Under These Scars

by Okami Rayne

Fate's changed the game but it's not over between the players. With Kusagakure's mission as the final round, Neji's agenda is finding his freedom. Shikamaru's agenda is forgetting his fear. But when an old and unfinished game threatens to pull Shikamaru back into the shadows of his past, Neji must make an impossible choice; his own destiny or Shikamaru's darkness. (Part 4 of BtB)

11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: NARUTO and its characters were created and are owned by Masashi Kishimoto. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement intended.

Title: UNDER THESE SCARS

Pairings: ShikaNeji/NejiShika, Shikaku/Yoshino, Kakashi/Genma

Rating: M / R (language, themes, violence etc.)

Genre: Drama/Angst/General

Summary: Fate's changed the game but it's not over between the players. With Kusagakure's mission as the final round, Neji's agenda is finding his freedom. Shikamaru's agenda is forgetting his fear. But when an old and unfinished game threatens to pull Shikamaru back into the shadows of his past, Neji must make an impossible choice; his own destiny or Shikamaru's darkness. NejiShika, ShikaNeji [SEQUEL to Break to Breathe]

Timeline: Shippuden. Neji and Shikamaru aged 17-18 (post-Hidan and Kakuzu arc and pre-Invasion of Pain arc) One week after the events in REQUIEM.

---

UNDER THESE SCARS

by Okami Rayne

Chapter Eleven

Shirataka handled the mission debriefing because Neji was gone.

Maybe not gone, but definitely not there…

There, in that room, speaking those words, paring everything down to the sole objective, the sole concern: the mission. Always the mission. Surreal, how he managed to conduct himself, compartmentalise himself, speaking with a calm he didn't feel, in a manner he didn't recognise. He might as well have donned the ANBU mask right then and there, such was his performance.

Kami, what a performance.

He went through all the motions with the calm strict professionalism of a director detailing the scenes in a play, following the role required of the lead Jōnin, the Team Captain, the black ops candidate.

No one questioned him during the brief intermissions.

No one prompted him for further cues.

No one disagreed with his plotline for the next Act.

Or if anyone did, no one spoke up. Not even Kiba. Everyone accepted the parts they'd play, the demands their roles required and no one asked to swap places or switch props. It was outlined, it was ordered and it was obeyed.

Neji drew back, his face set in its rigid mask. "Any questions?"

Not one.

The curtain closed on the meeting and everyone left the war room, cleared the stage…

Well, almost everyone.

Taking a breath through flared nostrils, Neji bent over the table, palms flat against the schematics. Bloody mocha strands fell to frame his face, hiding the look of exhaustion that threatened to pull at the corners of his eyes. He hadn't had a second's break. A moment's pause.

And apparently he wasn't going to get it.

"What is it, Sai?"

Sai, a shadow in the wings, stepped out. "Shikamaru is unfit for this mission."

Everything in Neji went cold and still – not the kind of cold and still he equated with being Shirataka. This wasn't the frozen-over stillness of a man in control; this was the thinnest sheet of ice beneath teetering feet.

Shikamaru…

Kami, but Neji had been forcing his mind to skate over that fragile area for the past couple of hours, again and again; the ground was so slippery, so perilously unsafe. He didn't trust himself to tread that ground right now; the way he was feeling, the pressure that was on, that ground would shatter beneath his feet. Even now he felt a hairline crack, the weight of his hesitation.

His head came up slowly, white eyes frosting over. "I'm aware of the situation with Shika—"

"No," Sai interjected. "You're not."

That paused the moment.

Neji's eyes tapered warily, bringing into focus the barest ripple behind Sai's eyes. Two unreadable splashes of ink on a canvas face as pale and blank as untouched parchment. Not a scratch of emotion, not a hint of intent…and yet…

The long pause grew longer.

Neji straightened, offered Sai the same pokerfaced expression. "If you have something to say, then say it."

"He is important to Naruto," was all Sai said.

Nonplussed, Neji tipped his head like maybe he'd misheard or misinterpreted. "Excuse me?"

Sai didn't repeat himself and his gaze wiped clean of whatever might've been written there just seconds ago – if indeed there was anything there to begin with. Masking his irritation, Neji studied the artist's face and searched his lineless expression for some insight, some understanding – only to find a black-and-white portrait totally uncoloured by the words he'd just spoken. Just like one of his art pieces, Sai left it all up to interpretation – and Neji was in no mood to appreciate the ambiguity of the moment with all its finer shades of subtext.

I don't have time for this.

And then Sai spoke again. "Ino was wrong."

The statement hit like a blunt jab to an open wound.

"It was the wrong call Neji."

Muscles clenched and something bled...into him…out of him…

"You know it was."

Neji blinked once, twice, neither motion served to wink Sai out of existence nor clear visions of the explosions that flashed behind his eyes, leaving smoke and shadows…and then…more shockingly, the image of Shikamaru…covered in blood…bathed in death…

God…

Neji felt the mask slipping.

Mission. Mission. Mission.

Bracing his palms atop the table, he set his eyes on the schematics, dismissing the other ninja with a curt, "Is that all, Sai?"

Sai's chin ticked upward a little, lips parting – but whatever he might've said was left unspoken, leaving another tense stretch of silence before the artist turned towards the door.

It clicked shut.

The second it did Neji cleared the table with a violent sweep of his arm, the rage and guilt and confusion sending sheets and schematics sailing across the room like a flock of startled birds, a flutter of paper wings…

Murdering children…is that what ANBU means?

One thing to understand the requirements of black ops wet work – another thing entirely to have a hand in the undertakings.

You knew the cost…

Shikamaru had warned him of it long before he'd been prepped for it. He'd known and he'd prepared – hadn't he? He had the psychological training sitting calm and centred in the back of his mind, in that segment ANBU had carved out – a place to bury one's morals and preconceived notions of right and wrong.

"It was the wrong call, Neji."

Bracing his hands once more, he sucked in a sharp shaking breath, the air soughing through his lungs, eyelashes beating fiercely to combat the images burned into his retinas, flashing one face after another; the children, the explosions, Shikamaru, the children, the explosions, Shikamaru….smoke and fire and shadow…

Enough…

His fingers gnarled slowly into fists. Was he so weak, so flawed, that he couldn't do what was necessary?

I did. For the mission.

Only not just for the mission. There was so much more riding on his choices, on his mistakes. His eyes drifted open, alighted upon the scattered sheets on the floor, flapping idly in the cool breeze that wafted through the open window…carrying birdsong…carrying…

Freedom.

ANBU was that freedom. He just had to carry his heart around in a cage as recompense.

Is that freedom?

Did it matter? As he'd reasoned long ago, better to be a slave to his own will than a slave to someone else's whim. Hitaro. The Hyūga elders. Change wasn't coming. The only way to shape one's destiny was to take charge, take control and make the tough choices.

And now I have another to make…

It'd been plaguing his mind ever since he'd seen Shikamaru standing over those dead chimaeras back in the enclosures. The horror that'd gone through his heart had left little room for calm rational thinking.

Which is what I need right now…

His lungs emptied, but his chest remained heavy – a lead weight resting on his ribs. The walls within walls could not hide it. The wheels within wheels could not shift it. He rolled his shoulders, felt no alleviation, just an ache that went bone-deep.

Move. Do something. Anything.

Lashes drifting open, he stared long and hard at the backs of his hands…

Stared at the blood crusted in his knuckles…

Blood-stained hands…

ANBU hands…

He put those hands to work, gathering up the scattered notes and sheets into a semblance of order, a semblance of control. He tried to work the same magic within his mind, gathering up all the scattered thoughts, all the treacherous doubts…but it wasn't his mind that felt scattered…felt chipped and worn…it was the island he'd been standing on…that lone spit of land...that marooned cage…

Don't go there…

There, to the edge, where the roar of his blood was as wild as the sea…and everything he felt raged on against the walls, against the wheels, against…

Neji stopped, his fingers freezing on a file.

There, slipped into the file he'd brought from his room, was a folded yellow note paper-clipped onto the last page of the folder. Frowning, he dislodged the square of yellow paper and flipped it open with his thumb, white eyes freezing on the text.

Rooster's mid-hour
Where the stone Kirin rises
A White Hawk's shadow

To anyone else, it would've read as nothing more than a simple haiku; a metaphor to be pondered, not a message to be known.

Neji read it again, and the knowing left him cold.

---

The water flowed like fire.

Over his face, down his throat, across the heaving planes of his chest, the roped muscles of his legs.

More…

Shikamaru gasped, opening his mouth, letting the wet heat splash across his teeth, rap along his tongue, beat his lips into a numb sting – a phantom kiss. He swallowed thickly.

"You still taste like fire."

Hissing, he carved a hand through his hair, fingers slicing through the thick dark strands, blunt nails dragging back along his scalp, like he could claw that voice out of his head, out of his mind.

"Tell me you don't want me to make you burn from the inside out."

Panting hard, he fumbled blindly for the faucet, turned up the heat. The water pounded down, acid hot, washing across the taut muscles of his stomach as he arched into the scalding stream, into the punishing burn.

Fuck…

The water ran red down the plughole, stripping his skin of blood and sweat and…

"Neji," he mouthed the name, licked the water from his lips and tasted salt – imagined, remembered.

"Do you remember the night you let me brand and bruise you all the way to the brink?"

A shudder fluted along the muscles in Shikamaru's thighs and he reached down a hand, gripped the thick hard flesh of his arousal and stroked achingly slow, his head falling back, baring his throat to the scorching steam, tongues of wet fire.

"This is what you do to me, Nara. Every time I'm near you...I burn..."

Burning, burning…under his skin…under his scars...under the smooth stroke of a strong hand…one hand…two hands…three hands…four…more…

W…what…?

Shikamaru's lashes flickered open against the hot spray, his dark lust-glazed eyes struggling to focus. Steam filled his vision, thick and hot as the sweet black mist stroking over his skin…six slithering shadow-hands moving in tandem…moving to touch…moving to take…moving to slip over strong curves and sharp edges…pinching nipples…pulling hair…palming his swollen length…pushing him higher…hotter…harder…

Neji…Neji…Neji…

"Burn for me...again and again..."

The orgasm ripped out of him on a breathless shout, wet strands slapping his shoulders as his head went back and his hips lifted in a violent jerk, rolling forward again and again into the grip of the shadows even as his mind went rolling back again and again into the grip of the welcoming black…the welcoming darkness…

Darkness…

Pulling him in…

Pulling him back…

And back…and back…and—

Man, what a drag…

Scowling, Shikamaru stood at the shadowy edge of darkness, keeping just outside the dirty pool of yellow light which spilled from a low-wattage bulb fixed in a grilled cage. His eyes were pinned on the door, tracing the broad uneven lettering spray-painted onto the wood.

Tekisha Seizon.

Survival of the Fittest. Yeah, so the irony hadn't worn off yet – but Shikamaru's patience was sure wearing thin. Sighing expansively, he rolled his weight from one slouching leg to the other and wondered again – as he'd been wondering for the past ten minutes – what the heck was taking Genma so long.

Tick-damn-tock.

As he'd pointed out earlier, he was supposed to be watching genin brats go all red mist psycho on each other, not a bunch of caged animals. Although, given the muffled uproar punching against the bolted door, Shikamaru suspected that the real animals in Tekisha Seizon were the human crowd rather than the poor creatures pit against each other in a brutal fight to the death.

A sudden howl went up, baleful and bloodcurdling.

The hair at Shikamaru's nape went electric at the sound and his nose crinkled in disgust. It was bad enough watching the Nara stags tear into each other during rutting reason. The way he saw it, nature and ninja life were doing just fine on the violent front without people lending a hand, nurturing animalistic brutality through pointless bloodsport.

And I still don't get the point of meeting in a place like this…

Yeah, that niggling question was still worming its way through his brain, feeding off 200 anxious possibilities – and a whole lot of nervousness.

Stupid.

Tapping his head back against the grimy walls, he blew out a long breath and tried to nudge his thoughts back towards Genma's explanation, recalling word for word the Shiranui's thoughts about this whole troublesome waste of time.

"The Kusa daimyō doesn't want anyone else getting their claws into your big brain before he does. No one will think to look for either of you in a place like this. Besides, even if the daimyō does get spotted no one will suspect you're anything special. Just some dumb kid in the crowd trying to show his balls have dropped."

Yeah, okay, that seemed solid enough in Shikamaru's mind but for some reason it just didn't gel right in his gut. An oily, uneasy feeling slipped through him and he resisted the urge to inch away from the door and backpedal down the long dark corridor to find Genma.

Yeah, 'cause that'll really win you back those points you just lost with him.

Sighing, Shikamaru rubbed a hand across his nape, squeezing hard. Stupid idea. Acting any more insubordinate around Shiranui Genma was likely to result in their very own 'survival of the fittest' showdown; Senbon Shooting Hardass vs. Run Screaming Smartass.

Yeah, that's about accurate.

So was the fact that Genma would send him crawling for the hills, never mind running. Although, that might be preferable to just staring at a stupid door for the rest of the day.

On the other hand, I won't have to write any reports…

Ah, bright side to dark cloud.

More shouting from beyond the door, accompanied by a bass drum-drum-drum; as if the crowd were stomping their feet and pounding their fists. Shikamaru was pretty sure he heard them chanting something, but clarity of sound was dampened by the thickness of the walls.

He cocked an ear closer to the door then glanced behind, looking for Genma.

"Shikamaru. I'll be right behind you."

"Yeah right," the shadow-nin muttered, debating whether to wait on his senpai or go on ahead.

Boredom and curiosity were tugging at his hands like troublesome kids, urging his brain one way and his body another. Sure, he could just hang around twiddling his thumbs or he could pull his finger out and do that whole proactive thing. Hell, maybe Genma had planned it that way.

Ugh. What a damn drag…

Rolling his shoulders, he let out a longsuffering sigh that was semi-harassed and completely resigned. Screw it. Taking the initiative beat standing here in the dark.

Not like I'm gonna catch a nap with all that noise…

A final glance down the corridor and he reached for the bolt, drawing it back.

Hauling on the door was like yanking on a concrete slab with Chōji pulling from the other side. If it weren't for the mad chant going on in the room beyond, the agonised groan of the hinges might've attracted some attention. As it happened, Shikamaru was able to slip through unheard and unseen, melting into the shadows of the back row.

The first thing that struck him, other than the noise and size of the room, was the smell of it.

Ugh…

A thick miasma of sweat, smoke and saké filled his nose, clogged the back of his throat and turned his stomach in a slow queasy roll. Under that reeking layer came the sharp ammonia stink of urine, the fetid stench of wet animals and the sickly-sweet odour of death.

Slaughter-house meets men's locker room.

Grimacing, Shikamaru shook off the nausea and inched along the wall, hugging the shadows. The room was round and deep, built into the ground like a stadium; rows upon rows of tiered benched seats gave a clear audience-view of the large central animal pit down at the ground level. The place was so packed that some people were sitting on the stepped floor that functioned as a staircase between the aisles. Red-filtered stage lights hung from the rafters, angling down at dramatic trajectories, creating a kind of surreal dimension of shadow and illumination – a freak show straight out of hell.

And there, in the hell pit, were the demons.

Not dogs on soldier pills, not exotic jungle-cat cross-breeds, not anything he'd been expecting. Between the rising bob and sway of the crowd, Shikamaru caught obsidian flashes of arachnid-looking scales, the giant tear-drop telson of a scorpion tail, the razor-sharpened tines of a stag and the distinct ripple of blood-soaked feathers.

Shikamaru's eyes rounded, a cold sweat sheeting ice across his spine.

What the hell?

These creatures looked like something out of myth…or maybe something out of madness. Unnatural, ungainly, wretched looking things.

Slinking down one of the aisles, he had to move at a half-crouch, ducking under a canopy of sweaty arms and waving fists, the flap and jingle of paper and coin moving back and forth above his head; bets and gambles, winnings and losses.

A deep cervid bellow sounded out, pained and strangled.

Shikamaru froze, his heart catching hard – he knew that sound, had heard it tearing through the Nara forest enough times to know that the deer-like hybrid had met its grisly end. Pockets of the crowd surged to their feet, their wild victory shouts drowning out the dying cries of the animal whilst people on the losing side sagged down in their seats, a protracted groan of disappointment rippling their ranks. The fight was over. Some people began to rise, filing out along their aisles towards the exit.

Shikamaru shifted awkwardly against the grain of bodies, trying to get closer to the stage.

A stick-thin man and a tall voluptuous woman staggered up the stairway towards him, tangled in a lip-lock, money bunched in their fists, their faces flushed and slick with sweat, all groping hands and hungry mouths.

Hn. Real classy.

Ducking his head against his shoulder, Shikamaru attempted to squeeze past, grunting an apology when his hip clipped the woman's thigh. Shit. "Sorry," he excused politely, holding up his hands in apology when the woman snapped her head around.

