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Break to Breathe	By : Okami-Rayne Category: Naruto > Yaoi - Male/Male > Shikamaru/Neji Views: 1958 -:- 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
- 43
- 44
- 45
BREAK TO BREATHE

by Okami Rayne

Chapter Forty Four

[Dedicated to Kuroda Miharu]
The sharp crack of antlers shattered the pre-dawn quiet.
Shikamaru froze, his body stilling in a single ripple.
The deep, warning barks of one of the stags pulled into a bellow; a sound that echoed hoarsely into the blue-white mists still hanging between the trees. The shadow-nin crouched low and waited for the answering bark. None came, just the rustle of ferns and foliage as deer dashed from the site of the skirmish.
Shikamaru listened a little longer, flipping a sickle over in his hands.
He turned his head as a young stag bolted from the mists, juddering to a proud halt at the bottom of the trail when it glimpsed the flick of the sickle. Shikamaru stopped spinning the blade. The stag quivered tensely on the spot, wreathes of vapour streaming from its flaring nostrils.
Shikamaru hummed quietly and turned the blade away.
The stag stamped once, swinging its head in an aggressive weave.
Shikamaru frowned at the display.
The young buck was still in velvet, its antlers not yet calcified beneath the soft tissue. The animal gave another belligerent stamp and ducked its head as if intending to charge. Unthreatened, Shikamaru whistled softly and watched the stag's ears twitch towards him as it halted its bold and defiant show, confused at the lack of fear it was provoking.
"Troublemaker," Shikamaru muttered, his lip quirking upwards at the soft snort this earned him. "Nice try."
The stag's nostrils twitched and it reluctantly nosed its way up along the path, sniffing and snorting at Shikamaru's ponytail. The young Nara remained perfectly still and perfectly calm, only tilting his head away when the buck threatened to nibble his spiky strands.
He waved a hand to ward off the animal, reaching out grudgingly to scratch it on the muzzle when it refused to be shooed. "Troublesome."
Indulging in the attention, the stag hovered a little longer and lipped the flap of Shikamaru's backpack, searching for shika sembei. The shadow-nin snorted and reached into his pack; the habit of carrying the rice crackers was second nature to any Nara walking the forests.
"Here, now go away," Shikamaru grumbled, affectionately scratching the deer's neck as it munched on the biscuit, turning itself about to graze back down along the slope.
Shikamaru continued up the trail instead, heading for the planked up hut, hacking at the nettles to clear some semblance of a path. In a few weeks, the sounds of crashing antlers would fill the Nara forest as the rutting season stirred blood and instinct in the stags. They were already growing restless, ready to battle it out for the rights to the finest harem.
It was instinct; an uncomplicated and natural design.
Funny how the single case of blood-stirring instinct in Shikamaru's life had turned out to be a natural disaster. For four days, he'd wrestled with the chaos that Neji had woken up inside him. He'd thrown logic at it from every angle but nothing would subdue it. It was exhausting trying to figure it out. He just ended up drawing more blood from a wound he kept trying to ignore.
His current attempt to ignore it was the task at hand.
Yeah, stellar job, genius.
Reaching the enclosure, Shikamaru lodged the sickle into the ground and pulled back the bolt to the door. He eased it open a centimetre at a time, anticipating an attack.
He wasn't taking any chances.
He'd spoken with a vet, but relied on the avian medicine book for the most part.
After padding the place out with straw and hay bales, he'd managed to create a warmer and securer haven for the bird. He'd even constructed the illusion of trees by hauling driftwood and branches into the hut, creating a habitat to encourage activity as well as provide recuperation.
He stole a glance into the pen and scanned the upper levels he'd created, searching for the bird. A weak squawk drew his focus down. Down to the bundle of haggard looking feathers tucked into one corner of the dark enclosure. Shikamaru squinted, then his eyes softened a little.
"Still not off the ground, huh?" the shadow-nin murmured, closing the door behind him as he inched further into the pen.
The bird shuffled weakly, wings arching then folding uselessly at its sides. It didn't look like it had the energy to attack, but he'd made that mistake before.
"Gonna try and take my eyes out again?" he said quietly, keeping his tones soft and calm as he stepped towards the untouched food he'd laid out. "Damn."
Golden orbs surveyed him warily, wings twitching, a cracked beak emitting a soft screech. In such a sorry state, it was hard to determine what the hell kind of species of bird it was. Shikamaru had pinned it as a falcon or kestrel, hedging his bets on the former given the size.
"Whatever you are, you're a pain in the ass," Shikamaru grumbled, crouching down to carefully fill the water tray and set out a fresh container of minced meat saturated and softened with medicine. "I'm not gonna hand feed you."
Given the bird's attempts to claw his face off, it set the ground rules for their interaction. Distance. Treating the bird's sores had been hell. Shikamaru hadn't been able to follow through with the first attempt to hold the bird down with his jutsu. It had torn open the tender scab across his heart.
He'd given it a day. Then he'd tried again.
The second attempt had been successful and he'd steeled himself against the struggling and shrill sounds, focusing solely on what he'd had to do. A good two hours later, he'd tended to the wounds, force-fed the screeching animal and left it to recuperate.
The worst part was over.
