"Come on in, Neji."
That name. Neji. He'd heard it enough times to know that he was somebody significant, and yet, for whatever reason, not often enough to have made a lasting impression. He did look somewhat familiar; he was sure he'd seen his likeness somewhere, but where? Was he just some cousin of Mom's that rarely showed up to visit?
He was enticed to raise his uninjured arm to his head and strike the side of it repeatedly to rattle his brain about, hoping that something would eventually click into place and help him to remember, but he really didn't want to deal with Sarada's psychotic mother or mystery Hyūga man drowning him in concern. So he settled with staring at the source of his confusion in silence, studying him as he approached closer.
"How are you feeling?" he said with a straight back, head inclined forward just enough to provide a line of sight that was parallel to Boruto's.
"I mean…" Boruto lowered his eyes to the sling-supported arm and lightly rocked it, "the next few days are gonna be a complete pain in the a—uh, behind; I'm not even sure how I'm supposed to eat or shower or even pee with this thing. But besides that, I'm doing alright, I guess."
Hyūga gave a slow, single nod. "I'm glad to hear that."
His lips then quirked up into… a smile? It sort of resembled a smile, anyway. Boruto had a feeling he didn't do a whole lot of that.
But what was clear to him was that the disturbed countenance that was present on the Hyūga as he walked passed the door wasn't there anymore. Not even the slightest trace of it was left behind, instead being replaced by one of genuine relief. Like sleep won't be eluding him tonight. He subtly allowed his shoulders to slump—only a little, as he didn't strike Boruto as someone who'd slouch often, if at all, but enough to know that the very thing that was troubling him wasn't a concern anymore. His well-being. Him. That his condition wasn't in too bad of a state, and that he was now safe and in the watchful care of a number of capable fighters. No, he certainly didn't seem like someone who'd rarely ever visit, not anymore.
An unsettling feeling began brewing in the deepest pit of his stomach, and Boruto had a feeling it had little to do with the ramen he had earlier. Guilt. It was guilt. He felt it as he looked deep into pale eyes surrounded by an affectionate frame, and as he responded back with a low-effort smile that Boruto knew was transparent. The Hyūg—no, Neji, had to have meant so much more.
And he couldn't remember him.
"Is he free to leave?" Neji said, eyes coming to rest on Sakura.
"Well, unless there's something Boruto isn't telling me about," she said looking back at him. He briskly shook his head, ignoring the fortifying desire to throw up.
"Then he's all yours."
"I see."
"What does Lady Tsunade want from you?" she followed immediately.
"She asked that I gather as much information as possible relating to the events that just arose. If you don't mind, Boruto, I'll need you to answer a few questions on what happened—perhaps even a retelling of everything could be of use."
Boruto responded with a single, understanding nod.
Neji imitated the gesture. "Alright, then. Follow me. We'll discuss on the way to Naruto's residence, where you'll be staying the night."
Boruto's head shot up, eyes widened, nostrils flared and jaw lowered, in that order, before yelling out, "No!"
Sakura reclined in her seat. Neji showed no signs of being startled, but turned to face him anyway. His eyelids distanced a bit, but for the most part, his face maintained the usual blank expression. Sakura's perplexed look was slightly more exaggerated.
"What's wrong?" she asked with a hovering brow.
Boruto made use of his cast-free limb and did his best to produce something that resembled crossed arms. "I am not going there."
Neji and Sakura exchanged puzzled glances at each other. She shrugged her shoulders to reassure him that she knew as much of it as he did. Neji looked back as if a light bulb had gone off in his head, though Boruto wasn't necessarily sure what about his calm face had given him that impression.
"Rest assured Boruto, you won't have to be concerned about any more ambushes; the premise will be heavily guarded by a number of our clansmen. And, as I'm sure you're already aware, your father himself is also a very capabl—"
"It's not that," Boruto said cutting him off, shaking his head simultaneously.
"Then, where would do you wish to go?" Neji asked.
