Major thank-you to ALL the people that have helped with this over the years. My original beta and apps (who I remember discussing full plot-q's w me ten years ago). Also to shinigamiii, leadercowonew, aluxuryishardtofind, and a tumblr anon who gave me advice. And a massive, massive thank you to OstaraNight for the rewrite help.

The idea for this came from my brother explaining to me the (conspiracy) theory that yao ming was born by a similar governmental-matching.


Coming Up Tails


To keep the lamp alive,

With oil we fill the bowl;

'Tis water makes the willow thrive,

And grace that feeds the soul.

—William Cowper


It is the first time he has ever been called to her office without a scroll. It's the first time he has ever been escorted by ANBU guards. He doesn't ask why they're with him — he doesn't speak to them at all. He knows they will never answer. And so, he walks alongside them, the only noise in the entire building, seemingly, the sound of his footsteps (even the ANBU are on tiptoe).

"Shikamaru," she says when he arrives. The door is already open. "Come in." The door closes firmly behind him and he feels the tendrils of warning in his gut. He doesn't know why he is here, but he knows there is nothing casual about what she will ask.

"Hokage-sama," he greets, alert as he stands before her. She is meeting his gaze, but with a hesitancy that makes her less daunting than she would probably like. "How can I help you?"

Her hands smooth over the papers before her. Her long, delicate fingers that could kill him in an instant had she been so inclined, skirt over the papers as she finds her words. "I have a mission for you."

He is too tired for something so big so soon. He just returned from a month's long journey into the Mist the night before. But there is something about her today, something about this mission, that makes him want to hear her out even though he knows he will turn it down; and as he stands there, wasting both their time, he is annoyed with the temptation and curiosity flirting through his brain.

"But before I say anything," she continues, "I want you to know that this is optional. I am proposing you for this assignment, but if you would rather not partake, I understand."

Now that is surprising.

Most missions, as far as he understood, were optional. As far as he knew, she had never threatened a mission's completion under death or anything. For some things, especially where national security was concerned, he knew there was an implication that refusing the mission would either lead to reassignment, or, depending on the circumstance, a very early retirement. But to have it specified that the following request is optional… well, it is enough to make him stand a bit straighter.

He gives a short nod and she continues.

"The daimyo funds almost twenty percent of this village's economy, not to mention full funding for the ninja academy and your benefit plan."

"I am aware of his influence, yes."

"Well," she pauses on her words, hesitant — a position he has never seen the Hokage take. "He has asked a favor of me."

Shikamaru knows he won't accept the mission. He has no plan to. And if his friends aren't at risk, he has no reason to. But he waits, still. He gets nervous. He feels his mouth dry, his heart beats faster; his fingers begin to cramp.

"There is a program currently underway in Iwa to ensure that the next generation of shinobi will have the most optimal skills achievable by birth. They are pairing candidates from their own shinobi pool, often those retired from injury or those who can afford to suspend their work for a few years. The candidates are chosen to conceive a child together. Iwa and Ame are working together in a negotiation that strengthens their alliance treaty and betters the expected greatness of their future leaders."

Shikamaru — propelled forward, tripping on nothing but his shock — chokes. "You're arranging sexual unions to result in skilled offspring?" His voice was not his own.

She misses a beat, but then nods her head slowly and with all the power of her position.

"Children are being born from a science experiment? And you want us to do this? Is that what this is? Hokage-sama, you can't—"

"Nara," she is speaking slowly too, not rising to match his outrage. "I know this is not an ideal situation for either of us, but the daimyo has asked that we participate in the same program for a few years, just to see whether it has any merit and is worth the sacrifices it requires. I wouldn't ask this of you, but you know the position he is putting me in. If I refuse, we will be unable to sustain our current lifestyle and training program."

He sighs, long and slow and utterly contradictory to the racing in his brain. She is asking him to father a child. A child! He is twenty years old; hardly old enough to take care of himself, much less a baby. He would be a father, and he would be one through something that undermines the love and dedication that goes into the creation of a person. Sex is not meant to be prompted by a genetics experiment. Children were not supposed to be consequences of that!

"The daimyo is insisting that we work with Suna, and since the Kazekage has been placed in the same position, we have decided to cooperate. I am asking that you participate in this first trial run. Your mate has been handpicked, everything you need throughout the program will be provided, and you will be given a stipend at the end of every month until death. Of course, once the mission is complete, you will begin to garner that pay."

It takes him awhile to respond. He doesn't know what to say. Her mind has been made up regarding the program; there is no point in him protesting... but he dislikes it. He doesn't want to accept it — to accept the possibility of the mission, the premise of such an assignment at all! He has no inclination to personally participate, but nevertheless, he wants to fight against the very matter of the program's existence. He can't hear this, be privy to this, and stand by as it continues… he can't perpetuate such a decision.

But what other choice does he have?

