Adult-FanFiction.org : Naruto

On The Cusp	By : Okami-Rayne Category: Naruto > Yaoi - Male/Male > Shikamaru/Neji Views: 2208 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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
- 7
- 8
- 9
ON THE CUSP

by Okami Rayne

Chapter Eight

The phantom smell of rain clung heavy in the air.

Neji passed like a spectre in the mist, seeming to drift through the fog that blanketed Konoha's rooftops. The Hyūga's damp robes moulded along the strong contours of his body, sticking like a wet slap against his back, pressing a chill along his spine.

He barely felt it.

The ends of his hair still dripped, the sharp, wet points of his sleeves beading with droplets that fell in pinprick splashes.

The rain had come heavy in the early hours and the fog had rolled down from the Hokage Mountain, passing in a pale cascade over the faces of the figureheads carved into the ageless rock.

Neji's Byakugan eyes charted the obscured rooftops, allowing him to coast along the ledge he'd been walking for the past hour. Back and forth, back and forth like a panther pulled into a restless pace.

Above the smell of rain, he could detect the rock-salt scent of the Hot Springs.

He'd come too close.

He'd spent the night under a blanket of stars, watching the distant sparks until unbidden, a yawning emptiness had opened up inside him. He'd attributed it to a lot of things, the fact that he hadn't eaten, the uncertainty of his future, or the tiredness inside him amplifying the urge to just stop and rest for a while. The thought of rest had turned to moments framed in his memory, fragments hanging on his heart.

"You make me crave a rest I cannot allow myself to need, Shikamaru."

"Yeah…and I'm not sorry."

Those words had haunted him until the last star passed beneath the dark clouds rolling in over the village. Dawn had brought the rain, but rather than return to the Hyūga residence, he'd drawn closer to the place he was supposed to be keeping a wide, wide berth from.

He'd had no conscious understanding of where he was heading.

He'd just let the impulse lead him.

His mind had warned him with every step to turn back.

But every step had become harder to coordinate with that logical part. He'd wrestled with his reason by ignoring it, tackling its warnings with countless denials that drove countless steps.

He hadn't had a destination so it hadn't mattered where he was walking.

Or at least it hadn't mattered until his steps sped him along awnings and up and over the elegant slopes of ryokan rooftops until he'd realised just where the hell he felt himself being pulled.

STOP.

A failsafe had engaged in the back of his mind and he'd slammed to a stop, turned a circle of confusion and retraced his steps, lunging to the opposite building.

That had led him here.

To this moment.

And for the past hour he'd been here, pacing slowly.

I cannot stay here…

It was shocking to know that despite having a whole village to wander aimlessly until the next mission, he'd been unconsciously driven to the one place, to the one thing, to the one person he needed to stay away from.

I need to leave…again…and again…until this stops…

Suddenly, Neji stopped pacing.

He paused mid-turn, the ball of his foot braced on the ledge, heel lifted.

He held himself steady, head cocked – listening.

Then he heard it again.

The soft scratch and click of nails on brick.

His Byakugan eyes lowered and narrowed, scanning the rooftop, piercing through the fog. He saw the approaching animal and relaxed, turning toward the small dog just as the patter of paws resolved itself into Kakashi's smallest ninken.

"Pakkun," Neji greeted, the veins around his eyes shrinking and smoothing out.

The pug's short-muzzled nose twitched in a quick sniff, wrinkled face turning up towards Neji. "Hyūga. You smell toxic."

Neji arched a brow at that. "I beg your pardon?"

"I tracked you by that smell alone." The dog's eyes drooped, the creases between the crinkled brows folding even more as he sniffed the air again. "Show me your hand."

Neji crouched down to the animal's level, bracing one arm across the locked muscle of his thigh, extending his other hand, palm down. Pakkun padded closer, his paws finding traction on the slippery edge of the building without effort.

A wet nose tapped Neji's fingertips and the dog's muzzle twitched again.

Then the pug bit him.

Neji hissed and snapped his hand back, glaring. "And the point of that?"

Pakkun shook himself off with a growl, the shudder running all the way across his small body to the end of his tail, saggy lips turned down in an expression that was as close to a scowl as a dog could get. His tongue lolled and licked at the air, then around his chops, trying to banish the taste of Neji's blood.

"Uck. You've got poison in you, kid."

"I know," Neji replied curtly, watching his blood dribble along the webbing between thumb and forefinger. "Brodifacoum. It will be a little longer before it completely leaves my system."

Pakkun hacked out a barking cough. "Tastes worse than it smells."

"Charming," Neji muttered, brushing the trickle of red away on the black apron of his robes. At least his blood was beginning to clot normally again.

"My bite's worse than my bark," Pakkun admitted, hitai-ate flashing as he cocked his head up. "You've been summoned. Let's go."

"Summoned?" Neji frowned and looked askance at the dog. "The Godaime or Kakashi-senpai?"

Pakkun blinked lazily then turned to pad away. "Hurry up."

Pain.

Angry, aching, troublesome pain.

Shikamaru's back filed the complaint to his brain. His brain rolled over like a dog playing dead. He tried to follow suit but his neck cramped, his spine locked and the spasm shot under his shoulder blade like a hot knife.

Dammit…

He growled a croaky groan, the sound muffled into the plush fibres of the couch he'd wedged himself into.

Not the best place to take a nap.

He dug his knee into the backrest and tried to lodge himself at a different angle, aiming to stretch out the kinks in his back. The awkward position offered him no room to budge so he rolled his shoulder and hissed against the protesting crunch of muscle.

Too bad it wasn't the only place he was hurting.

His foot felt like a nail had gone through it – courtesy of Ino's heels. His calf muscle had seized up and the arm trapped under him appeared to have lost feeling.

Nice.

Cataloguing all the troublesome cramps, Shikamaru stretched his free arm behind him, groping blindly for the edge of the couch to avoid rolling off it as he turned. He settled on his other side, lashes drooping low as he scanned around the ryokan suite through bleary eyes.

What time is it?

A sooty, dusky light held like powered charcoal in the room; a poor indication of the time but a good forecast of the weather. Shikamaru glanced toward the shoji doors leading onto the veranda.

Still overcast…

Rain had hit hard during the early, Stupid o'clock hours, pelting onto the veranda harder than hail.

Despite his exhaustion, Shikamaru had stayed up with his teammates.

They'd watched a random film involving a lot of screaming with intervals of Ino's stop-and-start trips to the bathroom – which had resulted in Shikamaru holding her hair back as she'd emptied the contents of her stomach. Chōji had left the shadow-nin to deal with her by refusing to deal with her himself. Wholly unlike the Akimichi, Shikamaru suspected it was all part of his friend's game plan.

He wondered if Asuma had put him up to it.

After Ino's projectile vomit episodes were over, they'd settled in to watch another film that got put on mute fifteen minutes into the storyline.

They'd talked instead.

And they'd laughed. They'd laughed in a way they hadn't for a long time.

It had felt good, familiar.

He'd missed it. And in realising he'd missed it, he realised it wasn't the only thing missing. It was the same cruel realisation he'd come to when he'd been trying to 'fix' Neji. The bitter truth that maybe he had missing pieces too.

Crazy…

Two weeks after Neji had walked one way and he'd walked another, Shikamaru thought he'd buried the past parts of himself that had been shaken loose. He thought he'd dragged them back into the shadows.

