It was a day to stay inside, near a fan; instead, all of Konoha was being forced outside while pest control fumigated every single stitch of the entire village. People dragged about the streets, sprawled out on benches, and lazed about on sheets all over the hillsides. From atop the monument, the greenery looked overgrown with large white flowers. Shirts stuck to the backs of all who loitered outside of the local market. Women fanned themselves with whatever they could muster. Sweat beaded the brow of all the little men in red suits as they attacked house by house with tanks of vermin killer. Sitting on the newly constructed monument, Hinata peered down on all of this with flushed cheeks and drenched hair that clung to her exposed shoulders. She had stripped down to a white tank and her caprices. To her left, the group of young Huga children she had been overseeing played hopscotch. She should have cared that the chalk was a defacing, but given the circumstances, she appeared simply grateful to be seated in the shadiest area of Konoha. With her chin rested on her folded hands atop her arched knees, Hinata sighed and closed her eyes to the smoldering view. She listened as the two young boys accused the third party of cheating, and watched as the little girl then spat in the boys' direction. While the action brought a grin to Hinata's face, it angered one of the boys, who was promptly heard shoving the girl over. Hinata snapped her eyes at the trio and trudged to her feet.

"Mikke, that wasn't very nice," she chastised softly. "Tell Sachiko you're sorry."

"No!" The boy turned full circle, back to Hinata, and crossed his arms.

"Mean butt!" the girl whaled, flailing her stubby arms.

Hinata frowned at the boys and told them to sit still while she examined the cut on Sachiko's knee. After healing the wound, she turned to them and took their chalk. They jumped in alarm.

"I didn't do anything!" the other boy screeched.

"You were laughing at her, Nobu" Hinata said, "and that was enough to put you on time out as well. Just sit there and stop acting up, please," she begged. "I'm exhausted. How can you two act so hateful in this weather?"

With both boys suddenly in tears, Hinata rolled her eyes and plopped down beside of them, burying her face in frustration. "I give up," she moaned.

Sachiko sniffed and eventually stopped whining, scooting close to Hinata's free side and resting her head on the heir's arm. They sat quietly, eyes and ears closed to the world. All four miserable. All four agitated.

Even the birds, it seemed, had all taken to their nests. Not a single sound besides the little red men was heard for what seemed an hour. Listening to tiny hearts beating simultaneously with popping nose-bubbles, Hinata drifted away. No sooner had she fallen asleep, did the children stir. The boys looked at each other knowingly, then peered over Hinata's body to see that Sachiko had also fallen asleep. Ever so careful, Mikke crawled between Hinata's feet. He shook slightly as he tried to balance. Behind him, Nobu crossed his fingers and bit his bottom lip. Through his raised upper lip, he whispered through his teeth for Mikke to hurry. The other boy looked back and shhed. Turning back, seeing that his partner was still at it, Mikke sucked in a deep breath and reached out to softly poke Sachiko. Before he blinked, he drew back, and on all fours watched with wide eyes for the girl to rouse. When she didn't, he looked back to Nobu and jerked his head, then scattered away from Hinata. Once away, the boys hopped in jubilee, mouths agape in a silent squeal. High-fiving each other, they began their trek down the monument. The first to hit the ground was Nobu. Mikke followed, landing harshly atop his friend. Laughing, they helped one another up.

"Where to now?" Nobu asked once the laughter stopped.

"Wanna go check out the Hokage tower?" Mikke insisted more than asked. He was already on the move.

Running to catch up, Nobu grabbed Mikke's arm, nearly making them fall again. Mikke turned harshly, face skewered. "What's the matter with you!" he yelped.

Nobu looked down at his feet. His features were drawn. "I don't think we should," he said, voice barely audible. "We're not allowed in there."

"We aren't allowed anywhere 'cause of the spray, dumbass," Mikke huffed and began trotting again. From a fair distance, he called back to Nobu, "No one's around to see!"

Fingering the dirt at his knees, Nobu pondered and scratched his head. Pulling his hands away from the dirt, he looked at the orange stain on his pale skin, then up to the dot in the distance that was Mikke. With an odd expression, he stood and looked back to the monument. He seemed to be torn. But with sudden determination, the boy scrambled on towards the Hokage tower.

Just as Mikke had said, hardly anyone was amidst town. Few people lingered at the closed market, trying to catch wind of the only running fan. The red men, however, were all about, making it difficult for the two boys to weasel their way into the tower. But they managed: a camouflage here and a duck and crawl there. It was much easier than Nobu had whined in attest. The tower was the first building in Konoha that had been fumigated. Knowing this, the boys ran about the halls freely, laughing and playing as hard and loud as gravity would allow. All the doors had been left open and sunlight spilled out all around them. I was also cool inside the building. The fans had all been left running, to ensure that mold did not begin in one of the most sacred and ancient buildings. Because of this, the boys did not tire. They made quick use of the oval office, swirling and pushing one another on the swiveling office chair until they became dizzy. Not minding the splinters that clung and stabbed into their knees. Hide and seek was almost endless, until Nobu chose the filing room as his secret place. The sound of Mikke counting slowly, but skipping every other number between one and sixty, echoed dully as Nobu stood stock still in the doorway, staring at the back of one of the red men. The child said nothing, eyes darting from side to side, either looking for a way out or hoping that the man had not noticed him or his cohort. Reality sunk in when the man in red stiffened and turned his head. Nobu made a dive for the other side of the sliding-doors. Alas, his shadow remained imprinted on the rice paper screen. Footsteps, heavy and not forgiving inched closer. The boy swallowed, a bead of sweat leaking from his brow and rolling over his tiny adam's apple. The sin of his actions burned on his face, and Nobu began to whine.

"Kid," a gravely voice was muffled by the overwhelming mask on the man's face "You aren't supposed to be in here. Breathing this stuff in'll kill you."

Nobu turned to look through the screen, only to jump at the sight of the man now kneeling right beside him. As the man grinned sympathetically, Nobu stared at his bare feet. The man's boots, parallel to his own had left a scuffed line into the hall. The man's gaze followed Nobu's, and he seemed distraught. All semblance of which left him as he looked back to the child.

"Are you alone?" the red man asked.

Before answering, Nobu gazed up at the ceiling. The man followed his gaze once more, and sighed regretfully, already knowing the answer.

"If you leave now, I promise," he offered up his pinky, then waiting for Nobu to cross with his own, "I won't say a word."

"Really?" Nobu piped. "You swear?" He gripped the man's pinky harder and smiled ear to ear. After seeing the man's curt nod, Nobu darted around him and up the stairs, the pitter patter of his feet going once throughout the complex, joined by another set right out the back door.

The man in red watched the ceiling, listening a moment longer before he was satisfied. His face then drooped as he struggled back to his feet. He ran his cyanotic hand over his face and mask, then slammed his fist against the wall.

Outside, the boys huffed and puffed, holding onto their blood scraped knees as they stared over the tree-tops at the distant tower. They had hastily made it to the rolling hills were all manner of Konoha lazed on blankets. No one noticed them as Mikke dragged Nobu to where a group of other children played a inattentive game of shogi. Mikke made haste to join in on the game and, as he exclaimed, make with being inconspicuous, which he pronounced entirely incorrect as he pushed one of the players aside in order to take over. And although he nodded and sat down beside of one of the girls, Nobu continually looked over his shoulder throughout the remainder of the shogi match. He only half cheered as the five year old girl he sat near won the match. Could only stare into space as Mikke smacked the girl on her smart mouth only requiol his dirty hand in pain. And rubbed his sore knees as his eyes drifted nervously from the tower to the man who picked up the winner. The girl wiped her bloody lip. When a cigarette butt fell on his toe and seared him for only a second, Nobu hissed and finally snapped out of what must have been a stupor by the look on Mikke's face. The man who invaded their space patted the boy's head and apologized.

"You okay?" He leaned down and asked as the little girl climbed onto his shoulders. "I didn't burn you?"

"Not bad," Nobu shook his head, licked his finger, and massaged his exposed toes.

"Cool." He spoke to all of the children as he implored them to be less bothersome, what with the weather being suck a drag. And with that, he turned his attention back to Nobu. "You sure you're okay" ?Concern marred his otherwise tired expression when he looked over Nobu's knees as the child rubbed them raw while shaking and flapping his mouth as though trying to form and excuse.

Mikke cleared his throat, starring meaningfully at Nobu and ignoring the man's sudden attention. Shrugging, the man restated his request and walked away. After that, most of the other children fled back to their parents and guardians, leaving only Nobu and Mikke under the weeping willow.

Mikke walked on his bleeding knees over to Nobu and punched him in the shoulder. "Don't you dare spill your guts!" he growled. "I mean it. Or else!"

"Yeah, yeah!" Nobu screamed and jumped to his feet, knocking Mikke over.

The other boy stared up, startled. Nobu ran towards the monument, his crying carrying behind. Blowing his bangs, Mikke crossed his arms, but stubbornly stood and followed after because it was getting late. The temperature was slowly dropping as night approached, and already Hinata could be heard calling for them angrily.

When night rolled over and tomorrow started, day found Konoha in a slightly better situation. The heat wave had subsided and pest control had packed up. Everyone was safe in bed, fans on full blast to air out the putrid smell. The people ate cold cereal for breakfast. Except for Nobu. He needed only to cough a few time as he rolled out of bed before his worried hypochondriac of a mother rushed in to wrap him up tightly in blankets and force feed him hot soup. Her poor baby had a cold and mama was going to sweat it all out. Most of his day seemed to be stuck on repeat but his condition was steadily getting worse. Slurp down soup, choke of mucus, cry. Nobu shivered beneath the blankets atop his bed as he stared through the crack at his door and down the narrow hall at his mother. She was on the telephone, but he couldn't hear her, and most certainly couldn't read her lips because of the dim lighting. But she was on the phone with the doctor, that much he had been made aware. Because she had made him dress for the upcoming midnight visit. Although she was concerned, Nobu's mother had an image to uphold. His jeans clung to his sweaty legs, and his best school shirt was already soaked. Nobu struggled to tug at the shirt. He writhed and groaned in frustration. Above him, his fan whirred numbingly. His night-light waved on and off with each turn of the fan. The bed creaked every time he breathed. Nobu began to cry and gave up his battle with the sheets.