The Hokage is right. And, as it stands, he cannot see another solution.

"I am sorry," he says at last. When she nods diplomatically, showing that she had assumed as much, he can only rub his neck and wait.

Were this any other assignment he is refusing, he would offer replacements, but now the idea makes him sick.

He would never subject a comrade to this. And knowing some of them, they would volunteer for any chance to protect the village.

"Right," Tsunade says. "As I expected. Though I can't say I'm not disappointed. You were a good choice." She straightens the folders in front of her and then waves her hand. "Now. Go away, Nara."

Shikamaru swallows.

And then, to try to regain some composure, to realign himself with the reality of the world he will go into once he exits this room — one where he will walk around knowing what is going on behind these closed doors —, he makes an effort to shrug as casually and uninhibitedly as possible, as though this were merely a casual conversation.

"And don't you dare tell anyone about this."

He nods and begins to leave, but he turns back before he reaches the door. "Hokage-sama?"

"Yes?"

"Why was I a good choice? There are plenty more eligible, equally as…" he tilts his head, debating the phrasing, "…fertile men my age, not to mention ones much more likely to take on the burden of serving their Kage."

"You meant ones that aren't as lazy?"

"In a manner of speaking…"

The smirk she had donned quickly fades. "Apart from the fact that your family's particular jutsu is very useful to the daimyo, the female that volunteered for the program has a personal connection to you. Since she is not acquainted with many other of Konoha's male shinobi, I figured it might be easier for her."

A personal connection? He only had met a handful of Suna-nins over the years. "You can't mean Sabaku no Temari?"

"I do."

"You mean Gaa— ah, the Kazekage, volunteered his own sister?"

Tsunade taps her chin. "I wouldn't assume anything. He may be her brother, but he is also the Kazekage. You know her personally. Perhaps there is a level of patriotism you're not taking into account."

Not enough oxygen is getting to his brain. His hands are fists at his sides. Temari. Temari.

He'd asked the question out of surprise — but he knew the answer already. There was only ever one solution, even if he couldn't manage to really wrap his head around it.

"She'll be here in three days to meet her partner." The Hokage continues.

"You will assign someone to..." He can't even complete a sentence without choking. "Um, reproduce with her?"

Tsunade glares at him. "I asked that you do it, but since you refused, I'll find someone else." She stands up. "Now get out of here, Shikamaru. You're dampening my afternoon."

"Yes, Hokage-sama."


He goes straight home after that, mind numb as he replays Tsunade's request and comments over and over. It's an abused record, track after track in his mind. He's sick; he's dizzy with it.

She had been serious. Serious in asking him to fuck some woman, get her pregnant, and then raise (would he even raise?) a child all for the benefit of the village? And it wasn't just some woman either. Tsunade had been asking him to mate with Temari. Temari. Temari!

They had been friends during their childhoods, but not anymore. No — nevermind. They are still friends. He may not have seen her since he was sixteen, but it hardly matters. He still likes her. They'd been close for a while there. He has nothing but respect for her.

But to fuck her? To conceive with her? To conceive with any given woman is hard enough, but for it to be a friend? Isn't that worse?

But as much as the whole idea is bothering him, the one thought that continues to unwillingly nudge its way into his consciousness is the knowledge that, since he refused to do it, someone else would take his place.

She has already volunteered. She will be having a child, regardless of his decision. And although he surely doesn't want it to be his, he doesn't want it to be anyone else's either.

Not that he doesn't want Temari touched by someone else. Well, he doesn't. But it isn't a jealousy thing. He isn't jealous.

Far from it.

He isn't in love with her or anything. Hell, he has a girlfriend, one who isn't asking him to father anyone! But he doesn't want Temari, any of his friends really, to mate with a random volunteer. It is the least he can do for her, right?

It's not the least. It's not a small favor. He's not solely lending his time or labor... it's everything. They are asking him for Everything.

Can he do that? Even for Temari?

And what about Tomomi? Would she accept the fact that he would have to sleep with another woman and have her bear his child? Would his girlfriend understand it was for a mission? One that didn't really mean life or death? Would she understand that?

Still — still — that isn't a consequence to worry over. It's a good relationship. But losing it is completely incomparable on the scale to having a child!

And that was the real consequence: he would have a child. A fucking kid. His own son or daughter would be birthed from a conspiracy in his own village, a scientific experiment — versus being made from love in a caring and supportive household.

Good god, if his father ever found out he'd considered it, Shikaku would kill him. He couldn't even begin to consider telling his mother.

That is — had he agreed.

Which he hadn't. He wouldn't. He couldn't. He couldn't have a child for the bettering of Konoha and the pleasuring of the daimyo.

Even if Temari could, he couldn't.

And why the fuck was she? If anyone, anyone, could get out of this, it would be her. He could hardly imagine that Gaara had asked her in the first place.

