A/N: Ironically enough, the only pairing I primarily ship (ShikaTema) is the only one I have a really hard time writing (that muse can be a real bitch to me). If anyone's ever 1) heard Loreena McKennitt's song "Marco Polo," or 2) been a dancer (like me), you'll know where I got the inspiration for this Pre-Shippuden/Post Part One fic. Enjoy!
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Lines
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Without question, cloud-watching was Shikamaru's favorite pastime.
He lay on his back in his favorite spot, aware that nobody was able to appreciate the graceful movements of the sky's white puffballs quite like him. He seemed to be the only one that understood that clouds were not the clumsy shapes they appeared to be. Their fluffy playfulness belied their true nature – streaming on the wind, their sinuous movements mimicking the exquisite lines of a ballet dancer. He knew that in spite of their soft appearance, they could turn into a curvaceous cyclone; a nightmarish fouette, wreaking havoc upon anything that dared cross its path. Indeed, there was nothing like the beautiful deadliness of a cloud. Shikamaru sighed and closed his eyes, enjoying the afternoon.
A shadow fell over his face.
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He eyed his opponent critically and counted each footstep he heard in the forest clearing. One, two, three...now, come closer, he thought. Four, five, six...he smirked mischievously. The rage in his opponent's eyes was unmistakable, as the ninja tried futilely to stop imitating him. About to be beaten, he thought, and still won't quit. He admired that. It won't count for much, but I'll give you points for effort. At arms length, Shikamaru formed the seals of his family's trademark technique to send this ninja into oblivion.
However, he had not thought to heed his father's warning that proximity was a double-edged sword. His jutsu had only crawled up as far as his antagonist's thigh when the other smiled and spat. Too late, he jerked his head backwards, recognizing that the ninja had ejected a needle which had grazed his right cheek.
At the same time, he heard a dull pop, and realized that he had extracted chakra at the wrong moment – instead of snapping his enemy's neck, he had snapped his enemy's right humerus. Undaunted, Shikamaru reached up and fingered his face gingerly, the ninja in front of him following suit. In spite of the pain, the ninja smiled viciously as Shikamaru looked at his fingers, now stained red and purple.
Shit. The senbon was poisoned.
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"How's it going, Crybaby?" Temari asked, standing over a prostrate Shikamaru and blocking the sun.
"Troublesome woman. Leave it to you to ruin a perfectly peaceful afternoon," Shikamaru lazily replied, squinting up at her.
"How sweet of you to miss me," Temari deadpanned. She lay down on the grass beside him, arms behind her head, her trademark scent of jasmine and iron wafting in his direction. Shikamaru wondered at what point the weird smell of metal flowers had become so appealing.
"What time are you leaving today?" he asked.
"About seven. I've got two more meetings with the Godaime Hokage and the council," Temari replied.
"Why don't you just leave tomorrow? By the time you've set out, you'll only have enough light to walk a couple of hours. You may as well stay, unless you're planning to walk all night," he said.
Temari turned her head, one eyebrow raised. "You just want to keep me here another night, don't you?" she asked, a smirk on her lips.
"Che. Just like a woman to over-analyze a friendly gesture," Shikamaru answered, annoyed.
Temari laughed, reading his expression, knowing full well the reason for his annoyance. "Konoha's strategist is calling me over-analytical? What a riot!"
Shikamaru rolled his eyes. There really was no way of winning with this woman. He turned to her. "So, are you staying or not?" he asked, defeated.
Temari turned back to the clouds. Shikamaru noted the gentle slope of her nose, a soft arc to counter balance hard teal eyes. "Sure," she said. "I have no problem with you sleeping on the couch."
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Shikamaru reached into his left pocket, watching the other ninja mimic him. Ninja did not usually carry things in their front pockets, he knew, and Shikamaru took advantage of this fact. He pulled out a crumpled exploding tag while his opponent pulled out nothing, and set it between them. He watched his enemy's eyes widen in helpless frustration as the tag began to sizzle, preparing to ignite.
At the last second, Shikamaru released the kage mane no jutsu with just enough time to propel himself backwards behind a tree. He heard the other ninja swear as the tag detonated, sending fire through the early morning darkness. He knew the ninja had taken a hit, but judging by the fact that his foe had spoken, he also knew that the ninja had missed being gravely injured.
Damn. The clock was ticking now, with no room for mistakes.
