iii. Hearts

Hidden Leaf had an amount of 15,717 households in total. The average number of persons in one household was 1.6. 63 % of the households actually belonged to singles or people living by themselves, reflecting the trend of young shinobi moving out early and living alone or in community dormitories. 12.2 % of all Leaf households had children younger than seventeen, the age a minor became an adult officially. The typical Leaf family consisted of three people: father, mother and 1.3 children. And 34.2 % of the people rearing children were single parents. It made Shikamaru realize, every time he looked at the statistics, how lucky he had been: he had grown up with both his parents for seventeen years.

It's not like he memorizes every single one of the numbers he sees and hears every day.

Once upon a time Shikamaru had listened to his parents explain his mental capabilities to another friend. They hadn't understood, in the same way Shikamaru was pretty certain his parents never had been able to grasp the entire consequences of the fact that their son was a genius. It was like explaining colors: there was no way to describe them to a color-blind person, no matter how hard one tried. There were people who were able to memorize long trails of things: numbers, words, places, historical facts. There were people who could look at a map or an image and reconstruct it in perfect detail. There were people who could read a text and later recalled every fact and name, people who could construct incredible, helpful devices, people who could remember every face they'd ever seen or who could create society-altering, scientific break-throughs. There were many varieties of genius, apparently, and Shikamaru possessed most of them. Perfect recollection could be a burden.

As was perfection.

And because Shikamaru was so incredibly, terribly perfect when it came to so many things, his mind refused to cope with others. Change, for example, wasn't a problem. The problem was the people: the sudden absences, the holes left by departures and deaths, the lose threads that wound around him and bound him and choked him until he had no strength left to fight. The still-born things dying unsaid that never would be heard in this world. I love you, Father. I miss you. I can't do this without you. Regrets and mistakes that could never be apologized for. People that did not change even though the world had stopped, tilted on its axis and started rotating into the wrong direction; people that continued to work and to smile and to live just like before. But also: people who did change while they never should have been allowed to do so – people he had known for all his life. People who mattered to him. He'd never realized how much until he'd almost lost them: blood-clotted gold-and-silver hair, a stained family crest and two unconscious forms, hands clinging to another and his heart broke but they'd been alive. He couldn't admit it, though, couldn't think of what he'd almost lost when he'd actually lost something heart-shatteringly important. And then Ino, a blurred figure in the pouring rain, wet hair plastered to her face. It was like Shikamaru had finally looked up and realized–

But he shouldn't, he couldn't, not when their world had just ended and there was a hole of the size of four men and a world in each of their hearts.

All the things that lingered on the tip of his tongue, poisonously, and couldn't be voiced.

"Watch it," he burst out when Ino accidentally upset the folders stacked on his desk. The papers tumbled to the ground in a mess.

Apologizing, she picked up the brown files, aided by Chouji. Shikamaru didn't wait until she had settled them back onto the table but pulled them from her hands impatiently and started going through them with his lips pressed into a thin line. He was well aware of his two friends' glances: Chouji was chewing silently, his eyes glued to Shikamaru, while Ino had her arms crossed in front of her chest.

Shikamaru slammed half of the folders down onto the table with more force than necessary and continued to sort.

"What's wrong with you?" Ino asked, the first one to break the silence.

"Nothing." Shikamaru fought the uncharacteristic fit of temper and found himself losing. "I didn't know the two of you were coming over."

"We said we would pick you up and go for a spar yesterday," Chouji said, and folded the bag of chips neatly into squares. The rustling was ear-shatteringly loud in the silence of his room.

"I've got a lot of work to do."

"Bullshit," Ino said and looked like she was debating whether to get angry or to worry even more. "These files were done. You were finished for today."

"And then you came and ruined all," Shikamaru shot back, gripping the edge of the table.

Ino's incredulous denial would have recalled the dead a few years – an eternity – ago. Now, she just sounded weary. The difference between past and present made his heart clench painfully and the ever-present feeling of shame was a bucket of ice down his spine. "It's not that bad. It's almost done again, and we'll help you if you have more to do. What's wrong, Shikamaru?"

