Statistica

Summary: It's not like he memorizes every single one of the many numbers he sees every day. ThreeShot- Shikamaru, Ino (Team Ten). Growing up, looking back is the simplest thing to do. And the hardest.

Warning: Complete in three chapters. Konoha facts are invented (but not unfounded), scientific, social or similar facts might come from actual statistics.

Set: Story-unrelated.

Disclaimer: Standards apply.

i. Calculations

The village of Hidden Leaf in the south-west part of Fire Country had a square footage of 2.98 square kilometers and was home to 25,131 inhabitants. It had been founded by Uchiha Madara and Senju Hashirama one hundred and eleven years before and had become the biggest and politically most influential of all shinobi villages. It had survived three great wars and many internal and external challenges and had emerged victoriously from most of them. In this village, men had given life to children who had grown into men who had watched their children grow.

Cycle after cycle after cycle.

Nara Shikaku was muttering under his breath, but his face betrayed nothing.

On their entire way back home, he didn't turn to face his son. Shikamaru didn't mind. He knew his father was keeping a close lid on his emotions, not because he didn't want to let go but because he was weary of the possible audience he would have. It stung and, at the same time, made him happy: his father didn't want to embarrass him in public, though he had every right to do so. So he followed behind quietly, the voices in his own head whispering their own mantra of shame. Only when they reached the Nara house, had entered and taken off their shoes, and Shikamaru had stopped in the door to the living room, waiting for the inevitable explosion, his father turned towards him and spoke.

"You have to show more consideration, Shikamaru." His dark eyes burned into his son's. "This isn't just a game. This is a village running on the sweat, tears, blood and combined efforts of all those people you met today. On good days, they will only squabble, on bad days they might sentence a whole squad of shinobi to death. And they don't do it lightly, believe me. I've been with them since my father took me to the council meetings, and I've seen them at their best and their worst. There are people like Danzou, sometimes, who you can't trust. But overall, the Konoha Council is made up of trustworthy, intelligent and caring people who'd never make a decision lightly. You just can't butt in like that and anger them." His face was a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

I know, I know, Shikamaru repeated in his mind and lowered his head. I know it was stupid. I just couldn't help myself.

"It won't happen again, Father."

As if his father had read his mind, he sighed, lifted a hand and patted Shikamaru's head, mussed his hair as if he still was twelve years old and not sixteen.

"I know you know it was a mistake. Learn from it and don't repeat it the next time."

When he looked up, he saw fondness in his father's eyes, and more: pride.

"To be honest, your first day was much more spectacular than my introduction into the Council. My father said it was rather boring, even. I bet he wished he'd taken my younger brother. I always thought I managed to convince him of my worth, at one point. But you knew your grandfather."

The wistful note in his father's words had Shikamaru look away again, uncomfortable.

"You could never please him."

Shikaku's fists tightened and released, again. When he met his son's eyes, he smiled.

"I'm proud of you, Shikamaru. You'll do well. I know it."

Of the total amount of inhabitants in Hidden Leaf, 47.1% were men.

2.5% were children between ten and fifteen, kids either attending a public school or the Academy. 1.7% were the teenagers between fifteen and eighteen, and that was the group Shikamaru belonged to right now. The generation that had been born into peace and had grown up in peace, the ones that would have to defend peace, too, when it came to it. But that wasn't important right now. Right now all the expectations and all the wishes and dreams of his parents and the Elders rested on Shikamaru's shoulders, all those grave mistakes his parents had made and didn't want him to repeat, and all the things he himself had seen and had loaded onto his shoulders so he would never forget. Shikamaru had seen people die. He had failed missions and had been defeated: and all those things had only made him more stubbornly determined to not fail. He was young, they were old. They had no idea what they were talking about, always moaning and cursing about the youth and how they had no respect. With all due respect: sometimes adults were wrong, too, and sometimes even people who had lived a long life and had seen many things made mistakes, as well. Had it not been Shikamaru who had told them so, they would never have reacted like that. As it was, he was young and impertinent, Shikaku, make sure your son keeps his tongue the next time. With all due respect.

Shikamaru returned the respect he received.

(Looking back, being a teenager had been so easy.)

"You did what?" Ino stared at him, wide-eyed and flabbergasted. "You called the Council a kindergarten?"

