this began as a wayward attempt at an arranged-marriage au (genuinely trying to fill out fic bingo) and then turned a spies fic, and has now basically ended as an americans au in totality. hopefully a semi-valuable use of my quarantine time! very slow burn, temari-centric.
tags: assassins, spies, arranged/fake marriage, sex, violence
A translation of this fic in portuguese has been done by UmraoJaan. The link is on the ao3 version, so look for my profile there. (wish ff would get with the program at this point, over a decade down the line, and let us put in links)
Chapter One
Temari sits up straight. The last thing she wants is to make a bad impression.
She presses against the back of the long bench and bites her tongue, trying not to move at all. She wonders if they are watching her right now. It's possible — she should be thoroughly vetted and evaluated. It's unlikely that they are looking at her at this moment though, all things considered… after all, they probably have better things to do.
Temari is alone in the room. There are two doors, one entrance and one exit. The one to her right leads into the Councilor's office. The one to her left leads to his secretary's office. She wonders why they keep a room between them. Perhaps solely to make people like her, people waiting, more nervous?
She swallows. She's heard, on the lines, from whispers around the academy — from absolutely no one who really knows (those people are all long gone) — that they will only give you twenty-four hours' notice before assignment.
It is an assignment, she's almost sure of it. She's been groomed for weeks now. Years of preparation, sure, but a few key weeks of noticing more attention on her. There have been more physicals than usual and a deeper background study by officials. She has noticed cars outside her apartment and things moved in her room. She's known, since eight am this morning when she walked into the academy only to be stopped at the front desk and told to report over to the council building, that it is time.
Finally, she had thought, although now she is not so sure. She hasn't seen her brothers in days. She hasn't gone out with friends in weeks. If she only has tonight, only the next few hours, how will she say goodbye? Is she ready? She doesn't think so.
It could be anything though. She could be sent out for six months. She could be transferred up north. She has experience with those allies, so it'd be reasonable to place her there. That would be easiest. No cover; and even if there were, nothing too deep. A few months, max.
Of course, she knows better. She has always known, since she entered the senior academy and was placed on the Kirigakure training desk. She knows, as soon as she enters that room, her whole life will be changed forever. These are her last few minutes of personal autonomy; of freedom.
Or maybe they're not. Maybe her whole life has already been changed.
Lucky, she thinks, that she has a life to change. Lucky, she has something, anything, she can give to her country. So many don't.
There is a sound to her right and a few seconds later, the door opens.
It's time.
She's right, of course. She almost always is.
They're sending her to Kiri. She leaves tomorrow.
First, after breaking the news, they keep her for two hours to go over some basics. She has trained for all of this, so it's nothing new she's learning, except for the specifics:
She will be given a husband, another agent, and together they will be embedded in Kiri. It will be deep cover, a lifelong assignment. She and her husband will be partners, through work, not through love or anything traditional like that. They will work together, dedicate their lives, together.
They will be a young couple with boring jobs and a boring life and they will draw no attention to themselves. They will have children and grow old, with a standard pension and, by all external readings, be happy, lifelong citizens of Kirigakure. And on the side, at night, they will be covert operatives for Suna, working to thwart the aims of the Kiri government and those of the Water Lands Alliance in general.
Temari knows people — dozens, dozens — who have done this before. Of course, the moment they are assigned, she never sees them again; she doesn't verify these assignments, but it passes around like common knowledge. Everyone suspects — on how someone leaves, on how they were being trained — what their future holds.
It's a cover, not a marriage.
She has cultivated fake marriages before, of course. She has been into the field many times. Fake relationships, fake dating, fake connections and love — she has done it all before. But this won't be that. It's not an easy-way-in or simply the plausible cover story for a specific operation. It's not a honeypot (she's done those too, her and her comrades seducing others for access, usually in pairs, and these men (and they're always men) somehow don't find it completely improbable that two younger, more attractive people would ever want to engage in a threesome with them). This isn't anything like that. It's nothing like what she knows. It's not, simply, "work". It's the rest of her life. It's her entire life.
Of course, work always is for her — work has always come first. But there hasn't yet been anything asked of her that is quite like what's being asked of her now. Not like this.
Her job has always been the priority. It has ruined potential relationships, her social life, and her family (literally). The job is her priority. She lives for it, kills for it, and will, possibly, die for it.
