The viewing room was silent as Tsunade scanned through the document in her hands. Every once in a while, the ghost of a frown shadowed her lips, but otherwise her reaction was veiled.

For the most part, Choji kept his eyes on Shizune, who occasionally shifted from one foot to another, as she had been doing from the moment she burst into the room and handed the paper to the Hokage fifteen minutes ago.

After what felt like ages, Tsunade finally looked up.

"How do we use this?"

Choji had hoped her response to the paper might give some clue as to its contents. But Shizune only stared at Tsunade gravely, giving no indication of whether the document in her hands would save or condemn his teammates. Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Choji felt words burst out of his mouth.

"What is that?"

Tsunade nodded for Shizune to hand the paper across to him.

"When your fathers – yours, Ino's, and Shikamaru's – were young, there was an incident in which Inoichi invaded Shikaku's mind. We were aware that it had happened, but not the specific details of the event. Shizune managed to find the medical report mixed in with the old records. The physician's notes were less than useless—" that criticism came with no lack of vitriol from the experienced medic, "—but what you hold in your hand is Shikaku Nara's account of the event."

The first thing that Choji noticed about the paper was how much Shikaku's handwriting resembled his son's. The same nearly illegible scrawl. No wonder it had taken Tsunade a quarter of an hour to get through it.

Shizune resumed the explanation.

"In the account, Shikaku describes a series of barriers, of a sort. We already had some idea that there were "levels" of the mind that Ino would be dealing with, based on what Mrs. Yamanaka described. But Shikaku's account is far more detailed. He seems to suggest that the injuries that Inoichi sustained – the bruising on his left knee, for example – came about as a direct result of what he encountered in Shikaku's mind."

Choji lowered the paper. Ino's head wound… and her arm…

"So Shikamaru's hurting her." The words made his mouth dry. His teammates had had their spats over the years, but he could never imagine it coming to blows. Shikamaru would never…

"Not quite," Shizune was quick to clarify, her alarm at the sudden despair creeping into Choji's words obvious. "It's likely that he doesn't know he's doing it. Shikaku's account says that he wasn't aware of the injuries—or how they had occurred—until Inoichi was out of his head. Shikaku forced him out, yes, but he had no idea what impact it would have."

"So he could unintentionally hurt her." Somehow, the thought didn't make Choji feel much better.

Tsunade, blunt as ever, didn't seem to notice his mounting distress.

"Not just hurt her," she corrected. "If his mind is fully on the defensive, particularly if it's been altered by a foreign influence… he could unintentionally kill her."

Choji groaned, stumbling back until he found the reassuring solidity of the wall. He slid down the length of it, until he was seated firmly on the floor, a welcome relief from the sudden spinning of the room. Until this moment, all his worry had been purely hypothetical. The idea that Shikamaru or Ino might not survive had been comfortably cushioned by his rock-solid belief that his teammates would succeed against all odds. When they worked together, they had always been able to accomplish incredible things.

But the paper he held in his hands turned all of that into little more than a childish fantasy. He held legitimate proof that Shikamaru could – and had, he thought with horror – injure their teammate without even meaning to. And if Ino was killed while she was in there…

"…and then he would be gone too."

Shizune had taken a few tentative steps toward him. But Tsunade remained seated. She didn't answer him until he looked up and caught her gaze. Her mouth was a firm line, her eyes hard.

"I selected Ino for a reason. She is the best we have. If she can't help him, no one else can."

"And I can't do anything."

It was Asuma all over again. Choji's stomach groaned, although eating was exactly the last thing he wanted to do right now.

Shizune had crouched down at his side, reached out a gentle hand to touch his shoulder.

"We can do something." She said quietly. She looked over her shoulder, at Tsunade, who was gazing at her assistant suspiciously. "We can pull the plug on the operation."

Tsunade stood so swiftly it flipped her chair.

"We will not pull the plug on this operation."

Shizune was back on her feet just as quickly.

"You read the report! You've seen her injuries! We have to pull her out now. It's the only reasonable option!"