"Actually I didn't," Shikamaru said, stiffly. "I said, every child in kindergarten knew what they wanted wasn't possible."

Blue eyes continued to stare, incredulous, until Ino broke into wild laughter. "Oh, wonderful," she gasped after forty-three seconds. "Wait till Chouji hears this. He'll love it."

"Troublesome," Shikamaru muttered and pushed his hands into his pockets.

Ino, who had recovered from her spontaneous laughing fit but still was snickering, patted his back. "I think that's what they can call a grand entrance, don't they? I doubt they'll ever forget who will be the next head strategist and advisor to the Hokage once your father retires."

Miffed, Shikamaru dropped onto one of the two high stools behind the counter of the Yamanaka flower shop. Ino had shop duty that afternoon. Back home and suffocating in the atmosphere of mixed emotions his father was emitting after the Council meeting, Shikamaru had pretended to need to talk to Ino. He'd escaped safely – but now he had to deal with his team mate, instead. Shortly he wondered what would have been the smaller evil.

"He's grooming you as his only son and heir," Ino said, calmer, somehow sensing – in that weird, spot-on intuition that was hers – the actual reason for his discomfort. "I wonder…"

"What?" Shikamaru asked when her voice trailed off. Ino's eyes were unfocused and directed towards the bit of blue sky that was visible beyond the shop window and the display of colors and green.

She caught herself and smiled. "Nothing."

Nothing special.

When Shikamaru was nine he learned that five to ten percent of newborn children possessed an eidetic memory. There were other names for it, of course: photographic memory, for example, or – cue dramatic drumroll – total recall. Actually, there was nothing special about it. Having an eidetic memory meant the ability to recall images, sounds or objects with great precision for several minutes after the event. As children grew older, the ability faded, and only few adults had proven to possess such a superior memory skill. With him, it stayed, even after he outgrew his first chuunin vest. It was troublesome, to say the least.

"Surprisingly, you're not only on time but you're early," Chouji greeted him in while walking onto the bridge. Shikamaru sat on the railing, his legs dangling over the edge, and was leaning back to look into the sky.

"Surprising my ass," he muttered.

"No, really, it is," Chouji said and balanced his heavy body onto the railing, facing into the same direction as Shikamaru. "You're so intent on proving you don't care that you always show up right on time, never too early, never too late. Did you know it is far more difficult to actually be on time?"

Paper rustled and Shikamaru smelled the familiar scent of late breakfast.

"Have one," Chouji said and held out his paper bag. Eight sandwiches were neatly stacked inside, smelling faintly of fresh lettuce, cheese and tomatoes. The ritual was the same: two sandwiches for Shikamaru, which he ate without a comment. One for Ino, which she would first refuse and later eat with gusto. Two for Asuma-sensei, sometimes, and the rest for Chouji, and if Asuma declined the offer Chouji would eat his share, as well. It had started when they became a genin team, on their very first day, and they had kept the tradition. Mainly because Chouji's mother made delicious sandwiches.

They sat in comfortable silence, enjoying their meal, when hasty steps announced Ino's arrival.

"Do you always have to eat?"

Shikamaru rolled his eyes while Chouji chewed and swallowed and offered her the bag. "Hi, Ino."

"No thanks," she immediately returned and climbed onto the railing besides Shikamaru. "I've just had breakfast."

Shikamaru didn't say that Ino's breakfast was made up of a cup of tea and a bowl of cereal with milk. At least she was eating something. For some time, she'd refused to eat breakfast at all.

"Eat or we won't train with you," Shikamaru told her and returned her glare disinterestedly. "You know what happened the last time."

"Don't order me around," she shot back but took the sandwich. Chouji smiled without comment.

Shikamaru sighed. "Troublesome."

Ignoring his comment – except for an icy glare he was all too used to – Ino launched into a retelling of her weekend activities; meetings, thoughts and clothing items all inclusive. Chouji was chewing contentedly while Shikamaru tried to tune her out, as usual, and failed. As usual. There was something in the way Ino spoke that made him listen. Survival instinct, he supposed, because…

"Shikamaru!" Ino's voice was dangerously quiet. "Are you listening?"

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered in direction of the river. "Sakura misses Naruto but pretends she doesn't. Tenten developed a new technique to store weapon-unrelated things in scrolls. The weather was nice. You want a mission. The hell, Ino, let us enjoy the silence a bit."