It's always been everything, in theory. These things that she has given up to it (her friends, her family) have all been consequences of her choice of work, not direct results from her assignments. Except now they are. Now, the job is her family. Any semblance of family — this husband, these children — will not be hers. Everything (everything) will be theirs.
Temari has to take deep breaths as she walks from the Council building back to the academy. She will clean out her locker, head home, and get some affairs in order. Then she'll go back to the Council, where, having read the dossier, she will be ready. Perhaps she will meet him then — this husband of hers — though there is no time frame. She could meet him much later… she may even meet him in Kiri. She hasn't been told anything.
Her shoes click along the flagstone.
She tries to not look around so much, to keep her face stoic lest she draw any attention to herself. But she does try to take in the path, the buildings, the scent in the air as much as possible. She has grown up here. Everything she has ever done and ever will do is for this land. And now will be the last time she sees it in person. Photographs will never capture the scent of dust and the clearness of the sky. She has been to different countries before. It is a different sky, no matter how you look at it.
There will be no end to this. This is it. If she gets pulled, if she returns here again, something will be very, very wrong. In all likelihood, if there is ever a situation in which she can no longer remain in Kiri, she will be dead. If it gets bad enough, she will be dead long before Suna can intervene to get her out.
And even then, what would happen?
Her home, her husband, her children — what would happen?
She exhales, slow, trying not to overthink.
Her children — bodies which come from her, which will be made of her — will not be hers. They will go to the government. They were never hers, and they never will be, to begin with. Nor her husbands. Even if they could come back (surely, just like her, he will feel the longing for Suna all the way in his bones), even if they could keep their children, then what? Will they raise them together, a couple who was never in love? As if they are divorced, perhaps, sharing custody and categorizing times of the week by care?
No, she knows. No. The government would never allow it. They could never come back. The citizens of Suna are happy, they believe in their country, they believe in their moral righteousness. But the light that is cast on their citizens, so brightly, must cast a very long shadow. That is where she is now, or maybe where she always has been. She cannot leave it now. She doesn't want to. And, if she is honest, she will never have a chance to — she gave up that right a long time ago.
It is no matter. Temari comes to the end of the square, right before the academy doors. She is only a mile from home. After she cleans out her locker, she will walk the rest of the way to her apartment. She should take the train, after all, she doesn't have too much time. And she has a lot to read, a lot to learn, a lot to become.
But now, she decides to walk. She will spend ten minutes in the academy, walk home, gather her things, and then sit at her table and read until it is time to head back. After all, this will be the last time she will ever walk down these streets she grew up on, fully as herself.
They've been monitoring her for a few weeks, but they must have been implementing this plan long before. After all, they have created a whole life for her. A long, immutable paper trail of an entire existence. It's not as hard, in Kiri, she thinks. There have been so many wars, new alliances, previously uninhabited islands — it must be easier than in other countries, she imagines, to make someone just… appear. Her parents have headstones, there is an accident report and state paperwork when she became a ward, high school records, a college diploma, and recommendation letters. She has a whole life created that started long before it was determined to be hers.
She assumes this, of course, but when she does finally sit down at her kitchen table and begin reading the dossier, her name hasn't even been changed out in the report. The entire file still reads with a man called X and a woman called Y.
She will be, beginning tomorrow, a scientist. She will work in a laboratory while her husband begins a master's degree. She was hired without an interview because the lab could offer her husband free schooling for paying her close to nothing. They don't have much money. Her parents left her with nothing, his, when they passed away recently, left some money which they have now invested in a house.
They like the city. They like going to movies. Her undergraduate thesis speaks to a lifelong interest in ancient physics and her resume shows a new hobby in quantum mechanics. She grew up in the system, far removed from creating any permanent home. Her husband was her first, and only, boyfriend.
He likes to write. He enjoys politics and books on the history of civilization. His potential tracks in the future are to be a journalist, a political aide, and/or eventually a confidant of the Water Daimyo, which she thinks is a little overly-optimistic. Her husband grew up clean and happy and loved until his parents passed away last year. They've moved to start anew, to begin a new marriage, a new job, and a new life somewhere, together.
Easy enough. Easy enough to read and comprehend. It's just black ink on white paper, and she can read the words and understand that someone created this life, this person and marriage before, and then decided, after its formation, that it was to be hers.