He lowered his gaze to the tiled floor. Truthfully, he didn't care where—just anywhere, anywhere else. He didn't want to see Dad, not yet. He still had to be punished. Punished for what he did to his wrist and had him essentially handicapped in the fight. Punished for not even trying to chase after him when he'd left Ichiraku's. Punished for the way he treated…
His breath caught, and face lit up as a light bulb went off in his head. He lifted his head back up and curved his lips into a smile.
"Could you take me to Mom's house?"
"Shikamaru! Someone's at the door!"
Great. He made a funnel shape with his hand and neared it toward his mouth, as if to amplify the sound of his response, "I'm aware!"
"Then get off your lazy backside and go open it!"
He could almost picture his mom with hands on hips and back to pots as she yelled that.
He was awake. Not wide awake; he had almost drifted out of consciousness a number of times, but enough to know that his dad had gone off on some short-notice mission, which was met with a little resistance from Mom. He was in a relatively comfortable position. On any other day, he'd have fallen fast asleep already, but some days, such as this one, a kid from the future shows up unannounced and starts insisting that he's your kid, and, well, it makes sleep just a little more difficult. Learning that you have a child—not even a daughter, mind you, as was planned. Learning that you grow up to be the Hokage's right-hand man. Learning that your wife is—
Nope. Not now. He'd already told himself he wasn't going to think of it again. Not today. Not until he'd slept it through, and maybe, once he'd found his big boy pants, he'd confront the whole thing head on, tomorrow. Maybe.
But first, he'd have to open that damn door.
He lifted himself upright in his bed, slow and sloppy in form, and walked lethargically towards the stairs.
Fourteen steps. Fourteen steps he would have to take until he'd reached the bottom of the staircase. He leaned his head back and inwardly groaned. Troublesome.
The first four steps went by with little thought, but plentiful struggle. On the fifth, he questioned why it was even him who had to be the one to open it. She was in the kitchen, the room nearest the door, it was only reasonable that she'd be the one to do it. Both feet then rested on the sixth step, and he paused. He knew that once he'd made it to the seventh, he'd have made the halfway mark and would then have to fully commit to the task, take the remaining steps down the stairs, walk through the corridor to the door, open the door, exchange pleasantries with the cause of his suffering, then do it all over in reverse order to make the difficult journey back to his room. Maybe, just maybe, if he were to wait here long enough, she'd eventually get sick of all the knocking and end up doing it hersel—
"SHIKAMARU! OPEN THE DOOR, NOW!"
Never mind.
He completed the remaining steps at a hurried pace. The imagery of his mother blocking the path with that cursed ladle in hand struck immense fear into his heart. God, did he hate that thing. He thrust his head forward to get a view of the passageway. Coast was clear. He quickly exhaled in relief. She rarely resorted to assault; her words and the harsh, commanding tone they were shaped by struck with greater depth than any kunai ever could. But every now and again, that cursed ladle would make a special appearance. Had she ever even used the thing with an actual intent to cook or serve with? It was pretty much always perfectly immaculate, borderline straight-out-the-package immaculate. He was convinced its only purpose was to strike a Shikamaru Nara with it. Or, the occasional Shikaku Nara.
Speaking of Dad, he had long recognized that it was him at the door; he was close enough to identify that rhythmic knocking of his. If only he'd carried around a key with him, he wouldn't have been in this predicament right now.
He turned the handle down, waited for the click, and pulled the door open to reveal the person that stood behind it.
No, not person. People. It was his dad.
With his son.
And his wife.
He knew he should've turned back at the sixth step.
Shikamaru stared at his son, then at his dad, then at Temari, back at his son, to Temari again, then to his dad, to Temari, to his son, Temari, dad, Temari, son, Temari, and then kept it there, maintaining a stare with her. Why on earth wasn't he looking away? Why on earth wasn't she looking away? Out of the corners of his eyes, he could just about see his dad's lips move, but no sound seemed to emit from them. Damn it, he got lost in her eyes again. Every time.
"Shikamaru!"
Uh-oh. He certainly heard that. His eyes widened, even further than they already had, still, for whatever reason, refusing to look away from Temari, who still, for whatever reason, was refusing to look away from him.
