For this entire serries, assume that the characters are closer to the age that they seem than the age that they are.
(I'm picturing Shikamaru being about 15 or 16 in this first scene, others can be adjusted from there)
Takes place after the hospital scene in episode 135.
Shikamaru wandered through the darkened streets of Konoha.
In the end he'd had to put all of his trust in his teammates. All of his strategizing had been nothing. Absolutely nothing. He kicked a loose pebble, sending it down the street. He'd let them down.
He'd let them all down. He was smart enough to see that.
Everyone would survive. He supposed that he should take some comfort in that. Given the circumstances they could have faired far worse. Things could have ended worse under another leader: no comfort there either. He had come very near to getting his best friend killed, not to mention the others. And if someone had died it would have been for nothing because they had failed.
He shuddered when he thought about what might have happened if the Sand Shinobi hadn't shown up when they did. Not that he had liked being rescued by a girl, but he was grateful. He supposed that being saved by her wasn't so bad when the alternative would almost certainly have been him being killed by a girl wielding a flute.
These kunoichi were troublesome: fighting with flutes and fans. Bah! He kicked at another stone. It wouldn't be so bad if they weren't so good at it.
His wandering continued. It was too overcast to see the stars and too dark to see the clouds. The streets were dark, save the Hokage's offices, the hospital, and one house a few blocks down the street from him.
He knew that he should go home, but facing his mother after his failures wasn't very high on his to-do list.
Again he looked at the illuminated house, less than a block away now. It took him a moment to realize which street he was on. He was a poor excuse for a shinobi, to be so unaware of his surroundings. It was the house reserved for guests of the Hokage. There was no doubt in his mind who would be occupying it tonight. The front of the house was dark except for one upstairs window. The rest of the light came from the back of the lower level.
It was just his luck to have passed this way. Perhaps Gaara would step out to give him a piece of his mind, or worse, for being so much bother. He sent another stone flying down the street. He was so unable to handle his own responsibilities that Gaara and his siblings had to travel the whole way from Suna to clean up his mess.
He made the mistake of looking up at the illuminated window as he passed. Leaning out of the window was the only thing worse than facing his mother or running into Gaara.
Temari.
If he had been perfectly honest with himself, he would have admitted that Temari was beautiful, albeit in a deadly sort of way. She was much like a poisonous flower or a jewel-colored viper. A woman like that was bound to be troublesome.
There was something different about her just now. It took him a moment to realize that her hair wasn't restrained by its usual four bands. It was fairly long, but still stuck out everywhere, creating a halo of gold that made her look softer somehow. Not that there was anything soft about Temari.
He'd been staring. For how long, he didn't know. She waved at him and as reflex he waved back.
She leaned out the window a little further. "Come up for a drink?" she asked. Her voice was far softer than it had been in the forest or waiting in the hall of the hospital.
He was shocked, unsure of what to say, so he just shrugged and stepped toward the door.
"No!" she called in a forced whisper, and beckoned him in the window.
He took a deep breath and lunged upwards. For a moment he sat on the sill, with his feet dangling over the street, questioning his sanity.
"Kankuro is downstairs in the kitchen, cleaning the blood out of his puppet," she explained. "I don't think that seeing you would improve his mood."
He looked over his shoulder at her, as though demanding further explanation.
"My little brothers are a wee bit overprotective."
"Oh," he said, tensing his arms to push himself back onto the street.
"Come in and have a seat. Don't let them dissuade you," something in her voice told him that he didn't have a choice.
He swung his legs across the windowsill and stood up inside. It was a simple room. The wooden floor was bare. To his right were a bed and a small table with a clock and a lamp. To his left was a chair. Directly across from the chair was the door. To the right of the door was a large dresser, which took up the rest of the wall. Temari's fan hung on a rack above the bed. He thought that there would be artwork on the walls or at least a rug on the floor, but the room was barren.
He eased himself into the chair, sitting with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.
"Tea? Or something a little stronger?" she offered.
This wasn't a question that he'd ever had to answer before. Asking for tea would perhaps make him look like a wimp. Opting for the 'something stronger' could either make him look like an alcoholic or a fool. He'd never had alcohol before and was unsure of the effect it would have on him. For all he knew, he might be like Lee. He looked up and shrugged. "I'll have what you're having."
She laughed softly as his response. It seemed so typical of him. Temari walked over to the dresser and drew a bottle and two glasses from the top drawer. She poured them both a glass of sake and set the bottle on the dresser.
"Tea is not for celebrating," she justified, handing him a glass.
He didn't take it. "Celebrating! What is there to celebrate?" He flew off into an angry rant at full force. His voice was low and harsh. "The mission was a complete failure. My teammates were injured. My best friend almost died. The Hokage had to drag you three in to clean up my mess. You tell me just what I'm supposed to be celebrating." He looked at her again with steely eyes.