Her pupils were blown, her dark mascara-rimmed eyes scanning his face in a glazed drift before she threw back her head and laughed a wild throaty laugh, her dark ringlets shimmering red beneath the spotlights. "S'alright, sweetheart," she crooned, reaching out to stroke the backs of her bejewelled fingers across the sharp slant of his cheek, dragging the money along his jaw. "Oh they let them in so young, don't they baby? I like this one. I want this one."

Shikamaru blinked at her in amazement.

This was the kind of crap he'd always imagined Sasuke might've gotten into – that is, if the Uchiha had stuck around long enough to be a point of amusement for Shikamaru rather than annoyance.

Too bad. Wonder how Sasuke would'a handled this.

The scrawny boyfriend had his face buried in the woman's ample bust and grunted something unintelligible, reaching up blindly with his fist to slap some money in her hand. Apparently that was his thumbs up of approval.

She squealed like a stuck pig and leaned in close, tickling Shikamaru's ear with a low breathy whisper. "Are you a bottom or top? My baby likes both."

Disgusted, Shikamaru's eyes narrowed to slits, the muscles in his jaw pulsing hard. He jerked away from the woman, stumbling backwards into one of the rows. Rather than fight for balance he dipped down to plant his hand on the bench, vaulting the seats in a neat spring to land in the aisle below, out of reach of those grabby hands and lewd suggestions.

Looking down at him, the woman gave a soft moue of disappointment and blew him a kiss.

Shikamaru made a face, tucking his chin back.

This is so messed up.

Well, it's not as if Genma hadn't warned him, right? Turning his back on the couple he repeated the seat-vaulting trick another couple of rows before reaching a clearer and quieter aisle, moving down the stairway to approach the animal arena.

Quite the commotion going on.

A few people had even stayed to spectate on the clean-up, watching as beast handlers moved in, kitted up like armoured samurai as they tried to round up the last monster left standing.

Shikamaru paused to watch, his eyes straying to the fallen deer-hybrid.

The poor beast lay on its side, pink foam fizzing around its muzzle, black tongue lolling. One of the antlers was cracked, hanging like a snapped branch. The taloned and feathered hindquarters were curled in a foetal hunch, drawing up towards the stag-like trunk and forelimbs. Huge cysts had formed on the ruined body, oozing pus and blood bubbles where the cat's scorpion tail had struck.

An odd feeling congealed in his stomach; something close to pity.

Shit.

Shikamaru took a step back, brows tugging together softly.

This isn't right…

Neither was his reaction. Ever the rational machine, his brain railed against the emotional thud behind his ribs, reminding him how hypocritical he was being. Weren't the Chūnin exams as equally sick? Pitting genin kids against each other? Pitting genin kids against monsters? They had a whole Forest of Death back home, dedicated to that purpose.

This is different. The genin have a choice. A choice to become ninja. But these creatures in here?

What choice did they have? The Chūnin Exams served a purpose – to groom ninja, to separate the wheat from the chaff. But animal bloodsport didn't serve any purpose other than to amuse, to entertain, to exploit. The sad thing was, none of this should've shocked him, considering the animal testing that Konoha and Kusagakure conducted under the umbrella of scientific research and chakra augmentation.

Again, doesn't make it right…

And again, his brain railed against such naiveté. This moment of inner conflict caught him by surprise, his brows going up a little. Even at 15, he was smart enough to know that 'right' and 'wrong' were concepts that often became as ungraspable as clouds the second you tried to pin them down.

I'm thinking too much…

Or feeling too much – which meant he wasn't focusing or making the right kind of mental notes. Shaking off the disturbance in his brain, Shikamaru slunk lower and closer to the pit, winding his way tier by tier. Damn, but he hadn't realised how huge these monsters were from up at the top.

Whoa.

He was used to seeing super-sized beasts, but not super-sized beasts that looked like nature had put their genetic puzzle together all wrong; this unnatural mesh of confused limbs and crossed instincts – although, he had to admit, there was some kind of genius at work here. The deer-like hybrid was a mess but the cat with the stinger-tail and armoured hide was impressive despite its horror.

A hand gripped his shoulder.

Shikamaru startled at the touch and twisted around, his gaze swinging up in annoyance, hitting on the figure that peered down at him. At first, it was difficult to discern the man's face or body. Half-obscured by shadow, all Shikamaru initially caught was an impression of long, wiry and tightly coiled musculature, a sinewy arm reaching out from the shadows of the row above.

And then the figure leaned down.

Shikamaru's eyes widened on the man's face – and he might've stared longer than was polite.

The right side of the man's face was frozen in a chilling rictus, a huge silver-threaded scar spreading in a delicate cobweb across the deeply tan skin. His right eyelid was fixed in a half-mast position over a cloudy white eyeball that was undoubtedly blind. But not the other eye. No. The other eye bore through Shikamaru like a yellow-green flame, its pupil slitted like a reptile's.

"You shouldn't be here," the man said, raising his voice above the hum of the fading crowd. It was an oddly hypnotic voice, deep and low, carrying a sleepy and almost subliminal intonation. "You're under age."

Shikamaru blinked several times, searching his stupefied brain for the appropriate reaction. Was this guy some kind of bouncer? He shook his head and raised his voice to carry back. "I have an invitation."

That seemed to give the man pause. That yellow-green eye narrowed on him. "Whose invitation?"

Shikamaru's lips tightened on a reply. Shit. Wait a second. Was he supposed to be undercover here? Playing 'dumb punk kid whose balls haven't dropped yet'? Only card he could play, really. He didn't have any tickets to fall back on. Genma had them.

Troublesome.

Oh well, not like he was failing a mission or anything. He still wasn't sure why the hell they'd been invited here.

Guess it doesn't matter now.

Giving up the game – but not the name of the daimyō who'd invited him – he offered a phony smile that was one part sheepish one part shit-eating grin and shrugged expansively, spreading his hands as if to say 'yeah, whatever, you caught me'.

For a mortifying second, he wondered if the act fell flat.

Rather than predictable adult annoyance, Scarface gave him an odd look, that strange ophidian orb flickering in weird little micro-movements that were too fast to follow, searching Shikamaru's face as if debating something.

Yeah. Like how many ways to throw me outta here.

Sure enough, that hand clamped down on Shikamaru's shoulder once again. "You need to leave, now," Scarface said, fingers digging in as he marshalled Shikamaru around the mob of bodies crowding the stairway, herding him back up towards the exit.

They made the amazing progress of four whole steps.

Behind, Scarface gave a hiss of irritation.

Shikamaru tried to shrug, hoping to knock that hand off his shoulder. No such luck. Sighing the sigh of the oppressed teenager, he was about to make for the fifth step when a broad shadowy figure wearing a straw conical hat slid along one of the benches and stepped out into the aisle above, blocking their path.

"Ah, Katsu," the stranger said, his voice smooth and deep, with the faintest hint of amused indulgence. "Enjoy the fight?"

Katsu?

Shikamaru felt Scarface halt abruptly behind him, almost jolting him back a step. Those iron fingers tightened on his shoulder in a reflex pinch that Shikamaru interpreted as nothing more than surprise or irritation – until they curled a little tighter, causing the shadow-nin to flinch.

Not cool.

He'd have jerked out of the grip right then and there if the guy blocking their path hadn't chosen that moment to speak again, spreading his arms in a warm embracing gesture. "I see you've found my old man's guest."

Shikamaru went rigid, along with the grip on his shoulder.

What the—OWoookay!

Okay. Either this Katsu dude had just lost a serious bet and was taking out his frustration on Shikamaru's trapezius or he seriously didn't like the guy standing in front of them. The shadow-nin figured it was the latter, considering that the second the shadowy figure stepped down towards them Katsu brought up his other hand to settle on Shikamaru's opposite and currently unmolested shoulder.

Oh great.

Scowling, he hunched awkwardly against Katsu's grip and shot a glare over his abused shoulder, thinking that it didn't hurt to put some genuine irritation into the act. Damn, if this guy squeezed any harder Shikamaru was going to commit to the role of adolescent truant and slam his adolescent fist into Scarface's nutsack.

Katsu paid him no heed, his lizard eye fixed on the man descending towards them. He offered no greeting, simply said, "Yodo's guest – or yours?"

Yodo?

Shikamaru's eyes widened in recognition of the name, his mind flipping out the immediate information he'd kept filed away in his brain. Nogusa Yodo. The Feudal Lord of the Land of Entwined Roots. Shikamaru remembered seeing the name on his Proctor dossier. As well as detailing the names of attending villages, proctors and competing genin, ANBU had compiled a list of daimyō they expected to be in attendance during the Chūnin Exams.

Pretty sure there was another Nogusa on that list though…

He didn't have time to reflect on it. The man hovering above them removed his hat and moved down another two steps, passing out of shadow and within reach of the red spotlights slanted towards the arena, his raven black hair falling loose around his face.

It was not a face the shadow-nin had seen before.

File it away.

Squinting, Shikamaru took quick inventory of the young man's features; a pale narrow face with strong planar cheekbones, a sharp jawline and a slim patrician nose. But it was his eyes that caught Shikamaru's interest – dark as ebony, still as a cool black sea on a windless day and set deep beneath a straight ledge of brow.

As if sensing the Nara's assessment, the man's wide mouth curved up at one corner in a soft, almost sensual smile. "You know I enjoy it when you're being all warm and casual, Katsu. But you really should know better than to address my father so informally in front of a guest."

Katsu's fingers flexed dangerously.

Ugh. Here we go again.

Pre-empting another muscle crunching grip, Shikamaru stiffened his shoulders and spoke up, redirecting those dark inky eyes back towards him. "You're Nogusa Yodo's son?"

The young man gave Shikamaru a considering glance before that same indulgent amusement drizzled across his reply like honey. "On occasion," he said. "Special occasions, especially." Shikamaru arched a brow at the cryptic response, a gesture that seemed to deepen the man's amusement and interest, that feline smile curling a little deeper. "I apologise for the seedy venue, but I've got my reasons for asking you here. One being that incognito draws less attention. Although, there's no mistaking Nara Shikaku's son. The resemblance is…exactly as I suspected it might be."

Shikamaru blinked. "You know my dad?"

Katsu's grip went from painful to pulverising. "What are you doing here, Shin?"

Shin's lips pursed ever-so-slightly at the use of his name. "Saving the kid from your death grip, apparently." He ticked his chin towards Katsu's gnarled fingers. "Ease off there, hmn? I'd hate to have to tell my old man that our attack dog is off the leash and mauling honoured guests."

Katsu's grip slackened.

Shikamaru twisted out of it, rolling his shoulders and turning sideways to avoid further manhandling. His gaze flicked warily between the two men, gauging the hierarchy and the ratcheting levels of tension. What the hell was Katsu's problem? Rank? Shin looked more amused than aggressive, but there was no mistaking his authority over the scar-faced Katsu.

A hair-raising silence stood between them…

Four long seconds stretching into five, six, seven...

Katsu backed down a step, his lizard eye lowering a fraction. "My apologies, Shin-san," he rumbled stiffly, the words crunching out between his teeth like gravel. Real convincing.

Rather than take offense, Shin's face broke into a benevolent smile, the corners of his eyes creasing. "Always were an awkward bastard, weren't you?" Laughing to take the sting out of his words, he nudged Shikamaru with his elbow. "Sorry about Katsu. I'm no ninja, but even I can tell he's a little high-strung. Lucky for him, he's rough enough around the edges to make it look cool."

Shikamaru almost smiled at that. "Ninja, huh?"

"The finest there is and loyal to a fault, aren't you, Katsu? Both my father and my uncle can attest to that."

Katsu said nothing, his gaze averted.

Shikamaru glanced between them again, trying to work out the dynamics. So this Katsu guy served the Nogusa brothers as what? A bodyguard? Shin had joked about the whole 'attack dog' thing but there was often truth in jest. Shikamaru's gaze slipped down from Katsu's scarred face, searching for some kind of Nogusa clan crest or rank-distinguishing mark.

He spotted it almost immediately.

Half-hidden by a blood-red obi belt, hanging over Katsu's right hip and thigh, was a triangular sash almost identical to the one that Asuma wore, only the white fabric was marked with a different national symbol; the Land of Entwined Roots.

Shikamaru's brows shot upwards. "You're a Guardian Ninja?"

Katsu's head came up sharply at the title, his body stiffening, clearly taken aback.

Shin laughed. Either he was easily amused or he found something particularly comical about the half-formed frown that gripped the unfrozen side of Katsu's face, tapering that yellow-green eye into a narrow squint.

"Like I said, the finest," Shin praised, all smiles as he reached out to clap Katsu's shoulder, patting the lean solid muscle of his arm like an owner might pet the flank of a prize dog. "The Nagu's most formidable Jōnin. The Nogusa clan couldn't ask for a fiercer protector, or a more faithful warrior, could they, Katsu?" And here, he squeezed lightly, impressing some odd sentiment into the touch before releasing his grip on Katsu's rigid bicep, the muscles bunched so hard the veins stuck out in thin angry lines.

Shikamaru frowned, trying to read the subtext going on beneath the surface of this odd exchange. He had no good reason to like Katsu over Shin – hell, the shadow-nin's bruised shoulders were filing one hell of a complaint to his brain – but against better judgement he felt compelled to want to catch the Guardian's eye and suss out what was making him so uncomfortable.

Maybe he's just awkward, like Shin said.

Or maybe Shikamaru was feeling more inclined towards the guy because he was wearing a Guardian sash and the shadow-nin honestly wanted nothing more right now than to duck outta the limelight and into his sensei's shadow, letting Asuma do that whole protective human shield thing.

Tch. And now you're acting like a kid again…

So what? Shit. Every god-damned adult expected him to act the age his IQ dictated, never stopping to consider that just because he thought well beyond his years didn't mean that every once in a while he didn't simply feel anything more than 15 years old; confused, unsure, pressured, conflicted, and forced to grow up way too fast, taught to ignore whatever might be in his heart in order to stay firmly wired in his head.

Only Asuma recognised the divide within him.

Only Asuma got that conflict between his head and his heart, even at those times when Shikamaru wasn't aware there was a conflict. Asuma always heard him, always chased him down, and always knew when to knock him back down to the level of the normal 15 year old kid instead of treating him like the detached +200 year old man his IQ dictated he be.

A gentle grip at his elbow pulled him from his thoughts.

"Hey, aren't you supposed to have a Jōnin with you?" Shin asked, brows knit with concern. "We're going to need to cross through the Shinjūmon to—"

Katsu's head came up at that, his ophidian eye wide and blazing. "Only the Nagu—"

Shin raised his hands, palms up against the look Katsu speared him with. "Easy there, killer," Shin soothed, lips curving upwards ever-so-slightly. "I'm well aware of the rules." He glanced at Shikamaru with apology, reading the confusion in the young Nara's face. "You heard of Jikūkan Ninjutsu, kid?"

Shikamaru's eyebrow ticked at the word 'kid'. "Yeah. Space-time ninjutsu. Some of our former Hokage have used it." Some meaning the Nidaime Hokage, Senju Tobirama and the Yondaime Hokage, Namikaze Minato. In fact, Shikamaru was pretty sure that Asuma had said something about Genma and the Goei Shōtai being able to use it too. "It's used primarily as a transportation jutsu," he added, just to clarify he was on the same page. He didn't like being treated like a genin.

"Transportation jutsu," Shin snapped his fingers and nodded. "Precisely that. You see. The Shinjūmon are portals between specific locations within and just outside of Kusagakure. Kills travel time and allows us to move the chimaera cargo around."

"Shin," Katsu growled.

Pursing his lips, Shin tipped his head and passed a hand across his mouth like perhaps he'd just let slip a secret – although he didn't seem all that mortified about it. "Long story short, kid. Other than needing a member of the Nagu to accompany us,I can't take you through those portals without your Jōnin chaperone present."

Chaperone?

As if the 'kid' part weren't irritating enough. Now his guy thought he needed a babysitter? Shikamaru's jaw ticked hard. "I'm a Chūnin," he reminded, bristling a little at the thought that he even needed to justify his rank to a non-ninja, daimyō's son or not. "And I already have my Jōnin's permission otherwise I wouldn't be here."

The hostility in his voice must've eked out a little stronger than intended because Shin raised his hands to ward off any offence and offered a charming smile that masterfully combined apology with good humour. "A damn fair point, Shika. You don't mind if I call you Shika, do you?"

Yeah. I do.

And not for the reason that he'd always hated it; which was that it sounded like a childish abbreviation both derogatory and condescending. Yet somehow, the way Shin stroked the syllables across his tongue, there was an intimacy in the slow susurrating purr of the Shi and a hard breathy hitch to the ka. Combine those two sounds together and the effect was a sudden tightening of skin and a pulse of warm dark heat at the base of Shikamaru's spine, shooting straight up to the base of his brain, leaving him senseless in the head and hot in the body.

