Something old.
A little Shika-fic.
After the Mission
Kiba on point before him, with animal nose to the wind; behind him Chouji looks to the left, and Naruto right. Proud Neji at their back, watching, always watching. He doesn’t even need to turn to see. So forth the young warriors into autumn; one by one, he releases them from his hands. They are too brave to fall. Instead they run down the trunks of the trees, down and down across forests around Konoha, which have always been strewn with drying leaves such as these. One by one, they fall away from him.
Shikamaru grips the bench of the infirmary, looks down. Smell of medicine and still, tight air. Temari’s across from him, arm draped nonchalantly over the great folded fan. She’s staring, her face sour, her eyes pinched and thinking. Shikamaru knows that look. Sometimes looking at this girl is like looking in a mirror. Temari doesn’t speak; they're not waiting together. They are sitting, reflections across the still pool of air, waiting in parallel.
It had been a good plan. Shikamaru runs over it again and again in his head: this challenge that had been set him at Godaime's behest-- no preparation, no planning, just what he could grasp before leaving. Off into the woods to chase Sasuke, opponents all unknown. No trouble for a gamesman of Shikamaru’s caliber; a practiced strategist can grasp a situation quickly, hold it like a knotted cord, untangle thread by thread. First step: assess the resources available. A well formed team is like a shinobi's body, parts working in harmony. Of course, he himself is the mind, with his chuunin vest unsmudged; then Naruto, its heart, spurring them forward. Chouji, the body, with his phenomenal strength. Neji the cunning hands, the keen eye, to see and react; Kiba smell and hearing and instinct and sharp tooth.
And like any gamesman, he had used them. No shougi player would hesitate to throw away a pawn for advantage. And he hadn’t. Always the player, never the piece on the board; too many levels of removal between the plan and the reality of flesh, dagger, friend. He had thrown them into danger, and seen their bodies broken; the game was over, but the pieces would not stand up again. But there was no resetting this board.
Temari is still looking at him. He can see in her eyes what she will not say: you were lucky this time. You won’t always be so lucky. Move on, Shikamaru; you have known the name of this path from the start.
Shikamaru, though, is already several moves away; thinking back to their match together. His clever maneuvering of light and shadow until the opponent is pinned, check. How he had stood up, stepped forward: you win, he’d said. Game’s over; there is no way to finish this so that I win. And walked off the field. Then, because it was a tournament, because it was still a game, he had understood it perfectly, and Temari as well; but now he sits in silence, unable to speak to her.
And like a wave then, it comes over him: Naruto standing paralyzed before Neji, all his chakra blocked by 64 points of divinity. And stepping forward. Chouji, his body wracked with pain, trembling hand over the box with the red pill. Shikamaru is shouting down at them, charting their moves with desparate speed: you can’t win! You can’t win! Why are you still fighting? You can’t have done better than you did!
And realizes that he is talking to himself.
“I’m not cut out to be a ninja,” he says, realizing the truth of it now for the first time. “I didn’t lead them by example, I was laid back-“ (I was playing them like a game, like a strategy, but the analogy is bad, it won't stand-- the real world closes over it like earth over a grave.)
So when his father comes in and calls him a coward in front of her, when he tells him that it is his duty, Shikamaru’s duty to go forward, and use his intellect to the good of his team-he can say nothing; can’t tell his father: you don’t understand. I’ve always been smarter than you are. I'm paralyzed by intellect; I don’t have the heart for it; I don’t have the faith. Every time I go out with them, I will endanger the team. Even if you call me a coward, even if you call me a crybaby, I will know that I am correct. Because I cannot believe what I do not think is true, I will never be able to go on fighting where Naruto would; where Neji, or Chouji, or even Ino would suceed, I will fail. Because that is all I believe I can do.
Shikamaru stands when Tsunade comes into the room; Temari just looks away.
“Chouji’s going to make a full recovery,” she says. “And Shizune said Neji will be all right, too.”
“Naruto and Kakashi have returned,” says Shizune, bursting in. “Injured, but in no danger.”
He will never know what she saw in his face; if she looked through to his thoughts, or if he was no longer capable of keeping emotion hidden. Tsunade says, “The mission was a failure. But everyone’s alive.”
It all comes crashing down. He’s in her arms, and he’s sobbing like a baby, sobbing in front of Temari and her dark, narrow eyes. Behind his eyes he can still see them falling. He can almost feel them in his arms: his responsibility. His lives. The terrible weight, and the terrible love, as he loves his own hands. His team is a part of him, he realizes; and now he is whole again.
“I’ll do better next time,” he sobs. “Without any mistakes. I won’t fail again.”
And that’s the trick of it-he will. He knows he will. But he is only the mind; his team is his heart, his faith, his spirit. His heart lies outside of him. And because of that impossible truth that opens before him, many other impossible things now seem possible.
Forth the heroes of Konoha: Kiba before them, Naruto and Chouji left and right, and Neji, his hair now shorn.
“Take my heart,” says Shikamaru, who is their commander. “Guard it for me well, until I bring you safely home.”