The bird had stopped feather picking after he'd started to spray it with remedial water, forcing the animal to focus on cleansing its remaining plumes rather than tearing them out.
In four days he'd made a lot of progress, all things considered.
If he hadn't been doing this, he'd have been pacing the floors in his room until he'd torn the skin from his feet. No news from Sakura and Hinata had set him on an edge he couldn't walk without teetering into a realm of possibilities he didn't want to consider. Waking up at 4 AM didn't help and no matter how exhausted he felt, this insane pattern was literally like clockwork.
He couldn't escape it.
So he'd get up and tend to the bird, slip back into the house around 6 AM and sleep until something forced him to move; usually his mother on the warpath. He hadn't had to lie to anyone yet. He'd just got creative in avoiding questions – and certain individuals.
Asuma still hadn't managed to find him.
Chōji had given him a head's up on his sensei's mission to track him down. With this information at hand, Shikamaru had managed to coordinate his movements into a structured schedule that always put him a place where Asuma wasn't. Each time, it was crafted in such a subtle way that it always seemed coincidental. The Hokage was his contingency plan, but so far, all his moves could be verified, all his alibis legitimate and all his reasons sound.
It was an impressive avoidance plan.
It was perfectly executed.
It was believable.
It was flawless.
Shame then, that Asuma knew it was a load of shit.

Peace.
The sound of it resonated deep in the throats of the praying monks, an eerie chant that thrummed in the bones and caused the body to hum.
Breathe.
Neji closed his eyes and let the deep melody direct the pace of his movements. His palms sifted through the crisp morning air at graceful turns that the rest of his body followed effortlessly and smoothly, his entire frame shifting in perfect coordination. He moved like a single muscle, the ripple in one motion spreading outwards in perfect synch to reach every limb.
The coordination was flawless, with only the barest quiver along his left arm.
He felt the flow of energy through his tenketsu like a tingle of adrenaline.
No blocks tightened in his chakra network, no pain stabbed into his chest or lanced his lungs. There was only the soft sensation of a current, like a breeze through his veins, cool and gentle, eradicating the memory of the fever.
In four days, the peaceful aura of the shukubo had been more conducive to his body's healing than any medical facility. The Temple retreat had provided escape into a borrowed peace; not his own, but enough to deceive him into believing that the rage coiled dormant inside him wasn't there.
For now.
He missed a beat in his movement, hesitating.
Focus.
Re-centring himself in the gentle kata, Neji closed the slow dance of his movements in a sweeping dip that looked as if he'd shaped the forces of gravity to his will, given the angle at which he curved without losing his balance.
The barest ache still held in his ribs, but his strength was returning fast.
At least he told himself it was. It would be a week or so before he could channel chakra, add to that the time needed for the poison to fully exit his system and his blood to thicken and clot adequately again.
Either way, I'm done waiting.
Straightening up, he rolled his left shoulder and planted his feet, gently running his fingertips beneath the seam of his robe to trace the healing bruises on his chest. Soon they would fade; perhaps the worst of them might leave a mark that would never really heal. But then, it wasn't like time had ever truly healed the worst of his injuries.
Tch. Pathetic.
Neji steeled his jaw and closed his eyes, trying to tune back into the chanting and drown out the painful frequency his thoughts were drifting into. He'd barely calmed the disturbance in his mind before his body reacted to a threat he didn't realise was present until it almost struck him.
Neji ducked and spun just as a cane swept above his head.
He caught the reverse swing against the side of his palm, locking his wrist. The impact from the blow juddered along his arm. The force of the hit surprised him, but not as much as the wielder of the cane.
An old monk wrapped in saffron robes with skin as worn as age-old leather.
But it was the pale eyes which stared unseeingly over Neji's shoulder that caused the Jōnin's expression to arch in surprise. He didn't have time to assess the old man's blindness further, because the cane snapped back and across in a hit directed for his temple.
Neji's wrist came up again, deflecting the sharp crack of the stick.
He repeated the block to his other side a heartbeat later.
The old man's eyes crinkled in a smile.
Neji frowned.
The next strike had him leaping to avoid a sweep to his legs, the side of his foot hooking sharply to knock the cane aside. His kick never connected.
What?
Thrown by the speed, Neji jerked his head back as the cane thrust viper-like towards his brow, glancing off his hitai-ate. It rocked his equilibrium but his body followed the movement fluidly, allowing him to regain his balance in an instant.
"Good," the monk croaked.
Neji didn't have time to reply.
The monk launched into a seamless string of attacks all coordinated with a speed and efficiency that defied everything the old man physically projected. The strength and speed with which he moved was phenomenal.
Impossible…
Neji was kept on his toes the whole time, put through his paces by an arthritic monk that didn't even break a sweat. It would have been humiliating if Neji wasn't humbled.
Gods, he's fast!
The Hyūga swayed left and right with liquid fluidity, pale muscles tightening a little more with every avoided stab and swipe of the cane.
Too fast.
A blow caught Neji on his left side, bouncing off his ribs in a sharp crack.
The shock struck him harder than the sting and he jolted sideways.
His eyes flashed hotly.
That's enough.
He whipped the side of his palm into the cane hard enough to shatter it.
The wood didn't even splinter.
