Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Naruto or anything pertaining to the anime or manga. The characters, places, etc… are not mine, nor do I lay any claim on them. This is not an attempt to infringe on any rights or copyrights, as this is purely for entertainment.
Authors Note: Boredom. I know, it's not very good. But that's fine. Failure does not deter me from writing. So… I was trying something new. I was trying to capture the wavering thoughts of someone who's drunk, speaking in their head, rather than out loud, as a lot of people seem to do. It's like the random spoken words are part of whatever it is that they are rambling about in their head, and they don't realize that you haven't heard everything they thought… so, when they speak; it doesn't make much sense. They might sound angry and out of place, or just plain ridiculous. So, I tried to fill in some blanks.
Author: run dog run
Characters/Pairings: Genma, Kakashi / (no pairing, just camaraderie)
So, sometimes my hands shake.
Maybe sometimes it's just too hard to stay still. Maybe it's just too much of a chore to stay steady when I'm lifting my fifth shot in twenty minutes, and so almost half of it's left on the counter. A few more shots, and I won't care. Hell, after a few more drinks, you probably won't care either. You should drink more, should stop watching my hands, should stop waiting for me to give you a reason. Here, I'll drink to it, then. Cheers.
See, I didn't spill a goddamn drop.
So, maybe I'm already so drunk that I've lost the ability to coordinate my hands. I'm an hour and a half ahead of you already, and these shots; well that makes a damn lot of alcohol. And repetition; hand to mouth and back to table, repeat… that doesn't make it any easier when I can barely see past the fog that somehow managed to roll in. Right here, rolled right into the bar and covered the whole fucking place. Maybe it's smoke? How can you see through this shit, anyway? And it doesn't help that I'd kill for a cigarette; just because I said I gave it up doesn't mean I don't still need one sometimes. Just to calm my nerves. So, maybe that's why my hands are shaking.
And you can stop fucking staring at me like that.
What, do you think I don't notice? You think that just because I'm drunk, or because I don't say anything, that I don't catch you watching me? So, my fucking hands shake sometimes. Everyone here's got something wrong with them. We're all insane, we're all totally fucked. And it's not like you're perfect. I've seen you slip more than a couple times. Even you're a little fucked up on the inside. I'll gladly drink to that. I'll even toast; just pick up your glass.
"Here's to Hatake Kakashi, Mr. Not-so-perfect-after all!" Damn, this glass is heavy.
Ok, maybe I'll just lean down and get it. There's nothing shameful about leaning over to drink. And where the fuck are straws when you need them anyway? Goddamn straws. If you don't stop looking at me like that; like you feel sorry for me, I think I might just jab my damn senbon right into that fucking sad, staring, little eye of yours.
Well, maybe I'll wait until this smoke clears away and I can see you better, and the room stops spinning. And until I find my goddamn senbon. You probably took it when I wasn't looking. Bastard. Goddamn sneaky bastard. I'd glare at you, but I've still got half a bottle of sake to finish…
"Genma…" Give me back my drink, you bastard. And by the way; I don't like your tone.
It doesn't matter though, because I can't really hear you. Can't see you, can't hear you. Did you know fog can make it hard to hear too? Besides, I don't have time to listen to you; I have to look at this thing on the counter; only it's too far away. Seriously, as soon as this counter stops moving, and I see what the fuck this thing is… It's my senbon. You put it back, right there, just to fuck with me. You're trying to drive me crazy, aren't you? Maybe I'll put it in your eye now.
"Goddamn bastard." Just give me a minute; the room is spinning again.
The counter is cold. It's a little wet, but it feels good. Maybe I'll just lay here for a minute. I'll lay here and catch my breath, and then I'll put this senbon right in your face.
I'm fine. I'm fine, damnit, and I don't need you touching me. Don't need Hatake Kakashi fucking rubbing my back. But… your hands are warm. And god, it feels good to just be touched. Even if it's your hands touching me. Your hands don't shake, do they? They're probably as steady as a rock. Goddamn perfect bastard. What are you doing anyway? Touching my back, patting me like I'm some little kid. Or a dog. Do you think I'm a fucking dog; that you can just pat me? Fuck you.
