Chapter Four
The feeling weighed strangely on his chest.
Shikamaru had never really fancied himself the social type. Company just couldn't be had all the time if your favourite pastime was watching clouds. It was a challenge to find anyone compatible when you were close to being the 'dead last' in class and yet were able to beat everyone you knew in chess games. It was simply hard in general, to make many friends when you mostly wanted to be left to yourself.
And Shikamaru, being quite used to it, never lost much sleep over not being popular.
But with Chouji positively terrified of him, and Asuma only offering a polite but distant nod as they passed each other on the road--Ino was nowhere to be seen--Shikamaru found, to his surprise, that he felt curiously…lonely.
He struggled to grapple with this new concept--it had never occurred to him before how absolutely in dispensable his teammates were to him. He'd never taken much time to think about how Chouji was such amiable company, tender-hearted, non-judgmental--of all his peers, only he cold completely ignore Shikamaru's lassitude tendencies--and a very nice guy in general. Nor had he truly appreciated how Asuma was--there was no other way to put it--a good sport, always willing to play another game of Shogi, no matter how many times he lost. Ino…well, all right, Ino fussed and nagged about everything, his hair, his clothes, his slouch…but there had to be some good intentions hidden within all the troublesomeness. Somewhere deep, deep down below the surface.
He'd just never taken the trouble to discover them. Ever. With all his important people around and seeing him on a daily basis, he just hadn't noticed how much he'd gotten used to them being there.
Of course, now he noticed. Which was terrible timing.
Not to mention troublesome.
Having too many powerful emotions was always troublesome for shinobi. That was a common consensus. Shinobi weren't supposed to feel so much, especially on missions, which was how Shikamaru tried to see his situation--one big mission. One in which there were no briefings, no background information, no clear objectives to help him analyze or deal with the situation.
And no, he still didn't know what 'the situation' was.
Which was troublesome.
Even more so was the fact that there was no one and nothing to give him any clues, never mind assistance. No other former Chuunins were running around screaming about how they'd suddenly become the village leader. The people who should have been his teammates and instructor--and everyone else--thought he was a genius/workaholic/insanely underage Hokage, who offered help but never needed it.
No one remembered him, Nara Shikamaru, the lazy Chuunin.
That was why, walking among those he had known from childhood, he felt as though he were wandering within a foreign country.
That was why, within his own home village, he didn't know where he was or who--Chuunin or Hokage?--he was.
That was why, surrounded in a crowd, Shikamaru felt, for the first time in his life, that he was truly…alone.
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"Oh no you don't--"
"Come on, Anko, I'm exhausted. Cut me some slack, will you?"
The purple-haired woman glared menacingly as a younger girl extracted a plate from a jumbled pile in a cupboard, picked up some chopsticks and helped herself to a bowl of steaming dumplings on the kitchen table. "But it's the third time this week I've had to 'cut you some slack' and--"
"Anko," the ANBU member cut in loudly. "Anko, please." She sighed wearily. "You know I'm working overtime every night to gather information to prepare for that mission, and it's not like I can just turn up at anyone else's house and ask for dinner. Just bear with me for now, ok? I'm tired."
The older kunoichi opened her mouth to say more, but her expression softened and she merely shook her head. "There are two things you really need to do," she sighed, taking out a plate and chopsticks for herself. "One; start hanging out with people your own age, for Kami's sake. You're spending almost all of your off-duty time with me, and when I'm not around you're with Kurenai. Not that either of us mind you, but you've got to admit, we're totally out of your age group." She stabbed a dumpling with a chopstick. "Two; learn to cook."
The ANBU member blinked and swallowed. "I know how to cook," she protested. "It's just that I've been really beat by the end of the day, lately. Besides, speaking of cooking, it's not like you cook or make your dumplings yourself--"
"All right, all right, fine," Anko interrupted hurriedly. "So you can cook. But you still need to go out and meet some friends. Sakura and Ino are your age--" Seeing the look on the ANBU member's face, she stopped short. "…er…maybe…Hinata?"
Through a mouthful of pork, the younger girl laughed. "She's not bad. But way too shy and sensitive to be around me, I think."
Anko frowned. "You're not that aggressive--"
"No," the ANBU member agreed. "But what am I going to talk with her about? How many people I've killed that day?"
Once more Anko tried to speak, but no words came out.
"She'd probably pass out," the ANBU member shrugged regretfully.
