Warning: Spoilers from manga ahead. You have been warned.
It was the only emblem that was left behind that held any sort of value to him. It made the pain subside, if only for a few huffs, and let him relish in memories of older days and simpler times. What was to cause an early death seemed to give him a new life, hell bent on keeping up the visage that everything was going to be just fine. The smell of the signature blue smoke curling in front of his obsidian eyes let him travel back in time to when its odor was always present, always a confidante. The clock had stopped for only a second when chocolate brown eyes that held infinite love and wisdom closed, but now with the small rectangular pack placed securely over his heart inside his chuunin vest pouch, Shikamaru had discovered a way to turn back the stubborn hands. If only until the white cylinder disintegrated.
Ino had given him a lot of crap for picking up his new "habit". She screamed and hollered for him to stop and move on already, to quit making her worried for his health. He had only puffed out a blue ring of smoke before her baby blue eyes and watched as they shined with unshed tears from fruitless attempts to forget – to burn the image of the bearded man who lent a hand when needed, that guided them to the honorable path of shinobi. Ino had bitten her lip, only drawing a small amount of crimson and turned away, unable to look upon Shikamaru – not wanting to see those chocolate brown eyes hiding beneath the shadow-tamer's obsidian ones.
Chouji had faired a little better than the emotional blonde. As Shikamaru basked in his nicotine glory across the table from him in the barbeque hut, the sienna-haired chuunin only stared, watching the blue wisps reflect in the florescent lights. Shikamaru stared back, daring his friend and teammate to call him out, to tell him it wasn't moral or right to pick up this "habit". But Chouji had only stared and then proceeded to cut the fatty tissue off his slab of lamb. Shikamaru had deduced, with his ever strategic mind, that his slightly husky friend was also comforted by the familiar smell, the memorable click of the lighter.
Kurenai had gazed upon him forlornly, rubbing her protruding stomach as Shikamaru delivered her a message from Tsunade to come in for an appointment in two weeks from that Wednesday. The ebony-haired woman's red irises bore into his own, somehow finding traces of her lost lover, somehow finding the blue smoke triggering memories of a hearty laugh and a steady shoulder to lean upon. Shikamaru found himself shifting his weight from one foot to the other as Kurenai's mouth hung open slightly, silently whispering words that he would never know the meaning of. Only in the presence of her scarlet eyes did he ever put out his cigarette.
Many were shocked that he had picked up this "habit", wondering why he'd be such a hypocrite to do just the thing that he hated his sensei for doing. His family was furious at him – his mother screaming to spit out the lung-murdering substance, his father staring at his son with a cold stare that said everything without uttering a word. The chuunin who danced within the shadows never complied to either, only taking another drag, another puff, another visage.
Some weren't surprised at all. Naruto had eyed the blue smoke that curled and twisted in the otherwise clean air, then stared into his obsidian orbs with his own cerulean, understanding beaming from the kyuubi container. Naruto's lips tugged ever so slightly into a small smile and quipped that perhaps he should invest in the tobacco industry. Behind the light banter and goofy smile, an air of I know how you feel emanated. Naruto's sensei, Kakashi, had even done a double take when bumping into Shikamaru at the HQ. The silver-haired jounin had looked upon the white cylinder, emotions of regret and remembrance clouding his only viewable eye. Shikamaru let himself be examined under the copy-nin's gaze, the small pack resting upon his heart giving him some sort of courage in Kakashi's presence. In the end, the elite jounin patted his shoulder, his right eye arching in amusement as he whispered, "Spitting image." before sauntering away.
While some were appalled, others understanding, there were plenty who never noticed the sudden transition, the sudden change. Shikamaru could walk in the town square completely unnoticed, people never keying in on the fact that a young boy was sucking his life away. His late sensei's nephew, Konohamaru, had passed Shikamaru on the street with his pack of friends. The young grandson of the late Sandaime looked over his shoulder, his hazelnut eyes landing on the white cylinder that hung from Shikamaru's mouth. The genin stared for only a second, the nicotine inducing tool causing his brain to trigger a memory, or perhaps a deja vu, before he waved it off and chased after his friends in a child's bliss.