Her face softened a bit more. She gently placed the glass in his hand and then leaned down, their faces inches apart, to look him in the eyes. "We're still alive. Your friends will all recover." She shrugged. "What else is there?"
"Success. Everyone walking away unscathed."
"It doesn't usually work that way. They'll forgive you – probably already have. Now you have to forgive yourself." She retreated to the bed, reclining back against the pillows and headboard. She raised her glass, "To satisfactory results."
He raised his and countered, "To next time's perfection."
She smiled, taking a sip. He followed her lead. The burn surprised him, but he didn't find it unpleasant. A sort of warmth settled in as he drank, causing him to unzip his vest.
She didn't notice. He took the opportunity to study her. This was not the same girl that he'd dueled with in the exams. This was not the same woman that had fought beside, or for, him against the sound ninja. This was not even the same woman who'd sat across from him as he'd waited for news on Chouji, doling out harsh comments and criticisms. She was almost an entirely different person. Perfectly at ease – almost like someone who'd never witnessed violence, let alone inflicted damage herself.
She sat there, sipping down her drink. Her hair looked incredibly soft, with the way that it stuck out everywhere. Her eyes were closed, and a light smile played on her full lips. Her deep purple kimono was not drawn as tight around her throat as it probably should have been in his company. The hem fell above her knees. Her legs were bare and smooth, her ankles crossed.
He could admit it to himself now: she was beautiful.
She cupped her empty glass in her surprisingly delicate-looking hands. He turned up his glass to drain the remainder. His thought turned to the liquid that pleasantly heated his throat. He felt no ill effects. He was not going to go crazy like Lee. If anything, the alcohol had slowed down his overworked mind. That was a comfort, as was her calm presence.
"May I?" he asked. She opened her eyes briefly as he motioned toward the bottle.
She nodded and held her glass out for him to refill, gesturing with her fingertips that she only wanted a little bit. He poured them both half a glass.
Instead of returning to the chair, he sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from her, staring at the wall. After a few very long moments he asked, "So, why did you invite me in?"
"You looked like you could use a friend. Someone who wouldn't judge you."
"You already did," his voice was colder and sharper than he intended.
"What I said at the hospital was true. But I suppose it was more about keeping up appearances. Mostly mine."
He looked up at her, the confusion showing on his face. "I don't follow." For a genius he wasn't doing a very good job of keeping up with this woman's thought processes.
"We're supposed to be tough, but anyone would have felt the way that you did. Anyone with a heart at least." Suddenly a change came into her voice. It was yet another thing that he didn't understand. Her voice was almost pleading. "Shikamaru, don't give up on this. Don't throw away all of your training. You're far too good to walk away from it and it'll only be worse for others if you do. Your father was right about that much."
He finished his drink. "He was right about everything," he said, thinking about his father's remark about him not being a man. He was weak and he knew it.
It was almost as though she read his mind. She sat up and gently laid her hand along his cheek. "Don't lie to yourself. You're one of the bravest men I know."
Was this the alcohol talking? Was the sake to blame for the warmth that was spreading through him? 'No,' he decided: on both accounts.
She was looking at him almost expectantly. He was locked in the gaze of the deadly angel. His breath caught. He grasped intent, but reason eluded him. No man, no genius, could fully understand this from Temari. His hand shook as he reached to touch her face. He was afraid: Maybe more afraid than when waiting for news on Chouji; possibly more afraid than he had been right before Temari had knocked Tayuya from the limb. It was a different sort of fear though: a thrilling sort. It ripped though him as he started to lean toward her.
He faltered. He realized that he had no idea what he was doing. He retreated a small distance to think things out. She closed the distance. Their lips met.
This was the last thing that he thought would happen to him tonight, but suddenly it all made sense. He knew why people went into battle. He knew why some things were worth fight for, even worth dying for.
He felt her crazy hair between his fingers. He was running purely on instincts. He felt her fingers on his chest though the mesh of his shirt. That brought him back to reality. He pulled away, grinning sheepishly. This was awkward: almost magical, but awkward. He felt drunk in a way that had nothing do with sake.
She pulled her legs underneath her, resting back on her heels. Her hands lay on her thighs. She bit her lip and looked down at her hands, blushing. "I… I'm so… sorry…" she stammered. "I've never … done that before. I… um… I don't know what… came over me. Ah… I…"
Her words were cut off by the return of his lips. He didn't let his mind wander this time. There was nothing on earth but her right now. Soft, warm lips: the taste below the sake was both salty and sweet. The feel of her through the silky kimono as his fingers trailed up her spine. The way she shuddered when his fingertips grazed the bare skin of her neck. The fiery sensation of her hands on his skin. It was all too much.