"Nothing, dammit! Why do you keep asking me that? It's annoying!"

Ino's eyes shrank to slits. "I am asking because you're behaving strange, and we are worried about you."

"I don't need your concern."

"We're friends, we're allowed to worry about you-"

"Don't you have anything better to do with your time?" Shikamaru's voice was pure acid.

Ino's hands fisted at her side as she looked at him and the fact that the glimpse of the old Ino he knew shone through her armor was oddly satisfying. "Now that you say it, I actually do. Tell me when you've calmed down enough to talk normally."

She didn't slam the door, and she didn't storm from the room. She walked away, instead, slowly and calm, and closed the door quietly. Her steps on the stairs were swallowed by the walls and Shikamaru and Chouji were left alone; Chouji's eyes hooded and unreadable, Shikamaru breathing hard.

"What the hell is her problem?"

Chouji didn't answer.

Truth to be told: he didn't know what his problem was, either. Granted, his team mates could be exhausting on times. But they were friends, always had been, and usually Ino fussed, Shikamaru dead-panned and Chouji smiled. For years and years, their meetings after an argument had been what he had come to believe reconciliation felt like: they never apologized to each other but they just fit, like puzzle pieces. An equilateral triangle: three parts of a whole. No fight had ever managed to break them apart. It had, oddly, felt like what he'd always thought siblings would feel towards each other: quiet exasperation, loud annoyance, stubborn belief – and unmistakable, unbreakable love. This time was different. This time, the things that remained unsaid were a distraught effort to recall what they once had had, a desperate, hopeless attempt to hold back the change that was threatening to overwhelm them and which was driven forward by what had changed them in the first place but also by what Shikamaru felt and refused to comprehend. It was the sight of Ino that upset something in him; something slow-burning and uncomfortable. Whether it was the way she held her head or the way she smiled while her smile had changed, he didn't know. This was strange, dangerous, and Shikamaru understood it but couldn't accept it. And that was new. He'd always accepted the inevitable before – before the inevitable had become his father's face and his voice and the touch of his hand and the fact that he would never, ever have those things again. He hated the feelings Ino woke in him, he hated himself for feeling them, and he hated the fact that they would end the last remnants of his past that had survived the war. This is the end. He was sure Ino and Chouji felt it, too.

Shikamaru also didn't need to memorize things to know they were tucked away safely in his mind. They just were there.

Ino's haunted eyes were added to the gallery of his failures.

Human beings were the most troublesome species on earth. Human beings, in fact, were the reason why the world was so messed-up, so desperately, terribly cruel. People just couldn't live peacefully side by side. They never would appreciate what they had, always would want more. Money, influence and power. They never would be happy with their achievements. People were more savage than animals: they killed each other without reason, without hesitation and without regard for the losses. Even animals knew mercy - humans didn't care. There had been wars and conflicts since the beginning of time. Human beings had burdened the world, had torn it and hammered it and burned it into a form of their liking and then had proceeded to live in hypocrisy, each group believing he was most comfortable and the most worthy. And all those people that preached peace instead of war, or pacifism instead of lethargy – Shikamaru felt sick whenever he listened to them. Peaceful people were slaughtered (Uzushiogakure), pacifists murdered (Amegakure) and people fighting for justice died (Konohagakure). And it would never, ever end.

Maybe his life had made him develop a fatalistic mind, but Shikamaru didn't care much for it either way.

Ino was pulling her hair up in a tight braid.

Sometime after the war she had cut it. It fell onto her shoulders in a silvery curtain these days, as intangible as sunshine on a window sill, and was so short some strands escaped from the braid almost immediately. Impatiently, she pushed them behind her ears and fixed them with a pair of clips. Then, her hands dropped, and she stood motionless. Shikamaru, who had been watching her, tore his eyes away in a by-now well-practiced motion and moved forward until they stood three meters apart. Above them, in the green canopy of the forest, a black-bird chirruped, a call of warning to her relatives. The forest smelled like wet leaves and earth after rain but the ground was almost dry. The monsoon season was coming to its end.

Three years.

