The next few moments seemed to stretch, each second painfully slow.
"Ino?" Panic bubbled in Shikamaru's throat as scattered flashes of memory surged back to him, though none quite as bone-chilling as the image before him now. His teammate, her body splayed across the ground, pale and unmoving. "Ino?!"
Strong hands—firm, though not unkind—grasped his shoulders. An unfamiliar voice spoke somewhere near him. "Take a deep breath. You've been through a lot. You shouldn't try to strain yourself. The other medics are seeing to Yamanaka-s—"
"What's wrong with her?" He didn't have the strength to fight against even this gentle restraint—his chest was heaving, his breath coming in gasps. Terror clamped like a vice around his lungs. "Is she breathing? What's happening?"
A wave of fatigue washed over him and for a moment, the room went white. The medic had moved into his field of vision and was speaking again, but the words were lost on him, drowned out by the persistent ringing in his ears. As his vision cleared, all he could focus on was Ino's lifeless form, the stricken looks exchanged by the attendants crouched over her.
Sound filtered slowly back in—words, but not directed at him. "We should get him out of here—do you have a room prepped?"
"Yes, we have one standing by."
"No, wait." The vice in his chest tightened, the words wheezing out of him—he wasn't sure they had heard him. Sturdy arms supported his back and legs, lifting him up off the floor. He tried to stretch out an arm, but he was too far away to reach her, and his muscles screamed with even the slightest motion. "Wait, you have to—"
"We're going to take good care of you." The medic had tried to sound reassuring, but there was a strain laced through the words. Shikamaru wanted to dissect it, analyze it, parse every detail he could from that slight fluctuation in tone, but his thoughts were coming too slowly, disjointed and half-nonsensical. Flashes of landscapes, familiar yet strange, crowded his mind. She was laughing at him, scowling, drowning. He needed to get to her. He needed to help her. He needed to tell her… something…
"We need to get him out of here so we can administer the sedative." The second voice, coming from somewhere behind his shoulders, sounded familiar, though he couldn't place it. "He's going to hurt himself."
He made another feeble attempt to reach out, but the arms tightened their grip on him. Over his stuttering protests, they carried him from the room. The last thing he saw before slipping back into the warm oblivion of unconsciousness was the image of her pale, drawn face as the other medics swarmed her and she disappeared in a sea of white.
Choji sat outside in the waiting area, tapping his fist against the armrest of the chair, hollowing a small crater in the wood.
It had been hours since they had transferred Shikamaru and Ino from the observation room, and still there was no further word. He'd come back to the hospital as soon as he'd gotten the news, barely taking the time to change out of his pajamas before he'd sped out the door. When he arrived, he'd caught Shizune long enough to confirm that Shikamaru had been speaking and semi-coherent when he woke, though he'd almost instantly passed out again.
"Test results are trending positive so far. I mean, he's still quite dehydrated and we're combatting some muscle atrophy, but overall, we're pleased with the prognosis."
When he asked about Ino, Shizune simply gave him a tight-lipped smile that didn't meet her eyes.
"We're doing everything we can for her."
He hadn't even had the chance to follow up on the question before she was called away again, and he was left standing uselessly in the hallway.
Choji leaned his head back, smacking the wall with a dull thud. The receptionist gave him a disapproving frown, but he was past the point of caring what anyone else thought. They could fine him for property damage if they wanted. Hell, they could throw him in Konoha's jail, if only it meant his friends would be okay.
Shikamaru and Ino had once been on the other side of this situation. He didn't remember much of the aftermath of the fight against Jirobo—he'd been told that he was barely clinging to life by the time they got him back here. But he remembered the way Shikamaru had regarded him the first time he'd come back to consciousness: the way his expression had warred between grief and despair, the tears quavering in his voice even as he fought to keep them at bay. He remembered the bright hues of the flowers that Ino had brought, the way she had insisted on replacing them daily.
Being on that side of things hadn't exactly been pleasant, but he thought he might prefer it to this side.
Choji stood and began to pace the length of the waiting room, just to give himself something else to do. He tried to focus on his steps, on his breathing, on the clinical cold of the air around him, but his thoughts kept racing, playing out the worst scenarios over and over again.