Neji frowned, sucking in a sharp breath. He glared hard at the point of contact between the side of his palm and the cane. A trickle of blood dribbled from a gash in his hand, running in a thin rivulet down his wrist.
The Hyūga's eyes widened.
How?
The force of his strike should have snapped the cane clean in half. Neji had punched through brick without a bruise or scrape to show for it. The wood should have yielded to his strike in an instant. Such a blunt weapon might have bruised him, but it certainly shouldn't have drawn his blood.
"You are strong," the monk said, his voice hoarse and cracked as if unused to vocalising words. "But you hold onto this strength like a weapon."
Neji hesitated, flexing his fingers against the pressure from the cane. "I am a shinobi. I see no weakness in holding a weapon."
"You are a man first," the monk countered with a stern furrow at his brow, pushing Neji's palm to an angle that allowed the wood to slide along the Hyūga's wrist, tracing the blood. "A weapon cannot heal a wound. It will only create another."
The words hit Neji square in the sternum.
He struggled to ice over his expression, sensing an uncanny power in the monk's white-eyed stare that encompassed too much given its blindness.
The cane dropped away. "The strength you need will not come from holding on."
Neji's jaw tightened, his gaze drawn to his clenched hand.
Even with the latent rage festering inside him…he suddenly felt so empty.
"Then what will it come from?" he murmured, his deep tones rolling like a lost wind in the cavern of his chest.
The blood beaded at his knuckles and clung in a wobble from the bone-white skin.
But it didn't fall.
It held as stubbornly as the monk's silence.
Only the sound of chanting carried, steady and meditative. Neji swallowed hard, waiting…hating the question…needing the answer…
None was offered.
When he flicked his eyes up, he was alone.

Not happening.
Shikamaru watched the papers flap, debating whether it was worth the effort to move over and snatch them up before the breeze beat him to it.
I'm not moving.
The young Nara remained sprawled on his bed, glaring upside-down at the mission reports as they waved tauntingly in the draught that whistled through the window. Rising and falling like flags of white surrender.
Not. Moving.
The wind whipped in and a paper went sailing through the air, whispering across the floor. Shikamaru groaned and rolled over, glaring at the clock instead.
12:00
Two hours.
Once, it might have taken him two minutes to fall asleep.
He'd crept back into the house around 10 AM after having holed himself up in some dust-infested alcove of the Konoha library, tucked away from any chance of being blindsided by Asuma or anyone else after his blood or brain. He'd spent that time drawing up a rough outline of the fabricated side-op, calling on fresh reserves of bullshit that Neji would only have to corroborate with a nod and signature.
Neji…
Shikamaru rolled onto his back, stared up at the ceiling and raised a hand to knead his temples. The Hyūga's face floated before his mind's eye, pale and gaunt and touched by just a hint of death's shadow.
A door smacked shut down the hallway.
Shikamaru jolted from his thoughts.
He held himself rigid, listening out for footsteps. Muffled tones drifted through the walls, his mother's voice, followed by a shift in pitch that suggested concern. That got his attention. Shikamaru propped himself up on his elbows, cocking his head as he stared at the door.
Yoshino's words were swallowed up by the deep timbre of a voice that wasn't his father's. It was too smooth and steady, the modulated tones nothing like the elder Nara's smoky drawl.
What the hell?
Shikamaru's body moved of its own accord. He side-stepped the sheet of paper on the floor and drew close to the door, easing it open a little. The second he did, another door opened along the hallway and Shikaku stepped out.
Shit.
Shikamaru twisted sharply, peering sidelong through the crack. He watched his father stroll down the shadowed hallway, passing out of sight to greet whomever his wife was speaking to.
Then he heard it clearer, a voice as deep and rich as cultured wine. "Nara-san."
Shikamaru's stomach knotted so hard he almost bowled over.
FUCK.
"Hiashi," Shikaku greeted, informal and at ease. "May I get you a drink?"
A flicker of panic skittered across Shikamaru's face, his dark eyes rounding. It took him a moment to register that his mother was saying something, but whatever it was he missed it. The front door shut and for a moment there was silence, filled only by the sound of movement in the kitchen.
A tremor of nerves rattled through Shikamaru.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
For a moment he stood hovering in a state of limbo, trying to get his mind to stop spinning and start strategising. He gripped his jaw as he deliberated his next move, which his body made for him before his brain could. He slipped out of his room, not proud of the fact that eavesdropping had become a shameful tendency in the past four days.
Information gathering…espionage practice…yeah, right…who the hell am I kidding?
Obviously not Hyūga Hiashi.
Calm down. Assess.
Jumping to conclusions wasn't going to help. Shikamaru kept to the shadows of the hallway, grateful for the cover. Slanting just so, he could make out the regal form of the Hyūga by way of the windows.
Hiashi had placed himself at a mid-way point between the kitchen and the threshold to the residence, a subtle move with a clear signal. He had no intention of being social and possessed no real desire to stay. If the stern set of his high brow was any indication, the Hyūga probably resented the fact he'd had to make the trip at all.
Shikamaru's brain did the translation: he's pissed.
He flicked his eyes across to his father.
Shikaku only had one drink in his hand.
Hiashi raised a palm to politely decline the proffered cup. "Nara, your hospitality, while appreciated, is wasted on this occasion. This is not a social call."