"The only reasonable option? That was what you got from the report?" Tsunade snarled. "We can't extract her! It's one report! We have no idea what extraction would do to her! The injuries will likely be worse if we attempt anything."

"Tsunade-sama, Inoichi was in Shikaku's head for minutes, and it was four days before he even regained consciousness. Ino has been in there for a day and a half. We have two choices: we lose one shinobi or we lose two."

"Or we lose none. We said we would give her three days. Has that three-day deadline passed?"

Choji glanced between the two women, both white with rage. For a moment, he thought he saw something flicker in Tsunade's face, like it had suddenly gained all the age she ought to have. Shizune's eyes were cold as chips of ice. When she spoke again, it was through gritted teeth.

"No, it hasn't. But that was before we knew about this!" She tossed a hand toward the report. "Given the new information, we cannot afford to keep her in there any longer. The longer we wait, the greater the risk that we never get Ino back. Do you really feel comfortable making that call? Risking her life on the slim chance that we recover him?"

For a moment, Choji thought that Tsunade might slap her assistant. Her hand twitched, but the motion never came.

"I gave her a choice. She knew the risks, knew what she was getting herself into. I asked her because she was capable, not because I wanted to sacrifice her. I chose her because I believe that before that three-day deadline expires, she is going to return to us, whether or not she has Shikamaru's mind in tow. But I believe she will. Do you think that fearless girl in there would really sacrifice all of this so easily?"

Shizune took a step back, shaking her head.

"As one of the supervising physicians, I cannot condone this."

"And as the Hokage, I can."

Shizune glanced through the window, and Choji followed her gaze. Shikamaru and Ino's bodies were still as ever, two ivory statues, oblivious to the fight over their fate that was happening in the next room.

"I am recommending that the deadline be reduced to forty-eight hours. I have a feeling that the other medics will back my decision."

Without waiting for a response, Shizune turned on her heel and walked from the room. Tsunade kept her eyes fixed on the two unmoving figures in the next room.

"Do you think I'm being unreasonable?"

Choji wanted to give her a measured, rational answer. But hot tears were gathering in his throat. He wanted to see clearly, but his vision was clouded by images of a double funeral, of a row of three gravestones that had once been his team. The tears came bubbling up in his response.

"They're my teammates."

Tsunade let out a long breath.

"And I'll be damned if I don't see that that remains the case."

Shizune grabbed the chart off the wall before she walked into the room. Her blood was still boiling from her argument with Tsunade, but she couldn't afford to let anger cloud her judgment.

Ino's vitals were the same as they had been a few hours before, when Shizune had last checked in. She looked paler though, and though her temperature was within in a normal range, her skin seemed colder to the touch than it ought to be.

Shikamaru was little better, though he at least showed no signs of injury.

She tried to breath in deeply as she checked vitals. In through the mouth. Out through the nose. But the rage still simmered. She respected Tsunade. Trusted her without reserve in every situation she'd ever come across—except this one.

The motionless figures of Shikamaru and Ino grew more lifeless by the hour. New injuries popped up without warning. If they weren't careful, they could lose all their careful work in an instant.

And Shizune wasn't ready to bury two young and talented shinobi.

She closed her eyes for an instant, clearing her head. Those kinds of thoughts weren't going to help her now. She needed a clear head. If she was going to save them, she had to focus.

Shizune opened her eyes.

Ino's body was slumped on the floor in front of her, her limbs slack. Her chest wasn't moving.

The calm dissipated instantly.

Bright lights. And shouting, so much shouting, voices weaving in and out, clamoring over one another, an unceasing din.

And the movement – they darted like beetles, in and out of the tiny space, swerving around one another, radiating from the center of the frenzy: a still, pale figure, a body sprawled in repose. Why did they hurry? Hurrying would do them little good.

She hung over the room, floating by the prone form, drawn to it.

Anchored.

The word sprang unbidden to her consciousness.

She felt a jolt, and the body below her lurched, jerked toward her like a grotesque puppet. She watched the people surrounding it exclaim and bustle into action, moving faster even than they had before. Like beetles, scuttling.