What the fuck?

Struggling to cover his confusion, Shikamaru managed a tight-lipped smile. Not exactly consent, but he didn't want to piss off the son of a daimyō. As if sensing the disturbance in his thoughts, Shin's glossy black orbs crinkled knowingly at the corners; but the depths of those deep sable eyes remained unfathomably still – void of movement and intention, yet somehow rife with possibility, like two black holes drawing Shikamaru in, inviting him to gaze a little deeper, stare a little harder…that odd heat stirring in the pit of his stomach the longer he looked, the longer he stared.

And then Shin blinked slowly, breaking the connection.

Embarrassed and thrown, Shikamaru flushed hotly, drawing his head back. He was about to apologise but Shin smoothed over the moment by letting his attention slide across to the scar-faced Nagu. "Well Katsu," he implored with a winning smile, spreading his hands. "My father's expecting our arrival and you're the only Nagu here to walk the portal with me. You want to be the one who kept him waiting?"

Katsu's mouth twitched at the unscarred corner, his yellow-green eye narrowing. "No," he breathed, his voice oddly tight.

Shin smiled that slow charismatic smile and Shikamaru felt his skin prickle as if the older man were giving off some kind of static. There was a peculiar and mesmeric power at work behind those too-calm eyes; an intelligence and magnetism that Shikamaru could sense instinctively, even though he could read nothing of the man's mind. Interesting. Intriguing. And all too inviting for a mind as curious as Shikamaru's.

Better watch this guy…

Or watch himself. He'd already gotten into trouble by taking interest in the puzzle that was Shiranui Genma, never mind the unpredictable nature of a man he barely knew and trusted not at all. Trying to ignore the weird tingling in his blood, he fell back on his wariness, trying to make logical sense of the fascination taking hold of his brain.

Seemingly oblivious to the shadow-nin's struggle, Shin rewarded Katsu's obedience with a gracious smile, looking like he might reach out to pat the Guardian on the arm again. He didn't. Instead, his attention returned to Shikamaru. "I should probably warn you in advance, Shika. My father has a habit of welcoming his guests by dismantling them at tactics. Kind of a ritual. You play Shogi?"

Hell yes.

A hell of a lot better than he played guess-the-cause-of-the-awkward-tension and gut-tingling weirdness. It was strange, this unsettled flurry in his stomach. In his nerves. Not alarm. Not quite anxiety. Something altogether new, altogether wrong…or was it?

Shit. Clear head, idiot.

Shaking off the odd grip those eyes kept getting on him, Shikamaru looked at Shin sideways – like maybe he could cut the power of that gaze in half if he only partially returned it – and gave a hesitant nod. "Yeah," he mumbled, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably before adding, "A little."

"A little, huh?" Shin tucked his chin back with mock suspicion. "I think you're playing with me right now, Shika. If memory serves, your dad wiped the floor with my old man way back when."

Shikamaru's brows tugged together in disbelief. "I don't think so."

Shin simply smiled.

Shikamaru blinked. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Shin echoed, his eyes glowing with amusement at the shadow-nin's sceptical stare. "I distinctly remember Nara Shikaku telling my father to avoi—"

"Avoid a sitting King," Shikamaru finished on a chuckle, turning towards Shin with deepening interest, hands sliding into his pockets in a subconsciously relaxed gesture. "My dad never mentioned playing against a daimyō."

Shin's brows went up. "No? Interesting. I guess that's honourable of him, considering he totally butchered my father's pride." He tipped his head back, exhaled with the satisfied 'ah' of a man savouring the memory. "Damn, but that was some game, wasn't it Katsu?"

Katsu didn't respond.

Wondering at the Guardian's silence, Shikamaru began to turn his head. Shin intercepted the movement, gliding his hand in a slow stroke across Shikamaru's shoulders to steer him away from Katsu and back down the stairs towards the arena. "So your old man's never talked about that time, huh?"

Shikamaru stiffened at the touch, unnerved by the static-pop of heat rising to the surface of his skin. "No," he husked.

"Hn. Interesting."

Not as interesting as the way Shikamaru's body was reacting to this man's touch. He didn't like it one damn bit. As they approached the sunken pit of the arena, Shikamaru seized the opportunity to escape Shin's grip, making it look like he was turning a casual circle. He tipped his head back with feigned interest, taking in the sight of the reinforced chain-link fencing which rose up on all sides of the pen, electric and humming with chakra.

"How do you power that?" he asked, sensing Shin's gaze like a damned tractor beam.

"We recycle," Shin said, grazing his palm a hairsbreadth away from the powerful thrum of the fencing. "Chimeras like the ones you saw fighting make good fuel. Nothing goes to waste, not even their bodies."

"That's enough, Shin," Katsu growled from behind.

Shin ducked his head and raised his palm in a 'hands off' gesture; a move that might've passed as a show of contrition if he hadn't been smiling. Once again, he didn't seem all that sorry or worried about letting information slip around a foreign ninja.

Gotta be a reason for that.

Shikamaru filed it away, along with any questions he might've asked. Now wasn't the time, what with Katsu keeping a sharp eye and a cocked ear. Rocking back on his heels, Shikamaru peered towards the top of the chain-link fence where the wires curled in tight razor coils. He wondered if any chimaeras had ever scaled the top.

Doubt that's a crowd pleaser…

"This way," Shin redirected, leading the way down a long concrete utility ramp that took them several feet below the sunken arena; maintenance or security level, Shikamaru figured.

He figured right.

Shin led them through a door marked HANDLERS ONLY, into the underbelly of the building. An odd smell hooked Shikamaru's nose; chemical, putrid. Stepping just inside the dark doorway, his foot crunched down on a pile of debris. Or so he assumed.

Looking down, he realised it was the desiccated carcass of a small dog.

Shikamaru sucked breath.

Shin glanced back sharply, his brows drawing together. "You alright?"

Frowning, Shikamaru lifted his foot away, scraping his sandal against the concrete floor. No blood. No mess. Just a weird powdery residue. "You have mummified dogs down here?"

Shin's eyes went to the withered sack of flesh and bones. "Chimaera venoms and antivenins do strange things to the blood, coagulate or thin it. Dogs make better test subjects than rats." He wandered over, scuffing the toe of his boot across a cracked yellow bone. "In the case of this poor creature? We take anticoagulant venom and we add brodifacoum. Wrings them dry."

Shikamaru glanced up through his lashes. "And that's what? Classed as pharmaceutical research?"

Shin hummed, his lips curved ever so slightly. "Ah. Are we going to have a conversation about ethics? I've heard interesting things about the Nara laboratories."

Clever move. Shikamaru's lip twitched into a half-smile of respect. "I wasn't making a judgement, you know. Just an observation."

"Are you afraid of offending me, Shika?"

Again, that hair-raising purr of his name.

That's not my name…

Shikamaru frowned, the high ridges of his cheekbones colouring. Unnerved, he backed off a step, shaking his head. "No," he said, finding the nerve to meet Shin's eyes. "I'm not afraid to speak my mind."

Shin's eyes held fast on him, speculating. "Good. Because nothing you say could offend me."

There was an unmistakable thread of invitation dangling from those words. Shikamaru hesitated, searching Shin's eyes, wondering what might happen if that thread were to unravel.

"Shin." Katsu's voice was tight with restraint. "Your father," he reminded.

Shin led them deeper until they turned left into a section of the tunnel. Warmth and damp closed in around them, the ceiling crisscrossed with sweating pipes. The distant rumble of generators hummed along the walls.

Shikamaru made note of the layout, his brain clocking distance and dimension.

Shin made a final turn. Dim red security lights were in effect, a row of caged bulbs receding down a long tunnel. They walked in silence, the shadows thick and all around. Always a comfort. While Shikamaru didn't feel threatened, it was good to feel safe.

Shin paused when they came to a large bolted door, the ironwork wrought into intricate beast-like shapes. Shikamaru spotted dragons, Kirin, tailed foxes, shishi lion-dogs and phoenixes.

"Shinjū," Shin murmured, stroking his fingers over the latticework of a dragon's wings, a hint of reverence in his touch, in his tone. "Divine Beasts. The Nogusa clan are connoisseurs of all things mythological…it's almost primitive really...and all the more beautiful for that."

Intrigued by the odd duality of those words, Shikamaru tilted his head, his eyes following the slow stroke of Shin's fingers across the curved horn of the Kirin motif. "Is that why you call the portals Shinjūmon?" he said. "Divine Beast Gate."

Shin regarded him with the barest trace of a smile. His fingers paused, slid down to hover over an iron-cast dial fitted into the door. "Katsu," he said softly, "If you'd be so kind."

Shikamaru started as Katsu stepped forward and reached between them, touching his long bronze fingers to the dial. He turned the ornate circle of cogs one way and then another, working it in a combination of clicks.

Shin glanced over the Guardian's shoulder, met Shikamaru's gaze. "My old man's probably got his best tactician lined up for this. You still game?"

The door swung open, chakra emanating outwards in a halo of purple-blue light, the mouth of the portal swirling in a kaleidoscope of colour. The prism of rainbow light spilled cool and tingling across Shikamaru's skin, mesmerising, pulling him across the threshold like a magnet.

"Yeah," he answered, his lips curved in a smile. "I'm game."

Shin flashed a dazzling smile. "Then let's play."

They stepped through the portal and the door banged shut…on the memory…on his mind…

Bang. Bang. Bang.

---

BANG!

Shikamaru's eyes snapped open, his body jerked to awareness seconds before his mind could catch up. The first thing that gripped him, other than an inordinate sense of stiffness in his limbs, was the cold. Ice against his cheek, against his chest, against his whole damn body, which, he discovered, was cramped up on the cool white tiles of the shower stall.

What the fuck?

Gasping, he let out a ragged, teeth-chattering breath and lifted himself painfully from the floor, flinching away from the tap, tap, tap, of icy droplets dribbling down from the showerhead. Gazing up in confusion, his gut gave a sickening twist.

Did I…fall asleep in the shower?

How the hell had he managed that? Shaking like a palsy victim, he staggered out of the stall in a judder of clumsy limbs, stiff with cold and aching all over. He grabbed the towel hanging on the rail and wrapped it about his hips, heart beating wildly as he looked for a robe, flicking his hair out of his eyes. A horrible sense of vulnerability rattled through him, stronger than the cold, stronger than the shakes. He turned a half-circle, his eyes hitting on the mirror, the glass fogged around its very edges, condensation giving way to a clear shiny patch of reflection.

He gazed at the face staring back at him, searching the wide dark eyes…

Saw flames leaping up behind the glass…the face of a freckle-faced kid…her large hazel orbs glazed with tears…with madness…mouth moving…framing the words…

"I'm not…" Shikamaru whispered, his voice catching hard. He reached out towards the reflection, saw the girl leaning back and away, tilting into the fire…into the flames…

"Shikamaru?" The raised voice beyond the door startled the hell out of him.

Jumping at the loud bang of the accompanying knock, Shikamaru whirled around in a panic, the small of his back slamming up against the sink, goosebumps exploding across his skin, eyes wide and staring.

Bang, bang, bang went the knuckles on the door.

Bang, bang, bang went the knocking in his mind, louder and with more urgency.

Shikamaru froze, staring blindly in the direction of the bathroom door, not moving, not breathing, his focus turning inward one second at a time.

Did I see that girl? Did I dream it? Did I—?

"Shikamaru?" Neji called again, something rising in his voice. "Open the door."

The hint of alarm in those deep tones pulled Shikamaru back again, his entire body listing forwards and away from the edge, away from the panic. Clambering to secure the towel at his hips, he slicked his hair back from his face and approached the door, the shakes wearing off into a barely discernable tremble.

Calm down…calm down…

Yeah, right. He was one nervous twitch away from freaking the fuck out.

Sucking a breath, he flipped the latch and cracked the door open a little, a wedge of bathroom light spilling over his shoulder, striking Neji's face in a warm patina glow. But there was nothing warm about the look in those cool white eyes, nothing soft or welcoming in the pale drawn face.

Neji looked haggard, exhausted, his diamond-hard edges worn rough and raw.

Blood still streaked his hair, his clothes, his skin. He hadn't showered, hadn't slept. Dust and grime fanned out at the corners of his sunken eyes, enunciating the weariness that might've slipped through if only he'd let down that porcelain mask of control.

The urge to reach out to him was so strong Shikamaru leaned forward instinctively. "Neji…"

Neji drew back sharply, his body tightening in a ripple. A spasm of pain seemed to grip his face, but it was gone in a heartbeat. "You've been in there for two hours," the Hyūga snapped, his voice clipped and tight. "What the hell are you doing? Taking a nap?"

Shikamaru stared at him, water trickling down from his hairline and along his temple. A choked laugh caught in his throat, wedging behind a solid ball of ice, making it difficult to swallow, difficult to speak. God, he needed to speak. Needed to talk. Needed to—

"I don't have time for this, Nara," Neji uttered the second Shikamaru drew a breath, his moonstone eyes closing off in a chilling eclipse of emotion, leaving nothing behind but irritation and tiredness, a dangerous storm brewing in his voice. "Shino and I are heading down to speak with Nogusa about Phase Two. He needs to be informed about our mission objectives, especially concerning the Nagu."

A foreign tongue might've made more sense than that.

Phase Two?

Nothing. Not even a vague idea came to mind.

Blindsided by the massive blank in his brain, Shikamaru stared at Neji, his eyes growing wider, that ball of ice sliding down from his throat and into his chest. "Neji…" he croaked, unable to form the words, 'What the hell are you talking about?' when everything inside him was seizing up in panic.

I'm supposed to know this…he's looking at me like I'm supposed to know this…

He shook his head helplessly, sucked a breath.

Neji's eyes narrowed into impatient half-moon slits. "If you're going to say anything, I suggest you save it for Ino. I won't have division in the ranks and I suggest you fix it before I get back. We need to talk."

Out of all those words, only five registered.

I suggest you fix it.

Those words hit deep. For reasons entirely unrelated to whatever Neji was talking about – which, Shikamaru realised, he still wasn't any clearer on. At a total loss, Shikamaru's face twisted in confusion. He opened his mouth to respond.

Neji angled his head and lifted a long pale hand in warning, his jaw so tight the tendons in his throat pulled like ropes set to snap. "Just fix it."

Fix WHAT?

Even if Shikamaru had found the voice to speak, Neji didn't have the mind to listen. Turning on his heel, the Hyūga swung back down the way he'd come, his long agitated strides carrying him beyond reasoning and beyond reach, leaving Shikamaru teetering…teetering…

He tried to step forward, tried to raise his voice. "Nej—"

The world dipped hard beneath his feet, his brain rolling in and out of darkness. Half-blinded, Shikamaru caught his shoulder against the doorjamb and squeezed his eyes shut against the pain that came pounding through his skull, a goddamned fist against his temples.

Stop…

It didn't stop. And that icy ball in his chest dropped into his stomach…just as the ground almost dropped out from beneath his feet. Reeling, he slapped up a hand against the door, half-collapsed it shut with his weight and pressed his brow against the wood, the heel of his hand smacking up against the tiles for a grip he couldn't get.

Bang, bang, bang, went his palm against the wall.

BANG, BANG, BANG, went the knocking in his mind.

"Knock-knock. Who's there…?"

He froze with his palm against the cool tiles, his eyes slipping open slowly on the mocking voice in his head. He knew that voice. That voice calling him down the dark corridors of his mind.

Bang, bang, bang.

His hand slipped away from wall, his body listing away from the bathroom door even as he reached mentally for the doorknob in his mind, twisting slowly, drawing back the door...

Knock-knock, said the voice.

He already knew who was there, what was there…and why it was waiting.

---

The masks in Genma's mind were white and without faces – just crimson ANBU animal carvings. They hung on damaged walls, went round and round on damaged wheels. Damage. Damage. Damage.

So much damage, Inoichi thought, his eyes scanning the masks, searching the walls.

Cracks spread in red breaks along the concrete – symbolic, significant – and mortar crumbled like ash, loosening the bricks of sanity, the foundation of reasoning. The unconscious spoke in symbols, just like dreams – and here he was, trying to interpret the meanings of these masks, all the while searching for memories.

Show me your memories, Genma…

Inoichi touched the walls, pulled his palm away and shook the blood from his fingers.

The droplets hit the wall like acid, began to burn, eating holes through the partitions that cordoned off one memory and one imagining from another. Too many symbols, not enough signs. Inoichi cursed, tried to find some stable ground and direction only to lose his footing completely.

He stumbled, headlong, through flames and smoke.

Screaming.

Sudden and deafening.