But he couldn't maintain that control in his dreams.

And now my damned waking hours…

The thought of the anxiety attack which had hit him in the middle of the party had his gut cramping worse than his stiff muscles. For everything he'd tried to fix in Neji, it felt like some sadistic, subconscious urge was digging around in his head, forcing him to consider the holes in his own heart.

No.

Shikamaru felt an ache swelling at the base of his throat.

Fixing you wasn't about trying to fix something in me...

Hell, how could it have been? Neji had broken him up all over again.

Again…

He shook off the thought by reaching up to knead his arm, easing the prickle of pins-and-needles to keep his mind off the deeper pains he couldn't reach.

Like it matters. It's done.

He closed his eyes.

The past was over. It didn't matter. It couldn't matter.

Because I dealt with it.

It was one thing for him to know this, another entirely for him to believe it.

"Asuma…"

The call of his name rolled around Asuma's brain like a heavy stone, snowballing in volume as he began to stir. His head throbbed. It felt like a mallet was swinging from one temple to the other, playing pendulum. He was pretty sure his liver was churning out blood rather than bile.

Super cool adult, my ass…

A hand settled on his bare back, cool against his hot skin.

He twitched on the bed, groaning.

That hand skimmed up his spine, soft fingertips tracing out a large, jagged scar that zigzagged under his shoulder blade. He felt a brush of hair tickle across his back and then warm lips pressed against his temple.

"Asuma, it's time to wake up," Kurenai whispered, draping her arm over him in a squeeze as he groaned again. "A shame because it was hard enough getting you into the bed last night."

"That's a lie…" Asuma muttered, wincing. The gruff rumble of his own voice rejuvenated the hangover he'd been fighting off for the past couple of hours.

"You fell in through the window, Asuma…"

"I did?" He grunted. "How the hell did I get to the window?"

"Creatively," Kurenai guessed, offering a patronising little stroke across his head. "You brought me gifts and serenaded me too."

Asuma cracked his eye open a little, going still. "Oh god…" he croaked.

"It was terrible," Kurenai admitted. "But very sweet."

"I can't sing."

"My neighbour's dog agreed."

Asuma grimaced and turned his face into the pillow with a loud sigh, shaking his head. As his ego furled into a foetal position, he considered smothering himself. When the need for air won out, he raised his jaw and pressed his cheek into the pillow, growling.

"Kakashi is a dead man…"

"Feeling a little delicate this morning?" Kurenai teased, blowing a cool, minty breath along his hairline.

The smell of toothpaste prompted Asuma to drag his tongue across the film coating his own teeth. His mouth tasted like ash and stale saké. He swallowed a yawn and groped behind him to hook Kurenai's knee, drawing her leg over the strong dip of his back.

"You're impossible," Kurenai scolded, making a half-hearted attempt to pull away.

Asuma smirked, tugging her back. "Don't leave me alone with myself…"

She surprised him by straddling his hips and flopping onto his back, forcing the air out of his lungs in a hot rush from his nose.

"Ah…be gentle…" Asuma choked out, trying not to grin.

Kurenai kissed between his shoulders and chuckled, kneading his lower back with practiced fingers. "You need to get up…"

Asuma cracked an eye open, grinning. "I'm getting up alright."

Kurenai arched a brow and dug her fingers into his ribs.

Asuma's eyes flew wide. "NO!" he yelped out a strangled laugh, twisting about on his stomach in a futile attempt to avoid the tickling fingers, embarrassed that he could be disarmed and tortured by something so silly.

Kurenai offered no mercy.

Asuma was at the least desirable angle to fight back against her onslaught. His little quirks never ceased to amuse the kunoichi. No amount of his muscle, macho, masculinity or might could combat this attack. For Kurenai, it was endearing and hilarious to think that someone so physically powerful could be reduced to a pile of flailing limbs by such a childish tactic.

"Kurenai!"

Kurenai laughed, letting him suffer under her hands for another torturous round that ended with him shaking in laughter against the sheets, tears in his eyes. He didn't see Kurenai's crimson orbs glistening, filling with emotion she chalked up to hormones.

It wasn't.

She combed her fingers through the thick, dark muss of his hair, leaning down to nuzzle his flushed skin, peppering his shoulder with kisses.

Asuma hummed deeply at the affection. "That's right. Tend to the wounded…"

Kurenai poked him in the ribs, but the threat turned into a tender sweep of her hands as she scooped her palms under his body to wedge between his chest and the bed, pressing closer to him.

They stayed this way for a few minutes.

Asuma relaxed, vaguely aware of the routine activity carrying beyond the apartment walls. Despite the miserable day, respectable Konoha folk were up and tackling the morning, industrious and indomitable.

Responsible.

Asuma didn't even remember leaving the bar last night. He could have gone anywhere, done anything.

Wonder if I killed that little shit at the ryokan…either way, I'm gonna kill Kakashi…

While he had no memory of saying goodbye to the copy-nin, he recalled the silver-haired ninja inviting Genma into the drinking fest. The last thing Asuma remembered other than a lot of laughter and some deep, searching stares into his saké cup was the urge to get home.

Home.

Some slice of sobriety had directed him to Kurenai's. It might have been dawn when he'd stumbled in through the window. He had no idea. He slipped his eyes open and cast a speculative look at the drapes. A thin slot in the curtains allowed for a dreary sliver of light, casting the room in rumpled, shadowy hues.

"What time did I fall through the window?" His voice startled her.

Kurenai drew a breath as if to speak, but held it instead.

Asuma's gaze strayed over his shoulder, watching her out the corner of his eye. "Mn?"

Kurenai hesitated, then hunched herself closer to his warmth, her face just visible as she turned her cheek against his shoulder blade. "Early hours."

"Shit…I woke you?"

"I'm glad you did."

She said nothing more, leaving the silence to talk instead. It pressed in around them until Asuma sensed it wasn't hanging with unspoken words, but rather with words he couldn't remember.

He eyed her for a moment, fighting with himself. "I didn't just sing to you, did I?"

Kurenai blinked a little too fast, fastening a smile onto her lips. "You dripped rainwater all over my carpet too."

Asuma frowned, drew his elbows beneath him and made to twist around. Kurenai knelt back, allowing him to sit up against the headboard.

Her lips tucked into a little smile. "So, Team Ass needs a Sweetass does it?"

Asuma blinked wide.

Team Ass?

That rang some embarrassingly loud bells in the back of his brain. He had no idea why, but managed to retain a relaxed expression. His hand automatically strayed to the bedside table for his cigarettes. Kurenai watched him, not saying a word, her own hand fluttering to her stomach. Asuma immediately redirected his touch, reaching up to scratch at his jaw.

"So I said some stuff between the singing, huh?"

She smiled, a deep affection softening her voice and gentling the look in her eyes. "You said a lot of things."

A grimace pulled at the corners of Asuma's mouth. "Such as?"

Kurenai bit her lip then shuffled forward to settle in his lap. He wrapped an arm around her waist, tilting his head back as she speared her fingers through his hair, pulling dark strands away from his eyes.

She settled a searching stare on him, shaking her head. "You're a good man, Asuma."

The Sarutobi's eyes pinched with reflexive guilt.

What the hell had he said to deserve that tick on his character checklist?