It was only a stroke of luck that he turned just in time to spot a figure down the corridor, past the reception desk in the patient area, hobbling across the intersection of two hallways. But he would have known that gait, that visage, almost anywhere. And before the receptionist could stop him, he plunged down the hallway in pursuit.
"Shikamaru!"
The figure turned. He looked terrible—his skin was pale and waxen; he had pronounced dark circles under his eyes. It was clear even beneath the shapeless silhouette of the hospital gown that he had grown thinner, and he had never been a man with much bulk to spare. He labored with each step, leaning on a rolling IV stand for support.
Even so, a familiar expression of annoyance creased his face, belied by little hints of amusement as he spotted his best friend barreling down the hallway. The sight sent a wave of relief through Choji.
"Would you keep it down?" Shikamaru's voice was raspy. "Trying to sneak out of my room doesn't work very well if you're shouting my name all over the place."
Choji folded him into a bear hug that carried him down the hallway and around the corner, tears streaming from his eyes.
"You're okay!"
"Okay, okay, but I'm not going to be if you insist on crushing my lungs." Fondness mixed with grumpiness, and Choji could hear the smile in his friend's voice. "Would you mind putting me down? Or if you're going to pick me up, at least carry me the rest of the way to where I was going anyway?"
"Where are you going?" Choji set his friend gently back on his feet, as Shikamaru smoothed the hospital gown where he had rumpled it. "Aren't you supposed to be in your room, recovering?"
"If they wanted me not to go anywhere, they shouldn't have given me something with wheels." Shikamaru began to shuffle in the direction he'd been headed again. "I need to see her."
Choji didn't have to ask who he meant by her. He fell into step beside Shikamaru with practiced ease, ready to support him if his legs failed him. "Do you know where her room is?"
Shikamaru gave a tired nod. "115. One of the medics mentioned the room number when they thought I was asleep."
Choji was almost too afraid to ask the next question. "Did they mention..." He swallowed back another potential wave of tears. "Did they say how she was?"
At this, Shikamaru looked grim. "They were thin on details."
Choji's stomach dropped. "But they'd have said if… you know, if she were…" He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.
"Yeah." Shikamaru said gruffly. It was clear that he wasn't as certain about that assertion as he would have liked. "Yeah, I think so."
Progress through the halls was slow and laborious, between dodging medics and Shikamaru's diminished pace. Several times, they had to stop for him to take a momentary rest—he inhaled and exhaled with effort, steadying, deep breaths, his forehead pressed against the cold metal of the pole. Every time they began moving again, Choji steeled himself to catch Shikamaru if he passed out, but Shikamaru moved forward with the superhuman endurance of a man on a mission.
After what seemed like an impossibly long walk, Shikamaru finally halted just ahead of a door, nodding toward it.
"In there. She should be in there."
Choji felt the slightest sliver of hope rise in his chest at the sight. He knew, at least, that this wasn't the mortuary.
"Is there anyone in there right now?" Shikamaru was leaning heavily against the pole, and Choji could see at a glance that he didn't have the strength to stand up straight and look through the transparent pane of glass at the top of the door. Choji peeked his head up instead, lowering his voice.
"Looks like maybe two people. Shizune and another medic I don't know."
"Shit." Shikamaru scowled. "Figured that would be the case, but I was hoping we'd get lucky. Now I have to create a distraction."
Down the hallway, Choji heard the telltale squeak of medics' shoes. He glanced at Shikamaru, then at the door just beyond them, next to Ino's. He crept forward, listening briefly at the threshold, then nodded, satisfied. "I think we might just be about to get that distraction. Come on."
He half-dragged, half-carried Shikamaru to the door just beyond Ino's and into the room, which was miraculously empty of patients and personnel alike. Just in time—two figures in medical-nin uniforms came dashing into the hall where they had stood only moments before, headed for the door to Ino's room. Choji pressed his ear to the wall, listening as they came to a breathless halt.
"Lady Shizune! We need to speak to you."