The cenotaph had no say in what it thought of Shikamaru's "habit". The black marble provided no input, only supplying the brown-haired chuunin with his sensei's lost name among all the other casualties. Even as Shikamaru spit out a cigarette and stomped upon it with his shinobi sandal right before its eyes, the cenotaph offered no condolences, no lectures, just silence. Shikamaru learned that if he spent a long time sitting against the large memorial, if he inhaled about two white cylinders and concentrated with unheard of focus, he could almost hear his sensei challenge him to another duel of chess.
Ino is still upset and won't ever let him forget about it. She constantly berates him, saying how he can't hide under sensei's lighter, that he needs to face facts that he died in the line of duty. Shikamaru only sucks his teeth and tells her not to scream so loud. Ino's light blue orbs shine in the sunlight as she begs him to stop his mascarade, to let things finally heal. The shadow-manipulator only flicks the ashes off his newest cigarette and proclaims to the hysterical blonde that it's too troublesome to explain. Chouji never utters a word about Shikamaru's nicotine fix, only stares at the blue clouds of smoke before having his mind swept elsewhere.
The only one that Shikamaru ever spares is Kurenai. Whenever he detects the scarlet-eyed woman's chakra, the chuunin extinguishes the white cylinder, forgetting for just a moment that a rectangular carton lays just upon his heart inside his vest pocket. No matter how fast he stomps out the cigarette, Kurenai always seems to know what he's been up to. Her eyes trace Shikamaru's maturing face and smiles wistfully before biding her hello's and goodbye's. Shikamaru never quite knows if the salutations are just for him alone.
The blue wisps of smoke help keep his memory fresh, the old slide show playing in his mind. The nicotine circulating in his bloodstream comforts him and Shikamaru swears that he can feel his sensei's steady hand upon his shoulder in the heat of battle. Between his lips lies the last connection, the last emblem that was the only one worth salvaging. The way his thumb fits so perfectly into the worn contours of the transparent lighter always makes his heart pump.
What some (perhaps all, save the few who are wise) may not know is that Shikamaru never liked the taste of ash lying between the spaces of his teeth. The way the smoke wraps around his lungs, constricting them, is one thing he can never subdue. Before those blue wisps leave his nose and mouth, they fight an inner battle, seeing if Shikamaru is worthy enough to keep his sensei's image alive. In the end, the young genius always wins, his drive stronger than his body.
It can become a burden, dealing with the chronic coughs late at night, the woeful irises of Kurenai and Ino, and the constant reminder that no matter what he does, Shikamaru cannot become Sarutobi Asuma. He tries, though. Dammit, he tries hard. The memory reel won't be lost forever like his sensei as long as the blue cloud of smoke still invades the air.
Shikamaru has already made the pact with his cancerous death. The shadow-tamer will burn out his lungs as long as Asuma's visage is kept if only for one more drag.
o-o-o-o-o
A/N: A very short introspect into Shikamaru's decision to start smoking after Asuma's demise.
I want to make it clear to everyone that I do not read the manga. I do not know if all the facts in here are right (such as Kurenai being pregnant still after Asuma's death, or if she already had the baby by then or whatever). Maybe they actually explained the reason in the manga for Shikamaru's nicotine fix and I'm just spitting out incoherent sentences, but that's the beauty of artistic license. Haha. So, I just wanted to give everyone the heads up before the manga-readers correct me.
I don't really know what drove me to write this. I was looking at a picture on deviant art that had the whole Naruto gang posing (it's called Naruto: Konoha Warriors by O-renji) and I saw that Shikamaru was smoking. Now, I knew beforehand from accidental spoilers that Asuma had died and Shikamaru had taken up the habit so the whole thing kind of spiraled out of control from there.
So, enough of my rambling. It's 9:34 and I'm dead from finals week (regents week is Monday .. woo..).
Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed this piece. Drop by a review to let me know!
- - H. 92