"Who's at the door?" cried his mom. Her voice struck his ear as if she was only inches away.
"It's me, Yoshino dear," Shikaku responded, loud enough for her to hear, but not quite loud enough to be considered a yell. Shikamaru finally maneuvered his eyes away from Temari, who appeared to had done the same.
"What are you doing?" he whispered to his dad, practically mouthing it with how quite it was. He heard the sound of a utensil clashing repeatedly against a metal pot, and gulped harshly. The sound of footsteps then followed, and his knees began to oscillate. He was sweating profusely; face, neck, pits, you name it, it was likely damp and emitting odor. He looked back at his dad, firing him a look that demanded a response.
His dad shrugged. In just a matter of seconds, he had to find an appropriate way to unload the information to his mother that his future wife and son were at the door, and the man simply shrugged. Shikamaru closed his eyes and bit his lip. No matter. Maintain a reasonable distance, ignore the fire in her eyes, explain the situation to her, give her a moment to digest and surely she'll respond reasonably—
"Move it, mister!"
His mother pushed him aside and opened the door wide. "Shikaku Nara! You told me you wouldn't be very long! Do you have any idea, any… idea, what… you," her speech slurred as her eyes came to rest on the young boy in front of her, who had a striking resemblance to her boy. "Oh, hello there. Who's this, Shikaku?"
He leaned forward and roped his arm around Shikadai's neck, a crooked smile settling on his face. "Our boy's finally given us a grandson."
Well, that's one way to do it.
If you wanted a death wish.
His mother stilled. Her head, and just her head, rotated to face him, slowly. Teeth bared and clenched, eyes flashing crimson. She released the unnecessarily tight hold she had on the door and allowed her body to follow suit in facing him. Her heaving chest seemed more prominent from this angle. Both hands were now at her sides, with one being occupied by… a ladle. Oh. How about that. Turns out she does actually use it to cook with.
"Wait, wait, w-wait Mom, it's not what you're thinking, let me explain, look, he's too big to be—wait, wh-what are you doing with tha—"
Neji. Neji. Neji Neji Neji. Neji-Neji-Neji-Neji-Neji-Neji-Neji-Neji-Neji-Neji-Neji-Neji-Neji-Neji-Neji—
The thought process was that if kept repeating his name over and over in his head, it would finally come to him. Any minute now, he'd remember who he was, the discomfort would wear off, the ache in his stomach would settle, and he wouldn't feel like such a terrible human being anymore.
It never came.
The discomfort was still there. The ache didn't settle. And he still felt like a terrible person.
Boruto thumped his head repeatedly with his palm, perturbed stares be damned. Neji could see his little fit with his Byakugan, but opted out of acknowledging it.
Unsurprisingly, the property still looked very much the same. The Hyūgas weren't really ones for refurbishing, and understandable so. Its towering structure and wide landscape already captured perfectly the prestige and rich history of the clan. A giant wooden sign that reads "Hyūga" certainly helps, too.
A number of clansmen looked on skeptically at the blond as he illuminated the ill-lit environment, but a protective hand from Neji cupped Boruto's shoulder and drew the two closer together, daring them to make a comment.
The two stood in front of the door of the compound. With three successive knocks, Neji took a step back. Boruto aligned himself behind Neji in a way such that he was completely hidden from view, and waited.
He could hear timid footsteps approaching from the behind the door. Followed was a firm grasp of the handle, then the sound of it turning. A click, and then a creak.
"Oh, Brother, you're back."
It was her. It had to be. A voice so soothing and spoken as if to conserve energy. The discomfort that he felt… it was finally wearing off. The ache in his stomach was now settling. He still felt like a terrible human being, but at least not one that had to support his stomach with a tight clutch, or needed a bucket by him at all times.
"Yes. I also brought along with me a guest," said Neji, taking a few steps to the side as if playing along.
"Yo, Mom."
Boruto flashed her his most radiant grin, one that he wasn't content with until every tooth was on display and no light could seep past his eyelids. He sprung from the ground and grabbed her tight in a one-armed bear hug.