"Can it wait?" The irritation and fatigue in her voice was clear, even slightly muffled by a wall.
"I-I'm afraid it can't… You see…"
"Just tell me what happened."
"We… we lost a patient."
"Lost?" Shizune repeated, her words edged with carefully controlled concern.
"I mean, not lost-lost. We can't locate him. We stepped out for a moment and when we came back, the bed was empty—"
A deep sigh cut through the explanation. "And which patient was this, exactly?" The exasperation in Shizune's voice intimated that she already knew exactly who it was.
"It's, umm… it's Shikamaru Nara, ma'am."
Another deep sigh. "Of course it is. Come on then. Ikeda, I'm leaving you in charge here."
Footfalls sounded again across the tiles, heading out the door of Ino's room and back the way the attendants had come. But only belonging to three people, not four. Choji turned back to Shikamaru, ready to explain the situation.
"There's still a medic in there," Shikamaru preempted, chagrined.
"Yep." Choji confirmed.
Shikamaru ran a hand through his hair. He closed his eyes for a long moment, pressing his fingers together lightly. Choji was almost beginning to think he had fallen asleep on his feet when he opened his eyes again.
"We can't pull that last person away if she's still in critical condition."
"Right," Choji said. "But when I looked in there before, Shizune and whoever else was in there were just talking over some records. It didn't look like they were in the middle of any kind of procedure. So that's got to mean she's at least stable, right?"
"I could just go in there anyway," Shikamaru mumbled. "They're going to find me eventually. At least that way, I could see… See if she's…"
He trailed off, swallowing hard, unable to finish the statement that they were both trying so hard to avoid.
One of them had to see her. One of them had to confirm that she was okay. And Shikamaru had already come so far… Choji snuck back to the door, confirming the hallway had settled into silence once again. By the time he turned back to Shikamaru, he had a plan in place.
"I can cause a distraction."
Shikamaru raised an eyebrow. "You sure? You know they're probably going to throw you out once they figure out what's going on."
Choji did know that. And, painful as it was, he still knew he would do it, without question, if it meant that at least one of them got to check on Ino. If one of them could be there with her when she needed them.
"I'm sure." He clapped one large hand on Shikamaru's shoulder. Even as wrecked as his friend looked, he was here. He was awake, he was alive. And that was thanks to Ino. They owed her this much at the very least. "I'm really glad you're okay, Shikamaru."
"We'll see how okay I am after Shizune gets ahold of me. But… thanks for being here. You're a good friend."
Shikamaru gave him a wry smile. He wasn't a particularly expressive man, but Choji knew him better than almost anyone. He could see all the layers beneath that smile—gratitude, worry, self-recrimination.
Before he risked starting to cry again, Choji peeled himself away, stepping out into the hallway, cracking his knuckles.
Time to cause some chaos.
Shikamaru heard a crash down the hallway, then the startled squawk of the medic next door and the rapid patter of shoes across the floor, followed by the sound of a door opening.
"Hey, what are you doing?!"
He waited for the sound to recede before he gently eased the door open and shuffled back into the empty hall. Distantly, he could hear the cacophony of whatever distraction Choji had produced. If he had to make a guess, it had the distinct cadence of someone bowling their way through the facility.
Silently thanking his friend and hoping that there wasn't somehow a secret third attendant they hadn't accounted for, Shikamaru steeled himself and pushed open the door to Ino's room.
It was unsettlingly quiet within—the absence made his hair stand on end and his chest involuntarily tighten. With slow, uncertain steps, he pushed himself forward. He was more dependent on this stupid IV pole than he wanted to admit, but thankfully Choji, kind as ever, hadn't drawn attention to his frailty. Every muscle in his body screamed with the effort of moving forward—many of them muscles he hadn't even had cause to think about before today. But he had to keep moving, because the alternative meant continuing to live in that awful gulf of suspense, in the consuming mire of fear and not-knowing. On aching feet, chest heaving, he moved past the curtains.
Ino was reclined on the bed, her skin almost the same pale shade as the sheets on which she lay. Her hair was braided back away from her face, an austere style she would never have chosen for herself. Her eyes were closed, the lids bruise-dark against the marble of her face.