Her elbow met his side, buried itself between his second and third left rib and stayed there for a second for good measure. Used to this kind of response, he merely groaned quietly.

"If you don't grow up soon it'll be even more troublesome for us than it is already."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She demanded, her head shooting into the air. She glared at him angrily. "Are you saying I'm immature?"

"I'm only saying-" Shikamaru started.

"What? Just because you already made chuunin doesn't mean you got maturity in buckets, Nara Shikamaru. In fact, look at you. You didn't look that calm when those girls from town were trying to get you to go out with them…"

That was low. Shikamaru's eyes shrank to slits. "And if you think you're mature just because you go out with a different guy every three months…"

"We're having a barbecue at home next weekend," Chouji interrupted them, his voice cheerful and nothing in it giving away that he had heard any second of their soon-to-be fight. "You'll be there, right?"

"I don't like meat," Ino grumbled.

"Whatever," Shikamaru answered, his eyes rolling, "then stop eating it for Heaven's sake!"

"That wouldn't be healthy," Ino objected. "And besides, my father would go nuts if I told him I'd become a Vegetarian. Something about not making those decisions lightly because the body needs certain vitamins, minerals and stuff…"

Chouji carefully rolled closed the bag that only contained Asuma-sensei's sandwiches. "He's right," he said. "And you have to eat balanced meals."

"Whatever." Ino probably wasn't aware that she was mirroring Shikamaru with the roll of her eyes and the tone of her voice, but he was.

When Asuma-sensei arrived they trained for hours and ended up flat on the cool earth afterwards, sweaty and exhausted and oddly exhilarated. Chouji opened a bag of chips.

"Go away, Shikamaru, you're too warm," Ino complained and shifted away from him. Shikamaru sighed and did not move.

"Don't start again," Chouji said peacefully. "It's nicely quiet just now."

Really, it was. The training ground was bathed in soft light, filtered through the green canopy of the trees, and the air was warm.

"I don't know why you always have to fight." Chouji voice was thoughtful. "You're, like, best friends."

"What? Us? Never!" Ino protested.

Shikamaru closed his eyes. "Troublesome."

Without Chouji, he thought, he and Ino would probably have killed each other a long, long time ago. Chouji balanced them, mellowed the sharp opposites they presented. Chouji was the one reason why they still were there, as a team.

Or perhaps he was their excuse.

After some time, when their breathing had evened out, the sweat had dried and the bag of chips was empty, Chouji sat up with a groan.

"Can I leave the two of you or will you start ripping off each other's head the second I'm out of earshot? I need to get back home."

"Whatever," Shikamaru said, dispassionately, watching a particularly beautiful cloud in the sky. "Wednesday, as usual?"

"Jup," Chouji said and smiled down at his friends. "See you. Bye, Ino."

Ino murmured an answer, seemingly half-asleep. Chouji left and the silence of the forest, punctuated by the soft rustling of the leaves and harmonious bird twittering, enveloped them again. Ino's rhythmic breathing next to Shikamaru was hypnotizing.

"Ino," he murmured.

"Hm?"

"Will you try out the chuunin exams this year?"

"Of course," she said, suddenly awake again. "Asuma-sensei said Chouji and I could make it. Sakura, Hinata and Lee's team will participate, too."

"Hnn." Shikamaru shrugged, a gesture somewhat futile since Ino couldn't see him. "You think you're ready?"

Ino's answer was wistful. "I don't know. But I want to try."

There seemed to be more behind her words than she let on and Shikamaru didn't dig deeper.

"It'll work out," he said instead and heard her chuckle.

"Yeah, that's what Sakura says, too. But she's been training with Tsunade-sama. She's sure to make chuunin this time."

"She's got a good chance. About eighty-one percent, I'd say. Most genin make it to chuunin on second try."

Ino laughed, half-surprised, half-amused. "I'm not going to ask for my odds but I'm sure you calculated them already."

He didn't answer, watching the cloud shift from form to form slowly. The sun had sunk. Shadows were growing around them, cooling the ground. It wasn't summer yet.

Ino shivered.

"I'm sure Hinata will be nominated, though. You should see her new techniques. They're amazing. I know everyone says Neji is a genius because he copied the Hyuuga style perfectly, but I think Hinata's even more so because she was able to develop her own style."