Any moment now, she'd return the embrace. Any moment now, she'd cradle her arms around him and lean her head on his shoulder. He growled, frustrated that nothing had happened yet, and looked upwards. She was stiff as a board and pale as a ghost, and he was sure if he were to release the hold he had on her, those knees would buckle and that body would familiarize itself with the floor again.
In a swift, reflexive movement, he cupped her face with one hand, neared it toward his, and furrowed his brows. "Don't you dare pass out again. We have work to do."
Well, the back-and-forth dynamic between the two had certainly never changed. Grandma still played the role of overbearing, influential mother, and Dad the role of ill-tempered, submissive son. Her influence over Dad wasn't all that surprising, nor anything new, either. But to be able to reduce Grandpa into silent submission with just a single glare? Well, to be fair, it is a pretty terrifying one. No doubt had been regularly adjusted at every use until she'd figured out the most effective one that brought about ideal results.
It was somewhat surreal seeing the infamous ladle make an appearance. Dad would often tell war stories about the thing, how if she'd ever resorted to using it, its intent, its purpose wouldn't be fulfilled until flesh had been struck, never to be wagged in the air with for intimidation. It was his silly way of reassuring him that Mom's disciplining was supposedly "pale" in comparison. Frankly, those saucepan hands of Mom's were way worse than any weird variation of a spoon had to offer. Thankfully, Grandma had only managed just a single strike to the curvature of his forehead before Grandpa intervened, making some much-needed amends for his poor choice of words. He explained the situation to her, which of course was met with the usual response of a mouth agape in disbelief and a witless look.
Though, the smothering part was new, at least. So were the excessive kisses to the cheeks and forehead. Oh, and the tears, too. She even thanked Dad for giving her a grandson. The rolling of eyes from everybody in the room at that moment must've have been record-shattering.
"Oi, take it easy woma—uh, Mom," Shikamaru said, correcting himself towards the end there with a stiff cough, a gasp of regret more than anything. Grandma continued to dab a wet cloth on the forehead coated by something Shikadai wasn't necessarily sure was dinner or that red fluid.
"This wouldn't have happened if your father had made things clearer right from the start," Yoshino said. "If anything, he should've been on the receiving end of that."
"Apology… accepted…? Ow!"
"Don't be such a smart aleck. Now hold this here and go sit at the table."
Shikamaru mumbled something under his breath, then did as told. Shikadai watched as their interaction played out, and couldn't help but notice something was… off. No, it became increasingly clear to him that this wasn't what was off. Her words, they carried an emotional weight to them that wasn't present in the future, nor the blunt, irritated tone. It was more insincere in his time, as if she was only yelling to recreate a shallow, transparent environment the two were so familiar with, and Future Dad would take it, even though he didn't have to, because that's what he always did. That's how it'd always been. The Shikamaru in front of him right now seemed to treat her entire existence as some sort of burden, and wouldn't saying anything out of fear, not by choice. This wasn't the case in the future, where the little time that they had with each other was savored, something precious, even if they hid it well. He wasn't quite sure what it was that could've provoked this change.
Two large hands dropped suddenly onto his shoulders, startling him.
"Hope you're hungry," Shikaku said. He neared slightly to Shikadai's ear, and spoke in a hushed voice. "Your grandmother tends to overdo the portions whenever we have guests."
With a slight knead of his shoulders and a gentle pat on the head, Shikaku walked off and sat down onto the chair beside Dad, who sat on the opposite side of the table, presumably—and unsurprisingly—to distance himself from the blond woman that next to Shikadai. Petty parents put aside, Shikadai couldn't quite help but notice the claustrophobic feeling slowly bearing down on him, as if the room had gotten significantly smaller, or his clothes had shrunk two sizes.
He felt the very exact same thing when with his dad's sensei.
Even after a couple of hours had passed, he still wasn't quite sure how to approach this sensitive topic, this heavy burden that plagued his thoughts. He watched as Shikaku tried to playfully probe his dad's head, a teasing smile on his face, and just couldn't stomach it. Knowing that their interactions would be short-lived and wrongfully stripped away. Knowing that soon he'd have to tell him, and that smile would never surface again.