"I assumed as much." Shikaku's mouth tilted up in a wry smile and he brought the cup to his own lips. "But good saké never needs an occasion."
Hiashi turned his gaze elsewhere in a brief, cursory scan of the house. "I'm here to speak with your son."
Translation: I'm here to murder your firstborn and only child.
Fuck.
Shikamaru's nerves crackled like livewires, his body going stock still against the wall like a deer set to bolt. There was no mistaking the undercurrents here. There was no negotiation in Hiashi's statement – only promise.
Shikaku, however, simply leaned back against the doorjamb, incongruously relaxed with a ghost of a smile still in place. "Ah, but judging by the shadows it's only noon."
Hiashi's gaze cut back to him. "I'm aware of the hour."
"My son is sleeping."
"Sleeping…" Hiashi's jaw tightened in disapproval.
"That's right."
Silence.
Shikamaru sensed the tension like a held breath; his own fisted like a knot in his throat. He remained against the wall, trying to gauge what game his old man was playing; this wasn't going to be a conversation more than a verbal Shogi match.
It was time to make a move and hopefully not get murdered.
Before Shikamaru could even attempt to interrupt, Hiashi spoke.
"Then you had best wake him."
Shikaku's chuckle was like smoke over rocks. "He won't move."
"It is an important matter, Nara, or I would not have come here personally," Hiashi said, his impatience held in check by well-bred civility.
Shikaku shrugged slightly, his half-smile not wavering for a moment. "I understand and I'll tell him you came to see him. I'm sure he'll drop by."
Or drop dead.
Judging by the look on the Hyūga's face, it wasn't an exaggeration. It took the barest shift in Hiashi's body, like a ripple beneath still water, for the tension to change from an undercurrent to a hair-raising tide.
"You allow this indolence, Shikaku?" the Hyūga challenged, pale eyes like ice.
Shikaku lowered his drink and looked up from under his brows, his gaze as dark as coal and steady as a rock. "This is the Nara residence, not the Hyūga. We do things differently."
"Yes. You do things from the shadows," Hiashi uttered, his gaze slicing down the hallway towards Shikamaru. "Beyond reach and reproach."
This time, when the air thickened, it wasn't with tension.
It was chakra.
Shikaku didn't move, but the air around him did. Like a bristling shiver, the shadows clinging to the corners of the room seemed to ripple and darken; subtle and understated, but not to be mistaken for anything less than a warning.
Hiashi clocked it instantly.
His white orbs narrowed as they swung back to the elder Nara.
Shikaku's mouth curved in a smile that held no humour, his pupils shrinking in the dark pools of his eyes.
"You don't want to insult me in my own home, Hyūga," he drawled with a razor-edge as sharp as his gaze. "Even indolent Nara men take exception to that."
Hiashi's proud features tightened. He raised his head, holding Shikaku's stare; fierce and unblinking as the broad stretch of his shoulders squared, pale robes shifting with the movement. The rigid stance was unmistakeably hostile but irrefutably controlled.
It reminded Shikamaru of Neji and a pang hit him hard behind his ribs.
Shit.
He looked to his father. In contrast to Hiashi, Shikaku remained leaning casually against the doorframe, not needing to move to illustrate what was playing dangerously in his eyes. The silent communication between the two ninja was as unspoken as the laws of a predatory face-off. Signals were given without sounds, the challenge holding in a deadlock that indicated the war was going on in the space between them without either having to engage directly.
The battle of wills ended with a mutual raise of their heads.
Hiashi stepped back and turned toward the door.
Shikaku watched him, his gaze hooded and unreadable.
It was only when the door clicked shut that the elder Nara took a slow, deliberate sip of his saké, humming low in his throat. "I wondered if you'd stay hiding."
Shikamaru scowled, slipping out from the shadows. "Why did you do that?"
"Hn." Shikaku drained the saké, rolling his shoulder in a shrug as he moved back into the kitchen for a refill. "Too troublesome for you to get confrontational, right?"
The question was rhetorical and rigged to trigger a reaction. Even knowing this, Shikamaru took the bait with a snarl. Hell, he'd been dangling from the stupid hook for four days. Shikaku had reeled him in with patience rather than persistence.
"Tch!" Shikamaru moved to stand in the doorway, glaring across. "It's never too troublesome for you to tell me to grow up and fight my own battles, so why did you do that?"
Shikaku pursued his lips. He refilled his cup slowly and cocked a hip against the table, tilting his head as if considering the question. After a tense beat, his dark eyes glittered with a touch of amusement.
Shikamaru's scowl darkened.
Shikaku toasted the air with a lazy wave of his saké. "You're welcome."
"I'm not thanking you."
"And you're still welcome."
"Dammit!" Shikamaru snapped, slamming the side of his fist into the doorjamb. "I don't need you to step in. Don't treat me like a kid!"
Shikaku paused with his drink half-way to his lips. He stared hard at Shikamaru, the humour gone from his eyes. Shikamaru couldn't tell what emotion stood in its place. The look was cryptic, but steady, unwavering.
"You are a kid," Shikaku said quietly. "You're my kid."
Shikamaru blinked, dropping back a pace.
He hadn't predicted that response. And he had no idea how the hell to react to it.
