh. It hurts, everything hurts, but there’s pleasure in the pain, unfurling like a blossoming poison flower. Kakashi sinks his teeth into the side of Gai’s neck. The cast on Gai’s leg is constantly in the way – Gai is both aware of it and not.

He wants to hurt Kakashi, he wants to win against him. He wants to come, actually come and not lose his erection like some damaged old man proving Kakashi right. He’s never had to worry about things like that before but now that he does it makes everything that much more desperate.

He doesn’t know what Kakashi wants or why he’s doing this, but he finds he doesn’t much care as long as he can hold the Hokage down and make him whimper and gasp and curse like that.

 

1.

He can’t help grinning when he throws open the double doors to Kakashi’s office. This is the moment he’s been waiting for; his triumphant return to active duty! Finally, after months of physical therapy and grueling training, Gai feels his blood boiling again. He’s ready!

Sitting up extra straight, Gai wheels himself across the polished wooden floor until he’s right in front of Kakashi’s desk, the footrest of his wheelchair a millimeter from touching the wood. Behind said desk Kakashi looks up from his documents as if he’s only just noticed Gai who’s been beaming at him the whole time.

“Kakashi!” His voice rings out pleasantly in the office, Gai thinks. It sounds strong and healthy like the voice of a man able to cut down trees with a single strike of his bare hand. “I’m ready for my new assignment!”

“Gai.” Kakashi smiles, his mask shifting almost imperceptivity. His eyes are soft, his gaze is firmly on Gai’s face, not his bulging biceps as Gai had hoped. He’s been training so much, even his trusty spandex can barely contain him anymore. The new vest is a little too snug around his chest, too; he ordered the same size as his old one and even that had been somewhat optimistic considering the amount of weight he’d lost during his time at the hospital. But that new tightness is tangible proof to him that he really is back, not to mention stronger than before!

“How are you feeling?” The question is gentle and Gai senses honest, of course totally misplaced, concern.

If he could, he would grin even wider but at this point the mere attempt threatens to break his face. “Do you have to ask, Kakashi?” Gai asks mock-sternly. “Just look at me! I’m bursting with youthful energy! I can’t wait to get my new mission! I’m ready for action!”

“That’s good to hear. I’m glad, Gai.” It’s a little lackluster, this reply, but Gai’s used to this from Kakashi by now. He just has to provide enough enthusiasm for the both of them.

“So? What do you have for me, Hokage-sama?” he prods. “Evil-doers causing trouble? Want me to wipe them out? A rescue mission maybe? Or bodyguard duty? A search for a lost artifact? I’m up for anything!”

“Ah… okay. Well, here you go then.” Kakashi pushes a mission scroll across the desk towards Gai, who snatches it up eagerly.

He begins unrolling the scroll, his eyes scanning the first lines before it is opened fully. He stops unrolling, rereads the headline, pauses, rereads it again. Mission desk? It can’t be. That’s not a real mission. Manning the mission desk, accepting and filing reports and handing out mission scrolls to genin? It’s not a mission, especially not for a jounin.

Gai glances at Kakashi. The Hokage is sitting in his chair, the look on his face so blank it rivals that of his stone representation on the mountain.

Gai’s heart thuds dully in his chest. He swallows against the dryness in his mouth. Then he laughs because this is a joke. It’s got to be.

“Good one, Kakashi! Me at the mission desk! That’s funny! Now where’s my real assignment?”

Kakashi’s expression doesn’t change, except there’s a shadow in his eyes for a split second. He blinks and it’s gone; it might have been Gai’s imagination.

“This isn’t a joke. This is your assignment, Gai,” Kakashi says calmly and dips his head as if to go back to the documents in front of him. “Now—“

“Hokage-sama!” Using the title instead of the name somehow makes it easier to protest. He wants to think of Kakashi as the Hokage, not his rival. The Hokage might have his reasons, but his rival would never do this to him.

“Yes? Was there anything else you needed?”

Indignation simmers in Gai’s stomach; the measuring look Kakashi directs at him is a stab into his heart. It becomes clear to him then, like a flash of lightning in the darkest night, suddenly he can see and the revelation is a hand closing around Gai’s throat. Kakashi doesn’t believe in Gai – not anymore.