"Mom!" he bellowed. "I have to pee!"

It took Nobu's mother only a minute to hang up the phone and step into his room. She knelt down beside of his bed and soothed his forehead with her cold hands. She leaned forward and kissed his red nose.

"The doctor's on his way sweety," she said. "You need to stay put. You're shaking horribly."

"But, mom, I really, really, really have to pee!"

"Nobu, you just went five minutes ago."

Exhaling in surrender to the watery eyes below, Nobu's mother began unwrapping the blankets. But no sooner had she released her son did the doorbell ring. She moved aside and watched as Nobu rushed to the restroom across the hall. Standing up, she made her way toward the door, pausing before the bathroom to knock. He was fine, Nobu replied, but the sounds coming from within suggested otherwise. Frowning, his mother gave him the privacy he wanted and went to invite the doctor inside. From inside the bathroom, Nobu clenched his stomach and eyes, his head between his knees and tears falling to the linoleum. His whole body was letting go all at once, and it was too much to bare. He sobbed. When it was over, the boy wiped his face with his arm and blew his nose into his sleeve. Breath hitching, Nobu cleaned up and grasped the doorknob. He opened the door only to step into the thick of his mother and the doctor's conversation. What's wrong with him, she wanted to know. And some doctor this man turned out to be because he had no idea. His only reasonable answer was to observe the child to decide how sever this illness was.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Nobu stuttered weakly from behind the two adults. He cleaved to the pink wall paneling.

They towered above him as they both twisted around and looked down. His mother was the first to react. She practically sat on the floor and pulled him into a tight embrace. Nobu gasped and pulled away, rubbing his arms.

"Did that hurt you?" the doctor asked, his voice filled with curiosity more than concern as he gnawed the pipe between his teeth.

Sniffing and letting go of his arm, Nobu looked over this man. The doctor wore a white lab coat, which suggested he worked at the hospital and was not, as Nobu stated to him, his family doctor. The doctor chuckled and patted the child's cheek.

"No, I'm not," the man said, his voice airy and kind. "But I am the only physician who will come out at this hour. Your mother believes you are very sick," he continued as he reached for the boy's hand. Hesitantly, Nobu cupped the offered hand. The doctor walked Nobu back to his room, asking the child if what his mother thought was true. "And how are you sick?" he asked. Seeing the boy's confusion, he asked what the symptoms were. Nobu didn't answer how the doctor wanted, and so the man turned to the mother.

"What do you mean observe?" Nobu interrupted.

"It means, son," his mother began, "That this nice man is going to take your temperature." A long paused ensued, with only the sound of the fan to break the silence. "That's all," his mother whispered.

Satisfied, Nobu lay back on his outer-space pillow and coughed into his tiny fist.

An hour later, the boy was in the hospital, hooked up to a respirator, two IVs, an EKG machine, a catheter, and bawl bag. The boy could hardly move, and his mother was in hysterics as she sat on the uncomfortable recliner in the corner of her son's small, sterile room. A nurse stood by her side, rubbing the mother's shoulder gently, reassuring her that the hospital would take care of Nobu. Hearing all of this from his hospital bed, Nobu stared up at the blue ceiling. He jerked his arm in attempt to wipe away the tears running down his cheeks, but gave up and screamed in pain instead. The machine to his right set off the alarm. The nurse beside of Nobu's mother rushed over. His mother racked with terror in the background. The nurse's blonde hair, tied up in a bun, had fallen somewhat during her fight with the EKG machine. She gave up on the technology and turned to the boy, who was convulsing. Bile began leaking from around the respirator mask, and Nobu's eyes rolled back. Some of the nurse's hair slid across the mess running down the bed-rails. She didn't bother cleaning it off.

"What's wrong with him?" Nobu's mother screamed at the top of her lungs.

"Doctor Takashi!" The nurse called as she struggled to hold down Nobu.

The doctor rushed in. The curtain to Nobu's room flapped loudly when the man practically crashed into the room. He was without his pipe for the moment, and his thick gray mustache stood alone as his thin lips curled back to instruct the nurse to move aside. His name tag, which read Raimi Takashi, shook from side to side against his lab coat as he struggled with Nobu. The fabric around the pin was worn to a mere few threads, which abruptly snapped. The name tag fell into the bile atop the mattress and sunk. The doctor's gloves ripped against the mask, as he yanked it off and turned Nobu onto his side.

Nobu's mother cried out for deliverance as she ran to her boy. The nurse held her back as the doctor screamed for Miss Hyuuga to stay put. The child was drowning on his own vomit while still seizing. The doctor and nurse began wheeling the bed out of the room, and Nobu's mother ran after them down the halls. She was stopped by the security guard nearest the nurses' station. The sounds of her pounding his chest carried through the entire second level of the hospital's East wing. The sounds reached the elevators, where they traveled down the shaft and straight to the exit. Outside, those entering the hospital jumped slightly. They chattered amongst themselves. Some went in, others turned tail. An hour passed.

The smell in the emergency wing was suffocating. Doctor Takashi Took off his glasses and wiped away the sweat. He was leaning with his back against the window. Across from him stood the staff who had been in the room with that poor boy.

"Did you tell the mother?" the doctor asked, not looking away from his specs.

"Yes sir," the young, bond nurse trailed. "She's in hysterics, but is being taken care of until she calms down."

Exhaling loudly, the doctor nodded. "I need a smoke," he droned and patted his breast pocket, in search of his bulky pipe. Which, another nurse pointed out, had fallen through the hole in his lab coat.

Leaving his crew to handle clean up, the good doctor went back to the Nobu's original room. It had been taped off, and a janitor was currently cleaning. The doctor stepped under the tape and took only a moment to retrieve the name-tag and pipe which the janitor had found and cleaned off.

Her body cried out at the sudden change as she stepped through the swiveling office doors of the conditioned hospital and onto humid Main Street. The woman stepped aside to let those behind her pass. Standing beside the tall, stinking campus ashtray, she peered around the corner to the cafe next door. In tune with her eyes, her stomach grumbled. The woman's shift had ended twenty minutes ago, and the cafeteria had closed just as she had rushed by. She had thirty yen in her pocket burning a hole, and even though her rent was due in less than two weeks, before her next pay check, she moved past the ashtray and toward the flashing neon sign that read fresh now to the buzzing beat of her temples. Even though she lived less than four blocks away. Even though dinner was probably waiting. She entered the ice-cold cafe and took her seat at the counter. Ordered a blackened beef sandwich. Behind the counter, the waitress eyed this young woman in white and blue with a cocked uni-brow and hairy upper lip. This woman came in at least three times a week, usually around this hour. She was usually better kept. Usually in higher spirits.

"Where's your dinner friend?" the goat of a broad asked, voice deep and guttural.

The customer looked up from her half-eaten sandwich, glass of water to her lips. She pulled the drink away. It clattered on the brown marble. Her nose wrinkled as she made eye contact with the waitress. The waitress wreaked of tobacco more and more each day the young woman came here.

"He won't be joining me," she said, short.

The waitress grunted. She looked over the other woman's clothing. The young woman's white dress was wrinkled and stained. The top buttons were torn off, and the tiny hat she usually wore atop her platinum hair was lopsided. Her hair was tousled. "Rough day," the waitress blurted. Then seemed to chastise herself.

Face falling, the young woman rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the glass of water. She sloshed the liquid around before sighing and pushing both items away. Rummaging through her breast pocket, she pulled out two wrinkled dollar bills and placed them beside of the plate. She turned in the bar stool and did not look back to the waitress as she trudged through the heavy door. The open sign swished as the door slammed shut, and fell to the linoleum just as the waitress cleared the counter. As the young woman walked away, a mother and her children passed going into the cafe. The young woman frowned and turned slightly to gaze at the boy. His laughter faded as the group walked through the door and over to the counter. Where the waitress quickly stuffed a piece of the previous customer's blackened beef into her wrinkled mouth and licked her fingers clean.

When she found herself back to her doorstep, the nurse sighed heavily, staring at her welcome-mat. Her hand rested on the key she had inserted in the lock. She turned her look to the item in hand, as if willing it to unlock of its own accord. Relenting, she twisted her keys. They jangled as the thump of her lock releasing roused the footsteps inside. She flung the door open and stepped in, only to be grabbed by the elbow. The dark hand that grasped her loosened immediately, as the woman turned, startled. The last ray of sun shied away as the door closed, glinting off of the golden ring on the man's finger.

"Sakura called," the man yawned. "What happened at the hospital?" He stepped out of the shadow, where the remains of a recliner and a bag of cheese puffs lay hidden amongst a blanket.

"A boy," she replied, removing her hat and unbuttoning her dress. She continued unbuttoning as she walked past the man and toward the hallway.

"Geeze," the man groaned, annoyance thick in his horse tone. "Care to elaborate some, Ino? Sakura said it was bad. Said the kid—"

"I don't want to talk about it!" she snapped, slamming a door. Her voice became muffled.

"What? I can't hear you," he huffed and flipped on the hallway light as he slid down the wall beside of the bathroom door. He sat for nearly fifteen minutes. When the shower cut off, he shoved to his feet and leaned on the paneling.

Ino cracked open the door. Steam wafted out. The man scowled and waved away the steam from his face. Her arm extended out, holding her crumpled dress and undergarments. "Will you please put these in the laundry?"

He grabbed the clothes, and caught the door just as she started to close it. Staring at one another through the crack, the young couple seemed torn between hate and concern.

"If you tell me what the hell happened," he quipped.

