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The battle was over. The war had been won. But at what cost? Countless lives had been lost and families left with a gaping hole in their chest that their loved ones once filled.
Shikamaru had never expected that he would fall under such a category. His father and family members were known for their keen intellect and impressive kekkei genkai, the thought of one of them falling in battle, let alone numerous seemed so outlandish. Yet, here he was. One of only five surviving members of his clan that had departed to take part in the battle to end all battles. Fatherless.
He wasn’t quite sure how he managed to hold himself together for the remainder of the battle, despite knowing that he had no choice but to do so. Perhaps he had inherited his mother’s stubborn nature after all. But he had brushed the pain aside, continuing to fight against the evil forces that stood before them for the sake of peace.
Hours rolled by and the survivors had withdrawn back to their camp. Their slick mud-soaked shoes tossed outside their tents as a majority of the troops slinked back into their personal quarters in need of rest and rejuvenation. They had earned it a hundred lifetimes over.
It was difficult to know how long Shikamaru had sat there hunched forward, soiled hands rubbing his tired eyes roughly. His hands slide up to his forehead as he stares down at the bottom of his tent, chest tightening as the shrieks of battle echo through his mind.
The instant he stepped inside his tent, all sense of time went out the window, a weight instantly lifting off his shoulders. There was no need to act as if he was fine, and that everything was okay, in order to ensure the survival of his comrades. That wasn’t his focus now. Instead, he could finally relax and process the events that had occurred, including the loss that he had been cruelly afflicted with.
A cold pit settles in his stomach, churning as he tries to no avail to suppress the echo of his father’s last words. He had saved countless lives by his gallant actions, and yet his honourable death did little to put him at ease. The thought of losing him had occurred once or twice over the last few years, particularly after the passing of Asuma, whose death hit as hard as he imagined a fathers would. How wrong he was.
They had not been as close as neither of them would’ve liked, instead, they had a typical male relationship. Opting to keep things uncomplicated and straightforward unless it was unavoidable entirely. But when he needed him, he was always there, ready to lend advice or whatever else was required to rectify the situation at hand. In hindsight, he took his presence for granted, yet the arrangement worked for both of them; neither cared to fixate on uncomfortable discussions, it wasn’t the Nara way.
Eyes scrunching closed, Shikamaru rakes his fingers through his tightly bound hair a pained groan slipping from his once tightly pursed lips. Rage and anguish consuming him whole. “I never said you could leave yet,” he rasps, dragging his hands from his head, right-hand diving into his pocket, promptly withdrawing a cigarette and his lighter.
Exhaling heavily, his eyes flick open, immediately locking on the two items nestled in the palm of his hand. Would a hit of nicotine even help in such a situation? With Asuma it made sense. But his father? He wasn’t particularly fond of the habit, drinking was his preferred coping method. It would just have to do for now.
Seizing his lighter with his opposite hand, he lifts the cigarette up to his lips, lighting it and inhaling gently for a moment before exhaling. Tendrils of smoke glide past his cheeks as he nestles his head into his left palm which is perched upon his thigh. Throat tightening, wetness stings at his eyes as he averts his gaze. His line of vision remains fixed on the dry dirt floor of his tent as he draws the cigarette back to his lips, taking a long drag and inhaling.
Lips quiver as he presses his right palm up against his forehead, smoke streaming from his cigarette as he grits his teeth stubbornly. Crying could wait until he was back at home, it had to. He couldn’t afford to come undone to such a degree here. Despite this, hot tears slip down his cheeks as he shakes silently, his hand rubbing across his eyes; I will never forget you, old man.
Suddenly the flaps of the tent flick inwards, startling Shikamaru and causing him to glare in the direction of the intruder. “Get your lazy ass out of bed, the gu—” Temari orders, stopping mid-sentence as she comes face to face with his distraught state. If it was any other time, she would’ve mocked him as always; calling him a Cry Baby, and ordering him to butt out the death stick pinched between his fingers. But this time, it was different.
His gaze relaxes upon registering her face, Temari’s usually hardened features unusually soft and filled with concern. “I don’t need your pity or a lecture right now, so if that’s what you’re here for, just go,” he growls in response, drawing his cigarette back to his lips and inhaling sharply.
“Good, because I was planning on doing neither,” she responds calmly, the usual vigour present in her voice absent as she makes her way over to his camp bed, sitting beside him. It was impossible to ignore the heaviness in the air, the sense of loss that cloaked him as he sat there hunched over like a broken doll. Angry, frustrated and hurting all in the same breath. She remembered it all too well.
Her hands skim down her worn pants, her teal eyes flicking forward as she relaxed her shoulders. “I didn’t think you would be at this point already, you handled it so well back there,” she notes, fingertips tugging nervously at her pants; “It might sound ridiculous, especially since I tease you about it so much and all. But crying really does help, I’m sure you know that already though.”