He turned her words around to examine the most likely context. Whatever he'd said to warrant the compliment was a score in his favour he wasn't sure he deserved. However, Kurenai's eyes held that soft, tender glow. A glow which produced an uncomfortable ache in the pit of Asuma's stomach…like he could feel whatever wound must have opened up for him to undoubtedly spill his emotional guts.

"Ah shit, don't tell me I cried," he teased, trying to take the edge off his unease.

She didn't smile at his words, continuing to run her fingers through his hair soothingly. That soothing touch was what bothered him the most. He didn't need comforting, did he? Shit, had he?

Asuma winced. "Tell me I cried with more grace than I sang."

Kurenai shook her head. "You didn't cry."

Thank you, God.

"But I know it's hurting you," Kurenai added.

For reasons Asuma would rather not have named, he tensed against the sudden urge to erase whatever evidence she had in support of that statement. Instead, he reached up to curl his fingers around her wrists, stilling her combing motions.

"Hurting me?" he echoed, playing down his discomfort with an awkward smile, looking confused.

Kurenai nodded and cupped his cheeks, locking their gazes. "You didn't fail anyone."

The smile dropped off Asuma's face.

He frowned, tugging his head back to rest on the headboard, brandy-coloured eyes fixed on her face. Kurenai brushed her thumbs across his knuckles.

Fail anyone…?

Aside from his father, there was only one other person he ever felt he'd truly failed.

Shit.

An indrawn breath and suddenly Asuma couldn't stop the question as it spilled out of him.

"What did I say to you?"

Kurenai smiled sadly. "What you need to say to Shikamaru."

"You need to take it easy, Hyūga."

"Easy…?"

In his peripheral vision, Neji registered Kakashi brushing his fingertips across his masked mouth.

I'm glad someone finds this so amusing.

Staring at the Godaime, the look on Neji's face broadcasted his thoughts about her statement better than any returning words. His elegant eyebrows arrowed in, lips thinning as the skin across his high-boned cheeks drew taut as the line of his jaw.

"You just got back from Hanegakure," Tsunade pointed out.

"On an envoy mission. Hardly strenuous."

"You're still in a state of medical recovery," Tsunade argued. "Added to that is this," she tipped her head down at the scroll on her desk. "You've immediately signed on for six new A-rank missions, including two that take you too far afield."

"I'm recovered enough to operate at the level I always have. And these missions are in neighbouring lands," Neji reasoned.

Tsunade arched a delicate brow. "That doesn't make them any less further away. Although I get the feeling that wouldn't bother you, would it?"

Neji stared at her, stone-faced.

Tsunade clicked her nails atop the scroll rolled out on her desk, indicating the mission listings and the neat script of his name beside them. Neji kept his eyes on her, not willing to concede even a fraction of his focus onto what she was trying to get him to agree too.

No. I cannot stay here.

"Recuperation is important, Hyūga."

"If I were still injured," Neji countered, matching his tone with a deadpan look. "I'm not."

"But you were. For this very reason of pushing too hard," Tsunade reminded, elbows set at the edge of her desk. "And now you're straight back in the game. If it was anyone else I'd be impressed at their enthusiasm. But in your case it's a cause for concern."

A sliver of panic slid like a needle into Neji's heart.

Do not take this away from me.

He needed to keep moving forward, striving for more. If he didn't prove he was stable and capable enough to wear ANBU's mask it would be taken away from him. Standing still was not an option. He prided so much of who he was on the determination that had gotten him this far.

"Hyūga? Are you listening to me?"

Neji inclined his head, just enough to indicate that he'd heard, but not that he agreed.

Tsunade frowned and looked to Kakashi. The briefest of smiles registered on Kakashi's face beneath his mask, gone in an instant. Tsunade rolled her eyes to the ceiling, shaking her head. When her gaze dropped back, it was weighted by a long, meaningful pause.

"You're pushing too hard, Neji."

Neji glanced just to the side of Tsunade's head to avoid her eyes, drawing a measured breath, pulling it in slow and steady through his nose to keep from snorting.

I've always pushed this hard.

He couldn't afford not to push this hard.

Exhausting himself doing what was necessary was far preferable to lying around just thinking about what needed to be done. Tsunade seemed to be following his line of thought because she emptied her lungs in a long sigh, watching him over the lace of her fingers.

The silence held for a tense beat.

"What are your motives, Hyūga?" she finally asked.

The words jarred Neji on the inside.

Again with that blasted question!

Outwardly his expression didn't change, but the direction of his gaze did. He shot Kakashi a sharp glance out the corner of his eye. The copy-nin shifted his stance by one of the large apertures, resting his hip against the sill with a bored glance out the window.

"My motives are as they've always been," Neji replied, pitching his voice to reach Kakashi, adding a pointed look.

The copy-nin's grey eye observed him in the glass, but the silver-haired shinobi didn't turn his head. Neji slid his gaze back to Tsunade. She was looking between them, trying to decipher whatever signals were being telegraphed and what to do with the information being gathered.

She frowned. "Clarify."

Neji lowered his gaze to the scroll on her desk. "To serve the village to the best of my ability, Tsunade-sama."

"To serve to the best of your ability, hmn?" Kakashi poised in an airy tone, with just a hint of condescending amusement. "I thought it had more to do with necessity."

Neji bristled at the nonchalant way the other Jōnin brushed off his words or twisted them around – like this entire situation was some adolescent game won only by yielding to the wisdom of his elders.

He'd been controlled by the 'wisdom' of his elders all his life.

"They are correlated objectives, senpai."

"Are they?" Kakashi tipped his head back, casting a mock-meditative glance towards the top of the window. "Necessity is an ideological concept associated with survival rather than servitude."

Neji ground his teeth, the cadence of his speech changing into something curt and clipped. "I didn't realise there was a set ideological script I was supposed to be following."

"Oh I think that your idea of necessity has less to do with you following a set script, Neji," Kakashi caught his gaze in the glass. "And everything to do with you changing your set role in it."

Clever.

Two weeks ago, he might have reacted to that. Explosively. But given the sense of calm and understanding he'd gathered under the guidance of the Temple monk, he was able to still the ripples of rage before they broke outwards. His features lost their tense edge, smoothing into something calmer, but colder.

Kakashi's gaze held his in the glass. "You honestly believe that ANBU will bring out the best in you?"

Neji inclined his head. "Clearly it failed to do that for you, senpai,"

"Neji," Tsunade warned.

Kakashi's eye crinkled in a smile, still observing by way of the glass. "He's not wrong."

"Regardless, that's enough talk about ANBU," Tsunade growled. "That topic isn't open for discussion until you provide the necessary proof that you're on solid ground rather than toeing a dangerous edge, Hyūga."

Neji closed his eyes and bowed his head. "I understand. Grant me the chance to complete the missions I've enrolled for and I will provide you and Kakashi-senpai with all the proof you require."

Tsunade's eyebrows went up and she loosened a quiet chuckle behind her hands, turning to reach for her tea. "Oh, it's not me or Kakashi you'll need to convince, Hyūga."

Neji's eyes snapped open, his gaze flicking up. "What?"

Kakashi looked over, the picture of jaded disinterest as he raised his shoulder in a half-shrug. "Don't be fooled. This has nothing to do with me – reluctant consultant that I am."

Tsunade scoffed into her tea cup, rolling her eyes.

"Consultant…" Neji echoed blandly, not liking the taste of the word or what it implied.