"Why do you want to know so bad, Shikamaru?"

"Because Sakura said it was very violent. That you were shaken when you left."

Ino whined and opened the door. Standing in her robe, she crossed her arms, refusing to meet this brown eyes that appeared filled with worry.

"Ino," he said softly, draping the clothing over his shoulder and reaching out to stroke her wet hair. "What are we doing?"

She jerked away from him. He followed as she power walked across the hall and into the bedroom. And stood watching as she dressed and crawled into the bed. The alarm clock on the nightstand flashed six o'clock in big red letters. It was too early for bed, he said. Fuck off, she told him and crawled beneath the blankets. She covered up her head and relaxed her tensed muscles. At the edge of the bed, Shikamaru wrinkled up his face. Untying his hair, he stood for a moment overlooking the lump to the far right of the mattress and sloppy sheets. His face softened only a little as he seemed to declare his inward decision and plop down gently beside of the lump. Dark hands touched the pink and green stripped comforter and were shaken in an attempt to brush them away. Beneath the blankets, Ino grumbled.

"What's wrong?" he snapped. "Why do you have to act like this?"

"I don't have to do anything. I'm just tired. Please leave me alone."

The conversation continued this negative pattern of whys and pleas only met with a stone wall, before finally Shikamaru gave up. The man stood and left the room, slamming the door behind him. And Ino stirred. She peeked her head out of the blankets. Waiting a few moments, she looked around her barren room. The couple had moved into the small apartment a little less than a year ago, and Ino had still not decorated, save for her old blanket and abstract art piece. All the money she made working at the hospital barely paid the sinking hole of debt from her father's funeral, and Shikamaru only made a teacher's salary; which in these days did not amount to much. She often openly hated her boring room. Her whole boring apartment. And she longed intimately with those outside of it to be free. More, more, more. Ino always wanted more. More than her white walls and ceilings. More than her oak chest that stood alone beside of a bed that didn't even have a headboard. More than what was outside of her current room. The old, ratted dinette set. The dust-mite ridden sofa with a red slipcover that didn't even fit. The lone picture that mounted offset the middle of the wall between her living area and dining room. Seven-hundred and fifty-six square feet of white.

Exhaling in frustration, Ino curled into a ball and tears inched down her flushed cheeks. Her throat ached from the ball slowly building. And as she rolled from the bed to lock the door, even as she went to the sole phone by her bed which rested sideways on the carpet, the man outside the room sat on the sofa, staring over his shoulder at the bedroom door. He was no fool. The whisper he caught wind of now and again affirmed his lingering suspicion. No. . . It was awful. . . Need to feel. . .I can't stand. . .Tonight. . .You again?

Having eaten dinner alone again (a sandwich had sufficed), Shikamaru dressed and left his home to prowl dusk. Past the numerous other apartments, across the cement, dragging through town not minding his way, and across the river by way of the red bridge that creaked with every step. By the time he had reached the destination he had subconsciously decided on, the weather had drastically changed. Thunder rumbled from above, even though the sky was still mostly dark but clear. Wind began to pick the leaves up from around his feet. Milk chocolate eyes traced the windows of the building across the yard. Now why had he come to the good doctor's house, all alone on this hillside? Some would say it was out of anger, but for Shikamaru Nara, who crossed his arms around his hips and leaned on the mailbox, it was to see his wife standing silhouetted against the balcony window, drawing the shades. Almost ironically, he chuckled and put his hands in the pockets of his gray slacks. One white sleeve, which had been bunched up to match the other around his elbow, slid to his wrist. His hair, still loose from the tie he had thrown at Ino, waved around his neck. He smacked it away and then scratched. Turning away, Shikamaru looked up at the black clouds quickly making their way above him. The thunder crashed once more and a drop of rain splashed against his forehead. It trickled down his nose and met with another stream. Creamy teeth suckled his bottom lips, anxiously tearing away chapped skin. The man shook his head and walked back home.

When Ino returned home, soaking wet from the storm, she found her seven-hundred fifty-six square feet apartment even more empty than before.

And the rain continued to wash over the streets of Konoha as she coughed into her fist.

Part 1

Yuie Managawa, the XTV weather man was calling the storm Mea, after his ex-wife, because it and the marriage has lasted entirely too long. The other news reporters laughed and faded as the volume bar shortened on the television screen. A whole week it had poured. Most of the village had tried to flood, and had it not been for a few good men taking turns and willing to catch pneumonia, Konoha would have been under water by day three.

A soft sigh filled the room as the light from the small television flickered, illuminating the hospital break room. She sat alone at a small round table, an untouched bowl of soup to her right. The fan was going behind her. Pink strands tickled her forehead. She lifted a slender hand to rub over her face. The styrofoam cup, emptied of coffee, tipped over and rolled from the edge. It hit the floor with a gentle plop. The door to the break room stood wide open. And as the young woman began to stand, two nurses entered the room. Both clearing their throats often. The tallest of the nurses eyed the pink haired woman and the long lab coat which she struggled to button. Yet the other nurse seemed content minding her own business by the coffee dispenser. Casually, the original occupant lifted and pulled on an object stuffed into the neckline of her scrubs. Finally she pulled loose a hazard mask. Draping it around her ears, nose, and mouth, she fingered the stands to see that it was tightly secured. The tall nurse snorted.

"Doctor Haruno, is that really necessary?" she laughed softly. Sarcastic. The female doctor had been wearing that mask daily for at least two weeks now. Employees and patients were starting to talk.

The doctor pushed in her heavy chair. It scraped the floor, scuffing it. The pitched sound stifled the inconsistent beeping coming from down the hall. As well as the hacking which the short nurse by the coffee tried to smother with her sleeve. The woman failed, and instead spilled her coffee all over her and the floor. The doctor's eyes watched this, wide.

"Damn it," the soiled nurse spat. A blurred noise and show in the background as the doctor looked over the tall nurse in front of her.

The name tag on the breast pocket of the tall nurse's blouse read Sekai. By the look on her face as she stared over her shoulder at the third party, her personality was no better than the too tight, exposed skin of her cosmetically enhanced chest.

"Keep that to yourself," Sekai snapped, then whirled back to face the doctor. Who had moved and was mostly in the hall. Sekai's eyes drifted quickly to the table top, where she spotted the open container of soup. She picked it up and held it out for the fleeing doctor. "Sakura," she called, halting the doctor, "your soup?" She cleared her throat.

Still the woman near the coffee hacked.

"Toss it," Sakura said firmly and fled.

And as the day dwindled, more and more good men and women, even children, entered through the emergency room door and were left dying behind curtains. All while Sakura cracked walls with her gloved fists and cried softly into her arms, leaning across her desk. The man in the doorway watched this with sorrow deep in the grooves along his forehead. He held a box against his chest. The blue box showed indents around his clenched fingers; it crackled as he shifted his weight. Clashing against the paleness of his cloak. Sakura stilled.

Her office was dark, save for the sliver of light from the sunset, sneaking in through the blowing yellow curtain. A picture sat to left of the curtain. The wind shook the flimsy frame. It clattered to the floor, shattering near the man's feet. Sakura did not move. Silently, she wiped at her face and pulled her mask back over her mouth. As she did this, the man leaned over and picked up her broken picture. His callus thumb traced the spider webbed cracks. The curtain blew up to mingle with his hair. And as Sakura turned, the man's hair seemed to combine with the curtain. Through the gloom of the day, the young doctor's lip twitched and she chuckled.

"Naruto," she began her voice muffled by her mask, "what long hair you have."

Quick confusion washed over his face. Grunting, he brushed the curtain from his shoulder. The boy he once was shined through. His frown flipped and his eyes squeezed tightly as he tucked the picture under his arm and held out his bright blue box. "Happy birthday, Sakura," he crooned and stepped closer. Upon further inspection of her saddened face as she stared at the box, he stopped in his tracks and withdrew the gift. "What's the matter?" he asked, sitting the box on top of a stack of papers as tall as the oak desk.

She rolled her eyes and went to close her window, simultaneously shutting her door. She stood, folding back the curtain and staring into dusk. When her voice danced across the room, the misery of today weighed heavily on the already thick atmosphere. Yet her words were nearly inaudible.

"What?" Naruto drawled out. He sat on an empty spot atop the desk, arms draped across his lap.

Sakura sighed. She was frustrated. "I said everyone is dying today."

His eyes widened. Then he bowed his head. "I heard," he said, clearing his solemn throat. "Is it pneumonia?" he implored, hopeful.

"I don't know what it is. But it's not that."

"Kinda figured."

A long silence followed. She wiping the dust from her windowsill bared handed. He fiddling with the broken picture of three naive children. When the silence was broken, the two spoke over one another. Naruto barked out a laugh and ran his hand through his hair, smiling softly. He waved an arm in her direction and said, "Ladies first."

Nodding, Sakura walked behind him and pulled her chair out. She moved it to the center of the room, directly across from Naruto. And she leaned back, hands resting in her lap and tired eyes closed. She replayed the events of the day for him, in detail. He blanched, disgust, horror, and pity marring his grown face. Halfway through her retailing, Sakura wept into her hands. She screamed through her mask, and at some point, wound up on the floor, in his arms. He shook her. When her hysterics did nothing to stop, the blond looked over and out of the exposed window. Furrowed, he cradled Sakura and rocked back and forth against her desk. Something metal inside of his pocket clanged each time he met with the wood. It being the only sound to greet him besides Sakura's now quite sobbing. He smoothed her hair, then pushed her back from his slightly. Attempting to cup her cheek, Naruto reached out. But Sakura's hands immediately went to her face. She turned away, embarrassed.

"Sakura," he whispered, voice gravely. Her story had pulled at his heart strings. "It's not your fault."

"Yes, it is!" she growled and slammed a palm against the hardwood floor. The smack reverberated off the walls. "I should know how to save them! It's my fucking job!"