Or maybe he never did.

Gai clamps down hard on the thought and the anger. He tries to swallow, his pride, the acidic wave of pure hatred rising from the pit of his stomach.

“Hokage-sama,” he repeats, a voice of defiance roaring in his ears, a silent scream, You’re not my rival anymore, Hatake Kakashi. Childish fury forever swallowed.

Maito Gai is a man of rare poise and self-control! His well of dignity never runs dry! He bites his tongue until his mouth feels coated in copper. He grins a grin that is all white teeth, lips pulling back to reveal the most perfect canines, white and healthy and sharp like fangs.

“Hokage-sama, you must have made a mistake.” Not someone, not there must have been. Gai doesn’t fear confrontation. Vagueness is for cowards. You must have made a mistake, better yet, you’re making a mistake right now.

“Hm?” Kakashi glances up from the sheet of paper in front of him, as if he’s already forgotten that Gai was even in the room. “No, I don’t think so.” He waves his hand dismissively. “That’ll be all.”

“I’m not leaving until you give me a real assignment!” Gripping the handrails of his wheelchair, Gai attempts to stare Kakashi down, which would be easier if Kakashi had the decency to look him in the eye.

“You have your assignment.”

“I’m a jounin! Let me go on a mission befitting a jounin!”

A precarious silence hangs in the room. Gai can hear himself breathe in an out, harsh, agitated gasps for air. Kakashi rustles his papers, waiting. He leans back in his office chair – it’s new, Gai thinks, it looks expensive.

“Then demote me!” Gai shouts loud enough for everyone in the building to hear. Gai doesn’t care; now that the thought has crossed his mind, he desperately wants Kakashi to do it. “If you think I can’t do high-ranked missions, then make me a genin – or send me back to the academy!”

“Gai—“ It stings how exasperated Kakashi sounds, like Gai is some kind of spoiled brat throwing a silly tantrum.

“I’ll fight my way back up. The first time around no one believed I’d even get into the academy; the thought of me graduating made them laugh. But I did. I’ve done it before; I can do it again. I won’t be a jounin in name only! Go on, strip me of my rank, Hokage-sama!” Gai pushes himself forward until the footrest of his wheelchair collides with Kakashi’s desk. The sound of the collision, the little jolt it gives him, is oddly satisfying. Gai hopes it leaves a mark. “I’ll show you what my hot-blooded determination can accomplish!” Or I’ll stay a genin for the rest of my days. Why not? It’s a proud legacy!

Kakashi sighs. “There’s no need for all this drama. Just do as you’re told.”

“No.”

Another pause. This time Kakashi looks at him with narrowed eyes. It’s a look that tells Gai that Kakashi has made up his mind. He’s done playing around. Whatever comes out of his mouth next will be his honest opinion.

When Kakashi speaks, his voice is low but deceptively friendly. “What would you have me do, hm? You’ve been out of the hospital for a few months, you can’t use your right leg – your left leg isn’t in much better shape either. You honestly expect me to send you out into the field in your wheelchair? Do I really have to spell it out for you? Konoha has enough healthy jounin; there’s no need to assign a damaged old man. Frankly, it would make us look kind of desperate, don’t you think?”

It’s like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. For the first two seconds Gai can’t breathe.

Thank you for cheering is the first thing that enters his otherwise blank mind. That’s what his dad would say. He’d smile saying it, he’d smile, smile, smile—

Chip off the old block, like father like son, huh? People used to say. Some would laugh when they said it, thinking, he’ll be a failure too, thinking, why is he even trying?

But they were wrong. Gai took more after his mother than his father. He could never be the man his father was.

Gai… Gai can still hear those two guys laughing; he can feel the sharp edges of the rock in his small palm. When he hurled it, he only wished it were bigger and heavier, that it would make them hurt the way he did.

Even when he smiled, he still felt that old familiar pain.

Even when he said his father’s words the first time, he thought, I will beat you one day.

So it’s not that much of a shock to him when the words slip out of his mouth before he can do anything to hold them back. “I’ll kill you.” It’s a whisper, a wisp of breath, nothing more, but Kakashi has always had better hearing than he let on.

