1. Fugue

This was a combination of bad timing and prolonging the inevitable.

The corners of Ino's lips tipped up into a mischievous half-smile, "Oi—Shikamaru. Have you even listened a word I've said?"

He had. And he hadn't.

The battlefield was grisly but even so, they managed to find a bit of solace and comfort in the bare and desolation. At the moment, the fight was placed at a standstill and Team 10 was reunited once again in center of all this content and controlled chaos. The wind blew and swept up a wall of dust, causing Shikamaru to blink rapidly in succession, trying to hide a smile from forming on his lips. Things were peaceful, and he'd never seen this place so quiet before. But he knew better than anyone that it was the quiet, unobtrusive moments that were the most dangerous.

He proceeded to turn his gaze from the field back to his team.

He stared at her Ino's lips shamelessly. She brushed a lock of slick blond hair behind her ear while her other hand hovered cautiously over Choji's injured right leg. She was sweating profusely, droplets beaded over her eyebrow and she had all sorts of ugly scratches burnt on her face, but with no serious casualties to count. There was a cut on over her lip that made it swollen and when she looked up at him, Shikamaru averted his gaze to the splinters etched into the crevices of her fingertips.

It was like he'd been seeing through a veil of translucency for the majority of his life.

He almost considered this a bad cliché. Like the veil had been lifted, or something conventional like that.

"Oi!" She called again, knitting her brows. "I asked you if you were listening!"

"Man, Shikamaru," Choji smiled and scratched the side of his cheek, "you really need a hearing aid or something."

But like he suspected from the near beginning, this was where the scene came to a halt. This was where time fucked up every tragedy that could've ever been put off—this was where all these talks about could'ves, would'ves and responsibilities made a turn and decided to screw him over for every whimsical thought of a future he'd ever considered to have.

He watched in horror as the ground beneath her imploded.

It took a snap of a moment for this to register on her face. But all he could think about were her words from the moment prior.

Ne, Shikamaru. I'm serious, and flashback—this was Ino wiping away the beads of sweat along her brow from before he began to blank out and stare shamelessly at her lips, we're going home soon, aren't we?

And then the words she never said, but he already knew by heart: (let's get married, Shikamaru)

This was one conversation that she'd always been serious about.

Because she didn't pinky promise just anything to anyone. She was the kind of girl who lifted her head up and beamed with a thousand watt smile, sunshine and morning glories—expectantly, and knowingly with every assumption she made like let's get married and not just will you marry me? She was the kind of girl who burst with confidence and honesty that he couldn't tell the difference otherwise anymore. She was the kind of girl who boosted every languid morale fiber in him when he didn't believe in himself; she always did, through and through.

She was the kind of girl who lit up the room as soon as she walked through the doorway; and she was the kind of girl who never failed to keep a smile on, no matter what kind of tragedy came to show.

She was the kind of girl Shikamaru had been missing.

Now, he could only watch in horror as gravel caved in on her body.

Ino was broken.

Shikamaru's sleeves were drenched with her blood and he was desperately clinging on to the last bit of life in the faint pulse she had in her neck. He needed her to keep breathing, goddamn it because he can't—and won't let her die like Asuma-sensei did. He needed to make sure her eyes stay open, woman, because he's afraid if she doesn't, she'll wither away and he'll just blink on stupidly while she's passed on through the metaphorical gateway to heaven.

Then he'll just be here. On the battlefield. Alone.

Or something tragic like that.

His nails bled black with dirt and gravel from the persistent digging he'd gone through to get to her. And even then, it took at least three more people to actually pull her out of the gravel.

Choji carried her limp body in his arms.

Ino was littered with wounds. A broken leg. Three cracked ribs. Both wrists shattered to pieces. Not to mention—she had the ugly cuts that no one should have had. (And Shikamaru already knew that these were the kinds of cuts that wouldn't heal easy—that these were the kinds of cuts that would turn into battle scars and give her something to look back on with a sad smile that would never suit someone like her)

"Fuck." This was the only thing Shikamaru could say that made any sense as he kneaded his temple with his knuckles, trying to make some kind of sense of this situation. "Fuck."

"Ino wouldn't give up so easily," Choji reassured him with a weak smile, "you know her."

He wasn't so sure anymore.

Ever since her proposal, he'd been walking on eggshells around her—not that it really mattered since they weren't even on the same squadron. But Ino let this play off as a mindless game of never asked, never happened.

This was one thing he'd never wanted to admit out loud.

Because he knew better than anyone that her survival meant some kind of trade-off in the end. Because he knew that the impact of the force from below rammed right into her head right before she collapsed into the ruins below. Because he knew that there was always a repercussion for people who survive being thrashed around like a rag doll (and she was thrashed—thrown around with her pretty blond hair).

And he knew Ino—he knew she was always fighting, fighting, fighting, and fighting—and he knew that this was the kind of fate that went to those who worked too hard for their own good.

This should've been his fate, not hers.

But he already knew.

"…fuck."

They injected whatever they could into her body to keep her alive. He'd never seen so many tubes inside a person's body before; and from a family with a wealth of knowledge in medicine, Shikamaru couldn't even tell what half of the tubes were meant for at all. Ino had been going into convulsions in cycles for the past hour now and Shikamaru could only watch on the sidelines as the code team walked in each time to settle her down. The more time that passed, the less she convulsed at all.

He didn't know what was worse: the fact that he was growing worried over her lack of movement now, or the fact that he was afraid what would happen when she really did wake up.

Shikamaru had never felt so helpless in his entire life.

"She'll be fine," Choji considered putting a hand on his friend's shoulder but Shikamaru didn't look like he was in that kind of mood at all so he retracted at the last minute before skin touched cloth, "Shizune said she'll be fine."

Shikamaru twiddled with his fingers. He hadn't picked up this habit since, well…the last time he talked with her—but still. This is one habit that shouldn't be haunting him.

"I know," he couldn't think of any other words to say and felt like he was becoming a broken record, "I know."

A moment of silence lapsed between them.

The folds of the tent rippled open and Shizune walked in. It took one glance for Shikamaru to understand his time in here was up. So he stood up first, "Let's go Choji," and reluctantly passed by Ino's bedside without another word.

"Oi," Kiba approached Shikamaru in an empty medical tent (a trade-off in being the same vicinity with Ino), "Gaara says it's time for you to head back to the battlefield. Your team is waiting on your call."

Reluctantly, he stood up, "Right. I'll be there."

Kiba considered saying something but he and Shikamaru had never been close and they'd never worked on close terms, "I'll watch over her if you want," he suggested vaguely, wrinkling his nose in slight agitation, "we're on the same team anyway and we'll probably stay here until morning."

Shikamaru considered this for a moment, "Thanks, Kiba—"

"—she woke up," Choji entered through the folds of the tent quickly.

Before there could be a pause of consideration, Shikamaru took off.

Ino looked just as broken and damaged as before. The only difference was her eyes were open this time.

Choji had followed hesitantly from behind with Kiba. They both paused at the folds of the tent and exchanged halfhearted glances.

From the blankness in her eyes, Shikamaru could already deduct the kinds of repercussions. He never considered himself a hopeful, but at the same time, he wasn't much of a cynic either. This left him somewhere in between the two extremes and so, with whatever little bit of expectation, he walked to her bedside while she followed him closely with her eyes.

Then she said the words he never wanted to hear:

"You're supposed to be Shikamaru—right?"