Author's Note: Ack! I haven't written anything in so long! ee. This was like pulling teeth to try to get a good story flowing! I've had like no inspiration, so, I gladly welcome any requests and what not. It'd get me on a roll, no lie.

Anywho, this is what my mind created when I was listening to my "Relaxtion" playlist. Yeah..relaxing.
Maybe be a little OOC, but this was the only situation I could see as turning Shikamaru a little..irrational? Or whatever.
Anyways, enjoy my attempt to start my writing roll again!


Review! For it makes me have multiple babies known as more updates to this collection! or maybe..other pairings that I've been DYING to write!

---

"Beauty In The Breakdown"
by
Eclectic Electric

---

Shikamaru shifted uncomfortablely during the ceremony, or the funeral of his sensei. Ex-sensei to ex-Team Ten now.

He just stared at the eyes that were so peacefully closed, the blue beard and hair that was just combed so perfectly, imperfect. That maybe, just maybe Asuma had been up five minutes before hand, thoughtfully scratching the hair on his chin, contemplating his next move in shougi.

People gave their condolences, who wouldn't?

Who didn't know Asuma? Who didn't have a connection to him?

Still, he was on his team. So was she, and he as well.

Sensei and student was something different.

It was different than their sensei and his lover(s), and friends. Fellow tools - shinobi.

Shikamaru stared unwavering at him, and not once looked at anybody else. Others only received a somber nod to their regards. Shikamaru rubbed his cheek roughly, and caught a smudge of blonde in the dark crowd of black. He watched until she came into view.

Shikamaru felt something cringe within him after he saw her crying face.

A realization came to him,

They were burying more than just a corpse of his ex-sensei.

---

Dragging his feet behind him, Shikamaru glanced uninterested at the sheet of paper that drunk-broad had given her.

Like he had the slightest idea of where, her handwriting, how troublesome, was like cat-scratch.

Horrible handwriting on a day where the sun was way too bright, or was it from the weeks of isolation?

The weeks of reaching within himself, not letting anyone in?

With a twitch of his eyebrow, he crumpled the sheet of paper. Twirling the sheet between his fingertips, he heard,

Laughter?

The sound seemed unfamiliar, almost foreign to the shadow-wielders ears.

He turned slightly, seeing that blonde-boar and old-time chubby friend, chattering away over some barbeque.

His heart flared, noting where Asuma's (ex-sensei, just a memory), spot used to be.

Life became a little more bitter, when he recalled where he used to sit.

Asuma was still their, (maybe just his) ex-sensei.

Shikamaru was now, (or maybe has been since Asuma became an ex.)ex-member of the reunion of the ex-Team Ten.

...What a drag.

---

Shikamaru stared intently at the empty side of the shougi board, a cigarette limp in his lips.

The potent smog burned his nose, and made his eyes swell and water with tears that just wouldn't come out without a little coaxing.

He began to wonder if he would wait here long enough, would Asuma ever just strut out of the house again, confidence glowing with a new hope to finally win a match?

Shikamaru slouched even more, inhaling deeply. Was his lungs supposed to burn with such a pain like his heart was radiating?

Alligator tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, but quickly disappeared into the wind with his ex-sensei.

"Want to play?"

Blood-shot eyes rose to the blonde. Disregarding to the beaten state that she was in, he couldn't cool down the boiling heat that ignited within him.

Cigarettes cause accidental house fires. He was once told.

Shikamaru sneered forward at her, his teeth clamping down at the filter of his cancer stick.

"Not at all." His voice was gruff from its lack of use.

"Why not?" The blonde-boar genuinely offered, a slight frown tugging at the corners of her lips.

People get hurt, it's life.

"That's Asuma's spot. No one can take it. Not even Chouji, let alone, you."

Dark eyes followed her form as she exited swiftly.

Everything was the same.

Asuma was still ex-sensei of the ex-member of the reunion of the ex-Team Ten.

Shikamaru snuffed out the still burning half of his cigarette lying in front of him.

---

Quickly, Shikamaru swatted the stray raindrop from his forehead.

How troublesome it would be to be left out in the rain. Also, his mother, troublesome woman, wouldn't be too happy for him let alone be tardy, but also drenched in rain.

No matter how much Shikamaru would grow, she always insisted that he couldn't do his own laundry, and treated him like a child. As if he was five. Going in reverse to then wouldn't be that bad, would it?

Shikamaru kept his pace lackadaisical, and his eyes up.

He looked down for a moment, hearing a frustrated grunt, and a muffled thud of goods on the ground.

Something moved him, too quickly and fluidly, and he began to pick up the pieces, if only he could do that to himself, of the contents of the persons' basket.

His throat strained as he spotted a small bouquet of white flowers, wrapped in a familiar kind of tissue paper.

Shikamaru felt his hand go numb as he tenderly grasped the end of the bouquet and stood up.

In a blonde blur, she grabbed the flowers and brushed into him once more, just trying to pass by as quickly as possible.

Her blue eyes settled behind him, as if he wasn't even there. Trying to block him out.

Shikamaru felt himself just standing there. He looked down quizzically at the hand, as if it was still clutching the bouquet.

He sighed through his nose, and glanced behind his shoulder, watching her still steady pace as if nothing was even wrong.

In a moment, he realized, everything was not the same.

Everything felt so horribly out of place.

Not only was Asuma was an ex-sensei of the ex-member of the reunion of the ex-Team Ten.

He was an ex-sensei, of an ex-person in general.

---

"Object, Terminated."