She wonders about him. About all the men that it could be. She knows many young, strapping men ready to take the assignment alongside her. There are many she likes, a few she doesn't, and only one or two she would actively find revolting. She hopes it is the former, but with her luck, it will be the latter. It's no matter. She has partnered before with men she doesn't like, with men and women whom she'd trade out for anyone remotely capable. She's had sex with people she knows she would never, never desire.
Even if it is one of those situations — where she's so unimpressed with him that she'd rather risk her life (more than usual) than have him responsible for hers — she will manage. She's gone through those before, fueled by the thought that it would be over soon, but Temari believes in herself with this. She knows that, even if she is revolted by her husband, she will overcome it. He isn't important. Compatibility with her husband is not the mission. If her goal was happiness, she would have gone into another profession.
Generally, though, she likes the men she works with. She will be fine.
She has a boyfriend now. She doesn't love him. But she hopes, sort of, that it is him.
It's impossible, really… he is older and has never had a focus on Kirigakure in any way like she has. And she has never heard of people who were already together being sent together. Still, at least if it were him, he is someone she knows she would be happy with, someone she knows already she can trust; someone, some final thing, that she chose.
Temari goes straight up to the office this time without being directed. And she waits in that same middle-room between the two closed doors.
She hasn't changed out of her uniform since she ventured to the academy this morning. That was only seven hours ago! She hasn't eaten yet. It's been a lifetime already.
At home, she debated changing or brushing her hair or doing anything she normally would for a more formal setting. After all, this may be her first impression of the man she will be married to (… or maybe they are already married as there will never be an actual wedding?). She's decided against it though. She isn't sure what to do. She isn't sure how to act.
How should she act?
How can she even begin to articulate the feeling of meeting your husband — a partner, a means to an end — for the first time when already knowing the conclusion?
But people have done this before.
Many, many people, for all of history, have done this too… is this not an arranged marriage? She's not maintaining a bloodline or uniting a country or promising a dowry or anything, but this situation isn't too different, is it?
She has been assigned partners before. When she was fifteen, she was partnered with a boy the year above her. She was with Nejiri for three years. She has never spent so long by one person's side. She had no choice in Nejiri, but they stayed together anyway. She put her life in his hands dozens of times. She trusted him to stay beside her. They fought and they disagreed on many things. She was annoyed by him personally and in the field sometimes, but in the end, she had no choice but to trust him and eventually she learned to.
It's mostly the same thing, right? The man — X, according to the dossier — will be like a partner. Mostly, she thinks, sitting in silence in that dreadful middle room. She is sure it will be a man she will get on with.
Temari is considering this when the door to her right opens and Yashamaru steps out, gesturing with one hand for Temari to follow him.
She is surprised. She hadn't expected him to be here. Family is never meant to be involved in this sort of thing. She's long assumed her youngest brother has only speculations about her exact occupation. Stuff like this is best left to intelligence, not the Politic.
Temari stands, not questioning it, and follows Yashamaru through the open door. The first thing she sees are two men, both facing the councilor's desk, backs to her. The councilor doesn't lift his head as Temari comes in, looking down at some files on his desk. The two men, likewise, do not turn to look at her.
"Temari," Councilor Ebizo says. "Have you read the file?"
She walks toward the middle of the room and stops to the side of the men. "Yes, Sir." She does not look at them, but she can tell the man closest to her is older and, if either of them is her partner, it is likely the one further away.
The councilor looks up at her. "Any questions?"
"No, Sir."
He nods.
"Good," he says, not seeming to care too much about the situation at hand. Perhaps they send out more people across the world than she thinks. He lifts a hand and gestures between her and the man she already guessed is X. "Temari, this is Shikamaru Nara. Your husband."
Shikamaru. Shikamaru.
The man between them steps back and Temari turns, slowly, unsure how she is meant to react.
Before her, visible now that the man in the middle has stepped away, is, what she really wants to point out, only a boy. A boy with dark hair and dark eyes and sharp lines to his face. He is taller than she's expected, skinnier. Younger.
He doesn't extend his hand. Should he?
Instead he nods, clearly evaluating her in the same way she is taking him in. And it is an obvious evaluation: the way he is looking at her. He is wholly different than what she was expecting. Before this, she wasn't even sure what she had been expecting, but this is completely, utterly, unvaryingly other. He is young and dark and pale and he keeps his eyes low as though he doesn't want to look at her face.
Who is he?