The years had finally granted Naruto the knowledge to let his former teammate vent. Leaning back on his calves, he straightened out his white cloak and looked away, allowing Sakura to collect herself. She scrambled to her feet and reached her hand downward. He took it, though it was superfluous, and pulled himself up. He put his hands in his pockets and watched the woman before him turn back into the false impenetrable wall that she liked to pretend she was, lately. It would have fooled him yet again, had she not just been crying into his chest.

Sakura crossed her arms around her hips and licked her cracked lips. The mask she had been wearing rolled gently along the floor at Naruto's feet. "You're not feeling sick, are you?" she asked, suddenly

looking suspicious.

"Nooo," he let loose an uncomfortable chuckle.

"Good," she said matter-of-factually and brushed her messy hair behind and ear.

As she did this, Naruto looked down at the lonesome mask. "Been wearing that all day?" he asked. But his face was not curious.

Nodding her head, Sakura sat back in the center seat. Naruto followed suite and sat back on the desk. As if nothing had happened. They looked at one another. The staring contest ended when Sakura sighed heavily at the abrupt buzzing coming from the intercom in the corner. A static washed voice rang out.

'Doctor Haruno, to the ER room two-oh-five. Doctor Haruno, to the ER room two-oh-five.'

"I have to get back to work," Sakura breathed. She stood and walked Naruto to the door. When he began turning the knob, Sakura gasped and stopped his hand with hers. "Wait," she said, "I forgot my mask."

With a blank face, Naruto watched the wooden door with little interest. Cloudy from the corner of his eye, Sakura picked up her mask and draped it back on her face. When she approached him, he turned the knob. But not before a mask was thrust onto his mouth and nose. Shocked, he stumbled slightly and ripped it away. Hacking, he stared down at her serious face.

"Wear it, for God's sake," she said. "Whatever this is, is catching."

Naruto fumbled with his words. "The Hokage can't been seen wearing this around. People will take offense," he finally said, face puckered.

"Better that they take offense," she began, "than you—''

He held up and hand, then popped the mask onto his face. "If it will shut you up," he said, now muffled as well.

The entered the hallway and Sakura hugged him, thanking him for the gift, which, she said as the embrace parted, would be opened as soon as she left work.

"Which probably won't be for a while, sadly," she said and turned toward the elevator.

Seeming to change course, Naruto turned to follow her. Her eye searched him over as he held his hand over the down button, not letting her push it. "You need help with this one, Sakura," he said. She tried to speak, but he put his other hand over her masked mouth. This angered her and she shoved at his arm. But he was set in stone. "If this is really that serious, then going at it alone for however many hours you plan on tormenting yourself is not going to do anything but wear you out more. Already you look like a zombie."

"Well I can't get another medic in on this," she snapped. "Raimi is out sick. Has been all week. And besides me, he's the only doctor capable of handling this."

Furrowing his brow, Naruto let go of the button and stepped aside. Sakura pushed it in and stood, waiting for the door to ding and open.

"Have you thought about asking Shikamaru?" Naruto outed.

Sakura bent back, bemused. "Shikamaru? He's not a medic."

"Well, no," Naruto said, scratching the back of his neck. As he said this, the door opened.

Sakura glanced at the door. They both looked over, waiting for the other to make a move. The door closed and the light above it moved on.

"But," Naruto continued, still looking at the now closed golden doors, "he's smart enough to be useful, I would think."

Sakura's eyes bore into him, quizzically.

"This is not me insinuating," Naruto said. His voice thick with authority.

She told him that she would consider it, then walked past him to the stairs. The heavy door slammed shut behind her. Left him wondering if somehow he had insulted her.

The intercom buzzed again. This time, the voice was urgent.

Naruto, left standing alone in the empty hall, sighed and pushed the down arrow once more. This time he leaned on the wall, hovering over the switches, and gritted his teeth.

At two in the morning, Sakura stepped into her studio, fourth level apartment, and poured herself a cup of hot coffee. She sipped it tentatively, then sat it on the glass table as she positioned herself, half laying back, onto her red leather sofa. She rubbed at her eyes, dry and itchy. Red to match her living-room set. She ruffled her hair and let the mask, which had been dangling from a single finger on her left hand, fall to the plush, white carpet. She breathed out heavily. And stared up at the ceiling as she fingered the brown bag atop her lap. The florescent light of her kitchen was the only brightness, offset by the shadows of the lower level to her modernized apartment. A set of needless steps joined the large room, which was seemingly separated by the curb which ran horizontally across the entire room. A large curtain, sheer white, was bunched up on a rob which ran parallel with the curb, across the ceiling. Normally this was drawn. However, not feeling like being closed in, Sakura had opened up every window, and had tied back the room divider.

Her fingers continued to dance along the latch to her bag. The frayed edges tickled her palm as she gripped the bag and sat up slowly, opening it. She crossed her legs and pulled the contents out of the bag and onto the sofa. She spread the files apart, pulling individual sheets of paper to her lap. Pictures from the morgue spilled onto her floor. Most files was fresh. The patients had been alive no more than twelve hours ago. She stared down at the face of a little girl.

The child's black hair spiraled chaotically against the metal surface of her slab. Her blueish skin was swollen. The sores which marred her bare chest and abdomen had begun forming two days before her father, also sick, had brought her into the emergency room. He was still there, being looked over to see that he had not gotten his daughter's illness. He had. But Sakura hadn't the heart to tell him as she had finally fled the hospital, too exhausted to go on. She shook her head now, and read over the details of the deceased child's file. Her's was similar to the other dead patients'. Of which there were twelve. Which double the amount that had been coming in all week. It seemed everyone in Konoha was coming down with something. Some got better, others didn't. It was becoming difficult to differentiate between the terminal and simply sick civilians and ninja of the Leaf.

Her slender finger followed the type face on the smudged paper. Smudged because she had read over it and the others too many times for her brain to comprehend. This girl had been sick for nearly two months. The other twelve had been sick for around that same time. The older ones seemed to have held out longer.

Cupping her face, Sakura looking over to her digital clock and closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, she looked back to the pile of folders and papers on her lap. She was sleepy. But sleep, she thought, could wait until she had at least some clue as to what was quickly killing off the people of Konoha. She placed the papers back into her bag and stood. Moving it to the glass top, Sakura went over to her telephone and held down her speed-dial.

Miles away, the telephone beside of rotting fruit rang. It's song filled the compact home. Drifting through a messy living-room, parading through a barren hallway, and waking the sleeping, sweating form huddled beneath layers of blankets. Pale blond hair inched out from beneath the covers and peer out of the crack in the door. Ino closed her eyes and ignored the ringing. Ignored the smell of vomit and sweat. Ignored the ache in her stomach and the shaking in her bones. Ignored her pounding head. And allowed sleep to take her.

Sakura hung up her phone and frowned. Picking it back up, she dialed a different number. This time, a female voice answered. "Hello?" Sakura said. "Kurenai?"

"Yes?"

The sound of a child coughing came softly in the background.

"Do you know if Shikamaru is home? I can't get anyone to pick up. I'm too tired to go out."

"Oh, hold on."

Sakura heard Kurenai sit down the receiver. Seconds later, Shikamaru's lazy voice greeted her. He sounded odd.

"Shikamaru?" Sakura questioned. "Where have you been? I've been trying to reach your house for the last six hours."

"I've been staying with Kurenai."

This time, the child's cough was nearer to the speaker. Sakura surmised that Shikamaru was holding Kurenai and Asuma's daughter, Yuuri.

Sakura looked curiously at the phone, as if it had an answer to the question she now pondered. But decided not to touch the subject. Instead she asked Shikamaru is he would come over to give his input on the events going on at the hospital.

"I can't right now," he yawned. "Yuuri's sick and Kurenai just got back from a mission. She's too tired to take care of her."

Frowning, Sakura asked what was the matter with the child in question.

"I think it's a flu. Maybe pneumonia."

"Oh God," Sakura moaned. "Bring her over here, now."

"Why?"

"Please," she sighed, "just do it."

Fortunately, the shadow wielder had sensed the dread in Sakura's voice and had obliged her. Twenty minutes later, she opened her door to a sudden rain storm. And thus, a drenched Shikamaru and Yuuri. The child was crying. Her god father looked pissed.

"This better be good," he quipped and waltzed past Sakura to sit the child down. "Where's a towel?" It was as he turned that he noticed the mask on Sakura's face. "What the hell?"

"Precaution," Sakura said and entered into the bathroom. She came back with a towel. "I warmed it for her."

Kneeling and brow knitted, Shikamaru took the towel and began drying the shivering girl. The child grasped around her tiny knees, teeth chattering. She coughed as Shikamaru lifted her face and rubbed her hair somewhat dry. "Do you have something she can wear?" he asked.

Apparently Sakura had already thought of that, and handed him the white t-shirt by her side. She also handed him dry clothes for himself. He did not ask her whose clothes they were. She excused herself.

Quickly, Shikamaru redressed Yuuri and himself, and placed the wet clothes in a baggy and sat them aside. He then joined the girl on the sofa. She crawled into his lap and buried her face in the warmth of his chest. Sakura watched this, wary, and sat in the recliner across from them.

"What's this all about?" Shikamaru asked, rubbing the child's cold arms. The friction seemed to sooth her.

"First," Sakura began, "Let me examine Yuuri."

As she did this, Sakura slowly removed the mask from around her face. Her face showed a smile of relief as she looked behind her to Shikamaru. "She's fine," Sakura chuckled. "Just a cold."

Shikamaru's face malted into a smile to match Sakura's. "That's good," he breathed heavily. "I figured it was nothing," he casually said. Yet the look on his face told Sakura that he had been concerned.

"You've noticed, haven't you?" Sakura blurted.

Ignoring Sakura, Yuuri hoped down from the sofa and hopped onto Shikamaru's leg. He sat back in the recliner and held her. He didn't need to ask Sakura what she meant. He nodded.