For a moment silence filled the room as Anko observed her friend, a rare look of pity in her furrowed brow. The ANBU member appeared not to notice, and went on eating, unaffected. Finally, Anko said nothing, but sat down at the table, pushing the bowl of dumplings slightly closer to the equally quite girl. They continued their meal without a word.
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For all his wanderings, Shikamaru had gained nothing. Besides that one potato chip of Chouji's, he still hadn't eaten anything, and was feeling decidedly hollow. He'd thought, being Hokage and all, he would be financially well off. But try as he might, he hadn't managed to find a single coin on him. And he couldn't very well demand a free lunch. Even if he was the Hokage.
Thus, under the influence, of instinctive avoidance of all things troublesome coupled with sheer, irrational hunger, he'd taken to walking around aimlessly as though hoping someone would randomly come up to him and offer him food.
Well, not exactly. He'd indeed become optimistic--or desperate, depending on how you saw it--that he would eventually come across such a person who would willingly provide him with a meal. There had to be somebody in the village whom he was friendly with. He just didn't know who.
Occasionally he wondered how the ANBU would react if they found him lying on the grass again, slowly dying from lack of sustenance. Surely they'd feel obliged to give him something to eat. Admittedly, he would look pretty pathetic, being the Hokage and yet not able to feed himself properly.
Of course, the alternative to looking bad was not being fed.
Which struck him as a little more dire.
Once or twice he half made up his mind to find the nearest patch of grass and just stay there until someone showed up with a bowl of ramen. His pride had never been a big issue with him anyway. Besides, he missed lying on the grass. It hadn't been twenty four hours from the last time he'd enjoyed the pricking of green blades against his skin, and he was already going into withdrawal. In fact, he seemed to be going into withdrawal in general over the sudden loss of all the aspects of his old life--the comforting and the troublesome. He longed to have Chouji back, and not just because the large boy always carried an ample supply of snacks. He even missed the annoying way with which his alarm clock rang in the morning, because it had meant breakfast time. His mother had always gotten up early to make breakfast for him and his father--
Mother.
Father.
Shikamaru stopped in his tracks, then turned around and hurdled in the direction from which he had just come, demanding of himself how he could be sostupid.
Home.
How could he have forgotten about home?
As he flew down the familiar road leading to the neighborhood he knew best, Shikamaru's pounding legs threatened to give way under him; he really couldn't remember ever going without food or soldier pills for this long. The one thought that sustained him was that when he got home, things would somehow get a little better.
His mother, at least, would try to shovel lunch down his throat, no questions asked. Now that he looked at it in this new starving light, it didn't seem quite so troublesome.
But more importantly, there would be his father, his lazy, docile father who, even if no one else was willing, would hear out the 'woke up as Hokage' story.
Hear it out, and not automatically assume that Shikamaru had gone crazy.
Skidding clumsily around a corner, he raced along the wide, earthen path that led to his home, heart pounding and shoving the folds of his billowing Hokage cloak out of the way every few seconds. Puffs of dirt sprang up as his feet hit the dusty ground, past the fresh vegetable shop his mother frequented, past the armaments store with which both he and his father were well familiar…
Three more buildings until his.
Two more.
One--
"Nani?" Shikamaru put on the brakes, halting rather gracelessly outside the small apartment building one house further down the road from his own. He felt, momentarily, rather disorientated; not only had he apparently shot right past his desired destination, he'd gone by so quickly, he hadn't had time to notice his outrageous mistake.
But then, he wasn't really in the mood to deal with his sudden, aberrant hastiness. Turning around, he backtracked towards home--and stopped yet again.
There, sitting right next to the apartments left of his home, were the set of flats thatshould have been to the right of his home.
And in between…nothing. There wasn't even a small gap between the two cold, brick walls pressing, unwelcoming, together as if to further force out the last traces of hope Shikamaru held for finding sanctuary there.
Something filtered through the astonished boy's chest, it seemed, a chill that made him feel as though some part inside him were slowly wilting…
Sighing, he slowly dragged his feet forwards, again moving in no particular direction.
This reality, he decided before he let his mind shut down like a machine deprived of electricity, or a broken shinobi deprived of hope, this reality was troublesome.
A new past as Hokage and no interpersonal connections with anyone whatsoever?
"Troublso…" he tried to murmur, before his numb brain decided that it couldn't be bothered.
Just…troublesome.