But what for?

Overcome, suddenly, by a feeling of wrongness, she drew away from the body.

The room had begun to resolve into detail. Hints of familiarity, like strings, tugged at her – one figure slightly rounder than the others, his face drawn with worry; a woman, thin and frail and weary, her hands white knuckled on the sill of an observation room window; the woman closest to the body, dark hair ragged around her face, her hands glowing with chakra. She knew those forms, knew she should feel something for them.

And yet the room grew hazier again.

The body below was receding, and even as the cries grew more frantic, she drifted more, flowed farther away. She could see them all at once now, in their fruitless beetle march, skittering, toiling. And still the figure lay quiet.

Then, amidst all the movement, she caught sight of the other still figure.

Dark hair. Pale face.

Another jolt. The voices were louder suddenly, closer, clearer.

A familiar vest. The stench of cigarette smoke.

The shouts grew louder still, more coherent.

Anchor. Anchor.

Anchor.

In the glade, in the middle of a dense forest, she crouched in front of him, her body relaxed. She leaned against his leg, ready to fall.

"There are just two up ahead. I use the mind jutsu on the one in the back, subdue the other, and we'll be done in no time. Then we both get to go home and you don't have to see my pretty face for a whole glorious week. Alright?"

Shikamaru rolled his eyes, a little noise of reluctant affirmation catching in the back of his throat.

"Fine." She huffed. Under her breath, she added, "I'll be glad to be away from you too."

She formed the hand signs, sliding easily through the motions. Despite her exhaustion and frustration and anger at her stubborn teammate, muscle memory triumphed. She executed the Mind Transfer perfectly. Her body slumped.

As always, it took her a few moments to orient to being in a different location, in a new body. She could hear the thoughts of the shinobi whose head she had invaded, crying out in futile protest. Unfortunately for him, his mind wasn't one of the more complex systems she had to infiltrate. She stretched her consciousness, wresting control by degrees. Within moments, she'd stifled his protests.

His partner, a tall woman wearing the symbol of the Mist, crouched a few feet away, low in the brush, drawing fog around herself like a cloak. In each hand, she clutched a knife with a serrated blade. Her back was turned, her muscles tense. She wasn't expecting sabotage. That made things easier.

Ino probed for her victim's motor control, inching the body forward silently. His partner still had not turned, her attention fixed on a point in the distance. With a few more steps, Ino would be in range to strike.

Then the woman turned. Ino recognized the moment she knew, the shrewd look that came into her eyes.

"She's got you, hasn't she?" The woman spat. "Damn Yamanaka witch."

The blades turned. She grinned cruelly, showing teeth that were a little too sharp. "He was a useless partner anyway."

She lunged with lightning speed, one blade aimed for the gut, the other for the neck. The blade aimed at the neck missed, but the other connected with a wet slurch.

Darkness washed over the commandeered mind, control centers blinking out like flickering lights. Ino scrambled wildly, pushing out, trying to find anything that was still functioning properly. But the shock had thrown everything off. Blood gushed from the wound.

The woman had doubled back, and her blades were raised again, one dripping and crimson.

Ino panicked, trying to find the muscle control for the man's hands. If she could just release… just get back to her body…

The woman raised her hand, the knife poised to arc down.

Only able to make the shinobi's hands twitch uselessly, Ino prepared to die.

The blade swung.

And then stopped. The woman, frozen in place, had black tendrils curling up her body, creeping up her neck. Her eyes were wild and murderous, but her twitching did not release the grip of the shadows. Enraged, she let out a feral scream.

Ino, still fumbling in the growing darkness, seized the opportunity. She focused, channeling all her strength into making the man's hands move. Overcoming the shock and the blood loss was not easy, but with painstaking precision, she managed to get his palms pressed together.

And released.

For a few brief, terrifying moments, Ino's consciousness existed only in darkness, in the liminal space between bodies. Then, suddenly and painfully, she was jolted back into the light, gasping for air, her head resting on dark fabric stretched over muscle.