For a moment, her comment caught him off guard. It was easy to forget that she too had suffered the loss of two parents. One whom she adored, and the other who for lack of a better word, appeared to be nothing short of a tyrant. But they were bonds that were severed through no choice of her own. The pain endured in both instances would’ve been unfathomable. There was no doubt about it.
Shikamaru exhales gently, slithers of smoke shooting down to his lap as he refuses to make eye contact. “I wasn’t crying, you’re seeing things,” he retorts, throat tightening as he tries to calm his subconscious need to expel all the negative emotions swirling within him. The method worked in the past with Asuma, so surely it would be somewhat helpful now. But was there truly any point in venting such feelings when the biggest step in the process awaited him back at home? Telling his mother.
Temari smiles gently as she leans forward, eyes fixed on his stubborn averted gaze. “I can literally see dried tears on your cheek,” she whispers as she lifts a hand, thumbing away the remnants of moisture that marked his skin. “If you’re going to lie, at least conceal it better.”
The warm sensation of her thumb tracing across his cheek sends shivers down his spine. How was it that even as she sat there, sassing him like always, she found a way to bring him back to reality? Even as he sat there in a pool of despair. Shifting, he twists his body to face her head-on; eyes locking instantly as her hand retracted back to her lap.
“Did you feel angry at them when they left?” he asks suddenly, his hand gripping his cigarette resting atop of his knee as he fights back the urge to sigh discontentedly. “He did his duty, he’s a fucking hero and yet I’m here getting angry at him like a brat. Who does that?” The words spew from his mouth in the form of an emotional onslaught, his lips quaking with relentless frustration even after they ceased communicating.
It was hard seeing him in such a state. The usual tactical man sitting before her crumbling and unable to piece himself back together; instead, a vulnerable young man who missed his father beyond comprehension sat in his place. Exhaling heavily, Temari reaches forward, her left hand seizing his cigarette and promptly dropping it to the ground beneath them; and stomping it out.
“Sharing my anger with you won’t help,” Temari replies honestly, searching the far corners of her mind for the right words for such a delicate subject.
It had always been something she’d rather not discuss with anyone, her brothers included. It simply stirred too much negativity within her that would always remain somewhat unresolved. Yet, sitting there, looking into his tortured eyes, she couldn’t bring herself to evade the questions he had posed.
“But it is normal to be frustrated and to have wanted more time or closure on certain matters, or so I’ve been told,” she adds after a prolonged silence, her voice straining as the words flow eloquently from her lips.
Brows pinching together, Shikamaru drags his gaze down to his crushed cigarette on the dirt beneath them. His teeth grind against one another as he slides his hand into his pocket once, fingertips anxiously searching for another, only to find his pocket empty. Damn it! He curses to himself, gaze flicking back to the kunoichi sitting before him, clearly attempting to read his emotions.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispers at last, eyes narrowing as a small sigh escapes him. “I’m fine, really.”
She frowns, his denial really did have no bounds. “I’m not looking at you in any particular way at all,” she quips, brow arching at the accusation; “I just want to make sure you’re going to be alright.”
Exhaling heavily, Shikamaru relaxes his shoulders, his lips curving upwards a fraction as he watches her carefully. Who would’ve thought, she had a softer side too. “I’ve been through this before. The anger will pass eventually, I’ll be fine,” he responds, turning back to face the opposite side of the tent, hands tightening around the metal edge of the bed.
“Stop trying to act strong,” she grumbles, reaching forward, her hand gliding across the back of his own, squeezing it gently. Heat rises to her cheeks as she tries to maintain her composure. Physical contact with anyone was never high on her priority list, but somehow, it felt natural.
His eyes shoot down to his hand, the warmth of her touch radiating against his cold skin. It was comforting, strangely so for such a seemingly insignificant action. Gaze raking up the length of her arm and settling on her flushed face, losing himself in the depths of her eyes for a brief moment. She was beautiful, distractingly so. Perhaps that was what he needed right now, a distraction from the steep cost of war.
Scratching the back of his neck, Shikamaru swallows hard, his mind clouded. “I’m not trying to do anything,” he retorts stubbornly, rolling his hand so that their palms pressed together, fingertips brushing for a moment before entwining. His gaze drifts down to their tangled fingers; She didn’t pull away.
Heart rate skyrocketing, Temari’s flushed features darken significantly; What is he doing? Her intention had never been to do anything more than to offer support to a beloved comrade she respected. Yet his actions sent something within her ablaze. “If you say so,” Temari whispers, not believing his statement for a moment; “We can just sit here then.”
A smile tugs at the corners of Shikamaru lips as their eyes lock once more. Somehow, despite the pain spiralling out of control deep within his chest, her presence alone was enough to calm him. Even if it was temporary, it would be impossible to forget that she was the first to offer a supportive hand during such a dark time.