Author's Note: Shikamaru's mourning, heavily based on episode 82, "Team Ten." Dialogue between Shikamaru and Shikaku (and Yoshino) is taken from the episode (from VizAnime). I've been in a Naruto funk recently, and Shikamaru has been my obsession. So I hope you like this; I'm fairly proud of it! Reviews are greatly appreciated! No bashing of any kind. Please ignore the line breaks; I hate the horizontal ruler, and I couldn't keep what I had, which was simple, so just bear with me.
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto in any way. The manga and original characters belong to Masashi Kishimoto. The dialogue between Shikamaru, Yoshino, and Shikaku belong to Episode 82 of Naruto Shippuden.
Warning: Implied yaoi.
On the back patio of his home, he curled tightly into the smallest ball that he could. His legs were pulled to his chest and his arms were thrown over his head, feeling as though if he relaxed, he would simply unwind. He didn't want to see the clouds like he normally would; no, it was too hard because it brought back too many memories.
His chin quivered with the threat of tears at his eyes, but he pushed them away because he did not want to feel like this. He didn't want to feel like it was his fault or that he was completely useless.
But worst of all, he felt a pain in his heart that he thought he'd never have to feel.
+X+
They were playing Shogi one comfortable afternoon, neither saying much of anything. Shikamaru had taken up his thinking pose, fingertips pressed lightly together in the center of his crossed legs.
Usually patient, Asuma couldn't help himself from speaking. "So, that Temari," he said with a hint of playfulness. "She seems to really like you." He brought an unlit cigarette to his lips and held his lighter over it, allowing it to catch fire as he inhaled deeply. The lighter clicked shut as he exhaled smoke through his nose.
The Nara boy shrugged. "Girls are confusing and troublesome," he mumbled as he finally made his move. And as an afterthought that he meant to keep to himself, "So are boys." He sighed heavily at his own stupidity. It didn't exactly bother him for his sensei to know that he liked both, it was just embarrassing to say it out loud where someone could hear.
Asuma just smirked and chuckled.
+X+
"Shikamaru?" His mother's voice was soft and kind, unlike her usual tone that was hard and forceful. She could see her son's pain, and although she acted tough, he knew that she loved him enough to worry about him. "It's almost dinner."
When he moved his arms and lifted his head just enough to see that her eyes matched her voice, soft and laced with a hint of worry, he shook his head and moved it back down to his knees. "I don't feel like eating," he muttered, his arms resuming their place. He heard the waver in his voice, but if his mother did he was unsure. She started to say something about how he hadn't eaten since it happened, but he simply shook his head and covered his ears.
Through his knees he watched her take hesitant steps away and return inside. Tears threatened him more than ever, but he still held them back.
+X+
Another day, another afternoon and they were watching the clouds slowly drift by in the blue sky. They were lying so close that Shikamaru could smell his sensei – he smelled of cologne and cigarette smoke. It smelled good, but only Asuma could pull off the strong mixture. The cologne was familiar; Asuma wore it on their days off because he said it made him irresistible. Shikamaru would just roll his eyes.
As smoke drifted into the air above them, he shut his dark eyes. "Cologne is pointless," he muttered. "Troublesome, really. You can't wear it on missions, or else you'll give yourself away." He dropped one arm by his side because it fell asleep behind his head.
The Jonin's lips curved into a smile as he took the cigarette from his lips. "That's true," he agreed. "But on a relaxing day, it's refreshing to smell good." He replaced the cancer stick and then moved his hand near Shikamaru's.
Neither of them said anything when their hands brushed. However, Shikamaru turned an incredibly light pink.
+X+
It had gotten dark and he hadn't even moved. Not an inch, not even a centimeter. No, he stayed in the same spot in the same position because thinking hurt too much. He would have stayed there all night had his father not stepped onto the patio to his left.
"Shikamaru," he said. "Come with me for a sec." It wasn't a question but a statement, a soft but stern command to be followed into the candlelit room.