Genma's wild tortured howls filling up all the voids between time and space – what time? What space? There was no consistency of thought. No vision that made even the vaguest kind of sense. The masks dropped away and Inoichi watched, bewildered, as giant fuchsia pills went rolling around the wheels within wheels like balls in a giant pachinko machine.

What the hell is this? This is like the mind of a man suffering a psychotic break.

Unless these giant pills rolling around in Genma's psychedelic fantasies were in fact related to his current state in reality – the cause of his seeming madness and mental instability. Gods, to think that one of the Goei Shōtai was operating under the influence of drugs. ANBU? Yes. He'd seen those kinds of cases before.

But Goei Shōtai?

Appalling as the thought was, it gave Inoichi some serious leverage over the young Tokujō. He could easily have Genma striped of his rank with such knowledge – that is, if Genma failed to cooperate.

The problem is…how long will I have to wait until his mind stabilises?

And more importantly – how long until the Hokage or Raidō notices he's missing?

The pills rolled away, the ground beneath his feet rippled like water.

What the hell?

Inoichi started in surprise when a giant water spider crept past on delicate legs and began spinning a web; thin gossamer threads glowed silver, interlinking in a pattern that began to form letters, spelling out words that went whispering across Genma's mind in a woman's low raspy tones.

"I see the nothingness inside of you."

Inoichi frowned. He didn't recognise the voice, tried to get closer to the web only to find himself caught in it. It paralysed his movements. He attempted to disentangle his mind from the illusion only to find himself face-to-face with a haunting wraith-like woman with the stunning pale silver-blue eyes of an arctic wolf.

She smiled a slow smile, but there was sadness buried in the cunning.

Then her face and the web were gone.

Nothingness all around.

Until nothingness swelled and broke.

Fragments of consciousness went spinning in and out of the black, starbursts of memory that exploded into dust when Inoichi tried to touch them. A shower of sparks, senbons shooting blind into figures without faces, shadows that drifted like silhouettes in fire. Fire. So much fire.

"Genma!" Inoichi called out, trying to grasp a thread of sanity in the Tokujō's mind. "You know what happened to Tenka. To Naoki. You were with him when he…" Inoichi cut off here, had to squeeze the words past the tightness in his throat. "When he was bleeding out beneath your hands. Tell me what happened to him. To you. Show me what happened!"

The fire dimmed to a smoulder, then exploded outwards in a sudden backdraft of light and heat, roaring over Inoichi in a flurry that burned cold. He whipped around, found himself standing in a long dark tunnel, dimly lit by red emergency lights.

This is it. God, this is the place.

The place he'd been inside Naoki's head. He vaguely remembered the sense of a tunnel and an explosion before Naoki had pitched Inoichi from his mind…leaving nothing but the echo of those final words…

"You know the score. We can't all cut and run."

"Don't ask me to do this..."

"Do what?" Inoichi murmured, touching his hand to the tunnel's thick wall. "What did he ask you to do, Genma?"

The fire came again, only slower this time, a flickering crawl along the walls, tongues of yellow-orange flame that changed colour, changed texture, took on the cold blue blaze of chakra, climbing upwards, shimmering rainbow ripples, like oil on water, congealing into a living pool.

Inoichi stared at the portal of colours, tried to understand the significance.

"Genma," he said again. "What is this?"

A giant scroll came rolling out of the portal, unravelling like a streamer. Inoichi leapt back a pace, his feet splashing in blood, crunching on bone. The gore spattered onto the parchment, soaked into the paper, began to flow along the page in a red script that turned black…running like ink…penning out three things in quick succession…

First, a curse-seal, the one Danzō branded on the backs of his ROOT operative tongues…

Second, the sharp scratchy symbol of Kusagakure with its three grass spikes…

And lastly, the vertical scrawl of Genma's old ANBU call sign; Kaika.

What the hell is this?

Inoichi hesitated, then touched the parchment. It shrank at his touch, slotted into his hand, a scrap of paper in his palm. He blinked in confusion, looked up and saw the same scrap of paper hanging before his eyes, nailed into a slab of wood by a blade.

"It's been a lifetime, Genma."

Naoki's voice; older, rougher, a shadow of the voice he remembered.

Inoichi turned sharply, jerked to a halt, his heart lurching painfully behind his ribs. Naoki stood a few short paces away, hands outstretched, his thumbs almost touching into a mind-transference seal. He wore the ROOT uniform and the Konoha headband, his violet eyes as cold and hard as polished amethyst…lifeless and without feeling but for the barest fracture of emotion...the faintest lines breaking at the corners of his eyes when Genma croaked his name.

"Naoki…"

So soft it barely passed for a whisper – until it shattered into a scream, a sound that shook the tiny fragment of memory apart, sent splinters of agony piercing through Inoichi's brain as he retreated from the tunnel walls that came crashing down in Genma's head.

Screaming.

Darkness.

Blinding light.

Thrust back into his body, Inoichi staggered sideways and gulped a huge shuddering breath. A violent spasm in his gut and he almost heaved, his empty stomach roiling on undigested feelings and unpalatable confusions. That strange portal, that scrap of paper and the symbols scrawled onto it - ROOT, Kusagakure, Kaika.

Kusa…Kusagakure…

Is that where Naoki had been? It made sense, given the proximity of Kusagakure to the old facility where Shuken had conducted his heinous research. While that may've given Inoichi a location, it failed to answer the questions burning in his mind since his last dip into Naoki's memories; why had Naoki been bleeding out on the ground? Why did he even reveal himself to Genma in the first place if he was undercover? And who the hell was the kid that Naoki had asked Genma to save?

Shit…

Rubbing at the knot in his brow, Inoichi sank into the chair stationed by the side of Genma's gurney. The Shiranui was strapped down tight, his eyes rolling beneath fluttering lids. Veins bulged along his forearms and biceps, the chords in his throat rippling as his jaw tightened and loosened, teeth bared in a grimace of pain.

What am I doing?

Inoichi swallowed hard and gripped his thighs, willing his eyes away. The guilt clawed beneath the rock hard stubbornness of his resolve like a demon eating upwards from the centre of his heart.

God. What am I doing?

Whatever was necessary to get answers. Rationally, that made sense. But rationality wasn't ruling the domain of his head or his heart.

Head.

Heart.

Inoichi had spent a lifetime learning to keep them separate. But the boundaries were blurring…like his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to ward off the tears, felt them burning hot trails down his cheeks. He swiped at them angrily, thrust to his feet and paced the length of the small room, his breathing rough and laboured.

There are other ways to do this…better ways…

Gods knew he was pushing the boundaries of his own morals, stretching the limits of his rank to breaking point. This was in no way professional. It was utterly and unquestionably personal.

Which makes it wrong…

Irrefutably wrong. He'd had no choice with Danzō. It was the only way for him to access Naoki.

But this?

This cruelty? This total violation of protocol? This complete disregard for anyone else's needs but his own.

Is that the kind of man I am?

When it came to family – yes. Every time. He'd done it for 21 years, after all – a willing participant in what Ibiki called the System of Lies. What rules wouldn't he break in order to keep those secrets buried? To keep Shikaku safe.

And now, what wouldn't he do to keep Naoki safe?

Nothing. There's nothing I won't do.

Safer than believing there was nothing he could do. No. That futility, that helplessness, was just too horrid to comprehend. He needed answers, answers locked up in Genma's madness, locked up in memories he couldn't access.

"You stay the hell away from him, Inoichi!"

Inoichi stopped pacing as those words ricocheted around his skull. Naoki's words. Naoki's warning. Such emotion. Such despair. It made Inoichi wonder just how far Naoki would've gone to protect Genma, if he was able…if he was awake…

If he knew what I was doing now…

Inoichi looked across at the gasping figure twisting on the bed. The restraints had chafed Genma's skin raw. He'd sweat through his clothes, through the sheets, wracked by spasms and seizures – gurgled cries and pleas issuing from his split lips…along with Naoki's name.

God.

Inoichi brought his fists against his temples, backed up from the bed, from the evidence of his own madness, his own loss of objectivity and control.

What am I doing…what am I doing…

Hate and sadness, regret and self-disgust joined the shit-fest of emotion swirling inside him, pushing bile up along his throat. His mind struggled to neutralize the poison and make sense of these choices that were no longer choices – just a violent chain reaction inside him.

"You knew," Inoichi snarled at Genma, his voice thick and shaking on the truth – on the accusation. "You knew he was alive…and you know what happened to him…"

Indeed. Genma knew, yet he'd said nothing, reported nothing. Inoichi had checked. No records, no paper trails. Nothing at all. Not even a footnote a mission report. He'd kept his silence, held his tongue – and all these years, Inoichi had believed Naoki to be dead.

Maybe Genma believed that too, said the voice of Reason. Take a step back and think. Naoki said it had been a lifetime. He also asked him to do something…perhaps it was to keep his silence?

I don't care, said the voice of Emotion. I'll tear him apart until I find the answers. I don't trust him. Not for a second. Not for a moment because…

Because…?

Inoichi's brain hit a wall, a solid rock of emotion. It cracked beneath the hammer of sudden realisation, shattering all the excuses, all the agendas, all the half-baked lies, leaving nothing but the truth. The simple honest truth: that he wanted to punish Genma. Punish him in the same way he wanted to punish himself because…

It's my fault…it's my fault…

And there it was. The past. Flickering at the edges of Inoichi's mind. Fragments of a broken time…reflecting a frightened, damaged, orphaned little boy, violet-eyes crushed of hope, his future stained dark by a father that Inoichi had refused to see for the monster he was despite all of Shikaku's warnings.

Yamanaka Yacho.

Inoichi's cousin. A monster hiding in plain sight – not that anyone had ever suspected, other than Shikaku. And then there'd been Naoki's mother; a distant relative of the Nara. The lilac-eyed Nara Kanako. Sweet and gentle as a doe, yet weak as a fawn. Too blinded by her own shadows of denial to admit to something Inoichi himself had never foreseen…that this Nara and Yamanaka 'match made in heaven' was destined for hell. And the victim of its tragedy? A violet-eyed boy with the blood of both clans in his veins… and then, eight years later, the blood of both parents on his hands.

Bad egg…bad child…born bad…born wrong…

Rumours, lies, half-truths and unjustified judgements. Only 8 years old, Naoki had been disowned by both the Nara and the Yamanaka as guilty of patricide. A murder that made no sense until Shikaku had exposed the truth about Yamanaka Yacho, tearing the man out of the shadows and into the hideous light – a child molester, a predator, a monster.

Kanako could not live with the shame.

She'd slit her wrists.

Naoki had found her – then Shikaku had found Naoki, covered in his mother's blood, cradling her lifeless body. Shikaku had known immediately what the clans would say, what they'd believe, what they'd assume.

Bad egg…bad child…born bad…born wrong…

Shikaku had cleaned up the mess, delivered a shocked and catatonic Naoki into Sayuri and Inoichi's arms. In a bid to protect Naoki, Inoichi had erased the boy's memories, hell-bent on saving what he could of this broken child.

Only I never did save you…did I? You surpassed me. Recovered all your memories.

He'd never once suspected. Never suspected that this boy, this surrogate son and masterful student had outstripped his own talents and recovered all the memories that should've stayed buried in the shadows. It'd worked on Shikaku. It should've worked on Naoki. Truth to tell, Inoichi found it staggering that the technique had been reversed at all; he hadn't designed the jutsu that way.

Naoki taught himself…

Was that the Nara genius running in his veins? Or had his desperation to know been stronger than his desire to forget? What kind of trauma would that have created? And who had been there to help him through it?

Not Sayuri. Not Shikaku. Not me.

Inoichi looked to Genma, tears burning in his eyes.

It was you…wasn't it? You were the reason he survived…you knew him…you knew him better than I ever did…

And worse than that…

You loved him better than I ever could…

The pain of that thought was an entity inside him. An abomination in his soul. He couldn't abide it. Could barely stomach the shame, the guilt, the regret…it smothered the air in his lungs, a palpitation picking up at the base of his throat, a roaring in his ears. The room was too hot, too small, too much.

Inoichi whirled for the door, breathless…breaking into a sweat…

Get outside. Get outside.

He was out the door just as Genma's ragged scream ripped right out the room, right down the corridor and right through Inoichi's heart. "NAOKI!"

---

"NAOKI!"

The scream stopped Kakashi on the spot.

Shiba stilled beside him, fur bristling along his back.

No mistaking Genma's strangled voice, even if it did bounce off the corridor walls in a distorted acoustic shatter. Footsteps sounded around the next corner, brisk and loud.

Wonderful…

Kakashi backpedalled in quick sweeping steps, veering his path around a sharp corner with Shiba at his heels. He vanished into a pocket of shadow just as the advancing figure rounded the corner up ahead and came striding down the hallway.

Shit.

Flattening himself against the wall, Kakashi reached a hand back and down, touching the tips of his finger's to Shiba's furled muzzle. The ninken ceased all aggression and immediately went silent but alert, crouched on his haunches in an oddly cat-like fashion, ready to launch to Kakashi's defence at the click of a finger or a squelch of the tongue.

Neither was required.

The approaching figure strode past them without pause, barely breaking stride as he rounded the next corner, granting Kakashi with a flash of his profile; supple dark leather and long blond strands, an expression taut with pain.

Inoichi…

Kakashi's eyes widened on the retreating form and he waited until the Yamanaka's footsteps receded completely before slipping back into the hallway, retracing Inoichi's steps back towards the other corridor.

Shiba padded beside him, eyes on Kakashi's fingers, waiting for visual cues.

They rounded the next passageway into a long stretch of corridor. Trolleys lined one side, some were the kind of medical gurneys one might find in a hospital, the others were laden with implements better suited to a torture chamber.

T&I's house of horrors, Kakashi mused grimly, angling around a jutting trolley.

He must've been about two quarters of the way down the corridor when one of the side doors swung open and a gurney came rolling out, pushed one-handed by a man clutching a clipboard in his other hand, his head bent down and sideways as he frowned over whatever notes were scribbled on the papers.

Kakashi froze, Shiba a step behind him.

There was nowhere to go. No crook or cranny to dive into.

The man swung the gurney around towards them at the same time he lifted his head, his bright green eyes snapping wide, his mouth falling open, seconds away from drawing the breath he needed to shout.

Kakashi beat him to that breath.

Snapping out a lightning-fast kick, he slammed the heel of his foot into the gurney, ramming the trolley backwards into the man's gut. It was a brutal punch and the man's whole body folded around the back end of the gurney, the air going out of him in a solid oomph!

Kakashi snapped his fingers. "Find Genma."

Shiba sprang, bounded up onto the gurney and over the wheezing man's head and hit the ground running, his claws clicking along the rough concrete as he shot off down the hallway, nose to the floor.

"W-wait…" the T&I guy choked.

Kakashi didn't wait. He rounded the gurney, caught the winded man's throat in the crook of his arm, clasped his hands together and executed an 8-second blood-choke, exerting just enough pressure on the carotid arteries with bicep and forearm.

5…4…3…2…

Lights out.

The man sagged in his arms, unconscious.

Kakashi hefted the body onto the gurney, strapped it down and rolled it back into the room, closing the door and calculating time. He turned just as Shiba came bouncing back down the corridor, tail up and swishing. It was all the confirmation Kakashi needed. He ticked his chin, indicating that Shiba lead the way. As the ninken sped off, Kakashi followed at a lope. A lope that was starting to slide into a limp.

Dammit…

He'd executed swift justice earlier using taijutsu alone, trying to conserve energy. That T&I woman hadn't been lying when she'd mentioned his depleted chakra. He needed solider pills…and possibly a medic to check that gash in his thigh.

Genma first…health later…

Ah, but that was fast becoming his trend, wasn't it?

Shiba came to an abrupt halt, going on point like a retriever scenting game. Kakashi paused by the indicated door, curled his fingers around the handle and twisted slowly, exerting the barest pressure with his shoulder, body angled and weight shifting to the balls of his feet, prepared for anything – or anyone.

The door eased open, soft as a sigh.

Kakashi slanted his head, Sharingan eye peering into the room. He scanned quickly, black tomoe spinning to a stop the second his gaze hit on the occupied gurney and IV units.

Genma…

Hooked up to a web of IV drips, Genma's supine form convulsed in sudden fits and starts, his head thrown back against the pillows, jaw clenched and eyes rolling. He was strapped down across the chest and buckled restraints bound his wrists, biceps, chest, thighs and ankles. The most movement he could manage were the small spasmodic jerks and twitches, the contraction of muscle causing veins to bulge against his skin in stark angry lines.

A cold fury suffused Kakashi's features, deadening the shock in his eyes.

His fingers closed hard around the handle of the door, a crackle of chakra sparking along his knuckles, causing a static shock against his skin.

Shiba whined, gazing up at him.

