A One-Shot of this particular pairing I've been growing into lately.

It's focused in Shikamaru's perspective, no POV though.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it, I really had a lot of fun doing so.

Shikamaru stared long seconds at her friend, trying to find at least a miniscule flicker of hesitation in the turquoise colour.

Naturally, he could not.

He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, brow furrowed.

"Can't someone else do it?" He asked at last.

"No, no if results are required," she answered, voice serious.

He inhaled deeply, the mesh armor beneath his vest was becoming more and more suffocating.

"Ino…" he looked her in the eyes, and she could see the momentary, supplicant edge. "It's too dangerous."

"I know, Shika," she only said, exhaling tiredly.

They remained several minutes like this, cold wind made his friend's platinum hair oscillate, as if it was a continuous wave of an almost white colour.

"Be careful," his pupils intently nailed to hers, worried.

"I'm always careful," she smiled at him, but the rare absence of confidence in her gaze chilled the man's blood.

She palmed his knee once before rising to her feet.

Her nail polish was a violet hue.

Disappearing, she left the shinobi sitting under the vast shadows of the Nara forest, and the whispers these returned to him were quieter than usual.

It was a bad omen.

The third day no report came, he presented before the Hokage.

Demanding would have been a more accurate description than asking, barely holding the strain in his voice as he solicited the search-and-retrieve permission.

It was just the two of them in the office, and Kakashi would have had to be blind not to notice the strange, determined fire that shone in the brown irides.

An unusual sight in any man of the Nara family, definitely.

His trained intuition murmured him that his counselor would find nothing pleasant of his search.

"You need a team," he said from his heavy chair, behind the precarious piles of papers.

"I can do it m-"

"No, you can not," he interrupted him bluntly the same extent that kindly.

Something only Kakashi could pull off.

The shadows user pressed his lips into a line, feeling an unstoppable wave of imprudence escalating his esophagus.

He swallowed it with saliva.

"Sakura and Naruto," he finally answered, his breathing agitated.

The veteran reacted by raising his eyebrows, evaluating the strange team's chemistry.

Two shinobis that knew NO moderation, one that exuded it though the pores.

It could work.

"Why them?" He had to corroborate.

A negligible trace of paternal instinct demanded so.

"Sakura's a medic, I don't know in what state…" he let the phrase float. "Naruto can track her with his Sennin mode."

The Rokudaime answered him a "hmmm" way too long.

Some minutes later, both Dai-nana-han members arrived at the office.

Naruto was dressed like he had smelt the mission, Shikamaru and Kakashi could bet his weapons pouch had just been restocked.

Sakura seemed to have left the hospital in a hurry, her white coat impeccable on her shoulders, contrasting with the black bags under her eyes.

The Nara deduced her insomnia had little to do with hospital shifts, and Naruto's restlessness was the last confirmation.

Good. They already know, he thought coldly.

"Naruto, Sakura-chan, you are temporarily suspended from your duties inside the village to assist Shikamaru in an A rank mission, probably S. What I'm saying next is classified," steel orbs fixed on his two students.

"Hai," they both responded.

After having reviewed the details, the last known location, the scarce characteristics of Ino's original mission, they reunited eight minutes later at the Konoha gates.

Covering the meters, they sunk into a heavy, unexpected silence (considering Naruto was accompanying them), stomping strong their soles against the trees to advance.

After thirteen hours running, they stopped to plan a strategy and nourish with military rations.

"It was an ultra confidential assignment, only the Rokudaime, the Elders Council and Ibiki must know the exact details," the Nara took a puff of his cigarette, trying not to think about the lack of air it would cause when they resumed their race.

"If she went personally, it was crucial to get that intel," the medic completed, sipping the insipid, nutritious mush from a straw.

"I can't believe Kakashi let her go, 'ttebayo," the Jinchūriki had his arms crossed.

I can't believe I let her go, the strategist thought bitterly.

It was midnight when they halted again, several kilometers separated them from Konoha, Moon dimly lit the landscape.

Everyone tried to ignore how close they were to Otogakure.

"This is her last registered location," the tobacco ember lit his face and the map with a particularly intense orange.

"Is Orochimaru involved?" The Haruno pronounced his name like a blasphemy.

"I don't know," he answered, sullen, biting the cigarette's filter absently.

"Guys," warned Naruto.

Six ninjas approached the three of them, killing intent sparkled in their eyes; very analogous to the edge of their weapons.

"Mendokusai."

Shikamaru spit aside, his saliva became too viscous with blood. He stained his chin when doing so.

His tongue touched the large cut inside his cheek, there where a kick burst the skin against his own teeth.

To his relief, no tooth got loosened.

He waited as Sakura finished suturing a slash on his forearm, his eyes observed attentively the trickle of blood sliding from her split eyebrow, trailing down until it dripped from her jawline.

He hissed when she pulled the thread to cut it.

Rising to her feet, the kunoichi looked him in the eye. The Nara noticed that the emerald scintillated too much when it was fixed on the blood.

Must be a medics thing, he thought.

With absent air he gestured to her, indicating the cut she seemed ignorant of.

There was a palpitation that collided against his own tenketsu, followed by a strange sound similar to that of meat contacting a hot surface; her wound disappeared under a whiff of steam.

Oh, Shikamaru raised his brows.

Naruto jumped off a tree, his square pupils got rounded again, golden colour diluted until it became sapphire. Frowning, he looked at them.

They set off.

"Shannaro!"

Naruto grabbed a stone that was coming vertiginously fast to his face. He felt the strategist's scrutiny to his side, he turned to find his perplexed (and a bit lazy) gaze.

"You learn when you have her as teammate," he shrugged.

They entered through the debris, avoiding the irregular fragments of stone.

Shikamaru heard the Uzumaki muttering something about not pissing Sakura off.

"She's not here," informed the Nara, his expression impassible, eyelids half-closed.

His gaze was not locked on anything, right palm flat against the wall. Hearing the darkness's soft murmur required certain stillness, certain concentration.

"I don't understand, I feel her here," the Jinchūriki looked confused, he scratched his hair, trying to figure what was happening.

They had two and a half hours combing the tunnel network.

Both felt a threatening palpitation closing in, then heard:

"...ind them I'm gonna turn them from the inside out," the medic neared them, small cracks appeared beneath every one of her steps. She raised an arm.

The two men locked their sight to her clenched fist.

Platinum strands fell from her fingers, the colour standing out against the black leather glove.

"How did they manage to replicate her chakra?" Naruto asked, his frown deep on his forehead.

Shikamaru offered no answer, his pupils traveling rapidly over a scroll found in the tunnels.

"Her hair was inside a strange artifact, it emitted waves," Sakura closed her fists.

The Uzumaki tensed instinctively when he noticed.

"It beat like her chakra," she exhaled sharply through her nose.

So lost in thought was the strategist that a section of ashes fell from his tobacco, staining the scroll.

"Tch," he complained, cleaning the paper with his fingers. His tongue touched absently the cut in his mouth.

He opened it again.

"You smell like blood," informed the pinkette.

It wasn't that Sakura had a sense of smell like Kakashi's, but iron was an aroma easily recognizable for her receptors.

"It's nothing," he swallowed; it tasted like metal. "And your clones?" He looked up at the blond.

Naruto's gaze unfocused barely two thousandths, chakra reintegrated to his body.

"Nothing," he informed, a minuscule, frustrated pout on his lips.

"We're going further into Oto," the counselor decided.

The Uzumaki adjusted his headband, the Haruno nodded.

"Why didn't you pick Chōji?" Naruto glanced sideways at him, he complained when Sakura plucked a Kusarigama from his back.

She only evoked her Mystic Palm to control the hemorrhage, the Kyūbi's chakra throbbed under his skin, weaving muscles and dermis rapidly.

"It wouldn't been wise," he answered, his lips making a slight play, very similar to the one when having a cigarette between them.

Four hours had passed since he ran out of tobacco.

"He is your teammate," Sakura pointed out, crouching beside the counselor.

A sound stuttered in his throat; the medic cleaned a wound in his thigh, her hands clinically precise as she removed the metal shards.

The throbbing sensation was replaced by a curious tingling the moment her chakra came into contact with his open epidermis.

It turned out strangely pleasant.

"Exactly," he said, looking up at the sky.

Day was pretty nice, truth be told. If he was at Konoha, he would probably been watching the clouds on the Rokudaime's head, or the Nidaime's.

