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There comes a magical time in the raising of a child where they will, without fail, use one word on repeat for what feels like months.
The word, of course, is ‘Why?’
Because toddlers question everything, and the response to every answer must always be an additional why, until the long suffering parent is trapped in a never ending spiral of despair.
Of course, at about the time ‘why’ shows up, it attaches itself to a question with a seemingly impossible answer.
“Why is the sky blue?”
“Why do snails move slowly?”
“Why is wood made of wood?”
There are not always suitable answers for these, and when in doubt, one can fall back on the tried and true ‘Because I said so.’
That placated most children.
But Shikadai was not most children.
Shikadai was tenacious and curious and mentally leagues ahead of his peers, and Shikamaru wondered what he had done wrong in his life to be put through the horror of Shikadai needing to know how the world worked.
Because Shikadai didn’t stop at ‘why’, which meant ‘because I said so’ wasn’t an appropriate answer.
Shikadai, always ahead of the curve, preferred to ask ‘How?’
“How did you and Mom meet?”
For a moment, Shikamaru pretended he hadn’t heard the question. He and Shikadai were lounging on the couch, watching something brightly coloured and inanely voiced on the TV, and Shikamaru had been halfway asleep, sprawled lengthways with Shikadai sitting on his stomach, when Shikadai’s voice snapped him awake.
When Shikamaru opened his eyes, Shikadai was peering expectantly, looking at him with enormous green eyes and a fluffy tuft of dark hair tied atop his head, and Shikamaru longed briefly for the days before verbal communication had entered this parenting equation.
He sighed. “Why?”
“Kids ask why. Adults answer.”
See, it was because Temari’s attitude flared up more frequently the more Shikadai opened his mouth. And when he glared like that, with the forest a mirror of his eyes, all Shikamaru could imagine was how impossible Temari must have been as a child.
Your mom was probably a menace, and you’re just like her, he thought, but cleared his throat to stall for an age-appropriate answer. “We met at the Chuunin exams.”
“Were you working together?” Shikadai immediately latched onto this new piece of information and, in true Nara fashion, began to analyse it.
“No.” Shikamaru closed his eyes. “Watch your movie.”
“I want to know how you met Mom.”
“Why?”
Shikadai’s frown deepened. “I told you adults don’t get to ask why. They know everything already. You’re supposed to tell me everything, so I can learn. That’s what Mom said.”
Of course she did. Shikamaru groaned. If he couldn’t ask why Shikadai wanted to know, he could just work around it using his brilliant adult abilities to solve problems. “Is there a reason you want to know?”
Shikadai paused then, mouth forming a pout as he realized Shikamaru was asking why without using the word, and had found a loophole in Shikadai’s attempt to box him into a conversational corner. He huffed, admitting defeat, “’Cause we were talking about it at day-care.”
“Who is ‘we’?”
“Boruto and Inojin. Because one of the teachers was going on a date, and she met him at work, and we wondered how you met Mom.”
Oh, good, a safe line of questioning. Shikamaru relaxed a bit. “Ah. I see. Well, your mom and I met at the Chuunin exams. We were both trying to graduate from genin.”
Shikadai’s expression softened. “And did you fall in love like in the movies?”
“. . . Yes . . .?”
“You don’t sound so certain,” Shikadai cocked his head. “In the movies, when the boy and the girl see each other they fall in love, and that’s it. All done.”
What the hell had his child been watching? Shikamaru made a note to ask Ino what nonsense she was distracting Shikadai and Inojin with. “It’s not exactly like that.”
“So you don’t love Mom?”
“No, I do, ugh,” Shikamaru rubbed a hand across his face. “It’s complicated.”
“Doesn’t sound like it.” There it was, that attitude again. Shikamaru was starting to get nervous, because his genes seemed to be losing miserably to Temari’s, and he was hoping and praying Shikadai got his shadows at least, even if he wasn’t getting Shikamaru’s eyes and demeanour and laid-back attitude. You should have been a girl, you troublesome child.
“Shikadai, love in real life isn’t like movies. It takes time-“
“So how long did it take for you and Mom to love each other?” Shikadai moved to settle a bit more comfortably on Shikamaru’s stomach, a leg on either side of his father, clearly anticipating being there for a while.
“. . . Few years?”
“Why didn’t you fall in love with her when you met her?”
Because I was scared shitless of her. Shikamaru sighed. “Uh, we, uh, didn’t become friends right away.”
“Why not?”
“We were from different villages. And . . . we had different goals.”
“Like what?”
“Why are you still asking questions about this?” Shikamaru asked, and received a reproachful look in return. “Shikadai, does it really matter how we met?”
“It does matter, because Auntie Ino says it’s important. Because you can’t have a baby if you don’t love someone very much, and since people fall in love when they meet, it’s important. If you and Mom met the best out of everyone, then you love me the best out of everyone else,” Shikadai puffed his chest out, proud of the thought.
“So,” Shikamaru tried to follow the absolutely drunken logic that was the result of Ino having influence on his child’s unusually retentive brain. “Whoever’s parents met in the most interesting way . . . that child wins at being loved?”