— he hadn't. Shikamaru knew this. He knew this. He couldn't believe it, he couldn't make sense of it. But he knew Temari.

Gaara had never asked her.

Shikamaru pauses inside his bedroom door. His bed is dusty. He hadn't washed the sheets last night upon returning from his month away. The blankets are wrinkled and piled on the bottom of the bed from where he kicked them off that morning. Had he said yes, in three days' time, Temari would be in this bed. He would make love — no, he could hardly call it such — he would engage in sexual intercourse on this very mattress in hopes of creating new life. How would it work? Would they both be undressed? Would it even be in this bed? Would it be in the hospital? Hell, was it even sex at all? Did he just jerk into some petri-dish and have his child conceived in a laboratory? If he said yes, would he even have to see Temari at all?

With one longer sigh, Shikamaru collapses onto the bed and groans.

He should have known the moment ANBU showed up at his door: there was nothing good on the horizon.


There never really was another option.

He'd said no, but he'd known, then too, that it was only temporary.

As soon as Tsunade had said it was Temari, he'd had no choice. Of course he'd say yes. How could he refuse?

There was never going to be another option.

Like Temari, he is going to volunteer.


The next day, he goes over his assignment as Tomomi cooks dinner. She is going on a mission soon, a short one with her team, which works out for him rather well. He is still unsure how to tell her about this whole thing. Their relationship isn't very serious, but she certainly deserves to be aware of what he is going to do.

He should tell her tonight, tell her beforehand. She will be angry if he tells her after the fact, and this is supposedly their last date before she leaves for two weeks.

But he doesn't know how.

How does he tell her any of this?

How does he tell anyone?

Apparently, the baby-making portion of this assignment is carried out the old-fashioned way. He knows the routine well enough. This-goes-in-that. He knows the feel of an orgasm. He knows what happens; he knows how semen ejaculates, how it looks and how it feels. He knows, has known for a good number of years, that that sticky substance is the foreground for pregnancy. He knows that he will come inside Temari's vagina and the ejaculate will (hopefully) proceed into her uterus and be taken by an awaiting egg, and the result of that entire stratagem will be a child.

He will have to engage in sex with Temari.

Hopefully once. Likely more often. Every other day until she is pregnant.

Ino has always been worried about getting knocked up if she has unprotected sex even once. He has always figured that to be true — that having sex once or twice without protection was likely to result in pregnancy. That's not true though, he learns. It's possible, but unless she is ovulating, it's unlikely.

He and Temari will be having sex a good number of times, as has been made clear in the briefing. They will begin when she arrives, which, according to the chart, is four days from the end of her last period. Then they will continue having sex other day in room 706 in the hospital at six pm (not his bed, as he'd first suspected).

Twenty-four hours later, a medic will be able to tell if she is in fact pregnant, and depending on the results, they will either continue the next night or she will return to the Sand.

Shikamaru groans low in his throat, shoving the paper describing his assignment back into the folder it'd come from.

"Everything okay?"

He glances up to see Tomomi's smiling face. He doesn't know how to say it.

"Yeah, just tired is all."

He won't raise the child. She or he will be raised in Suna. He has no parental claim. He could easily serve his village without acknowledging the consequences. That is how it is supposed to go. The child will not be his. It will be Temari's. It will belong to Sunagakure.

Tomomi is in the kitchen, back hunched over, as she no doubt tries to discover what went wrong with her food. It is fruitless, he knows, she is just too stubborn to admit that she can't cook.

But she looks damn good doing it. Her short black hair is all messy with the sweat from the heat of the oven; her cheeks are red and her narrowed eyes bright.

He doesn't really have to tell her.

It's the same as accidentally getting a one-night stand pregnant and not having her tell you that you have a kid. He knows quite a few older men who were stationed in foreign lands during the war that have had this happen to them. He really can pretend it is exactly the same.

He doesn't have to tell her at all.

—he knows it's the wrong choice as soon as he thinks it. He knows he is weak. He is too weak.

"Fine," Tomomi snaps after having thoroughly examined her food, "get your coat. We're going out."

Shikamaru swallows. His shoulders hurt. He's a coward.

Carefully, he slips the folder into his vest and prays to forget about it.


He dreams of Temari that night. He dreams of how they used to walk through the streets side by side, bumping hips in the occasional bustle in a way that shot lightning through his veins. He was so naïve then, so young and innocent that the occasional thought of touching other parts of Temari made him blush.

He is much older now; he has touched other women in ways he had never even dreamt about with her.

Still. He probably won't touch her in those ways. It will probably be as simple as possible, as easy, and as professional as they can make it.

She always was professional.

He dreams about training with her when she was eighteen, eating lunch on her breaks as he guided her around Konoha. He dreams about the last time he saw her, out to dinner with their friends. She was laughing and teasing, and he knows she will probably not be like that for a long time after this.