Shikamaru gave a non-committal sound and lifted himself up onto his elbows. Ino's eyes were closed as she talked, her face and body relaxed. She looked much calmer that way than when she was all tense and trying to prove herself-

"Let's go back," he said abruptly and watched her eyes snap open. When she saw he was watching her, she smirked.

"Getting cold?"

He knew she knew he couldn't get cold in the shadows alone but he went along with her, anyway. "No, but you are."

Ino smiled. "Yeah, it's cooling down pretty quickly. And I have to get back home. I have a shift in the shop."

Maybe, Shikamaru thought, he'd keep her company for some time. He liked the atmosphere of the Yamanaka flower shop.

And he liked the flowers, because they reminded him of someone-

Flowers were strange things.

They were so short-lived. Maybe it was because they died so soon that one could appreciate their beauty. Maybe they were precious because they reminded people how short life was, and how much beauty could be found in it.

It was a completely unreasonable, illogical excuse for buying cut flowers, but somehow he could grasp it.

When Shikamaru came home that night, the light in the living-room was on. Warm and steady, it almost seemed to call out to him. His father sat in the island of light, the reading glasses he only wore when he was at home perched on the outermost edge of his nose, a few more scrolls messily strewn over the table before him. Probably work, Shikamaru thought, because Nara Shikaku wasn't the person to leave business unfinished, not even when he had to be home at seven for dinner. From the kitchen, the soft clinking of pots and pans told him his mother had anticipated his arrival and had started heating up his dinner. For a second, Shikamaru stopped in the door and looked at the domestic scene in front of him: he'd inherited his father's intellect and strategic mind and his mother's sense for tidiness and order. As it was, he thought, it was a good combination.

He thought of leaving his chuunin vest in the corridor. Being tidy didn't mean he was unable to clean up later on...

"Put your things where they belong!" His mother's voice rang out and smirking, Shikamaru turned around, traipsed into his own room, deposited his vest on the desk chair and returned to the living-room.

"Hey."

Shikaku didn't look up from his papers. "Hnn."

Shikamaru sat down, grabbed a scroll and unrolled it.

"Damn Council," his father muttered. "Trying to change the Academy syllabus again. They should try learning all that stuff they would like to see taught in two years instead of three. Tell me what you think."

"I think three years of Academy shouldn't be shortened. We're not at war."

At that, his father placed down a scroll. "No," he said, but his voice was careful and devoid of any emotions. "We're not at war."

Shikamaru frowned.

"But?"

"No buts." Shikaku was staring into empty air, his forehead creased. "It's just that I'm worried..."

Shikamaru waited. Indeed, his father continued after some time. "There's this question as to where Uchiha Sasuke disappeared to, and the military strength of newly-founded village of Orochimaru's. And there are some other countries with which the diplomatic relations have been steadily declining. Jiraiya-Sama brought some intel the last time he visited, but we're not yet sure about what to do with it. Inoichi, Chouza and I will have to look into this more closely. And then there's the matter of Akatsuki."

"Sounds complicated."

Actually, Shikamaru thought, it didn't sound complicated: it sounded incomplete. Lose ends here and there, none of them connected, all of them leading into something in the future he didn't really want to look at. And, at the same time, leading back into the past: If I had only stopped him then and there-

Shikaku came back to reality with an almost audible snap. "Well, we'll tackle the problems one at a time," he said, cheerfully. "No need for you to worry. You're still young - let the experienced generation work on a solution, will you?"

Shikamaru knew when optimism was faked, and he knew his father. Nara Shikaku was being serious right now. And, for the son who had followed his father around since he could remember, who knew that his father never bit off a piece larger than he could chew, this was comforting. There was a way trust in your parents soothed your mind, Shikamaru thought, and settled back.

"About the Academy syllabus..."

Nara Yoshino came from the kitchen carrying a bowl of soup, a plate with bread and fruits and a glass of juice and placed it on the table. She gave her son a motherly pat on his head – "You're late" – and her husband a glare.

"You're not supposed to be working this late. You're home, not in the Hokage's office! What kind of role model do you want to be for your son?"

Shikaku looked at the one he was supposed to be a role model for, his eyes twinkling. "When you finished your dinner, fancy a match of Shogi?"

Shikamaru hummed his consent, already buried in a bowl of hot soup with soft bread and another one of the Council's propositions, and missed the look his parents exchanged over his head.

Shikaku was smiling.