Adult-FanFiction.org : Naruto

Break to Breathe	By : Okami-Rayne Category: Naruto > Yaoi - Male/Male > Shikamaru/Neji Views: 1959 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: NARUTO and its respective characters were created and are owned by Masashi Kishimoto. No copyright infringement intended. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 42
- 43
- 44
BREAK TO BREATHE

by Okami Rayne

Chapter Forty Three

[Dedicated to RiverAcantha]

The shadows stretched as long as the journey. The sun, having ridden high throughout the day, was sliding low by the time the gates of Konoha loomed ahead. The leaves rustled warmly in the sunset glow, a welcoming and familiar song.
Shikamaru turned his face away from the breeze.
His hooded gaze strayed over the side of the wagon, his peripheral vision catching the idle flick of the horse's tail as the sturdy mare towed them through the gateway. He remained slouched against one side of the cart, staring ahead until the roll of the wagon drew to a slow.
"Alright!" Naruto leapfrogged off the horse's back before the poor animal could stop and sprung into a dead run the second his feet hit the floor. "Foooood!"
"He's got the right idea." Kiba inhaled deeply, scratching Akamaru's head. "Smell that, boy?"
The dog thumped his tail, scenting the air and probably dinner given his lolling tongue.
"Shikamaru?"
One arm curved securely around a carrier-crate, Shikamaru blinked from his glazed stare when a hand touched his shoulder. The Nara glanced up distractedly as a shadow fell across him. Chōji's eyes creased in a smile.
"Barbecue's on me, buddy," the Akimichi grinned. "Or maybe Asuma-sensei when he hears the good news."
The mention of Asuma had the gears in Shikamaru's head shifting and he veered down the safest and most important route. Avoidance.
"Yeah, maybe later." Shikamaru shrugged the hand off his shoulder subtly, using the movement to grip the side of the wagon and heave himself up. "I need to do the mission reports."
Chōji's expression clouded with confusion, then concern. "Shikamaru…"
"Well look what the horse dragged in!" a voice shouted across from the registry post by the gates. "Nara Shikamaru, what kinda death threat did the Hokage make for you to sign up to the—hey!"
"That's classified, Kotetsu," Izumo scolded and jerked his elbow away from his friend's ribs, raising the same arm and hand to hail the team. "Hey!"
Shikamaru frowned and hopped off the wagon, strolling over to the table while Lee, Chōji and Kiba began to unload the cargo. He flicked his gaze between Kotetsu and Izumo, not liking the mischief in the former's gaze.
Great.
Kotetsu cut a knowing, troublesome smile, one that dared Shikamaru to call his unspoken bluff. Playing the avoidance game with Asuma was one thing, but playing it with these two would have grated on the Nara's last nerve, if it hadn't been ground numb already.
Shikamaru smoothed out his frown and turned to Izumo. "Returning from an A-Rank," he said, clipped and quiet. "Successful."
"That's good news. Congratulations," Izumo said, shuffling through papers to search for the correct mission spec.
"Yeah, congratulations," Kotetsu drawled with a needling smirk, rubbing his sore ribs, feet propped up on the table.
Shikamaru sank his weight onto his left foot and shot the elder Chūnin a crafted look of boredom. He had absolutely no interest in finding out how the hell these two were privy to his involvement with the Nijū Shōtai. Provided they didn't know why, he had more pressing things to worry about.
As Izumo rummaged through a box under the table, Kotetsu's eyes remained fixed on the shadow-nin, glinting with a hint of conspiracy. "Did she punch you through a wall or something? Because that would motivate me. And that's hard to do."
Shikamaru didn't blink.
Kotetsu tilted his head, looking for a clue. "Or maybe Asuma-senpai gnawed on your ass a bit, right?"
"Ha! Here it is." Izumo swept his arm across the table, unrolling the scroll in a very deliberate and rather exaggerated move that knocked Kotetsu's feet, effectively forcing the other ninja to shut up and bicycle his arms to keep his chair balanced.
"Shit!"
"Leave the kid alone, Kotetsu," Izumo said, running the end of his pen along the lines of information scrawled out, skim-reading. "Hanegakure, right?"
"Yeah…"
"Hn…" Izumo paused, cocked his head and slanted a glance past Shikamaru, frowning as he stabbed his pen towards the wagon. "Uh Shikamaru, it says here it was a two squad mission of eight shinobi."