"That's why you wanted me here," he sighed. "You think I can help you figure out what plague this is?"

Sakura hoped onto the middle cushion and began sipping her coffee once more. She expressed her hope to him fervently.

Part 2

All of eight years old, and the child's height still didn't pass Shikamaru's hip. He gripped Yuuri's hand and walked her to the end corner of Sakura's studio apartment. He practically had to lift her onto the bed, she was weakened so by her cold. Tucking the little girl in, he listened as Sakura noisily cleared off her coffee table and strategically placed the photos and files atop. His chocolate eyes stared down softly at his God daughter. Her tiny hands held the blanket tightly to her chin. Yuuri's eyes lidded heavily. And her airy voice, nearly drowned out by Sakura's noise, called to him as he turned to walk away.

“Shikamaru?” she rang.

He stopped, looking down at her struggling, sleep wanting form. And waited for her words to come. When they did, the sentence was so garbled that he had to chuckle. Whispering for her to sleep snugly, Shikamaru walked past the lamp and shut it off.

The only light now came from the kitchen and barely reached past the living room quarter. Trudging into the lighted area, bare feet cold against the hardwood floor, Shikamaru eyed the Sakura from behind. At least fifty files and matching photographs laid on the coffee table. More were scattered about the floor. Sakura stood in front of the floor pile, holing up sheet by sheet to examine. Her cheeks were flushed from frustration and exhaustion marred her heavy eyes. And as she mumbled to herself, reading over the file in hand, Shikamaru inched closer. A droplet of blood seeped through the paper's pores from a tiny paper cut on Sakura's pinky. Peering over her shoulder, Shikamaru speed read to the point at which Sakura's silent lips mouthed. As he continued on, her lips stopped. With Sakura's head turned slightly, observation switched parties.

Meeting her gaze, Shikamaru held out his hand for the file.

"So you will help me?" Sakura said with emphasis, clearing her throat as she handed him the paper. Her large eyes searched his scruffy face, hopeful.

Nodding, Shikamaru took the paper, folded it in half, then proceeded to sit in the floor, amongst the largest of piles. He sighed heavily and ran a rough hand over his face.

Some time passed. In which, Sakura had warmed tea and snuggled into her sofa while Shikamaru swept though the files. He had insisted on her getting rest. If only a little. After much protest, she had obliged him. Thus now lay snoring, sprawled out with her blue and white plaid blanket. Soft coughing from the shadows harmonized with the snores, filling the air. He hardly heard any of it as he finished familiarizing himself with at least three fourths of the files. And when he stopped reading, his face pale and his stomach sick, he jumped to his feet and rushed to the telephone. All of the sign and symptoms of the illness rushed his inner workings. The wheels turned and a light went off behind his eyes.

His ruckus woke Sakura. As Shikamaru wrestled the phone to a stool and dialed quickly, Sakura mumbled sleepy garble and struggled to sit up. Once up, she slung her legs over and stood, steadying herself on the coffee table. The blanket bunched up on the floor. Stepping over it, she hobbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, towards Shikamaru, who sat, body rigid, but voice in a panic as he rasped into the phone. By the time Sakura has reached him, he slammed the receiver down violently and cursed as he whirled around. He had not noticed her silent approach, however, and crashed against her when he turned. Both were startled. Upon crashing into Sakura, Shikamaru had steadied her half delirious form by grabbing her biceps. She stared up at him, her face a mask of confusion. His eyes were wild.

"You're breathing funny," she said in an asking tone. "Whats---"

"She has it!" he cracked. And flinging her loose, Shikamaru made a break for the front door, his shoes forgotten. "God damn it!" he yelled as he jerked open the door before Sakura could call him. And then he was gone, leaving the door standing wide open.

Sakura stood there, in the middle of the pile of photographs and paperwork, brow furrowed and mouth agape. She could hear him running from her apartment complex in a hurry, kicking up mud. Slowly her face relaxed. And then contorted into sheer terror. 'She has it,' he had said. Ino.

"Oh God," Sakura moaned. Shikamaru was rarely mistaken. About anything. She knew if he was right, then he too would contact the illness by rushing home to his highly contagious wife. Running to her opened door, she fled, barefoot as well. "I have to stop him," she said to herself, running after his footprints in the mud.

The time was fifteen after five, morning hours. She knew this because, as she ran and screamed after Shikamaru's distant form, the clock in the middle of Konoha chimed. The sun peeked out from the clouds. Shikamaru was obscured by early morning fog and sheets of heavy rain. Her lungs burned and her feet felt numb. She shivered as she ran, teeth chattering and eyes wide as Shikamaru's modest apartment came into view.

"No!" she yelled and lunged forward at him.

His open palm connected with her cheek, and smashed her face. They rolled until Shikamaru was on his back. Sakura sat on top of him, struggling to settle his frenzy and speak to his rational mind. But he bared his teeth and tried to throw her off of him.

"Fucking get off me," he growled. "She's in there! I have to see if she's all right!"

"Stop," she bit out, spitting the blood that now oozed from her lip beside of them. "Just stop!" Her breathing was erratic as she tried to catch it.

They both panted, puffs of white meeting between their muddied bodies. Exhaling one last, hard time, Shikamaru relaxed back into the water puddle. It splashed around them, rinsing some of the caked mud from Sakura's forearms as she held onto him still. He had given up for now. His head lolled to the side and he looked at his own front door.

"She didn't answer," he whispered, still out of breath. "She didn't answer. . ."

"Oh God," Sakura moaned, closing her eyes and letting the rain wash over her face as she lifted it to the skies. "She's been out of work for days," she said and touched her cheek. Her eyes were now open and shined with a saddened enlightenment.

"What. . .What?" Shikamaru rasped as he turned his face back, now half brown, and looked to her. "Why didn't you say something?" he barked and sat up. He shoved her off of him, but Sakura gripped his leg as he stood.

"I've been preoccupied," she defended. "I assumed you were caring for her. She's your wife. Your responsibility."

"No. She's Takashi's lover. His responsibility. Has been for a while now," he snapped. Then turned to the door, wrenching loose. He turned the door's knob and nothing happened. He reached into his pockets, then remembered that his keys were at Kurenai's. "Fuck," he gritted between his teeth, face skewered, and began banging on the locked door. "Ino! Open this door!"

All the while this was happening, Sakura sat still on the ground, holding her cheek. Realization soaked into her features. She wasn't even watching him. It wasn't until the loud crack of his foot meeting the wooden door echoed in her head that she snapped out of her daze and looked up at him, hand dropping into the puddle of murky water.

"If you waltz in there, unprotected," Sakura said with a sympathetic face that argued against her sudden voiced authority, "you are going to contact this disease, Shikamaru Nara. And it's apparent to me that I can't figure this shit out on my own. I need you. So stop being so God damned selfish. You need a mask. And so do I because I'm going in there with you."

They stared at one another after she stood up and unnecessarily dusted herself off. Finally, Shikamaru pulled the sweater from himself and ripped it into pieces. His eyes bore into her with hatred and he breathed through his mouth, teeth slightly showing. He thrust the piece of wet cloth in her face and told her that would have to do. Nervously, she took it. Staring at it for only a few seconds before she tied it around her nose and mouth. The drenched material made it difficult to breathe. Shikamaru looked at her once more before he kicked the door in. The pair was immediately met by a waft of putrid stench. Through the hastily crafted mask, Shikamaru bellowed his wife's name, and Sakura followed close behind as he wound through the small home. Across the living quarters and through the hallway. He followed the smell like a hunter's companion. And when they reached the door before the opened bedroom, the smell nearly overtook Sakura. She gasped and began fanning herself.

"Don't you faint on me," he pleaded.

She could hear the desperation in his voice. In that moment, as she looked at him with water in her eyes (from sadness of knowing or disgust, she was uncertain), she saw the boy in him that she once knew before all innocence had been torn from them both. And she reached out and held his hand. Something terrible was falling on all of Konoha. That smell of rot coming from Shikamaru and Ino's bathroom solidified the knowledge. Something dark was happening. She knew it and so did he.

With a shaking hand, Shikamaru turned the knob and creaked open the door. Slowly the view from inside met them. Sakura whimpered when she saw. Held back her scream, but not the tears that leaped to her eyes. She fell to her knees and tried to speak to Shikamaru. To say something of comfort, but her vision stilled and became blurry as she sat back on her haunches, unblinking at the ghastly sight inside of the porcelain tub. Her lips flapped silently. Walking, mostly in her line of sight, Shikamaru neared the bathtub and knelt quickly, reaching into the water with urgency. Sakura's eyes twitched over the scene, still stinging and blurred. He was shaking Ino. And she was stiff in his arms. Her eyes wide open and glassy, skin swollen and blue, mouth open and home to large, buzzing flies; hands clenched around the arm of Doctor Takashi, who lay naked on Shikamaru's bathroom floor. The doctor was covered in vomit and other excrement, long dried to his passed body. She couldn't hear Shikamaru's crying, and she was glad.

-

The funeral had been small and to the point. Her friends and family, what was left of her family, stood by and watched the coffin being lowered into the damp ground. Finally, the storm had ended a day prior. Ino was laid to rest. Sakura held tightly to the man beside of her. And she watched him closely, occasionally glancing at the older woman who also clung to him from the opposite side. When the last of the dirt was packed into the ground, Shikamaru gently freed himself from their grasps and turned around, began walking the graveled pathway away from the graveyard. The crowd was breaking up slowly, leaving. Those that walked by gave their second condolences and reached out to shake his hand. But he didn't take any hand shake, and stopped only briefly to light a cigarette. Inhaling, he looked over his shoulder and watched Sakura coming his way. Kurenai, with Yurri close behind, accompanied the magenta haired woman. He blew his smoke out as Sakura stepped up to him.