"Did Ino talk to you before she left?" emerald irides fixed on him from above.

He swallowed.

Sakura didn't speak to him for five hours.

The Nara was squatted on the edge of the cliff, scrutinizing the landscape. His eyes then traveled to the scar showing through the fabric's opening, right in his left quadriceps.

He wouldn't change his trousers for such a small tear, he only had one more spare in his sealing scroll.

"There," Naruto pointed with his index, jumping to the abyss.

The two ninjas let themselves fall at the same time, following closely.

Both men watched the kunoichi take the lead, their pupils nailed to the white crest sewn on her back.

Naruto would have no trouble keeping up her pace, Shikamaru on the other hand…

"She's mad at you," his teammate informed, blue right iris glancing sideways at him.

"I am mad at myself," his voice resigned.

The Uzumaki gave him an apologetic smile.

"I'll talk to her dattebayo," he went ahead, leaving the Nara several steps behind.

What a drag.

"Even for you, it's suicidal to go straight ahead," the strategist had a hand extended, only his fingers touching the ground, contacting his own shadow.

"There's no impossible mission for the Dai-nana-han, 'ttebayo" Naruto let his left hand fall too gruffly on his teammate's right shoulder.

A pink eyebrow twitched, she swatted him away.

The bruise would cover his entire biceps once it appeared.

"There's too many of them," the Nara stood up, rubbing his eyes.

His abstinence was expressing itself by a dull headache.

"My specialty," smiling, the Jinchūriki raised his arms to invoke his Kage bunshin.

"Let's go, Naruto," Sakura smiled back at him.

Shikamaru observed that strange gleam in the emerald irides again before the two set off.

No, it's not a medic's thing… Then it must be Tsunade's, or violence… Which is the same.

He saw them blast a wall with such force that pieces of rock fell to his feet. Roars, howls, echoed in the distance.

He reproached himself for being so impulsive when choosing his teammates; they constantly forgot that not everyone were destruction machines that repaired themselves like them.

Glancing at his scar again, he wondered how many more would be added during this mission before he followed them into battle.

"S-tay… still… Naruto," Sakura struggled against the Jinchūriki, trying to keep his hands away from his burnt face. "If I don't rem-ove it, you're goi… Fuck! You're going to lose your eye."

A terrible scream emerged from the blond, his arms whipped, striving to get free from her grip to scratch the unbearable itch in his cheek and around the orbital.

His audible signs of pain and the hissing sound of acid made the Nara sick, he frowned.

The medic turned her head to him.

"Don't just stand ther-!" a hard punch interrupted her, she growled in response, spitting a… tooth? He swore seeing a white flash among the mass of blood. "Use your goddamned Kagemane!"

A shiver ran through his spine; it was fear… and something else he wasn't so su-…

"Shikamaru!" Last warning.

Evoking his chakra, his shadow got linked to the Jinchūriki's. The initial contact took him off guard, he hadn't prepared for the enormous resistance Naruto's energy offered.

One drop of sweat slid down his temple, he exhaled hard through his nose.

A jade radiance shone over the shinobi's face, her hand moving nimbly as she removed the acid.

He perceived in his shadows that the Uzumaki was relaxing, he exhaled relieved; at this rhythm his chakra would have drained in a few minutes. Immediately, he remembered the tingling analgesia that came with the medic's ninjutsu.

As soon as Naruto remained still and began cooperating, the strategist noticed that Sakura no longer seemed about to tear her teammate's arms off.

That her muscles ceased jumping beneath her skin was a good indicator of it.

"That's it, easy," her voice was suddenly soft, treacherously soft.

As he heard it, the Nara felt a strange tickle in his stomach.

"It hurts," Naruto complained, breathing heavily through his nose, his fingers dug out from the cracked concrete.

"Idiot, just when will you learn that you must stay calmed so Kurama can heal you?" she reprimanded, offering a hand to help him sit up.

"But Sakura-ch-" a slap made him lean forward, his forehead almost touched the ground between his legs.

Shikamaru observed three – now four steps away.

"That was for my premolar."

Ah, it indeed was a tooth.

"And you…" the pinkette now addressed him, pointing with a menacing index.

The strategist had no intention at all to find out the damage that lone finger could cause.

"Do not do that again," she glared at him.

There was that strange scintillation again.

Definitely violence, he corroborated.

Then he noticed Naruto's skin was emitting a dense steam, the wrinkled, damaged tissue disappearing underneath a new one, recovering its texture, its colour.

Even the fox whiskers were in the same place as always.

Cells must had a very precise memory, deduced the Nara.

"How's your tooth?" the blond asked the medic.

She made a face, her jaw in protrusion; Shikamaru thought she was touching the gap with her tongue.

He realized his own tongue was traveling over the almost closed cut inside his mouth.

"It's going to take five days, thanks Na-ru-to," she growled.

The Uzumaki scratched his nape, tittering.

This team is not normal.

Without a doubt it wasn't normal to see someone recover from acid that way, nor someone growing another goddamned too-… premolar, she said premolar.

The absurd quantity of corpses around them echoed his ascertainment.

Shikamaru understood why Sasuke didn't insist on staying.

He got up as if someone had whipped him, a dull murmur in the shadows had vibrated different.

The counselor could recognize Ino anywhere; her darkness smelt like fresh Wisterias.

Though this time, there was a sweet trace of rottenness.

He set off, his two teammates right behind.

They found her sitting on a chair, black leather straps closed around her wrists, her ankles.

Before any of them could react, the medic was already crouching beside the mentalist, Shikamaru followed one second after.

With dexterous hands he cut the restraints, trying to swallow the panic that began traveling up his esophagus.

A viscous dripping emanated from her fine nose, no bruising seen, no fracture that could originate it.

One quick analysis was enough to notice the absence of external wounds.

The Nara then comprehended.

"Shit," he muttered.

"I swear I'm gonna find them," Naruto whispered.

Ino's dense mass of hair wasn't there, leaving in its place a scalp carelessly shaved, small cuts here and there.

He had to swallow the bile; the nails painted violet were missing as well.

They ran for twenty-one hours, Sakura categorically refused to delegate the carrying to any of the men.

Shikamaru thought it was for the best, the soft murmuring of healing chakra vibrated continuously, emanating as a fine layer from the kunoichi's back and palms; areas where she was in constant contact with the Yamanaka.

That basically made them a walking target, something not prudent at all considering the situation.

Although they had a Naruto and a Sakura, both students of the legendary Sannins.

But they rarely took into account that they had a Shikamaru.

He decided to concentrate his pupils on reading the scroll.

It turned as infructuous as the first six times. If he were to decipher the code he would need time and quietness.

Two luxuries they did not have at these moments.

"Oi, what do you think happened?" the Uzumaki was already by his side, whispering.

"I'm not sure," his frown deepened. "Psychological torture, but I don't know to what extent."

The Jinchūriki remained quiet for almost twenty minutes.

For his surprise, the silence was not pleasant for the strategist if it came from the blond shinobi.

"Naruto," the medic's tone compelling, strained.

Without more instruction than that, the man invoked a clone, taking the mentalist from Sakura's grasp to relieve her. Immediately after, the original neared the pinkette, closing his fingers around the gloved hand.

The chakra's murmur became more intense as he transferred, their palms ignited in a gleam, dancing in gradients of blue and red, blending until they almost transformed into purple some seconds.

Their advance didn't even slow down.

He wondered if his team moved with that kind of coordination.

The thought hurt more than he had anticipated.

"Naruto!" shouted the strategist, avoiding a kunai by millimeters.

Concentrating chakra to bind ten enemies with his shadow was not easy if steel hummed so close to his vital points.

Though Sakura could… he got interrupted.

"I know, 'ttebayo!" he answered, kicking an enemy to get rid of him.

Clutching one of his clones by the sleeve, he rotated on his heel to toss him where the Nara was.

A sound of broken bones indicated him that the attack was successful, he didn't bother to corroborate.

Nor was he alarmed when hearing the thunderous blast of an explosive seal behind him. There was no time to worry about what could've been.

"Sa-!"

He didn't get to finish the word; Earth trembled under his feet, cracking open to swallow every enemy pinned by his Kageshibari.

The last surprised scream drowned the same time a stone hit his side; he could visualize the colour palette that would adorn his ribs.

What a pain, he huffed.

It hurt.

Shikamaru didn't know what to do with the new information he had about his two provisional teammates.