The Chunin watched his father turn his back into the room, the walls decorated with deer in honor of their clan, and had a moment of wondering what would happen if he didn't follow Shikaku. He could easily slip away into the house into his room, simply using the excuse of grieving. But no, he decided to follow him into the candlelight. He sat across from him at the Shogi board, crossing his legs but slouching his shoulders as his father straightened his back.
+X+
They were at their favorite restaurant, where Asuma's tab was growing to record amounts. It was only him and Shikamaru, no Choji to continue to run up the bill and no Ino to bug them about how much they ate. Eating seemed to be all they were doing; they'd barely had one whole conversation. Not that the Chunin was complaining, the silence with company was nice. However, as he lit another cigarette, he could see the hurt brewing behind his sensei's dark eyes.
But he knew what it was – Asuma was mourning the second anniversary of his father's death. He took a deep drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly through his nose, his eyes never meeting his pupil's. His free hand absently curled into a loose fist on the table.
For one of the few times in his life, Shikamaru was speechless. He didn't want to say something that he hated hearing, like 'Are you okay?' or 'I'm sorry.' Instead, he bit his lip and gently rested his hand over the Jonin's, trying his hardest to make their gazes lock. "Asuma," he said lowly, and then choked. The word caught in his throat because he had no idea what he would, or should, have even said.
His hand simply opened to hold Shikamaru's fingers for comfort.
+X+
The only sound that filled the room was the sharp, rhythmical slap of the Shogi tiles as they were played on the board. This wasn't what he wanted to be doing, it was tiresome and pointless. The way he was playing was one of the ways he knew to beat Asuma; however, his father was more practiced and could see through his attack as he played it.
Shikaku, of course, broke the thick silence. "You're pretty forceful today," he commented. Shikamaru said nothing. He had nothing to say; he'd rather tune out his father, though it seemed somewhat hard at this particular time. "You can't win that way."
Then, the younger's muttered response of, "Shut up." It was simple and harsh, just as he felt.
+X+
Again, it was Shogi on a rainy afternoon at Asuma's house. This time, however, they were indoors. His sensei's house was fitted just for him: two bedrooms, one that was his and one that he said he barely used, one bathroom, a small kitchen, a fair sized living space, a back patio and a large backyard for training. Simple, but perfect.
Shikamaru played a Shogi tile and then watched as Asuma looked over the incredibly few options he had that would not mean his forfeit. He moved a tile, and his pupil had to laugh to himself. "Just give up," he sighed. "You won't win."
His sensei smirked crookedly, with his cigarette in his mouth, and shrugged as if it didn't bother him. "No hope, really," he agreed.
Their eyes met, and Shikamaru had to look away first. A small genuine smile crept over his lips.
+X+
"The Akatsuki, huh?" His father questioned him. "Are they…strong?" He seemed like he wouldn't stop unless he got answers he was looking for. Shikamaru muttered a 'yeah' as an answer. "So, what are you going to do? If Asuma couldn't beat them, then you wouldn't be able to do anything." He wanted to tell him to shut up, that he sounded pathetic and stupid. But no, he bit his tongue and did not give him the satisfaction of a response. "He was a really good guy," Shikaku added.
That deserved a response, if anything did. "Yeah," he muttered again.
"He sucked at Shogi, though," his father said. Then, there was silence again as the tiles were moved and taken.
+X+
Cloud gazing, to the younger, could be done for hours and hours without a need for anything else at all. The whiter and puffier the better, the more relaxed he was, the better he could think later when he was under stress. It was like recharging, almost. However, to his sensei, it wasn't necessarily a task, but it wasn't exactly his idea of fun. He lit up another cigarette, took a drag, then pulled it from his mouth.
He turned onto his side and propped his body up with his left arm to face Shikamaru. The Chunin's eyes were closed, and he looked to be asleep. Thankfully, his sensei knew him better than that. He shifted his body over the younger's and took smoke into his lungs. He made sure to exhale directly onto his face, causing Shikamaru to scrunch his face up and grunt about how much he hated Asuma's smoking.