The shadow-nin shoved his hands into his pockets, nodding as the lie rolled off his tongue. "Neji's heading a side-op with Sakura and Hinata."
"Side-op?" Izumo checked the notes and scribbled in an annotation. "That wasn't part of the mission, right? Something go wrong?"
A strained look pulled hard at the corners of Shikamaru's eyes, but he covered the slip by turning his head to glance over his shoulder, feigning interest in the unloading of the wagon.
"Neji's the Jōnin," he said quietly, shrugging as he glanced back. "It's not my problem."
Izumo pressed his lips, humming. "Still, you'd best inform the Hoka—"
"Oh man, you're so by-the-book," Kotetsu yawned, regaining his balance as he edged his crossed heels onto a tiny spit of space at the very corner of the desk. "Give him a break, he just got back."
Izumo shot his friend an exasperated glare, but rolled up the scroll all the same. He handed it over to Shikamaru, tapping it into the Nara's open palm. "Yeah, guess Hyūga can fill in the blanks when he returns. Welcome back."
"Yeah, we'll be seein' ya." Kotetsu grinned with secret amusement.
Shikamaru arched a brow. "Okay…"
"Count on it." Kotetsu winked and hooked his thumb under the bandage striped across his nose, pointing his index at Shikamaru like a weapon. "Sooner than you think."
Izumo sighed. "Oh give it a rest, Kotetsu."
The shadow-nin glanced between them but didn't take the bait, much to Kotetsu's chagrin. He really didn't want to know. Turning, he slotted the scroll away and lengthened his strides back to the wagon, gaining speed to reach it before Kiba could peek inside the crate punched through with holes.
"I still don't get why you won't show us this thing," the dog-nin said, tapping his knuckles against the crate. "Why'd you even want it?"
The Nara hooked his foot into one of the toeholds and reached over the side of the cart, getting a grip on the crate to heft it carefully into his possession. "Wanna be useful, Inuzuka? Get someone to deal with the horse."
Kiba gave a long-suffering sigh, mock-saluting. "Still giving orders? Man, when did you become dedicated?" The Inuzuka chuckled. "You might make Jōnin yet, Shikamaru."
Shikamaru shot the Inuzuka a sharp look, but abruptly looked away. Getting uncharacteristically snappy wouldn't serve his cause – which was to draw as little attention as possible. He turned to Chōji as Lee swept up several backpacks and Kiba got a grip on the reins, leading the mare away.
"Want me to help you out?" Chōji offered, nodding to the crate.
Shikamaru adjusted his grip gingerly and shook his head. "Nah. Go relax. I'll catch you later."
He turned to walk away, but the Akimichi's voice stopped him short.
"It wasn't your fault, you know. What happened with Neji."
Strange, that didn't sound like such a lie coming from someone else.
Shikamaru's breath shivered from his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut then snapped them open to stare ahead. Tension held the moment captive, keeping him shackled to the spot as he tried to work out a response. He parted his lips to speak, but the rush of dialogue wanting to push up his throat felt too dangerous; maybe because it was the truth.
He struggled to find a lie.
He couldn't. Suddenly, the bullshit just wouldn't come.
"Funny," he said, not sounding amused at all and more like he needed to clear his throat. "You told me the same thing three years ago."
"Pay attention then, lazy ass," Chōji joked weakly, a heavy concern playing beneath his humour. "You can't predict everything, Shikamaru."
Yeah, not when it matters the most anyway…
The bitter irony kicked up one corner of Shikamaru's mouth and he shook his head, his arm tightening around the cargo he hadn't let anyone near. He swallowed roughly, forcing his voice into some semblance of its usual drawl.
"Go and relax, Chōji."
Chōji took a moment to reply. "Ino's gonna ask where you are. What do you want me to tell her?"
I don't know…
Fresh out of lies, Shikamaru gently hefted the crate, which suddenly felt a hell of a lot heavier than it had a few moments ago.
"Whatever works," he said.
When Chōji didn't reply, what worked right then was to walk away. So he did, moving down the amber-washed paths of Konoha's sidewalks, casting a shadow that threw itself so far ahead it might as well have slipped away.

The world returned in pieces; a memory at a time.
Fragments of voices, places, sounds and faces and then a name that made everything else fade to black.
