Dedicated to my lovely friend Jazzie560; her art gives me life. Inspired by her piece over on tumblr.

Temari raised an eyebrow.

When her bike was having troubles, she took the first recommendation given to her by her friend. A local business, but one of the most reliable ones – as her pink-haired friend guaranteed. Temari's lip curled. That was the last time she trusted anyone whose hair was even remotely the shade of bubblegum.

She was positive she was standing outside a shack. It certainly looked like it, and if it weren't for the aroma of oil, the sound of steel and occasionally, the spitting of sparks, she would've never assumed it were an autoshop. In fact, she wouldn't have assumed it was anything, for the building was decidedly unassuming; she could even detect traces of rust along the ridges of the metal garage, hints of disrepair and a lack of upkeep – and if they were supposed to be maintenance shop, they were having a hard time maintaining themselves.

But her bike was done. It couldn't do much more than sit there and look pretty – she was happy at least the shiny red metal was unmarred. Temari liked to think she maintained her bike well, but considering she had wheeled her hog into the shop meant that there was something she was missing. She could only hope now, that whoever and whatever was behind that rusted door was someone who could help.

Temari wasn't holding her breath.

At least the door was open. If she squinted, a neon sign depicting the store as such flashed mildly. The lighting, too, was dim, but from her place she could see the outlines of bikes, a couple near the middle missing bits and pieces, which were scattered across the floor. Temari frowned. The doubt didn't cease from her mind, even more so as she noticed overhead lights that weren't on. She rapped against the wall once, then again, to nothing.

Another few seconds passed before Temari finally relented. "If your shop is actually closed, you shouldn't leave the sign on – or the door open," she called into the abyss. And as she expected, there was nothing. Well, that was definitely the last time she ever listened to one of Sakura's recommendations. Just because her best friend or something road a bike as well, didn't mean jack shit to her.

Well, that was that. Temari flipped her sweater over her shoulder, one hand fishing for her keys. She'd just haul her hog back out, and never look at this place again. Maybe she'd find the actual leading repair shop, through the Internet or something. Rather, why hadn't she done that in the first place?

There was a bang, followed by a clatter, and then a whisper of a cuss that she didn't quite make out, but she could definitely gather from the sound of it. And then someone stumbled from the darkness, a tall gangly sort of man who was currently rubbing his foot. And then he straightened, black hair somehow still erect in a spiky ponytail, his dark chocolate eyes narrowing before seizing Temari up. And then he groaned. "We're closed."

Temari stared. "Your sign says otherwise." They both turned to it.

And then he swore again. "'Forgot to turn it off."

She didn't know if she was ready to yell or straight up leave. Either way, angry heat flared from her legs, threatening to burn where she was standing. Then the man shrugged and yawned.

"Guess I have to own up to it," he said, and for whatever reason Temari couldn't detect a hint of malice behind his voice. When it'd been somewhat irritated before, now he was more or less resigned, and she still wasn't sure if she still wanted to fight, laugh, or strangle him. It was an odd combination of the three, much less for a stranger she'd just met. Despite the tumultuous emotions, he stepped over the threshold and away from the darkness that was his autoshop. And in the light, he was a lot less glamorous; sure, he had the muscles, but he had pasty skin and bags under his eyes, his ink-black hair messy and the towel flung around his neck stained beyond recognition.

"This yours?" He asked, suddenly breaking Temari out of her reverie. He motioned her hog with a slight head-tilt. No effort to even use his hand. So she didn't grace him with words, only giving a brisk nod.

He sized it up with one glance. "You take good care of it, at least." It would've been flattering if it hadn't been so dismissive, an afterthought. And before she could even form words to respond, he held a hand out. She let her gaze burn into his for a moment before dropping the keys into his hand.

And so she watched as he swung a leg over her Harley, inserting the key and watching it rev. Rev until it died, clicking out in a pathetic attempt to maintain its transmission. The mechanic turned to him, and she merely shrugged in response. He sighed and pushed his hand through his hair.