“Yes. I want to win.”
“. . . Does it matter if you don’t win? Your mom and I love you no matter how we met, and it’s not a competition. I’m sure it doesn’t matter, and your friends won’t think any less of you. How are things going at day-care, anyway?”
“Dad,” Shikadai said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re redirecting me.”
When the fuck had he caught onto concepts like that?
“I’m not; I’m expressing an interest in your life. It’s a perfectly normal thing to do.”
Shikadai huffed. “You’re not helping. I want to know how you and Mom met.”
“I told you. At the Chuunin exams.”
“But how?”
“We were matched up against each other in the stadium fights.”
This new piece of information seemed to placate Shikadai a bit, and he settled. “Did you win?”
That was always an interesting question to answer. “Well, technically . . .” Shikamaru paused. “Would you like it if I did win?”
“Yeah,” Shikadai grinned. “That’d be cool.”
“Then I won.”
“So you’re stronger than Mom?” Shikadai said eagerly, shifting closer.
“Should I be?” Shikamaru regarded the small child on his chest.
“Yes!”
“Then I am.”
“So,” Shikadai shifted even closer. “Tell me exactly what happened. Was it like the movies? Like the stories?”
“Hm,” Shikamaru relaxed again. A plan was forming. He could just make something up, and it would probably be enough to satisfy Shikadai’s curiosity. “Well, your mom’s a princess from a faraway land-“
Shikadai wrinkled his nose. “That sounds silly.”
“That’s the most factual thing I’m putting in this story,” Shikamaru shrugged. “If you don’t like it, then pretend you didn’t hear it. Anyway, she came here to the Leaf village to pass the Chuunin exams, and we ended up fighting against each other.”
“And then you fell in love?”
“No. That was later. After the exams, we happened to meet up again due to Sarada’s dad going on . . . holiday. I met your mom again because she was helping us out.”
“What did she help you with?”
“Trimming some trees. Then we talked a bit, and that’s when I decided I liked how she smiled-“
“And then you fell in love?”
“No. I told you, that was later. We started working together-“
“This is a long story for falling in love,” Shikadai claimed. “It’s meant to take, like, a second. Maybe you did it wrong. Or you remembered it wrong.”
“No, I’m remembering it correctly. I was there.”
“When did Mom fall in love with you? Was it the time you met?”
Definitely not. “I don’t think so.”
“I’ll ask her,” Shikadai decided, nodding to himself.
“You do that. I’m sure she’ll have a good answer for you.”
“Okay, but when did you fall in love with her?”
“I can’t remember,” Shikamaru tried.
Shikadai sent him the most unimpressed look he could muster. “Dad, you remember everything. ‘Specially important things. Everyone says you’re the smartest person in the village.” He paused, then added, “’Cept Mom. She says you’re an idiot.”
“Yes, I am aware of that.”
“So then when you were working together you fell in love?” Shikadai persisted.
“I mean, eventually, yes, but it wasn’t a quick thing.”
“It’s supposed to be.”
“Real life is different from the movies. Real love takes longer than just a second.”
Shikadai looked unimpressed. “It shouldn’t. How hard can it be?”
“Loving your Mom? Very hard, sometimes.”
There was a distinctive snort from the other room, and Shikamaru startled, nearly throwing Shikadai off his chest. “What the hell, Temari?”
She entered the room, a wicked glint in her eyes. “Hey, boys.”
“How long have you been there listening?” Shikamaru asked, slightly nervously.
“Since you ‘won’ our fight in the Chuunin exams,” Temari raised an eyebrow. “You and I remember those exams very differently.”
“Mom,” Shikadai plopped off the couch and raced to his mother. “How did you and Dad meet?”
“Is that what we’re talking about?” she asked innocently, bending over to scoop him up. Shikadai resisted being lifted, but only for a moment, then gave in to the coddling. “Let’s see . . .”
Shikamaru waited, eyes narrowed and silently daring her to contradict his story.
Finally, Temari pressed a kiss to Shikadai’s forehead, and said matter-of-fact, “We met when my village attacked and tried to destroy his village, murdered his Hokage, and my baby brother turned into a demon and tried to beat up Boruto’s dad.”
There was a short silence, while Shikadai mulled over that, and Shikamaru gaped in disbelief at his wife, because who tells kids that?
“You’re lying,” Shikadai said flatly. “No one meets like that and falls in love.”
“You’re right,” Temari said, throwing a cheeky grin at Shikamaru. “How do you think it happened, then?”
Shikamaru rolled his eyes, getting off the couch to approach them.
Shikadai grew thoughtfully quiet. After a pause, he ventured, “I think you met like in the stories, when one person saves the other person, and then the rescued person falls in love and the one who rescued them was already in love, and that’s why they rescued them.” He considered his story for a moment, then nodded, satisfied. “Yup, just like that.”
“Yeah,” Shikamaru smiled softly, reaching a hand up to card his fingers through Temari’s hair.
She smiled back at him, her gentle, pretty smile that he only ever saw aimed at him or Shikadai.
“That’s exactly how it happened.”