Shikamaru…
Instantly, the memories turned sharp and cutting, slicing through delirium and dream. Reality tore down the wall between his will and his weakness, firing up sluggish nerve-endings with a different kind of heat, a fire more potent than the fever.
You…bastard…
Cracks formed in the darkness, lucidity trickling through as his mind fought the grip of black until his will to live was screaming stronger than the fleeting desire to let it all go.
NO.
A rush that felt like adrenalin exploded through him.
Like a chakra-pulse deep in his core.
Rage.
The force of it slammed him through the fog, through the fever and into feeling.
Neji jack-knifed awake.
His eyes snapped open, flashing hotter and brighter than lightning.
He struck just as fast without realising it.
A soft gasp of pain sounded to his left.
Bursts of clarity and confusion rattled through him and sitting bolt-upright on the futon, he panted raggedly, trembling. The grind of bones drew his focus to the wrist caught in his shaking grip. It was delicate, pale and finely boned, the slim fingers tipped with the soft curve of unmistakeably feminine nails.
Where…am I?
He flicked fierce eyes up to the pale ones staring back at him and the rage sucked into a knot in his gut, coiling like a viper of blue-white chakra, hissing and winding tighter, weighing up whether or not to strike.
"Neji-niisan…?"
Neji blinked.
Hinata…?
The rage evaporated.
A backlash of confusion tumbled through Neji's head, dulling the edges of his mind and clouding his eyes a little.
Hinata…
His grip softened immediately and then fell away completely. Nausea churned inside him, rode up his throat then back down again.
"Neji…" The backs of Hinata's fingers touched his brow, cool and gentle.
Neji jerked his head on reflex and scanned the room through wide, unfocused eyes, his muscles pulled taut as he held himself upright. A horrible confusion rippled through him, threatening to pull him back into the void. He fought it with a scowl, shaking his head against the dizziness.
No.
He didn't hear Hinata calling for Sakura. Even the door slotting back only registered in some distant, vacant part of his mind picking up on the peripheral activity. He didn't sense the pink-haired kunoichi beside him, checking his pulse and dabbing the cold sweat from his face and neck while Hinata's Byakugan eyes scanned his chest.
"The fever's breaking."
"Neji-niisan?"
He offered no response, his focus fixed ahead, tunnelling in a blinkered view to the only point of clarity his jumbled mind could process. And he could only process it because it sank like a blade of ice into his heart.
Betrayal.
Neji blinked, a fleeting look of pain passing across his eyes like smoke – only to lose itself to the simmer of a burning anger just heartbeats behind.
Nara.

The foliage crunched like rust beneath Shikamaru's feet, a carpet of red and brown that blanketed the Nara forest. Wood smoke drifted on the breeze and wove between the trees, hanging in the slots of copper-coloured light spearing through the canopies.
Not far.
Exhausted, Shikamaru trudged his steps along an overgrown path, the crate now held in both hands, his feet navigating a route that he'd idled down often enough as a kid, until making Genin had taken priority over tending sick fawns.
Shikaku had hacked out the path for him years ago, roping his five-year-old son into assisting with the 'mission'. Yoshino had given them both a good henpecking for it when Shikamaru had returned looking like he'd gone a few rounds with a nettle patch.
The nettle patch had won.
Shikaku hadn't gotten a scratch.
"Now you'll remember to stay sharper than the thorns, kid."
Shikaku had always found a uniquely troublesome way of making a point. Several of those points had been literal thorns that a five-year-old Shikamaru had spent the worst half of the night bawling about.
But he'd learned the lesson – and several others as Shikaku had cleaned him up and educated him in a lazy, roundabout way on the properties of the nettle, why this particular species stung like hell and why it was important to keep the plant in the forest.
To torment your kids…
Now, as Shikamaru raised his feet to step atop the heart-shaped and serrated leaves, he made a point to grind his feet. Not that he'd admit to holding a grudge against a stupid plant.
After some creative footwork over some mossy ground, the shadow-nin picked his way to the end of the trail, setting the crate down as he came to a corral that had once been used to nurse sick fawns. The pen had the advantage of a roof and was fenced in right to the top. More of a planked-up hut. It had held up surprisingly well, considering the negligence suffered.
No choice but this.
Shikamaru slid aside the splintered bolt and eased open the fence, shuffling in sideways with the crate tucked against his body. A weak squawk filtered through the air holes, more of a croak. The shadow-nin set the crate down in the centre of the hut, turning a small circle as he glanced around, his feet scuffing straw and hay with the movement. He'd need to get some fresh bales up here to insulate and cushion the place out a bit.