She scrambled up, hands scrabbling at the dirt, whipping her head around so quickly that her hair wrapped around her mouth and neck in a choking grip. She pulled it away with desperate fingers, scratching at skin, gasping, sobs spasming from her malfunctioning lungs.

"Hey. Hey. Ino! Hey!" Two strong hands closed around her wrists, pulling them away from her neck. She thrashed, but the grip was unrelenting. After a moment of desperate struggle, she let her resistance slacken. In front of her, a familiar sight came into view: a green vest, unruly hair, dark eyes in a solemn face.

The hands released her wrists.

"Hey. It's okay. You're okay."

His gaze held hers, solid.

"You're fine."

A sob broke from her throat. She threw herself into his arms.

"She just… she just killed him. She knew. She knew it was me and she didn't even hesitate, she just killed him and it started to go dark. His mind was dying. He was dying and I…"

She shot back up, looking around wildly. "Where is she now? Is she still…?"

Shikamaru gripped her shoulder, stilling her.

"Dead. She's dead. I had a clean shot. The shadow strangle worked."

Ino struggled to contain her sobs. Her breath still came in halting shudders.

"I would have died. He would have bled out, and she would have stabbed him again, and I…" Her voice faltered. "I would have been floating out there forever. Alone."

"Hey."

Taking her face firmly between his hands, Shikamaru lifted her gaze to his.

"Listen, troublesome woman. You're not out here alone, you understand? I would never let that happen. You know what Asuma-sensei told me, the first day of training?"

She was so startled at the sudden contact, at the feel of his palms framing her face, she almost didn't respond.

"W-what?"

"He told me: 'You have to be her anchor. Whether you like it or not, when she's away from her body, you're her first and last line of defense.' And you know what? Sometimes I don't like it. It can be a pain in the ass to protect you. When we've been on a mission, when we've been at each other's throats. When we can't wait to be away from one another.

"But," he fixed her with an unyielding stare, "I know, in a mission, that you'll protect me. And I will always protect you. I will always be your anchor. You're not out here alone. Got it?"

There were tears coursing down Ino's face, but she wasn't sure if they were tears of fear anymore.

"Got it."

Anchor…

Anchor.

Like a bolt of lightning, it hit Ino all at once – the recognition, the pain, radiating from everywhere at once, and then strongly, blindingly, from her head and arm. And she recognized the room now – Shizune, Choji, her mother. Even Tsunade was there now, her face wan with exertion.

But Shikamaru… his form remained still as a statue.

"I will always be your anchor."

Ino was not done yet.

For the first time, Shizune realized how old Mrs. Yamanaka looked. She wore the loss of her husband like a yoke, heavy across her shoulders – now, she stared down the possible loss of her daughter as well.

Shizune was an orphan – the only family she'd ever had, real or constructed, had all been shinobi as well. Losing them had been hard, but they all knew the consequences; they all fought the same fight. For Mrs. Yamanaka, it was different – she stood on the fringes of that world, a spectator watching as her family destroyed itself over devotion to a battle with no end in sight.

Shizune put her hand on Mrs. Yamanaka's shoulder.

"What would you like me to do?"

Mrs. Yamanaka's gaze took in her daughter's pale form; her bruised wrist, mottled purple and brown; the crimson rivulet of blood still leaking from the wound at her temple; the slackness in her bone-thin arms. Tears sparkled in the older woman's eyes, but they did not fall.

"She chose to try to save him. I have to trust that she would want me to do everything I could to help her fulfill that wish."

Mrs. Yamanaka looked back at Shizune – though her eyes were much darker than her daughter's, her gaze held the same strong resolve.

"Do what you can for her, but let her finish the mission."

Shizune squeezed her hand.

"I'll take care of her. I promise."

A/N: As always, you guys are lovely. Thanks for your faith in this story, despite my lapses. Good wishes to you all. Couple more chapters, and I should be bringing this story to a close. Thanks for sticking around, and hope you enjoy the last few installments.