For a terrifying moment, Shikamaru couldn't determine if she was breathing. She was so still, a masterpiece of a statue rendered in lifelike detail. But then he saw the oxygen tube attached to her nostrils, and observed the slight shift of the sheets as her chest rose and fell, and the vice on his lungs relaxed.
There was a chair in the far corner of the room—it took nearly all his remaining strength to drag it closer to her bedside and collapse into it, white bursts of light exploding behind his eyelids. After a few moments of exhausted hovering in the space between consciousness and unconsciousness, he opened his eyes again.
It was the stillness that was most unnerving—a rare sight where Ino was concerned, one that he'd wished for with every fiber of his being at certain points in the past. But now it did nothing but pierce him with a sharp, deep regret.
She put herself through this for you, a harsh voice in his subconscious reminded him. Because you fucked up.
And beneath that, a quieter, shakier voice: what if she doesn't wake up?
Trembling with the effort, he reached out to take her left hand in his. It was heavy with torpor and cool to the touch, though not the unnatural chill of the dead. He leaned forward, all the weight of the past few days pushing him down, until his forehead rested against the place where the back of her hand met her wrist.
"Why did you do this, you crazy woman?" He spoke the words aloud and was surprised when they emerged not sarcastic, as he'd intended, but choked by tears. When had he turned into such a soft, sentimental bastard? "If you die, I'll never forgive you."
She remained silent and motionless, the only sound the soft hiss of her breath, in and out, in and out.
He lifted his head again, hand still clutching hers, pausing to drink in the sight of her. At any other moment, he would have been mortified to be caught staring. He could almost hear her now, preening like a peacock as she gloated. "Entranced by how pretty I am, Shikamaru? Just can't stop looking at me, huh?"
He would have given a lot of things to endure that teasing right now.
For so much of his life, he had taken her for granted. Treated her as an annoyance, a nag, a familial obligation. If he'd tried to tell his twelve-year-old self that someday he'd be sitting at Ino's bedside, wishing she would open her mouth and talk his ear off, wishing that she would say anything, he would've called himself crazy. But at some point he couldn't quite define, childish petulance had transformed into an unshakeable loyalty, a bond forged in blood and dirt and steel. A bond that he wasn't ready to relinquish. Not yet.
The squeak of soles on tile alerted him to the presence of another person entering the room. He looked up to find the intimidating visage of the Hokage gazing back at him, her brow furrowed in consternation, a wry smile curving the corner of her mouth.
"You know you've got half the hospital searching for you. I think Shizune might have popped a blood vessel."
Shikamaru inclined his head, too fatigued to stand and offer a proper greeting to Tsunade. "My apologies, Lady Hokage."
Tsunade snorted, raising a skeptical eyebrow as she came to stand by the bedside across from where he sat. "Bullshit. I don't believe for a minute that you're sorry."
He shrugged. She could believe what she wanted—even if it was a little too accurate for his liking. "So are you here to drag me back?"
It was Tsunade's turn to shrug. "As far as the paperwork says, Shizune's your primary attending physician, not me. I'm obliged to tell her where you are for the sake of not giving my protégé an aneurysm, but I won't be doing any manhandling today."
This close, Shikamaru could see the marks of fatigue in her too. A few subtle wrinkles creasing her usually flawless skin; her hair limp and mussed, like she hadn't had the chance to wash it in a few days. Shikamaru hadn't had the chance to ask how much of the hospital staff had been assigned to this case nor exactly how much time they'd spent on it, but he suspected it was more high-level medical personnel and more hours than he was entirely comfortable with.
Tsunade's gaze turned to Ino, assessing. She picked up her chart and scanned through it, her face betraying no sign of what was written there.
Without looking up, she continued: "We're glad to have you back in the land of the living, Shikamaru. It would have been a damn shame to lose you. And while I understand the impulse to check in on a teammate, we'd rather not have our considerable efforts be immediately undone because you decided to take a little stroll." At this, she returned her gaze to him, sharp enough to pin him to the wall like a bug. "Maybe listen to your doctors when they tell you to stay put from now on, alright? I don't know exactly what she did to bring you back to us, but…" Tsunade's mouth folded into a grim line. "…don't take it for granted."