“Shikamaru,” Sakura, voice muffled by the mask around her face, began as mother and daughter joined the pair, “I'm so sorry. I wish I---”

He stopped her with his cigarette wielding hand. He took another drag, then dropped the cancer stick to his feet, where he ground it out. Smoke still glided up around them as the ashes finished burning away. His eyes drifted over Sakura's flushed face, red from the sudden cold that had sneaked up on summer. He flicked his gaze behind her, to the other five funerals, all going on in unison. And as Kurenai and Yurri embraced him quickly, telling him to stop by soon, Shikamaru locked eyes with Sakura and a knowing passed between them. Once they were alone, Shikamaru nodded toward the distance, where families wailed in sorrow.

“You know what has to be done,” he said.

And she shakily inhaled the crisp air.

“We have to weed out the sick,” he said dryly. “We have to start quarantining.” His eyes were red and he thought he would never cry again. Numb, he began walking with Sakura down the hillside. Today was bleak and he would spend it drinking the last of his alcohol while looking over pictures of his dead love.

Sakura walked with him as far as his apartment. She watched him go inside. They had seen something that had changed them. Not only that, but both had read over the terror in those files sprawled about her apartment, still. Repeatedly. And both had looked into the eyes of the other and shared a silent knowledge. She stood there for a while. She wasn't sure how long. Finally, when it started to get dark, Sakura felt the tears well up again. And she turned and began running, not home, but to the hospital.

Something dark weighed heavy on the shoulders of all who walked the streets. All who sat at home, sick. All who cried for their dead. Something wicked. More and more men, women, and children wore masks and steered clear of the public.

Together, she thought as she rushed into the emergency room and toward her office, she and Shikamaru, along with whoever else would lend a hand, they would find the source of this and squash it out. Before the entire village became a ghost town. And as these thoughts paraded through her, suddenly a light, faint in the distant, clouded, denial, flickered until she could ignore it no longer.

This disease was going to spread past Konoha. Fast.

"Evray singule person in'is damned building is outta yer mind!" screamed a tan man, covered in branding, his shoulder-length, black hair sticking to his yellowing, sweaty face. He was of tall stature and broad. Yet, for all of his muscle, he was swollen and jiggly. His face too tight and his eyes too sunken deep into the yellow folds of his cheeks. His speech was nearly unrecognizable, and not just from his accent. His hands, twice that of the man forcing him to lie back, balled up into fists and cracked hard against the thick plastic of the helmet worn by his assailant. The smaller man stumbled back, and Goliath bolted up from the hospital bed. The metal frame clattered on the linoleum as the giant made a break for the heavy doors. Ten nurses, all clothed in the same white suite as the technician now sprawled out on the floor, rushed the escape patient. The small room was flush with disarray. Machines beeped, items shattered, and people yelled. Then, very calmly, a figure in the corner, holding a clipboard, stood with a needle in hand. As the nurses struggled to hold the patient mere inches from the door's handle, the quite figure, also wearing a hazard suit, graced through the chaos and jabbed the needle into the giant's neck. Suddenly the screaming stopped. The room spun, and blinking, the patient thumped against the cold floor. His skin smacking and making a wet sound. His flesh rippled as the nurses looked down at him, then back up to the person with the clipboard.

"Doctor Haruno," a frail woman in a red stained suit stuttered, "this is starting to get out of hand. We need to do things differently." Her face was not visible through the thick plastic.

Clip board now under arm, the doctor sighed. The sound was barely heard through the large helmet. "Hinata," she said and watched two other nurses heft the patient back onto a table and strap him down, "if we tell that crowd in the emergency waiting room the truth, we are going to have a riot on our hands." Pausing to see that she instructed another nurse to help the fallen technician to his feet, Sakura walked over to the door and flung it open. "But be my guest if you have another idea," she finished, bereft.

Hinata turned, seeing the technician fretting over the crack in his plastic. "Well it's going to come out at some point," she said, turning back and stepping beside of Sakura. She reached out and brought the door open further, then stepped into the hallway, empty on this wing. "And we're running a risk here," she continued, backing up further, her arms holding tightly around her waist. Her voice quivered. "If the powers-that-be find out about this without proper notification—''

A hand clamped down on her shoulder from behind, and Hinata chirped, spinning around, face burning behind the helmet. Shikamaru stood before her, his helmet removed and a simple mask around his lower face. His hair was greasy and the bags beneath his eyes made him look ten years older. Hinata could see that he had not slept more than four hours in the past three days. When he spoke to her, telling her to calm down and walk with him to the break room down the hall, Hinata could feel the sadness hiding behind his strong words. And she began following him down the hallway, stopping to wait for him as he looked back to Sakura before the doctor closed the patient's door.

Once inside the break room, Hinata removed her helmet and sat it in the floor, in the corner. Her simple mask beneath tickled her and she scratched her neck, just below her covered chin. She eyed Shikamaru, who stood examining her suite from a safe distance.

"Who's blood?" he questioned.

Instantly she looked down at herself and gasped. "Oh no," she moaned, her eyes looking up at him, terror stricken, "am I going to get it now?"

Calmly, Shikamaru shook his head and said, "No, just don't touch your suit without your gloves. You'll be fine. We'll either scrub it with ammonia or burn it and get you another one later."

Relieved, she nodded and fluttered her eyes closed.

Shikamaru cleared his throat, "It's only spread through physical contact."

There was a silence between them.

Hinata rocked on her heels, awaiting the real reason he had taken her into the break room. "You didn't bring me in here just to calm me down," she guessed, hoping to move this along. She hated awkward silence. It made her feel that all of her imperfections were in the open.

"Listen, I agree with you," he whispered.

Her eyes snapped open and she looked up at him confused.

"Sakura's worried about a riot," he said, "but I think the majority group of ill people below us are going to react with devastation and selfish despair, more so than with anger."

She gawked and stuttered before telling him that was a terrible thing.

"But a damn sight better than the alternative," he said, firmly. "We just need to get a couple ninja in suits and have them watch guard when we let the cat out of the bag." He glanced at the door. "Sakura's going to be pissed. So lets make this quick."

"Shouldn't we warn her? Discuss it?"

"God no," he laughed without mirth. "She wants control over the quarantine process, expecting me on the sidelines, working the puzzle." As he laughed tartly, he glanced at the clock behind Hinata's head. "Which would be less trouble for me," he dragged, "but more of a risk factor for containing the civilians once the truth comes out. Which is either going to be quick and painful or slow and dangerous. Hell, I'm shocked it's remained quite this long."

Once he turned toward the door, Hinata felt a panic run over her. Goosebumps popped up on her skin, even beneath the hot hazard suit. "Wait!" she yelped and, reaching out quickly, grabbed Shikamaru by his gloved wrist.

He looked back at her, annoyance marring his exhausted features.

"You. . ." she furrowed her brow, searching his face, "Do you even have a course of action? What are you going to tell them? How is there going to be any order? I—''

"Shhh," he quipped. "For the last two days, I've been orchestrating a method to detecting whether someone has the virus or a regular illness. One that will take less time an effort than Sakura's current probing and lab work. Just trust me."

"You mean, one that doesn't involve a spinal tap?"

"Yes," he said and, still looking back at her, reached out and flung open the door. "Lee and Neji already know about my plan. They should be waiting outside."

Making a sound in throat, Hinata shook her head, torn. Squinting at the view of the hall, she said, "Well why haven't you told Sakura? I thought you were working together. Why all of this sneaking around?"

"We are," he said. And then he sighed heavily, closing his eyes and stepping into the hallway. "We're just having a small disagreement."

But she saw something in his eyes, and he could tell she wasn't going to drop this and aid him so quickly as he would like. She had not moved from the room, even though the door stood open. Finally, Shikamaru stepped back into the room. Frowning, he slammed the door behind him. He closed his eyes and mumbled under his breath.

"What?" Hinata piped. Her face was a mask of woe.

"Don't panic at what I'm about to say," he said, clearly this time.

-

It took an hour for the suits to be removed safely. And at least thirteen minutes before Shikamaru had given up on cleaning them and burned them. This had been done inside of the hospital lab. Shino, wearing his usual garb under a hazard suit, the helmet removed and a mask in place, sat amid a desk littered with new, folded suits in air-tight packaging. Straight from Yukigakure. The only other village who had been informed of the situation to the least degree. The only village capable of creating the necessary wear.

There was no need for Shino to ask questions, the insect wielder handed them the suits and the pair left the lab quickly. They moved fast. Avoiding any populated areas had been easy. With the sealed suits tucked into a bag around Hinata's shoulder, she and Shikamaru had slipped out of the prior break room window. Lee and Neji had been waiting for them at the back entrance, which had been blocked off due to construction. With the construction crew on sick leave, not a soul had been near the work site except the two awaiting ninja. They had been sitting side by side, facing the walkway. When Shikamaru and Hinata had walked up, the two stood and separated. Behind them, free of a hazard suit, not even wearing a mask, sat Naruto. His face was drawn. He was without his Kage robes and hat, wearing only an orange t-shirt and black ninja bottoms. His hair was ravaged from the rough sleep that marked his face. His skin was hot when he had shook Shikamaru's hand, nodding firmly in passing know.

"Where are we doing this?" he'd asked. And now the group of five stood smack dab in the emergency room entrance, all wearing suits, save for Naruto, still. The mass of people inside whirred. The room wreaked of vomit and sweat. Some were arguing amongst each other, some were sitting, unable to do much but puke into buckets, and others were cussing masked nurses, demanding swift service and some answers.

The group made their presence known. The room quieted and the receptionist, wearing a bright pink mask, and who had been backing away from an angered mother, gasped.

When Shikamaru had calmly delivered some of the news, a number of reactions had gone off: mothers screamed and hugged their sick children to them tightly, ninja in the room reacted one of two ways, by either disappearing or sitting nervously back in their seats throwing out questions all at once, and others either screamed in despair or began raving. Eventually, through the roar of a few hundred voices, Neji had delivered more of the news. The quarantine. This really had caused a riot, as feared. Some however, stepped aside willingly as the crowd was fought down by non other their free walking Hokage.