What the hell was I thinking…?
Clearly, he hadn't been thinking at all when he'd considered giving himself just one more problem to deal with. Hibari had been surprised by the request, but thankfully hadn't questioned the shadow-nin as to his reasons. Shikamaru didn't even want to know why he'd 'cashed in a favour' that brought nothing but more effort and more trouble.
Maybe he'd developed a penchant for punishing himself.
As if eerily aware of his thoughts, another weak and disgruntled squawk sounded from the crate. Shikamaru stepped over and crouched down to work the lock on the lid. The second he slotted the wood back, a bald and wretched looking wing smacked out in a panic.
"Ssh. Take it easy," Shikamaru murmured, laying his palm atop the opening as the wing battered back and forth. "Easy…"
His words didn't have their intended effect, serving to agitate the sick bird as it struggled and scrambled. Shikamaru waited it out patiently, murmuring quiet words to soothe the frantic panic, hoping it would subside even if it didn't altogether stop.
"Easy…" he whispered. "Stop fighting…"
The bird didn't stop, it flapped its ruined mocha wings, putting up the same valiant fight it had against its captivity the first time Shikamaru had seen it. Desperate and clawing, the screech of its struggles grew louder. The sounds pulled a pinch to the Nara's eyes and a rock to his throat, forcing him to swallow hard.
"Stop…" he rasped, gritting his teeth. "Stop fighting…"
Ignoring his hoarse chant, the bird screeched shrilly, tearing at the blanket cushioning its prison, turning circles in a pointless rotation that only tangled it up.
Shikamaru's hands started to shake. "Stop…"
The bird swivelled a golden eye up towards him, flapping brokenly as it let out a sharp, piercing cry that knifed into a place where he had no more defences.
"Please…" Shikamaru's voice broke – along with something else inside him.
And the pain came so damn fast he couldn't stop it.
The bird screamed.
"STOP!" He slammed the lid across, thudded his elbows onto the edge of the crate and buried his head in his hands, a choked sound tearing out of his throat.
Another followed, louder, rattling his entire body with the force of holding it in.
His crouch folded and he sagged to his knees, fingers gnarled against his hairline, the hot scald of tears leaking from his eyes and burning along the lean angles of his face. His expression twisted against the onslaught of sadness. It was suffocating in its grip and it wrung his heart mercilessly, squeezing the tears from him like sour blood.
Torn wings continued to beat within the crate, talons scratching at the wood as weak squawks filtered miserably through the air holes.
Please…
Shikamaru dropped his head between his elbows and raked his fingers back until they laced behind his head, gripping until his knuckles blanched. He tightened his arms around his skull as if he could crack it open and unleash the thoughts, the memories and the words that wouldn't stop – over and over.
Stop…
The tears traced silently down his face, eyes squeezed shut against the aching pain that swelled in his chest until his ribs heaved with the strain of bearing it.
Outside, the deep bellow of a stag rolled long and low into the falling twilight.

Three hours later, Shikamaru let himself into his house, desperate to fall across his bed and into a dreamless sleep. With several mission reports lodged under one arm and a book on avian medicine in his hand, he toed off his sandals at the threshold, not bothering to switch on the lights.
Not that he had to.
They were already on in the kitchen and the second he shut the door an abrupt silence followed a pause in conversation – or more accurately, his mother's voice.
"Shikamaru?"
Shit…
The young Nara hesitated, closed his eyes and called over his shoulder, his voice croaking out. "You're back."
The scrape of chair legs was followed by the silhouette of his mother falling across the floor just seconds before she popped her head around the doorway, squinting in the dark.
"Perhaps we should have sent someone ahead in advance, young man, have you seen the state of this house?" Yoshino muttered, shaking her head before she ducked back into the kitchen then reappeared with the vase of Ino's withered flowers held out and away from her. "And what on earth happened to these? They haven't been watered in days."
Shikamaru remained at the threshold, looking over at the shrivelled stems and feeling twice as dried up inside. His expression remained masked by shadow, face barely caressed by the moonlight slotting in through the windows. He kept his distance from his mother; the prospect of an earful from her was in no way inviting.
"I was on a mission," he said quietly. "Just got back."