He looks soft, too soft. He is wearing a suit, not a uniform. He's not from the academy.
Nara… it means nothing to her. Maybe his work, before this, was so black, she had never even come across his name or face.
"Good," Councilor Ebizo is saying, and Temari watches as Shikamaru Nara, X, her husband, turns back to face the councilor. "Now, get acquainted. You will leave tomorrow morning." The councilor looks to the man Shikamaru Nara had arrived with. "We have more to go over."
Temari pulls her gaze away from Shikamaru.
Was that it? Is this all? She turns her head, searching for Yashamaru. Was this everything?
"If I may," her uncle interjects upon seeing her look for him. He raises a finger and steps away from where he'd stayed back by the door. "How about you take Mr. Nara down around the sculpture garden? We shouldn't be too long."
Wait — what?
That's not the sort of help she was asking for. Temari swallows. She wants to say more. Yashamaru isn't helping anything. She has many more questions. Is this it? Is this all she has?
What does he mean take Mr. Nara, as if Mr. Nara doesn't know, as if— she glances at the two interlopers again. Because that's what they, aren't they? Interlopers. She sees it now. Of course, she should have suspected it this morning.
Konohagakure. She hasn't said the word, but she can practically feel the acidity of it on her tongue.
It hits her like a lightning bolt. She's a test case. A plea for unity. This really is an arranged marriage in the traditional way. She is being sent to ensure a peace treaty. She is being sent to the other side of the world with a representative from an allied country to operate covertly in another.
But she is no princess — her life, if it is the thread connecting the newly allied countries, isn't all that strong. It's not a compelling reason to maintain peace.
Temari is furious. She has no right to be, she understands. But wouldn't it have been better to send her along by herself than without a partner?
Because he's not a partner. He can't be, can he? They won't have the same goals, the same objectives. How can she trust this? How is she meant to ever trust him?
They ride the elevator in silence, just the two of them.
She isn't sure what to say or what to do. Her heart is pounding and her throat feels too dry.
Beside her, he stays silent as well.
She wonders what he is thinking. Is he, like her, scared? Is he scared of her? He must have known about this agreement — after all, he has traveled here, unlike her, who simply walked into a building in her own country — but had he been prepared beforehand?
How does she begin to bridge this? Even though his shoulder isn't more than a few inches from hers, it feels like a great divide lies between them.
If he were a mark — perhaps he is? — she would have more idea of what to say. She knows how to seduce someone, to get someone on her side. She has trained her interpersonal, manipulative skills for years. But he isn't really the assignment. And she has no interest in moving him, no interest in working him.
The lobby is conspicuously quiet when they get there. As they walk through it, she wonders what he is seeing. How is he evaluating what is before him? How had he evaluated her?
He follows her from the lobby and out a door behind the building where a large sculpture garden, nicely manicured and landscaped, with running water down one end, separates some government buildings. The weather is warm, the sun nicely hot but not uncomfortable. It is a day, outside, just like every other day. And the people she— they — pass are pleasantly in their own track of existence and don't pay them any mind. No one looks at her as they walk, slowly and in silence, down the gravel paths. How can you not look, she wants to say, each time someone pushes past them. Can't you see? Can't you see him?!
But she's ignored.
Beside her, Shikamaru isn't looking around at the sculptures. Instead, he is keeping his gaze forward, unwavering.
No, she thinks, once more, this is nothing like meeting a partner. It is nothing like being assigned to Nejiri. This man will be her husband. He will be the father of her children!
That is a very different thing.
"Have you ever been here before?" She asks, fishing for words that usually come so easily to her. "To Sunagakure, I mean."
Her voice even seems strange to herself.
She'll think, later, what a stupid question to ask. This is the first thing she has ever said to him.
And no, of course he hasn't. Unless he was here covertly before, the country would have never been open to him.
"No," he says. They aren't casting much of a shadow, but she sees him shove his hands in his pockets. She wants to look at him, but she doesn't think it's appropriate to turn her head. "Never."
It's the first time she has heard him speak. His voice is lower than she expects it, surer.
They walk in silence for a few more feet, the sound of running water cutting into the quiet afternoon.
"Did you know —" she stops herself, rephrases. "What did they tell you?"
Shikamaru looks at her. She can feel the tilt of his head and the focus of his gaze on her face. It heats her cheek. It is intense. Then he looks back down.