His voice was deft and low in mic of the radio. Shikamaru's breath was irregular, trembling fingers grasped the bloodied knuckle-knives so tightly that his knuckles where white.

Did Asuma want their blood stained on his most specialized..precious weapon?

The response in the radio was muffled, and he paid no mind to it. All Shikamaru could look at was the man, and a smaller boy.

Hesitantly, Shikamaru let the weapons drop from his hands and onto the floor. His chest clenched, as he grasped the boys' hitai-ate that was thrown to the corner of the room during the heat of the battle.

The shadow-wielder sat there crouched, in between the two bodies and let his fingers graze through the fabric, over the carving in the metal,

Kirigakure. Kiri-nin. Kiri-genin.

This is a life of a shinobi, this is it.

Shikamaru felt his head suddenly become lighter as he finally tied the hitai-ate around the boys' forehead, and then shut his eyes, blood smearing on his eyelids from Shikamaru's own hands.

"It wasn't supposed to be you." A hoarse voice escaped his lips, a hand clutching the shoulder of the boys' corpse.

He walked in; it wasn't Shikamaru's fault.

He saw what he wasn't supposed to; it wasn't Shikamaru's fault.

He would have felt the pain that he knew best when losing a sensei, it wasn't Shikamaru's fault.

Slowly, Shikamaru brought his fingers to his cheeks and pressed them tenderly to them and brought his trembling fingertips to his eyes.

They were wet. No, drenched.

He was crying.

Shikamaru went to one of the pockets of his green jacket, and drew out an old photo. Shikamaru tried with a slow care to get the creases out then fell onto his bottom firmly and began to sob.

He prayed, pressing the picture of the old Team Ten to his forehead.

Asuma died, it wasn't Asuma's fault.

Asuma died, it wasn't Chouji's or Shikamaru's fault.

Asuma died, it wasn't Ino's fault, either.

Shikamaru grinded his teeth and clutched the photo even tighter, the images floating within his head made him nauseous.

Shikamaru prayed for this grief to lifted from his chest, for the missing puzzle piece be finally put back in.

He looked at the photo, his desperate eyes searching the picture.

"Help me, Asuma-sensei." He whispered,

"Teach me, Show me," Words flew uncontrollably from trembling lips, "Tell me, how to fix this."

Maybe life was so sheltered because he couldn't realize, or accept that maybe, Asuma-sensei still had a few more lessons to put Team Ten at trial with.

---

Shikamaru shoved his pants roughly into his pockets, after laying down a single red rose at the memorial of his sensei.

A rose means love, and Shikamaru still had allot of it for his sensei.

He sighed heavily and shifted his feet, he couldn't speak, and his throat was too tight.

"I'm surprised to find you here."

Shikamaru pressed his lips tighter, his throat was still tight.

His old friend placed a flower of his own and the last piece of barbeque beef along with his flower.

Shikamaru smiled awkwardly and had to stifle a chuckle at that sacred last piece of meat that Chouji graciously offered Asuma.

"He is still my," Shikamaru paused, and adverted his eyes to Chouji's, "our sensei."

"He's still got a lot to teach us." Chouji responded quietly.

Silence fell awkwardly over them.

"Yeah, I know." Shikamaru agreed, and just slowly stalked off.

"Even now, Asuma is still troublesome." Shikamaru could only grin to himself.

Even so,

Something just still didn't feel right.

---

"Haven't seen you around this spot for awhile."

He opened his eyes to the blinding sunlight with a grunt.

"Yeah, I guess you haven't." Shikamaru responded, putting a hand over his brow to shield it from the awkwardly very, very sunny day. There she was, just sitting there, picking the wildflowers that were showered around them for her arrangement.

He stared at her, and he didn't care how obvious or creepy it was.

It was something surreal to him; to be with her, this close, without pain.

"I'm sorry." They were weightless words from his lips.

She ignored him and just fiddled with her arrangement.

"You know, Shikamaru." Shikamaru felt something cringe within him, not sure if Ino was back to her old tricks again, or what. It felt, almost right. He didn't know why that felt so weird.

"This flower, here," She pointed, and Shikamaru had no idea the name or anything of the flower. Never cared to either.

"Once it's plucked, it leaves this arrangement kind of empty and awkward, you see? It's not full and it doesn't look appealing either." Mercilessly, just like the Ino he knew, plucked it and clutched it into her hand.

"But, the beauty is that in time, it'll grow back. It'll sprout once more. Then the other flowers are in good company."

Shikamaru's hand relaxed on his chest as he just stared dumbly at Ino. She sat there just smiling at the arrangement, the plucked flower in her right hand.

He slowly reached out and put a hand over hers, with the stray flower still clutched in her fingers. He'd never be as tough as Ino, he realized. Ino was strong. Ino was everything that he hated, but needed for himself at the same time.

Shikamaru smiled confidently as Ino returned a soft smirk down at him.

Maybe, he wasn't missing pieces to his puzzle.

Maybe, he was the missing part to the reunion of the never removed Team Ten.

Shikamaru clenched the petite hand of the blonde, and for a moment he thought.

Nothing would be right before he could let go and put his piece willingly back into the puzzle.

"Asuma-sensei would agree, that is beautiful."

---

Author's Note:O Review time! Remember, I do requests/challenges!

Sorry if it didn't make sense, or if you didn't like it. Kind of wrote it for myself in a way, and I'm glad I finished it. Besides, I did say my attempt to start my writing roll..cough attempt cough Anywho, I might be considering writing a SasoDei :O (faint now!) But anyways, hope you enjoyed.

- eclectic electric