After finishing supper, Shikamaru sits cross-legged at his family’s dinner table, a forgotten cup of warm sake balanced between his fingers. As Temari takes the last of the dirty dishes to the kitchen, his gaze remains fixed on the untouched place setting that usually would have been occupied by their son.

Her footsteps are silent on the worn tatami mats. He doesn’t realize she is standing behind him, a tray with a flask balanced between her hands, until she peers over his shoulder, noticing his still-full cup. “You don’t need more?”

It’s a small blessing that his salary from the village increased when he accepted the position of interim hokage, a way for him to justify the expense of an extra bottle of sake a week on top of his previous consumption, enough to slow the ever-turning gears of his mind enough for him to fall asleep at night.

He mutters an apology to Temari, downing his drink far too quickly considering its quality, then holds the now-empty cup out for a refill. Dutifully, she leans over, tipping a stream of clear liquid into his cup.

This is how she supports him, not mentioning the amount he drinks or the crumpled up empty cigarette packs she finds in his pockets when doing the laundry. He always understood her nagging to be caring, the way she expressed her love for both him and their son, but her silence now is weighty and warm like the blankets they pile on their bed in winter, a way for them to both take refuge from bitter reality.

But this also means that when she speaks, he listens.

“He’s on a routine escort mission with his team,” she says, remaining by his side, looking down at him with the same eyes shared by their son, the color of shaded forest leaves hidden far from the sun. “That’s nothing you should be worried about.”

“I know. I’m the one who assigned it to him.” He takes a slower sip from his second cup, letting its warmth wash over him, not unlike the feeling of lying in the grass on a cloudless summer day.

Temari’s eyebrows pull down, her lips pinch inward, but instead of a lecture, she places the tray on the table and sinks down next to him, holding her hand out. It only takes a moment for Shikamaru to realize she’s asking for his sake cup. She takes it from him and tips it back, finishing it much in the same style that he’d consumed his first one, then refills it before passing it back.

“I heard from Kankuro that Gaara is back in the office most days. His medical team has been begging him to take it easy, but…” She shrugs as if to say, What can they do to stop him? What could any of us do?

“That’s what our reports have said as well,” Shikamaru says. One would think by now that he’d be used to the business of his family and the business of his profession being intertwined, but it’s still bothersome to be an acting Kage when his brother-in-law holds the same position in another village.

Temari rests her elbow on the table, propping her chin in her hand as she looks at him. “Have you spoken with him yet?”

Shikamaru scratches the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze. “Ah, no. Not yet. There’s so much paperwork—”

She stands before he can finish, forcing him to look up to meet her eyes. “You should.”

He doubts her wisdom the next day when he opens his laptop and clicks the meeting link. His office is unusually silent, all his advisors and guards barred from the room during the ten-minute block he’d reserved in his schedule for this call. There’s a leaden weight in his stomach, the weight of responsibility, there both when things go as planned and when things go wrong.

A sing-song chime rings as the video call tries to connect with the Kazekage’s office. Shikamaru finds himself hoping that Gaara decided to take a long lunch to rest, forgetting their meeting entirely, but that hope is dashed the moment the blue window on his screen disappears, in its place Gaara’s face.

The Kazekage has seen better days. His cheeks are hollow, cheekbones prominent. A few unruly hairs have escaped from the slicked style he’s favored since becoming a father. The dark paint rimming his eyes has sunken into the lines beneath them, highlighting how tired and frail he looks. Despite all this, his bright blue eyes are sharp as ever, his voice even.

“Good afternoon, Shikamaru.” The use of his name, formalities dismissed, suggests that Gaara is also alone in his office as well, his staff and doctors dismissed at least for a little while.

“Gaara.” Shikamaru nods. “I’m glad to see you back at your desk.”

“I’m glad to be back at my desk as well,” Gaara says. Long ago, he had learned that he needed to take his brother-in-law at his word. Body language, intonation, inference—none of these served to illuminate or add context to Gaara’s meaning. He says what he means and means what he says, something he had in common with the man who used to occupy the chair Shikamaru is now sitting in.

“And Shinki? From the reports that have been shared with our medics, he’s progressing much like Matsuri since being freed from the tree.”

“Physically, he’s well. That’s what the doctors say. And yet…” Gaara pauses, folding his hands in front of him. “He’s in pain. Araya is, as well. They lost a teammate. And I lost her, too. A young shinobi, a member of their generation who was supposed to surpass me and support Shinki.”

“I’m sorry,” Shikamaru says. Three stupid syllables that are supposed to do so much when, in reality, they mean so little.

“She knew her role when she became a shinobi, to give up everything, even her life, if it meant protecting her village and comrades.” Gaara’s blue eyes remain steadily fixed on Shikamaru when a lesser man might have looked away before continuing. “I am the one who failed in not protecting her. That was supposed to be my role as the village leader.”

It would have been rude to light a cigarette before their meeting, but Shikamaru desperately wishes he had one now. Something to do with his hands. Some way to distract his mouth, to put off speaking. “You weren’t there during the battle with Ryu. You couldn’t have done anything.”

It was meant to be comforting, an excuse, a way out of responsibility. But Gaara doesn’t take it. “I was unable to protect her, to protect any of them. That is my burden to bear as Kazekage.”

Shikamaru’s mouth goes dry, and no amount of water or coffee could have vanquished the sensation. He remembers what Koji had said he must do to eliminate two of the Shinju. “I’m the one who asked Kankuro to assign them to the mission with Team 7 to eliminate the Shinju. I asked for her specifically.”

“I know,” Gaara replies, his gaze neither accusatory nor forgiving. “Did you achieve your goals in doing so?”

Shikamaru’s eyes flick over to the only framed picture on his desk, one taken outside of his house—Himself, Temari and Shikadai, only a few years younger than Yodo had been. Had he been sent on that mission rather than her, that picture might be the last one that’d ever been taken of him. “We did.”

Gaara nods, then leans back in his chair, closing his eyes. “Then, that is your burden to bear as Hokage.”