The wet prod of the dog's nose jerked him back from the red-mist and he blinked rapidly, stepping into the room. His leg buckled a little and he hissed, glaring down at the treacherous stitches that poked out of the torn flesh in his thigh like little black maggots. They'd come undone during his little taijutsu dance with the T&I team, ripping open knitted skin. Blood trickled, a steady stream.

God damn it.

Hobbling towards Genma, he searched the medical station set up next to the bed and managed to procure a roll of gauze. Perching his leg on the chair drawn up to Genma's bedside, he began to wind the gauze round his thigh in quick jerky movements, his fingers sticky with blood and his focus divided between the various IV bags Genma was hooked up to.

What the hell have they given him?

He scanned the IV labels, found several marked with electrolyte solutions but nothing that might precipitate the strange psychoactive reactions Genma was exhibiting.

Is this the effect of the Dukkha he was taking? When we fought, he showed no signs of it…

"What happened to you?" Kakashi murmured, searching for intubation tubes or signs of gastric lavage. None to be found.

Good. It should be safe enough to move him…

Well, safer than leaving him here. Although, that plan of action begged the immediate question: where the hell to take him that was safe?

Genma gasped suddenly, the sound catching hard on Kakashi's heart.

Frowning softly, his eyes still on the IV bags, he reached out with a soft 'sshh' and touched his fingers to Genma's brow, wincing at the heat radiating off the flushed skin. Wherever he took Genma, he'd definitely need a medic on standby.

"Calling in favours is becoming a habit with you," Kakashi murmured, turning away to search for some kind of tranquilizing drug. He found a set of unlabelled hypodermic needles and several pots of fluid nestled into a polystyrene container marked with a strip of tape reading: Intravenous methohexital.

This will do.

Taking up one of the needles, he popped the plastic cap, unscrewed one of the methohexital pots and began measuring out a dose of the sedative, his heart thumping hard at the base of his throat.

Do this slow. Do this right.

Last thing he wanted was to overload Genma's system – gods only knew what kind of chemical cocktail was already swimming around in his veins.

This could be a disaster…

No more of a disaster than leaving Genma here at the mercy of the T&I Scream Team. "Shiba," he said tightly, his focus narrowing on the needle as he tested the plunger. "Watch the door."

Genma turned his head weakly at the sound of Kakashi's voice, his voice shivering out in a delirious slur. "You died…you died…"

Kakashi paused, glanced across into those glazed lidded eyes and felt guilt throbbing hard and strong as the heart behind his ribs. He swallowed thickly and reached for the catheter taped to the back of Genma's hand. "It's alright," he husked, administering the sedative. "You're alright."

Genma's head tipped back, lashes flickering shut over his rolling eyes.

Kakashi set the hypodermic aside and, without thinking, grazed his fingers over the thick blue vein branching out across the back of Genma's hand, following the pathway up along the Shiranui's forearm, smoothing his fingers along the sweat-slick skin.

"Let go, Genma…" he coaxed, watching the tension slip out of the Tokujō's face and out of his body one ragged breath at a time. "Let go…let yourself leave."

Genma's lips moved weakly, framed the word, "No."

Kakashi almost smiled at that, shaking his head. "Still fighting."

Always fighting.

The thought sent a sobering chill through Kakashi, stealing away his amusement, leaving sadness behind. When Genma's body finally went slack against the sheets, Kakashi knew it had less to do with his touch and more to do with the fast-acting sedative…but his fingers lingered all the same…the pad of his thumb stroking softly over the back of Genma's wrist.

Shiba sat up from his crouch in the doorway, head cocked quizzically to one side. "Kakashi."

Stiffening, Kakashi pulled his hand back and curled his bloody fingers against his palm. Talk about wasting time he didn't have.

Time's not the only thing I'm short on…

He could feel the throb of awakening injuries, adrenalin running low. Ordering Shiba to scout further along the hallway, he moved fast to unbuckle Genma's restraints, his mind scouring every corner of his brain for a favour to call in or a friend to count on. Asuma's face flashed in his mind's eye…an image as painful and past-tense as a photograph.

Damn.

A few more faces came to mind – Gai's in particular, leapfrogging to the forefront of his brain with an exuberance that on any other occasion might've amused Kakashi…until he realised he was actually considering it.

Gai? God no.

And yet…

No. Think of someone else.

Easier said – Kakashi didn't have a little black book for these little black-op occasions. Well, that wasn't strictly true…but the name at the top of the list he'd already scratched out earlier.

I can't involve Yamato in this any more than I have already…

Another face came to mind. A friend he might be able to call on, though everything inside him was loath to do it. He had the emotional leverage – just not the heart to use it. Fortunately, the urgency screaming in his head overpowered the unease screaming in his heart.

He made the choice.

Now commit to it.

Cursing, Kakashi scooped Genma into his arms, getting an awkward bridal grip that the Shiranui would've screamed blue murder over had he been conscious. Ah, small blessings. Kakashi considered slipping a few more hypodermics into his pocket. He wasn't all that sure how long the tranquilizing effects would last…and he didn't fancy going another round.

That won't happen…

No, and if by some superhuman feat Genma actually possessed the strength, the chakra and the mental coordination to go another round, Kakashi would surrender on the grounds that he was either fighting a god or a demon.

Genma was no god. And for all his demons, he was still only human.

And so are you, his body seemed to scream, hot bursts of pain pulling through his muscles. Only human, and yet, battered and broken as he felt, Kakashi still found the strength to hold onto Genma, lift him from the gurney and not go sinking to his knees.

One step at a time…

He could do this.

He would do this…slowly…slowly…

Shiba appeared in the doorway. "Time to go," the ninken said, nose twitching and eyes fever-bright – signals that alerted Kakashi to the immediateness of the danger heading their way.

Wonderful…

So much for doing this slowly.

"I need a distraction," Kakashi said, hefting Genma against his chest with a grunt. "Can you hold them off until I can summon you away?"

Shiba bared his teeth in a wolfish grin, tail swishing. The ninken had shaken off the ill effects of his earlier confinement and, like Kakashi, the dog was in no mood to be underestimated or pushed around. Shiba had his own vengeance to extract, his own dominance to assert – and as always when it came to building the esteem of his ninken, Kakashi was wont to let them have it.

Kakashi nodded sharply. "Go."

A parting whuff and Shiba vanished to do his bidding, bolting back down the hallway, his sharp short barks giving rise to the pound of running feet and the echo of raised voices.

Fastening his grip around Genma's limp form, Kakashi closed his eyes, Sharingan orb flickering shut. He took a slow deep breath, a summoning of strength that seemed to pull from the soles of his feet right up to the crown of his skull.

There'd be time to rest later.

Now it was time to run.

---

Rooster's mid-hour
Where the stone Kirin rises
A White Hawk's shadow

Neji glanced up from the poem and scanned the vast grounds of Shijinjuu-en: The Garden of the Four Divine Beasts. Sectioned into four quadrants, the stroll-through gardens were a vast and richly decorated complex, abundant with flowing water-courses crossed by broad moon bridges and large koi ponds traversed via sharp zigzag crossings. Scenic hills and dwarf shrubbery harmonised with rock gardens, raked pebble valleys and tree-lined pathways that led to enchanting pavilions and exquisitely painted tea houses.

A masterful design, crafted both to reveal and radiate beauty no matter the season.

Neji turned left beneath a golden-red canopy, his steps crunching along the path of uncut stepping-stones and meticulously raked gravel. Sunset slipped in warm amber shades through the gently rustling canopies, tracing a soft gilt-filigree upon the dark russet branches of gnarled pines, crimson maples and the striped culms of bamboo.

Neji's eye cast over this beauty in a slow dispassionate sweep.

He wasn't searching for a stolen peace; he was searching for signs written in stone.

Where the stone Kirin rises…

Pausing, he consulted a woodcut plaque nailed to one of the pines. The equivalent of a 'YOU ARE HERE' sign, it detailed the outlay of the gardens. He was in the right quadrant, at least. He just needed to find the statue, which, according to this map, as beyond the next grove. Ignoring the minor paths that branched off, Neji followed the route past ancient squat lanterns and moss-covered water basins, the gentle tinkle and rattle of copper rain-chains sounding out between the soft susurrus of the leaves.

There was a deeply spiritual feel to this path…

Walking it now, Neji had never felt more conflicted, more monstrous in his own skin; blood-stained and tainted, stinking of death, his shadow stretching far ahead of him.

Shikamaru…

Crippling, the images his mind kept conjuring – it either plagued him with the memory of their last kiss or tormented him with visions of the kill site and, worse still, the nasty gleam in Shikamaru's eyes when he'd lashed out at Ino and at Kiba, seeking to inflict the same level of injury as he had on those beasts – using excessive force, excessive cruelty.

Cruelty…

Shikamaru wasn't cruel.

It wasn't in his nature.

Unless it is, said the cool detached voice of the ANBU shadow in his mind.

No. I don't believe that for a second.

But he couldn't deny what he'd observed – what he'd been assigned to observe; chakra fluctuations that made no sense. But it wasn't Shikamaru's chakra that worried him most – it was the fluctuations he'd observed in the shadow-nin's character. Fluctuations he hadn't had the time or space to make sense of.

And even now, you're none the wiser…

Indeed. On borrowed time, he'd come up with a fool-proof plan and sought Shikamaru out, expecting to hunt down that malicious cruelty flashing hot and bright in the Nara's eyes and deal it the necessary death blows.

I'll find it, even if I have to go through your shadows to get to it…

It wasn't the first time he'd said those words. But it was the first time he'd needed to plan ahead of the game in order to try and outmanoeuvre the shadow-nin.

Yes, and look how wonderfully that went…

Two steps back without even a single step forward. He'd approached Shikamaru's guest quarters steeled and ready, rerunning his practised attack on a continuous loop; Shikamaru had lied to him; Shikamaru had forgone his promise not to use chakra. That 'stupid simple' fact was to be the spearhead of his argument, never mind that it was the last thing Neji cared about.

It was the feint, not the fatal blow.

The true attack would come behind it; accusations, antagonism, a non-stop forward advance in the hopes that he'd be able to back Shikamaru into a corner and get him to react, to let loose in the way he had with Ino and Kiba. Given how capricious his moods had become, Neji guessed it wouldn't take all that much to get the desired response.

It'd been a simple plan of attack.

Impossible to fail.

Thus, armed with the impenetrable Hyūga armour he knew pissed the shadow-nin off to no end, he'd gone looking for a fight, gone looking for a too-dark shadow in Shikamaru's eyes…

Only to discover what he least expected to find…

Not anger, not aggression…just those same achingly sad eyes he'd gazed into a week ago…the burnt-out sienna hues awash with confusion and hurt no chameleon skin could hide. There'd been no sign of that former cruelty, no inkling of that former anger…not even a shadow of the look that'd been in Shikamaru's eyes back at the facility.

And it'd thrown Neji…

Thrown him hard...

Thrown him so damned abruptly that he'd lost his balance and almost lost his grip – on his motives, on his mind, on his mission, mission, mission.

But in that moment…the mission hadn't mattered…

And that, as always, was the danger, the trap, the point of no return…

He'd realised this danger the second Shikamaru had reached for him; because in that instant, that fraction of a second, the urge to reach out in return had been so incredibly strong, so difficult to deny, that pulling back had taken far more out of Neji than the battle with the chimaeras and even the battle with his conscience. Gods above, he'd gone to seek a fight and he'd certainly found it. He just hadn't suspected he'd been waging it on the inside between two parts of himself.

Did that war ever stop?

No. Never. That battle had continued on long into his ANBU training, day by day, week by week, month by month, until he was swapping chakra blocks for walls within walls and wheels within wheels. He wasn't sure how he'd made it through the meeting with Nogusa…his mind threatening a divide…his heart already torn…

And here I am again…at the edge of that divide…

Shaking his head, he tore his gaze away from his shadow and focused on the trail ahead. Crossing a low moon-bridge, he came upon the statue almost incidentally, his gaze drawn by a pair of red-crowned cranes foraging close to the water's edge.

There, beyond the leafy shadows of the ancient cedars, he saw it.

A florid sculpture, carved in stone as phosphorous as opal, the chimerical Kirin reared back on its hind legs like a horse, its dragon-like muzzle turned skyward. A cross between a dragon and a unicorn, it bore a great curved horn that arched from its forehead. A thick curling mane crested its neck, fashioned into the ornate swirls of billowing clouds. The tail was similarly embellished, along with the tufts of cloud-like hair at the fetlocks.

Where the stone Kirin rises.

Neji approached slowly, rounding the lake and taking a diamond-cut path of stones across a swirling patch of sand raked in cloud-like curlicues. The sunset cast the scene in hues as rich and warm as honey, bathing the Kirin in a patina glow.

Rooster's mid-hour.

Neji's gaze drifted skyward. 6 o'clock give or take a few minutes.

He should be here…

A rustle of feathers drew his gaze back to the lake, back to the cranes. The birds had stopped their foraging, long graceful necks drawn up in alertness. Neji watched them, his breath holding low in his throat. Their stillness rendered them as static and silent as figures from a painting, the dying burn of the sun turning their red crests to fire.

In a startled flap, they took to the sky.

Neji watched them sail away, white plumes glowing as their black edged wings fanned wide. The vision of their freedom caused that weight in his chest to roll heavy against his ribs. He took another measured breath, lowered his eyes and watched the shadows crawl across the grounds, a black mist that thickened into soupy obscurity, gathering in a small bird-viewing pavilion half-hidden by the trees.

It's time.

As he moved towards the pavilion, he caught a sudden flash of a mask hanging in the velvet black of the deepening shadows – the pale white face of a stag.

---

Sixteen faces without names.

Nine boys. Seven girls…

Survivors. Victims. Ghosts. Ghosts without homes. Ino shivered at the thought, at the certainty. Looking into their eyes had been like looking through empty windows…broken windows…the glass all cracked, the rooms in their minds ransacked by whatever trauma they'd experienced.

Sixteen survivors…but how many did we really save?

How many of those kids would recover? How many would remain locked within themselves…boarding up the windows and barricading the doors? Seeing their sad empty stares, she wanted so desperately to go inside, wipe down all their walls and wash out all the blood-stains on their memories.

Can't they start again?

A blank slate, a fresh page, no permanent-ink horrors or red-pencil sketches of whatever terrors they'd endured. Or maybe their minds would do that for them. Rub out all the details and box up all the monsters, all the memories.

Is it so bad, to want to make them forget?

The way she wanted to forget.

Forget the copper-skinned, dark-haired boy with the blue-grey eyes…

Collateral damage.

That's what Shikamaru had called them. The thought left her sick. She still hadn't shaken off the shock of his words, the shock of his cruelty.

How could he say those things to me?

Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, Ino stabbed her lacquered chopsticks into her bowl of rice, leaving the two slim sticks poking out. It was an inauspicious gesture, something done at funerals. It seemed appropriate.

And how many more might die tomorrow? Does he even care?

Stupid thoughts, useless thoughts. Phase two was tomorrow's mission, tomorrow's problem – or something like that. Ino wasn't really sure how Neji had wrapped it all up or how he'd even laid it all out. She'd sat through the entire session in a state of semi-shock and semi-speculation, only offering input when pressed by Neji or Shino, her eyes pinned on Shikamaru throughout the entire four hours.

The shadow-nin hadn't said a word.

And Ino hadn't heard a thing.

Say something…say something…was all she could think, all she could feel.

And then the session was over, the briefing wrapped up. She hadn't even taken a single mental note. It'd fallen to Sakura and Tenten to repeat to her the details of "Phase Two", reiterating to her in the medical wing and in the showers, both of them indulging her stupid questions. So embarrassing. Ino's mind was usually a sponge for detail, a trait she'd inherited from her father – but after that incident with the child and Shikamaru, her brain had stalled out…along with everything else, her appetite included.

"You should really eat something Ino."

Poking around the edges of her meal with her chopsticks, Ino glanced up at Chōji and gave a wan smile. "Is that an order?" she asked drily. "Because apparently I don't know how to follow those."

Chōji lowered his rice bowl, pinned her with the softest, saddest eyes. "He didn't mean what he said."

"Then why did he say it?"

She wasn't really expecting an answer and watching Chōji's face scrunch up regretfully made her feel shitty for having asked at all. She tried for a smile, reached out and touched the back of his hand, stroking her thumb over his bruised knuckles. "Always the middleman, huh? I'm sorry, Chōji."

The Akimichi shook his head. "I'm not in the middle about this. What he said was wrong, even if he didn't mean it."

Ino squeezed his hand again. Didn't mean it, huh? She wasn't sure whether that made either of them feel any better or any surer about things. Granted, Shikamaru had a sharp and cutting tongue when angry – but he wasn't confrontational. He was avoidant to a fault and only went on the offensive when backed into a tight and inescapable corner.