"I think it's time to go home." I'm no fucking dog.
"Fuck you!" I'm not a dog, and I can fucking walk on my own.
Ok, maybe I need a little help; maybe, because my legs have gone numb. I think someone poisoned me. Oh well, everyone's gotta go sometime, right? Don't take me to the hospital, ok? Just take me somewhere that's not here, in this damn fog, and leave me. Just drop me off somewhere. How about in a fucking alley, so I can die like a stray dog. That'd be funny wouldn't it? Genma the dog, left to die in an alleyway.
Then you won't have to see my hands shake anymore, and you won't have to carry me home. And I won't have to see you staring at me like you wish you knew how to fix me. I'm not a goddamn broken toy; I've got no springs to tighten, or hinges to grease. You can't just tell me to stop, polish me up a few times and expect me to be good as new. See? My hands are still shaking. Stop walking; stop walking for a minute, you bastard. Look; still shaking.
"See?" I can't make them stop.
I told you not to look at me like that. I don't need your pity. I'm fine. I'm goddamn fine; we're all goddamn fine!
"Come on, almost home." Goddamn fog is everywhere. Is that my house?
You're not staying here. I don't need a baby sitter. I'm not going to choke on my vomit like some asshole that can't hold his liquor. I'm fine. I won't puke; not if I stay still. If I stay right here, and don't think about it; the room will stop spinning and I'll be fine. I'm always fine.
Goddamn it, you're too close. And why do you keep touching me? Petting my back, like I'm a dog… again. You know what they say: The first time someone calls you a dog, you call him a jerk. The second time some one calls you a dog, you punch him in the nose. The third time, well maybe it's time you start fetching the slippers. So maybe I should curl up on the floor at your feet and start barking.
Besides, dog's don't have hands.
God, I feel sick. And it's fucking hot in here. Why is it so hot in here? It probably doesn't bother you though. Nothing bothers you. You just keep going, like nothings wrong. Like now; acting like this room isn't hot as hell… And I don't need your help, I can get my damn shirt off on my own.
I think I need to lie down, but you're in the way. Bastard, always in the way. Always right there, even when you shouldn't be. Since when are you the type to take care of someone when they've gone and drown themselves in a bottle of liquor? Since when do you care? And why are you still here? I already told you that you're not staying. Besides, my bed's not big enough for both of us. Go home. If you're just going to sit there and stare at me, go the fuck home.
I'd rather be alone anyway. Just me, the fucking man-dog, and my goddamn shaky hands. When did they start shaking like this anyway? Post Traumatic Stress Disorder; what the fuck is that? Goddamn doctors, they don't know shit.
They don't always shake, you know. It's only after missions; really fucked up missions. Like the last one. Most times though, they're just like yours. Skilled and steady; deadly fucking weapons, right? That reminds me; where's my senbon?
"Bastard." You probably took it again… Fine, maybe I'll wait until tomorrow to skewer your eye. Maybe then my body will listen to me when I want it to kill you.
Ok, so maybe I don't really want to kill you. Maybe I'm just fucking drunk. Drunk and pissed. And sick of the way you look at me when you notice my hands are shaking again. No one else even notices. It's just you. You stare at me like your watching a movie of your life, three years from now.
You're probably right, though. A few years, and maybe all the shit you've seen and done will catch up to you and start working you apart at the seams. And then maybe you'll be the one carried home, the one that gets stared at like they're about to topple over the edge of a cliff and there's nothing anyone can do.
Goddamn it, if you're not going to go home, you should come lay down. Right here; there's room right here… Besides, it'd be nice to wake up with someone for once. Someone who didn't slap the shit out of me and accuse me of getting them drunk and taking advantage of them. Like anyone on earth could take advantage of Anko.
"Move over." Fuck you, it's my bed.
I can't move anyway; if I move, the room will start spinning again. When the room starts spinning I have to cover my eyes, have to press them into my skull with my hands. And my hands aren't working right tonight. Haven't been working right for a lot of night's lately. But you already know that. That's why you keep staring at me.
I wish you'd stop. I don't need your sympathy and I don't need your help; I don't need anyone's fucking help. There's nothing wrong with me.
It's just; sometimes my hands shake.