He really doesn't know her that well though. Maybe she hasn't been like that in a long time.

It's what he remembers though. It's what he imagines when he thinks on her (which he always has, even now, after all this time).

He will probably never remember her again like this though. It is sad and nostalgic and wrong and he wishes he could only remember her when she was young. But in a week, two months, a year after this - it will not be the same. It will never be the same. Not anymore.

He wakes up too early.


Shikamaru arrives at the hospital ten minutes before his call time, which is rare for him. The attendant there to meet him is visibly surprised as he glances at Shikamaru's ID. Apparently, someone had told him that Shikamaru was going to be very late, if he even showed at all.

In normal circumstances, Shikamaru would be vaguely amused with this man's stuttering and anxiety, but he is in no mood now.

He is led to the top floor of this hospital. He has only been up here once, and that was because Ino had dragged him along to visit Sakura, whose office is at the end of this hall.

He wonders if Sakura knows what will be going on behind door 706. Probably not. Sakura is no good at keeping thoughts to herself, and he is pretty sure she would've had a lot of thoughts about this.

The attendant leads him to the foreboding room. The man is dressed in brown slacks, and Shikamaru suddenly worries that his own clothing choice is wrong. He is wearing his standard uniform. Would civilian clothes have been easier? Certainly easier to get off….

"Here you are," the attendant says, opening the door with a key from the chain attached to his hip. "I'll be right outside. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

"Right." He is nervous. He's more nervous than he has ever been. He's never felt anything like this before. His legs hurt. They're shaking. He tries to keep his face neutral though. He tries to do everything he can to calm down.

"Candidate G60 will arrive shortly."

"Yes," Shikamaru replies as he enters the room. The door shuts behind him.

G60. He remembers it isn't done by name. He wonders then, had his partner not been Temari, would he even have known her real name?

Shikamaru, slowly, lets his weight fall back against the door. His shoulders hit first, and the thump is hard enough to shake him out of his thoughts.

This is it. This is it.

He's here. He'll have to do this now. He has to be ready, because there is no other option. In only a few minutes, Temari, generally early as far as he remembers, will be stepping through the door he is currently balancing his weight against.

He closes his eyes and takes deep breaths, trying what few techniques Asuma had tried to teach him over the years (and that he usually ignored) to calm himself down.

It does help, he'll begrudgingly admit. His heart is still pounding though.

Carefully, still putting effort into breathing slowly, Shikamaru opens his eyes.

The room before him appears to have been made for this program. There is an adjoining bathroom to the left, but apart from that, the only furniture is a dresser, a television, and a bed. A large bed. One far larger than his own. He wonders if others have engaged in the same thing he is about to on this bed.

He swallows. His eyes hurt, as though he has been straining them, though he has no idea what has caused such an ache.

The sheets are hospital-white. The dresser unpolished. He steps away from the door, righting his weight, and walks over to the dresser. Inside are extra blankets and pillows, as well as drawers filled with every type of lubricant imaginable. There's a number of sex toys as well, some he has seen before and others he can't even begin to imagine a purpose for. There are a few outfits to match, and a handful of porn tapes, which explains the TV.

"Will we be needing that?"

He hadn't even realized the door was open.

She looks much younger than he'd imagined she might. She looks exactly the same as she had years before.

He's choking again. He can't breathe.

"Shikamaru," she greets calmly as she steps inside to shut the door behind her once more.

"Temari." Her name comes from his lips in a single breath, a quick exhale, like a gust of wind only carrying the hint of intention behind it.

He hurts. His throat, his gaze, his chest. He wants to reach forward to her and, at the same time, throw himself past her and out of this room and so far away that her name will be no more than a distant memory.

This was wrong. Everything is all wrong.

"How are you?" Her voice is steady (she was always so stoic), but he can tell she is as nervous as he is. She's hard though — she's always been so hard — and he knows that the grit in her tone and the heaviness in her mouth is determination ingrained in her.

He'll never be able to keep up with her. He couldn't then and he can't now.

He'll try though. He feels like he's dying, but it's the least he can do.

His shrug, made with effort, is, in the end, syncopated and almost unseen.

Temari shifts her weight around a bit, eyes scanning the room before settling on him once more. She licks her lips and he is sure her throat is as dry as his. A few beats pass before she reaches into her obi and pulls out a handful of small bottles.

His exhale, this time, is gruff and half-a-laugh. He takes a step forward, closer, to grab one from her extended hand. He downs it in one gulp. The burn is tight and his eyes water. Her lips are a hard line when he looks back at her, and she hands him another one.

Two take the edge off. It's small — he's not relaxed. He's still on the edge of a cliff, he's simply no longer hanging over it.

When he looks back at her, Temari's cheeks are flushed, but her features are still hard; resolute.

"Shall we," she asks, lips wet with liquor. She places three empty bottles on the dresser.