"I was given the dossier last week." They keep walking. He takes a deep breath. She hears the trace, lightly, of the Fire accent. "I didn't know until a few days ago that it was a joint mission. I thought you would be…" he trails off and she lets it lie. She'd thought the same thing.
A whole week! She's known, actually known, for a few hours.
Is he disappointed? He could tell, obviously, that she hadn't known. Is he hurt by her reaction, even if it was really only one look to Yashamaru? Is he as upset with the situation as she is?
He must be. They will not be on the same side. She is fighting for her country with someone who is not fighting for the same things. And even then, their countries are only recent allies. What can that mean? How long can peace last? If there is a break, any sort of schism, the two of them will likely die at the hands of the other, under orders as such. No question. She knows the answer without having to find the logos for it.
"And you?" He asks when she doesn't say anything further.
He knows her answer, she thinks, and wonders if he is only trying to be polite by asking.
"They told me this morning."
He nods. She can see it in his shadow.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-two."
He looks younger than that. She bites her tongue. He's not that young though. Old enough, surely. They were always old enough.
She'd never imagined her husband would be younger. She's never really considered having a husband or anything, of course, but what little she has thought about it, especially since they began courting her for this position, she never imagined her husband would be so young. She's always imagined, if she's honest, someone bigger, someone lighter, more traditionally military, someone… simpler than him. Although, she knows nothing about him, really, and she supposes she has no reason to think these things.
They've exchanged no more than a few sentences when they come to the edge of the garden and the beginning of another building. It's been fifteen minutes. He follows her as she turns down another path that will wind them back.
Temari, feeling the urge to speak, starts adding a few comments here and there about some of the sculptures. She points out the ones inspired by generals, the ones commemorating certain events. Her favorite one is on the other end, she says.
On this walk back, she looks at him more, sometimes even turning fully.
He isn't unattractive. He's pretty — prettier than she is, certainly, though she doesn't think of him as her type. His eyes are dark. The lashes, his brows, his irises themselves, are practically indistinguishable in the shade. It's good hair. Thick and silky and she wants to touch it, vaguely; to touch him and to mar him and make him more reactionary to their predicament. Does that mean her children will have dark hair? Doesn't that usually beat out blonde?
What a stupid thing to think, she acknowledges. What a trivial thing to focus on. What a ridiculous hypothetical when there is the much more pressing issue of actually being married to the person beside her (as a sham of a marriage as this is).
She's heard, before, that when you watch one person all day — watch them from the moment they rise until the moment they fall asleep, each step, from making a sandwich to calling their mother — you fall in love with them, even just a little bit.
She's always, kind of, thought yes.
Even though she has done similar things — she has staked people out for weeks — without falling in love, she has still thought the sentiment to be a little bit true. If you're watching them, just for one day, not for any purpose or for further information, won't you fall in love?
That feels stupid now. Now that she is actually in a position where she is with someone, will be with someone, from beginning to end for the rest of her life, she doesn't agree with that theory at all. Love can't be created by something like that. How stupid — a stupid theory posed by stupid people who have never been in any real position to experience it.
They come to the end of the garden after a while.
He doesn't say much. He doesn't look at her much.
Temari doesn't know what to do.
Shikamaru, she thinks, works over, tries out in different sentences. Shikamaru and Temari. The Nara's.
Perhaps it would be easier if they gave her a new name. She hasn't used her real name in her work. Never. That's usually how it works.
But they used her real name now. They would use his.
Easier, they said. Something real to tether you down. To remind you of your homeland, even though there would be no trace of her existing anywhere but in the Water.
Nara.
She doesn't like it. Too simple. A short-cut off to her name. Too much of a lie. If she had been given another name, like she has when she has disappeared into a cover before, it would be much easier to become someone else. To become a wife and a mother and a citizen of the Water Lands.
They enter the building and ride up the elevator once again in silence.
Maybe it is a look at things to come. They will pass from one step to the next, together. Side by side. But in silence, with nothing in common except their proximity and acute solitariness.
She loathes it. She wants to tell him more. But at the same time, she has nothing, she thinks, that she wants to say to him.
At dusk, Temari heads to her boyfriend's apartment. It is on the other side of the city from where she lives, but she knows it is better to do in person.
He isn't home when she gets there and she doesn't have a key.
Temari's hair is down and she brushes it out of her face. It is warm out, hotter now with no breeze, even though the sun has set, and she knows her face is glistening.