“What did you just say?” Not hm, did you say something or were you talking to me, none of those pretend games now. Kakashi knows exactly what Gai said. Gai can see it in his hard dark eyes.

Eyes.

How ironic that the same war that broke Gai made Kakashi whole again. It’s that bitterness that drives him, that festers inside of him and fills him to the marrow of his bones. It didn’t use to be like this, but the pain, the hospital, the wheelchair…

Kakashi is giving him an out. Because it’s you, says the set of his jaw, says the furrowed brow. Only because it’s you, Gai. Because we’re friends, right? So you better think again if this is what you want to say to your Hokage, the head of your village. Because you can’t really want to make a statement that’s basically a declaration of war on your own home. Think about what your students would say – the ones who survived anyway; Neji’s voice you’ll never hear again – poor Lee and Tenten, you don’t want to do this to them, do you?

He doesn’t know what it is that makes him look Kakashi in the eye and say, “I said, I’ll kill you, Kakashi-sama.” Pride or stupidity or a death wish or maybe a toxic combination of all three.

The way Kakashi’s face just freezes for a second – it’s almost hilarious. His eyes wide, his jaw clenched; he looks nothing like the face on the mountain forever glowering into the distance. It doesn’t last though. When the mask slips back into place, Kakashi smiles.

“Get up,” he says. His voice is calm and pleasant but firm. It’s Gai’s turn now to wonder if his ears might be deceiving him, if Kakashi is really saying what Gai thinks he’s saying.

“Get up,” Kakashi repeats when Gai doesn’t react. “Get up and walk to the door on your own two legs. If you do that, I’ll let you pick whatever mission you want.”

A challenge. But not like old times. It’s not that this one is serious – their challenges were always serious – the difference is that now, now they, Kakashi and Gai, they’re not equals and they’re certainly not friends.

But this is Gai’s chance! He’ll prove it to Kakashi! He’ll do it! Never mind that he can barely take two steps in physical therapy; never mind the searing pain that shoots up his legs whenever he tries. If he were to put actual weight on the left one—

No, this is his moment! He will succeed, even if his odds are one in a million, no, especially if his odds are like that! Because he’s the hero of this story! He is Maito Gai! And the hero always succeeds in the end, against all odds. No hero ever has to spend his life in a wheelchair. Heroes are always cured in the end! They overcome their disabilities because otherwise they wouldn’t be heroes!

I just have to believe in myself!

Gai shoots Kakashi a grin, all self-confidence, all defiance, one that says, You should know better by now; you can’t win against me! No one can!

And he hops out of his chair like an eager young boy, onto his two feet, and the pain that follows is like nothing he has ever felt before.

 

0.

There once was a time when he was in love with Kakashi – or thought he was in love with Kakashi anyway. Sixteen years old, hormones raging, Gai wanted to spend every single second of every single day with ʻhis rivalʼ. He wanted Kakashi to look at him and see him and ʻacknowledgeʼ him. At night he dreamed of Kakashi, fevered loops spiraling in his mind, and he’d wake up sweaty and sometimes achingly hard, other times with semen already drying on his skin.

What he wanted, though, wasn’t sex – or not only sex, since he did want sex, wanted it very, very much indeed – but what he truly yearned for, or so he thought at the time, was romance. Flower petals spread beneath Kakashi’s pale skin, Kakashi looking up at him with trusting eyes, a little nervous but ultimately sure because it was Gai.

A million years ago.

 

3.

Mindlessly, Gai goes for Kakashi’s throat. He can still fight. He’s trained with Lee and Tenten, always thinking that he’d be on his own two feet again at some point. If he just worked hard enough, if he just believed—

Kakashi can’t dodge in time – he is surprised, eyes wide with shock that quickly darkens into anger. His neck is warm and vulnerable under the fabric of his mask and Gai is half on top of him as Kakashi falls backwards, gracelessly onto the wooden floor.

They wrestle there, on the ground, like little brats, which they’ve never ever done before, not even when they were little brats, Gai five and Kakashi four years old on the academy playground when Gai did a backflip-dropkick off the swing set to hit Kakashi’s unguarded back only to land in the dirt when Kakashi’s clone dissolved.