Yoshino's brows shot to her hairline, flowers forgotten. "Oh?" She cocked her hip against the doorframe, her tone shifting. "This late? Have you eaten?"
Shikamaru lowered his gaze and shrugged, the only response he could manage. He suddenly wasn't sure which would be harder or easier to take, her concern or her carping.
"Shikamaru?"
"Yeah, I ate…"
Yoshino frowned, an uncertain look coming to her dark eyes. "Well don't stand way over there, come in here and tell us about this mission."
"I'm beat," Shikamaru said so suddenly he almost cut her off. "I just wanna crash, alright?"
Yoshino perched the vase of dead flowers on her hip and tilted her head with a mild look of reproach, her dark brows curving upward again. Shikamaru didn't budge, remaining inscrutable in the shadows, countering his mother by not confronting her at all.
"Shikamaru…" Shikaku's voice rumbled softly from inside the kitchen, followed by the crackle of newspaper and the thud of a mug being set down. "Come here."
Shikamaru's stomach dropped.
He shuttered his eyes, trying to arrange his face into some semblance of a convincing mask even if he couldn't work out the words to back it up. He slotted the avian medicine book under his arm with the papers and tucked his hands into the pockets of his Chūnin pants, moving over with a sigh.
Avoiding his mother's gaze, he didn't notice her dark eyes flicking over him in an abrupt and automatic search for injury. Stepping the other side of her, Shikamaru braced his arm against the wall and lowered his shuttered eyes to the table.
"Yeah?"
Shikaku's thumb tapped against a black mug, steam wafting up in wreaths. The rich aroma of coffee saturated the air like the tension Shikamaru assumed only he was emitting. His father held off answering long enough to force the young Nara to raise his gaze. The second he did, Shikamaru expected to be met with the razor eyes he'd inherited.
To his immense relief – and belated suspicion –he found that his father's dark orbs were cast down, scanning the newspaper spread across the table. Shikamaru watched him carefully, monitoring his father's movements the way he expected Shikaku to be monitoring him at any given second without appearing to.
"So…" Shikaku's mouth curved at one corner, his whiskey-hoarse voice rolling steam across the rim of his mug as he raised it to his lips. "How'd it go?"
"Yeah, it went fine," Shikamaru cast a longing glance toward the direction of his bedroom, avoiding his mother's gaze. "Successful."
Shikaku hummed, nodding as he slowly turned a page, not looking up. "No complications?"
"No," Shikamaru sighed, his patience cut to the quick, his nerves still too raw to take the topic of the mission. He closed his eyes, trying to make it look tired rather than pained, muttering with minimal effort. "Can I catch that nap now?"
"Shikamaru," Yoshino scolded, brushing past to set the vase on the counter, making the mistake of opening the fridge. "Kami! You'd think we were cultivating fungus. Shikamaru did something die in here?"
Shikamaru's jaw twitched, his eyes flicking rapidly between his parents, trying to decide which one he'd need to fend off first and how to go about doing it. His mind churned out possibilities but in his exhaustion they slipped like smoke through his mental fingers. He just couldn't get a grip.
His lack of response drew his father into the arena.
Shikaku flicked his eyes up.
Shikamaru tensed against the wall like he'd been physically shoved.
"This waste is atrocious…" Yoshino was saying, examining sell-by dates. "This will all need to go."
Shikamaru picked up three words from her last line, the only ones that didn't escape his brain as he struggled to hold his father's gaze.
Need to go…?
Hell, he needed to go, somewhere, anywhere – fast. He pressed a little more into the wall, as if it might cave and bury him as he fought the urge not to turn tail and do the vanishing act.
Calm down…
He drew a quiet breath through his nose.
Across the table, Shikaku turned another page of his newspaper and lowered his mug a fraction, observing his son from beneath a deceptively relaxed sweep of his lashes. To the untrained eye, it would have looked casual. Shikamaru knew better. He controlled himself with a lazy shrug, but apparently Shikaku was too long in the tooth to be fooled by his chameleon act.
The elder Nara stopped mid-way into turning the next page, raising his head.
His eyes turned a little sharper around the edges.
Fuck.
Shikamaru looked away, then back, then to Yoshino.
The weight of his father's shrewd gaze joined forces with his mother's running commentary on the contents of the fridge. Bombarded from both sides, the tension slammed a concentrated kind of pressure into his head, the strain cracking into his expression.