She was the one to pull away this time. She sat back against the headboard, as though she needed its support. She looked a bit dazed, almost starry-eyed. He wondered if his face mirrored hers. The smile that spread across her lips was almost victorious. She laughed softly.
He smelt the smile drop away from his face. Had he done something terribly wrong? He was completely inexperienced, but he didn't know about her past, or if the instincts that he'd let guide him were right. "Go easy on my ego, Temari," he warned. He'd meant for the words to come out jokingly but they hadn't.
For the first time that night, she was the confused one. She looked at him quizzically, her laughter coming to an abrupt halt.
"You don't have to be so damn happy about being better than me at this too," he snapped.
"It's not exactly like I know what I'm doing." He felt a surge of embarrassment. He hadn't meant to admit to his inexperience. He glared at her.
Normally Temari would have taken such a glare as a challenge, but instead her face softened. She moved toward him, smiling sweetly. She was a living, breathing contradiction. He knew in that heartbeat that she would be the death of him. "Could have fooled me," her voice came out sounding like a purr. "But, I don't know what I'm doing either. Regardless, that's definitely not why I was laughing."
Something told him to not ask. It took nearly all his patience to stay quiet.
"It's just that… if I'd have know you'd… react so… enthusiastically, I might have said something sooner."
He felt a cocky smirk come to his face. "So that's why you really invited me up," he teased.
She looked horrified. "No," she gasped. "I just wanted to see you… happier."
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "I believe you've succeeded," he whispered in her ear.
It was about half an hour later when he felt her start to nod off against his chest. He gently laid her back on the bed and covered her up. She protested until he pointed to the clock on beside table. Then she gave him a resigned smile and a little nod.
He turned off the lamp and had taken another half step toward the window when he changed his mind. He turned back to her bed and kissed her gently before disappearing out the window and into the night.
He traveled back to his home quickly: hoping with all of his might that his mother would not be waiting up for him. That thought aside, he was surprisingly happy. He knew he might ought be mortified by the happenings of the last couple hours. He let it play back through his mind now. He'd had his first drink while underage, on property that technically belonged to the Hokage. He'd had his first kiss with a beautiful, troublesome, dangerous woman. This woman was the daughter of the Kazekage and had two overprotective brothers that he couldn't bring himself to trust. He sighed, shaking his head. Perhaps he should regret it all, but he didn't.
As he crossed onto his parent's property, he paused to consider the house. The lights were all off – would the wonders of the night never cease. The front door screeched. There was a lose board in the hallway near the back door. He nearly laughed when he came to the decision. He would have to go in through his window. How ironic: one window that could get him into trouble, one that would keep him out of it.
The first sign that something was amiss should have been that his window was open. This thought didn't register in his genius mind until he was on the ledge. He looked in his room. There was his father, in the shadows, sitting on the bed.
"Come in son," he said. There was the slightest edge of amusement under his angry voice.
Shikamaru climbed the rest of the way in the window with a shrug. Before he could start toward his chest of drawers for a change of clothes, his father gestured for him to stand before him. Shikamaru stood with his hands jammed down in his pockets, trying to look disinterested as his father studied him intently.
Shikaku finally spoke, "Is it the sake or the woman that has you so distracted?" Most of the anger in his voice had been replaced by amusement and curiosity.
For once Shikamaru decided against the path of least resistance, though he wasn't sure why at the time. "What sake?"
"I can smell it."
"I'm not drunk. I had one glass."
"With the woman that has you so distracted?" he sounded like he was fighting off a laugh.
"What woman?"
His father raised an eyebrow and reached out to pull a blonde hair from his vest. He studied it in the dim light. "Hmmm… not quite what I expected."
Shikamaru stared blankly at his father.
"Ino's hair is longer and lighter than this," Shikaku clarified. He watched as his father ran through the mental list of the blondes that he knew. Suddenly he hit upon the right woman. "In the hospital… the one that insulted you… the girl from Suna." His father was laughing with the revelation.
Trying to play it cool, Shikamaru said, "Temari? Eh… She's a troublesome woman." He tried to sound dismissive, but he knew the slight blush in his cheeks was giving away the truth.
Shikaku clasped a heavy hand on his son's shoulder and gave him a knowing shake. "You wouldn't be a Nara if she wasn't. Now get some sleep. Your mother thinks that you were at the hospital late."
"You told her that when you watched me leave?" Shikamaru was stunned at the idea of his father lying to his mother for him.
"I didn't correct her when she assumed it. I'm not so sure I'd have wanted to face her either. But to opt for Temari!" He laughed again, leaving the room.