He's just not an aggressive person…or arrogant, for that matter…

All this she knew in her heart to be true. But the way he'd behaved back there? The arrogance, the bitterness, the nasty condescending amusement in his eyes.

I've seen him angry before. I've seen him pissed before. But he's never been like that…

He'd also never used Asuma's death as a weapon. And he'd never been so nasty as to undercut the performance of his teammates in such a cruel and humiliating way. Appalled as she was, Ino might've gotten angrier at the time if she hadn't been so utterly stupefied by the venom that'd come spitting out of his mouth.

And not just at me…at Kiba too…and Naruto…

Personal and nasty stuff, borderline sadistic in the way he'd sought out raw emotional nerves.

That's not like him at all…

Meanness just wasn't in his nature. Sure, he could be a grouch at times, a little moody and about as enthusiastic as an old man given his ingrained laziness and total lack of engagement for drama. But he'd never been so heartless, so ruthless…so hard for Ino to read or to understand.

It's like that time Team 10 spent together just before the mission never happened…

What hurt more was knowing how close they'd gotten during that time. Close enough that Shikamaru had actually held her when she'd cried. For an avoidant emotional retard like him, that said a lot. A whole heck of a lot. He'd let down those barriers that'd gone up around his heart after Asuma's death; he'd put aside his avoidance and actively sought both of this teammates out.

That'd felt like a breakthrough, a milestone along the way to Team 10's recovery…

For heaven's sake, he even played Pictionary.

He'd laughed, he'd relaxed, he'd allowed himself to be welcomed back into the 'stupid simple' familiarity of just 'hanging out'. As more than friends: as family. In that brief but honest time together, they'd reaffirmed and reconsolidated the Ino-Shika-Cho circle that'd become so fragile since Asuma's death.

"Do you think it's Asuma?" Ino whispered, her voice soft on the name, on the memory. "Do you think Shikamaru's just…I don't know…belatedly lashing out or something?"

"No."

"I mean…we weren't there when it happened, were we? He was alone in that."

"Ino..."

"If I'd gotten to sensei sooner…" her throat closed up around the words, around the possibility that there might've been some chance…some way…some hope…

Frowning, Chōji reached out and took her small slender fingers in his huge powerful hand, holding it with the softest grip. When he spoke, his voice was as strong and steady as Ino had ever heard it. "We've been here before, you know? What happened to sensei wasn't anyone's fault other than those Akatsuki bastards we took down."

Ino looked at him sideways, gave a pathetic attempt at a smile, "You said a bad word."

Chōji didn't buy the act, his fingers squeezing briefly around hers. "You did everything you could. No one, not even Shikamaru, could've done more. I don't think that's what's got him in this funk…it just doesn't feel right in my belly." He gave a crooked grin. "And you know to trust my belly."

Warmed by the affection in his smile, the comfort in his touch, Ino gave a small tremulous laugh and blinked up at the ceiling, her long dark lashes beating back the tears.

Don't cry. That's the last thing either of you needs…

She sucked a deep breath and eked it out between her lips in a slow stream, her gaze casting hopelessly around the guest room before settling on Chōji's calm, steady eyes.

God how she wished she had even a fraction of his strength, his stability. Envy flickered inside her, silly and childish. "How can you be so calm?" she marvelled, shaking her head. "Aren't you—"

"You know I am," he said softly, pain pulling at the corners of his still-smiling eyes.

Oh, Chōji…

It took everything she had not to throw her arms around him. "I don't know what we do here, Chōji. I don't know what to say to him. I don't know what to—"

"I'll talk to him," Chōji said, giving her a stern look when she made to interrupt. "Ino. I promise you. I'll talk to him. But first…" he drew his hand back and slid a bowl of untouched rice towards her. "You need to promise me you'll eat something. Okay?"

Her stomach gave a treacherous roll. "I have food in my own room you know."

"Yeah. Nice try. I mean eat something where I can see you eating it."

"Chōji."

His gaze brooked no argument – and Ino didn't really have the energy or the heart to get snippy at him, even if she genuinely had no appetite. Sighing exhaustively, she rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. "Fine."

Satisfied, Chōji bobbed his brows. "See what I did there?"

Ino snorted, a begrudging smile twisting her lips. "Well look at you, all quid pro quo on the negotiating. Asuma would be proud."

The barest flush turned the swirls on Chōji's cheeks a darker shade of red. "Can't really take any credit, though I can say I learned from the best."

Ino's lips curved slowly, her mind casting back over their genin years to all the little tricks of their sensei's 'parenting' trade. "He was so sneaky."

"Ha. Yeah. Always bribing and bargaining; coming up with all those ways to try to get me to stop eating whilst getting you to actually eat." Chōji's eyes brightened on a memory, his head coming up. "Oh man, you totally threw a tantrum that one time. Ah, what was it over again?" he snapped his fingers. "Ah, yeah! Those weird trail mix bars he got you eating, you remember?"

Remember? Oh god. That was one memory she'd definitely need to erase from her mind – permanently and literally. Embarrassed, Ino ducked behind her rice bowl, groaning. "Ugh. Please don't."

Only Chōji did – with gusto. Laughing halfway into the attempt to mimic Ino, he pulled off a disturbingly camp impression of his teammate, all flapping wrists and rising octaves. "Oh my god, Asuma-sensei! How could you lie to my face! To my FACE! You lied to my face about the calories in those bars!" He choked off here into a wheezing chuckle when Ino whacked him. "Oh come on. That was the best part. Like he'd actually offended your face."

Cringing at the memory, Ino buried said face into her hands, giggle-snorting despite herself. "Do you remember his face? He looked like he was gonna have a conniption."

"Ha. He totally did."

"He got soooo mad at me."

"Not just at you. We all got punished for that." Chōji took a mouthful of rice and rocked his head from side to side in amusement, chewing around a laugh. "He had us running D rank community service missions every day for two weeks. That was lame and totally your fault by the way, just in case I was too nice to say it back then."

Snickering, Ino peered out at Chōji through the cracks in her fingers, eyes narrowed with false menace. "In my defence, he did lie."

"Yeah." Chōji said solemnly, a twinkle in his eye. "To your face."

Ino tried to keep a blank, indignant expression but more giggles bubbled up, warm and sweet, taking the sting of Shikamaru's words out of her heart. Laughing, she scrubbed her hands over her aching cheeks and looped her hair behind her ears, feeling girly and silly – but lighter in spirits. She nudged Chōji with her elbow. "You always make me feel better. Even if you do manage to drag up dirt from my squeaky clean past."

Chortling, Chōji bobbed his shoulders and began to attack a plate of sushi, snapping his chopsticks at her in a staccato click. "Eat. You promised."

A sly smirk curved one corner of Ino's lips. She reached into the pocket of the pale lilac yukata that she'd pinched from Sakura's room – no way she'd let Billboard Brow have dibs on anything purple – and thumbed out a food pill into her palm.

Chōji glanced up too late to stop her. "Hey!"

With mock innocence, she smacked her fingers to her lips in a "whoopsie" gesture, knocking back the pill and swallowing. She washed it down with a mouthful of cold green tea and smiled prettily at Chōji. "There. I ate. You can't say I didn't."

Chōji gaped at her in exaggerated shock, his expression aghast as he whispered dramatically, "To my face!"

Grinning, Ino rocked across on her knees and pecked him on the cheek, obliterating his wounded act into an awkward blushing fit. It was so endearing, so innocently sweet, that she had to resist the urge to squeeze him in a hug.

He gave the best damn hugs in the world.

Unfortunately, those best damn hugs tended to crush her resistance, crush her composure. She couldn't afford to lose either right now.

Regretfully, she settled for ruffling her fingers through his spiky auburn strands, twisting the ends playfully as she got to her feet. "That's why I love you, Chōji. You don't give me half as much crap as Shikamaru does about what I do or don't eat."

"Yeah, how about you return the favour from time to time?" the Akimichi groused half-heartedly, patting down his hair. "I'm serious though, Ino, that food pill doesn't qualify. Neither does that chakra pill you took earlier."

"Nag, nag, naaag." Rounding the low kotatsu table, Ino fluffed up his hair again on her way to the door. "I promise you I won't head out on an empty stomach, okay? I'll probably have a midnight feast while you're snoring down the guesthouse."

Chōji stabbed his chopsticks at her. "I don't snore."

"No, you snuffle sweetly in your sleep," Ino sing-song-snorted, weaving dreamily towards the veranda, winking at the bemused look on Chōji's face.

The airy act didn't fool him. His expression sobered. "Ino…you don't have to—"

"I know," she cut in, a sad smile forming as she spoke. "But I kinda need to."

Chōji pressed his lips, nodded with that gentle understanding that made it all the harder to leave and all the more terrible to stay. It would be too easy to lean on him. Too easy to think those broad shoulders could carry her problems as well as his own.

Stop it.

Slipping outside, she slotted the fusuma panel shut behind her and leaned back into the frame, pulling a deep breath through her nose. A slow six count and she exhaled without a sound, rubbing a hand across her lips, pinching until they stung.

Keep it together…

Impossible to do around Chōji; his kindness inspired vulnerability. He was so gentle, so earnest, so safe to be around that the effort to be strong became utterly exhausting in his company. In a situation like that, there were two options; run to him for cover and let it all come crashing down, or run the hell away to keep from coming apart.

Shikamaru always did the latter.

Ino always did the former.

Or at least she used to…before she'd promised Asuma she'd take care of them both. She knew that shutting herself off wasn't what her sensei had intended – but right now, it's what was best. It's what was fair.

My whining is the last thing Chōji needs right now.

He hid it well, but Ino knew he was just as hurt, just as troubled and just as terrified about Shikamaru's behaviour – if not more so. He loved Shikamaru with a depth and strength that Ino firmly believed outstripped even Naruto's devotion to Sasuke. And for all his buoyancy with her, Ino knew that Chōji's heart was sinking like a stone. He was being strong for her, but she imagined he was scared shitless about Shikamaru's fluctuating moods and chakra.

And I need to be there for him…I need to be strong about this…

They still had a mission to complete. Their heads needed to be in the right place. Unfortunately, Shikamaru wasn't in their heads, he was in their hearts…and their hearts were under the cold ruthless blade of duty. Neji had no problem reminding them of that fact, that necessity.

Just keep it together a little longer…

A little longer and a little stronger. That's what she needed to be. Steady. Strong. Strong enough to stand beside Chōji and not behind him when they confronted Shikamaru together. As a unit. As a family.

Which is more than those children will ever have…

The image of the dead child came back to her, washed red and black – and then Shikamaru's words came back to her, a mental slap that stung her brain and kicked her heart into a violent stutter.

"Do you seriously believe that protecting someone else's King wins you karmic points with Asuma? It's a little fucking late to show him what you're worth don't you think!?"

Gasping, she clutched her stomach, felt the gutting sense of failure go through her like a cold spike, driving upwards towards her heart. She hadn't been able to save Asuma. But that child…that life…it'd been within her grasp to rescue…within her reach to save…then it had been snatched away.

And what was worse?

It wasn't a chimaera that'd killed that child.

It was a person, a human being.

Which makes them a monster far worse than the chimaeras…

As sickening as the hybrid beasts were, the thought of a person driving that small flint blade into the throat of a helpless and terrified child struck Ino twice as hard, leaving her cold to the bone and disgusted to her core. Had the boy turned to that person for help? Had that person offered him safety before taking his life? Or had it just happened? Fast? Slow? God she hoped it was fast.

I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…

Shaking her head jerkily, she swiped at the tears gathering on her lashes. Crying wouldn't bring that kid back. Finding the Kusa-nin bastard who'd done the deed was the best she could hope for. An act of retribution, just like with Asuma. Maybe the boy's soul would rest easier, knowing someone had cared. She hadn't dared to ask Neji more about the other children, knew only that Lord Nogusa had ensured they were taken to another guest wing for immediate medical attention and care.

The worst is over for them…

Given all the hell they'd been through, hopefully a new chance at life would be their blessing.

As soon as we get back tomorrow, I'll check on them.

Folding her arms, Ino forced herself back down along the veranda towards her own room, bare feet padding softly on the cool polished wood. A striation of orange, red and yellow light striped the deepening sky, broadcasting warmth and comfort that the wind failed to carry.

Ino paused outside her room, gaze swinging up past the awning.

A pair of red-crowned cranes soared overhead, trumpeting softly. Isolation and a vague sense of melancholy settled over her, pebbling her skin anew.

I should meditate…clear my head…maybe try and eat something…

Her stomach lurched at the thought of food, too full of knots, too full of tension. Gazing out at the gardens, she decided a detour might do a better job of clearing her head than any meditative rituals. Slipping into the pair of geta clogs stationed at the edge of the porch, she stepped down into the moist perfumed water gardens and began a leisurely stroll through the grounds.

Exotic blooms caught her eye and she let her mind stroll through the familiar task of classifying and cataloguing the different species.

Parrot flowers, bleeding hearts, water jasmines, frangipanis, flame of the forest…

Incredible. The Land of Entwined Roots might've had some crazy uninhabitable mess going on with its jungles, but Ino couldn't deny the beauty of these cultivated gardens.

Exquisite.

She paused beside a curious-looking bush and watched the blossoming flowers unfold in a slow peal, the petals curling back like streamers, giving it a soft wispy look; playful, delicate. A charming little plant, it would go nicely in an ikebana arrangement. Ino made a mental note to take some samples, her fingers grazing the springy petals.

I've never seen flowers like these before…

Made her wonder how many were natural and how many were hybrids. Her fingers froze on the thought and she tugged her hand back as if stung. Dangerous thoughts. They threatened to take her mind back to the plant enclosures.

Changing course, she crossed a gently arched footbridge over a lily pond.

Just ahead, a huge cloudy boulder sat nestled in a ring of silky thread grass, giving the illusion of a giant egg in a nest. Carved into this boulder were the words; TATSU-EN.

The Dragon Garden.

Curious, Ino moved away from the water gardens and descended along a winding path of broad stepping-stones, sinking onto lower levels lush with ferns and roadside-shrine centrepieces limned in bright green moss.

Ino plucked a flower, set it on the miniature altar.

The sunset burned like a candle behind her, burnishing her hair in streaks of orange-gold as she touched her palms together and said a quiet prayer; for the children, for her teammates…for Shikamaru.

"Sensei…" she whispered. "Please tell me what to do."

Silence…but for the early evening chorus of nature starting up and settling down, soft chirps and distant calls, the long rickety croak of a frog hopping amongst the moss-covered stones.

Ino left the shrine and her prayers behind, continuing on along the path.

Rocks came into view, a large series of rough ascetic crags carpeted in moss and tiny budding flowers. Aligned to overlap, the crags walled off the next section of the garden like natural partitions, and across their overlying surfaces, carved masterfully into the rock, stretched a long overflowing sculpture of a dragon. It was designed like a mural, crafted to flow across multiple rock canvases, the rough and varying dimensions of the stone giving an effect of rippling movement. Ribbons of steam snaked through fissures in the rock, creating an illusion of mist – like the breath from a living beast.

As Ino approached, she became aware that the air felt moist and warmer.

The soft bubbling sound of water reached her ears.

A hot spring?

That'd explain the vapour. She watched it hover over glistening ferns and tall silky thread grass, spilling out in smoky tendrils along a pink-pebbled path that slipped between the rocks and through to the other side. She could see the faint glow of lantern-light beyond. A delicious invitation…the promise of warm waters…a small luxury at the end of a long and crappy day…

What could it hurt?

A small smile budding on her lips, Ino glanced over her shoulder, debating. No one needed her right now and despite wanting to resolve things with Shikamaru she was still too hurt to approach him with a clear head.

What's better for clearing the head than a nice cleansing soak anyway?

An excellent question with no counterargument; all her inner critics were silent and sleeping, waiting for their wakeup call tomorrow.

Tomorrow's mission. Tomorrow's demands.

Screw tomorrow. She still had the tail end of today, tonight. And she'd be damned if she'd let the day end without something to smile about, something to take the edge off the sting, the hurt, the worry.

So wash it away…just for a little while…

Pulled by the comfort of healing waters and cleansing salts, Ino stepped onto the misty path, trailing her fingers over the carved rock and warm stone. Passing through to the other side, she was so absorbed in the dragon motifs and floating paper lanterns that she didn't notice the black leather jacket thrown over one of the rocks…or the large white dog slumbering in the soft silky thread grass.

---

Walls of darkness closed in on Neji from every side, curtains of shadow and chakra.

Another performance, another stage.

Tsuno's masked face hung like a disembodied head, his body swallowed completely into black. Dark glossy eyes stared out at Neji through the eyeholes of the mask, bottomless and unfathomable. "Status report," Tsuno said. "Both missions."