She was smarter than him. He should have thought of that.

Temari, body taut, takes a deep breath and raises her chin. Then, getting down to business, she gestures to the bed and his chest burns.

"Do you have any preferences on how this should go?"

His heart is pounding again. He wishes he had more to drink. And she is staring at him (it's been so, so long since she has looked his way, so long since he felt the pressure of her eyes).

Trying to be as natural as possible, he comes over to her, close enough to smell her, close enough that his breath hits her neck. She stiffens, exhales, and then her shoulders relax in a way that makes it clear she is working hard to slacken them. This feels all wrong and sick as he leans lower, without pause, and brings his lips to touch her neck, his fingers wandering into her obi to tug her closer.

If not him, then someone else.

If he weren't touching her, someone else would be.

He thinks this. He repeats it, over and over.

Her skin is hot through her robe. He feels it against his fingers. His breath wets her neck and her inhales become heavier. The room is silent, painful, except for their breaths — unnatural and out of any regular rhythm. He can feel her breasts pressing against his front and the beating of her pulse as his lips push harder into her neck. He can feel the arousal, odd and surprising and disturbing (though certainly needed and wanted) beginning in his gut. It is certainly uncomfortable, but necessary.

He has been thinking this — ruminating on it — for days.

If they try it like this, if it is done this way, then perhaps it will be okay. If they pretend this is normal, then maybe it could be. He could certainly try to keep up the appearance.

It would be easier, he believes. And he can feel his own arousal, pretending as such.

So he is surprised when she places a hand on his chest and pushes away. He sees her eyes and every warm feeling in his gut (which was false to begin with) disappears in seconds.

Shikamaru frowns, one hand still inside her sash. Can't she pretend? Isn't this better? Isn't this better?

But Temari won't do it. He can tell, right away, in the way she is looking at him. She's cold and hardened and disgusted.

He's going to be sick.

"I'll do it," she says, stepping away fully, forcing him to drop any hold he has on her. Her tone is quiet, but it's hard.

With quick fingers, she pulls out the ties of her obi and lets it fall to the floor. Her hands don't shake as she opens the ties to her robe. Even her breath is measured, her eyes distant.

She has a white bra and black underwear.

This could be sexy — she has always been arousing… but there is nothing appealing about this, nothing attractive in the mechanical way she undresses before him. It's perfunctory, clinical, as though she were undressing for a doctor. She is stiff and uncomfortable, and what little erection he has left quickly dies out.

She catches him watching and shoots him a look.

With a gulp, Shikamaru begins unzipping his vest and dropping it onto the floor. There are no hangers in the dresser, he'd noted.

It's cold. He has goosebumps on his arms and chest. It's hot in this room, but he's cold. His fingers, as they undo his buckle, are shaking.

When they are both only in their underwear, he looks back to her.

"How do you want—"

"Lie down." The instruction is harsh, but he complies, moving quicker than he has to. The bed creaks with his weight. The blankets are hard, starched, on his back.

And then, before he has even fully stretched out on the bed, Temari has taken off her bra and underwear and is joining him on the mattress and straddling him all in one motion.

Shikamaru fists his hands so quickly, engaging all the way through his biceps, that the bed shakes.

Temari ignores him, eyes down on his stomach, all business.

He closes his eyes, and then rethinks it and opens them again. Her breasts are right before him, her nipples hard (though he is under no impression that she enjoys this), and her weight on the tops of his thighs. He's thought of this before (when he was a teenager, for a period, it was all he thought about), but even though that reality is now explicitly before him, he is still having trouble getting hard.

It's what she's waiting for. She hasn't taken off his underwear — or asked that he take it off (he assumes she is leaving it to him) — and is doing nothing but sitting there, waiting.

He watches as her shoulders move with the quiet force of her inhale. He wills his cock to just shoot up.

Carefully, eyes on her, Shikamaru lifts his hands to her thighs, wrapped around her own. And then, not knowing what else to do, he pulls, only slightly, urging her forward.

It's not enough to actually move her, but she understands what he means.

And then, naked and beautiful and still without any vulnerability despite the situation they've gotten themselves into, she does inch forward to sit, perfectly heavy and warm, on his groin.

Slowly, gentle, she begins to grind herself against him. But just as he can see the blush and hatred on her face as her own body betrays her arousal, he feels in the wrong to have his dick so eager. He knows it must be (he must get aroused for this to even work), and he knows that any man with a person, especially one so attractive, posed on top of him would get aroused. Nonetheless, he still feels like a sick, perverted boy.

Before he is fully erect, Temari meets his gaze, brows raised. Her eyes are so bright, so pleading.

He nods, unsure what she is even asking but ready to agree to any of it, and she takes the affirmation, pushing down his briefs and positioning herself over him.