Shikaku often downplayed parental protectiveness with a nonchalant 'man up and quit crying' attitude, usually throwing in a pearl of wisdom to roll around in his son's brain. This kind of reaction from his father was like a kick in the teeth and Shikamaru's jaw clamped shut on a reply.
The young Nara stared hard at the table.
Shikaku drained his saké like water and clacked the cup down on the counter. Then he brushed past his son, rolling a single word over his shoulder.
"Shogi?"
Shikamaru released a shaky breath, already turning to follow. "Yeah…"

The flutter of wings broke his trance.
Neji's eyes slipped open, heavy-lidded from the meditative state he'd drifted into. The mantra of the monks' chanting had pulled him close to the edge of sleep without pushing him into slumber.
He'd hovered in a drowsy state of 'in-between' and in this haze the memories had stirred and stilled, held static in the calm before the storm. He could feel the tension crackling deep inside him, buzzing at his nerve endings.
Breathe.
He pulled in the smoky scent of incense and blinked his eyes slowly.
The haze passed away and his opal orbs cleared, brightened, then hardened in the candlelight. The afternoon glow filtered through the paper of the shoji doors but turned amber in the shrine-light of the candles.
Over a hundred of them burned.
Rising from his pensive kneel, Neji sliced his palm across the wick of the closest flame, extinguishing the gentle warmth.
It was time to leave.
Across the room, a carrier pigeon fluttered on its perch, waiting to deliver the news to Konoha that they'd be returning. Neji sensed it was more of a head's up for a certain shadow-nin.
His moonstone eyes narrowed.
He fastened his hitai-ate, tying off the ends in a sharp tug. Releasing a slow breath, he stepped over to the pigeon's post and grazed a knuckle along the bird's sternum, humming quietly.
The bird stilled instantly, cooing.
Neji repeated the gentle stroke then reached for the slim cuff attached to the pigeon's leg. He removed the carrier and plucked out the note, his gaze straying over Sakura's neat script.
FTAO: Nara Shikamaru. Mission successful. Home by sundown. Midnight latest. Haruno Sakura.
Neji curled the note into his palm and unhooked the tether from the bird's foot. Conditioned to respond, the pigeon hopped onto his forearm, wobbling on its new perch and flexing its wings to keep balanced as the Hyūga stepped over towards the shoji door. He drew it back with his free hand and raised his arm.
The bird took to the skies.
Neji watched it recede into the distance until it was no more than a speck of black against the clouds. He traced the idle sail of one of its feathers, not needing to turn to sense that someone had entered the room.
"Neji? We're ready when you are. We just need to send the…oh…" Sakura's voice trailed off and he heard her step over to the empty perch. "You already sent it?"
Neji crushed the note in his palm, his gaze on the clouds. "I'll be with you in a moment."
Sakura hesitated at his tone, but left him to the stillness of the room and the serenity he had created inside of it. The chanting still carried on the breeze, but the wind was cool and crisp, like a knife cutting through the illusion of peace.
On the outside he was calm, centred, composed.
Inside, something rattled and crackled as raw as the paper crushed in his hand.
Soon…
Neji released the air he'd been holding, turned to the nearest candle – and set the note aflame.

"Stop going easy on me."
"Why beat you sooner than I have to?"
"Whatever," Shikamaru snorted, assessing the Shogi board through narrowed eyes.
He slid his fingers across and made a move that would buy him time, but not a victory. His father cut off his next move with a lazy drop of a piece, capturing a pawn and effectively forcing him to re-strategise.
"Your mother has corralled me into a social dinner tonight," the elder Nara murmured, his gaze on the board. "Rikumaru gouged a young buck still in velvet. The wound will need tending. I trust you'll handle that for me."
Shikamaru shrugged, already guessing which stag had caused trouble. "Yeah."
He made a quick move on the board that caused Shikaku to chuckle quietly. "You're making this too easy, kid."
"So go ahead and win already, it's not like I'm gonna take it personally."
"No, it's not personal," Shikaku said, his thumb grazing a Shogi piece before he reconsidered and made a different move. "Not when it's just a game. Or a strategy."
Shikamaru frowned, taking up a piece and clapping it down. "I know that."
"Yeah, I know you know that." Shikaku straightened away from the board, reaching for his coffee. "Just like you know what I'm really talking about."
Shikamaru bit down hard, running his tongue along the inside of his clenched teeth, grinding his words out. "Let's just play the damn game."
"You've miscalculated."
"I know…"
"You're going to lose."
"I know," he snapped, his eyes flicking up hotly.
Their gazes held over the rim of Shikaku's mug, the steam from the coffee wafting between their deadlock as thinly as the veil between their words.
"If you know…" The elder Nara's lips twitched in a faint smile. "Then why are you still playing the game?"
Shikamaru barked a short, harsh laugh. "You're kidding me. Are you tryin' to be all metaphorical and crap?"
"Maybe." Shikaku shrugged, sipping the coffee. "But if I was, I think you'd be smart enough to figure this out."
"I lost. Maybe I'm not as smart as you think I am."
"Or maybe it doesn't require your head."
"Troublesome Hyūga, quit making this about your head."
The memory pulled across his mind, dragging a painful pressure across his chest.