"What do you mean you don't know what she did?" He tried to maintain eye contact as he spoke, but talking to Tsunade was not dissimilar to being lectured by his mother. He wished he could look anywhere else. "I thought you had us both under observation."
"We did," Tsunade said. Something in the way she bit off the words told him it had been a more-than-frustrating situation. "Unfortunately, on our end, it was a lot of quiet sitting and injuries appearing out of nowhere, not much in the way of helpful data. Honestly, I wish there was more I could tell you, but we know very little, aside from what we've gotten from medical assessments. Broken wrist, contusions on the scalp, epistaxis…" She put a hand to her chin in a pensive gesture. "I think we've all been hoping that you might be able to enlighten us about what exactly happened in there. I can certainly tell you that she didn't have those injuries when we started."
Shikamaru followed the line of Tsunade's gaze to Ino's right wrist where it rested on the sheet, splinted and wrapped in bandages after it had been reset.
Shame burned across his cheeks at not noticing it sooner. Had he done that to her? He would never have hurt her consciously, but there was so much of the last few days he couldn't account for. Vague images swirled in his memory—a blinding wall of screens; a tangled, overgrown forest; water, so much water, water from the ground and the sky, swallowing everything in its suffocating grasp—but when he tried to reach for them, they dispersed into so many fragments, irritating in their stubborn impermanence.
"I… I don't know. I can remember… something. But it's not clear. Or linear."
"Well. Maybe it will come back to you with time. And rest." Tsunade fixed him with another pointed glare. "Your body has been put under a great deal of strain. Pushing yourself this hard so early in your recovery could set you back in the long term."
He gave a snort that was half-irritation, half-amusement. "I'll take that under advisement."
"Well, I think that's enough of a lecture from me for now. I'm off to find my beleaguered protégé," Tsunade said. She restored Ino's chart to its place on her bedside table and turned on her heel back toward the door. "I imagine you have about fifteen minutes until she gets back here and drags you back to your own room."
Shikamaru gave a quiet grunt of affirmation. His attention had mostly returned to his teammate—watching the steady, slow rise and fall of her breath, hope and terror warring like vicious animals in his gut.
Tsunade was almost out of the room when he spoke again.
"I'm not, you know."
She paused in the doorway, making a quarter-turn back toward him. "Not what?"
"Taking it for granted, I mean." He cleared his throat—his voice was too thick with emotion, and he hated how vulnerable it made him feel. "I know that she… what she did for me… I know that she didn't have to. That she knew it was dangerous and did it anyway. I know it's a debt I might never repay."
The corner of Tsunade's mouth quirked up. "Hmm." A flicker of something undefined passed over her features as she looked back at the two of them, some strange blend of relief and sorrow. "You're lucky to have people who care about you so much. Don't forget that."
The words came out as a hoarse whisper—he wasn't even sure Tsunade heard them as she made her exit.
"I won't."
There is no sound anymore. No sensation. Just kaleidoscope color and disconnection and a quiet unlike anything she has ever experienced.
She has occupied this non-place for what seems like an eternity and no time at all.
Gradually the light resolves itself into familiar images. Leaf, stem, pistil, petal, repeated in endless variations. Flowers. Flowers. Flowers in every hue and shape imaginable, stretching to the limits of her vision and on into the distance. The purest expression of joy and life, writ large upon the landscape. The limits of her body still seem nebulous, but she is pillowed in them, stalks and stems and petals waving in greeting, a bower around and above her.
She could remain in this place forever if she wanted—this haven of calm and peace and warmth. Though she cannot see the distant sun, she feels its warmth on the expanse of her skin, nourishing her as though she has become a plant herself. It would not be difficult to close her eyes again and let herself drift into the bliss.
I've never known you to be the one to fall asleep on the job.
The torpor that has taken hold of her limbs falls away. The voice comes not from outside, like a person sitting beside her, but from everywhere at once, resonating as much in her own chest as it does through the air.