It happens just like that. It's not good. She slides over him, all the way down, in a slow motion. It must be painful. There's not enough lubrication. He's not hard enough to make it easy. Still, she goes until she is seated back on his hips, face stoic except for the O of her lips.

And then, after only a moment, she begins to move, pushing her hands into his lower stomach to lift off of.

The sex is awkward and wrong. She rocks herself against him in a pattern that resembles textbook-sex rather than the kind that one's body subconsciously moves toward.

Still, it feels good. It was always going to feel good. She has only ever felt good.

He hates himself.

Temari doesn't moan or whimper or speak to him. Her breaths, though frequent, are not arousing in any way, and when she does finally open her mouth to tell him with a voice as even as if they were merely having tea that he should hurry up, it is all he can do to keep his cock hard. He is so close to losing it, and every time he looks at her face, he comes a bit closer.

Shikamaru's eyes wander towards the ceiling. The panels of the wood look old and worn, a breeze is threatening the window and light is waning on the floor and across the bed.

There is a man standing right outside and Shikamaru wonders if the attendant can hear the bedsprings.

Besides the throbbing of his racing heart and Temari's tempered inhales, the squeaking of the springs is all Shikamaru can hear.

He is so far away from coming, he hardly registers the feeling of her heat encasing him. It is taking too long and he wishes it would be over. He has never expected it would be like this — sex with Temari… sex in general. It shouldn't be like this. And the quicker this ends, the better.

The muscles folded beneath the skin of his stomach are twisting. They are alive and hard as she shifts her weight to adjust the angle. He appreciates the effort, but he is too distracted to assure her.

"Will it help if you touch me?" She asks, but she doesn't stop moving. Her face is glowing with the exertion. His hands are already on her thighs. That's not what she means though. That's not what she is asking him.

But she doesn't want him to touch her where he wants to. He wants to bury his hand between her legs.

He wants to make her want him. He wants to make her happy. He wants to look up and see her want this. He wants her to throw her head back and scratch at him and moan.

The thought makes his balls tighten more than anything else has all evening.

But this is only a silent room with an attendant outside and two very tortured people trying to force the impossible.

She isn't asking him to touch her.

She doesn't want to make it feel right. She wants him to get it over with. So instead of making it better for the both of them, his hands wander to her breasts like she'd asked.

They are firm in his hand, heavy and full — and so help him if it doesn't weave a line of heat back down to his cock. His hips jump and she nods approval. But nothing more happens and it takes her leaning back and rolling his balls in her palms before anything pushes him off the edge.

He always knew orgasms were great, and he had always figured there was no such thing as a bad one, only less degrees of wonderful. But this is bad, and he feels disgusting once it's over, hissing through clenched teeth.

Temari climbs off him when he finishes, throwing her legs off the bed and grabbing her robe from the floor before he has even opened his eyes. She makes her way to the bathroom before turning around and shooting him a glance.

Her hair is still perfectly set. Her cheeks a little too red, but apart from that, but no one would ever assume she'd just had sex.

If it could even be called that.

He didn't know any definition of sex that would cover what had just happened here.

He hears the sound of running water and is instantly jealous that she has the shower. His cock is covered in her and he wishes he could wash it off.

The pane of the window rattles in the wind. It's a good night for rain.


He's not stupid. When he asked her, yesterday, right before they parted, why she was doing this, she was only confirming what he had long known.

Gaara had never asked her to do this. Fuck, he'd probably fought it.

As in Konoha, there were certainly other kunoichi who were willing to volunteer.

There were also always many kunoichi who were married to shinobi and would be willing to have another child on request from a Kage.

Shikamaru himself was the product of such a birth — one between two ninjas. It was stupid for the daimyo to be requesting that it be done through a program rather than a common marriage when such marriages were so common.

But there are some who would accept the assignment as they had. Such requests — he'd heard rumors — had happened before.

Temari had done it simply so others wouldn't have to. She'd volunteered herself to protect her village; she'd done it to protect her people, her peers, her country.

He'd done it for the same reasons, though his were slightly skewed. He'd done it so she wouldn't have to do it with someone else. He was protecting her, because if he didn't, no one would.

There is a note waiting on his doorstep the next day. The test was negative.

He crumples the paper and throws it into the street.


He is late today, and once more the attendant is flustered. Shikamaru wonders if he heard them have sex two days before. He wonders what this man knows of the mission and what he thinks about it.

Temari is wearing her robe again, but her obi is already gone and she is not wearing underwear. She did not bring along any alcohol this time.

He wishes she had.

"Evening," he greets, upset his voice betrays his nerves.

"Evening."

They don't say anything more as she parts her clothing, but keeps the robe on, and lies out on the mattress.


He watches her body as she moves above him. Her thighs have a few scars, but good medic-nins probably healed most of her lacerations. He knows the scars on his skin are far fewer than the injuries he's suffered simply because of Ino's growing precision in her field.