A) Sakura felt much more enraged than she felt worried about getting injured.

In a very evident way, too.

B) Naruto got way more nervous by his friend's wrath than for the fact that she had a collapsed trachea, or that she seemed to be choking on her own blood.

The medic sweated irritation through her pores, her frown deep on the skin more because of being upset than truly concentrated. If she could talk, the Nara could imagine the series of vulgarities she would be saying; in her current state, it expressed in a grotesque gurgle deep inside her damaged throat.

"Oi, Sakura-chan, next time ask m-"

"Ghh-o" she shook her hand in front of her face, discarding the shinobi's incomplete suggestion. The other one fluctuating energy over the skin of her neck.

The strategist assumed the sound was a conclusive "No".

"Will you be able to continue?" he quirked an eyebrow, his pupils nailed to the blood she had on her lips.

Naruto smiled, looking at him with… Mockery?

Sakura answered him with a snort full of irony; this time the vibration wasn't so unpleasant.

"Shikamaru," it came from behind.

Change of watch, most likely. How long had he contemplated the Moon?

A corner of his mind made him notice that her voice was more raucous than normal; a minimal issue considering the severe fracture of cartilage some hours ago.

His torso leaned forward to stand up; a hand stopped him.

It felt warm, heavy, against his shoulder. The constant pulsation was duller than usual.

Pouring that amount of chakra into another person must have been demanding.

She took a seat by his side, the Nara didn't look away from the sky.

He wasn't sure how many minutes passed like this. A soft breeze moved their clothes, their hair.

Blood, sweat, adrenaline, flowers, antiseptic.

He kept staring at the blue tone of the sky, adorned with white lunar rays.

"How is she?" he asked after a while.

"Physically, better."

Underneath his left hand's shadow, he noticed only two millimeters separated their pinkies.

His heart hit hard his ribs twice.

Stupid abstinence.

"I'm sorry," the Nara's voice trembled without his permission.

Mendokusai.

Several (too many) seconds passed… ones he used very efficiently to distract himself from their closeness by calling himself stupid repeatedly in his mind.

A texture of rough skin rubbed the top of his pinky. He did not understand why he found comforting to feel the callous of her finger.

"She's gonna make it," the medic whispered.

Her tone was even softer than his memory when she appeased Naruto.

"Yes, I know."

Suddenly, the expectation of staying there seemed enough justification for the black bags that would paint his lower eyelids if he neglected his turn to rest.

The thought caught him off guard.

'You're an idiot,' he swore hearing Ino.

I'm aware, he answered her.

Brown irides followed the vertiginous blurs of yellow, orange, pink, red, black. Sharp impacts of metal broke the silence.

An ambush was the least they needed so few kilometers from Konoha.

Why the hell the Hokage sent no ANBU to escort their return?

Four seconds were enough to know; the two ninjas fighting in front of him had stopped a goddess.

Kakashi must have had a stupid trust in them.

He didn't waste energy in getting bothered for not being contemplated in the equation.

The Rokudaime probably counted on them to protect his counselor as well…

Yeah, sure.

What would happen if he told Tsunade about Sakura breaking her second rule?

Broken bones, a lot of broken bones, something he didn't need, at all.

He discarded the idea.

A variation in his shadows warned him of the enemy behind.

It was a skilled assassin, a very skilled one; he was barely two steps away from Ino. He should have detected him sooner.

Damn it.

Manipulating the shadows beneath the ninja's feet, the dark hands imprisoned his legs, his torso, closing around his throat to asphyxiate him.

He frowned the same measure his Kage-Kubishibari compressed the trachea.

A loud snap, a grotesque gurgle. The body dropped dead.

"It's a safety jutsu," muttered the strategist.

"What?" emerald irides barely focused him.

Shikamaru got the impression Sakura would pass out at any moment.

"Ino's, I'm sure she induced it on herself," he was also convinced that his black bags were as dark as hers.

Naruto, on the other hand, was the living image of vitality.

Bijū's chakra, he thought, not without a trace of envy.

"Why are you telling me this until…?" she interrupted herself.

The medic realized Shikamaru was equally bloodless.

She understood him; Sakura could equate the mission to the diabolic shifts her Shishou imposed her to try to intimidate her, not mentioning the sparrings that followed after coming out of the hospital.

Adrenaline proved way better than caffeine in those desperate cases, something she learned by force…

Naturally, Tsunade Senju type of force.

The Nara raised his eyebrows, watching his provisional teammate's self-absorption with lazy curiosity.

Naruto observed them a few steps behind, carrying Ino's weight on his back. His eyelids narrowed with suspicion.

Collapsing in a hard hospital bed was never among his list of pleasures until it happened again.

The counselor would have to buy Naruto ramen in gratitude; he'd be the one delivering the report to Kakashi.

His eyelids weighted as lead, his mind quieted thanks to exhaustion, the pillow too comfortable…

"Sakura!" he heard in the hallway, far.

Still, his skin bristled, the Godaime's powerful voice provoked a very particular reaction when it reached his eardrums.

He felt sorry for the medic.

"Tch."

He passed out.

He woke to the insistent shake on his shoulder.

"Oi, Shikamaru," Naruto's voice came as if through a thick wall.

Not now, his eyelids began to shut down, his pupils hadn't even registered images.

"Oi!" the movement grew more imperious.

He groaned deep in his throat.

This time, a chakra discharge ran all over his tenketsu.

He reacted by instinct, his shadows ready to attack when he sit up brusquely.

"Sorry," the Jinchūriki apologized. "Sakura-chan sent me to come for you. She was very insistent.

The Uzumaki's perseverance to force his wakefulness now made sense.

The adrenaline in his blood had him wide awake already, he moved nimbly despite how sore he felt.

In the room there was only him, Tsunade, Sakura and Ibiki, besides Ino, of course.

The Torture and Interrogation chief's hand shone centimeters away from his subordinate's forehead.

He perceived that the scar crossing the man's lip moved, a reflex of his concentration, probably.

"She activated her defense illusion," Ibiki informed with deep voice. "That can mean two things; either she completed her mission and protected the intel, or she was captured before and they tried to pry information from her".

Something in the indifferent tone made Shikamaru frown.

"Can it be reverted?" despite her exhausted aspect, the Haruno's voice was firm, clinical.

The Nara imagined she had used one of those stimulant pills she talked about once.

"Yes, she herself gave me the combination to undo it," he proceeded to make seals with his hands.

…O-Ushi, Nezumi, Uma, Inu, Uma, Tori.

At the last sign, Shikamaru noticed the sting in his sternum with absolute clarity; Ino loved hummingbirds.

"Not even Inoichi's self-protection jutsu was this shielded," the T&I chief recognized.

He forgave his indifference after that.

A thick trickle of blood slid from the Yamanaka's right nostril.

"Sakura," Tsunade indicated, arms crossed tightly on her chest.

The kunoichi's palms were already shining over her friend's body.

"Activity in the basal ganglia is returning to normal parameters, her tenketsu supply in the Broca and Wernicke areas as well," she frowned, her eyes narrowed, there was a fluctuation in the gleam of her Mystic Palm.

"Concentrate," the Godaime's tone was more a threat.

And I thought Gai was tough, the Nara scratched his nape, a hand buried in his pocket.

"Blood and energy flow are becoming steady in the amygdala and the hippo-" she interrupted herself, lowering her hands.

From their spot, Shikamaru and Ibiki noticed the medic's eyes widen with surprise. Or alarm?

He was too tired to make those differentiations.

Thanking his body when it moved on its own, he neared his best friend and the pinkette.

"Tsunade-sama, she's waking up," Sakura informed, her voice more tense than before.

The Torture and Interrogation leader, the Senju, stayed in their places.

"Ino, do you recognize my voice? You're in Konoha," the medic guided the mentalist's consciousness. "You're safe, Shikamaru, Naruto and I brought you back."

Emerald irides fixed on him, small burst vessels in her sclerotics conferred a strange intensity to her gaze. The Nara suppressed a shiver, he understood the message.

"Ino," he spoke, sound came out throatier than he had estimated. "It's me, Shika, do you hear me?"

The Analysis leader's face contorted the way only intense pain could manage.

"Must have migraine," Sakura muttered as she glanced at him.

He was sure he had hidden his commiseration. It was the fatigue, he convinced himself.

Snowy eyelids tightened two seconds before cautiously opening, turquoise colour appearing under eyelashes.

