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Shikaku's shadow was connected to the room as she entered his study. It’s a shadow-control exercise that he developed… not one he has yet passed onto his children. He was still testing its limits, still refining his perception.
His young dearheart had once reiterated how their Shadow Possession Jutsu worked as a spiritual connection… and then asked the novel question; “what about when it’s not people?” She had gone on to say “We use natural forming shadows to extend our reach all the time. We interact with them; our chakra fills their limits and it adds to our jutsu. We gain something from them. Mostly we just assume that’s the physical side of the technique- except we never treat shadows as ‘just’ a physical thing… They’re a reflection, a mirror; they’re spiritual.”
She had challenged the assertion that there wouldn’t be anything to reflect without a person’s shadow involved; “…even if it’s not a direct spiritual influence, there’s so much more that could be going on. Would the shadow of a tree be different to the shadow of a rock? What about shadow cast by fire to that cast by lightning?... [and] If there is a difference, that affects the jutsu. What if I could use shadow that has the resilience of stone? Could I imbue the technique with the… the destructive power of lightning? If there is a connection, if there is an impact, or a way to combine spiritual and elemental affinities-"
She had cut her musings off there. No doubt she would continue to explore the topic in what time she could afford to it.
He was amazed by how often her thought process deviated from the masses around them. Her thoughts oft two steps forward and three hopscotched sideways. Even for a Nara. It was little wonder why she excelled in actions of strategies that overturned the board.
She had survived the Kyuubi despite being an infant with chakra hypersensitivity. She had attended the Academy in a social move completely contrary to her nature. She had brought together a team of outcasts into a (more) functional unit. (He was under no false impression that it was Hatake’s social skills that produced her team’s cohesion or secured the Uchiha’s loyalty). And, she had overturned the logistics division by looking at a completely functional system, identifying a weak point no-one else would have considered, and then upturned the logistics for multiple departments in a move motivated to spite just one person (and warn off the entirety of them). And, she had done so in a way so helpful, so effective, so thorough, that no one would dare call her on the act.
Others might believe she had simply brought a captured shogi piece (her new storage scrolls) back into play, but no. She had metaphorically replaced a two-dimensional board with a three-dimensional one and repainted all of her pieces. Some were now marked under her protection (her seal work, Tenten, and Shikamaru), some were now warned off (basically everyone), but she had made clear that she had allies; the Hokage had allowed her the exasperation. The intel department had appreciated logistics’ flailing… and the reason behind it. Aoba had tilted things in her favor for that. Tsume had reiterated her claim on his girl. And, Kakashi could be counted on to support his team, no matter the fight.
And that all occurred before subduing a bijuu during an international event, retaining friendly terms with three Kage (and two of their prospective successors), restructuring the police department (resulting in a chunin, a special jounin, and four jounin promotions, and the appreciation of a large portion of the retired kunoichi population), and the systematic dismantling of an S-rank terroristic organization.
His daughter had sworn, “I, Shikako Nara, do hereby swear, that to protect my team mates, the clan, those allied with us and Konoha itself, I will become one with the shadows. She lived by that vow and her shadow already stretched wide.
He had not yet seen what she had created from her musings on the natures of shadow, but he had explored along the surface of her suggestion; he repeatedly applied sensory exercises to his shadow. He was barely a sensor beyond what a jounin was expected to be, but he was a master of shadows. He knew each of the shadows of his family, his clan mates, all those of whom he worked regularly, and many of those within his alliance… but now. Now, with his dearheart’s suggestion haunting the back of his mind, with each use of his shadow, he focused his perception, he strained to hear the intention of shadows borrowed for his jutsu. Most felt hollow, cool, and calm. Some felt deeper than others. However, these passive observations brought little more than a suggestion that she *might* not be wrong. (He could not prove a negative, but he could continue to observe.)