When he opened his eyes, he was shocked to see the Jonin pressed against his side as their mouths were pressed together. Though it seemed like an hour, maybe even two, it was really only a few seconds. When dark eyes met dark eyes, one pair smiling with mischief and the other in pure shock, he brought his cigarette to his mouth again and exhaled to the side, smirking down at his stunned pupil. "I couldn't help myself," he said lightheartedly. He lied back down beside the Chunin.
Shikamaru licked his lips slowly and smirked, slowly shutting his eyes and not addressing how his lips still tingled.
+X+
"Are you sure about that?" Shikaku was staring intently at the board and his son's last move. He could have done better, could have made it tougher.
Shikamaru didn't even look up from the game as he said, "Don't mess with my move." It was the best he found in their game if he wanted to come close to winning.
Shikaku made another play. "Not that. What do you want to do?" Shikamaru's head shot upright and he stared, gaping, at his father in shock. It was only for a second, and then he was making another play on the board.
+X+
He was horrible at Shogi. Maybe he was good against any other opponent, but he would never beat Shikamaru. No matter how long he sat and thought about what his move could be or what the Chunin's move could be, he would always make one simple mistake that would sacrifice him the entire game. He blamed it on how long Shikamaru thought and how distracted the sighs were that escaped his mouth out of impatience.
He would playfully glare and try to choose the best move to make, scanning every tile and its position twice before playing. But no, Shikamaru always saw what he did and played, figuring how to easily back him into a corner.
"Maybe you should take some lessons," the teenager teased, "before you lose all your money."
Asuma rolled his eyes and shook his head, adoring the way the small smirk fell so easily across the boy's mouth.
+X+
His father just wouldn't stop talking, even though he hadn't responded. "Well, I guess you're not stupid enough to go die. As a parent, that is very fortunate. Who wants to go to their son's funeral? You are doing well. I am proud to be your parent."
All Shikaku did was talk and talk and talk, even as he was trying to concentrate on Shogi. He didn't want to hear any more. It was like his father was guilting him into something, though he had no idea what or why. Shikamaru sighed heavily and, as he made his next move, brought his left leg up to rest his arm on it, then put his head down. He could feel frustration just bubbling up to the surface even though he tried his hardest to suppress it.
Shikaku still spoke, as much as his son wished he wouldn't. "You're sharp, and you're talented. You are capable of taking on the future of the Hidden Leaf Village."
+X+
Their newest game of Shogi was completed, and the Chunin had laid back just where he was in the shade, while the elder had risen and sat on the edge of the patio, lighting up a new cigarette. He smiled when he looked over his shoulder and his first sight was of another game he lost, of course, when he had only one tile left. When he shifted to his side, he could see the arms bent behind a black-haired head and smiled.
"Lazy," he mumbled loud enough so that his pupil could hear. His smile broadened when he heard the stirring and heavy sigh that meant Shikamaru had made his response. "But I don't doubt you," he added then. When he looked back, he could see the Chunin had pushed himself to his elbows to watch him with those piercing eyes. "Really, I know you're smart and talented. I have no doubt that, when I do leave this Earth, you'll be able to take care of the people of Konoha."
"Don't talk like that," Shikamaru said sharply. His muscles had tensed, but he relaxed instantly. When he got a stern look that meant, 'Don't act like I'll be here forever – what we do is dangerous', he let out an exasperated sigh and shifted back to laying down, this time one arm pressed over his eyes.
Emotions were not something he felt in great quantities, but just the thought of him passing away brought the memory of tears to his eyes.
+X+
Shut up, shut up, shut up, was all Shikamaru wanted to say to his father. "But," Shikaku wouldn't let it go, he wouldn't stop until he said it, "Asuma died." He said it with only a small, almost undistinguishable amount of remorse from the monotone he had completely spoken in.
Enough was enough, and he had crossed the line. And then, as he was about to lay his Shogi tile down, Shikamaru used his entire arm to slap the Shogi board from its resting place, sending it and the small tiles scattering across the floor with a crash. He lifted his head only as everything settled on the floor, and his father never flinched. The candle went out, leaving them in the darkness.
