Shikamaru awoke in a cold sweat, panting hard as the awful nightmare that had been so vivid moments before faded rapidly into a dense fog, and as he blinked awake he could no long remember what had frightened him so. He ran a hand wearily over his face, feeling the hard lines etched into his skin from years of stress and toil. His eyes gradually adjusted to the dank darkness of his room, and he became aware of the howling of wind and pounding of rain outside his window. He untangled himself from his bedsheets, which had become knotted around him from tossing and turning, before standing up and walking to the window. Water cascaded over the smooth glass as the storm raged on outside, and the village street became briefly illuminated as a bright flash of lightning split across the sky. Rolling thunder followed, so loud that Shikamaru felt the floorboards shake beneath his feet. The trees lining the road groaned and swayed in the wind, their leaves shaking violently as they were ripped away and carried off by the gale. The dirt roads were already overflowing with puddles. No doubt, there would be a flood of missions tomorrow concerning repairs from the storm.

Shikamaru turned when he heard the floorboards creak to find his son standing in the threshold of the doorway to his bedroom, clutching a small blanket with his hands and fresh tear stains in the corner of his bright blue eyes. Temari's eyes. Another flash of lightning and its accompanying boom of thunder shook the wooden home, and Shikadai screamed and ran over to his father to clutch onto his legs.

"Daddy, I'm so scared," he sobbed as he curled his fingers into the tight fabric of his father's pants. Shikamaru smiled weakly and bent down to slip his hands beneath his son's arms, lifting him up. Shikadai wrapped his arms tightly around his father's neck, burying his face into his chest. "It sounds like the sky is falling… The sky won't fall down, right, Daddy?"

"No, Shikadai," he soothed quietly and gently rubbed his son's back. "It's just a storm, that's all. It'll be over soon," he murmured, turning to stare back out the window. Unfortunately, the deluge only seemed to be getting worse by the minute. Resigning himself to the fact that his son was not going to get any sleep anytime soon, he carried him out of the bedroom and into the living room, settling in the large armchair with his legs laying over the side and Shikadai curled into his lap. There were several windows in the room, making it all the brighter when the lightning flashed across the dark, grey clouds, but somehow the thunder seemed slightly farther away, soothing the frightened young child enough to detach himself from his father's neck to sit up and rub his tearful eyes.

"Daddy, will you tell me a story?" he asked curiously as he maneuvered himself into the "criss-cross" sitting position. Shikamaru frowned slightly and rubbed his goatee in thought.

"What story do you want to hear?" the father inquired, glancing back down at the child with a small smile.

"Tell me how you and Mommy met," he asked quietly. Shikamaru felt his heart stop, and he stared uncomfortably at his son for a few moments. He should have known that it was coming; several times Shikadai had asked for the story, and always he had refused, as it was just too painful to talk about his deceased wife. However, the moment of fear passed, and strangely enough, Shikamaru felt compelled. Perhaps it was the stormy weather, or Shikadai's familiar big blue eyes, or something he simply couldn't put his finger on. Shikadai began to look slightly guilty for asking, but Shikamaru simply smiled and nodded in consent.

"It was a long time ago," he sighed, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. Images, fragments of the past, seemed to dance over the wooden floorboards, and he could see Temari from their Genin years almost as clear as day. Her scruffy blonde hair, pulled back in four sections, the giant fan that was her weapon of choice, those clear blue eyes like the sky in the Land of Wind. He smiled ruefully as he continued. "We first met during the Chunin exams. I caught sight of her here and there during the first few rounds, but I didn't really get to see her face-to-face until we fought in the final round," he mused. They were both so cocky back then.

"Was she strong?" Shikadai asked. He was leaning forward slightly, riveted at the possibility of learning about his mother.

"Oh, yes, very. She gave me a run for my money. I actually had to forfeit because I ran out of chakra, and I was this close to beating her," he smirked, holding up his fingers to emphasize the point. Shikadai's mouth dropped open in shock; he never could have imagined his father losing to someone. "Her brothers were very strong, too."

"Uncle Gaara and Uncle Kankuro? I know Uncle Gaara is strong- he's the Kazekage! But is Uncle Kankuro that big of a deal? All he does is play with puppets," Shikadai frowned doubtfully, causing his father to laugh.

"Don't let him hear you say that, or he might just turn you into one," he teased. Shikadai giggled and threw his arms around his father's neck with a squeal.

"You wouldn't let him, would you, Daddy?" he mused, and Shikamaru shook his head and gently tugged at his son's little ponytail.

"'Course not. Now, where was I? Oh. Well, after the Chunin exams and the attack led by Orochimaru was foiled, your mother and her brothers returned to the Village Hidden in the Sand, and we started on the reconstruction effort. However, shortly thereafter, Sasuke went rogue," he recalled. The was Shikadai's favorite story, but he had never told him all of it.

"That's right! You, Lord Naruto, and Mrs. Kiba, Choji, and Neji all went after him!" Shikadai recalled. He then frowned. "You never finish that story, though. What happened?"