God he was so tired.
"Go catch that nap," Shikaku said, dropping his eyes back to his newspaper.
Yoshino, cut off mid-sentence, peered over the fridge door. "What?"
Shikamaru blinked nervously and shot his father a narrow glance out the corner of his eye, searching for a reason his old man would risk going against his mother when she was fully prepared to fight her corner; there was no mistaking her glare as a forecast of doom.
"Oh and I suppose all this will magically disappear then?" Yoshino posed with sing-song sarcasm, plucking out a container that looked like it was stuffed with cotton wool as the mould fuzzed against the plastic. She held it up to state her case.
Shikaku turned another page, not looking up. "Well done with the mission, kid."
Shikamaru's throat tightened.
Yoshino shot her husband a sidelong glare. "Does that suggest that you're going to assist me with this mission?" she stabbed a finger into the fridge, not appreciating the fact that she had to come home to a fungal infestation.
Shikaku cocked his head up towards his wife, held her gaze for an intense moment and smiled a slow, lazy smile that crept warmly into his eyes. Yoshino shot him a withering scowl, refusing to be drawn in.
"Shikaku," she warned, raising the container threateningly.
The elder Nara smirked, then shot his son a look. "Go make yourself scarce."
"Whatever," Shikamaru murmured, too tired to roll his eyes, forcing his voice with an effort that physically hurt. "Night."
He took the exit his father had given him, lengthening his strides in a smooth escape.
"Shikamaru!" Yoshino huffed and made to stalk after him, armed with the mouldy container and more than ready to hold him culpable for domestic crimes.
Shikaku reached out as she brushed past, his fingers stroking along his wife's wrist to capture her hand and tug her towards him as he rose up out of his seat in a sway, pulling her back against the wall of his chest almost playfully.
"Tomorrow, not tonight."
"Shikaku," she growled.
Shikaku draped an arm casually around her waist while simultaneously offering no escape as he set his chin on her shoulder. "Let the kid be."
Yoshino's frown tightened and she made to smack him with the container. "Have you seen the state of the—"
"Yoshino," he rolled her name out softly against the shell of her ear, with the barest thread of insistence weaving beneath his hoarse tones. "Let the kid be."
Something in his tone stilled her instantly. She turned her head, concern flickering across her forest brown eyes. Shikaku blinked slowly and brushed a kiss across her temple.
"Tomorrow," he murmured.
Yoshino turned her softening eyes toward their son's room.
Shikaku said nothing more. He didn't need to.

The breeze woke him; cold evening fingers stroking along his torso in a whisper.
Fingers…?
Neji snapped awake, gasping as his body tightened against the instinctive urge to lash out at the unseen threat; a threat that resolved itself into no more than the wind across his skin.
Cool and soothing.
Neji blinked, moonstone eyes clouded with confusion before they cleared a little. As foggy as his senses were, reality had gained some definition around its blurry edges. Over the past few hours the swimming faces and muffled voices had become clearer.
With this clarity had come the sharpening of other details.
He knew the embolisms were gone, the chakra plugs dissolved – his body was healing, yet he felt raw inside. The physical pain paled, as usual, in comparison to the discomfort tightening in his throat and behind his ribs. The same kind of grief he hadn't known what to do with two months ago other than stop it the only way he'd known how.
Not that it mattered now, because sitting deeper in his core, overshadowing the sadness, was the fury.
Coiled and dormant.
Waiting.
Neji drew a slow breath, feeling it stagger from his lips.
He turned his head against the pillow, scenting a subtle fragrance of herbs and the strong spice of ginger. Blinking against the urge to let his eyes slip shut, he let his gaze drift across to the open shoji door. Milky light filtered through, slotting into the dark room to fall across his chest. Craning his neck, he could catch a glimpse of the moon's pale disc hanging against a satin black sky.
The soft sound of footfalls redirected his attention.
His eyes shifted down from one pale orb to the two that watched him.
"Neji-niisan?"
Neji blinked heavily. "Hinata-sama," he acknowledged, frowning at the rasp in his normally melodic tones.
Hinata edged into the room, her pace drawn out as hesitantly as the look on her face; fragile and uncertain. It would be easy to use such things against her. For once, he could use his words to cause more damage to her heart than his Gentle Fist ever had. But watching her now, Neji possessed no desire to hurt her. Because she was still the open book she'd always been. No deception, no lines to read between. Just honest, open emotion.