"Ready," Chouji said and eyed both of them carefully. Shikamaru gave him a curt nod. Ino didn't even look at him, he noticed. The Akimichi withdrew to a large tree that stood at the edge of the clearing.

"Go."

Instinctively, both Ino and Shikamaru dropped into the loose fighting stance that had been engraved into their muscle memory years ago. Equally simultaneously, they started circling each other. Shikamaru fixed his gaze on a point somewhere between her throat and her stomach, blending out details but keeping her entire body in his field of vision, and waited for her to attack.

Sparring with someone you knew so well was both useless and useful.

Ino opened with a straightforward punch to his abdomen, followed by a feint towards his face and, as he brought up his arms to block her, a short, quick sideway kick to his ribs. He dodged the first attack, blocked the second and twisted out of her range for the third, countering with a straight kick in a quick combination of punches and feints. He didn't fool her but one punch-kick combination shattered her defense. Ino jumped backwards, quick as lightning, used a tree to halt her momentum and activated chakra to catapult herself forward again. Flipping over his head she landed in a crouch behind him, placing both her hands squarely onto the ground and giving away her intention but not her advantage of speed. Shikamaru managed to leap only milliseconds before her legs lashed out in a less-than-gentle kick that was supposed to sweep out his feet from under his body. He came down in a summersault and caught her in the second between regaining her balance and getting up, two quick steps brought him close enough to be able to grab her shoulders and hook his knee behind hers. Ino went down without a sound but grabbed his collar in the process, her short fingernails raking his skin accidentally. His own momentum – and hers – drew him forward and he fell as well, an exemplary demonstration of a well-executed shoulder throw. Catapulting to his feet and whirling around, he found himself face to face with Ino. Her fist-

"No score." Chouji's voice was tight from where he was circling their fighting ring and they stopped immediately. "Take up positions. Go."

This time, Shikamaru started like an arrow shot from a crossbow. He ducked under Ino's defense and targeted her face; she blocked both his punches. When she jerked back her head he attempted to swipe her off her feet again, this time trying to distract her by jabbing his fist at her ribs. Ino moved backwards quick as lightning, centered herself and denied him the moment of imbalance he would need to tackle her to the ground again, took aim and spun around in a roundhouse kick that caught Shikamaru straight in the side with bruising force.

"Score Red." Chouji. Unhappy. "Take up positions. Go."

Traditional sparring rules meant no ninjutsu, no genjutsu and no bloodline talents, as well as strict rules regarding target zones, full contact and scorings. It wasn't a fighting style many genin learned, nowadays. Maybe Asuma had taught them to fight like this in order to teach them a lesson (Shikamaru honestly had no idea which one it was supposed to be) or because he thought they would actually profit from it. Either way, they used it.

Ino opened the round with a kick-punch-kick combination that drove him backwards relentlessly. Shikamaru tried to catch her leg but she was too fast. Using his heavier weight to his advantage he caught her last blow without even trying to dodge. For a second Ino seemed flustered – usually, he moved out of the way, he'd made it abundantly clear that he didn't like to make a stand and preferred to use his mind instead – and swiped at her dominant leg. Ino slammed to the ground painfully, twisted into a roll and came up to face him. A vicious counter-kick to the stomach sent her flying backwards, knocking all her breath from her lungs.

"Score White."

Ino clawed herself upright again, refusing to touch her rib cage which, as Shikamaru knew, had to be badly bruised. Coughing once, she took up her position in fighting distance from Shikamaru. His gaze caught hers, fiery and incensed. Shikamaru's heart slammed against his rib cage painfully. This was the Ino he knew- Ruthlessly, he pushed away the thought and focused. At least one thing he was good in.

Chouji had passed the border between unhappy and devil-may-care. His voice held no inflection. "Go."

Ino lunged.

They stopped fifteen minutes later. Both of them were breathing hard, Shikamaru wincing at a punch that had caught his chin bone, Ino holding a hand to her side. Chouji threw both of them a bottle of water each. "Final scoring: Red, fifteen points, white, seventeen points. You happy now?"