"Sounds like a dead gearbox. You might've worn out a chain, and that caused a chain reaction. Pardon the pun," he added offhandedly, and she rolled her eyes. "Either way, it may take a few days. Maybe longer. When was your last tune up?" Temari paused. When was her last tune up? She'd always assumed nothing was wrong with it – and don't fix what ain't broke, right? But the mechanic merely sighed – another sound she was, oddly, getting used to – as he straightened. "Right. If you could-?"

She stepped aside, allowing the mechanic to wheel her baby in.

After a few more moments the man reappeared by her, hands shoved in his pockets. "We'll discuss fees once I've taken a look at her. Do you have a way back to wherever you came from?"

She raised her eyebrow. This guy – acting as if she'd already decided it was okay if he were her mechanic. "What if I don't want to leave you my bike?" Temari leaned against the rusted metal ridges that was the wall. "I could always search online to find the highest rated shop."

He chuckled – chuckled –the first sign of any emotion save boredom as he shrugged. "Go ahead. You'll find that it'll refer you back to here." And then he sobered, his expression turning serious. "If you didn't want me to take care of your bike, you would've stopped me from wheeling it in. Don't worry. I'm not gonna do anything strange to it, unless you count repairs as strange." And then he suddenly looked bored once more. "So, do you have a way back? I can call you a cab."

And there maintained a small need to one up him, after the out-of-nowhere logic that had her reeling, Temari waved a hand. "Nah, I'm fine. I have a ride."

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "At any rate. Here-" and he withdrew his own fists, in one a business card. It was professional knowing, stark white – surprising, considering his appearance. And as she took the card, she noticed a big black thumbprint – unsurprising.

His eyes followed hers. "It's what happens when you work with motor oil," he said nonchalantly, and as Temari opened her mouth to retort, he merely waved a hand in dismissal. And then he was gone, and for the first time in a long time, she stood there rather stupidly.

Temari looked back down at her newly acquired business card. At least the name was legible. Shikamaru Nara – Mechanic.

Prick.

"What?"

Shikamaru sighed once more. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "It may take a few more weeks."

"I know what you said." It took her another few moments for the words to sink in, that she wouldn't have her favourite Harley for a while yet. Irritation spiked at her spine; she could always borrow her brother's car, but it was still irritating to not have her own vehicle.

His eyes were following hers as she fumed, and then he cracked a half smile. "Well, that's a rough estimate. I can let you know though, if things go by faster?" His hand was out, in a gesture that echoed one before. But as opposed to last time, there was already an item within his clutches. His own phone, and the screen open to take a number. Temari glanced from his fist, then up to him. And then she snatched it out of his grasp, typing in her name and number. At least the phone wasn't marred with oil stains.

She thrusted the phone back into his grasp, though Shikamaru caught it without even blinking. He almost seemed mildly amused by her antics, another half-grin on his face. He spun the phone in his grasp once. "I'll let you know," he said, his voice low with the promise.

The words echoed in her head even as Temari flashed the keys towards her brother's car. She swung her body into the front seat, slamming the door behind her. And then, after a long frustrated sigh, she rested her head against the wheel.

She'd given him her number.

Sneaky bastard.

It was like déjà vu, as Temari stepped into the darkness that was the shop. Although there were some differences, she supposed – there was the low hum of machines, the sound of buzzing, and a single light in the back swung precariously. The neon 'Open' sign was still flashing regardless, so it really was his fault if he was sleeping again.

Yet when she opened her mouth to call out, he was suddenly there. His eyes were dark, tired, and just as Temari had begun to think otherwise, his mouth cracked open into a yawn. He didn't even have the audacity to cover his mouth; instead his hands went to his hair, gathering the inky black strands into a messy ponytail. He glanced her over once – Temari felt herself being scrutinized under the lidded gaze – before he slapped a towel she hadn't noticed against an equally visually-unimpressionable table.

"So, everything should be in place. You might experience a few tuning issues – adapting to the new chain. Think of it like breaking in a pair of shoes."

God, even his voice was bored.

But then his mouth cracked into the smallest half-grin, especially as he wheeled her bike over to her. Something even akin to pride danced in his eyes, a spark of emotion that finally lit in his dead-set expression. Of all things, this.