What the hell is this? Some inquisition into my mental health?

Kakashi's eye creased in a smile. "Who you need to convince outranks me."

Neji arched a brow. "And who would that be?"

No sooner had he asked then a shadow fell across Tsunade's desk from outside and behind her. A lean, wiry figure swayed to brace his forearm along the upper ledge of the open window. The shinobi's head ducked down a notch, allowing him to peer up from under his arm through shuttered eyes.

Neji's pale orbs rounded, his lips parting on a tight intake of breath.

The ninja's scarred face fell half in shadow, the visible side of his mouth curving upward ever so slightly. But there was no amusement in those sharp, unblinking eyes.

"That would be me," Shikaku drawled.

The cold woke him this time.

A chill which nicked sharper than a razor's edge, prickling his skin.

Shikamaru's lashes flickered open, frigid limbs tensing as he pressed his head into the curved armrest of the couch, massaging the side of his aching skull.

A square of bright light drew his lidded gaze across the room.

The T.V was on, but Chōji had hit the mute.

The Akimichi was sat on the floor, munching something that didn't crunch. Shikamaru folded his arms, squinting against the light as he rolled a little more onto his side.

"Hey," Chōji greeted, gaze fixed on the screen.

Shikamaru hummed, his voice too hoarse to rise above a grunt. He'd have to lift his head for that and there was no way in hell his neck was willing to cooperate. It cramped up tighter than his expression when he tried.

Argh…

Dropping his head back against the armrest, his drowsy eyes drifted around the room, taking in something that hadn't been there the last time he'd woken up. Bits of wrapping paper trailed across the tatami flooring, strips of lilac and indigo. It looked like some purple snake had shed its skin across the floor.

His lazy scan followed the trail up to a thick nest of blankets.

Ino was curled up on a futon Chōji had dragged into the middle of the room, hugging her stomach like she was trying to keep her insides from spilling out. She was sleeping.

"Why?" Shikamaru croaked, voice thick and gravelly.

"Huh?"

Shikamaru flicked a brow up, kneading his arm. "Ino…"

"She opened the rest of her presents while you were in a coma," Chōji answered, not looking away from the dramatic moment playing out on the screen. "Then she passed out. You both ditched me. Oh yeah, she said you're not allowed to open that other gift until she's awake."

Shikamaru glanced across at the wrapped item set on the table, large and rectangular like a shoe box. "Why?"

"Saving the best 'til last," Chōji explained, rustling packets.

Shikamaru was pretty sure the best gift had been the last one.

And it hadn't been an object.

While Magic 8 Balls, pineapples, pillows and a random book on narcolepsy had been balanced out by useful ninja tools and a stunning sunset painting by Sai, nothing material had marked the occasion for the shadow-nin. True, he wasn't the kind to make grand declarations about how happy he felt or how great a time he was having, but there was a way to tell when he was.

He'd close his eyes when he laughed.

And when he'd open them again, his chocolate orbs would still be smiling.

That was the giveaway. Because forced smiles and laugher were easy to come by, but Shikamaru could never force the natural look that came over him when he was genuinely happy. He seldom offered watered down smiles anyway. It was just too much effort to force a lack of genuine feeling. Smirks sufficed.

His laughter was a rare sound, but a telling one.

What was also telling was his presence. He'd been present last night. That was probably the best gift Chōji and Ino could have given him; keeping him out of his own damned head – and having him laugh in the process.

He slipped his eyes open a little more, glancing between his teammates.

No matter how detached he'd become in the past two weeks, he was losing the battle in keeping them at arm's length. They were doing what Asuma had been relentlessly trying to do.

They were trying to reach him.

And every time they tried, it left Shikamaru knotted up with a rusty ball of guilt; one that scraped around inside him like a metal scourer.

It tore him up in a place he was trying to let heal without anyone probing the wound.

He didn't want to talk about it.

He wanted to forget it.

Two weeks had passed, but time had offered nothing. And he had nothing left to offer in return. Nothing left in a place inside him that had gone dormant, detaching itself.

Don't wake me…

It had happened the second Neji's fingers had ghosted across his eyes to close them two weeks ago. Part of him had slipped away into a comatose state he couldn't shake himself free from. Asuma, Chōji and Ino were trying to wake him up. But he wanted nothing more than to let that part of himself fall into a deep, untouched slumber.

"It's the only way I can do this, Shikamaru…"

I know…

Veering away from the memory, Shikamaru craned his neck back with a wince, gazing at the shoji door that had been pulled back a little. He glimpsed thick banks of grey beyond the veranda, not a slice of blue in the sky. The wan light robbed all colour from the world, tinting everything in ashen hues.

Shikamaru squeezed his eyes shut until colours fizzed in his vision. "What time is it?"

"Around four?" Chōji set down whatever he was eating, finally looking across. "You sleep okay?"

Shikamaru was glad for the chill in the air, allowing him to pass off his shiver as nothing more than the cold. "Yeah."

"Why'd you crash on the couch? Ino was right, you know? The futons are seriously like clouds. You'da slept better."

Shikamaru tucked his chin down, grunting again without answering.

For the first time in two years, the thought of sleep unnerved him; especially if it meant being locked in something like the nightmare from last night. A prisoner trapped in the workings of his own mind.

It's not real…

A loud knock on the door startled him.

Breaking from his thoughts, Shikamaru raised his head, lifting his chin to glance over Chōji's head towards the foyer. The knock came again, louder. Ino didn't stir and Chōji made no move to budge from his setup on the floor. A halo of snacks surrounded him like he was in the midst of a ritual.

Which leaves yours truly…

"What a drag…" Shikamaru sighed.

Chōji grinned. "Your birthday treatment stops today. It's Ino's turn now."

Unfolding the knot of his limbs, Shikamaru crawled off the couch and tugged the red yukata half-hanging off his body back into place. He crossed the room in long strides, stretching his calves as he stepped into the foyer and pulled the door back.

Blood-shot bronze eyes looked down at him.

For just a moment, Shikamaru went rigid against the doorframe, breath catching hard in his throat. And in the same moment, he imagined the red in those eyes eclipsing the warm irises completely.

"Alright, I know I look like shit warmed up," Asuma grunted, cigarette dangling from his lip. "But you can quit staring at me like it's contagious."

Shikamaru stared blankly, marshalling his brain and mouth into responding. "You're early…"

"Yeah, figured if I couldn't stop the clock then I'd beat it before I lost at Shogi."

"Can't stop the clock."

Shikamaru blinked hard, startled by the echo of that dream; the one of red clouds swamped around his crimson-eyed sensei like a blood-thick mist. He started when Asuma shoved a Shogi board at his chest and rattled a pouch with the pieces.

"Now you'd better be awake for this, because I dragged myself away from pain medication and a lie in." Asuma cocked his head, his crooked grin swivelling the cigarette upward. "You game?"

Shikamaru arched a brow, managing a small smile that knocked the spooked look from his eyes. "Always."

Chakra flashed like lightning in the cold, stone belly of the Hyūga compound, twin shouts ricocheting off the high walls.

"KAITEN!"

Two glowing rips tore into the damp, open air of the courtyard, exploding outwards until the helix of energy pulled into two domes of blue-white chakra.

Both steady, both strong.

Hinata's was steadier.

But Hanabi's was stronger.