There was no lie in her eyes.
Unlike you, Nara.
Neji's jaw tightened, but his voice softened when he spoke.
"I cannot harm you," he murmured, working the chords in his throat with effort, "and I've no desire to…even if I could."
Hinata paused, her eyes on the floor. "But I—"
"I told you…not to lower your eyes..." Neji said, the corners of his mouth twitching weakly. "Although…I suppose I'm lacking...my usual advantage of height…"
His humour threw her, so unexpected and sudden that for a long moment she stared numbly at her hands. Then she raised her eyes with a jolt. "You…you aren't angry?"
Neji's expression smoothed to the likeness of stone and his gaze strayed away from her. He stared silently at some indistinguishable point in the darkest corner of the room.
Was he angry?
Anger seemed so simple. What lay dormant inside him did not feel the least bit simple. Whatever it was, it remained in direct proportion to his ability to act on it. At this moment, that wasn't an option. And the fever had sapped the energy required to be frustrated about it. Not that he thought he would be.
No. He felt dangerously, dangerously calm.
Maybe that calm came from a sense of understanding and certainty.
The understanding that something was biding its time inside of him…and the certainty of knowing that this time around, it was an emotion he had no intention of repressing.

"If you ask me to stop, I might have to kill you…"
Teeth scraped along his throat, bruising the tight chords which tensed and ached with the urge to swallow, speak, shout. He couldn't. He couldn't draw air and he couldn't release it.
He couldn't breathe.
A hand closed around his neck, pale fingers tightening as they closed, crushed, choked.
"If this kills you, Shikamaru, it'll be the best way to go…"
A ghostly pale face, lips stained blue, gauntly carved features dominated by opal eyes filled with cold, bitter torment.
"You killed me…before this could…"
Shikamaru pitched himself awake, his arm swinging out to ward off the grip of a phantom that wasn't there. His hand scythed through the air and he followed the movement, almost flipping himself over as he jolted upright.
"Shit…" he whispered, passing a hand across his face and around to the back of his neck to get a familiar grip on his nape.
The air tore in and out of his lungs in ragged gasps, his skin glistening with a fine sheen. He blinked his eyes wide, scanning the dark room, his brain firing up to catalogue every shadow until they resolved into familiar shapes.
Dream…
Swallowing, he sank back down on his bed, bracketing his brow between his thumb and fingers, pressing hard. It took his heart a moment to find its rhythm, his chest rising and falling in gentle heaves.
He ground his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut.
A shrill whistle of deer calls cut into the night, followed by the deeper bark of a stag.
Home.
Shikamaru dropped his hand, lifted his lashes and stared hard at the slot of moonlight reflected across the ceiling, watching the play of blue-white hues as clouds wafted across the glowing sphere outside.
But it was the soft click beside the bed that drew his gaze.
The numbers on the clock winked.
4:00 AM

He witnessed the sunrise a shade at a time.
The room grew lighter by degrees, the milky hues surrendering to the soft caress of a red dawn, like blood across the sky.
Shikamaru rolled over, facing away from the window to settle his gaze on the stupid clock that mocked time and messed with his mind, giving an illusion of minutes pulled into hours.
He blinked slowly and settled onto his stomach, burying his face into the crook of his arm with a sigh that sloughed from deep in his lungs. He wasn't sure how long he lay there, his mind churning as he struggled to shut it down before it jump-started itself along a mental route he was too exhausted to follow.
At some point he managed to drift into a light doze.
Until the raucous sound of Asuma's laughter had his head jerking up in a start.
Asuma…?
Squinting, the young Nara twisted around, tangling himself in the sheets as he shot a narrow glance at the clock.
10:00 AM.
Crap…
Shikamaru kicked the sheets away, swung his feet to the floor and rose up in a sway that almost had him pitching into his Shogi table. Coordination was slower to kick-start than his brain. It took him a moment to orient himself with the forces of physics.
Move…forward…
His body obeyed after a moment, turning him in the direction of the door, which he gravitated towards very slowly. He cracked it open, cocking his head to catch the drift of voices carrying down the hallway.
Asuma's baritone rumbled along the walls, followed by the smoky drift of his father's voice.
He listened out for his mother but couldn't detect her.
Weighing the possibilities of how far he could inch along the hallway without getting caught, Shikamaru abandoned his room and slid along the corridor, plastered to the wall like a shadow.