A reassuring hand cupped around his bicep.
"Are you okay?" whispered Temari, again, just quiet enough so that only he could hear her.
And once more, without fail, all the fear, the anxiety and the concern that almost suffocated him was gone in an instant. Even if just put out of sight or caged for a moment, it was still enough to ease the ache that he felt and settle the thudding of his heart. How she'd managed to do this consistently every time, he just couldn't fathom.
No rush. I can bring it to their attention later.
He beamed her a smile—a smile that she had always insisted was her smile, to comfort her the same way she always did him. A smile that slowly found itself onto her face.
"I can't believe it. A grandson. A grandson! I have a grandson, and not even a peep about it from my good-for-nothing son!" Yoshino said irritably, placing the last of the bowls down onto the table.
"I wonder why," Shikamaru mumbled, pressing the cloth against his forehead with one hand while attempting to raise the rice to his mouth using the other.
"Look, Shikamaru, I'm sorry, but no son of mine is having a child before marriage." She took a seat next to Temari and began piling her plate. "Now, seeing as we're on topic… Temari, I'm assuming you'd like two different ceremonies? One here, and one in your village?"
She gave her a bewildered look. "Ceremony? What… are you…?"
"Your wedding with my son, of course."
The rice hadn't managed to travel beyond Shikamaru's throat before being forcibly pushed back out again. He made a conscious effort to aim the trajectory of the rice particulates away from the table.
"Shikamaru! You're making a mess all over the floor! Chew your food properly!"
His chest heaved as he took deep, eager breaths. "I know how to chew, woman, and this is not something that we're discussing right now!"
"What have I told you about labeling me as just some woman? I'm your mother! And why on earth not?"
"Because I haven't even proposed to her!"
"Well then—"
"And I don't plan on doing it anytime soon, either," he said, cutting her off. He whipped his head toward Temari for support, but was thrown completely off balance by her look of… hurt? Shikamaru shook his head. That couldn't be it.
"Well you better get to it, because your mother wants more grandchildren."
An unmasculine shriek hissed past Shikamaru's lips and he fell into a petrified stance, as if one of Shino's bugs was nearing him. "Oi, M-Mom! Wh-what the hell?!"
She narrowed her eyes. "Watch your tongue, boy!"
He draped the cloth over his crimson face.
"And elbows off the table!"
He leaned back so that they were no longer pressed against the surface.
"Now," she said, turning her attention back to an equally as red Temari, "I'd imagine wedding traditions in Suna must differ quite a bit from that of Konoha's, no? I'm going to need you to fill me in on that. Oh, I should probably get Ino to help with the preparations. Do you have any venues in mind, Temari?"
Yoshino continued to ask a barrage of questions, quickly following one with another and leaving Temari with little opportunity to respond. A large part of her was relieved anyway, seeing as there wasn't a chance for her to respond sensibly in her current state. It took all of her willpower to not make a run for the door and distance herself as far as possible from the woman Shikamaru had often warned her about.
Shikadai sensed her discomfort and waited for an opening to intervene. "Ah, Grandma, see, Mom's had a bunch of meetings with the fifth Hokage today, her thoughts on the matter can't be any good with that worn-out brain of hers, don't you think?"
"Oh, is that so?" she asked. "What was I thinking? I apologize, Temari dear. We can wait to talk about it tomorrow."
Temari hummed a noise in agreement. She turned to Shikadai and quirked her lips into her signature smirk, then mouthed, "Thank you."
"So, want to explain to me what exactly happened back there?" Shikaku asked.
Shikadai looked up from his rice to see all eyes locked on him. He swallowed, then spoke. "It was him. The man that sent me and Boruto to the past. That was him."
"And what exactly prompted him to show up again?"
"He said he wanted to talk to us."
"Talk?"
He nodded. "Mm."
"Talk about…?"
"Things got… physical, before we had a chance to find out."
Shikaku sat back and closed his eyes. "He said he'd confront you guys again, didn't he? Any idea when you think he'll next show up and make a move?"
Shikadai shook his head. "I wish I did."