Neji squinted, Byakugan orbs narrowing against the flare and spiral of energy as he watched it expand, pushing itself like a thick, bright miasma around the two sparring siblings as they drew closer…closer...

Their Kaiten shields crashed.

Wet grit flew up like an illuminated corona and whipped into the spin of two spheres going against each other. Dangerous, giant gears slammed in opposite directions. Chakra sparks flew, fizzled out and flared up again, brighter, hotter.

Neji's jaw twitched.

He kept his limbs stiff beneath the loose drape of his robes, the white folds flapping in the breeze that fanned around the courtyard, expelled by the force of the Kaiten ninjutsu.

The domes held, neither giving up an inch of ground for a full two minutes.

And then Hinata's began to thin.

Hanabi drove forward, pushing her sister back.

Neji tightened the muscles of his thighs to keep from stepping forward to the edge of the porch. His breaths misted out in streams, the sodden, late afternoon air thickened from chakra. The rain was holding off but the clouds remained low and dark.

The Kaiten domes flared brighter.

Neji raised his chin, the veins around his eyes tightening. He watched the two spheres move back and forth along an unseen line, the diameter of the circle they'd been fighting in. Until now, he'd never witnessed a spar between the two sisters.

Just the aftershocks…

Right now, it was the intense distraction he needed.

Seeing Nara Shikaku had drawn every nerve into a bowstring of tension. He'd forgotten to breathe for the full few moments it had taken him to absorb his situation and how much more complicated it had become.

How blind could I be, to think it would be so simple?

He'd spent his entire life striving for his rank, his progress tantamount to a comet shot into the sun. He'd soared. But he'd also bled, breathed and broken himself into the necessary parts to attain the physical power and the mental aptitude needed to achieve Jōnin.

He'd aimed to do the same thing with ANBU because it had seemed that simple.

They'd recruited. He'd accepted. All that was left was to pass the necessary evaluations.

So ignorant to assume it would be that easy.

He'd miscalculated terribly.

Why did I never think to consider the Jōnin Commander's say in all this?

A vital player he'd completely failed to piece into the puzzle his future had become. He'd been slotting all the shards into order, accounting for any breaks but completely forgetting the possibility that he risked serious conflict outside of the Main House elders. The pressure of tripwires and traps rigged by his own damned clan was difficult enough – and now he had eyes just as sharp as any Hyūga's watching him.

Nara Shikaku. Of all the shinobi I'd need to convince…Gods drowning…

Neji squeezed his eyes shut.

Why hasn't he barred my path completely, after what I did to Shikamaru?

One of the many, many questions swirling in his mind like a maelstrom . He pressed his eyes shut against the pressure in his head and in his chest.

"You're pushing too hard."

Perhaps there was truth in that, despite his reluctance to admit it. He wasn't completely healed, but he'd spent enough time redefining his limits to know when to stop pushing beyond the point of no return. Did the Hokage assume he'd push himself back to that edge?

Ridiculous.

That would mean moving backwards. He just didn't operate in reverse. He'd always been driven in one direction. Forward. He never turned back on himself.

I will not let my mistakes cost me my freedom.

And if he had to push himself past the point of Shikaku's approval and acceptance to gain admittance to ANBU, then he would.

He had to.

His clan was dragging him under like an anchor in high seas. He was always treading water. If he stopped now he'd go under just like every Branch member before him.

Never.

A burst of light played across his closed lids. He snapped his eyes open, attention caught by another spin of the Kaiten domes.

Focus.

He reactivated his dōjutsu, defined pupils centring on the sparring sisters.

Hiashi wasn't present, but other Main House members were. Neji took a moment to scan the periphery of the courtyard. Hyūga elders stood under the awning that covered the surrounding porch, their backs straight, arms folded under the drape of long, pale sleeves; formal spectators at a sport.

Their white eyes looked on impassively, lustreless as clouded glass.

Slaves to tradition as much as any Branch Member…

Neji's orbs rippled with an emotion he clamped down on the second one of those stoic forms detached itself from the group, moving towards him. He didn't have to turn his head to sense Hitaro. His Byakugan eyes easily tracked the older man's movements as the elder rounded the porch in slow, pre-meditated steps.

In the courtyard, the Kaiten domes tore apart.

His cousins launched into taijutsu.

Neji kept his eyes on them, exuding a calm, focused aura as Hitaro moved to stand beside him. A lack of acknowledgement always boiled down to a lack of respect with this man, so when Neji didn't turn to bow, Hitaro drew even closer, encroaching on the Jōnin's space.

Neji kept his eyes fixed ahead.

Hitaro was a tall man, passing six feet, with broad shoulders and a wide chest, his body tapering down into a narrow waist and slim hips. Like an inverted triangle. His face was flat, his jaw square. His mouth communicated everything even when he wasn't speaking. Right now those thick lips were downturned again, in that sneer of disapproval he'd set on Neji all his life.

"You have trained Hinata-sama well," Hitaro remarked in his low, somewhat stilted voice.

Neji blinked once, offering no response. It was a rhetorical enough statement – although somewhat loaded. Hitaro didn't give compliments. He gave calculated preludes. A sadistic, pontificating bastard in love with the leeway his position granted him. Just to prove it, he moved closer so that his shadow fell across Neji.

"It must irk you so," Hitaro began, his gaze directed on the sparring siblings, "given that you never had the opportunity to fight for a place other than the one you were born into."

A muscle in Neji's jaw ticked. How many more times did he need to be reminded today? As if a lifetime of being reminded every time he looked in the mirror wasn't enough.

Hitaro's lips pursed in mock regret. "It's all rather unfair, isn't it? Even Hizashi didn't have the chance Hanabi has now."

Neji's expression didn't waver, but the sinews in his hands flexed, fingers gnarling against his palm until his blunt nails drew blood. Hitaro's venom was the last thing he needed dripping in his ear.

Focus.

Across the courtyard, Hanabi's heel cracked into Hinata's jaw. The elder sister skidded back, dragging her wrist across her face. Blood dripped from the side of her mouth.

Hitaro drew his tongue across his top lip. "And if Hizashi had had his chance, who's to say that Hiashi wouldn't have been the one to fall? All that rage might have won out in the end."

Neji's nails bit deeper, his eyes taking on the cold look of polished steel. He forced himself to keep his gaze on the sisters, to watch the blurred dance of their arms as they swung and struck, so fast and swift they moved in rapid concert – a ferocious pace threatening to drive their battle beyond a mere spar.

Hitaro dropped his voice. "But you know all about rage, don't you, Neji?"

Neji didn't bother to refute this claim. Neither did he respond to it. His attention was riveted on the fight, following the ugly turn it was beginning to take.

Hinata was losing control of distance.

Hanabi was losing control of herself.

The younger sister let six kunai fly and launched herself in the shadow of her attack, all sharp jabs and angled kicks. It was impossible to gauge her strategic repertoire; she kept changing form. No fluidity. No sense of formula to her attack. Just ferocious reaction.

Neji frowned.

Hinata had a hard time responding, trying to cleave to the traditional teachings of the Hyūga technique. Martial philosophy was imperative in their style of taijutsu. It kept balance, just like the symbol of yin and yang so vital to the clan. Even the separate Houses, however cruel the dynamic, represented two halves of the Hyūga whole.

Balance within a divide.

Unfortunately, the balance in this fight was beginning to slide.