They’ve never fought like this, dirty and desperate. Gai is in pain, but his hold on Kakashi is unfaltering. If only he could beat him now—

Then what? He doesn’t know, but through the red haze of agony and humiliation he can only see Kakashi’s cold impassive face as something he needs to break in order to give himself some peace. The fact that Kakashi is clearly holding back so as not to hurt him only infuriates Gai further.

He lands a lucky blow to Kakashi’s face with his elbow; there’s a loud crunch and a muffled curse from Kakashi who finally seems to have had enough because he shifts their weight, gets his feet under him and hurls Gai up.

The pain shooting up his legs is so sudden, so intense, Gai actually blacks out for a split second. When his eyes snap open again, his back is flat on top of the desk, his legs awkwardly hanging off the side and Kakashi pressing down on him, his forearm on Gai’s throat making it hard to breathe.

Kakashi’s mask has slipped down, blood is dripping from his nose, a warm drop hitting Gai’s face, sliding down his cheek like a tear. They’re both panting, Gai’s gasping, his left leg pounding pain into his brain like an endless stream of Morse code.

Pain and fury, anguish and defiance, they must all be written on his face somewhere. He can’t tell, though, can barely even see. Kakashi is on top of him, grey eyes with murky black pupils staring down at Gai, the rest of Kakashi’s face is a red smear.

“Gai—“ Kakashi says again, and Gai can’t bear the pity mixed into the annoyance in his voice. He tries to knee Kakashi between the legs which doesn’t fully work but at least gets Kakashi to take some of the pressure off his throat.

Gai goes for a head butt next. Kakashi, though, manages to grab a fistful of his hair before he can fully connect. Their faces collide awkwardly, mouth to mouth, Kakashi pulling Gai’s hair, his blood on Gai’s tongue.

Suddenly Gai’s very aware of the way Kakashi’s thigh is pressing against his crotch, and before he can do anything to prevent it – not that he has any idea how that would have been possible – he is rock hard, something that hasn’t happened for him since before the war.

All this time he hasn’t been touched or touched himself, because what if he tried and it wouldn’t work? What if he found out he was damaged in that way as well? And what if it went away now, with Kakashi on top of him, clearly able to feel it against his leg? Kakashi’d know.

Gai’s stream of mortified thoughts comes to an abrupt halt when Kakashi gasps and presses harder against him, forcing Gai back down on the desk. One hand tangled in Gai’s hair, the other tearing at Gai’s vest, Kakashi practically crawls on top of him and Gai, too, stops thinking.

 

6.

What he remembers of the actual sex – if it can even be called that – is hazy. All he knows is that he must have come because the crotch of his pants feels tight and itchy and a little damp and that he must have passed out afterwards since he has no memory of leaving the office.

Which means that Kakashi carried him. The thought sickens Gai, but there’s nothing he can do about it now. Except lie very still and keep his eyes closed because there’s someone moving around the room. Soft footsteps coming closer, bare feet on wooden floorboards.

Gai pretends to be asleep as the mattress creaks and dips with the weight of the other person – Kakashi whose chakra pattern is as familiar to Gai as his own – sitting down next to him. Gai is on his back, breathing evenly. He wants Kakashi to go away, prays that the Hokage won’t see through his bluff, because what can they possibly say to each other now?

There’s nothing.

Nothing but bitterness and regret.

Hatred even.

Kakashi doesn’t speak. He sits for a few heartbeats; Gai can hear him breathe.

Then Kakashi touches him.

Instantly, that touch tells Gai that Kakashi has no idea he is no longer unconscious.

Kakashi’s fingertips brush Gai’s lower lip, his cheek, his eyelids. It’s a feather-light caress, so soft and gentle that Gai expects his skin to break open under such tenderness. He knows he hasn’t been touched like this, not since he was an infant. He also knows that he has never touched anyone like this, like he was terrified they might vanish if he dared to lay more than a finger on them.

It’s love.

That hesitant, fearful touch.

It’s love.

And it makes him realize that they’re not sixteen anymore, that they never will be again, that no matter how much Kakashi meant to him back then, he means more to Kakashi now.

And that thought makes him want to run, run, run and never stop for breath.