It wasn’t until he was practicing, deep in the Nara’s forest, in a training ground used by his clan for generations and ringed in Hashirama-trees, that he felt the barest echo. He sensed through his shadow; his intentions, as he strengthened his shadow, felt supported, amplified. He was dedicated to the support and protection of his clan, the Hashirama-trees were grown, dedicated and with will, for the protection and support of the Nara. The will of their creator imbued them with a purpose equal to his own in this training… and that will was mirrored within the shadow that they cast upon his clan’s grounds. It was faint, a purpose bent to live, to grow, to protect, to support… but it was there.
He tested the limits of it’s support, to better hear its purpose, to see how it affected his shadow. His intentions recalculated, he shifted them from resolved protection to a will to see his own power and then a will to obtain vengeance. He made no habit to act from these darker purposes, and his techniques were no weaker with vengeful intentions, but those shadows of the Hashirama-trees did not resonate with his own as they had done before; the vague support- the solidarity of a likeminded teammate that he had faintly sensed, no longer buoyed his actions. They returned to acting as a shadow conduit, nothing more.
He doubted he would ever be able to harness the nature of the shadow of a lightening bolt, he was no prodigious sensor as Shikako was… but perhaps he need not be to utilize this discovery within his own home. After all, was his house not built with the wood of Hashirama-trees?
His shadow now connected passively to that of his home. His intentions to shelter, to protect, to secure, and to preserve are buoyed by the same intentions passed on within the Hashirama wood and reinforced by the Nara (and their shadows) that created the structure.
Feelings of longing for home, protection, security, and preservation are now echoed into the shadows of his house, and he can feel the shadows of those who enter most when they’re seeking such things.
It had become a passive way to sense the state of his family without visual aid or directly connecting to their shadows.
Shikaku looked over his desk at his daughter, his beloved dearheart. She was, without-a-doubt, the most troublesome of his children. Her shadow once gave a constant cry for home, for protection, for security. He had felt it each time he wrapped his shadow around her frail form as a child- when she tangled herself into the comfort of his arms. He had felt it anew with his technique, each time he was home, and she was unguarded enough for her shadow to resonate with that of the house’s; it was a cry, not just for home, protection, and security, but it projected a resolution for those things to continue, for them to be preserved within this space and beyond.
As she had strengthened, the cry of her shadow for protection, for the preservation of herself had waned. (And hadn’t the split of her shadow been a knife through his heart), but now. Now, standing before him, face as stoic as she could make it, chakra coiled tightly within herself, shoulders hunched, and thumbs hidden within finely trembling hands, her shadow reverberated through those of the house to him. His precious dearheart was in desperate need for home, for protection, for security. Not just to preserve them for the sake of herself and her family, but a soul-deep need of those things for herself.
He rose from his desk, his shadow darkening with each step as he approached her. He carefully kept his shadow from hers while they settled. He brought an arm around her shoulders, a bare brush hip to hip was all that was required for her to know that they’d be sitting upon the couch. As he settled, his entire side was claimed by her torso, her head tucked under his chin and her legs brought up, her knees bent almost over his lap and as close to her chest as she could maneuver them.
As if he wasn’t concerned enough, one of her hands reflexively grasped his vest, a display of loneliness- a need for comfort and care that he had rarely seen from her since the academy. (He forced his mind away from her shadow split, away from the absolute depths of her descent into the Black, her frailty- when recovering from whatever occurred in the Land of Ashes. He needed to be present for her now.)
Tightening his arms, he brought his shadow to surround them; not yet touching her shadow, it made an impenetrable barrier and a haven of safety. He might often be at a loss to explain her ancient eyes, her unique perspective, and the ways in which the black seemed to gnaw at her edges… but he would always know what her shadow yearned for. He would provide succor. Her grip, unconscious though it may be, proved that she knew this.
Her shadow wavered, but remained whole. He took a deep breath, one she instinctively mirrored, before bringing his protective shadow to converge upon them. And, as his shadow suffused the protected circle, a dome of clear darkness within an otherwise dimly lit room, his shadow met hers.
