Chapter Text
“Be careful today,” Shikamaru said absently, eyes on the horrendously scrawled notes Naruto had made. He wondered if he should send them to the code breakers and see if they could make more sense of them.
“Yeah.” Shikadai sounded dismissive, finishing breakfast. “It’s not a hard mission. Just an escort.”
Shikamaru looked up, over his papers, at his son. “You never know.”
He did, though. Yes, Shikadai’s mission was easy, but he didn’t know all the details. All his team was doing was a simple escort of some relative of a feudal lord, but the area they were going through had had a spate of attacks by rogue ninja. It had been decided to keep that information away from the genin, so they didn’t get hyped and start looking for trouble, but Naruto had asked for a Jounin team to follow from a distance just in case.
It was a bit risky, using a known Feudal Lord relative surrounded by low level shinobi to hopefully draw out the rogues, but Naruto had thought long and hard about it, and had finally decided to go through with it. The Jounin would be fast enough to intercept if needed.
Shikamaru just hadn’t expected his son to draw the mission.
“Tem,” he said, waving his empty coffee mug around vaguely.
She threw a glance over her shoulder from the sink. “You can walk the three feet to give it to me.”
“It’s too far,” he held the mug out pleadingly. When she just glared at him, he put his mug back on the table. “I’ll just leave it here, then.”
She rolled her eyes before returning her attention to washing up.
Shikadai slumped in his seat. “We’ve been stuck on easy missions like this for ages. When can things get a bit more interesting?”
Shikamaru sent his son a hard look. Today was probably the answer to that question. He was debating with himself to tell Shikadai to watch out or not, when Temari passed behind him on her way out the kitchen. She paused, leaning down.
“I’m on the team following him,” Temari whispered into his hair. “He’ll be fine.”
She straightened up and left without another word, before Shikadai could even begin to analyze the interaction.
Shikamaru eventually hauled himself up, staring quizzically at his coffee mug for a moment before shrugging and leaving it where he was. He was almost out the door when Temari yelled from somewhere in the house, “Mug in the sink!”
“Troublesome woman,” he muttered, doing a laboured about-face back into the kitchen.
“She tells you that every morning” Shikadai pointed out. “You’d think by now you’d have figured it out.”
“Routines give us stability,” Shikamaru replied.
Shikadai rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m going now.”
“Be careful,” Shikamaru repeated, parental instincts kicking in.
“You keep saying that, but the mission is literally a walk in a forest. Not a whole lot I need to worry about.” Shikadai threw this comment flippantly over his shoulder as he left the kitchen.
With a sigh, Shikamaru put his mug in the sink.
Shikadai will be fine, he thought to himself. He’s a good kid, and he’s responsible.
Nothing will happen to him.
“Worried?” Naruto asked cocking an eyebrow after Shikamaru was silent all morning.
“Little bit,” Shikamaru admitted. He had been paging through some of Sasuke’s surveillance reports, but not a word was penetrating.
“I know it’s risky, but we decided it was the best plan.”
“I know.” Shikamaru shrugged. “And I know Shikadai will be fine, it’s just . . . it’s weird knowing I’m sending him into danger, but not warning him about it. I don’t know, I guess it’s the first time I know there’s a lot of potential for things to go wrong.”
“Hey,” Naruto smiled encouragingly. “We know Shikadai will think things through and do what’s right. I wouldn’t worry about him.”
“You’re probably right,” Shikamaru smiled wanly. “I don’t need to stress about him.”
They fell back into silence after that, though it felt less strained. Shikamaru sent a few glances at the clock, trying to predict where Shikadai would be. Definitely outside the village by now, probably off the main road.
As the minutes ticked by, Shikamaru began to relax. No news was good news. Everything would go off without a hitch.
Shikadai would be fine.
Naruto and Shikamaru looked up at the sound of someone hammering on the door.
“Come in,” Naruto called, with a frown.
A Chuunin burst in, looking pale-faced and out of breath. His gaze landed on Shikamaru.
“Shikamaru, sorry, I -” he took in a breath. “They need you at the hospital. Urgently.”
“Shikadai?” he asked, already standing up, heart clenching slightly.
The Chuunin shook her head. “No. Temari.”
Part of Sakura was impressed at the speed with which Shikamaru arrived, but most of her was focused on her task at hand. “Shikamaru,” she said brusquely, the moment she saw him.
“What happened?” he asked, taking in the scene in one glance.
Two of the medics moved to the side for him, and he could finally see Temari, laid on a wheeled bed with Shikadai at her side, holding her hand, tears streaking his face. He was faintly shaking, a smudge of blood on his cheek, with a rapidly darkening bruise beneath it.
Shikamaru could feel the blood drain from his face at the sight of her. Ignoring the series of deep gouges in one forearm, ignoring the scuffed skin on her cheek and blood running from a cut right next to her eye, ignoring the powerful smell of blood . . . his eyes fell to her upper body. It was swathed in thick bandaging, but even that couldn’t cover up the fact that something horrendously serious was happening underneath. The gauze was uneven, as though it couldn’t lie flat, and soaked through with blood, and Shikadai was still whimpering.
“Sakura?” he questioned, his voice a hoarse whisper.
“Compound fracture of the chest cavity,” Sakura said briskly, and Shikamaru felt his heart constrict. “She’s been dosed with a hefty load of field painkillers, and we’re prepping for surgery right now.”
Shikadai heaved in a wet, damp breath, not letting go of Temari’s hand.
“It’s okay,” Shikamaru said. “Not your fault, kid.”
“Yeah, it was,” Shikadai replied, voice tinged in anger to cover up the tears. “She took that hit protecting me.”