She should have dressed better, she thinks, to break up with him. Shikamaru had dressed up to meet her.
Oh well. He is not home. She will leave a note.
Nevermind. She has nothing with her to write one. A neighbor may, or maybe the front office of his apartment complex? Temari knocks on the door one last time for good measure. He lives on the second story of the building and from where she stands on the landing, at least three dozen apartments from all sides of the courtyard can see her — otherwise she would pick the lock.
It's a waste of time, she thinks, to wait. But what else can she do? What should she do?
Temari runs a hand through her hair and steps back from the door, stopping when she hits the railing of the balcony and sliding down to sit on the cement landing, knees curled to her chest.
What else should she be doing right now? She could go hunt down Kankuro. Maybe she should go find Gaara? They don't speak much, but in the last few years, they have been speaking more. She should have spent more time with him. Work always got in the way, but it didn't always have to. She should have taken advantage of the proximity when she had the chance.
Honestly though, she is scared that if she goes to see either of them, she may stay.
She is lucky her parents aren't around anymore.
What about Shikamaru? Had he done this? He must have, already. Days ago.
She wonders if his parents are alive. If he has siblings or a lover. She wonders who he is leaving behind to be with her.
The sun is fully set by the time she hears footsteps coming up the stairs that she knows belong to her boyfriend. She reaches for the railing and pulls herself up. Best to make this quick.
"Temari?" He asks, surprised to find her. "Were we supposed to meet?"
She doesn't usually go out in her uniform — not socially, like this. He eyes her, concerned. "No," she says, a slight smile. A little sad. "No plans. But I wanted to see if you had a minute to talk."
He frowns, fiddles with the keys in his hand to find the right one. "Is everything okay? Are you okay?"
She puts a hand on his arm. She waits for him to fit the key in the lock and turn the handle.
"Yes. I'm fine."
Temari has no friends to part with, not really. They are all in the same service and are always coming in and out. Her absence will never, ever be questioned. Not aloud, at least.
She told her boyfriend she was taking a new assignment and didn't know when she would be back. Best to stop things now.
He seemed to understand, nodding from his position at the kitchen table as she pressed back against the stove, keeping her eyes low. She has always warned him of this. Her work was always liable to take her away. She was always cancelling last minute. It is nothing new, nothing shocking.
As he asks her a few perfunctory questions, she finds her mind wandering to Shikamaru again.
She knows nothing about him (it's no matter, she will never know anything real about him anyway), but she imagines how he did the same.
How lucky she is, to not be in love! Perhaps he is. Perhaps he will spend the rest of their lives looking at her and wishing he were seeing someone else.
Of course, she isn't unhappy. Beyond the dread and trepidation and feeling of premature loss, there is a live wire of anticipation beneath her skin. This sort of assignment is what every trainee hopes for. It is the most important, the most sacrificial, the most imperative to the security of their country. It is an honor, she knows — she believes — to be chosen.
Going somewhere, serving her people like this, being asked to complete such a task, to be trusted to this extent… she is anxious to begin, thrilled, to do something this important. Truly, an honor.
Temari tucks into bed near midnight, but fails to fall asleep. How can she, knowing this is truly her last night home?
She eventually gets up and wanders through her apartment, looking through different rooms, taking things off the shelf individually in turn and observing them. This is her whole life, accumulated in one place. Some of it is meaningless — there is no history to her tea kettle, but it feels difficult to knowingly part with. She bought it cheaply when she moved in. She bought it with a bulk of other appliances. If she were not leaving and the kettle broke, she would replace it without much thought. But now, leaving it, is harder. Do tea kettles look the same in Kiri? Do they look the same in Konoha?
Tomorrow, her apartment will be cleaned out. Her items will not be kept. She has been told that she may box some items now, which will theoretically be delivered to her family — to Kankuro — when she leaves, but everything else will be tossed. No trace of her left.
All of this will be gone. Lost. It's not like she can take anything with her. Any connection — a photograph, a blanket made from yarn produced in the Wind, her mother's favorite earrings that would be easily discoverable in pictures of her — can blow her cover.
Nothing, it seems, of importance can come with her.
Even the single bag she is allowed to bring won't carry much more than her important documents — birth certificate, marriage certificate, driver's license, passport. She may bring a few items of clothing. Boring things. Things no one will notice as being different. And then she will exchange those things for local clothes, for the things a young wife in Kiri would be expected to wear.