The Nara's brain had not even given the command of smiling when the scream shook his bones.

What…?

Everything turned red on the left side.

His fingertips felt the newly formed scar absently; it felt very tender to the touch.

"Don't do that, unless you want a visible mark," the medic didn't separate her pupils from the report she filled on a clipboard.

He snorted with tired humor when he thought of his father's scars.

The Haruno only glanced at him.

"Have an assumption yet?" she kept writing.

"They used my image as catalyst for the torture," his voice was unusually firm.

"I thought that as well," the pen stopped.

Brown irides met emerald ones.

"It's going to take time," the medic informed, but the strategist thought he saw the colour soften when she told him.

Must be the mental fatigue, he convinced himself.

He swallowed.

"I know," he plainly said to her.

The pinkette's eyes narrowed, as if she was assessing him.

Too many seconds passed.

Sakura exhaled, a sound full of exhaustion, of resignation. Her sight lost in a spot aside the black ponytail.

"I'm going to help her, it's the least I can do for being so…" the Jōnin clenched his jaw.

The kunoichi tilted her head, moving the pink hair with it; the man noticed she still had traces of blood staining her neck and the angle of her mandible.

They must have looked terrible.

"Stupid, Shikamaru," she completed, with that tone of treacherous gentleness.

Taking a hand to his forehead, the strategist rubbed the taut skin, gesture that got reflected on his tight scalp.

All of his body then decided it was the perfect moment to remind him how sore and tired he actually was.

Sakura rose to her feet, heading to the door.

"It looks good on you," she said before abandoning the examination room.

Mentally, he thanked she was no longer there to hear the stuttering of his vocal cords.

In the third month, Ino let him touch her.

Barely a brush of his fingers against the palm she offered. Shikamaru immediately identified the trust-building exercise, one recommended by the Konoha's Hospital psychological containment program.

An impressive progress in such a short time, he acknowledged; eight months was the average to achieve that. Some never crossed beyond that point.

Under reserved prognosis, Sakura and Shizune authorized Ino's discharge of the psychiatric wing to install her at the Jōnin Taikijō; they were sitting on a bench at the courtyard.

He realized her pupiless irides glanced continuously to the scar on his face; a diagonal slash that began in the middle of his forehead and traced down to his cheekbone, barely below the left orbital's limit.

As luck would have it, a few millimeters saved him from losing an eye.

The Yamanaka never apologized; she didn't need to.

"Like this is ok?" the strategist moderated his voice, stripping it from any trace of tension or variation.

She nodded.

They spent forty minutes like that, only the oscillation of their breathing altering the contact minimally.

There was a heavy exhalation, the woman's breath had a metallic sting to it; she was still on medication.

A necessary precaution, despite all the mechanisms the Analysis leader had, neither Tsunade nor Ibiki stood out for taking risks easily evaded.

He had to make a conscious effort to keep his pupils from moving from the turquoise to the short, platinum hair that already grew on her scalp.

It gave him the impression that it was much longer than one could expect from a person in that amount of time.

Of course, of course Ino's hair would inevitably reflect her impatient, stubborn personality.

A sad smile stretched his lips.

Chōji's punch hurt.

112 days had passed since he last saw him.

This because the Akimichi refused to accept meeting him the four times he tried to explain the situation.

Everyone understood Shikamaru rarely tried beyond the first.

That the impact made his teeth reopen the same place from his old wound was an ironical coincidence.

He spit the dense combination of blood and saliva to his side, a viscous dribble hung from his chin.

Wiping it with the dorsum of his hand, he propped up with an elbow. His friend's imposing frame blocked the sunset rays.

He had just abandoned the barracks, not even three minutes had passed since saying goodbye to his friend.

"I understand," he finally said, the deep voice rumbled inside Chōji's wide chest.

You understand, but you haven't forgiven me, the Nara suspected.

He didn't blame him.

His previous thought was nullified when he offered a hand to help him stand.

"Thanks."

"You smell like blood, again."

Shikamaru took a puff of his tobacco, inhaling to mix the fresh wind with smoke inside his lungs.

"I can…" her hand came closer.

The Nara stopped her by reflex, realizing it too late. That dangerous glow appeared in the emerald colour, but extinguished after two breaths.

Releasing her soon surely helped. A series of stings in his back indicated he was about to break a sweat.

"We're taking away her meds in one week," she told him, voice low, absent.

The man leaned, his forearms pressed against the steel handrail. A minuscule play on his lips reflected on the cigarette.

He decided to pay attention to the shadows' murmur, he had learnt to identify Sakura very quickly; the chakra beating in her tenketsu echoed like a distant war percussion when she wasn't hiding it. He also knew that her control was such she could turn invisible in an instant, no matter how much energy she stored in her seal.

Unlike Ino, her "scent" was more similar to a hospital's sterility than to the subtle spearmint aroma her hair gave off.

If he were to put his hand's dorsum against her Byakugō, would he feel the beat?

"You know there's a limit to what I can heal if you cause yourself emphysema?"

The Nara snorted and smiled; the tautness made new hemoglobin spill from his recent cut.

A glistening warmness slid from his left corner of the mouth.

"Mendok-" the sound died out in his vocal cords; he noted the way her emerald irides were following the trail of red iron.

The image of her expression (or was it the intensity of the viridian?) provoked him an unusual commotion.

This time, a drop of sweat formed between his shoulder blades.

It wasn't hot.

Sakura's gaze then ascended to look him in the eye.

She made a gesture with her hand, halting a second to indicate her intention, wariness generated after the strategist's first reaction.

She cleaned the drop with the posterior medial phalanx of her index. Her contact clinical, precise.

He didn't count the minutes they stood still after that, but he did notice a small agitation in the medic's breathing, barely lesser than his.

"By the way," she said, and Shikamaru swore there was a tiny strain in her voice. "Here."

She deposited a small crystal bottle on his palm.

It was nail polish, a blue shade very similar to Ino's irides.

"Normally, I do it when I visit her," an affectionate, discreet smile on her lips. "It will help you."

She waved goodbye.

Brown irides didn't leave the white crest sewn on her back.

Shikamaru spent four hours awake after returning home.

He used his fingers until the strokes got well memorized in his sinews.

Once the lines were as soft as he demanded himself, he stopped.

Dozens of paper sheets sprawled on the floor, black ink adorning them (he wasn't so stupid as to waste the nail polish). If someone aligned them chronologically, the progress of his technique would be perceptible.

It's not that the Nara wasn't skilled with his hands, he simply didn't find the will to hone his dexterity beyond what was required.

Becoming so proficient with his Kagemane had sucked all the extra effort these additional activities demanded.

He let himself fall to the floor.

His legs throbbed painfully, his brain betrayed him with a completely uncalled association:

The tingling of medical ninjutsu was much more pleasant.

Two more months had to pass before he could make use of this skill he set himself to refine at nights.

His visits used to be silent, Shikamaru found it easier to communicate with acts rather than words.

Truth was he also felt a bit of a coward to speak to her. Insecure, even, discarding hundreds of words in his mind for thinking them inappropriate, forced.

It was utterly unpleasant because it was not right to feel like this with his best friend.

His lazy eyes looked almost closed as he concentrated, eyelids low when focusing his pupils.

These tasks of fine psychomotricity at least gave him calm.

The kunoichi's new nails (Tsunade and Sakura had insisted greatly in regenerating them immediately) were left perfectly coated by the blue nail polish.

"It looks like the one of your eyes, though yours is more…" he trailed off, not peeling his sight away from his doing.

He perceived a slight tension in Ino's hand under his palm.

"More what?" she asked.

He remained paralyzed what he counted were twelve seconds.

It was the first time she talked to him since the rescue.

He couldn't find the courage to look up and meet the turquoise irides.

So he resumed his task.

"Beautiful," he muttered.

A trace of panic coiled in his abdomen when he noted the mentalist's fingers clutching harder.

He kept totally still.

The Yamanaka exhaled audibly, with a heaviness not common in her. The Jōnin detected a tiny tremor as well.

Filling his lungs, his mind raced, foreseeing a thousand ways to prepare himself for… what?

Gingerly, he resumed the movement of his hands, pupils not looking away from the bright cerulean colour. He left the paintbrush superimposed on its bottle, grabbing then a fine one he left ready aside.

Black ink glided over blue, his fingers even more careful so his strokes were a continuous line, without faltering.

