They are his team, so it his duty to tell them. Tsunade has informed him of this. In truth, Kakashi does not mind, for he feels nothing. There is an emptiness inside of him, a hollow where he thinks perhaps he should feel something. That there should at least be some emotion filling the void.

A Shinobi must never allow his tears to fall openly.

But there are no tears on Kakashi's face, and there are no tears inside his heart. He feels nothing, because this is not real.

He takes them out to the memorial on the hillside to tell them. They trail up after him, quiet and subdued, sensing his mood like an approaching storm. When they reach the crest he stops and looks out over the village and then down at the cold stone of the memorial. Why did he bring them here? He looks closer at the dull grey surface and his eye narrows. There are no new names etched there, which is all well and good because there is no need for a new name just yet.

Naruto is speaking to him, halting and hesitant, and he looks over his shoulder at the young boy. Sometimes he looks into those blue eyes and sees Yondaime looking back at him. This time the resemblence is so strong, so powerful, that he almost, almost, reacts.

He does not remember the words he uses to tell them, only their reactions. Sakura's tears spill freely, easily over the fist that she balls in her mouth, biting her knuckles to keep from sobbing. Sasuke's face is shocked out of its usual scowl, falling to an open blankness that makes him look so much younger, so much more vulnerable. He takes a half-step forward, his mouth opening to frame a question that he cannot quite bring himself to ask, and stops, lips moving soundlessly, his head shaking slightly in bewildered confusion. Naruto stands, shoulders hunched, his eyes, burning dark and furious, shining wetly in the light of the lowering sun. Kakashi turns back to the memorial and examines it offhandedly. He wonders at their tears, their reaction. It seems to him that they are taking far too seriously something that isn't actually all that real.

It is Naruto that breaks and runs first, his feet pounding a furious rhythm on the soft grass of the slope. He makes no attempt to hide his flight and absently Kakashi takes marks off for each time he hears a footstep fall. He is soon into minus points. He listens to Sakura sniffle for a long while and at one point she tries to speak to him, but he does not reply, too busy contemplating the curious lack of anything that he feels inside himself.

Kakashi does not hear them leave, but he supposes that they must have slipped away at some point while he was still thinking. Night has fallen around him and he has not even realised it. With a last thoughtful look out over the village, he stuffs his hands back into his pockets and heads for home.

That night he fixes himself dinner, plain and simple, for he has no real interest in food at the moment; reads for a little while and then puts himself to bed. He is still awake at 3am, the window open and Pakkun lying sad and silent across his chest.

It takes him a long time to realise what he is doing, who he is waiting for. And it is then and only then, in the darkest part of the night that the realisation hits him. Iruka is not coming back. Not now, not ever.

And only then does he allow himself to feel. Screwing his eyes shut he pulls the little dog against him, holding him tightly against his chin. And if perhaps Kakashi squeezes him a little too fiercely, Pakkun does not complain. And if the wetness that lands on his nose and makes it itch upsets him, he does not say anything at all.