Chapter Six

The ANBU member hurried into the library. The soft carpet muted her footsteps as she navigated the tall wooden shelves, searching for the Genjutsu section. It took her a while; being ANBU didn't exactly make her the most well-read of people as the information she usually dealt with didn't normally come in books. Especially as the new experiments Orochimaru was constantly performing could grudgingly be categorized as cutting-edge technology. Evil cutting-edge technology, perhaps, but still way beyond what the typical library book could cover.

Still, here she was, pulling books off shelves and carrying them back, precariously stacked into a pile over to the nearest available table. Though she set them down as lightly as she could—no easy feat; those things were heavy even with all her training—it still caused the pink-haired girl sitting opposite her to look up. "Ohayo," Sakura whispered.

"Ohayo," the ANBU member mouthed back. The two vaguely knew each other from the Academy, though they'd never been in the same class, the ANBU member being more advanced. And more mature, the ANBU member had always thought, every time she'd witnessed the sickening sight of Sakura chasing after the Uchiha traitor and simpering at him without a trace of basic human dignity.

Since the power-crazy idiot had deserted the village, however, Sakura had calmed down somewhat from her fan girl ways and after a good year or two had actually grown to be quite pleasant. She and the ANBU member got to hold interesting enough conversations when they got the chance, though neither actively sought the other out to do it.

"Research for your patients?" The ANBU member nodded at the other girl's stack of heavy volumes labeled The Nervous System: Role of the Spinal Cord and so on.

"Hai," Sakura confirmed. "There's this one who's…kind of in a coma, but he's a special case and none of the healers have any idea how to help, so…" She gestured helplessly at the books that, combined, towered way above her head. "What about you?"

The ANBU member shrugged. "Just wanted to check something up about Genjutsu."

Sakura arched a brow. "You're a Genjutsu user? I didn't know that."

Shaking her head, the ANBU member turned the first aged, dust covered page. "I'm not. Hardly know anything about it, which is why I need these." She waved a hand at the mountain beside her. Technically, her knowledge of Genjutsu probably topped Sakura's, give all the extra training. But she couldn't really explain that she was gathering information for an ANBU mission, for reasons obvious.

Not that she didn't want to ask for the other girl's help; advanced Genjutsu fazed the ANBU member more than a little. She needed Kurenai for this kind of thing, but the woman was on a border patrol duty and wouldn't be back for a while. As for Anko…the ANBU member quirked a smile. Anko was perfectly capable of using Genjutsu, but her knowledge of it wasn't particularly inspiring. "What's wrong with kunais?" she'd always ask whenever anyone brought the topic up.

At times, the ANBU member actually agreed with her brash friend, but missions were missions. Resignedly, she started to read.

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For the first few seconds, Shikamaru processed it like any other piece of information he'd obtained so far. Right, so he'd sent Ino on a mission with this other 'teammate' of his—at least something about this place was normal, though he couldn't think why Ino had been left as part of his team when Chouji and Asuma hadn't—and she'd di—

The purple haired girl looked up sharply as Shikamaru inhaled harshly.

"…Hokage-sama…?" She looked at him quizzically, as though she couldn't quite place him.

"It's nothing, I…choked—" he forced a few weak, lifeless coughs "—on my ramen." Absently he reached for his green tea and allowed his throat to swallow mechanically, giving him time to think. Or not to think, for that matter.

Ino, dead? Dead, as in…dead? Shikmaru once again found himself grappling with news he couldn't digest. Not that death was at all new to him—the purpose of shinobi, once you got to the core of the job, was to make sure other people ended up dead. Which explained the kunais and poisons and things they all carried around. It was just that…dead? As in, he wouldn't see her coming round the corner to nag him about his laziness? Dead, as in she would never speak or walk or laugh again? Dead, as in he would never get the chance to apologize for routinely ignoring her because he found her troublesome?

That couldn't happen. Oh, be believed this 'teammate' of his. He believed that Ino had died. And yet, it couldn't have happened. It wasn't impossible, obviously. Ino, like him, like anyone else, was merely flesh and blood after all. Especially as a kunoichi, death was very, very possible. But still it couldn't have happened.

His teammate, his real teammates, just didn't die.

They didn't.

Firmly closing his eyes, he pictured them in his mind: Chouji, up to his elbow sifting through a bag of chips, and Ino, telling him off for it while holding this wistful look in her eye that plainly said she was trying hard not to remember the savory taste of barbecue.

That was what they should be doing. Chouji shouldn't be acting like a stuttering, bad copy of himself and Ino had no business being dead.

This…reality, no, this non-reality, it was all wrong. Just not right. Shikamaru refused to believe—

Thin, pale, hurting, dying, the image of Chouji in the hospital room, just after the Sasuke Revival Mission, burst into his thoughts.

Still, silent, sprawling over blood-soaked soil with specks of red splattering the sharp, unforgiving grass around her, Ino's lifeless form tore forcefully into his consciousness. She needed help—or was she already gone? He had to give it a try, even if she was only just alive—but he couldn't.

Because…it was only all in his head.

"Shikamaru-sama?"