Vaguely, she wondered if he had any other emotions she were simply unaware of.

But Temari pushed the thought away as she reached into her wallet, digging out her card. Just as wordlessly, he handed her the machine. She deftly inserted her card, the silence pounding in her ears as she waited for everything to process. Her fingers felt numb, her mouth was dry; maybe she was itching to be on her bike again. Even as she punched in her access code, she could feel heat from her cheeks, an odd weight on her chest from the sudden, screaming quietness. Then, as she handed back the terminal, their fingers brushed. Warm, sharp, like a spark that shot through her system.

Fuck.

He held the machine in his hands, and for a split second, she could sense hesitation. Different from what she was used to, over the few visits during the month where he told her to pop by to check on progress. Where there was a very determined apathy, a bored nothing in his eyes, this time he was actually aware, if not hesitant. Words seemed to vibrate in the air, unspoken, but so visceral that Temari felt as if she could snatch it from the air.

However, as quickly as the moment came, it passed. Instead, he reached for his towel, slapping it over his shoulder. "Thanks," he said lowly, if anything, sounding mildly distracted.

"I should be thanking you," she returned, though a large part of her was aware of her equally distant and disembodied voice.

And as she was already well on her way back to her home, on her hog that hummed much quieter than she remembered, all she was aware of was a mild, infuriating disappointment in the base of her stomach.

Not even two weeks later, Temari found herself in the same, now mildly familiar, darkness that was his supposedly Open shop. And there he was, once more, with a mildly amused expression on his face.

"I told you it needed to be broken in, not driven to the ground."

"Just because I actually have classes, and therefore need to use my bike everyday –" But he interrupted her with a hearty, almost immature, snigger. And yet, Temari couldn't find it within her to feel offended, though she did cross her arms. "-Not funny."

"I thought it was," he responded, though his mild monotone actually rendered the statement amusing. Trademark, oil stained towel around his neck, he straightened from his spot by her bike. "Well, it looks okay for now. You might need weekly check-ins, though."

She gaped, though the pit in her stomach wasn't necessarily due to what she'd like to think it was. "Weekly?"

"Unless you want to keep your bike here for… another month."

"No thanks," she said drily. He shrugged noncommittally.

"Then I'll see you next week, Temari."

And then it dawns on her, like a truck crashing through her window, and she pulls away, disentangling herself from his grasp. "You lied to me," she says with horror. "Oh my god, you lied to me."

Shikamaru's expression is still thesame cool calm, though his somewhat raw lips curl into a smirk. "Hm?"

But his pseudo-innocent question is too easily detected by her, especially now. "A year ago – when you told me I needed to come in weekly visits -"

"- How do you remember this?" and there it is again, the amusement in his voice.

"—you lied -!" But he's positively grinning now, and her anger is suddenly a lot harder to hold onto. "Stop smiling," and she shoves a palm into his shoulder, which only earns her a snort, "I can't believe – "

"- that you agreed to it? I mean, the alternative was another month, to which you said 'no thanks'."

Temari gapes, then she shoves another palm into his shoulder. "Who's the one who remembers everything now?"

But his laughter is infectious, her growing effort to maintain her pout only triples as he catches her hand on the recoil. "But all that matters is that I asked you out, right?"

She narrows her eyes and tries to withdraw herself from his grasp, but it only proves futile until she gives up. "I was actually kinda pissed you didn't do it earlier."

"You're crazy," he says, but the affection in his voice takes away the already nonexistent edge to his words. Regardless, she rolls her eyes.

"I'm not the one who dropped out of an engineering degree."

Shikamaru hums thoughtfully for a moment. "Actually, I was thinking about going back to school. Then I could really be your underclassman."

She raises an eyebrow at him, and it only takes two seconds before he pulls her back into his arms. Not that she fights it, really – she'd already spent three months fighting against what she truly wanted. And then his lips brushes hers, surprisingly tender in the way only he can be. She ignores the heat that flutters at her cheeks as he pulls away. "Don't make me sniff out two of your lies in one day."

"Touché," he mutters, but not before he descends for another kiss.