"Who…" The word echoes strangely on her tongue, and her body solidifies around the resonance of the syllable. The landscape, too, seems to sharpen, becoming brighter and starker. Almost painful to behold.
Are you planning to stay?
There is a softness in the voice, a familiarity that holds her like the gentlest hands on her shoulders. Are there echoes of her father there? Or is that Asuma-sensei's voice she is hearing? Perhaps even a touch of the Third Hokage's aged tones, a harmony to their melody. And so many others twined together, a chorus of people she thinks she might have known once, in a time that seems so distant from the present moment.
"I'm so tired," she thinks more than says, but she knows she has been understood.
If you are ready to go, I will not stop you.
"But?"
There are no contradictions that I have to offer.
"But if I stay, who protects the people who are left?"
There will always be more protectors. You have done your duty. You have done enough.
The words are meant to be a balm, a reassurance. So much of her wants to bask in the comfort of their wisdom, wants to yield to the sweet fragrance of an endless field of flowers. It would be so easy.
And yet…
Yet a small bubble of anger heats her from within, giving substance to her body, a volcanic vent boiling through her as it expands.
"No."
The word echoes, biting through the air. The flowers seem to lean toward her, anticipatory, rapt.
"I can't just leave them."
She recalls faces now—the familiar lines and curves of much-loved visages. The remembrance hurts as much as it heals her. If she returns, so too will all the pain, the loss, the worry.
And even then, she cannot let them go. Since the day she was born, she has been as stubborn as her namesake—even the promise of oblivion cannot take that from her.
"I won't abandon them."
There is a pleased chuckle—pleased, even as it is tinged with sadness. She feels it in her chest once again, within and without, a rumbling, contented resonance that vibrates through her very being.
That's my girl. Those three words alone bring stinging tears to her eyes. Strong-willed to the last. We never sought to persuade or dissuade you. You are—have always been—free to act as you choose. You have done so much already. So much to make us proud.
But not quite enough. Not yet.
She does not voice the words, but they lodge like a rock in her throat. Yes, she is tired and yes, this place with its endless, variegated wealth of flowers sings to her with a melody her heart has always known. It would be so easy to simply lay down here and never rise.
But Ino has never liked the easy path, the path of least resistance. She likes things complicated and messy and knotted and beautiful. This place will be here when she needs it.
And right now, there is another place that needs her more.
Shizune jogged the length of the hospital back to room 115 when she heard Tsunade's report, fully prepared to read Shikamaru the riot act the moment she opened the door.
But when she passed the threshold, she found her anger dissolving as she gazed over the two quiet figures in the room. Ino remained as they had left her, save for her left hand, which was now clasped by the figure in the chair at the bedside. He, too, had slipped into unconsciousness—his head lolled against his chest, his upper body slumped against one arm of the chair where the exhaustion had caught up with him.
There would be time enough for reprimand later. For now, Shizune decided, she could let them sleep.
Author's note: I swear, I've spent the last five chapters' worth of writing thinking I'm drafting the final chapter, and every time I've been absolutely wrong, this time included. Part of that might just be that it's hard to say goodbye to something I've been working on for over ten years (when did that happen?!), but I think a lot of it is just me being long-winded and unable to resolve anything without drawing it out ad infinitum.
Whatever the cause, I did feel like it was important that Shikamaru and Choji get this moment together before the end. The bond of Team Ten is the backbone of this story, and I want to give that its full due.
Anyway, I'm not gonna make any firm promises that I'm going to update soon, because it seems like every time I do that, I end up waiting a year between chapters to post. So I'm just gonna say: my hope is to resolve this (the actual honest-to-god last chapter, really!) by their birthdays (the 22nd and 23rd). I'm a bit jobless at the moment, so I think it's not unreasonable. And it feels thematically appropriate to resolve it then, right?
But regardless of whether I meet that goal or not, know that you, my readers, always have my deepest gratitude. It has been a rough few years, for the world and for me personally, but knowing that there are people out there who still care about my words is pretty damn special and it's hard to accurately convey how important this has been to me. Much love to you all.