Her middle finger's nail was the first one he drew on.

The symbol of the Yamanaka clan contrasted beautifully against the background.

A bead of sweat skated down Shikamaru's temple, his heart hammering furious within his ribs. To his relief his fingers were not affected by it; they resembled solid steel.

On her ring finger he detailed his own clan symbol, that of the protectors of the forest, of the shadow manipulators.

He realized he had been holding his breath; he inhaled slowly so she wouldn't notice.

On her pinky, he symbolized the Akimichi, completing the cycle, the union of their clans.

The bead of sweat reached his jaw, tracing it down until it fell from his chin.

Inch by inch, he raised his head, his eyes meeting hers.

Frustration, sorrow, anger.

But also compassion, appreciation, gratitude.

Affection.

He thought he felt another trickle down his cheek.

He didn't realize it was a tear until Ino wiped it with her thumb.

Shikamaru entered the flower shop, today he had to water the orchids and the succulents.

Also, he had to lay out the plants that needed sun.

Burying the golden key inside his pocket, he sauntered behind the counter. He took the small sprinkling can and put it under the tap to fill it.

The sound of running water made him drift off, leaning against the sink.

His mind divagated to his friend's mission status, Kakashi had been decent enough to at least tell him that Ino's intel had led to the arrest of nine people, and the liberation of another three hundred and twenty-two destined to human trafficking, or organ selling if they were healthy enough after the inhuman conditions of their travel.

If he aimed to obtain more details, he could rot waiting for them.

Then he thought of her retrieval, of the curious dynamic Naruto and Sakura had. For his own personal integrity, he would never, ever, make the mistake of choosing them again… Although something in their boldness bordering stupidity made the mission a lot more exciting.

A characteristic the Nara never sought on his own.

That's why he had Ino, to drag him by force.

Though Ino's persuasion was very different from Sakura's.

She would probably do it in the literal sense of the word.

Somehow, the idea wasn't thaaaat bad.

His ears had tried to warn him for god knows how long about the water overflowing from the can.

"Mother fu…"

"Shika."

Turning away from the wooden board, he met the turquoise colour.

The Yamanaka looked at him in an indecipherable demeanor.

A gaze that made him nervous every time.

He set his jaw.

"You're distracted," pupiless eyes abandoned him, eyeing the small shōgi pieces.

The Nara frowned, his intellect did little to help him elucidate the significance.

Before even thinking of formulating a question, his friend's delicate hand moved one of the tokens.

Brown irides got nailed to the board.

Then he realized how unbalanced his game was.

"Tch," he scraped his nape, his eyelids shut.

Ino touched his shoulder, gesturing the space between her knees after.

He moved sluggishly, though blood circulation helped ease the stiffness of his neck and shoulders. He turned his back to the mentalist, settling into a clumsy lotus position.

The Yamanaka brought her hands closer, stopping two seconds to warn him about her touch. Precaution notwithstanding, the hair of his neck bristled when her fingers reached his black hair.

She undid his ponytail, the sudden loss of tightness made him feel oddly vulnerable.

As if his ideas were dispersing now that his hair wasn't fastened.

Nails scratched his scalp carefully, scattering the strands to facilitate her manipulation.

Shikamaru felt a weird taste in his mouth thinking that those same nails no longer matched their bearer's age.

The gentle twists and pulls on his head ceased being so uncomfortable as minutes passed, getting more and more tolerable, even edging the limit of becoming pleasant.

Thing was, for shinobis like him, it proved very hard to completely relax when someone's hands danced so close to one's neck.

At least her friend's doing offered enough distraction to stop thinking about his Clan meeting tonight, or the assignment he would have in Kumo two weeks from now.

He shut his eyes, visualizing the figures Ino was probably knitting with her fingers.

The image turned very similar to what he did with his Kageshibari.

Smiling, he found himself peculiarly calmed.

"Shikamaru?" the Jinchūriki's voice came from his right.

The strategist pretended he had not heard him.

Stupid to think Naruto wouldn't insist.

"Oi, Shikamaru, wait," hurried steps made him exhale with annoyance.

"Yā," he greeted, slouched and hands deep in his pockets.

"What happened to your hair, dattebayo?" the shinobi quirked a brow, coming way more nearer that what was considered polite to observe him better.

"It's nothing," he tilted his head, putting some centimeters between them, he couldn't stop the irritation from permeating in his voice.

Naruto looked three seconds at him, then he grinned from ear to ear, as if he was mocking him with some private joke, his eyes narrowed, blue irides sparkling mischievously.

"Oh, so, was it Sakura-chan?" he wiggled his eyebrows.

Shikamaru felt his usual apathy getting yanked by his disbelief, commotion reflecting in his sudden halt.

"What are you…?" for his greater discomfort his body rebelled, turning the back of his neck bright red.

Mendokusai, though the mental intonation of the word was more like a curse.

"Ino did it," he grumbled. Resuming his walking, he stomped rather than stepping.

The Jinchūriki's smile turned even wider (if that was possible) when looking at the blush that refused to disappear from his nape.

Why wasn't he leaving?

"You know, her shift ends at nine today," he didn't look at him, keeping his sapphire irides straight, but the strategist saw the fond, discrete smile on his lips.

"Jā," Naruto said, patting his back firmly before jumping.

What did he need to know that for?

He realized too late that his brain, his best ally under normal circumstances, turned out to be his worst enemy as well.

Somehow, it seemed one of his hemispheres took charge of sinking him in a semi-conscious state so he wouldn't notice he was already outside the glass doors.

How he got there? He'd never know.

Gathering the energy to get alarmed wasn't worth it.

What wasn't pleasant was that bead of sweat that was starting to form between his shoulder blades.

He should check if he didn't have a defective sweat gland.

Doing so would imply being in front of a medic, sitting on an examination bed, inhaling the dense smell of sterility.

Naked, most likely. The Nara would never understand that fixation of asking to remove your clothes when entering a doctor's practice.

This surely is a medic's thing.

Besides, there was a high probability of a certain person carrying out his checkup.

"Shikamaru?"

Speaking of the devil.

"Hey," he greeted, shoving his hands in his pockets.

At least, they didn't feel that cold like this.

"What are you doing here?" her pink brows slightly raised, her pupils traveled to his hair to come back down in a blink.

The bluntness of her question could've resulted even in a recriminatory tinge, he perceived a trace of dejection when hearing it… he then looked up and noticed how worn out the medic was.

He didn't understand the cause of the relief running through him when he realized her brusqueness was moved by her burnout and not by his presence.

"I was nearby," he simply answered.

He found a bit curious that despite her notorious exhaustion (physical, mental, or both), the colour of her irides remained so intense, so expressive.

This clearly remarked because Shikamaru could read she was not buying anything of his answer in them; she crossed her arms, head tilted, even a small frown between her brows.

"Tough night?" he wasn't a strategist for nothing.

It seemed to work.

"Yeah, I just finished a procedure. It was neurosurgery," she made a gesture with her head, indicating the way.

Footsteps produced a repetitive sound, relaxing the Nara a bit more.

"What did you have to do?" he rummaged his pocket, taking a cigarette case out.

The medic brought a hand to her nape, rubbing to relax her neck muscles.

"Treating a severe concussion, there was a work accident at a construction site, the procedure was needed because the veins were too inflamed. That's more or less regular, but then we discovered a clot was forming in one of the blood vessels and I had to dissolve it to prevent an ischemia," her tone changed to a more clinical, professional one.

The Nara quirked a brow with the last word.

"A blockage of blood circulation," she answered the silent question, she smiled, shaking slightly her head.

Shikamaru had the impression her denial was more for herself.

Something must have reflected in his face because the emerald eyes evaluated him two seconds longer than required when she turned to see him.

"Sorry, I spend so much time speaking in technical terms that I don't realize if I talk to someone who isn't hospital staff," she raised her head to the sky, stretching the cervical spine.

"It happens to me sometimes, except it's political and administrative language," the cigarette played between his lips as he said. "Although you do know of that, we have your proposals and reports every week among the desk's piles," smiling, he scratched the back of his neck.

Sakura snorted lightly in response.

They walked several minutes in silence, a very pleasant one, the shadow's user noted.

"And how did it end up?" his voice a bit muffled for holding the filter amidst his lips.

"Great, of course," the fast response exuded self-confidence. "It's just that working with the vascular system is quite… tedious, to say the least. It requires a lot of patience and time.