Ino shot him an icy glare which Chouji returned, equally angrily. Shikamaru finished the cool water in his bottle and looked at Ino. When their eyes met, she refused to meet his eyes but anger radiated from every tense line within her body.

Chouji looked from Shikamaru to Ino and back and visibly calmed himself. "I have to leave," he said. "Do me a favor, both of you?" At his icy tone, Ino lowered her head guiltily. Shikamaru had a feeling he knew what was to come. "Talk this out. I'm not watching my two best friends trying to kill each other in a no-weapons sparring match again. If you don't get a grip…"

He didn't finish the sentence but all of them heard the end. Silence fell onto the clearing, icy and foreboding. They knew what would happen if they couldn't settle this. All of them knew, but Shikamaru knew best.

Chouji was the first to leave.

Shikamaru looked at Ino: silvery, blonde hair, her flushed face, her small figure. Her arms that had caught him more than once, albeit only the only time they had actually touched had been months ago. Her hips, the swell of her breasts, the curve of her neck.

She was-

His gaze found her face, finally, like a starving man finds water. His eyes caught hers: large and deep, blue like glacier lakes in the mountains of Snow–

Realization, as always, was simply there, overwhelming in its completeness.

The emotions in her eyes shifted to pure terror. As fast as it had come it disappeared again, replaced by the control she had trained onto herself.

"I have a meeting at nine," she said calmly. "I will be leaving first."

She did so without glancing back.

There were statistics. More than a few.

Two thirds of all interviewed persons had confessed they believed that people fell in love for a lifetime. One partner, one life together, and they lived happily ever after. 31 % of people in a relationship considered themselves very happy, 52 % at least as happy. On the other hand, 46 % of 16-to-69-year-old-singles did not believe in Eternal Love.

More than 90% of the interviewees wished for faithful relationships. Still, 50 % confessed to have cheated on their partner at least once.

34 % - - -

Of course, you couldn't trust any statistics you hadn't forged yourself.

"Are you in love with me?"

They hadn't spoken since she had left the training grounds without another word a week ago. It could have been a grand exit, would have been, had it come a few years earlier. Ino had disappeared almost soundlessly instead, her head high but her shoulders slumped, and Shikamaru was left to stare after her and wonder why his mind was so calm.

"What?"

Dust danced in the few sun-rays that made it into the duskiness of the stairwell they were standing in. Heartbeats ticked by.

He repeated his question. "Are you in love with me?"

"Idiot," Ino said, deliberately calm. "You stupid, stubborn, fucking idiot."

"What a language."

"What is this about, now?" She lifted her hands and dropped them again, her shoulders sinking in a gesture of defeat so un-Ino-like something inside him twisted violently. "You were the one behaving like an anti-personnel mine rigged to blow any second. Chouji and I thought you needed some more time since you kept ignoring us or shouting at us, alternately, so we gave it to you, but all you did was get even angrier. And now suddenly you're back, pretending like nothing ever happened, and the first thing for you is to go and ask me this? Really, Shikamaru? Because I don't believe for a second that you haven't realized this years ago. You're the genius, after all, you can't even ignore the tiniest, most insignificant thing. Are you trying to make me even more miserable in order to feel better yourself? Because that's the only reason I can imagine that you'd ask me this out of the blue. Do you even know what answer you want to hear when you ask something like that?"

She laughed, or tried to, because she choked on a sob and closed her eyes tightly, fighting for control.

"I have no idea, really, why it has to be this way. It could have been so much simpler, I could have picked Sai, or even Kiba, at least-"

Which was when he kissed her. It shut her up effectively. For a second, she tensed – Shikamaru prepared to be kneed into his jewels – and then she relaxed. Her thin, bony figure turned soft and pliant in his arms as she kissed him back, leaned against him and up to meet his lips. He closed his eyes and inhaled her scent, felt her lips on his, her hair soft under his fingers – and then she pushed him back with so much force he stumbled backwards three steps and almost fell down the stairs.

Ino's lips were red and a blush colored her cheeks. Her eyes shone with a strange mixture of fear, anger and tears.

"Fuck," Shikamaru said, disregarding his prior statement about foul language and fighting the overwhelming urge to kiss her again. When had that gotten out of hand so completely?

