Second Meeting

It only occurred to Shikamaru that he was leaving Tokyo when suddenly, the scene outside shifted from bustling metropolis to quiet countryside, dotted with green and an occasional stray cow. It had been so long since he had seen hills and such a large quantity of trees; he'd almost forgotten what it looked like.

"Have you never seen trees before?"

The question came from the woman who sat in front of him. He gave her a sharp look that he hoped translated to something along the lines of, "I really don't want to talk to you, mind your business."

He sucked at translations. "Apparently not," she observed, using her train ticket as a makeshift bookmark to hold her place in the book she held in her lap. "We call this the countryside."

Shikamaru licked his lips but chose not to answer. No reason to humor her. Maybe she'd take the hint and stop speaking, leaving him to wallow in peace.

She had different plans. Instead, she only got more comfortable, throwing her book back into her bag and stretching out her legs. "You really are stupid. Ignoring me won't get you anywhere. It'll provoke me further."

This was just his luck. Only a few minutes prior, he'd been thoroughly dumped in the worst way possible. Sure, Ino felt terrible about it and had called him crying the night before, seeking forgiveness for something she could not control (love was unexpected, she said). And sure, Ino and him had never actually had a thing because he'd been too lazy to ask and she had obviously not returned his feelings. And sure, Chouji was his best mate and had had no idea about anything. But still, he'd been dumped. To top things off, he'd climbed aboard a train that was going God-knew-where and sat in someone else's seat, earning him the label of stupidity. And now he had to entertain the person he'd accidentally taken the seat, all because she was one of those feisty, scary women he couldn't stand up to.

She was staring at him, bored. "Come on; you sat in my seat and pretended you couldn't hear me. The least you could do is entertain me."

He turned back to the window, hoping against hope that the crazy bitch would leave him alone, or at least find something else to occupy her.

It was not to be. Only a few minutes after the woman had abandoned her attempts to get him to speak ("What a waste of time," she had said, before digging into her bag and retreating a Blackberry that put Shikamaru's neat looking company cell phone to shame), the conductor stopped at their seats.

"Tickets, please." The conductor was a middle-aged man with graying hair that poked out from beneath his blue hat, making him seem almost comical. He tipped his blue hat at the woman when she threw him a smile that showed all her teeth.

The woman wasted no time in handing her ticket over. He took one look at it and punched a few holes, then handed it back.

Shikamaru could feel the heat from both the conductor and the woman's stares. "Ticket?" the conductor asked.

He shrugged, looking at the man.

"He's asking for your ticket," the woman said, exasperation seeping into her voice.

"I don't have one."

She sucked her teeth at him as the conductor's eyes narrowed. "What?" The conductor did not sound happy.

"He just told you," the woman snapped, "he doesn't have one. Where are you going?" she asked, directing the question to Shikamaru.

He shrugged again.

"For the love of—" She wasn't even bothering to hide the fact that she was growing agitated now. "Do you even know where this train is going?"

He was unsure if it would be safe to shrug for a third time, so instead, he shook his head.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Excuse me," the conductor interrupted. "But I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to step off this train on the next stop."

"He's going to Fukuoka," the woman said. "Let him buy a ticket now."

"I'm afraid—"

She raised her hand, stopping the conductor mid-apology. "I've done it before and besides, this train is almost empty. Do him a favor. Clearly, he's either stupid or traumatized. Just look at him. I wouldn't be surprised if he were both."

The conductor relaxed as he gave Shikamaru a sympathetic look. "Sir, can you pay for it?"

Shikamaru felt like he'd been given no choice. But he wasn't complaining. Anything to get away from Tokyo and everything he'd left behind. He reached into his back pocket and withdrew his wallet, pulling out a few bills and quickly handing them over.

The conductor counted. "Your change."

Shikamaru shrugged. "Keep it."

The woman nodded. "Thank you, Mister Conductor. Sorry for the inconvenience."

The conductor tipped his hat again before continuing down the aisle, stopping only once to check a ticket before heading into the next car.

The woman stared at him for a long time, forcing Shikamaru to speak.

"What?"

"Are you stupid?"

He didn't deign the question with an answer.

"Stupid people usually don't have such a crazy amount of money in their back pocket."

"Can't you mind your business?"

"No. You forfeited that right when you decided to sit in a seat that wasn't yours."

He sighed. "I don't want to listen to your banter."

"Then by all means," she waved at the aisle, "you can leave. I bought my ticket first."

Shikamaru didn't think twice. He stood and moved to the end of the car, wrenched the door open, and stepped through.

The wind met him full force, forcing him to close his eyes. He gripped the handle of one door firmly as he looked down to see the tracks speed past him.

He'd never been melodramatic in the least, and while a pessimist, hadn't ever entertained morbid thoughts of an early death. In all honesty, he had imagined his death to be many years down the road, preferably after his retirement, during his sleep. But as he stood there, watching the world beneath him disappear at an alarming speed, he wondered if things would be easier if he jumped. At least he wouldn't have to return to a lonely apartment; be forced to go to dinner with a newlywed couple that just happened to contain one person he loved dearly; an existence that was half-assed and boring. If he jumped—

"What are you doing?"

The woman with the green eyes stood at the car door, arms crossed in front of her. If she was surprised to find him standing there contemplating suicide, she was a very good actress, since she spoke her next words with all the emotion capable of an amoeba.

"If you're going to commit suicide, don't make such a spectacle of yourself. Either do it or get back inside."