He opened his eyes and removed the cup, now drained of tea, from his lips. A quick sideways glance told him that the girl was now gazing at him with a most peculiar expression, tender and for some reason, approving. Something tickled his cheek and Shikamaru lifted a hand to brush the troublesome irritant away, only to bring his fingers back wet. Stunned, he slowly traced the thin stream of tears with his palm, rubbing them dry when he remembered that 'Hokage Shikamaru' probably would never cry. Even over death, and the loss of a dear friend. "My apologies," he composed himself. "I recalled something…unpleasant."

The girl's smile was hesitant, but flooded with sympathy all the same. "Ino?" she suggested gently. "Your clan?"

His clan? His clan what? Shikamaru figured he probably couldn't take more bad news, but his craving for answers overruled all reason. "I…I…my clan…it…" He knew perfectly well that if he kept up those obvious symptoms of an emotional breakdown, his 'teammate' would soon guess that he wasn't really her Hokage. But seriously. No friends but for one terrified 'teammate', no family—the implications the girl had given about his clan didn't sound too favorable—and absolutely no life outside being the village leader? They could cart him off to hell for all he cared; it couldn't be too much worse.

Amazingly, the girl not only didn't raise the alarm and turn a kunai on him, but found the courage to touch his arm briefly in what little comfort she could give him. "Don't blame yourself, Shikamaru-sama. You were always a strong shinobi, but you were still so young when it happened. The assassins outnumbered your whole clan. Please don't—oh, Shikamaru-sama…"

The hand she lay on his shoulder as he cradled his head, unable to keep up his act at last, was much firmer than he had expected. It told him to be strong, but he honestly couldn't bring himself to be. How many others had, like this girl, like Ino, like his poor family, been hurt because of him? How many more had he caused pain, directly or indirectly?

"It's my fault," he moaned into his fingers. "They only wanted me," he spoke out of his sub-consciousness, before he could fully register what he'd just realized. "They only wanted my life."

"Well," the girl's voice sounded reasonable, though not unkind. "You possessed power unheard of before, for your age. Every other village worried about what you might grow to become."

But to Shikamaru, it didn't really matter. This reality, or his reality, it didn't matter anymore. How many times had people sought his life? How many had been killed in those evidently blotched attempts? Worse still, he had actually survived to send Ino, probably lots of others, to their untimely deaths.

And far had he come from the numbing sense of incredulity he'd felt on hearing of Ino's decease. Like a lifetime of pondering all in one second, he'd understood all too well what it was for someone to die. Or rather, to cause someone to die. To leave loved ones crying and lonely, to extinguish a flame which could never be reignited, no matter how hard he begged or how loudly he screamed. No matter how many times he said sorry. The ultimate act of finality, in other words.

Shikamaru knew it wouldn't be very pragmatic or helpful to anyone except his enemies, but he still felt the urge to just kill himself on the spot.

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As one of the ANBU, Tori should have been ready and prepared for any scenario.

Which just showed that there was a gaping hole in her training, because dealing with an emotionally traumatized Hokage wasn't something she remotely knew how to do.

Sure, she'd thought she was well versed with Shikamaru's moods, having been his teammate and all, but surprisingly none of the known methods seemed to work. It didn't help that she'd never seen him in this state before either.

It was all very puzzling. Reminding him that as a shinobi, he had to keep his feelings in check—something he had constantly patronized her about before—only made him slump further into full-fledged, uncontrollable sorrow. Hoisting him to his feet with an arm around her shoulder, on the other hand, went down unexpectedly well wit his unmanageable pride.

All the same, being ANBU, Tori succeeded in ushering Shikamaru back to the Hokage tower without being stared at too much, and lowered him limply into his chair after entering in through an open window to his office.

She forwent trying to prop him up into anything resembling a normal seating position.

Moving with kunoichi grace and efficiency, she removed files liberally from his desk, temporarily positioning them onto the floor, then checked to see if Nara Shikamaru, her rigid Hokage, had resurfaced yet.

No, apparently he had not.

Helplessly, she teased a few napkins from his desktop box into his hand, which he accepted without comment, or his trademark "I'm fine, leave me alone". Surveying his deflated demeanor, trembling with suppressed sobs, she decided that there wasn't much more she could do for him. At least, not for now.

Reluctantly she left the tower, heartily wishing that she could have stayed to fend off anyone else requesting an audience of him until he'd had time to pull together.

She didn't think other people would take as kindly to being faced with the same suspicions she was running over now.

True, Shikamaru was still Shikamaru fundamentally, but somehow, somewhere, sometime, something had changed. Oh, this was his body alright. And basically still his character, though only barely. But the person, the person who was him—was not him.

Not anymore.

Tori for one knew that he seldom mourned for anyone; much less allow others to see him in the action. She just wished she knew what had brought about this sudden upheaval in personality. She would have liked to ask for help, but exposing Shikamaru to less sympathetic villagers didn't seem like a good idea. She might not see him as mad, but there was no guarantee about other people.

And anyway… Tori smiled slightly to herself as she flew across roofs.

This might not be a bad thing altogether, this change.

For now, she decided as ANBU training kicked in, she could only watch and wait until he calmed down enough for her observations to be of any value before she planned her next move.

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Author's Note: Ok, ok, so I said exams. Well, I still have them, don't worry. I just have this habit of writing a little after meals and stuff before I start work, which is why this came out. Actually, writing isn't the problem. It's finding the time to type them up (parents, studying, you get it) that's the thing, so I have absolutely no idea, as of this moment, when the next one might come up.

No, seriously, I don't know.