He owes Ino a lot.

She saw him the other day walking down the street. She had asked him to lunch, and when he refused, yelled for a bit before bringing up Temari. Of course she'd seen Temari around town, it is silly of him to assume that Temari was holing up in a hotel or something.

But he isn't sure how to react when Ino mentions her.

If only Ino knew where they are now.

"Are you okay?" she asks. Temari 's always gentle with him these days. She never speaks cruelly or with any bite. There is never any interest in her voice. She used to challenge him in her very intonation, in her use of sentence structure, in the quickness of her response. She didn't coddle him. She was never gratuitous in her care of him; not like she is now. This isn't Temari. And he has no doubt that, if this arrangement was at all natural, she'd be far from gentle in how she spoke to him.

The thought carries him away for a moment, and his hips start matching hers. He feels the change in her as she lets him take over.

Whenever she lets him, he's always gone slowly, setting the pace he is most comfortable with. One that doesn't allow for the slapping of skin and the bouncing of bodies. He likes slow, hard rocking of hips. If she wanted, he would move differently. He is adaptable, but she hasn't shown any inclination either way.

When it comes down to it, he knows nothing about her sexually. He may know what she looks like naked, but that's as far as any proficiency went. He's never seen her enjoy herself (how can she? he certainly doesn't). He has no idea what she might want or what might make it good for her.

He does think about it sometimes. He thinks about what she may want and what might be of interest to her. He thinks about how else he would touch her if they were two different people in a different place with different pressures and different intentions.

But when he thinks about it — when he really thinks about it, well then…..

It's disturbing, of course, when he comes back to his senses.

He doesn't mean to think on that. He doesn't ever mean to think on her. It's a disservice to what they're doing now.

So, usually in a situation like this, when they're having sex and he's nowhere near finishing, he'll think of other things. He'll think of other fantasies or past experiences. Once, they put on a tape, but that made things much worse.

Tonight, he thinks about Tomomi and the last time they had really good sex. He has to actively picture it, closing his eyes against Temari, to remember the situation.

They were playing shogi; she had crawled over the board when she began to lose and he was annoyed, even after it was obvious what she was going to do. She had taken off her shirt as she straddled him and started grinding down until he got over the lost game and gave in. It had been slow and hot and great.

Tomomi had kissed him, she had teased his lips with hers, his jaw with her tongue. She was an amazing kisser. Best person he'd ever kissed.

He'd never kissed Temari. He'd thought about it a lot when he was younger. He'd never come close though. He has no idea if she enjoyed it or not. She would never kiss him here. There was nothing good about sex here. His only consolation in this room is that at least Temari acknowledges that he is also suffering through this, which is enough for now. There is nothing more either of them can ask for.

When he finishes and she pulls off him to take the shower first, he rubs his eyes.

"Hey Temari," — using the honorific feels wrong these days — "can I ask you something?"

She pokes her head out the door. She hates when he talks afterwards, and he knows it, but it is the only time he has an excuse to. They have to talk, at some point. They are having a child together. But it isn't like he can show up to her hotel room.

And he has no interest in seeing her anywhere else. He has no interest in seeing her here.

"How long does it usually take for someone to get pregnant?"

He can see her stiffen at the question.

"You should have done your homework."

He sighs and sits up, hunching over to rest his elbows on his thighs. "It wasn't in the briefing."

"All you read was that one briefing?" She scoffs, annoyed. Then she sighs and rolls her eyes. He hasn't seen that much of a reaction from her in days — that was why they never spoke afterward: so that they wouldn't be reminded of another time when they were different people with another. She flicks her wrist, throwing off his impending response. "We both took the test, Shikamaru," she continues, unimpressed with him as she heads back into the bathroom, leaving the door open so he can hear her. "We're both very fertile, so it shouldn't be long."

It'd been over a week already.

They've had sex five times. And everyday, nothing. Sakura had gotten pregnant the first time she had sex (or so Ino said, he'd never discussed such matters with Sakura directly) and Ino herself had lectured Shikamaru for hours when he started having sex with his first girlfriend. Ino had never found the customary sexual-education they'd half-heartedly received from their old sensei to be adequate.

Though now, adequate condom-usage didn't seem as important as Ino (or Asuma) had once made it out to be. At this rate, he could have been having unprotected sex for years without consequence of pregnancy (other potential consequences, sure, but not conception)!

"Right," he says, sitting up and tugging his briefs back into place.

Temari sighs loudly. She turns on the shower and then lets the water run as she comes back into the room. She has a towel wrapped around her body, but it has been getting dark earlier as they fall deeper into winter and neither had thought to turn on the light. She is only a silhouette.

Slowly, gaze too dark in the shadow to make much sense of, she steps closer, until she's right near the edge of the bed.

He's still, muscles suddenly tense, sensing danger from her. Danger, in what she is doing.