Shikamaru's eyes glazed, a look of lost confusion tearing across his face as he stared hard at the board, sadness gripping him by the throat.
"That's all I've got," he whispered tightly.
Shikaku hummed softly, setting his mug down. "If that was true, then you'd never have lost."
Shikamaru squeezed his eyes shut for an instant, his chest tightening. "I don't wanna talk about this."
"I know," Shikaku murmured, reaching across to take up a piece. "So stop talking, get off your ass and go and do something."
Shikaku made his move and the soft tap of the Shogi piece concluded more than just the game.
"Checkmate."

A storm was coming.
He could tell by the clouds.
They'd gathered like rumpled velvet shot-through with gold, hanging heavy over the outskirts of the village. Shikamaru moved under their shadows, sticking to the edges of the village as he took a roundabout path towards Konoha's bird enclosure and pigeon post.
Sakura must have sent word by now.
Four days is way too long.
If the turn in weather wasn't enough to put a further dampener on his mood, there was always the other matter following him around like a rain cloud.
The pig was stalking him again.
Shikamaru could hear the clop of her hooves echoing off the sidewalks as he took a brisk walk down a quieter stretch leading him back towards the heart of the village. Aiming to lose the troublesome swine, he veered around the back of the Yamanaka flower shop.
God dammit, what the hell is it gonna take to just be left alo—
"Shikamaru!"
Shit.
The Nara jolted to a stop, teeth grit as something smacked into the back of his head.
Ow.
Whatever had cracked him in the skull hit the ground with a dull thud. The impact ended with a flat, hooded look from the shadow-nin as he turned on his heel and dropped his gaze from the huffing kunoichi to the packet by his feet.
He arched a brow.
"Did you just throw compost at me?" The Nara blinked, toeing the bag around so he could read the label. "Compact compost. Nice."
Ino gave a vicious snort.
"Shikamaru!" she hissed, closing distance in a stomp to wave a gloved fist under his nose, a bunch of weeds grasped in her fingers. "Where the hell have you been?"
Rubbing the back of his head, Shikamaru searched for a comment likely to distract her and set his gaze on her hair, cocking a brow for effect. "What's with the pin-cushion?"
"Oh don't even try that!" Ino scowled, self-consciously sweeping a wrist across the fair strands sticking out from her sloppy topknot, pinned with sticks used to support wilting plants. "You've got some explaining to do!"
"You know," Shikamaru crouched down, snatching up the bag with a frown, "I respond to my name, you don't have to throw a pack of crap at my head."
Ino snatched the bag back with a growl. "Four days? I mean really! What's with you? First you kick me off the team—"
"Wait, I didn't kic—"
"And then you get back and don't even bother to—"
"I've been—"
"—show your face! And what's worse is that you get Chōji to cover for you!"
Shikamaru rocked back on his heels as she stabbed a muddy finger at him, blue eyes flaring with accusation; but worse than that was the flicker of hurt beneath the heat.
Ah shit.
"Ino..."
"That was low. And what's with you and Asuma-sensei? He practically held an interrogation!" she snapped, her words like shrapnel bouncing around in his skull. "He grilled Chōji like Korean barbecue!"
Shikamaru stared at the mutilated weeds in her hand, feeling like they were an apt representation of his nerves. "I know."
"You know? What? That's your answer?"
"If I could get a word in edgeways, you might get a better one," Shikamaru muttered, shifting his weight from foot to foot restlessly.
Ino's mouth curved down in a frown, the slash of her brows darkening as she jammed her fists at her hips, waiting. Going against her stance completely, Shikamaru slid his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall of the shop, averting his gaze in routine avoidance.
"The Godaime's been chewing my ass, alright? On top of that I've had mission reports, council crap and Neji's side-op with Hinata and Sakura to—"
"Sakura!" Ino snapped so suddenly that she puffed up like an offended pigeon on the spot, waving her weeds around. "I seriously don't get it! Chōji said Hanegakure's clans dealt with mind-transference, right?"
Shikamaru shifted his weight away from her, not sure whether to be irritated or relieved at her interruption. He said nothing, sensing her mood was explosive enough without giving her something more to beat him around the head with.
"Well?" Ino pressed, glaring at him. "Did they?"
"Yeah…"
Shikamaru almost jumped when she thrust her arms out as if to hug him. She didn't. He stared at her blankly.
"Ino, what the hell are you doing?"
"Uh, hello? Mind-transference!" Ino thrust her arms out again, re-striking her pose of self-promotion, shaking the weeds like pompoms. "That's my speciality! Why the heck did you pick billboard brow over me!"
Shikamaru winced inwardly, both at the volume of her voice and at the fresh hurt swimming in her turbulent glare, well aware that her anger was just a smokescreen for the dangerously sensitive issue of her self-esteem.
"Ino, it wasn—"
"You didn't think I could cut it, did you?"
The shadow-nin sighed, his eyes fluttering shut before drifting open again. "It's not like that…"
"Then what's it like, genius?" Ino dropped her hands but raised her chin a notch, lips tightening. "As far as I'm concerned, you axed me."
"It's not—"
"And then you avoid me completely. And it's not even because you're feeling guilty!"
Guilty…
That word hit him wrong.
Very wrong.