Setting her suitcase on the bed, Temari begins to pack her bag. The choices take hours.
She chooses a doll that her brother made for her when they were children. She has kept it in the back of her closet for years, and she has to blow off the dust before taking it down. She takes a grocery list written by her mother that she has kept since she was a child — the last thing her mother wrote. She ends up packing no clothes. She'll only take the ones she'll wear on the plane. They will give her everything. She has been told not to bring anything, not even a book. When she arrives in Kiri, slowly, she will learn everything new for herself. She will find new clothes and new lotion and try different brands until she learns what works for her. Maybe she will finally start wearing perfume. Didn't college girls wear that?
—she wouldn't know. She's never been educated in anything like that.
Temari will have a lot to learn. She has been trained, for years, in how to act appropriately in casual situations. She's learnt how to act like she isn't a soldier for a night, a party, a few weeks, at most. But here, for this, she will no longer be a soldier except for a few hours every now and then. She will be a housewife. A college girl. A scientist. Will she make her husband dinner? Will she clean the house and call the plumber and join the PTA of her kids' elementary school?
When she thinks of this, it is easier to pack so little. After all, all of these things belong to the Temari that belongs to Suna. The soldier.
Temari Nara is simply a civilian of Kirigakure. A spy. She doesn't need these things. These things won't belong to her.
Nothing will, she thinks, as she closes her suitcase.
"Coming." She says the second time there is a knock on the door. She has only just finished packing.
It is Yashamaru. She is surprised. He's never been to her apartment. They aren't particularly close.
"What did you think of him?" Yashamaru asks as soon as she puts another cup before him.
Temari pulls out a chair and sits opposite him. She doesn't need to ask who he is talking about.
She thinks on this. "He seems so young."
She's older, but that doesn't mean too much to her. The years have blurred. She isn't much wiser now, she thinks, than she was at his age. She certainly wasn't less capable, then. She doesn't think his age is so young, really, but he seems so young.
Physically, he seems so fragile and unsure, but when he speaks, he doesn't sound it. He hadn't said much, but most of what he did say was definitive. His voice is sure, confident.
"You're both so young," Yashamaru says. He pauses to take a sip of his coffee. "Still only kids."
They sit in silence for a few minutes. She wonders how much she can ask before it becomes inappropriate, before it weighs too far toward insubordination or contemplative disloyalty. She understands she will mean none of those things, but she doesn't know him well enough to know if he will think so too.
"I worry," Temari says carefully. "I have been worried that, with him, I won't be representing us. I will be representing Konoha."
And if she isn't, she thinks, then for the rest of her life, she will be completely alone. She can do it, of course. Going alone isn't particularly uncommon, but it is a different existence. It is more temporary. It isn't forever. She could manage. Just… well, she had been expecting an ally.
"We share our interests when it comes to the Water and the Water Lands Alliance. You will represent the same things."
"Right now. But maybe not always. How can I trust him, marry him, if he isn't loyal to us?"
Yashamaru turns his mug in his hand. "You know," he says, watching her, "he is in the same position."
Temari thinks about him. Thinks about what the day holds. Thinks about her future.
"He doesn't represent us. We are not furthering the same interests. He is not meant to be my job."
Yashamaru nods; thinks about it. "The intention of your mission, in the end, is to keep peace here. To keep us from being dominated by the Water Lands Alliance. Part of that peace is keeping our alliance with Konohagakure. It is your job. He was always going to be part of it."
"Did you know," she asks, voicing what she has been considering since the beginning, "that it was him? That, when I was sent out, it wouldn't be with someone from the academy?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Yashamaru takes another sip of coffee. "It's not random, Temari. You're here because we think you're the best person for this." He blinks, looks at her under heavy lids. "You're not a guinea pig. This isn't a test-case. You should understand: you're the golden product. You're one of the most important sleepers we will have. You're not just operating in one country, but in two."
Not in one, but two. That's what she means! She will always be against him. Your enemy's enemy may be your friend… but they're still an enemy… she is still, now always, alone.
"How can I relate to him? My partner is supposed to serve as a tether. That's what you taught us day one of training. No matter what scenario, they are the ones you count on."
"It may be hard to see right now, but Nara… he is exactly like you. This arrangement is new for him as well. He is your ally, your comrade, your husband."
Temari inhales. It's placations, maybe, but it does comfort her.