“Oh.” His eyes fell closed. Hers were as well. His chin dipped, it rested, resolute, against the crown of her head. She tried to suppress her trembles by pressing more firmly against him. He clutched her tighter still. “My precious Dearheart” fell like a vow from his lips, a rumbling oath dredged from his very soul. He was her clan head, but first, right now and in this moment; he was her father.
The silence lingered. First to provide comfort, a solid reassurance, then to calculate the consequences of this development.
But, to do that properly... he needed one name. “Who?” His voice was heartbreaking in its gentleness- a fair reflection of his feelings; he would never question her dedication, her care for the person to whom she had gifted the lightest shade of her shadow. A Nara couldn’t give that part of themselves away without a bond already in place. The act of it was a vow, stronger than any verbal oath, that they would stay beside the other.
Traditionally this exchange was done between two wedded Naras… or as a binding engagement between a Nara and an out-clan fiancé. Very rarely- if a Nara would never wed, they would gift their lightest shade of shadow to one adopted into the Clan; it was an honor to the one adopted, and- it had been warmly calculated- that children gifted thus, gained the slightest gift with shadows.
He kept his breathing even, his presence a grounding encouragement, and his arms a bracing support. He waited as she breathed in deeply, her cheek pressed firmly against his chest, her ear close enough to a pulse point to track his steady pulse.
The Uzumaki was unavailable. That left him to expect one of two names. Her answer was no surprise.
Between beats of his heart, she firmed her resolve, and with a nod against his chest she answered, “Kakashi”. Her voice was thick, but firm. Her trembles subsided with her proclamation. He carded his chin along the crown of her head, relieved in a way that he could never express that she could find strength in his name.
She relaxed more fully against him, less a desperate search for succor and more an appreciation of a trusted safe harbor. He remained a solid presence as she ordered her thoughts.
Her voice was hushed, empathetic, a secret being shared within the safety of the darkness that he had created. “He is healing… but. He- he is broken. I cannot... He cannot...” She cut herself off twice. “It will have to be adoption,” she concluded. The ‘for now’ rang between them. He was almost certain that Kakashi was one of only three she might have considered, should she consider at all…. and now, her choice was down to one.
He would not ask her if she was sure; what is done had been done.
He would not ask her if that was the best option for approaching Kakashi; she knew her sensei, her teammate.
He would not ask her if she would ever pursue him; she was not ready to explore the thought… let alone discuss the topic.
She knew how the clan would react should her choice be different. She knew the position that he would be in. He would not ask her to stay if she found she needed to go… but for now. In this minute and for this day… he would be there for her; Hatake Kakashi would be an honorary Nara. (At the least… He had the priorities and the mindset for the honor.)
However, he would ask- caution and non-judgement in his tone, not ‘How did it come to this?’, but “How did this come to be?”
She tensed just slightly, memories clearly flashing through her mind. Cheek to chest, and ear held firmly against his even pulse, she responded- not the details, but the truth; “A seal… It caught his mind. He was fading… and. I stopped it.” It was the story of two lifetimes, of teamwork, and unvoiced trauma, cut down to 13 words. He understood her reasons; her priorities were carved like diamonds within her shadow when first she swore her oath. He accepted that.
He would accept this.
He settled more fully against his seat, his embrace a wreath of comfort, now that she had borrowed what strength she lacked. Her shadow, like her chakra, unwound, as he gave a quiet ‘humm’. It resonated home, protected, secure: not a resolution, not a longing, not a cry, but an echo of the peace she found within his arms.
“It will be okay, dearheart. You are ours.” Even within his own mind, he didn’t know if he was referring to himself and Yoshino, himself and her team, himself and the Nara, himself and the Ino-Shika-Cho, or himself and Kakashi. That was okay, though. She probably heard each of them within the statement… and all of them held true.
“He will be here around 8.” The statement was held out like an offering. Her limbs slowly uncoiled against his side. She had likely already anticipated his lateness within the time she had provided.
A quick glance at the silent clock; it was only 6:55... they had an hour. “We will be ready.” He soothed.
And they would.