Neji estimated two minutes before the outcome weighed heavily on Hinata's ability to step up her game and either break into ninjutsu or start pulling back. Distance was the best defence against a close-quarter Hyūga assault. Without distance, one had to rely solely on speed to defend or drive one's opponent back – and while Hinata was fast, she just wasn't fierce enough.

Fight back.

There were still chances to turn the direction of the fight. Hanabi began to leave herself open, but Hinata wouldn't move to disable her.

"One has to wonder if she's trying at all," Hitaro remarked, arching a brow.

Neji cursed inwardly.

Damn you. Fight back, Hinata.

Hinata stumbled away, strands of her midnight hair fluttering as Hanabi sheered a kunai towards her throat, slicing away a few thick locks from the elder sister's mane.

Neji's eyes narrowed, his body tilting forward a fraction.

Fight back!

"Do you know what best secures our survival, Neji?" Hitaro droned ominously. "Fear. You know a little something about that too, don't you?"

Neji cut a narrow glare at the elder, the muscles of his throat chording tight.

Bastard.

"It's either a matter of one's desire for survival or their desperation for it." Hitaro smirked, lashes drooping. "What do you think your father feared losing most? God knows it wasn't you."

Neji's eyes drifted shut against the pain.

He's trying to rile you, let it go.

He began to breathe through it.

Hitaro pause for effect. "Desire or desperation? What drove him?"

In the fraction of a second it took for Neji to force his eyes open, Hinata took another blow. She went down on one knee and the backlash caught her across the face, Hanabi's kunai slicing a gash from chin to cheek, splitting her skin like paper. The force of the blow spun her and she struck the ground hard, spraying rainwater as she skidded on the slick dirt.

Neji cursed silently, face pinching in a wince.

Hanabi straightened up, panting hard.

It's over.

Or so he thought.

Hanabi's leg drew back, a flick of her wrist drawing another kunai from the holster, not giving Hinata a chance to regain her feet. The younger's foot came up, a straight kick into her sister's sternum that sent Hinata crashing back.

Damn it.

Neji scowled and made to step forward but Hitaro's palm pressed to his chest, pushing him back a step. "Desire or desperation, Neji? Which is it that drives any Hyūga Branch pet?"

Neji sucked in a breath, teeth set on edge, eyes pinned on his cousins.

Hinata rolled onto her side, spitting blood. Hanabi, face twisting with a grotesque sneer, delivered another kick that knocked Hinata onto her back. Around the courtyard, no elder made to intervene.

Bastards. That's enough!

Neji moved forward again but Hitaro blocked him, his entire arm thrust out this time.

"You will not interfere."

Neji's eyes flashed. "The fight is over."

"Is it?" Hitaro countered.

Abruptly, Hanabi lifted the knife and grabbed hold of Hinata's hair, winding the blue-black mane around her fist. Hinata cried out, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain of having her head jerked at an unnatural angle

Hanabi's eyes were wild, wide, without control.

Neji knew that look.

He watched in mounting dread as Hanabi braced the kunai at Hinata's nape, ready to shear her sister's hair off at the base of her skull.

"Ah yes," Hitaro chuckled low in his throat, a hard, stilted sound. "Desperation."

NO!

Neji knocked aside Hitaro's arm and lunged.

Hanabi poised the blade, but never got the chance to use it.

Like two viper heads, Neji's cupped palms struck before she could react. They whipped under Hanabi's arms, one closing around her throat and the other locking around her wrist. His thumb dug into the fine bones of her hand, biting in until her fingers twitched in a spasm, jarring the kunai from her grip.

The weapon struck the ground.

Hanabi screamed her fury.

Neji simply pulled her arm out to the side, released her throat and cupped her jaw. He drew her head back in a firm tug, mirroring her grip on her sister, the position painful enough to draw a wince.

He set his lips at her ear. "The fight is over. Release your sister."

Hanabi choked out a watery breath, glaring at the sky.

She made no move to obey.

Neji straightened his left leg out behind him, bending his right knee to twist his body at an angle, using his entire frame to bow Hanabi beneath him, still holding her arm up and out. The dip granted Hinata the leeway to move her head.

Hanabi tried to struggle.

Neji bowed her lower, his hair spilling over her shoulder. "Release your sister."

"Liar," Hanabi coughed, her arm shaking, held aloft in Neji's grip. "Protector…only to her…"

"And to you…although I have greater cause to protect you from yourself rather than your sister."

Neji applied the barest outward pressure to the inside of Hanabi's wrist, taking her balance even more until he bowed her low enough so that her cheek became level with her sister's over Hinata's shoulder.

Hanabi flinched and closed her eyes. "Stop…"

"No. Look at her. You have drawn your sister's blood and now her tears, what more do you want?" Neji uttered in her ear. "Her dignity?"

Hinata looked sidelong at her sister, blood streaming from the gash across her face, eyes gleaming. "Let her go, Neji-niisan…"

Neji ignored Hinata, speaking directly into Hanabi's ear. "Look at her."

Hanabi's eyes flickered open, drawn to the wound she'd torn into her sister's face. "I…"

Hinata turned her head a little more. "Hanabi…"

The second their gazes hit, Hanabi's expression grew slack and frightened, as if it had just occurred to her that she had caused the damage. She began to shake, her breath shivering.

Neji's face softened, thawing the chill in his eyes.

"Let her go, Hanabi-sama," he whispered, fingers adjusting their grip at her wrist.

Hanabi snapped her fingers out as if she'd taken a shock.

Hinata's hair slipped free and she twisted around on her knees, staring up into her younger sister's flushed face, tears pooling in her eyes.

"I'm sorry…" Hanabi whispered quickly, a breathless sound, shocked to her core. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry…"

"Breathe," Neji instructed.

Hanabi tried, gulping and hitching her breaths until she was shaking too much to support herself. Releasing a slow sigh, Neji gently curled Hanabi's arm down and inward, leading with his own, folding his arm across her in an embracing movement to draw her back against his chest.

"Hanabi-sama." He squeezed her once, the long white of his sleeve wrapped around her like a wing. "The shame you feel. Be glad for it. It's how you know that this is not who you are."

Hanabi let out a sob and sagged.

Neji released her into Hinata's outstretched arms, which held Hanabi with a fierceness she hadn't put into her fight.

The will to protect…

Neji straightened up, his sandals scraping on the wet ground in a whisper. He watched Hinata set her torn cheek to Hanabi's brow, heedless of her own pain, rocking her sister like a child.

She 'is' a child…

Neji drew back a pace, letting out a long breath.

He didn't sense the presence drawing up behind him until Hinata's eyes snapped up.

Neji turned.

Hitaro backhanded him across the face so hard the blow whipped his head to one side.

"Hitaro-sama!" Hinata cried, tightening her arms around Hanabi.

Hitaro pinned her with a look so thick with contempt it startled her into silence. On the porch, gathered Branch Members stiffened while those from the Main House simply looked on in silence.

Neji, head still turned away, worked his jaw from side to side, his features veiled by the streak of his bangs across his face. The blow had caught him at an angle just shy of dislocating his jaw. He drew his tongue across his lips, catching blood as it beaded at the corner of his mouth.

Hitaro snorted. "Do turn the other cheek, Neji. I'm inclined to balance this insolent head of yours."