Naruto had explained the rest, and now, with slight order in place, the people lined up obediently. However, at least half of the room had emptied out. Hinata, Lee, and Shikamaru stood watch over the entrance and elevators.

He sat against the receptionist's desk in a backwards placed chair, arms calmly draped over the back. Neji stood beside of him, stoic with his arms crossed and Byakugan ready. A young mother stood at the head of the slow moving line. She held an infant, wrapped tightly in a green blanket, to her bosom. The dress she wore was soaked through with spit up and mess. Her hair, a dingy brown, clung to her own sweat drenched neck. Naruto recognized her immediately and so did Neji. As she trudged forward, coughing against her shoulder, Naruto glanced over at his companion. Neji's face had lost it's tough edge, looking delicate and surprised. A sadness washed the Hyuga's features. The woman stepped directly in front of Naruto and tried to smile.

Naruto felt the ball welling up in his throat. He looked back at the woman and child. "TenTen," he sighed. "Haven't seen you in a while."

She chuckled, but it was raspy and wet, then coughed into her shoulder again. The baby in her arms whined and wiggled. She rocked it, patting its back. "It's a pity," she said, voice almost too quite for him to hear, "that seeing you guys again has to be like this."

Neji moved forward but Naruto's arm shot out and stopped him.

"Naruto's right," TenTen said and turned her face from Neji, ashamed of how she looked. "We need to get this over with. This isn't the time for a tragic reunion."

Behind the helmet, Neji blinked away his tears. Nodding, he told her they would talk later, once she was cleared. But as Naruto reached out and offered her his hands, it was clear that she was not going to leave this hospital any time soon. His large, calloused hands, offered up like a lamb for the slaughter shook as he awaited her.

She shifted the child so that one of her limbs was freed. And she slowly, wary and on the verge of crying, tried to touch the palm of Naruto's hand with her fingers. Chakra in the shape of flames shot up from his hands and repelled her. She yelled and gasped, jumping away from the heat. Her arm went back to the baby, holding the back of his head. Her wide eyes swam over Naruto as Neji whispered the word no and reached out for her yet again. Again Naruto stopped him, this time with more force. The crowd behind her murmured. Her baby cried.

"I'm so sorry, TenTen," Naruto said.

"This has to be wrong," Neji quipped, anger flaring.

At this point, Lee had fallen to his knees near the elevator. Naruto could sense the bushy browed man was fighting himself not to storm over and embrace the virus ridden woman before them.

"It's not," Shikamaru said, stepping forward, ready to stop Neji if he should react unfavorably. "Calm down."

TenTen had joined her child in tears. "What's going to happen to me?" she begged Naruto.

Neji had resorted to deep, loud breaths, and Shikamaru held onto his shoulder firmly, staring at him, waiting for the usually poised man to crack. No one had seen this coming.

"I. . .I don't know," Naruto said hopelessly. His eyes averted her gaze.

Seeing this, and hearing the line beginning to stir, Shikamaru glared hard at Neji, briefly. The other man made a sound in his throat as if to speak, then wet his lips, shut his eyes tightly, and stood up straight. From the front door, Hinata stepped forward and made her way to TenTen. TenTen, tears falling but no sounds being made, took the offered hand and was led to the right of the line, nearest Lee, who had finally gotten to his feet. He wiped his eyes began speaking with TenTen as Hinata stepped to the other side of Naruto. She leaned down, whispering, "What about her baby?"

Without look up, and watching the next person step forward, Naruto said, his voice pained, "If the mother has it, what do you think the odds are?"

The line dwindled quickly, with more and more people joining Lee by the elevator. Some where led down the hall, to the other set of elevators, where Hinata accompanied them to the third story waiting room. The relief of these people was felt by the sorrowful crowd by Lee, who watched as, one by one, the people going to the third floor came back down in hazard suits and sat back in the uncomfortable seats of the emergency room. While this went on, more people entered the building and were ushered to the line. By eight o'clock, and just when Hinata looked to Shikamaru, eyes widened, Naruto had delivered the news of destruction and the hope for a cure twelve times to newcomers. It seemed the line was never ending. Then the elevator behind Lee dinged, and the doors slid apart slowly. The crowd, some still crying, stepped apart, moved back.

Shikamaru knew who it was before stands of pink blew forward, draw out by the drafty waiting room. He was glad that Hinata was still upstairs with a family of five, and hoped that she would take her time. Sakura, he knew, was going to explode. Not in front of the patients, but she would pull him aside, and all who had aided him. When she stepped out, her suit discarded and mask in place, he noted the file in her hands. She meant to call another person upstairs. Or more over, to lure another ill being up to the surgery room in order to spinal tap them and wheel their unconscious body into the quarantine room.

Her face lifted from the file in hand, and she jerked back, startled at the crowd of sick people around the elevator. Her emerald eyes drifted over the emergency room slowly before landing on Naruto. She dropped the file. It smacked against the floor and slid apart, revealing the contents inside. Eyes wide and furious, she hastily bent down and gathered up TenTen's files. Straightening back up, she let her eyes land on Shikamaru. He was unsure how she knew it was him, as they were all unrecognizable in the hazard suits. Yet she glared at him.

"What is this?" she whispered angrily.

Shikamaru swallowed hard and shifted in place. After quickly deciding his best course of action, he exhaled heavily, fogging up his helmet screen, and informed her of the new situation.

She continued to glare at him, trying to find the politically correct way to cuss him. Her inner thoughts swarmed. However, without saying another word, she turned around and pushed the up switch on the elevator. The doors opened and she reentered. As she held down a button, Sakura looked out, face indifferent, and the doors closed. The elevator stopped on the fifth floor.

Naruto, turned around to watch former teammate's obvious despair and departure, watched the number five flash four times before going dim. He looked toward Shikamaru. "We should go speak with her," he sighed. "At least you and I."

"What about the patients?" Neji questioned, just as Hinata rounded the corner, seating the freshly suited family.

As Hinata, curiously approaching, stepped within hearing distance, Naruto stood up. "Neji, you, Lee, and Hinata finish taking the quarantine group downstairs—''

The crowd awaiting judgment began speaking all at once. So much so that it startled Naruto to stumble backwards a step. Made Hinata gasp. Neji and Shikamaru held back those who began storming toward Naruto, demanding to know their fate. Hinata screamed for the crowd to calm down. Shikamaru tried to explain that everyone would be tested soon. Lee's optimistic shouts rang through the noise. Yet none were really heard. Finally, Naruto threw up his left arm, using his right hand to whistle loudly.

"Quiet!" he boomed. "Everybody sit down. I think we all know this isn't going to be over with for a while," he continued, "So just try to remain calm for now!"

"Remain calm?" a man shrieked from the back of the mob. "How the fuck do you expect that?"

As he screamed, another man joined in. He stood off to the side of the line, having stepped out to rant. He was a ninja, as was apparent by his lopsided headband. But the symbol on which was hard to read. "Sit down?" he bellowed. "For all I know, I'm not dying, and could catch the damn disease just standing here! Well I won't risk it!" he finished, and he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Others began to take his lead and storm from the building. Naruto and the others tried to stop them, but failed for the most part. Only a handful of people remained, and those were the ones too sick to move from their seats.

-

The light in her office was dim. Her window stood slightly open, letting in a small breeze. With her arms folded under her bowed head, Sakura sighed deeply. The analog clock above her door said it was ten o'clock. Across the room, one man in each corner, Shikamaru and Naruto both stared in different directions. Shikamaru's mask was still in place, although his hazard suit had long since been removed; another hour long process.

Scratching his shoulder, Naruto slid down the wall and squatted, folding his hands in mock prayer. He rested his mouth on his fingertips and glanced sideways at Shikamaru. The dark skinned man was now looking directly at Sakura, stern. Naruto opened his mouth to stop what he knew was coming, but Shikamaru's tongue was swift.

"Well, it's been an hour," Shikamaru said bluntly. "If you're going to chastise us, now's the time."

She lifted her head. Her eyes were sunken and blue around the edges. Her mouth was down turned, and her skin was piked. Usually full pink locks fell limp in a tousled mess. Sakura looked at Naruto as she spoke, but her words were directed at Shikamaru. "I told you it's too dangerous," she said, dull and tired.

"The Kyubi wards it off," Shikamaru said. More blunt and quick words.

"You don't know for sure," she hissed, looking quickly away from Naruto, eyes squinted shut forcefully. She slammed her fists against her desk. "Damn it," she spat, "Shikamaru you know better than to behave rashly! We needed more time to observe! To break it to the village! Now just look what's happened!"

And suddenly he was upon her. Naruto, gasping, jumped to his feet, ready to stop Shikamaru. Sakura's eyes flew open. But before anyone could so much as utter his name, Shikamaru had backed Sakura, chair and all, against the wall behind her. Her chair tilted, and her feet dangled. He held her there and Naruto stepped forward.

"What the hell?" Naruto growled, mouth agape.

Shikamaru shot and arm out behind him, "You stay there!" he said firmly. "This is between Sakura and I."

Naruto looked intent on steeping between them regardless, until Sakura turned her face against the wall and began laughing. A sound that came out muffled by the olive green surgeon's mask.

"Look at us," she said, lips turning up into a catlike grin. "I thought we were going to work together."

Slowly, brows furrowed, Shikamaru stepped back. He looked her up and down, wary.

Sakura's chair thumped back in place and she motioned for Shikamaru to move as she fixed her place at her desk. Shikamaru silently obliged and stood to the right her her desk, sitting on it and rubbing his sore neck. His face was a mix of emotions.

Naruto surveyed the two and shook his head. "Look," he began, once again sitting on the floor, "I don't what's going on between you two, but I think you should probably stop fighting." Immediately, he realized how lame he sounded and, blushing, cleared his throat.

