"Implied Confessions"

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"Well, see you later then, crybaby."

Temari smiled her usual smile when they departed. She had stayed at Konoha for a few months this time, going from meeting to meeting, managing trading policies and diplomatic relations, and collecting Konoha's education plans that Gaara was trying to mimic at home. It must have been the thousandth time she had been there, and a guide was hardly necessary, but Shikamaru had hung around, for old friends' sake.

Only this time, it felt different. Shikamaru had finally realized that the way he felt about her, had felt about her for ages, just might be – no, was – different from the way an "old friend" would feel. Hell, Ino was an "old friend," but he'd never seen her in this way. They had grown up together; they were each other's family, as was Chouji – the three of them were and would forever be more like brothers and sister than anything. But with Temari…There was something completely different about her. (It must have started four or five years ago, that first time they arranged the Chuunin Exams together; now he was twenty years old and oh my god why didn't he recognize that faint tug in his abdomen the first time he felt it?)

And now, having acknowledged his nod, she was turning away, turning away from him to return to her home and come back later and he would greet her as an old friend and she would greet him as an old friend, and that's all that'll ever happen, repeating and repeating and repeating.

He couldn't let that happen. It's been five years – how much more time would he waste? He thought about what his father had told him: "She can't just read your mind. If you want her to know how you feel, you have to tell her." And, "It's been how many years now, Shikamaru? And you still look at her the same aching way you did before, the same way I used to look at your mother before I knew she felt the same." Typical of his father to find out everything about his life, even if no one ever told him. Typical of his mother to do the same: "Shikamaru, you're not fooling anyone. I know you like her. And the fact that you've liked her for this long says something, don't you think? For once in your life, get off your butt and do something about it!" Apparently his parents could read his mind, but Temari could not.

He had to do something.

"Wait," he blurted, grabbing her wrist before she was out of his reach. Temari turned around, confusion written all over her face. Shikamaru could have had a heart attack right there and then, he was so scared. You're a damn coward. He thought to himself. Don't be one now. You can't screw this up. So, trembling and rendered totally incapable of speech, Shikamaru did the only thing he could think of. He took Temari's chin with his free hand, bent down slightly (she was fairly tall for a woman; tall like her presence, her confidence – it fit her so well, and possibly more importantly she fit him so well), and pressed a light, shaking, chaste kiss against her mouth.

When he pulled away almost a split second later, he did not let go. Her eyes were baffled and wide with…what? Shock? Disgust? Dare he say relief?

No. Hell no. It couldn't be.

But she hadn't withdrawn from him. And she hadn't slapped him or slit his throat with a kunai or slaughtered him to a million sliced bits with that huge-ass fan of hers. (Or not yet, anyway.)

For a moment, Shikamaru searched her face for a reaction, but that was all she gave him. In a heartbeat, he was smothered by Temari's tongue, which shoved its way into his mouth. Her teeth, which nipped his own tongue as he tentatively approached that unfamiliar, threatening territory known as Temari's mouth. And her clawing, desperate hands, which found their way to the back of his neck.

But it ceased just as suddenly as it began. Temari, having suddenly realized what she, or they, or whatever, were doing, suddenly ripped herself from his (wonderfully warm, firm and warm) body and turned her face from him, trying to control her staggered breaths and, more importantly (and with much more difficulty), her screaming emotions. How the fuck had she just let years of emotional training, shinobi experience, and ingrained self-discipline go out the window? Yes, god damn it, she was affectionate of the kid – because that's what he was, right? Just a kid. Gaara's age. But she of all people knew better than to fall in lo –

…Shit. He had almost made her say the "L" word. And he hadn't even said anything. Shit. And Temari was too busy fuming and being furious with herself to notice that he was still standing there, and she was still standing there, and he was trying to say something.

"…at me."

"Huh? What?" Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper. It was barely audible.

"Look at me." So was his.

He took her again, only this time gently by the hands, and oh my fucking god why was she letting him?

"Listen, Shikamaru." She finally managed. "I'm three years your senior, from a whole different country, and the sister of the Kazekage. We only see each other every few months or so. This isn't going to work." Her face was stern, her eyes flint, her mouth a wide, flat line. But she didn't pull her hands away from his, and all the emotional training and shinobi experience and ingrained self-discipline in the world could not get them to return to her sides. And it certainly didn't help when she tried to look him in the eye and realized with absolute horror just how easily her will melted into a pathetic little puddle at her feet.

He was looking at her with concern in his brow.

"That's what I've been telling myself for the past five years."

A sharp intake. FIVE YEARS?! Fuck! He's felt like this for five whole years?! Fuckshit! When had she started to feel…? No, she hadn't. She hadn't. She never did.

"Shikamaru…We've known each other for years. Seven years, in fact. You know me well. You know I can't. And you're supposed to be a genius."

"You can't, or won't?"

His face was betraying no emotion whatsoever now except for his usual scowl, but Temari could tell by the inflection in his voice that anxiety was starting to clog his throat. Damn. How come she had to know him so well? Feel so comfortable around him? (Except not anymore, apparently.) Laugh so easily when he was around? (That one time, that first time they organized the Chuunin exams together, laughing over something Ino or Naruto or Kankuro did…She couldn't even remember anymore. And Shikamaru had looked at her differently ever since.) Since when did Temari, whose brothers had so aptly labeled her the Heartless Bitch of the Merciless Desert, laugh? And not at someone, but with someone. With him.

After his sensei died, she had perceived something different about him: he wasn't a kid anymore. And she started to notice him trying, training, actually giving a shit about some things even though he still retained that same bored, laid-back attitude. (Watching clouds with him at his favorite spot, not saying a word. Gazing at the stars with him in Suna, complete silence. No worries, no constant drilling of the shinobi's job to kill, kill, kill. No mission. No stress.)

"Temari?"

Startled from her inner turmoil, Temari glanced at him again. The gods be damned, tortured, and thrown into a pit of poisonous, gaseous fire. She felt like a pathetic little school-girl, still captured by the fantasies of romance and fairy tales. Yet here she was. Here she was, hands still in his, green-blue eyes helplessly locked on his face, heart pounding a hundred million billion trillion times a minute. Damn it.

"I won't."

A heavy sigh. He knew that he wouldn't be able to convince her otherwise, at least for the time being. Temari was stubborn and proud, and also she was smart – smart enough to know that trying anything would get too complicated and painful in the end. He knew this too; Shikamaru knew this, but still he couldn't just let it go…

But he had to. It was her will, and he wasn't going to force her into anything. But at least now she knew, right? She knew, and he had tried, and he had done something about it. He released her hands (felt so empty without her touch) and tried to smile. "Okay…You're right. I guess I'll see you later, Temari." (Died a little inside. How the hell had she gotten such an enormous hold over him?)

She took off at speeds she never knew she could reach, before she could give in to her emotions again.

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A few hours later, she found herself at Shikamaru's apartment, knocking the door. She could not believe that she had turned around and come back, but now that she was here she might as well go through with it. When he opened the door and realized who the woman before him was, his brows did not move, and his mouth was a perfect horizontal line. If he was feeling anything, she couldn't tell.

Unable to find any other words, she blabbed, "I'm sure Gaara wouldn't mind if I stayed an extra night."

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A/N: I hope this is cohesive. As I was writing it I felt like I only had a bunch of very fragmented ideas. Hopefully I connected them well enough here. And yes, it took Shikamaru five years to figure out what that weird feeling was that he got whenever Temari was around. He might have an IQ of over 200, but as far as the realm of women go…his IQ is -200000000. Aaagghhh it still feels so OOC. :\

Disclaimer: I do not own the show Naruto or its characters.