He almost lost control of his expression, his jaw flexing. "Guilty?"
"Duh! I mean, it's not just me you're avoiding, is it? So something else is up," she grumbled, shaking her head as she looked him over for some damning evidence. "What happened? Is this to do with the Nijū Shōtai?"
Shikamaru regarded her in silence, his mouth set in a grim line. If he said yes, it wouldn't be a complete lie; hell, he might have been able to look her in the eye while saying it too.
Great, dig an even deeper hole.
Unsettled by his lack of response, Ino drew her head back, her face warring over which emotion to hold. But she didn't attack him further, which should have been a good thing – but suddenly, the silence felt way too incriminating. She'd end up drawing her own conclusions if he didn't give her something.
Sighing, Shikamaru flicked his gaze over her shoulder, staring back down the way he'd veered to escape the pig. There was no escaping this, so he sought a different tactic, drawing a slow breath through his nose.
"I didn't cut you from the team," he said quietly, shaking his head. "In fact, the whole damn mission would have gone a hell of a lot smoother if I'd had you there, so spare me the guilt-trip, alright? I really don't need it right now."
Without warning, the pendulum of Ino's mood swung and her scowl softened into a frown, before falling away completely. "Shikamaru, what's with you?"
He was almost tempted to tell her to hop into the mess that was his head to take a look around. She'd check out as fast as he felt like checking himself in at the damned psych ward if only to get something to help him sleep. Not that he'd have minded a bit of solitary confinement, just to get a bit of peace.
That might actually be the best plan yet…
"Shikamaru? Helloooo?"
He stared numbly over her shoulder, watching a stubby shadow stretch across the alleyway wall. "The pig."
"What?"
"She's stalking me…" he said bluntly.
Ino mistook his meaning with a gasp, crushing the weeds in outrage. "Did you just call me a—!"
Tonton's squeal cut her off and the clop of the pig's trotters echoed along the alleyway. Shikamaru sighed, leaning his head against the rough brick. There was no running away from her; she was more tenacious than a bloodhound.
Hn. Asuma should grill the pig…
Literally, that wouldn't have been such a bad idea.
Shikamaru gazed down through his lashes at the pearl-wearing pet as she skidded to a halt beside Ino, glaring up at him through those creepy, beady eyes. For a moment, he was convinced the animal kingdom at large wanted his blood more than the human percentage.
Shikamaru pinned the pig with a narrow look. "Stalker."
Tonton oinked in offence.
Ino crouched down and rubbed a knuckle between the pink ears. "Aw, he doesn't mean it."
"Yeah I do," Shikamaru countered beneath his breath, watching the animal warily.
"Why would Tonton be stalking you?" Ino said, reaching over to tug the backdoor to the shop open, watching the pig trot inside. "She's here to take me to medic training with Shizune."
Shikamaru blinked, looking caught out. He struggled to find something to latch onto and immediately reached for sarcasm. "You need an escort for that?"
"Hey!" Ino spun around, smacking him in the chest with the weeds rather than the usual length of her hair. "You're not out of my bad books yet, Shikamaru."
"I'd say 'no shit', but considering you just threw a brick of it at my head..."
Ino scoffed, fluttering strands of blonde from her face. "It's compost."
"Compact crap," he corrected, scowling down at the gangly stems she slapped against his chest again. "Would you stop with the weeds?"
"Weeds? Oh, you mean these don't look familiar to you?" Ino growled, waving them around in earnest beneath his nose. "I told you not to let those flowers die!"
Shikamaru tilted his jaw away from the shrivelled stems, digging deep for patience and scraping it together with an effort he hid behind a half-lidded gaze. "I was on a mission. I couldn't astrally project my ass back to Konoha to water them."
Ino tipped her chin up in challenge. "No, but you can project your ass all over the place to avoid Asuma, me and whoever else you need to, right?"
The barb hit home.
Shikamaru closed his eyes. "Thanks for that. Now are we even?"
Ino said nothing. She stared at him for a moment, thrown off her tirade by something in his voice. The dead flowers she'd thrust at his chest slipped away in a rustle as she folded her arms.
"Oh please, we're not even close to even," she muttered, but her voice was softer, almost teasing. "But I know exactly how you're gonna make it up to me."
Shikamaru frowned and slipped his eyes open, watching a sly look creep across her face.
Shit.
Immediately, his brain supplied several answers to the big fat question mark hanging in his expression. He wished he didn't already know.
Ino smiled sweetly, an impish twinkle in her eye as she slugged him on the arm. "And you're not sleeping through this one, lazybones."
Shikamaru grunted, but he noticed the subtle escape she was offering him.
He managed a weak smile in return. "Troublesome girl."
Ino waved him off, rolling her eyes. "So where are you running off to, shirker?"
"Pigeon post."
"Asuma's prowling the rooftops you know," Ino warned, only half-teasing. "Better watch out."
"Ugh. Thanks for the head's up." Shikamaru glanced up at the heavy clouds, sobering. "I didn't cut you from the mission, Ino."
"Yeah, yeah," Ino shrugged, looking away. "It's okay."
Shikamaru drew his chin back, arching a brow as he looked down at her. He knew it wasn't okay. But there was nothing he could do about it right now. Ino's issues surrounding her self-esteem were about as complicated as a Rubix Cube – which was probably a bad comparison given how easily Shikamaru could work those out.