Sensing the conversation is over, Yashamaru pushes his mug, still mostly full, back to her.
"You should see your brothers, before you go."
She didn't notice anyone following her last night, but they must have been.
"It will be hard," her uncle says, standing. "But if you don't, you will regret it." He raises his arms over his head and stretches. And then, for the first time since she was a child, Yashamaru walks over to her side of the table. She stands as he approaches and accepts his hug. It is the only one, probably, she will receive.
His embrace is warm and strong and she wants to hold on. Maybe, she thinks, this will be the last time someone touches her like this, holds her for no reason other than express comfort.
"A car will be by at eight." He says as he pulls away. "You will head right to the airport."
Yashamaru stands back. His eyes are sad as they meet her own.
She remembers, when she was younger, how often he was around. But then they grew up. People die and people change and now it's been years, she thinks, since she has actually seen him; longer, since they've touched.
He turns, slowly, and begins making his way to the front door.
"Goodbye, Temari."
She swallows. "Goodbye, uncle."
"There," Shikamaru says as the shutter clicks.
Temari pays mind to keep her hands from touching his as she reaches for the camera.
She turns it over in her hand. It was given to them a few hours before. This is the second photograph taken. It'll be backlit though, as the airplane window is open behind her.
She hands him back the camera. "One more, let me close this."
She pulls the shutter closed, shifts in her seat so she is looking over her shoulder, and grins.
"That's the one," he says, sounding pleased, sounding like a newlywed.
Temari keeps smiling as she straightens in her seat and then leans back into it. They flew from Suna into Iwa. Now they've switched passports and everything else they had on them from before. Now, her license says Temari Nara and her address is somewhere in Kiri and she is sitting beside her husband of a few days on her way to their honeymoon.
Shikamaru is supposed to take some photos of the trip. Start documenting now, they were told in the handoff at the airport.
He has put away the camera and is settling back in his seat too. Her elbow hits his on the arm rest and their forearms are almost pressed against each other. He's hotter than her, probably unused to such extended sunshine, and she can feel the heat radiating off him.
Temari looks down at his hand a few inches from hers. His wedding ring is just new enough to slightly reflect the lights above them. She doesn't like looking at hers.
She is in a good mood though. There is a thrill to it all. Shikamaru is smiling; to himself, to her. They've been waiting for this for years. It is finally happening and, despite their fears, their mutual excitement is palpable.
"How are you?" He asks, not looking at her, and not seeming to be looking for conversation either.
"Happy," she says, only half-lying. The plane is silent and there is no question they are being listened to, being overheard by other passengers. Couples always were.
He smiles through his exhale, turns his head to the roof of the cabin. "Really?"
Temari leans over, taps her shoulder against his, and then settles back. "I've been waiting for this day for a long time."
"Oh," facetious, "have you? Since when?"
"Ten months. Since you proposed."
"I'm sure you knew I was going to," he says, blinking up at the ceiling. "Be honest."
"Fine. Since the moment we met."
"Five years is a long time to wait."
She nods, glances over at him. "Yes," she confirms, and he looks at her through the corner of his eyes. "Five years. I've been patient."
They have reservations for a resort on Jiro Island. Popular among honeymooners, she's been told. Temari has never been to a resort before. She's never actually been to the sea, but she doesn't say that to Shikamaru. They are supposed to be from the Water. She won't say anything like that, ever.
After they arrive, they will spend around two weeks in Jiro. It's both an easy cover — getting married, going on a honeymoon, and then coming home and moving into a new house with new jobs and new obligations as young newlyweds burgeoning into the adult world — and a convenient one. They have two weeks now to get to know each other; to come back and begin work without having to worry about appearing too distant or despondent. If they were going straight to Kiri now, they'd have to be complete strangers. At least in two weeks, they'll (hopefully) have figured out how to work together. Maybe they'll even like each other.
"Me too," Shikamaru says after a minute. The plane is moving now, readying itself for takeoff. She hasn't expected him to respond, thinking the conversation, the minor back and forth checking her memory, over. He is still looking at the ceiling of the plane. He bends his wrist and takes her hand, covering, just slightly, her fingers with his. His wedding ring digs into her flesh. "I've been patient for a long time."
a/n: many thanks to everyone on tumblr who helped me with the little things. and an overwhelming thank you to appy and carol for the edits and thorough discussions.