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Temari walked into Shikamaru's apartment, dropped her pack beside the door, and set her shoes next to it. Shikamaru grumbled as he noticed that miniature editions of battle-tessen inside the pack had dented the wooden floor where they landed. Temari had recently decided to broaden her weaponry collection, much to Shikamaru's loud annoyance (and silent approval). He was glad she was becoming more powerful, but that resulted in caving in to her threats more often than he liked to admit. Especially since she liked to remind him that she was getting stronger, over and over...and over again.
After removing his own shoes and vest, he shut the door behind him and headed towards the kitchen. He knew there was no food in it worth mentioning, but if he could get her something to sip on while he called for dinner reservations, he could keep her from bitching at him for not keeping the fridge stocked.
He came back to her with two bottles of water. She had her back turned to him, engrossed in an article from his library on the applied use of animals (primarily deer) for large-scale reconnaissance missions. He walked up to her casually, and pressed the cold bottle of water against the back of her neck. She yelped and came a little off the floor. Turning to face him with a nasty glare, she snatched the bottle and set the journal down.
"Try and be less of a pest, will you?" she snapped.
Shikamaru smirked. "Feel like udon tonight?" he asked.
"No food in the fridge, huh?" she guessed.
"Pretty much," he told her.
"Too lazy to go grocery shopping. No wonder your eyebrows are so thin." She laughed at her own joke, as Shikamaru rolled his eyes and silently put up with it. "Sounds good. Let me freshen up, and we'll go," she said, turning towards the bathroom. Shikamaru sighed.
"You're not going to take long, are you? I haven't eaten since last night," he whined.
"I thought I asked you to be less of a pest," she called from the lavatory.
"You asked me to try," he replied. "That's the best effort I can put out. Can you hurry, please?"
Frustrated with a hair tie that broke, Temari called out, "if you'd like to expedite this process, either put up or shut up!" No answer. Satisfied with silencing him (what did he know about fixing scrunchees, anyway?), Temari turned her attention back to her hair. Having heard no response, she had not been expecting a reaction, otherwise she would have garroted him on the spot for what he did next.
Before she could yell at him to get the hell out, Shikamaru had walked into the bathroom and poured the remaining contents of his water bottle down the front of her yukata, while Temari drew a sharp breath, reacting to the frigid liquid.
"There. You're refreshed. Let's go," he said flatly.
In a vain effort to keep her clothes dry, she hastily stripped off the yukata and obi, leaving her in nothing but fishnet wraps, panties and a bra.
Shikamaru smirked. Check, he thought smugly to himself. It paid to think ahead.
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Shikamaru began to feel the effects of the poison almost immediately and mentally chastised himself for skipping breakfast. He knew that his reaction time had already slowed since he lacked the buffer that food would have provided, and he wondered what else the poison would entail. Looking back into the clearing, he saw his opponent jump up from the ground onto a tree branch.
Aside from the poison, he knew of two things working against him: first, his opponent's chakra was wind-natured, which did not bode well for him; second, his opponent used a weapon, although he had yet to see it. Shikamaru cursed the fact that his wind-natured-chakra-using sensei was currently on a mission with Kurenai. Cheap excuse to to get laid when he could have just asked her out on a date, he thought wryly.
Therefore, he decided to focus on separating ninja from weapon. However, that was easier said than done – said weapon was strapped to the ninja's back, making it difficult to knock it out of his opponent's reach.
But he also knew of two things working in his favor: one, due to the broken arm, the ninja was not able to form seals very well. Two, and also due to the broken arm, the ninja would not be able to make effective use of that large weapon.
Not a bad handicap, Shikamaru thought. I may be able to kick some ass yet.
His adversary must have reasoned the same thing, because the ninja removed the large weapon and set it down on the branch. Shikamaru was surprised at the ease with which his enemy relinquished priority artillery, but thought nothing else of it. He would later chalk up his lack of foresight to the effects of the venom coursing through his veins. He watched as his opponent jumped from tree to tree, a thick black ribbon close behind. Besides the standard black outfit, Shikamaru had not remembered seeing any extraneous clothing on the enemy.
It was almost surreal, watching that black band of color follow the ninja in a snake-like fashion. If circumstances were different, Shikamaru would have complimented the beauty found in such a feat. He was so mesmerized by the event he almost missed the four kunai the ninja had thrown at his head while moving amongst the trees. Barely dodging all four, Shikamaru leaped onto a branch, noting how the swirl of green leaves seemed to spiral in a hypnotizing manner below his feet as the kunai turned into steel streamers behind him.
Oh fuck, Shikamaru realized, I'm beginning to see vapor trails.
So this is what the poison was doing.
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Author's Note: 1) fouette:A turn in which the dancer, standing on one foot, uses the other leg in a circular whip-like motion to pull the body.
Here's to my 25th year of life!