Sakura smiled over at him and breathed a chuckle through her nostrils. She looked at Shikamaru. "You really think he's safe?" she questioned quietly.

Their eyes met and Shikamaru nodded. "Honestly, I wasn't positive until TenTen reached for his hands," he admitted, and ignored Naruto's hack.

Sakura blanched a little and held onto her forehead as she looked out her window. She took a few deep breaths.

"Your way was taking too long," Shikamaru muttered. "And we couldn't seem to agree. But I'm sorry." He followed her gaze, counted a few stars, then reached out and pulled her face toward him. He let her go quickly and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. His face remained hard. "I said I'm sorry," he sighed. "I should have done that differently. But I still stand by my decision.

Sakura held his gaze, then closed her eyes and laughed. She ran a hand through her hair. "You suck at apologies," she said. "But I accept it. What's done is done."

-

In the dark, the oval shaped green door was hardly visible. And neither was the man hunched over in front of it, dressed in all black. He doubled over, still holding onto the doorknob, and retched up nothing but bile. His headband had fallen from his head and now dangled around his scrawny neck. Beneath him, his legs threatened to give out. And as he regurgitated, eventually dry heaving, the crickets' song drifted all around him. Quivering, he fought to stand, legs bowing. He wiped his mouth and looked behind him at the blackened forest. Taking long, deep breaths, he turned the knob and stumbled into his small cabin. Waiting for him in the warm living room was his wife and two young children. The four year old was cradled in her mother's arms, and the nine year old looked gray. But the eldest child ran to her father nonetheless. She hugged his hip as her mother stood from the recliner.

The young woman, holding her child, stood a solid five feet and eight inches tall. Her skin was tanned and dry, like leather. She was of wide girth. Her sandy brown hair was pinned in a tight bun atop her head. When she spoke, her voice was deep and airy. She told him she'd been crying.

"Where were you?" the girl hugging his hip whined, rubbing her face into the dark material of his pants.

He pushed her back from him, trying not to give into his dizzynees. "We're leaving," he said. "Ira, go pack your bags," he directed at the tall woman before him. Then he pointed in the face of the child beside of him, now crying. "Go help your mother!"

"What's wrong?" Ira asked, urgency weighing down the anger in her tone.

"This fucking village," he slurred and pushed by her. He fell onto the sofa, looking into the large broken picture fallen across the room. He could see his wife and children reflected in it. Watched them moving towards their rooms obediently. "This fucking village," he screamed. "It's diseased. We have to leave!"

Part One

Exactly two weeks had passed since the incident in the emergency room. Progress was slow to happen. Nearly two thousand people had been quarantined, and more seemed to pop up on a daily basis. Naruto seemed to be holding up great, thanks to his inner demon. Right now, Sakura and Naruto were with the council, requesting that more of the hospital be used as a quarantining facility. The west wing was already full. Their being gone left Shikamaru alone at noon.

Shikamaru lay back on a small cot in Sakura's office, his feet dangling from the bottom and his arm forced tightly in place by his sides. He stared up at the white ceiling, eyes drooping. Finally, after counting so many ticks from the clock that he lost count, he lolled his head to the side and glanced over the array of photographs that Sakura had framed around her desk. His eyes lingered on her license and accompanying photo of her looking glum. Her hair, long for only her last year of medical school, was pinned tightly to her crown in a pristine bun, and her suit was pressed. She was made up for the camera, but her features were drawn in anything but a victorious grin at having graduated.

Shikamaru closed his eyes when sleep suddenly began taking him. And he dosed off, thinking about the day that picture had been framed and stationed in its current spot.

Once asleep, his dreams were that of darkness, where he reached into a red stream towards the face of his now dead wife. She was floating just beneath the shallow surface, yet Shikamaru could not reach her. Further and further he dug into the water, until finally he was in fully and swimming downward, toward Ino. Her eyes snapped open and he swam into them, as she grew ten sizes larger, a giant floating in a red ocean disguised as a stream. He was suddenly naked and her eyes became the desert, where he stood amongst a crowd, shivering, and begging to be taken home to his father. No one saw him, even though he screamed, becoming infuriated. He stomped, yelling for their attention, and when finally a woman looked back to him, the ground gave way and began sucking him into the golden grains. Then he was buried, his agape mouth filled with sand and his body burning from the friction. He hiccupped and felt the sand popping in his lungs. And then the sand became lighter and bubbles spewed from his mouth as he sat up, no longer in the desert, no longer buried, but still naked. In a bed, a bed that was not his own and smelled of iodine and rubbing alcohol. Suddenly it was not a bed which he sat upon, but a chair. The room came into focus. He was in the hospital, in a mostly bare office. His chair faced the window and he sat in it backwards, straddling. Besides the chair, there was only a clock and a broken bottle of booze. It was dark, but only because the lights were off and the thick curtains were drawn. Crying, coming from somewhere in the dark, mingled with a bitter laugh, gave him chills. He looked around, fast. Standing from the chair, he felt light-headed, drunk. He called out to the crying. It stopped and he peered into the corner of the office. Sitting with her knees against her forehead was Sakura. But she was a child. This fact was not strange to him, somehow. She was wearing a hideous gray suit. Her hair was halfway in a bun, and her makeup was smeared. Her hand was bleeding. He leaned down to help, then remembered he was nude, so he hopped back into the shadows. Suddenly he was a fly on the wall. He saw himself, from days passed, sitting beside of the grown doctor, bandaging her hand sloppily.

The smell of stale booze struck him hard, bile threatened to escape. He was oddly nervous now, and wanted to leave.

–

Shikamaru woke suddenly to the sound of rummaging. Startled, he bolted up in the cot. His red sweater was drenched in sweat, yet he was freezing.

"God damn it," he spat lowly. He rubbed his arms and swung his bare feet over the edge of the cot. "Why is it so cold in here?"

From below and behind the desk, Sakura's voice rang out, rushed. "To cut back on the virus spreading, I had maintenance turn the air conditioning on full blast. But it's frozen over. Now the heat won't even come on."

"Nice," Shikamaru yawned. When his feet touched the linoleum, it stung. He hissed and scrambled back into the cot.

In a snap, Sakura stood up straight, a piece of yellow paper in hand. She smiled and nodded. "Found it," she proclaimed.

"Found what?" he asked, huddled up with his legs hugged against him. His face hidden mostly by the sleeves of his dull sweater. His ponytail had fallen loose, probably during his dreaming, and the spikes tickled his neck. He twitched, smacking the back of his neck with a grunt.

After speed reading the document in hand, Sakura looked over to him and blinked. "Where have you been all day?" she asked, confused. "The search warrant came in earlier." She waved the piece of paper, brows up and eyes wide, as if to tell him he was dense. "I missed placed it when Naruto and Neji started in this morning. But here it is."

Shikamaru knitted his brows at the piece of paper in her hand. "What search warrant?" he asked, meeting her gaze.

"To search the first victim's house," she breathed. Trailing his name, she looked down at the floor, the corners of her mouth drooping. She fiddled with the paper. As she counted the squares on her floor, Sakura was aware of Shikamaru's standing from the cot and slipping on his sandals.

He moved slow and approached her. His feet came to rest a few inches from Sakura's, and he dug his hands into his pockets, slouching. She still watched the fascinating floor.

Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine. . .

Shikamaru bent down and tilted his upper body to the side, forcing her to look at him. She did, and her eyes were hard.

"You've been drinking all day, haven't you?" she asked, stern, yet in a whisper. It was more of a statement, actually.

Standing straight, Shikamaru rubbed his hip. He looked over her desk, avoiding the earlier noted photograph. If Sakura hadn't been looking for some kind of facial emotion, Shikamaru's face seemed neutral, but she caught sight of his twitching eyebrow.

Stepping around her, he reached to the top of her desk and picked up a lone mask. With grace, he slipped it on his face, and spun around. He threw his arms across his chest and looked everywhere but her eyes. When he spoke, his tongue was tight.

Sakura blanched. Face that of saddened surprise, she crossed her own arms. Both parties created a barrier thick between them. A single blade of hair swung across Sakura's left eye and she cleared her throat, shaking her head to both clear the blade and show disapproval. The yellow paper ruffled against her lab coat. "I don't believe you just said that," she chuckled with ire. "Fuck you."

Making a sound in his throat, Shikamaru waved a hand. "Don't try to act like you're a saint, Sakura," he groaned. "Just leave it alone. I have a lot on my plate."

Mouth open, she huffed at him. "We all have a lot on our plate, what makes you so special?"

"I never said I was," he said.

Sakura rolled her eyes and threw her arms into the air. Accidentally, the paper floated away from her, towards Shikamaru. They both watched, Sakura still frowning, Shikamaru going red in the face, clenching his hands. The yellow sheet drifted slowly downward, finally landing. It sat at his feet, and Shikamaru stared at it for a few seconds before bending down to pick it up. He stepped closer to Sakura and thrust it in her face. "Why don't you go get on your high horse some more," he quipped.

She jerked the paper away and brought her other hand up fast. Almost. Her palm almost met his face, but Shikamaru, stunned slightly, grabbed hold of her wrist, twisting her arm only a little, then pushing her away. But she came back at him, and again he caught her wrist. This time he held it, staring down at her, angry.

Sakura twisted her wrist for freedom, unsuccessfully. She finally gave up and, scrunching her face in fury, looked away from him. "You reek of booze," she bit. "Get cleaned up if you plan on joining the search."

He let go of her wrist, tossing it somewhat violently, and walked past her to the door, bumping her shoulder on the way. Sakura grunted at his abrasive behavior and rubbed her sore shoulder and wrist. She continued to look at the floor as the door to her office slammed. Slowly her eyes began to sting. She cursed under her breath and rubbed her wrist harder.

But despite his bad attitude lately, Shikamaru was right, she thought. She was no saint. Who was she to judge, indeed?