"We could lure him out," Shikamaru said after a lull in the conversation. Shikadai was admittedly surprised that his dad was even acknowledging him. "He approached just you and Naruto's son, didn't he? What if we were to isolate you both from everyone else? He'd probably show up again, wouldn't he?"
"You want to use our son as bait?" Temari said, setting her utensil down.
He shook his head, alarmed at how casually she spoke to him. "I didn't say that."
"You were implying it."
"I was implying that we draw him out with support on standby."
"We are not putting him at risk like that."
He raised a brow. "When did you get so attached to him?"
She scoffed. "One of us has to make an effort."
"And where exactly were you when this little affair went down?"
"Where were you?" she said with extra venom for the occasion, the final word jabbing him like a shuriken on a target practice.
"Shikamaru, stop provoking your wife!" Yoshino interjected.
"She's not my wife!" he insisted, just as Temari said, "I'm not his wife!"
"Alright, now that we've acknowledged that both your parenting could use some work, what would you rather we do, then, Temari?" Shikaku asked, setting his cup down. "I only ask seeing as he is your son."
"We wait," she briskly responded.
"Just wait?"
She nodded. "That's it. He'll eventually get tired of waiting around and will be forced to take action, regardless of our protection. That's when we'll act accordingly."
"Hm." He leisurely ran his fingers through his beard. "What do you think, Shikadai?"
The prospect of sitting around doing nothing didn't particularly entertain him, nor did it seem like a productive way to go about doing things. He was actually rather surprised that Mom was the one to offer such an approach. To be honest, he felt fine. He was fit to fight. Maybe not necessarily right now, but after a good night's rest, absolutely. He didn't adopt his mother's chakra reserves just to clown around and not take advantage of.
But right then, his blue-eyed companion and that silly smile of his flashed across his mind, and he slumped his shoulders. He'd forgotten about Boruto and of his current condition. He was an important part of the equation, too, and it wouldn't do without him. Guess he'll have to tough it out, just for a little longer.
"We wait."
The rest of the dinner had been relatively uneventful. Yoshino had insisted he try every dish, so that he could grow big and strong just like his mother. Shikamaru was slightly offended that his name hadn't been thrown into the mix. Temari was slightly offended at the unintentional dig at her weight.
"Shikadai, you must be exhausted. Shall I take you to the guest room now?" Yoshino asked.
He nodded. Frankly, he was exhausted, and could really use a comfortable mattress right now to cleanse his thoughts from today's events.
Shikaku pushed his half-completed report forward and stood, running a hand across his nape. "I'll tag along. I... uh, I'll need to ask Shikadai a couple more questions."
"Mm. Temari, dear, you'll be sleeping on Shikamaru's bed tonight."
A jolt of panic coursed through her blood at the implication. She shook her head, hopeful that the suggestive thoughts would tumble right out. His mother had obviously meant that she occupy his bed alone, of course. That wasn't so bad. Hell, the look on his face, as if he were a toddler whose treasured toy was taken from him, had almost managed to make the whole thing slightly amusing. On the other hand, the thought of being surrounded by pillows and covers bathed in his scent caught her breath and fired bolts of electric awareness to her spine. She parted her lips to protest, but was immediately cut off by his mother. "Shikamaru! Show her to your room."
He slouched in disappointment. "I guess I'll sleep on the couch, then…"
"And why on earth would you do that?" Yoshino asked.
He stared at her, dumbfounded. "Then… where do I sleep tonight?"
"What kind of silly question is that? Where else do you think?" she said, as if were the most obvious thing in the world.
Was… was she kicking him outside? To sleep out in the forest, along with the deer? Did he mean that little to her? Her son of 16 years and he was that low on the totem pole?
"That bed of yours has enough room for two."
"Boruto, would you care for a beverage or anything?"
"Nah, I'm good, Uncle Neji," Boruto responded, hoping that the extra emphasis would help him to remember. It didn't.
Silence settled in awkwardly. Boruto drummed his fingers against his thigh, delivering feeble coughs at irregular intervals to help ease the discomfort. It didn't.