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ino demanded, her voice full of unshed tears. "Have you completely lost your mind now?"

"Troublesome woman." Shikamaru reached out and pulled her towards him, despite her furious attempts to get away from him. "Stay still, will you? I don't want to risk personal injuries just because I'm holding you."

She stopped resisting. But in his arms, she still was stiff and unresponsive. "Shikamaru," she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. "If this is out of pity-"

His jaw almost dropped in surprise. "Pity?" He repeated, incredulous, pushing her back slightly to look in her face. "How could you even think-"

Silence.

"How should I deal with this?" She finally asked. The frantic beating of her heart at his chest belied her calm words.

"I don't know," he said, honestly. "I can't think of anything right now except for that I want to kiss you again. So troublesome."

"And when you're done with the kissing part, are you leaving again?"

"I never left," he protested.

"Not physically." Her blue eyes were grief-stricken, and his heart stuttered in his chest. "But you weren't there, Shikamaru. After your father – our fathers – I didn't know whether…" She broke off her sentence, looked down again, looked up. Her face was so close-

"Tell me what you feel. For once, please, and don't lie."

He tasted the words, tested them, pushed them around in his head. They sounded foreign. Alien, like nothing he'd ever said. But they felt right, too. Like he had been waiting to say them his entire life.

"There will never be someone else for me but you."

He would drown in her eyes.

"And I know the feeling is mutual, so can we please get over this embarrassingly troublesome part and move on?"

Her laughter took off like a bird towards the sky, and Shikamaru's heart followed. Ino's lips were sweet and soft. The moment could have lasted an eternity or mere second, he had no idea. It was broken when someone cleared his throat very pointedly, directly next to them. Dazed, Shikamaru looked up and found himself eye to eye with a frowning Fifth Fire Shadow.

"Yes?"

From somewhere behind her, Naruto started laughing madly.

"Could we pass, please?" Tsunade-Sama asked icily and nodded towards the staircase. Ino, crimson, tugged at Shikamaru's side. Without a word, he moved aside.

"Thank you." The Hokage rushed past him, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like Get a room. Naruto followed, still snickering, winking at Ino conspiratorially and skipping up the staircase to the fourth level. Was it Shikamaru's imagination or had Naruto just given him a threatening look?

"Took you some time," the blonde shinobi almost sang and disappeared behind the next stair head, leaving them alone again.

"God." Ino hid her face in her hands, torn between laughter and tears.

Shikamaru wrapped a strand of her hair around his fingers and touched it to his lips.

Ino slapped his hand away. "Don't do that!"

"Why not?"

She avoided his eyes, blushing again, and muttered something.

"Hm?"

Shooting him a furious look, she repeated, her eyes downcast again: "I'm not used to this!"

Shikamaru stared at her blankly. And then, he threw his head back and, for the first time in what felt like ages, laughed. Ino's fists balled at her sides. "Stop laughing at me!"

Still chuckling, he wrapped his arms around her.

"Sorry," he whispered and felt her tremble. How strange how many ways there were to say I love you without actually saying the words.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard his father's hum of approval.

Shikamaru could cite statistics about his village, his predecessors, his work and about relationships that developed from childhood friendships. He could talk, if asked and willing, about the failures, decisions and good deeds of the living and the deceased, could mention literature about how to lead a village, how to fight the battle that was diplomacy, on how to agree on treaties and what to think of when forming a contract. He would be able to give advice on how to live in a harmonious relationship and how disagreements that had to be overcome were a part of it, on how to return home, on how to raise children and how to advance in a job. He could tell people, if asked, how having good friends and meeting them often, of sharing his life with others, was vital, and how one could grow old in peace along with the people one loved more than life itself. If questioned, he would be able to bolster his arguments with examples, statistics and numbers, as well: it was there, all right in his head.

Right next to the image of Ino, smiling at him, her hair tousled and her eyes radiant and the most beautiful being on earth, and of Chouji, cheerful, opening the next bag of chips and offering them to him.

Shikamaru didn't think there was a way to express human hearts in numbers.