"—haven't beat him once," Asuma was saying, the scent of smoke reaching Shikamaru at the same time as his sensei's words. "Good thing I didn't bet money on that either."
Shikaku's chuckle was muffled into ceramic. Then the sound of a mug hitting the counter had Shikamaru straightening against the wall.
"But the Nijū Shōtai wasn't a move I thought he'd take," Asuma said, pausing to suck in a breath of air - or ash.
"And that concerns you?"
Shikamaru slanted a little and watched a thin line of smoke drift from the dining area, counting the seconds until his sensei responded.
"I don't know. But you must be proud of him."
Shikaku hummed. "I am."
Shikamaru blinked at that, an odd feeling curdling in his gut – like guilt and gratitude twisting together into a complicated, troublesome knot. He shot a glance back down along the hallway, contemplating creeping back towards his room.
"I didn't even have to push him," Asuma said, sounding more disconcerted than relieved.
"Saves me a henpecking from Yoshino, either way."
"You know why he did it?"
"I don't need to know why." Shikaku's mug came down again. "Not the case for you, hnm?"
Asuma gave a short laugh too tight to be genuine. "Yeah, it's driving me nuts. I'm tempted to grill him."
Shikamaru thudded his head back against the wall, mouthing a curse.
Shit…
Asuma chewing his damned tail was the last thing he needed. It was hard enough evading his father, who could scent bullshit a mile off. With Asuma it was a hassle because Shikamaru felt a nauseating sense of guilt when it came to lying to his sensei. With his parents, being evasive and creative with the truth was part and parcel of family dynamics. But with Asuma, Shikamaru always felt like he was betraying him.
It should be easy. You're good at betraying people.
Shikamaru clenched his jaw against the self-inflicted censure.
Not like it isn't true.
Not wanting to deal with the direction his thoughts were heading, or eavesdrop on a conversation that would only push him further down that road, he immediately turned himself back towards his room, missing the tail-end of the conversation.
"I'm surprised you haven't grilled him already," Shikaku said, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. "Not like you."
Asuma ducked his head sheepishly and held up a hand to avoid an imagined toe-stepping. "Hey, I respect that I'm not his father."
Shikaku arched a brow at that, privately amused at Asuma's attempt to play down his obvious concern for the kid. "And I'm not his sensei. You're more important to him than you know, Sarutobi."
Asuma inclined his head and glanced at his cigarette, tapping ash into a tray. A soft plume streamed from his nose, fondness touching his expression in a crooked smile. He raised the cigarette back to his mouth and hooked his lip over in another moment's contemplation before taking a deep drag.
"He's a good kid," he murmured, a deep-seated pride rolling through his voice like the smoke from his lips.
"Yeah, I didn't do too bad, did I?"
"No. You didn't."
Shikaku smiled a little, his sage eyes turning towards the hallway. "I'll tell him you were here."
Asuma resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder. Instead, he crushed out his cigarette in a neat twist against the side of the tray, rising up out the chair. "Thanks. Give my regards to Yoshino."
Shikaku chuckled low in his throat, swirling the dregs of his coffee. "And have my woman lecture me about your health, Sarutobi?"
With a mock expression of innocence, Asuma shook another cigarette free and dangled it from his lip without lighting it, saluting Shikaku with the packet as he turned a relaxed step toward the door, slotting one hand into his pocket.
Back to the grindstone.
A mental checklist pulled itself up, mostly revolving around Kotetsu's bothersome questions regarding his student. What bothered him more was the fact that he couldn't supply an answer, not that he'd have disclosed the information even if he'd known.
Which he didn't.
What's going on in that head of yours, Shikamaru?
Asuma halted at the threshold, needing a kick of nicotine to tackle this mystery. He plucked out his lighter and flipped the lid in a click that caught a flame.
Then something caught his eye, stopping him short.
The flame paused just shy of his cigarette.
Shikamaru's flak-jacket hung from a peg by the door. The left side had a tear across the shoulder, like the scissoring stab of a blade. The tear indicated a bisecting slash towards the heart.
Asuma's eyes narrowed and his bistre orbs flickered bronze in the lick of flame.
He flipped the lighter shut with a snap.
Pocketing it, he slotted the cigarette away and tugged open the door with a frown.
He knew his next port of call.
Chōji.
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Break to Breathe