There would be time to talk about that later. For now, Shikamaru reached out a hand, smoothing Temari’s hair back. To his surprise, her eyes flicked open, locking immediately onto his. As always, her gaze could freeze him in place stronger than his shadows could ever do to her.
“Hey,” he said shakily.
“I’m sorry,” Shikadai blurted, voice cracking slightly. “Sorry, Mom, sorry, I wasn’t . . . I should’ve . . .”
“Calm down,” Temari crooned.
Shikadai gulped in a breath and buried his face against her shoulder.
Temari flicked her eyes to her son, then sought out Shikamaru once more.
“Hey, crybaby,” she mumbled, eyes closing again. “Don’t feel so good.”
“Sakura’s taking care of it,” Shikamaru replied. “You’ll be fine.”
He watched a muscle in her neck twitch, but she didn’t say anything else.
“Shikamaru,” Sakura said softly. “Please take Shikadai; we really have to move fast here.”
“I’ll be right here,” Shikamaru promised, running a hand through Temari’s hair again. “Everything’s gonna be fine . . .”
Gently, but pointedly, Sakura pushed him away, and he took Shikadai by the shoulder to pull him away. For a moment, Shikadai resisted, before giving in and standing against Shikamaru’s side, still shaking slightly.
One of the nurses sent him a sympathetic look. “You can wait, if you’d like, but it will probably be a while.”
Shikadai wiped tears off his face with the back of one hand, and looked up at Shikamaru, hoping for some sort of guidance or comfort.
Shikamaru stared at the doors that had closed Temari away from him. “I’ll wait,” he murmured.
The day was seemingly endless.
Shikadai sat in a huddle, sniveling for ages before he finally stopped wiping at his eyes and Shikamaru couldn’t hear his little sobbing breaths anymore. Then the boy moved to the window and just stared idly out of it, watching the clouds roll by.
Shikamaru sat, defeated, in an uncomfortable chair that he didn’t feel the need to remove himself from. He stared dully at nothing, mind racing, and he didn’t know how to shut his own thoughts down. What if she didn’t make it? What if she died? What if the last time he would see her happy and smiling was that morning at breakfast?
He didn’t know how to function without her. She was his everything.
“Dad?”
He turned his head vaguely in the direction of Shikadai’s small voice.
“C-can I go home?”
Shikamaru nodded.
“Will you . . . call me when Sakura’s done?”
“Yeah,” he sighed. He barely noticed Shikadai leaving. He continued to just stare blankly at nothing, mind whirring in overdrive. He wished he knew some way to turn off his thoughts. Because he knew all the statistics, and he knew all the probabilities, and he knew the numbers, and the odds were not in Temari’s favour.
And he was too practical to try to fool himself by thinking she’ll be fine, she’s strong, she can handle anything, because people had limits and he never wanted to know what hers were.
And if she never came home, what was he supposed to do? How was he meant to live? He had built a life and a future around her; he didn’t know what to do if she wasn’t there. There had never been a Plan B; there had never been a need for one. Temari was stubborn and feisty, and nothing in the world could bring her down.
Or so he had thought.
He kept his eyes away from the clock, because he didn’t want to know how long it had been. Let him suffer in ignorance; it was better than counting down hours. The longer the surgery, the more complicated it was, the lower the odds of surviving, the higher the risks.
There were too many numbers in his head, making him sick.
The shadows in the room had grown long by the time Sakura called him softly, so he knew it was the afternoon, late afternoon, and he forced himself not to calculate the hours.
“We’re done with surgery, for today,” Sakura said, standing in front of him.
For today stuck out dramatically, and he whipped his head up to stare at her.
“She made it through,” Sakura added, encouragingly. “She’s not out of danger yet, not by a long-shot, but this is one hurdle behind us. It was too risky to finish everything we needed to do in one surgery. So I’ll wait for a while, and when she’s stronger then we’ll finish everything.”
“Is . . . is she going to be okay?” It was hard to say, near impossible to force the words out, because part of him didn’t want to know the answer.
“I can’t say for certain,” Sakura said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. It could go either way right now.”
The room swam for a moment, and Shikamaru closed his eyes for a few seconds, trying to gather back his focus. He opened his eyes slowly. “. . . What happens now?”
“Go home,” Sakura said firmly. “Rest. Talk to Shikadai. Try not to worry too much.”
Shikamaru stuck his hands in his pockets. “Can I see her first?”
Sakura nodded, smiling slightly. “Sure. Come with me.”
She led him to another small room. Before opening the door, she paused, hand on the handle.
“Shikamaru,” she said slowly. “Just a warning, she doesn’t look too good. I’m not sure how you’re going to take that.”
“I won’t pass out or anything, I promise,” he replied dully.
Sakura seemed content with that, and pushed the door open. The room was dimly lit, and there seemed to be an infinite amount of machinery in it, and that terrified Shikamaru more than he could admit.
Necessary, he told himself, taking small steps into the room. It’s necessary, it’s helping her, it’s keeping her alive.
Temari was near unrecognizable with the number of wires and pipes and tubes surrounding her, and for one blurry second Shikamaru was certain he would break his promise to Sakura. She steadied him swiftly, and firmly steered him back towards the door.
“Go home and lie down,” she ordered, but her voice softened a bit as she added, “Do you need someone to walk you home?”
“I’ll be fine,” he said, swallowing down sudden bile. Sakura left him to gather his wits, and for a few minutes Shikamaru just leant against the wall, staring blankly at nothing, and taking in short, desperate breaths and willing himself not to throw up or collapse.
What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to think? The potential for tragedy was all he could focus on. He wasn’t given to optimism; it was a side effect of being a genius. He saw the world for what it was, and he prepared for the worse because that was usually what happened.
But this . . . this was a worst he couldn’t handle. This was one he couldn’t fathom.
This was too much.