Neji gritted his teeth and the pain flared until he felt the sting of a burn like hot ash across his jaw line.

Hitaro's fist had been gloved in chakra.

Bastard.

The hinge of Neji's jaw tightened, muscles bunched fiercer than the snap of his fingers into two rigid fists. He drew a slow breath, holding it deep until the rage calmed. His fingers unfurled, a digit at a time – a mental countdown. Gathering his control, he blinked and turned his head back, eyes deadly calm; yet they were bleached whiter and colder than the combined ice of all the Hyūga eyes trained on him.

He only returned one of those stares.

Hitaro arched a brow, glaring down.

Neji stared back, his bangs still plastered across his face, lining the sharp angles of his cheekbone and jaw. Hitaro paused, reading the unspoken 'fuck you' with a twitching at his nose, hinting at a sneer. He dragged his gaze over Neji's defiant countenance, setting his focus on the Jōnin's feet before swinging his glare back up to bore into the frosty eyes.

"Of course," Hitaro spat, lips curving down. "The same as when you were a child, wanting nothing more than to protect something you could never hope to save."

Neji didn't blink, his expression masked by impenetrable ice. But on the inside, he took a nasty fracture. A memory bled between the break, the echo of his father's voice…

"Who did this to you?"

"Hitaro-sama said I must protect the Main House."

"Why did he strike you?"

"Because I said I would protect you first."

Like a blow to the heart, cobweb cracks broke out pain across Neji's chest. Despite this, his mask held strong, keeping his features set in stubborn stone. He would be damned twice over before he bowed to this bastard again.

On the ground, Hinata's voice whispered out.

"Neji…" she pleaded, begging him to concede to his place - to keep from being put in it.

Truth to tell, he couldn't afford injury or insolence right now. His future was too fragile. His fate hanging by threads he couldn't afford to let slip through his fingers.

And even knowing this, Neji raised his chin and slanted his jaw.

Hinata squeezed her eyes shut.

Amusement crawled into the downward bow of Hitaro's mouth, curling it upwards at the corners in a twist far too ugly and menacing to be called a smile. "I was so hoping you'd defy me."

"What happened to you going easy on me?"

"I am."

Well great, that's embarrassing.

Asuma grunted, scratching at the back of his head. "Just how easy?"

Shikamaru smirked, chin set in one palm as he flipped his Shogi piece, promoting his Knight to Gold. "Stupid simple easy."

Asuma snorted, assessing the board as he tapped ash into a teacup. "And you wanted to subject me to the public humiliation."

Shikamaru shrugged, smiling behind his fingers. "Nah, I just wanted the ryo reward."

"Gambling addict in the making, what the hell am I encouraging?"

Shikamaru laughed quietly, scanning the board.

Asuma watched him through a waft of smoke, sensing his student was calculating all the available moves without the intention to win but rather to estimate the best ways to make the game last longer. He was pretty sure Shikamaru could have had him in checkmate about six moves back.

A fond and knowing smile hit Asuma's eyes, warming the brandy orbs.

They'd moved from Ino's suite into the one she'd booked for the shadow-nin. It was almost identical in its interior bar the flower arrangement and wall hanging in the alcove. They'd left one of the shoji doors open and a cold breeze snaked in from the veranda, more to banish Asuma's smoke than to allow for any light. Sunset was about an hour away, but they wouldn't see it through the cloud cover. Instead, floor lamps cast up an amber and custardy glow across the fusuma panels in the room, patches of bright caramel on the parchment.

Asuma slid his Knight one step to the left. "Enjoy the party?"

"It was interesting." Rather than capture one of Asuma's pieces, Shikamaru made a move to the right of the board.

"Not troublesome then?"

"Never said that."

"You actually didn't. Which brings the total of times you've never said it in these situations to a grand score of one," Asuma pointed out, his smile faint. "Must be a blue moon tonight."

The shadow-nin arched a brow. "Technically it's not over yet, although Ino's the one who's slept through it this year. How's that for irony?"

"Karma," Asuma chuckled gruffly, taking a drag of his cigarette, holding the smoke for a long beat. "Speaking of sleep. Managing to catch some shut-eye between the training?"

Shikamaru's mouth twitched in a barely-there smile, his eyes on the board. "Right. Funny."

Asuma hummed, taking in the dark rings under his student's eyes and the deeper grooves cutting under his cheekbones. "Not really."

Shikamaru's smile slipped away. His fingers hesitated above his Shogi piece, hovering for a moment before they pressed down firmly, sliding a Rook vertically across the board.

"You know me. Sleep's never a problem."

"Yeah, I know you well enough to know that a lack of sleep is."

Shikamaru glanced up, eyes sharp and searching. "Ino said something to you, huh?"

She didn't have to.

Asuma dropped his gaze down to the Shogi board, pretending to tax his brain for the next move.

What a joke; he wasn't putting in the effort to attempt to win at all.

All he could think about were Kurenai's words to him – and the words he didn't remember saying to her. Not that he needed the mental transcript. He knew the words by heart deep down. He'd known them and held them in for two years. And he'd spent the past two weeks remembering them and holding them in all over again.

"What's wrong?" Shikamaru asked, going very still.

I should really be the one asking you that question, even though I won't get an answer…I should have kept asking two years ago…until I did…

Asuma shook his head, tracing the point of his beard with his thumb, smoke misting from his lips. One method would have been to get drunk again. Pouring in the saké might lead to pouring out what needed to be said without worrying about Shikamaru up and bolting.

Only so many ninken I can borrow if he pulls an avoidance stunt again.

Shikamaru sat up a little straighter. "Asuma-sensei…"

The Jōnin braced the heel of his hand at the edge of the Shogi board, cigarette perched between his fingers. He held his silence long enough that ash began to shrivel and pile along the smoking stick. He felt Shikamaru's gaze boring into him.

Always on the ball.

Opting for the indirect route, he pitched his next words almost nonchalantly. "You're aware of the recent attacks in neighbouring lands, aren't you?"

"Yeah…" Shikamaru frowned. "By a two-man shinobi team, right?"

Asuma nodded slowly, watching the ash gather along his cigarette, calculating the best way to steer the conversation. Beneath the screen of his lashes, he could sense Shikamaru scrutinising his face, gathering whatever data he could to predict the relevancy of the topic and where it was likely to lead.

You're not gonna want to go there. And the fact that you don't gets me worse than the thought of making you.

Asuma reached across with his free hand, making a move that would advance his Knight. "Kakashi suspects it's just a matter of time before they target the Land of Fire."

"Looks that way," Shikamaru agreed, his tone just this side of wary.

"Could very likely be Akatsuki."

"That explains the slave-driving with the Nijū Shōtai," Shikamaru's humour barely held in his voice.

Normally, Asuma would have latched onto the thread of humour, however frail, and laced it into his approach. But he just couldn't find it in him to make light of something that weighed too damn heavy on his heart. When he didn't reply, Shikamaru's fingers froze above the Shogi piece he'd been about to move. Asuma noticed and smiled almost regretfully.

Shikamaru was still watching him, concern cutting into the confused knot of his brow. "Asuma...?"

Mildly desperate, it occurred to Asuma to try the "Kakashi method". A method which would involve a lot of twists and turns that would lead Shikamaru down several mental trails in a red herring kind of chase before Asuma blindsided him with the actual problem.

God, I hate this psychological mind-game bullshit.