Later. Not now.
He was done solving puzzles for the moment and for all his attempts to avoid questions, he only had one in mind; one that the pigeon gliding into Konoha should have carried the answer to.
Little did he know that the answer was ashes.

Thunder growled in the dark belly of the sky.
A prelude to the coming rain.
A droplet struck Shikamaru's cheek, tracing along the lean slant like a tear as he drove the last tent peg into the ground. Straightening up, he looked over the canvas he'd draped over the hut sheltering the bird. He'd waterproofed it solidly, just in case.
Another droplet bounced off the shadow-nin's cheekbone.
Then the soft patter of rain began to shimmer off the canvas.
A soft squawk muffled through the wood beyond.
"Yeah, yeah," Shikamaru muttered. "It's alright."
He brushed his hand across the shelter and sighed. It would have to do. Running off a mental checklist, the shadow-nin drew a cloak hood up and over his head as he moved down along the path he'd hacked out.
The thickening twilight had turned heavy under the clouds. Shikamaru had used the dying light to tend to the young buck, which had earned itself a lasting scar. True to his assumption, it was the same deer that had confronted him earlier in the day.
Troublesome.
The Nara wove his path through the herd, making a quick sweep to ensure the young stag wasn't agitating its wound. Fortunately the buck was grazing along a mossy incline, nosing through the undergrowth to root out dying stems.
Rikumaru, the herd's finest stag, looked on with huge, sage eyes. His head of ragged antlers rose up like great branches as he turned towards the approaching shadow-nin, snorting streams of vapour into the misty rain in greeting.
"Tyrant," Shikamaru teased, reaching out a flat palm for the stag to scent and nuzzle before he scratched the deer's chin. "You kicked his ass."
Rikumaru snorted, curling his lips around Shikamaru's hood to tug it over the Nara's face playfully. Then the stag flinched and his great head swung up, casting this way and that as he surveyed his domain.
Shikamaru frowned as he adjusted his hood.
There was something restless in the animal's manner, its nostrils flaring widely as if trying to scent something on the cold, wet air. The behaviour drew Shikamaru's focus to the rest of the herd. The deer seemed oddly skittish, their bodies flinching occasionally as if to ward off threats that weren't there.
Wonder what's spooked them…
The Nara glanced around in a quick scan, narrowing his eyes against the sluice of the rain as it began to hammer down, bouncing off the deer and trees in a fuzzy white aura.
Ugh. I'm not hanging around to get soaked.
Patting the stag on his broad neck, Shikamaru took a short-cut back through the forest, heading home. He needed another distraction before he collapsed into bed. No word from Sakura had set his mind spinning off on a tangent he didn't want to entertain.
But he was sick of twiddling his thumbs, waiting on news.
" 'Do' something…"
On the tail end of his father's words came a fresh mental list and it scrawled across Shikamaru's brain as he let himself into his empty home, not bothering with the lights.
He shrugged out of the wet cloak.
His first task tomorrow would be to confront the Hokage and request permission to send someone to the shukubo retreat. He'd have gone personally, but that would raise a whole new round of questions he'd spend another four days dodging like kunai.
Like Hiashi…
It did something damaging to his head to even think about what the hell the Hyūga Lord knew or didn't know or wanted to know.
Fuck.
Kicking off his sandals, Shikamaru hung his cloak and drifted idly around the dark house to air-lock windows and slide shut fusama panels, his brain still churning distractedly.
He still had Asuma to consider.
A little more guilt ripped into the wound still festering in his chest.
He shook it off with a growl, peeling off his turtleneck as he moved towards his bedroom, the sound of the rain as unrelenting as his thoughts.
Shower. Sleep. Get up at Stupid O'clock.
Nudging open the bedroom door, he tossed the turtleneck onto the bed, scowling at the cold hanging in the room and the heavy pool of rain on the floor.
Ugh, what a drag.
Shuddering against the cold, he reached over to tug the window shut, hissing as a spray of icy droplets hit him in the face and along his throat. Thunder bellowed in the heavens, so loud that he felt the reverberation in his bones.
Let me sleep through this…
Exhausted, Shikamaru stared up through the rain-washed glass, gazing high into the sky as lightning tore across the rolling black.
Strange, but he could almost feel it across his skin – an electric tension.
It tingled along his spine, raising the hair at the back of his neck.
An instant later, he realised it wasn't static.
It was instinct.
He didn't get a chance to react.
A hand latched around his throat from behind.
Icy fingers gripped like a vice, choking off his breath. He was tugged against a body drenched from the rain, the wet drag of fabric sliding across his back as he tried to break the hold on his throat. Pain registered in a strobe flash as he was slammed frontal into the wall, the skin at his cheekbone splitting from the impact.
FUCK!
Shikamaru grit his teeth, twisting to lash out, trying to draw air.
The soaked body pressed against his back, pinning him.
MOVE!
He tried to get purchase, slamming his palms against the wall to shove back. But then lips grazed his ear; a hot shiver of breath, followed by the deep, chilling tones of a voice that had him freezing against the wall.
"I don't need chakra to tear you up."
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Break to Breathe