"So…" he started, glancing over at a stiff Hinata, "where's, uh, Aunt Hanabi?"
"She's away on a mission right now," Neji said plainly.
Boruto drooped his face into a pout. He already knew the answer to that; Neji had told him on the way here. He was just hoping Mom would actually use that damn mouth of hers for once. "Uh-huh. Got it. Hey, Mom, where's Grandpa at?"
Nothing.
"He's currently in a meeting," Neji responded eventually, helping to fill the silence.
He growled, then paced towards her, crouching to her level and shortening the gap separating their faces.
"Is that true, Mom?"
She used all of her might to swallow back down the whimper at the invaded proximity and nodded timidly, head turned and lowered, giving him a clear view of her profile.
He walked around and crouched lower than before so that their faces met again. "Huh? What was that? Couldn't quite hear you."
She turned her head away once more. "Yes," she croaked in a whisper.
He gave a defeated sigh and fell into the seat beside her. "Y'know, you're never going to get Da—Naruto's attention if you keep acting all shy and timid like that."
Her face lit like a red bulb and eyes widened in horror. It was the most expressive he'd ever seen it, past or future. "N-no! Th-that's not, I-I don't, it's just, I mean, h-he's, I… I d-don't—"
A mischievous grin slowly developed on his face. Bingo.
"Alright, get up."
She continued stammering, stumbling on her words and resetting her sentences. He sighed inwardly this time. Using his sling-free arm, he shackled a wrist and pulled her to her feet, earning him a yelp for his troubles.
"I, am going to be your life coach. Is that what they call it?" He nimbly shook his head. "Whatever. That's what I'm calling it. I'm going help fix you up, and I promise, by the end of it, Dad'll be drooling all over the new and improved you. Wait, no-no, that sounded weird. Um… he'll crush on you? He'll like you? Yeah, let's go with that. Now, any objections before we get started?"
She parted her lips to object.
"Okay, good. First up: posture. This," he gestured at her timid stance, "this won't do it."
He walked over to her to rearrange and re-position her arms, her feet, her everything, really, ignoring his mom's resistance and desperate struggles. "Just… just move a little… and put this here… and… there! Perfect!"
She stood rigid and uncomfortably with her head leaned back and a leg further than the other, back curved awkwardly and hands placed above her hips.
"Good. Now… hey!" He snapped his fingers, drawing the attention of her pupils. "My eyes are over here. Keep them here and only here. Maintaining eye contact is crucial in all of this, and it won't do if you're just staring at your toes all the time."
He traipsed back with his hands up, making sure that her eyes stayed locked to his.
"Okay, good-good-good. Just keep at it. Next up, that stuttering of yours. We should be able to work on it, seeing as you don't do that anymore in the future. Now, repeat after me, 'I am a strong, confident, pretty woman who's a way better, stronger and smarter mom than that psychopath Aunt Sakura.' From the top, now."
Her face was once more the most expressive he'd even seen it, sheer puzzlement dominating her appearance.
"Wait, no, did I overdo? I overdid it." He wagged a hand in the air. "Okay, just try, 'I am a strong, confident, pretty woman.' Yeah, that'll do."
She took a deep breath, and followed on his cue. "I… I a-am a—"
"Oh, and if you stutter, you have to go again. And, from the top now."
She gave him a look of hopelessness. "I am a strong, c-conf—"
"Again!"
She winced, then hesitantly bobbed her head. Frankly, she though the entire thing was utterly ridiculous. She felt utterly ridiculous. The tasks. The silly pose. The audience that comprised of a lone Brother Neji. She wanted nothing more than for her primary instincts to take over and make a run for the door, refusing to pay any mind to the cries of her name that would follow undoubtedly. But... at the same time, she recognized that she needed the extra help, a supportive push, and it admittedly warmed her insides and comforted her knowing that he, her son, her son, was willing to do that. For her. So she inhaled as hard as she could, and occupied her lungs with as much air as they could fill. She didn't want to disappoint him, she couldn't, not now—so proclaimed as loud as she could in one, passionate breath, "I-am-a-strong-pretty-confident-woman!"