Neji bowed the appropriate depth and straightened by degrees, the lines of his expression taut and unreadable. "Phase One of the Kusa mission is complete. We've handled motive and means respectively. Combining our efforts with the Nagu Butai we've determined that an extremist group named the Aikoku are responsible for the creation of the chimaeras and hybrid plants. We've eradicated the beast and plant enclosures and have cleared the upper levels of the facility. My only regret was that we were forced to leave the four Nagu who assisted us behind."

"Your only regret?" Tsuno asked, his rusty timbre dragging over Neji's nerves like a blade, cutting deep on the word 'only'.

Does he know about the detonation at the enclosures? About Shikamaru?

Hesitation cut deeper and unease bled through Neji in a cool dark stream, threatening to disturb the still white pools of his eyes before he blinked to clear them. "My only regret," he repeated. "Nogusa-sama was understandably angry and concerned for the welfare of his Guardians. But he was pleased to learn the facility is no longer operational. He's a reasonable man. I assured him that re-establishing contact with the Nagu will be our immediate goal once we're back inside."

Tsuno inclined his head, as if considering. "Hn. Very good. Always serves to keep surface relations sweet, irrespective of your true intentions."

Neji regarded his handler warily for a moment. He hadn't been lying when he'd made that promise to Nogusa. He had every intention of finding Katsu and the other Nagu. Was Tsuno testing him?

He must be…

He didn't have time to think on that.

Tsuno nudged him along with his next question. "And Phase Two?"

"Involves the final and lower levels of the facility," Neji told him, pushing back his doubts and bringing the details to the forefront of his mind. "We conduct Phase Two at dawn; apprehending both the criminal leaders and scientists involved, as well as terminating the trafficking program – thus, effectively shutting down their opportunity and any remaining means."

Tsuno gave a single slow nod. A long beat of silence followed before he spoke again. "And your other mission, Shirataka?"

The call sign instigated an immediate shift in Neji – physically, psychologically. He could feel the leash of control tightening both muscles and mind, fine-tuning his senses to a heightened level of awareness and objectivity.

Good.

Given the subject of his next status report, he'd need all the self-control and objectivity he possessed. Taking a breath, he relayed event-by-event what had happened with Shikamaru since the day of his assignment; dating forwards from the episode at Amaguriama; the incident at the swamps; the hyperthermia brought on by a rapid shift in the metabolism of chakra; the nightmares; the shadow-nin's memory lapses and headaches; his unpredictable behaviour and uncharacteristic belligerence; and his recent ability to shape chakra without forming seals.

Tsuno's head cocked sharply at the last point but he said nothing, letting Neji continue on.

And continue on he did.

He told Tsuno everything; everything but one thing.

Shikamaru's confession at the shrine.

Neji had had every intention of betraying that trust, but for some insane reason that had nothing to do with reason and everything to do with a sharp instinctive pull in his gut, he skipped straight over that conversation in the shrine like a stone across a lake, a ripple of doubt threatening his voice, his face.

Fuck.

He managed to frost it over smoothly and seamlessly, relaying the events of the mission in a fluid narration, not daring to stop, not daring to slow, knowing Tsuno was studying every nuance of his expression, searching for any micro-tics and tensions that might betray him.

After he finished, Tsuno was quiet for an unnervingly long time.

A time in which Neji put on the performance of his life, a far more gruelling task than the act he'd maintained during the mission briefing. He gazed quietly at his handler, appearing as calm and centred as a marble statue, unmoved by the stifling pressures of the silence, the shadows and the penetrating stillness of Tsuno's sharp dark eyes boring into him.

What was he searching for?

Holes in the narrative? Truths gone unspoken?

He knows…he knows I'm lying by omission…

Dread pulled through him, cold fingers across his chest. Gods, what the hell was he thinking? It was his sworn duty to deliver every iota of relevant information to his handler. He'd accepted the role of informant from the moment he'd been assigned this task, this mission, this final step. It wasn't personal. Shikamaru's confession was nothing more than code stamped on his brain, ready to be passed on and decrypted by those who had all the answers to all the questions Neji had no business asking.

It isn't personal…and it isn't complicated….

No. It was simple really.

Stupid Simple, for that matter.

Shikamaru's trust was something Neji had always been destined to betray.

It is inevitable…

Of course, Neji had believed that from the second he'd been assigned. Because for all fate's cruelty and all her wicked twists of irony, surely there was some plan, some purpose to this wretched game, with all their broken pieces constantly being moved around.

You said it yourself, didn't you, Nara? Our fates are fixed in this.

It was in their cards. In their stars. God, it had to be. It had to be. Because karma had brought them full circle – hadn't it? Only this time, Shikamaru was the mission and Neji was the manipulator, making his moves and hiding his motives.

Only his motive was to save you…and here you are sacrificing him in order to save yourself…

A pit opened up in Neji's stomach, or maybe in his soul, swallowing up the air in his lungs, the warmth in his body. He felt that cold nauseating drop pull through him...like he'd fallen where he'd thought to fly. Confusion swept in, a storm rolling across the previously calm and compartmentalised horizons of his mind drawing him closer to the edge of that island, closer to the edge of—

"Is there anything else?" Tsuno asked at last – a lifeline, an exit, a way to purge his mind, to step back from the edge.

"No," Neji husked, something deep inside him threatening to crack. A wheel. A wall. A white mask of freedom. "Nothing else."

Tsuno drew his head back and Neji's nerves tightened at the elder's still and speculative stare – far more oppressive than the silence, far more ominous than the shadows.

And then those dark eyes blinked, breaking the spell.

The chakra holding tight as a fist immediately slackened its hold, the shadows slipping away, revealing a dusky sky tinged golden-red. Neji blinked, eyes adjusting. It felt like a small eternity had passed, but in reality it couldn't have been more than twenty minutes.

It was another two before Tsuno finally spoke.

Tipping his head back, he gave the sky a long, lingering look – and then he gave Neji his orders.

---

There was no order. No understanding. No warning of any kind. Kind of like the pain, it struck at random, crippling him halfway across the room. Gasping, Shikamaru's hands flew to his head and he went down hard on his knees, dropping the files, dropping the ball on reality, water splashing up around him, droplets sparkling in the firelight.

Firelight?

Water? Dampness? He'd left the shower – hadn't he? Or had he blacked out again? Was this the cave? The dungeon of his nightmares?

No, no, no…

He brought his hands down from his throbbing head, slapped his sweating palms to the smooth dry tatami mats, expecting to find damp chalky limestone beneath his touch. No limestone, no dampness, no length of chain to follow back to his throat…but he could scarcely breathe around the grip of the panic. Sick with confusion he doubled over, touched his brow to the floor, fists clenched against his temples.

W-what the hell is happening to me?

He'd lost time before, but now time was losing him…or maybe gaining on him. Fear rode up inside his blood, waves upon waves, cresting a little higher in his chest, pushing his heart into a trip-hammer pound against his ribcage…panic…he hadn't had a panic attack in two years…

"Two years. A dungeon. That's where you've kept me living," purred the Darkness in his ear.

Shikamaru shot up on his knees and whipped his head around, expecting to see the shadowy figure of his dreams – no, his nightmares. He could recall them now, remember them with a clarity he'd never had before…and for every crack opening up inside his head, the gaps in his memories were filling up...filling up like blood rising beneath torn scars…

Scars. He'd told Neji once that scars don't bleed.

But these ones bled, burned…were filling him up and taking him away…

"Yeah, taking you away. That's what I do. Take you away and clean up your shit. Ignorance is bliss, right? Time you give a little back."

"Stop," Shikamaru rasped, his voice a sere breath in his throat. "I can't…not now…"

"Not now? Sound like sensei, don't you? 'Not now' didn't get him very far, did it?"

Shikamaru's eyes grew warm, a burning salt filling the back of his throat, his nose. The fear kept rising, a tidal wave in the distance. He stared, stared, stared at the goddamned floor like the weave of the tatami might give him a pattern to follow, a puzzle to make sense of.

Sense…logic…patterns…please…

Because his mind was coming apart like a jigsaw without a picture…

He needed to fix it…needed to…

"Face it," came that voice, that knock-knock-knocking in his mind. "Finish it."

Pushing off his palms, Shikamaru scrambled back crab-like until his back hit the wall, the impact jarring his spine, jarring his skull…his skull…his head…he was losing his head.

Losing my mind…

"Or finding it," the Darkness said, coming through so clear, so concrete – a signal without static.

Shikamaru reached up, touched his ear as if expecting to find an earbud tucked into position. Position – what the hell had been his position? When did the mission end? He knew it had ended because he'd seen the dead chimaeras. Seen Naruto and Neji…then…

Then what?

Then he'd woken up in the shower, spoken to Neji. Or had he dreamed it? He couldn't distinguish time – living minute-to-minute, moment-to-moment. He hadn't reported in to the debriefing. But Neji had spoken to him like he'd been there. Had he?

"I was, genius. Someone's gotta fill the empty spaces while you space out."

For some insane reason, Shikamaru laughed – a loud, shaky, jittering sound. His heartbeat picked up the bass, the tempo, the rhythm of insanity; he was laughing but there were tears in his eyes. And the fear kept on closing, closing, closing…

Close it.

The door. The door in his mind. The door he should never have opened. Now it kept swinging on its hinges like that little girl on her heels…freckle-faced, filled with fear and too far out of reach.

The girl…the GIRL!

She was right in front of him. Clear as fucking day. Whispering "I don't want to play anymore."

"WAIT!" Shikamaru started forward suddenly, hands reaching out blindly to grasp air. The vision vanished, left empty space, a blank in his memories. He shot to his feet, turned a wild helpless circle, not hearing the clatter of the upturned table as he crashed into it…he wasn't seeing it…he saw toppled boxes…smelled fire and smoke…and she was gone…gone…

Fuck…did I catch her? Did she fall?

"Tch. She fell alright…and then you fell straight after her. Real smart. You'd have been burned alive if it weren't for me. Course I saved your ungrateful ass. Like I always do. Like you always need me to."

Shikamaru whirled again and the scene cut back to the guestroom, to the futon, to the warm muted glow of the sunset warming the shōji panels, lighting up the rows of decorative fusuma like paper lanterns. No smoke. No fire. No chimeras chasing him down.

"Knock-knock," mocked the Darkness. "Darkness? Shadow Figure. Sonofabitch. I wish you'd stop calling me those things. I have a name you know."

"No," Shikamaru snarled, backing up against the wall – half expecting to feel the rough edges of the limestone cave at his bare back. There was a choker around his throat…a collar…or maybe just the cold hand of fear closing over his windpipe. "I don't want to know your name…"

"No but you want all the other names, don't you? The names you've left me with…all these broken pieces…and now it's time to play…"

"Wait," Shikamaru choked out. "Wait!"

But the Darkness didn't wait. They didn't wait. Faces came shooting out of the black like fragments, lodging images in his brain as jagged and painful as blood-lined shrapnel, flashing, taunting, tinkling like falling glass…

Genma. Katsu. Shin. Nogusa. Chimaeras. Shin…Shin...Shinjū…

That word. He knew that word.

"Damn straight you know that word…and where it fits…"

The shrapnel turned to Shogi pieces. Pieces moving in the darkness, moved by the Darkness, turning end over end, pieces and players that went clack, clack, clack, upon boards stretched like bridges across the gaps in his mind, the gaps in his memories…the gaps…

He saw the gap open up...

As predicted...

As planned...

His turn to play, to move, to close the endgame.

Pawn pinned by Bishop. Knight's free. King is in check.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Shikamaru made his move and dropped his Rook. The definitive clack of the lacquered wood snapped the silence in two. "Checkmate," he murmured.

No one spoke.

Quiet settled again over the large pavilion teahouse, holding its breath in anticipation.

Shikamaru glanced up into the long narrow face of the man he'd been playing and watched the bafflement of defeat fold in one wrinkle at a time across the broad shiny forehead. The tactician scrubbed at his thick tawny beard, pinched his flaring nostrils between thumb and forefinger and huffed a short disbelieving laugh into his hand, shaking his head. "Indeed, Nogusa-sama, I must concede defeat," the man admitted, his brows scaling upwards. "21 years a champion. Defeated by a Nara. Safe to say you're cut from the same cloth as your father, Shikamaru."

A short distance from the Shogi table, a heavily robed man swathed in cool purple silks set down his teacup and clapped, the grassy scent of sencha wafting with the deep belly rumble of his laughter. The sound drew Shikamaru's gaze, his focus alighting briefly on the two Ninja Guardians stationed to either side of the pavilion before settling on the rugged, charismatic face of the daimyō who'd summoned him; the same daimyō his father had played against two decades ago.

Nogusa Yodo.

The daimyō's head was smooth and hairless as a monk's pate, his baldness offset by a neatly cropped salt-and-pepper beard. His features were rugged and prominent, all strong angles and broad planes. But his eyes, deep set and thickly lashed were by far his most striking feature and the startling sky-blue of a robin's egg, nestled like jewels in the lined bronze face.

"Very impressive," Yodo praised, his eyes suffused with a brightness one might expect of a man drinking saké rather than sencha. "Who taught you to play?"

"My sensei," Shikamaru said.

"And did he teach you to think like this too?"

"Like what?"

"Like a King, rather than a pawn."

Shikamaru hesitated, his gaze darting briefly to Shin. The daimyō's son sat cross-legged and casual at the far side of the pavilion; a position that put him out of sight of his father and left him oddly excluded. Yodo hadn't spoken a word to him. For whatever reason, the daimyō seemed determined to ignore Shin's presence – which made his presence all the more apparent to the young Nara. No bad thing, considering the tension that'd been bubbling up inside him, beading on the surface of his skin. It was muggy in the pavilion, the summer heat slanting in through the bamboo screens in scorching beams.

Strangely, Shin's presence had been like a cool breeze, taking off some of the heat.

Throughout the entire game, Shikamaru had felt Shin's gaze monitoring him, steady and calm, offering the odd smile, the occasional nod or some small silly gesture intended to deflate the tension.

He doubted Genma would've offered that much.

Hell, Genma wasn't even there.

But Shin was.

Even now, as Shikamaru searched for reassurance, Shin's dark eyes met his across the distance and sparkled with private amusement. The young man winked encouragingly, a playful gesture that took some of the stream out of Shikamaru's head – reminding him to just play the game and breeze through the performance rather than worry about any political agenda.

Shin mouthed, "Almost over."

Drawing a little comfort from that thought, Shikamaru's gaze cut back to Yodo – who seemed to be waiting on a reply. The shadow-nin shrugged. "It's just tactics."

"Yes," Yodo tipped his head. "And you just beat my best tactician, forty years your senior."

"I'm just playing the game."

"To win."

"That's the point of the game, isn't it?"

"Absolutely, Shikamaru." Yodo reached for his tea, gazed into the wafting steam like a Zen-master contemplating the emptiness of the vapour, the transience of time. It was a long second before he continued on, his brows pulling low over his startling eyes. "Sadly, most minds lack the capability to move in sync with the game at large." And here, he turned those eyes upon Shikamaru. "But clearly, you're not like most minds, are you?"

Shikamaru stilled at the question, felt it dangling like a hook, waiting to reel him in. He glanced briefly at the Shogi board, trying to divine the nature of this game by the moves already made.

Shin chuckled quietly, speaking for the first time since they'd entered the pavilion. "Are you sure your father wasn't the one who taught you how to play, Shika?"

"That's enough talk about the father," Yodo ordered abruptly, his voice carrying an edge so sharp, so scathing, it cut both the question and Shin off at the knees.

Shin's jaw tightened at the rebuke, a tight smile pinching his lips. "My apologies, father."

Yodo stiffened at the title, a strange tremor chasing across his face, violent as a convulsion. The colour leached from his skin, from his eyes – left them grey and ashen. A sudden spasm gripped his fingers, tightening his grip around the delicate porcelain teacup. He set it down with a clatter.

A clatter…

The Shogi pieces falling all around…

They scattered out into the shadows…into the Darkness…

The Darkness that laughed…

The Darkness that mocked…

The Darkness that moved his pieces further out of reach…out of remembrance…

The memory winked out, left another gap, another yawning divide between the past and the present.

"DAMN YOU!" Shikamaru snarled, turning incorporeal circles in a sea of shadows. "Quit screwing with my head! If you're going to show me then SHOW me."

"Well look whose balls have finally dropped…" the Darkness taunted, though not without a faint inkling of respect. "Two years of running away and now you're finally chasing yourself down. You really wanna see, huh? You really wanna know how deep this goes?"

Hesitation. Almost immediately, Shikamaru felt the intangible heat of his anger receding, his instincts screaming and running back into the cold clutches of fear.

"Tch! And there you go again. Always so fucking predictable. So fucking weak. You always disappoint me. Every damn time." A pause, so sudden, so still, so absolutely silent that when the Darkness spoke again it's voice was the definition of sound and completely absolute. "Well, not this time, 'Shika'. This time, you don't get to use my shadows and call the shots. You want to know what you should be afraid of? Let me do you a favour and remind you why it isn't ME."