Two traits absent from her way of carrying out missions as well, the same as Naruto.

She would be terrible at shōgi.

A warmth of unknown origin climbed through the pit of his stomach at the thought.

"What progress have you made?" there was more gravity in Sakura's voice.

He immediately understood, the tingling in his esophagus vanished.

"She let me sit between her knees today," the ember lit his face in an orange light, then expelled the smoke through his nostrils. "She did this," he gestured his hair.

His companion observed the intricate braiding of hair, perfectly held and symmetrical to end up in a low ponytail. Ino tended to be obsessive when it came to certain things, styling hair was one of them. The medic smiled with fondness, a gentle gleam in her eyes.

They truly are expressive, the shinobi thought as he noticed.

Streetlight rays made their shadows merge at one point, the murmur of Sakura's presence came into contact with his, recognizing the slow percussion of her chakra.

His fingertips tickled. Shikamaru frowned.

"You know, though she might never tell you, she's thankful," the kunoichi didn't look at him. "Part of her recovery have been your visits, Shizune and I estimated three more months before taking her meds away."

"I see," keeping his face straight, a knot tightened inside his abdomen. "Thanks for telling me."

She crossed her arms, an "um" in her throat as response.

The counselor glanced sideways, noticing the way her muscles stretched the bare skin of her biceps. He made a quick comparison with his own physique; the Nara wasn't a man of combat, his best weapons his intellect and his Kageshibari. The woman by his side, on the other hand, depended severely on her physical strength, her muscle fibers were her weaponry, that and the small chakra blade he saw her use in very scarce occasions.

Still, her preference of using her fists instead of the blue scalpel had been very obvious during this last mission.

It wasn't that Shikamaru discredited her intelligence, Sakura could use her intellect as accurate as her knuckles and shins, something he got to see more often once she became the head of the Children's Psychiatric Wing and the Hospital's.

A small shiver feinted to tremble in his lumbar spine.

He perceived the medic's slowing pace, adjusting his own until they stopped before a residential street's intersection.

"You should really consider dropping that habit," she quirked a brow, but a tiny smile graced her lips.

Before he could respond, the medic stretched an arm towards him, her movement swift and precise; she took the cigarette from his mouth, giving him no chance to react.

His usual laziness got stirred by a trace of restless excitement. Brown irides followed the ember. Sakura brought the cigarette to her lips, giving the tobacco a puff.

She frowned in disgust, shaking her head as if emphasizing. Exhaling, she coughed when she expelled the last of the smoke.

"Why you enjoy this is beyond me," she cleared her throat, giving the cigarette back.

The Nara grabbed it, the brief contact of their skins seemed to cause him an electric shock.

Oh, was all he managed to think.

"Spar with me," the medic walked two steps. "When you come back from Kumogakure," she glanced over her shoulder.

Shikamaru felt his eyelids widen more than usual, maybe his face didn't seem so lethargic like this.

"I won't hit you so hard, I promise," humor imprinted in her voice.

He noticed the blaze of that dangerous spark in the emerald colour.

It was like an augury of broken bones, and still…

"Tch, mendokusai," the word sounded unusually similar to an affirmation.

She snorted in response, with a hint of… Satisfaction? Irony?

Concentrating proved hard if his heart pounded so loud in his ears.

He brought the cigarette back to his mouth.

It tasted like honey lip balm.

"Do you understand the plan?" he whispered the ANBU.

The masks nodded in assent.

Not even their breaths were audible.

Special Operations agents tended to be like this. Of course Shikamaru, Rokudaime's counselor, knew who they were based on the animal shapes and paint patterns, nevertheless, security protocols were pretty specific.

Both figures disappeared without sound; just like everything they did (as long as they didn't fight, and even then the confrontations were abnormally silent).

The counselor's brown eyes followed the entire displacement of his target; a middle-aged man in possession of a series of classified documents.

After this, the Raikage would owe Kakashi big time.

Kumo resorted to Konoha when intel specialists were needed, as well as Konoha went to Kumo when mayor destruction assaults had to be done.

Peace between nations was a very peculiar thing.

As soon as the man stood near enough to a shadow, Shikamaru deployed his Kage-Kubishibari, holding the man's arms first to prevent him from swallowing a venom pill or stabbing his heart.

His strategist instinct shouted to also lock his jaw with his shadows, and so the black hands compressed the man's cheeks hard, to the point of almost dislocating his jaw.

A blue sphere fell to the ground.

The Nara's lips stretched in a self-complacent grin.

In a blink (perhaps faster), the agents reached the target, checking the man's body. They pulled a thick, worn-out scroll from between the folds of the tunic, careful enough to notice the trap's thread that would set off an explosive seal, the raven mask cut it with a kunai.

The Jōnin's pupils recognized the signal one made.

Disposing of the target or freeing him?

None of them was a genjutsu user.

"Tch," he pressed his lips together into a fine line.

Nothing personal, he moved his fingers.

Luckily, he couldn't hear the wakizashi slicing the throat.

He distracted himself from the blood by thinking how would his mission have been like along the Dai-nana-han.

Noisy, chaotic, not efficient at all, was the immediate answer.

Still, a (resigned, wider than usual) smile appeared in his mouth.

More… entertaining.

His leg hurt like hell.

Receiving a sharp blow with a metal Bō climbed quickly in his list of undesirable things.

His brain then decided it was the perfect time to start its comparisons, whispering at the back of his mind if a kunai cut was preferable, or the shards of an explosion.

If Sakura ever gets to kick me…

No, he had no need to think about that now.

Seven senbon hummed near his right flank.

A strange smell, like meat beginning to rot, reached his nostrils.

Poison, more adrenaline rushed in his blood, honing his mind even further.

Feinting the assassin, he ran laterally towards the wood as if he was fleeing. The slender figure followed.

You made a mistake.

Shikamaru slowed his pace to make his opponent overconfident, and when he glanced over his shoulder he noticed the arrogant smile of a predator about to catch its prey.

The Nara halted, faking an expression of terror as he faced his enemy.

He stopped him dead, a muffled sound of sudden tension emerged due to the change of inertia. The strategist barely felt a strain in his chakra.

That's how it was like with him, he compensated his lack of physical vigour with his shadows, which (no brag) could pull severely hard.

His face's bored expression came back, and once the danger ceased to exist, his shoulders relaxed into his usual slouch. He approached the man, who was still sunk in stupefaction.

"I hope they paid you good money to do this," a cigarette was brought to his lips.

He felt a soft tug in his jutsu the same time he heard a weird sound in the man's mouth.

A subtle adjustment of chakra to let him talk.

"C'mon, there's no need, I can give you ha-"

Shiakamru stared at him, all curious disapproval.

"All! I'll give you all!" a dribble slid from his right corner.

He played the cigarette with his lips, pretending to ponder the man's words, he even closed his eyes, humming against his palate.

Turning around, he walked away, his arm raised.

Two ANBUS appeared to each side of the assassin, shoving a gag into his mouth.

"Consider it revenge for the strike you gave me," he yawned.

The protests weren't even audible as the agents took him.

His leg throbbed.

What a drag.

He withstood the pain for two hours once he arrived at Konoha.

It had nothing to do with waiting for someone's shift to finish.

No relation, he corroborated.

Nor it had anything to do with verifying with his shadows before entering.

A mere inspection searching for enemies, no preventive measures were enough even in times of peace, right? Realizing someone wasn't there was an indirect consequence.

He limped inside, biting hard the cigarette's filter. Then he remembered no smoking was allowed in that place, so he limped back outside to reach the trash can, muttering nonsense between teeth and fag-end.

A nurse made him fill a form, and he had to swallow the series of insults that echoed every throb in his thigh as he wrote carelessly on the paper.

They walked him to an examination room, asking (of course, morbid doctors), to remove his clothes and put on a hospital gown.

He took off his trousers, and his thumb knuckle rubbed the inflamed skin.

Mother fuc… he snorted in annoyance.

The fresh air entering from the window also did through those openings (unnecessary if they asked him) of his gown, ones that revealed certain parts of his anatomy he'd rather keep to himself, thank you very much.

Going to the thermal baths had always been martyrdom.

Brown irides inspected the huge hematoma covering his quadriceps, a splash of dark purple and a color way too similar to a marmalade stored in his cupboard.

What flavor was it?

The door opened the moment his brain said: berries.

Without realizing, his hands were stretching the gown to cover himself some more.