Silence settled for a long, agonizing interval. She waited, for a comment, a critique, anything but an impassive stare.
Boruto eventually raised a hand to his chin and assessed. "Hmmm… decent. A little too fast for my liking, plus you got the order wrong, but decent. We'll work on it. Moving on."
She slouched her shoulders and undid her arched back as if a giant load had been taken off of her, then immediately shifted back into her odd stance for fear of being yelled at.
"Next up, that jacket of yours," Boruto said, pointing to it. "It has got to go. Head to your room and put on something better. Like a dress, or something. I don't know. Once you're done, we're gonna go straight to Dad's house, and you're gonna repeat that exact line to him. Show him who he should be chasing after."
And just like that, all of her new found confidence and motivation died in that instant. "B-b-but—"
"Stupid old man, getting all dreamy-eyed like that for Aunt Sakura. Who does he think he is?"
"C-can I—"
"Didn't even come after me. Didn't even come after me! Unbelievable."
"B-Boru—"
"Huh?" he interrupted once more with a genuinely confused expression. "You're still here? C'mon, shoo-shoo. It's already late as it is, and I don't want to have to delay this any further."
"N-No! Listen to me!"
Boruto took a few nervous steps back without conscious thought, curling up like he always did whenever she raised her voice and fired him a stare like that.
"I… I-I am your mother," she insisted with narrowed pale eyes, "and… and you will not boss me around!"
He stood with an anxious posture and sights on his toes, as if he needed his own life coach. Where the hell did that come from? Even Neji's face disassociated from the usual impassive expression, instead donning a disturbed one. Though, admittedly, this was perfect. She needed this. She needed to recognize how impactful tone and body language were, to recognize the substantial difference the two could make.
"Oh, oh I-I'm so sorry, Boruto, I didn't mean to shout like that," she quietly said, quickly reverting back to her usual tics and habits.
He looked at her as if a miniature version of Uncle Lee's head grew from her neck. "Eh?! Wh… what are you apologizing for?! That was perfect! Why did you stop?!" he asked, exasperated.
"Oh, I… I-I didn't, I'm sorry. Should—should I do it again?"
"No! Now it won't be authentic!" He sighed loud and with exaggeration, crashing back down onto his seat. He then ran a hand over his face, pressing down with needless force. "Let's take five; I could really use that beverage right now. It's safe to say we've still got a lot of work left to do."
A knock on the door provided a much needed distraction.
"Ah, that's probably your father, Hinata," Neji suggested.
"I'll g-go get it." She made a sprint for the door before anyone could protest.
There was another knock, louder and more eager, almost pleading. It was rather unlike her father to be so impatient, and raised anew some questions.
When she opened the door, she expected to see her father stood behind it in his usual composed form. When she opened the door, she expected to greet him as she usually did with a slight, courteous bow. When she opened the door, she expected to see his familiar pales eyes, dispassionate and inexpressive as they always were. What she didn't expect to see when she opened the door were distinct, bright blue eyes. Or three equally-sized whiskers on either cheek. Or blond hair that could be seen from almost a mile away. Or a blazing orange jumpsuit. She was now displaying all signs of trepidation: burning skin, profuse sweat, heavy breathing and a panic-stricken expression.
"Hey, Hinata, um, is… is Boruto here?"
"N-N-N-N-Na-Na-Naruto?!"
A/N: Ah, took a little while, but we're finally here—Naruto/Hinata time! Expect heavy focus on that next chapter.
Yes, I did just dedicate that much time to Shikamaru walking down the stairs.
I made a couple of changes to a few of the earlier chapters. That incident between Shikamaru and Temari in chapter 1 has been extended, since I thought it was lacking a bit in intensity. Temari's dialogue in chapter 3 has been heavily cut since she was uncharacteristically talkative in that chapter, to what was essentially a stranger no less. Why I did that I'm not quite sure, lol.
Also, can I just say how relieved I am Sasuke let Boruto keep the headband in episode 66*? I had my fingers crossed that this was the case when I wrote chapter 4, but I'm glad that we've got some confirmation on it. Phew.
Anyway, enjoy! :D