He did not stand, but Shikamaru did straighten his back as he looked at his father, who had an unreadable expression on his face. It reminded his son of challenge and what looked like anger, but in his eyes and the way his mouth was ever so slightly frowning, it looked more like sorrow. "What are you trying to say?" Shikamaru spat at him.
Without changing his face, his father said, "The truth."
Then he stood, looking down at his father, needing to feel above someone, just to feel a small amount of power that he was so desperately lacking. Every ounce of heartache and sadness that he allowed to be bottled up and not let out suddenly all came back to the surface like a dam opening, and he could feel it pushing at every opening in his body, just wanting to be let out. "It's repulsive that you're talking so much," he shouted. Now he couldn't stop everything that was coming out in waves of anger towards his father. "Yes, I am just a useless coward." Tears, as hot as brands, stung his eyes and made them shine in the moon light.
Shikaku shook his head, still showing barely any other emotions. "No."
"Then what!" Shikamaru felt like he didn't understand anything. He knew what he was, and he knew what he did was wrong. He should have helped, he should have done something. But now, he was pitiful and could have prevented the death of his sensei, of another man.
His father slowly, in his time, pushed himself to his feet so he stood face to face with his son. His calm eyes looked straight into Shikamaru's frantic and infuriated ones. "Just let it all out," he said deliberately. Then his son was shocked, staring into his eyes with questions and tears. Shikaku's expression never changed. "Let out all your sadness, fears, and anger. And everything else."
He never could have missed the way Shikamaru took in large gulps of air and then the way his hands clenched at his side, and his father knew that he was fighting himself, willing himself not to feel anything. "And it all starts from there," he finished. That was all he could give him now, the only way he could help him. He turned away and made to leave the room.
Shikamaru stood in the same position, turning his head away as even more tears pricked his eyes and made his sight blurry, and he shook to hold his emotions back. But what his father had said meant not to, to just let all of it go and allow himself to feel.
He took a step, not knowing what to do as he turned his head and everything just became too much for his heart, mentally and physically. He took even larger gulps of air, though nothing seemed to help the tightness in his chest. And then, the dam wasn't opening, it was breaking. Into tiny, microscopic pieces that could never be replaced.
The only thing he could do, as his father closed the door, was let out an anguished scream that was pain and anger and all of his sadness mixed in one.
Outside, his father couldn't bear to look as he said, "I'll pick up your pieces." And then he reentered the house to allow his son to mourn in privacy.
Shikamaru held nothing back as he let all of his feelings go. He collapsed to his knees when it got too hard to stay standing, and never wiped away any of the tears. He wanted to feel them after so long of pushing them away, and allowed them to create tracks and sticky lines down his face. Hours and hours passed, but still salt water fell from his eyes like twin waterfalls.
He cried for his losses and his friends, for everyone who'd ever lost someone and for only himself. And most of the time, he was crying for Asuma. Just for one last touch, one last time to be close to him. Normally, he would roll his eyes at people who would cry for someone who passed away, but he never had it happen to him. He found that it was impossible not to. His voice, as if not listening to his brain, formed and released the words begging for the unattainable.
As soon as it started, after hours of releasing his bottled up emotions, he was laying flat on his back in the moonlight that leaked in through the windows, making everything a grayish blue. Tears still made their slow way down his cheeks and temples in sticky trails. His body was physically exhausted and his throat and lungs ached from crying and rough breathing.
His head tilted to the right, and he saw the Shogi board on its side and scattered tiles in the bright direct moonlight. Slowly, taking his time to push himself to his feet, he walked to the board and placed it back into its rightful spot before taking every tile and setting up the game. He sat on one side and stared, imagining his moves and then his opponent's moves. Crossing his legs, he put the tops of his fingertips together and took a deep breath as he began to think.
Then, an option came. He played the entire strategy, but it failed; he was beat. Frustrated, he restarted and tried another way, then another way. Over and over, his line of attack became smarter and harder to defend. Finally, just as the day broke, he finally had the correct means of attack against the Akatsuki members who had killed Asuma.
With a small smirk of accomplishment, but still with sadness in his eyes, he laid down in the warm morning sunlight and gladly accepted sleep.