After the Mission
Kiba on point before him, with animal nose to the wind; behind him Chouji looks to the left, and Naruto right. Proud Neji at their back, watching, always watching. He doesn’t even need to turn to see. So forth the young warriors into autumn; one by one, he releases them from his hands. They are too brave to fall. Instead they run down the trunks of the trees, down and down across forests around Konoha, which have always been strewn with drying leaves such as these. One by one, they fall away from him.
Shikamaru grips the bench of the infirmary, looks down. Smell of medicine and still, tight air. Temari’s across from him, arm draped nonchalantly over the great folded fan. She’s staring, her face sour, her eyes pinched and thinking. Shikamaru knows that look. Sometimes looking at this girl is like looking in a mirror. Temari doesn’t speak; they're not waiting together. They are sitting, reflections across the still pool of air, waiting in parallel.
It had been a good plan. Shikamaru runs over it again and again in his head: this challenge that had been set him at Godaime's behest-- no preparation, no planning, just what he could grasp before leaving. Off into the woods to chase Sasuke, opponents all unknown. No trouble for a gamesman of Shikamaru’s caliber; a practiced strategist can grasp a situation quickly, hold it like a knotted cord, untangle thread by thread. First step: assess the resources available. A well formed team is like a shinobi's body, parts working in harmony. Of course, he himself is the mind, with his chuunin vest unsmudged; then Naruto, its heart, spurring them forward. Chouji, the body, with his phenomenal strength. Neji the cunning hands, the keen eye, to see and react; Kiba smell and hearing and instinct and sharp tooth.
And like any gamesman, he had used them. No shougi player would hesitate to throw away a pawn for advantage. And he hadn’t. Always the player, never the piece on the board; too many levels of removal between the plan and the reality of flesh, dagger, friend. He had thrown them into danger, and seen their bodies broken; the game was over, but the pieces would not stand up again. But there was no resetting this board.
Temari is still looking at him. He can see in her eyes what she will not say: you were lucky this time. You won’t always be so lucky. Move on, Shikamaru; you have known the name of this path from the start.
Shikamaru, though, is already several moves away; thinking back to their match together. His clever maneuvering of light and shadow until the opponent is pinned, check. How he had stood up, stepped forward: you win, he’d said. Game’s over; there is no way to finish this so that I win. And walked off the field. Then, because it was a tournament, because it was still a game, he had understood it perfectly, and Temari as well; but now he sits in silence, unable to speak to her.
And like a wave then, it comes over him: Naruto standing paralyzed before Neji, all his chakra blocked by 64 points of divinity. And stepping forward. Chouji, his body wracked with pain, trembling hand over the box with the red pill. Shikamaru is shouting down at them, charting their moves with desparate speed: you can’t win! You can’t win! Why are you still fighting? You can’t have done better than you did!
And realizes that he is talking to himself.
“I’m not cut out to be a ninja,” he says, realizing the truth of it now for the first time. “I didn’t lead them by example, I was laid back-“ (I was playing them like a game, like a strategy, but the analogy is bad, it won't stand-- the real world closes over it like earth over a grave.)
So when his father comes in and calls him a coward in front of her, when he tells him that it is his duty, Shikamaru’s duty to go forward, and use his intellect to the good of his team-he can say nothing; can’t tell his father: you don’t understand. I’ve always been smarter than you are. I'm paralyzed by intellect; I don’t have the heart for it; I don’t have the faith. Every time I go out with them, I will endanger the team. Even if you call me a coward, even if you call me a crybaby, I will know that I am correct. Because I cannot believe what I do not think is true, I will never be able to go on fighting where Naruto would; where Neji, or Chouji, or even Ino would suceed, I will fail. Because that is all I believe I can do.
Shikamaru stands when Tsunade comes into the room; Temari just looks away.
“Chouji’s going to make a full recovery,” she says. “And Shizune said Neji will be all right, too.”
“Naruto and Kakashi have returned,” says Shizune, bursting in. “Injured, but in no danger.”
He will never know what she saw in his face; if she looked through to his thoughts, or if he was no longer capable of keeping emotion hidden. Tsunade says, “The mission was a failure. But everyone’s alive.”
It all comes crashing down. He’s in her arms, and he’s sobbing like a baby, sobbing in front of Temari and her dark, narrow eyes. Behind his eyes he can still see them falling. He can almost feel them in his arms: his responsibility. His lives. The terrible weight, and the terrible love, as he loves his own hands. His team is a part of him, he realizes; and now he is whole again.
“I’ll do better next time,” he sobs. “Without any mistakes. I won’t fail again.”
And that’s the trick of it-he will. He knows he will. But he is only the mind; his team is his heart, his faith, his spirit. His heart lies outside of him. And because of that impossible truth that opens before him, many other impossible things now seem possible.
Forth the heroes of Konoha: Kiba before them, Naruto and Chouji left and right, and Neji, his hair now shorn.
“Take my heart,” says Shikamaru, who is their commander. “Guard it for me well, until I bring you safely home.”