"Shika? What are you doing here?" Ino quirked a brow, her pupiless irides traveling through his skin in search of injuries. "Kumo treated you bad?"

"If you keep pulling the fabric, you're going to tear it," Sakura's tone categorical.

The Nara swore his neck would burst into flames.

"Know what? It's not that bad," he got off the table…

Bad idea, he managed to think before his leg gave way under his weight.

A hand stopped him with ease, as if he weighted nothing. The texture of her palm was more inclined to roughness than to softness.

Saliva refused to go down his throat.

"I'd never thought you were the negligent type," a curious hint in the medic's voice.

"Oh, you have absolutely no idea," Ino frowned, crossing her arms. "When we were genin, Asuma-sensei and Chōji had to hold him down so I could inject him an antidote or clean his wounds," she snorted more in annoyance than humor.

"Really?" Sakura eyed him, raising an eyebrow.

The man looked away.

"Ino, is it really necessary for you to say that?" he imprinted irritation in his tone.

"I'm your best friend, part of the contract is embarrassing you at the slightest provocation," she smiled mischievously.

The Nara clicked his tongue.

"So, what happened then?" the Haruno lowered her gaze to his injured thigh.

The last shade of pink was barely sticking out under the stretched fabric.

"Forehead, you know how many leukocytes he has in his blood by now," the Yamanaka leaned her hip against the table, to her friend's left, arms still crossed.

Shikamaru was then aware of the soft rustle tingling in his shoulder, were Sakura had him held.

"Ino," she snarled, frowning at her.

"Aw, c'mon, it's Shika. It not that he's going around shouting your secrets to everyone," she gestured with one hand.

"How did they hit you?" the medic ignored her friend, she turned to meet his eyes.

"With a metal Bō," he pressed his lips, there it was the drop of sweat between his scapulas again.

Do I really need to get this glandule checked?

Both women hissed in response.

"Those hurt," the medic recognized. "Lee hit me with one during a sparring once, I didn't break his arm 'cause he apologized like… twenty-three times," she shook her head, scrunching her nose.

She brought her hands closer to the gown. Shikamaru shifted uncomfortably; from the corner of his eye he saw a trace of a smile on Ino's face.

"I think he's getting a fever," his friend's tone professional, completely serious, her palm placed on his forehead.

The Nara widened his eyes in alarm, turning to see the blonde; her worried expression could fool anyone, but he knew perfectly how to recognize that gleam of wicked amusement in the turquoise colour.

"Actually, there is a reddening in the helix of his ears, an a little sweat on his temples," she leaned to observe better, her tone more clinical, her gaze more assessing.

"Goddam-"

A knock on the door interrupted his insult.

"Come in," Sakura's tone firm, she straightened up and turned to walk towards the door.

A shiver ran through the Nara's spine; his friend felt it against her hand.

Stupid Tsunade's voice, he complained mentally.

Then he noticed the intense, undecipherable scrutiny of the mentalist. He stared back at her, raising his eyebrows in confusion; she narrowed her eyes, as if she was trying to read something in his face.

"Ino," Sakura called, the Yamanaka neared her. "They need help with a big suture. Can you take care of it?" her voice was unusually gentle.

Shikamaru had the impression she took too many seconds to answer.

"Yes, I'm on it," she walked a step, then glanced over her shoulder to see him. "See you, Shika."

The shadows user raised a hand as goodbye, the moment his friend turned her back he frowned, trying to elucidate the suspicious glint he noticed in her eyes a minute ago.

Tsunade's apprentice closed the door, walking back to his side, she dragged a metallic stool closer to sit aside his injured leg.

"She doesn't talk to me like that when we're alone," he muttered, scratching his nape.

"She still struggles a bit when it's just the two of you," Sakura lifted the gown's fabric.

He was so preoccupied he didn't notice.

"But she has improved much faster than what I talked with Tsunade-sama, Ino has some mental defense mechanisms not even Ibiki-san possess," jade shine emerged from her hands.

"What is she doing here?" Shikamaru hissed when he felt her chakra running through his inflamed muscle.

"I asked her to come along to help with her recovery," she moved her hands a few centimeters up.

Shikamaru clutched the bed frame as he felt the pulsation.

"The hospital is a familiar place, and work is mechanical or routine most times, keeps the mind busy," her voice a bit distracted, she narrowed her eyes, pupils fixed on his hematoma.

From his position, the Jōnin could see her pink crown, the clear forehead, the Byakugō no In, the bridge of her nose and the slight play of her lips as she concentrated.

He noticed as well the brief gap of hair in her right brow, the white scar line she got in their mission.

Without realizing, his fingers were already touching his own mark.

"It looks good on you", he remembered, a tiny blush reached his cheeks. He cleared his throat.

"Your femur got almost broken, you have a moderate sprain in the vastus lateralis muscle, there's damage in your iliotibial tract, here," she pointed the area with her right index, her left hand still emitting chakra. "Your rectus femoris received a great deal of the force, but didn't get so torn. The transfer reached all the way to your sartorius and the aduc-" she looked up.

Shikamaru was absolutely certain his face was neutral, something he did out of instinct whenever someone talked about an unknown or strange subject.

He realized he had failed miserably when the medic grinned, and that troubled him quite a bit; his expression seldom gave him away.

"Well, considering that telling you got hit really fucking hard is redundant, I'll tell you instead your two alternatives," she straightened her back, her left hand centimeters away from his thigh, Iryō ninjutsu still shining. "I can give you anti-inflammatory pills and some pain-killers that will make you speak something that's not quite English, or you can come twice a week to get chakra rehabilitation."

The medic stared at him for two seconds, and at the third Shikamaru perceived a slight lift of her right brow, were her scar was.

He thought he saw something more underneath her professional interest, as if there was a trace of expectancy under her wait.

Sweat slid cold, too cold, down his back, contrasting with the suffocating heat at his nape.

Maybe I do have a fever.

He swallowed.

"Are you sure of what you're getting yourself into?" Ino asked, sitting in lotus.

Shikamaru was so contented that she had allowed him to braid her hair again, it took him several seconds to comprehend what she just said.

"What?" his fingers slowed their rhythm.

Ino exhaled, an unequivocal sound of frustration, or annoyance, or both.

"Sometimes I wonder how is it that you became the Hokage's counselor," she snorted, though her friend perceived her mock more in the shake of her white shoulders.

"Should I remind you I have your hair between my fing-" he realized what he was saying.

Panic punched him hard in the gut.

Stupid, stupid.

The Yamanaka hmphed, which was all resignation, heavy humor, caustic mockery and a hint of… melancholy?

A sound too full of significance to be deciphered.

"I had enough with your… image, shaving my head," the Nara tensed at that. "One time of terrible hairstyle choices is enough, thank you."

The sudden relaxation made her platinum strands slip amidst his fingers, undoing the progress he had made.

He wasn't sure what had motivated him, seldom he yielded to his impulses.

Though lately, when it came to his best friend, he relinquished with rare ease.

He hugged her, and the contradiction of feeling such an agitated relief completely overshadowed the pain of her elbowing his ribs for approaching so gruffly from behind.

Six breaths later, she placed a hand over his left forearm, giving him a comforting squeeze.

The three symbols of their clans stood out against magenta colour.

"I'm serious, Shika," Ino touched the white flower adorning the union or her braids, just where the parietal and occipital bone met.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the man moved the unlit cigarette between his lips, lying on the grass, hands behind his head.

Cross-legged, the mentalist sat centimeters away from the crown of his head.

The sky, the cloud resembling a…tree branch? A crooked finger? Got completely obscured by the Yamanaka's face.

"I think you know exactly who I mean," she emphasized intently.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deep to fill his lungs with air.

"Why are you nagging me with that?" a small wrinkle formed on his glabella.

His friend didn't answer, and that made him open one eyelid.

Ino had her arms crossed, visibly irked.

"Because I'm your friend, and I want to be sure that you are sure," she quirked an eyebrow.

"Sure of what?" moving his jaw, he settled it in protrusion so the cigarette pointed directly towards Ino.

She flicked it away with her middle finger.

"That you're aware you can end up with some broken bones if you pester her as you pester me, or everyone, to be honest," turquoise fixed on him.

Something in the seriousness of her irides made his usual laziness stir a bit.

"I don't know why you tell me this," he shut his eyelid again.

His phrase was quite contradicted by the sudden, slight acceleration of his heartrate.