"Can't you leave me alone?"

She moved inside but held the door open for him. "I'll take that you're not going to jump off a moving train, so we can talk about the fact I'm annoying you in the safety of a sealed car."

He grumbled, following her into the car he'd just left and avoiding the look the only other passenger gave him. He sat in his seat, crossed his legs, and glared out the window.

"I hate talking to strangers on the train—"

"Then why do you continue doing it?"

"—But I'm not going to ignore some lanky mess of a man who looks like the very picture of hell. What is it?"

"What is what?"

"Your problem. What's is it?"

It wasn't like he was going to spill years of turmoil to some cheeky, talkative, crazy bitch he'd met on a train he hadn't even known he was going to board. He could barely convince himself about his problems, how was he expected to share them with someone who would convince him his life did suck?

"I do not like being ignored."

"Then stop asking me questions."

She kicked him. He hissed in pain as his hand reached down out of its own volition, rubbing the place her shoe had connected with his shin. She smirked and cocked her head at him, ignoring the glower he gave her in return.

"I'm not going to pretend I care or anything, or that I can even give you advice on how to fix your problem, but it's clearly eating you up inside. If I'm going to sit here for seven hours having to look at your mug, then you better be smiling, or at least without that pout."

"It's not your concern."

"Obviously. So what is it?"

"You. You're my problem. You're so troublesome. Just keep your mouth shut, woman."

Her mouth was open—but only slightly. Her eyes, however, had become slits of bubbling anger, and he could see her hand form a fist.

"Fine," she said a moment later. "Have it your way. I hope the next time the urge hits you, you do jump off."

He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window, hoping sleep would claim him and he'd wake up to find that he was in his own bed, in his own apartment, with a beautiful blonde beauty asleep in his arm, his bigger best friend dating another beautiful girl that wasn't Ino.

The train jolted, forcing Shikamaru to open his eyes and massage his head, which had just banged against the window and made the woman laugh.

"Nice try, man." She winked at him, turning a page in her book. "It looks like life is just not going to go your way right now."

He slept for a good amount of time to find that, when he woke, the train had slowed to a stop and was stationed in Kyoto. He read the sign over and over, having missed the characters that had once been so familiar to him when he made the trip from Tokyo to Kyoto so many times in the past.

Inspired, he leaped up, jostling the sleeping woman slightly. He didn't pause to see if he'd woken her up since it didn't matter anymore—he was going to get off here, damn Fukuoka and all the money he'd paid, and damn her.

The station hadn't changed since the last time he'd been there. It had been over three years since he'd seen the vending machine at the end of the station, and when he jabbed a button repeatedly for a few seconds and a coke slid out, he was suddenly glad that some things didn't have to change.

He took a seat on a bench. Pulling the tab of his soda can, he wondered about his life. When had it gone to shit? And by shit, he meant, when had Ino and Chouji notice each other, let alone get together?

They'd been friends for years. Inevitable, seeing as their fathers had been inseparable since their youth. At first, Chouji and him hadn't really liked the blonde beauty, vain and shallow from the moment she learned to hold a mirror all by herself. Still, they went through school and had grown up—together.

It was in college (they'd all gotten accepted into Tokyo University) that Shikamaru realized, with great regret, that it irked him to see Ino with other men because he was, unfortunately, in love with her. He told her so, one day when they were in his apartment, eating shabu shabu. Chouji had gone into the kitchen to wash the dishes, leaving the two alone in the living room, a small, dinky table separating them.

"Ino."

She blinked her pretty blue eyes at him. "What is it, Shika?"

"I love you."

Her smile fell in an instant as her fingers flew up to cover her mouth in shock.

"I know," he said, sullen. "It just hit me, too."

"You are not in love with me."

He couldn't help the confusion that he was sure was plastered on his face. "Ino—"

Blonde hair fell forward when she shook her head vigorously. "No. You don't even know what love is. You're confusing it. You don't love me."

"But I—"

Her hand reached over to grab his, slender fingers on the back of his hand. "Stop it, Shikamaru. Even if you are, I love someone else."

Sasuke. Of course. "Who?"

"Chouji."

Shikamaru shook his head at the memory. He loved Chouji far more than he loved Ino, so when Chouji had returned to his seat and Ino could only stare at him, completely absorbed, Shikamaru made the conscious choice of backing off and letting the blonde go. He figured, then when he was a silly, naïve nineteen year old, that losing out to your best friend was better than some basket case thug who's only main concern was finding his deadbeat brother. It turned out not to be so good after all, especially when witnessing their marriage.

"The train's boarding."

He snapped out of his thoughts. The woman stood before him, hand on her hip, weight on one leg as the other tapped an uneven beat of irritation.

"Let's go," she said, taking a quick look backwards to make sure the train was still there.

"No." He stood up and walked away from her. No way he was going to sit there and take more of her verbal harassment. As a man, he couldn't hurt a female, but if she spoke to him anymore, he'd probably have to.

Footsteps followed him as he headed to the stairs that would lead out of the station. "Come on! You just paid over a thousand yen!"

"Go away."

The sound of a whistle reached them, causing him to halt. He turned around to see the woman standing paralyzed, watching as the train began to pick up speed as it departed the station. A second later, she screamed, throwing her hands in the air, running down the stairs with a speed Shikamaru did not expect.

Too bad. He continued on his merry way, unaware that his whole life was taking a major turn.