Shikamaru had no strength to run and even if he had, he couldn't have bolted, couldn't have crawled, couldn't have done anything but stand paralysed – no, not paralysed, parts of him were moving, as if compelled by the power of a shadow possession…

His hands were moving…

Reaching out…

Pulling back those scattered pieces...

Pulling back the broken board…

Pulling back the memory one move at a time….arranging all the pieces...spinning round the board…the board…the board...

"Quite a game, young Nara," said the tawny-haired tactician, clutching the portable Shogi board to his chest. "I must say, it's an honour to have played against Nara Shikaku's son. It was a great disappointment when your father declined our offer to serve the Land of Entwined Roots."

Awkward much.

Thanks dad…

Shikamaru managed a smile, his brain racing to compose a face-saving response for both sides. "I can't speak for my father, but I'm pretty sure he'd have been strong-armed by political allegiance. Konoha is obligated to another feudal lord, which makes my clan duty-bound to the Fire Daimyō."

"Ah yes, naturally." The tactician paused, an ingratiating smile pulling up the corners of his thin lips. "You know, the Fire daimyō may have his eye on you now, but our daimyō's offer will fit you like a glove. Remember what I told you. You're cut from the same cloth, Shikamaru. You and your father, should you ever seek greener pastures, will always be welcome in Bankon no Kuni."

Inclining his head, Shikamaru tried for another smile. He searched his polite bullshitting bank for the next diplomatic thing to say but propriety was slipping fast beneath the pressure. The tactician wasn't the only one who'd come homing in on him.

Shit, give me a break…

Not even a breather. People had begun crowding him the second he'd stepped down out of the pavilion; councillors and go-betweens all clamouring for his attention, extending invites and summons, their eyes bright with intrigue and dark with intent.

It was suffocating.

Bad enough that the heat had climbed to criminal degrees, toasting the hell out every square inch of exposed skin. Unlike the dry desert heat of the Land of Wind, Kusagakure's wet tropical humidity hung so heavy that drawing breath felt like sucking air through a damp blanket.

I need to get the hell out of here…

Panic was beginning to get a toehold. He had no idea which exit to head for. Wasn't even sure he'd been properly dismissed yet. Nogusa Yodo had been ferried away on account of some strange hiccup with his health, leaving Shikamaru at the mercy of the wolves who'd abandoned their sheep's clothing, making their political intentions known as they snapped at his heels, following his every attempt to retreat.

Back off. Back off. Back off.

They wouldn't.

Sweat slicked Shikamaru's body in a fine glittering sheen, plastering his clothes to his skin. And still the circle of councillors pressed in on him like a flock of avaricious crows, looking to peck apart his brain.

The tawny-haired tactician took hold of his arm, tried to shepherd him into a patch of shade.

Panicked and maybe a little pissed at all the manhandling, Shikamaru twisted out of the grip and backpedalled into a wall. No. Not a wall. A solid body.

A pair of strong elegant hands settled on his shoulders, gave a slow squeeze, stilling all the ripples in his body into an instant freeze. "Need an out, Shika?"

Shin's voice was a cool breeze over the heat and Shikamaru loosened a relieved breath, the tension going out of his body as he glanced over his shoulder with a crooked smile. "Is that a genuine offer or a trick-question invitation? 'Cause it's getting kinda hard to tell."

Shin smiled that slow, secret smile, letting it blossom into a full-fledged grin that caused an odd stir in the pit of Shikamaru's belly. The same kind of stir he'd felt back at Tekisha Seizon when he'd looked a little too deep and a little too long into those dark hypnotic eyes.

Mistaking his discomfort, those long-fingered hands squeezed his shoulders again, thumbs rubbing small circles. "I think our young Nara's had enough propositioning for one day, wouldn't you agree, Council?" Shin's sharp dark eyes cut across the crowd of councillors like a scimitar and the men backed away as if that single sweep of his gaze had the power to send their heads rolling.

Hell, maybe he does have that power…

Seeing how fast the crowd backed off left little doubt in Shikamaru's mind that Shin held significant political sway – although that didn't explain why Yodo had treated him with such evident distaste, such brusque dismissal, relegating Shin to the back of the teahouse like a servant rather than his son; a move that should've caused Shin tremendous loss of face.

Only it hasn't…these councillors won't cross him…

Hell, they could barely meet his gaze.

Wondering whether Katsu had witnessed the strange interaction, Shikamaru searched for the ninja Guardian, spying him at the far end of the gardens where Yodo was being loaded into a palanquin.

"I don't know about you," Shin murmured suddenly, his focus straying in the direction of his father when he spoke, black eyes narrowed as if gazing into the sun. "But this kind of political bullshit always leaves me feeling dirty." He lifted his hands away, touching Shikamaru's elbow as he moved down the pavilion steps onto a white-and-red pebble path. "Let's get outta here."

Sensing the crowd was waiting for an opportunity to pounce, Shikamaru leapt on the invitation, turning to follow as Shin strode on ahead. In the back of his mind, a small henpecking voice called him out on playing truant.

Crap. I should probably head back…

Yeah, for a senbon-dodging session with his Shiranui senpai. Sharp-tongued as Genma was, the Tokujō didn't strike Shikamaru as the kinda superior who'd settle for a rank-pulling lecture. He seemed more the hands-on, no holds barred, beat you into submission kinda guy. What was it he was always saying? Action over words? Walk the talk? Screw the carrot, use the stick – or in Genma's case, the freakin' senbon?

Troublesome.

There was something to be said about delaying the inevitable – something that sounded a lot like the next words outta Shin's mouth. "Say, you up for another game of Shogi? Without the political agenda, that is."

Shikamaru blinked, lengthening his strides to catch up. "You play Shogi too, huh?"

Turning his head, Shin checked his long fluid steps, glancing briefly over his shoulder back towards the pavilion as they passed beyond sight. "I used to play all the time when I was younger," he admitted, leading them through the stillness of a symmetrical Zen garden. "But after playing against your father, I found all other opponents wanting."

Shikamaru staggered to a halt across a zigzagging bridge, eyebrows going up. "You played against my father too?"

Shin paused a couple of paces away, gazing out at the black igneous rocks jutting up in polished shards from lakes of swirling ochre sand and crushed shell, the raked surfaces glowing white beneath the blazing sun, forcing him to squint against the glare. "I played against your father three times," he confessed, a faint feline smile tugging at his lips. "Shikaku was extraordinary. No one had ever given me such a challenge bar one other. He was always game, Shikaku. Never disappointed me."

"Wait a second," Shikamaru interrupted, holding out his palms to halt the narrative, trying to work out the timeline. He shot Shin a quizzical look. "How old was my dad when you played against him?"

"I was wondering when you'd get to that. He was around eighteen at the time."

Shikamaru's eyes bugged out. "What? Then how old were you?"

"Twenty."

Shikamaru gave that a 5 count – then he laughed to cover his incredulity, shaking his head. "No. No way are you older than my dad." Shin looked like he could've been in his early twenties, late twenties at a push. Shikamaru squinted at him, trying to bring non-existent wrinkles and signs of wear into focus. "How the hell are you in your 40s?"

Amusement lit Shin's eyes and his smile broadened. He took up their stroll again, leading them further along the path. "Let's just say I have some pretty interesting genes."

No kidding, Shikamaru thought, struggling to cover-up his astonishment before it could landslide into embarrassment. Interesting genes sure beat a henge jutsu like the one Tsunade-sama used to maintain her youthful appearance.

Genes, huh?

Said genes must've skipped a generation, because Nogusa Yodo looked every bit his 63 years. Although, come to think of it, Shin bore no real resemblance to his father.

Mother's side, maybe?

Shin stroked his palm over a moss-covered basin as they passed beneath the shadow of a large terracotta torii gate, glancing over at Shikamaru, a dark brow drawing up at his silence. "Ah. That's got you wondering now, hasn't it?"

"A little," Shikamaru admitted, trying to play down his interest for courtesy's sake. Wasn't age supposed to be one of those things you just skipped over in a conversation? He was pretty sure it belonged to the taboo topics list, ranking right alongside religion and politics.

"I'm not offended, you know," Shin said, reading his thoughts with startling accuracy. "I told you earlier. Nothing you say could offend me. That's one thing you won't ever have to worry about with me, Shika. If you ask me something, I'll always answer true."

Temptation, much?

Shikamaru deliberated, scuffing his feet over the smooth pebbles as they came to a small ornamental gazebo protruding outwards onto the rock garden. Nailed onto one of the gold-leaf pillars was a woodcut map titled SHIJINJUU-EN.

Garden of the Four Divine Beasts.

Shin stroked his fingers over the plaque, following the intricately carved topography to point out where they were, passing over; Kirin-en, the Kirin Garden; Hō-ō-en, the Phoenix Garden; Tatsu-en, the Dragon Garden before tapping the compound named Komainu-en, the Lion-Dog Garden.

"There," Shin pointed, indicating the two bronze statues at the far end of the rock garden.

Poised adjacent to each other, the komainu guarded the entrance to a small shrine, flanking the gilded doors. Highly stylised, impressive and formidable sculptures, their stone manes flowered around them in geometric blooms, their massive forepaws curved around giant pearls that glowed with a spectral light.

"The Komainu are probably my favourite," Shin told him. "They always come in pairs. My father always maintained that duality is too human a condition. A punishment placed upon the Divine Beast." He snorted, leaning into one of the pillars. "But it's only in the other that we understand ourselves. Could you imagine playing Shogi alone for years on end? It's meant for two minds, two players. Such as life."

Interesting analogy…

And one that Shikamaru could relate to. Inevitably, his thoughts turned back to Shin's earlier mention of another player, another opponent. He sensed it was an area better left alone, sounding oddly fragile, like dust over a memory. But just like dust motes glittering in and out of the light, Shikamaru's attention was riveted to the intrigue sparking in the obscurity that surrounded this man. Intrigue, intelligence, inscrutability, these were the shadows swirling deep within Shin's eyes whenever their gazes touched – and Shikamaru's curiosity was far stronger than his caution.

"Nothing you say could offend me."

Well, he was about to find out. Moving sideways, Shikamaru leaned into the adjacent pillar and followed Shin's gaze out across the rock garden. "Who was the other player you mentioned?"

A quiet sigh and Shin's lashes drifted low over his eyes for a moment, his voice taking on a heavy plangent quality that stirred the air with whorls of emotion too obscure and too opaque for Shikamaru to grasp the meaning. "My sister," he murmured. "She died."

Damn. What the hell do you say to that? Wincing, Shikamaru took an uncomfortable breath. "I'm sorry."

Shin gave the condolence its due, then surprised Shikamaru with a flicker of a smile, scrutinizing the shadow-nin out the corner of his eye. He hummed, nodding slightly. "She'd have liked you. As she liked your father. She enjoyed watching our games."

"Yeah? Did she ever play against him?"

Shin shook his head slowly. "Against him? No. She never got the chance." Rocking forwards a little, he turned his face up towards the blazing heat and the sunlight polished the sweat on his skin to a high-gloss sheen. "A shame. I'd have liked to see her go a few rounds with the renowned Nara Shikaku. I was lucky in that respect."

Blatant bait, but Shikamaru was cool to bite. It seemed Shin didn't have normal conversations – he had a kind of verbal chess match. Shikamaru smiled a little at the thought, warming to the hint of a game. "Okay. So what was your score at the endgame?"

"Two to one."

Figures…

Despite guessing the answer, Shikamaru asked for politeness's sake. "And who won?"

"Me."

Checkmate. Stunned, Shikamaru's brain hit a wall. He blinked wide, mouth moving wordlessly before he managed to get the words out. "You beat my dad at Shogi?"

Shin laughed, and it was a deep, rich sound, stirring up that weirdness in Shikamaru's belly once again. "Hey, don't misunderstand. We came close to a draw the last round. Those were long and intense games."

"Hold up, I'm still stuck on the score board," Shikamaru admitted, laughing a little to recover from the shock. "You beat my dad twice?"

Abruptly, Shin's smile took on a strange almost sombre cast. Sighing, he reached up a long elegant hand and carded his fingers through his raven hair, drawing blue-black strands away from his slick brow. "You make it sound the way I wanted it to feel. Like a win. Like a triumph."

"Wasn't it?" Shikamaru asked, genuinely baffled. He wasn't the most expressive person or the most easily enthused, but hell, if he ever beat his dad at Shogi he'd be pulling out the fist-pumping acrobatics with enough youthful enthusiasm to reduce Gai-sensei's to tears….maybe Asuma too, for way more embarrassing reasons. He smiled a little at the thought, evaluating Shin out the corner of his eye. "Don't mean to sound all pride and joy about my dad…it's just that I don't know anyone who's ever beat him and—"

"Exactly," Shin said with sudden emotion, his voice hitching in his throat. "That's exactly the point, Shika." His gaze seemed to intensify, those sharp dark eyes catching the light like shards of volcanic glass held up to the sun.

Jolted by the strong show of emotion, Shikamaru stared, engaged, maybe even a little enthralled by the sudden change that came upon Shin's too-calm gaze.

"It was exhilarating," Shin breathed, eyes wide and staring, no doubt looking back to into that time, back into that place, back into that game. "Your father was the most formidable player I'd ever encountered. Like I said before, after playing against Shikaku I found all other opponents wanting…gods, worthless even…" he trailed off for a second, the muscles in his jaw bunching hard, an evident frustration pulling at the corners of his eyes. "He began to read my moves in a way that went beyond strategy, beyond intelligence…it became instinctual, almost intimate." He paused here, looked across at Shikamaru with a directness that matched his words, as if daring the young Nara to shrink back from the heat in his eyes, to succumb to appropriate embarrassment, maybe even disgust.

But Shikamaru didn't shrink back. And if he succumbed to anything, it wasn't to embarrassment, or to disgust…it was to a strong and sudden stirring…

A stirring in his body, in his brain, in his blood.

Had he been anywhere else, with anyone else, he'd have recoiled instantly…because any normal fifteen-year-old kid would've felt awkward, embarrassed and ill at ease. But Shin wasn't talking to him like he was a normal kid – and in that moment, Shikamaru sure as hell didn't feel like one.

This is wrong…

The voice was so faint in the back of his mind he barely heard it above the pounding in his blood. Shin's black probing gaze sent a dark shiver of awareness down Shikamaru's spine, his nerves tightening in response, as if Shin had closed distance without moving. He hadn't. He remained perfectly still, perfectly statuesque, his deep black eyes sharpening on Shikamaru as if in recognition…as if in…

As if in what?

A heavy silence fell between them, filled with the thickness of the growing humidity, the growing tension, the growing awareness arcing between them. Shikamaru felt hot lines of sweat trickling down his throat, down his back, down the taut muscles of his calves. He was braced as if to bolt, but he stood transfixed, captured by some unnameable sensation, some inexorable grip.

And then Shin blinked gently, his gaze slipping back into unfathomable darkness, beckoning Shikamaru to follow. "I haven't played Shogi in 21 years, Shika," he murmured with the softness of a confession, stroking out those syllables again with a smile that was almost sultry. "What do you say? You still game, kid?"

It wasn't the kid in Shikamaru that responded to the question. It was something else. A stirring, a curiosity, a fascination for the sparks in those lightless eyes…

There's something in those shadows…

Something that called…something that whispered ye—

"Yeah," he said. "I'm game."

---

TBC.

Endnotes:

Shinjūmon – Divine Beast Gate

Shijinjuu-en – Garden of the four divine beasts

Kirin – is an East Asian mythical chimerical creature often depicted in the form of a dragon-like unicorn

Hō-ō-en – the Phoenix Garden

Tatsu-en – the Dragon Garden

Komainu - often called lion-dogs. Statue pairs of lion-like creatures either guarding the entrance or the inner shrine of many Japanese Shinto shrines or kept inside the inner shrine itself.

A/N: A crazy long chapter for you my dear readers! A lot of information to digest, a lot of meat to chew on. I hope it keeps you sated until the next chapter. The lines between past and present are going to start colliding, so hold on tight. The ride is going to take some turns. I hope that both delights and disturbs you. As always, I promise upcoming clarity. For any who are as confused as poor Shikamaru, don't worry. It'll all begin to come together. Hope you've enjoyed! Thank you so much reviewers for taking the time to share your thoughts - I can never reiterate enough just how much that means to me, especially after one of these montser chapters! Much love and much madness. Catch you on the next update! Will return to hunt down typos tomorrow.

A/N(2) - Ah! My thanks also to you guys who are giving me song suggestions and asking questions over on my tumblr page. Always a joy to hear from you! Same goes for the dArt crew. Thank you, lovelies!