The accumulation of saliva under his tongue as well, he noted.

"Very well, I'll be delighted to adorn your casket," she straightened up, exhaling with dramatic resignation. "Chōji's gonna be devastated."

"Tch," a smile stretched his left corner of the mouth.

Breeze moved the canopies of the huge trees, altering the figures of their shadows. Shikamaru could appreciate their relaxing sound in his ears as well as in the black void under his body, perceiving his best friend's presence at the same time.

He was truly glad the trace of dead nature was no longer contaminating her mark.

"When's your rehab?" she asked after some minutes.

"Who…?" he opened his eyes, just to see a chin and the point of a nose from his perspective; the kunoichi was looking at the sky.

He was talking to the Torture and Interrogation Analysis leader, who also was best friends with his assigned medic (assigned, not chosen), asking was quite naïve of him.

Which, by the way…

"When are you returning to T&I?" his tone more serious.

She didn't turn to see him, but the Nara did notice how her throat moved when she swallowed, her shoulders rising and falling with a heavy sigh.

"I need to pass four months on evaluations," she lowered her gaze, meeting the Jōnin's. "It never occurred me that I'd have to repeat the tests I went through to become director," she scratched an eyebrow using her right thumb. "Ibiki-sama can be very… convincing when it comes to make you believe you don't want to be there.

Shikamaru tensed his lips.

Silence was denser than the previous ones, and he didn't like the restlessness that stirred in the shadows.

Ah, mendokusai.

"She hits that hard?"

The sudden question made Ino stare at him like he just had spoken in a dead language. He could appreciate the transition from confusion to understanding in the turquoise colour.

She beamed at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Yes, that's the Ino I…

"You have no idea, Shika."

I should listen to my serf-preservation instinct.

Which, of course, he didn't.

Maybe it was something he got infected with when spending so many hours along the Dai-nana-han.

What big of a contradiction it was to get near one of the two ground zero.

For being carrier of such terrible disease, she smelt particularly good, something that reassured Shikamaru the most attractive species in nature were also the deadliest.

A rock the size of Chōji's head zoomed in, unstoppable.

He barely had time to dodge by throwing himself to the right, returning three kunais to the intense red.

Bad choice of colour if you're trying not to be a target.

He snorted resignedly when Sakura sprinted to him, deflecting the steel with a kunai.

Orange isn't a good choice either.

Carefulness, stealth and efficiency were terms that had no place in the team seven members.

Prompting his chakra, he made sure to move his Kagemane the exact moment the Jōnin's sole got off the ground, hitting the brief instant both feet were aloft; it was impossible to correct a trajectory like this.

He bound his shadow to the kunoichi's, having the precaution of using enough strength for the constriction.

Not tempting fate if he could end up in the hospital again.

Although that would inevitably make him end up under her ca-

A jerk pulled him out of his thoughts, and fixed his pupils on the pinkette's silhouette.

He had frozen her in an attack position, her torso leaning slightly forward, similar when she was about to charge, arms flexed so as her legs.

Sweat slid down the Nara's temples, his breath a bit agitated due to the effort, a self-satisfied, somewhat tired smile on his lips.

"You got careless," he straightened up, releasing the sign of his hands, right one shoved into his pocket.

She answered with a defiant smirk.

"How's your leg?" her breathing moving rhythmically her shoulders.

Which were more muscular than his.

Why that caused a tickle, too many centimeters below his navel to be normal, he wasn't sure.

He clicked his tongue in reaction, earning a puzzled flicker from the viridian colour.

"We can spend the whole afternoon like this, which would be quite a drag, or you can yield and…"

An extremely smug smile stretched her lips.

He only managed to widen his eyes in surprise when his instinct skyrocketed as he detected the presence behind.

Everything turned one hundred and eighty degrees.

His pupils focused her dirty knees, traveling down (or up, depending on perspective) to the fingers sticking out from the shinobi sandals.

Her nails were the same colour as Ino's current nail polish.

"I think the one who got careless was you," the voice came from above (or below?).

An uncomfortable tingling began running in his leg; Sakura's iron grip held him tight by his left ankle.

At least it wasn't the injured leg, he thought, then: Was it on purpose?

He swallowed.

"I'm not that easy," his knuckles and wrists scraped against the grass (he was taller) as he oscillated.

Since Sakura had the precaution of placing herself in a position where their shadows wouldn't touch, he had to use a bunshin.

An extra waste of chakra that would be worth it if it meant victory.

Metal jangled just beside the medic's right carotid.

Blood was beginning to accumulate in his head, he would need to finish it before getting disoriented or pass out, that also prompted a peculiar pulsation in the scar across his orbital.

"If you decided to cut me, I'd still have time to fracture your internal and external malleoli, maybe the talus too," she emphasized by clutching harder. "I'd take me… seven, eight seconds tops to stop my hemorrhage," Shikamaru could hear the smile in her voice.

"A broken leg is quite of a nuisance," he admitted, the tingling was now turning into a sharp stinging, and a small dizziness was clouding his judgment already. "Fine, you win."

He took her mocking snort as a valid acceptation of his yield.

The strategist noticed her hands were very gentle and careful as she turned him around again, giving him support while his brain adjusted to the orientation. An unusually remarked contrast, if someone asked him.

Neither so unpleasant.

Shikamaru was sweating, but he couldn't understand why that stupid bead between his scapulae felt different.

His balance had been restored, and the subtle hum of chakra vibrating in Sakura's palms indicated that she had also taken the trouble to check him.

Why did she not let go then?

Even worse.

Why he didn't want her to let go?

Then he met her emerald gaze, and that dangerous flicker (the one of violence, he remembered) prompted more adrenaline get injected in his blood.

I'm so fucked.

Rokudaime's stone head had always been better to watch the summer sunsets, so there he was, lying on the warm rock.

Like a reptile, he smiled.

Inhaling deeply, he filled his lungs.

He thought that, ever since he had those terrifying sparring sessions every week (this, if orders from Kakashi didn't keep them from doing so), his lung capacity had improved notoriously.

Dodging punches that pulverized rocks proved to be an excellent motivation.

Curiously, a graze (because if she had meant to hit him for real, he would probably had ended decapitated), burst his skin again the very same place so many months ago, when they rescued Ino.

And his idle tongue also remembered it had to insistently touch the cut every few seconds.

Blood taste wasn't so bad.

He exhaled while closing his eyes, relaxed with the muscle fatigue that seemed to quiet down his mind.

Like this he wasn't so preoccupied of the meeting he'd have with the Mizukage, or the supervision of renovation works at the Academy, or the drainage repair at the Hokage Tower, or the revision of the Hospital's budget proposal.

He didn't move an inch as he detected the familiar percussion of chakra, but his heart (traitor) raised its rhythm by fifteen beats.

"Hey," she greeted, by the sound and the shift of air he knew she had sat next to him.

"Hey," the soft breeze moved their clothes.

A faint smell of spearmint, honey and antiseptic reached his nostrils.

The Nara counted seventeen breaths.

"Shika…"

Now twenty-five beats above normal.

"Hmmm?" Did she need an update regarding the budget? "I've already talked to the Rokudaime about your proposal."

I told Kakashi he had t-

A snort made him open an eye.

The medic was looking straight ahead, the orange tonality of sunset tore glitters of a very particular colour from the viridian of her eyes. A discrete smile on her lips.

Forty beats in excess.

He should get that tachycardia checked.

She then turned her face, locking her pupils with his, emerald against brown.

Her shadow, elongated due to light's position, came into contact with the Nara's. The far pulsation of her presence resounded in his own tenketsu, causing a rare warmness that seemed to stir him at the same time, a feeling comparable to the battle call of a war drum.

He swallowed, and his brain decided to take control over his vocal muscles and his jaw, because:

"I wouldn't mind if you broke some of my bones."

Seventy (eighty?) beats above.

Sakura narrowed her eyes, staring at him long seconds, time Shikamaru's heart used very efficiently to keep increasing its rhythm.

"And I wouldn't mind watching the clouds with you."

She smiled at him, and only then he understood that that intense gleam of her eyes was not just violence.

I don't know when I got into this ship, nor I was so deep in it I had to write a fic of them.

Friendship between Shikamaru and Ino is one of my favourites in Naruto.

Please, take a minute to tell me what you thought, it really matters to us writers to communicate with our readers. Reading your opinions helps me improve a lot.

Hope you enjoyed it.