How the hell he'd get that technique to work on Shikamaru was laughable.

And wrong.

He'd never played those psychological games with the young Nara precisely for the fact that it was never Shikamaru's mind he needed to appeal to, but the part of the shadow-nin that suffered because of his intellect.

What the hell am I thinking, using his head against him?

He'd sworn off the thought of ever employing those calculated shrink techniques. Just the fact that he'd even considered it hit his gut with a brick of guilt he could barely stomach. Completely unable to stomach it, his next words spilled out before he could register his mouth was moving.

"I'm sorry."

Like a hiccup – sudden, unplanned, uncalculated, uncontrollable.

Shikamaru's eyes widened a fraction. "What?"

Asuma stared at his cigarette. It had burned right down to the end.

"I wasn't there. For whatever reason. For whatever happened. And I'm sorry."

Shikamaru said nothing, but his eyes got wider.

Asuma drew a breath, shaking his head. "You must have felt like I just didn't try. Letting it slide. Letting you slide like that. I had no idea how the hell to reach you...and I was too late in figuring out what I should have done. By then you'd already pulled yourself back. But you did that alone. And you shouldn't have had to."

Silence.

Asuma glanced up.

The colour had drained from Shikamaru's face, leaving him grey and drawn, the whites of his eyes visible all around the irises as he stared like a startled animal.

It was painful to watch.

The concern hit Asuma harder than the guilt and he forced himself to go on. "Sending a ninken after you two weeks ago? I should have done that two years ago. I should have sent a whole fucking pack and a cavalry charge but I didn't."

Shikamaru stared vacantly at Asuma's chest, eyes fixed and unblinking.

"I didn't," Asuma repeated. "I'm sorry."

On the last word, Shikamaru's eyes screwed shut. Asuma kept his gaze on his face, afraid to look away. Afraid that if he did, something would slip through and he'd miss it.

"I told you that was the toughest test I've ever had as your sensei," Asuma murmured, his deep timbre ragged with regret. "That's because I failed it. I failed you."

The shadow-nin said nothing, made no sound whatsoever and Asuma felt the weight of every silent second pressing down on him, squeezing harder than the clench of Shikamaru's eyes.

And then the shadow-nin shook his head.

"You never failed me, sensei," Shikamaru whispered, his voice scraping hoarse and shaky in his throat. "Not once."

Asuma clenched his jaw against the surge of pain for his student. Looking at Shikamaru he didn't see the seventeen-year-old Chūnin advanced way beyond his years - instead, he saw the scared, twelve-year-old kid he'd once had to establish trust with.

"Then why, now, two years on, can you still not tell me?" Asuma asked gently, straightening up to keep from reaching forward, not wanting to push it and hoping against hope for an answer.

It was a long, torturous moment before Shikamaru slipped his eyes open a little, the dark, wet lashes hiding the liquid obsidian of his eyes.

"Because you'll hear me," he rasped.

Those vital words. The cornerstone of the trust and the bond that they'd created.

Asuma shook his head, concern etched deep into his brow. "Shikamaru."

Shikamaru pressed his eyes shut again, fighting back whatever was close to breaking through. Unable to do more than hope, Asuma sat still and quiet, watching, waiting and wishing on anything that he could do something.

But all he could do was be there.

After a moment the shadow-nin's fingers grazed a Shogi piece and continued the game, keeping his eyes away from Asuma the whole time.

In the silence that followed, Shikamaru made no move to rise and leave like he had when he was a Genin.

Not that he had to.

He didn't have to leave for Asuma to sense that a part of him was gone.

Sunset bled like a dark bruise beneath the rumpled clouds. Thunder growled farther back, rolling in over the Hokage Mountain.

And a heartbeat behind it, the restlessness inside of Neji howled.

He responded to the call.

It pushed him out of the Hyūga compound, urging him back to a place where he'd often played out his demons, embracing the part of the caged creature he'd always considered himself to be.

My role. My place. My prison.

The stage was always the same.

The bamboo groves.

In the growing darkness, the ambience of the Hyūga gardens shifted, like a theatre stage transforming. Neji never wore a mask on this stage. He just went through the motions of a scene he always found himself repeating. He fell into the role with a seamlessness that came from knowing how it began, where it led and how it ended.

And so he moved; in and out between the rows of bamboo culms.

It was a dance of slipping through unseen bars.

He saw them every time.

Because the bamboo always looked like bars in the moonlight, the yellowed hues ripped away as the world became a white-washed mockery of peace. A cage by another name.

Like ANBU…

Neji snarled and upped his pace, hips shifting, shoulders sliding at sharp, smooth angles as he cut a zigzag path along the rows, back and forth, left and right, fast and fluid as he chased his own restlessness.

He ignored the pain flaring in his back.

How can I protect them both, if I am on a leash with no leeway?

He tensed his jaw and a hot burst of pain sang along the sharp, bruised slant all the way around the orbital region of his eyes up to his temples and down along his cheekbone.

Have I created another chain, playing protector?

He turned a vicious loop, weaving faster between the culms. The words playing across his conscience regarding Hinata and Hanabi were like shouts from graves. Countless faces of Hyūga cousins and siblings cast aside. Branch members that died in their cages, wrapped in the hollow comfort of familiar chains no one had thought to break.

I will not join the ranks of those who never found their freedom…

Neji turned too sharply, jarring his shoulder against one of the culms.

The pain in his spine rocketed to the base of his skull.

His eyes flashed.

He turned with a snarl and smashed his fist into the unyielding cane. The impact jarred along his arm. The bamboo didn't shatter, but it cracked. He wanted it to splinter, break, explode into needles.

Enough. Calm down.

Neji pulled in a deep, steady breath and let the anger seep out before it could set in. He'd learned how to let it go. But knowledge was useless without application. He exhaled a gentle stream of vapour into the cold air, slipping his eyes open.

The rage eased, leaving behind a tense throb.

Breathing slowly, he flexed his fingers and flattened his palm against the fractured bamboo. The split skin of his knuckles drew his eye.

His blood welled black in the moonlight.

Black as shadows…

Neji tilted his wrist and watched the blood trickle along the back of his hand.

The memory of shadow tendrils curling around his wrist flickered in his mind's eye like a flame. It scattered a lick of heat across his skin and at the same time, it slipped around the restlessness pacing inside him. And then came the whisper of a voice locked in memories.

"Just let go…"

Neji breathed deep.

He breathed deep enough until he felt it; a weak imitation of the peace that he ached for as strongly as his freedom.

The peace urging him to find rest.

I can't…

Because the 'rest' had become a yearning wrapped up in dark sienna eyes and a voice that slipped like smoke around the edges of lazy smiles.

Damn you, Nara.

The yearning settled deep inside the breaks Neji couldn't fix, leaving him with the pieces that had only ever made sense when they were in one ninja's hands.

He foolishly remembered those hands.

And for the briefest of moments, rest came to him. But behind the rest, came the sadness of knowing it wasn't real enough. Seeing those hands in his mind's eye wasn't the same as feeling them…remembering the feel of them...

Neji shuddered, teeth grit hard.

And then came the hurt…and the heat…

The need.

The second Neji began to move, he knew he was walking a dangerous line.

So long as I don't cross it.

It didn't occur to him that he already had.

TBC.
- 7
- 8
- 9
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

On The Cusp