"Shikamaru!" she yelled, as the missing-nin swung his shamshir.
Shikamaru slumped back against the rock, buffeted by the raging winds of her fan. The ninja took the full force of the blow, and was flung away, tumbling through the air.
He stared up at Temari. Her clothes were dirty and torn, and she was covered in sweat. Half her face glowed red from a barely-dodged fire jutsu. Her hair was full of soot and dirt. She looked beautiful. So why was she staring down at him so sadly?
"Cut it a little close, didn't you? A few seconds later and it would have been troublesome," he chided. She just stared at him.
"What?" he asked, then followed her gaze.
Ah. I've been eviscerated, he thought, with the calm detachment of shock. His finger reached down, felt the warmth, the sliminess. He could feel the chill slowly spreading from the tips of his fingers and toes.
A scream began somewhere deep within him.
And tore out.
He awoke with the scream still on his lips.
Temari was shaking him. "Quiet, idiot! What are you trying to do?" she spoke lowly, but urgently.
His breathing slowed. He stared down at himself, one hand feeling his stomach, which was still all in one piece, but soaked in sweat.
"A dream," he spoke quietly, as if to reassure himself.
"A dream?" she repeated, her face barely visible in the moonlight.
"I died. You were there," he explained.
"Shikamaru...we kill, see our friends and allies get hurt and die around us, and risk death every mission. Dreams like that a normal, in a horrible way," she hoped the darkness hid the concerned look on her face.
Not for me, he wanted to say. Not even after Asuma.
"This one felt real, more real than any dream I've ever had."
God, why does the genius pick now to get irrational, she wondered. Why in the middle of a mission?
"It was just a dream, Shikamaru," she reassured him.
"Yeah, I guess," he agreed, tugging a cigarette from a vest pocket and lighting it.
She snatched it from his fingers.
"Don't, you'll break the genjutsu," she chided. A lit cigarette was unlikely to break the genjutsu that concealed their small two-person camp, but it was a good enough reason to get him to stop.
He grumbled something, rolled over and faced away from her, and tried to sleep.
Still, now he was awake, he knew. Trying to sleep would be an exercise in futility. He heard Temari's breathing slow and gradually even out. Damn her. She could sleep standing up in a thunderstorm.
Why the hell am I even here, he wondered. Suna could handle their own diplomatic missions. I'm just a temporary envoy. Know-it-all Tsunade thought it would be best to get me out of the village for a while. Got to keep her precious strategist in top form. Can't let him be around things that remind him of his dead teacher. Like, oh, his friends.
Still, he had to admit, Temari had done a decent job making him feel at home. She seemed determined to outdo Konoha's hospitality at every turn. Except for the damn conspiracy to steal his cigarettes whenever possible.
He had actually found himself relaxing and enjoying himself. And then this mission had come up, and she had insisted that he come. Decidedly troublesome. Still, Kankuro was getting annoying, with the constantly spying and warning him not to hit on his sister. Maybe it was for the best.
Daylight was sneaking into his world. The sun would be up soon. He groaned and pulled the small pillow over his head. Today was going to be a long day.
-
An old woman sat on a threadbare mat in the depths of a sandstone cave. She rocked back and forth slowly, eyes closed, wrinkled hands forming familiar hand seals.
After a time, she stopped. Pale blue eyes stared down at the surface of the water below her. A large, still pond filled the cave in front of her. The water was so clear you almost didn't notice it. Small stones glowed at the bottom, illuminating the cave.
"What a sad dream," she said to herself. "He's very young to die so soon."
Still, there was nothing anyone could do, she knew. No sense fighting it, it would only hurt more in the end.
She slowly unfolded protesting limbs. At her age, even getting up was an effort.
Poor kid, she thought again, and went to brew tea.
-
A ninja sat, running a whetstone carefully down the blade of a shamshir. On his arm was a Sunagakure forehead protector, proudly defaced with a single cut.