"Well, I was up against a really, really tough opponent- one of Orochimaru's experiments, a kunoichi who used a flute to cast genjutsu. She was just so tough. She almost got me… But your mother saved me," he smiled. "Sent her flying with that big, giant fan of hers." Shikadai gasped at the revelation, leaning back in awe. "Kiba and Lee were actually saved, too, by your uncles in the Sand."

"Wow! I never knew that!" he cried, hopping up and down in Shikamaru's lap. He then squeaked as a particularly loud clap of thunder rocked the house, and he clutched onto his father for comfort. Shikamaru glanced down at the small, baby blue blanket his son was clutching tightly with his fingers.

"Your mother made this for you when you were born," he murmured as he ran a finger over the soft fabric. Shikadai looked up slightly at his father's sad, sad expression. "She was so happy that day. She loved you so, so much," he whispered as tears formed in the corners of his eyes. Shikadai wordlessly wrapped his arms around his father, burying his face deep into him.

"Don't cry, Daddy. We might not be able to see her, but Mommy is still here. She would be sad to see you cry," Shikadai frowned. Shikamaru sighed and leaned down to kiss his son on the top of the head. It was amazing how wise Shikadai could be, even though he was only five- wise enough to put him to shame. He smiled into his son's dark hair.

"I know. Sometimes I just can't help it. I miss her a lot," he admitted sadly.

"Me too," Shikadai murmured sleepily. The rain had settled down in the time that Shikamaru had been recounting the tale of his first encounter with his late wife, fading into a gentle drumming. The thunder rolled in the distance now, and the lightning only flashed intermittently. Shikamaru continued to hold his son long after his breathing had eased into a deep, steady rhythm. He allowed his thoughts to travel, reminiscing in old missions and memories, until suddenly his thoughts landed on Ayumi. She's all alone, Shikadai's words echoed in his mind, and he imagined her bent over a table grading papers and poring over maps while the thunderstorm raged outside, hardworking and determined. The vision turned darker, and suddenly her roof collapsed, and she was trapped… He shook his head to clear away the phantasm, squeezing his eyes shut. Ayumi is tougher than that, he reminded himself. Still, it was concerning that the woman lived all by herself on the outskirts of town, especially considering the rumors floating around of the band of kidnappers encroaching upon the city. I'll keep an eye out for her, he decided. He then recalled the previous day at Yamanaka Flowers, when Ayumi had rushed out without giving him a parting glance. He was certain that Ino told her the story of his wife's demise, but when he had learned it, he hadn't been angry. He was just sad. He was always sad, but the idea of Ayumi pitying him just made him sadder. He didn't want her pity. He was beginning to think that he wanted something else entirely.

Shikamaru didn't remember falling asleep, but he awoke in the familiar forest lands beyond the Village Hidden in the Leaves. It was raining, still, a thundering maelstrom that shook the very foundations of the earth beneath his feet. Bodies littered the area around him, and he was covered in scratches, having just narrowly escaped a twenty-to-one brawl. He ripped a kunai from his shoulder, feeling the hot red blood run thickly down his arm. His body, acting of its own accord, took off running, leaping through the trees as he dashed desperately towards some unknown horror. He found it soon enough. He came to a rest on the edge of a clearing, the green grass dyed red with blood.

It was a nightmare, one he knew well.

Facedown at his feet lay the body of a medical ninja. His blood had long since washed away and been soaked into the earth. His back was riddled with kunai and shuriken, flashing white as the lightning snaked across the sky. Shikamaru's eyes, however, was on the man in the center of the clearing, holding up a small body by the neck. Her form was illuminated by another flash of lightning. She was still holding a large fan, which had been ripped beyond repair from a hundred blades. One of her four ponytails had come loose, and swayed wildly in the harsh wind, but it was her eyes that scared him. Those clear blue eyes, glassed over as they stared lifelessly toward the heavens.

Temari, he thought numbly. With a thud, she crashed to the ground, unmoving, and dark, merciless eyes landed on him. The man was large, he could tell by the silhouette of his form against the night, but he was hidden by shadow.

"I could kill you," the man smirked. "That, however, would be too good for you… Better you suffer, suffer for all eternity with your failure!" Lightning flashed once more, and he was bathed in light for a breath moment. Hard green eyes. Pitch-black hair. A scar, stretching from his chin to his ear. Shikamaru would never forget that face. Screaming, Shikamaru whipped out a kunai knife and flung it at the large man, but he was too quick; he vanished there, disappearing into the darkness, leaving Shikamaru all alone. He stood there in the pouring rain, panting, staring hard at the still form in the lush green grass. He then took a step. The another. Then another, and another, until he landed on his hands and knees beside her. She somehow looked so beautiful, covered in scratches and rain, as he pulled her into his arms. Something broke in him, and he raised his face to the sky and wailed, clutching her body close to his chest. Salty tears blended with the fresh rain water as he sobbed, rocking back and forth as he cradled his beloved wife's body. Finally, when he had managed to regain some sense of himself, he bitterly looked down and closed her eyes. He then recoiled.

The dream was different now. It never ended this way. Shocked into lucidity, all Shikmaru could do was stare.

It was not Temari in his arms.

It was Ayumi.