They've been having sex for days now, but she's never come close to him otherwise. She's never approached him, especially in this room, with anything except perfunctory intention.

Dangerous. She's dangerous. Everything about her.

Carefully, slow enough to see a tremor in her hand as she brings it forward, Temari places her palm on his shoulder.

"It'll be over soon."

Gentle. Gratuitous in her care.

He hates it. Danger.

Shikamaru grunts, shrugging his shoulder away from her. "Don't console me." He looks her over, what little detail he can see. She has taken a step back. He looks at the shadow of light in her clavicle and against her nose. He thinks of her right now, standing before him, in charge, and where she was before him five minutes ago, on top of him. He knows it's a lie as he says it."If either of us need pity, it's you."

She runs a hand through her loose hair, indignant. "Mm. I had a choice, Shikamaru." She looks resolute, chin raised with her conviction. "I chose this. You belittle it when you take away my agency."

Shikamaru swallows, not wanting to argue, though he knows a fight is really what he needs. Even though he thinks she is right. Even though he can't understand it.

"I made a choice too, Temari."

She takes a step back. He watches as she looks up him and down, from his toes to the top of his head. She's evaluating something. He wonders why, suddenly, he can't stop fidgeting.

"I know." Temari blinks. "You can come with me tomorrow." She nods, as though he has asked her to clarify something. "To the medic, I mean."

She's always been so hard. He hates this. Still. He's always liked her.


She comes to his door at noon as previously arranged. She looks very different than she does in room 706. Her eyes are no less foreboding and she doesn't seem at all happier, but she is certainly different.

Temari is wearing civilian clothing now, a normal shirt and pants. He can almost forget what she is doing at his door and simply pretend a pretty girl has come to visit for his company.

But he can't.

Even as they walk down streets they had once walked together, in a very different time, with very different feelings, he can't forget why she is beside him now and where they are going.

The procedure takes no more than five minutes, a nurse (apparently one specialized in this area of expertise) places her hands on Temari's stomach, emits some pink (how stupidly maternal) colored chakra, and then confirms whether or not any of his sperm took.

The nurse is nice, and she smiles at both Shikamaru and Temari, neither of which return the gesture. Her hands explore Temari's stomach, and Shikamaru's guts twist when he acknowledges that this woman has probably touched Temari more than he has. And he's the one who's supposed to get her pregnant.

The woman is old, and as she pulls away from Temari with an expression far sadder than her previous smile, it is almost believable that she feels the same way Shikamaru and Temari do.

She looks at them knowingly, like perhaps she has been through the experience of trying for pregnancy.

He knows Temari has taken him on this visit as some sort of consolation. As though demonstrating the purpose of their coupling would encourage him, would make him more committed to their task.

It hasn't though.

He never realized it until the moment the nurse pulls her hand back from Temari's belly, but he doesn't actually want her to get pregnant.

Of course, he wants this to stop. He wants to stop sleeping with her. Without question.

But he doesn't want the end of their assignment to be the goal of it either. He doesn't want to have a child now. He doesn't want a child with Temari. Not like this.

He hadn't realized it until now. He'd always known he didn't approve and was unhappy with everything about this, but he had never known that, still, he is holding onto some wayward faith that something miraculous might happen to them.

Perhaps Gaara would intervene. Or Tsunade.

But what they are asking of him and Temari isn't as surprising as he had initially thought. Campaigns like this were run all the time. They weren't usually as specific as this, sure. But arranged marriages happened every day, in every city, historically and contemporaneously too.

It is useless to imagine that Gaara or Tsunade would fight the daimyo when members of the village were volunteering anyway.

He may have been shocked that either Kage accepted — but he understood it. Twenty percent of the village's funds came from the daimyo. Shikamaru can't argue with that.

"I'll be back again," Temari says to the woman as she slips off the examination table. She is handed a form that she quickly signs without reading, as though she has done this a lot.

He supposes she has.

When she hands back the document, the nurse only gives a solemn look to Temari and then Shikamaru in turn.

"Good luck."

As they exit the building, Temari turns right and begins walking to the restaurant district. "Are you hungry?"

Shikamaru pauses, unsure of what she's implying even though the words are clear enough. "No."

She looks back at him. "Okay." He has a feeling she doesn't really want him to join her anyway. This is awkward. It has been awkward, this whole afternoon.

He won't go visit the medic with her again and she won't invite him to.

Now, staring at her a few feet away, hair pulled up in ties and eyes knowing, he expects her to turn back and continue walking away, but she just stands there, staring at him. He hasn't seen her face, really seen it, in years.

Wow. Once — he remembers, he feels — once… he'd only ever wanted her to look his way.

"I'll see you later, Temari." He says at last.

Something dark clouds in her eyes, but her smile betrays none of it as she turns to seek lunch.

He wonders, that night, alone in bed, if she too is relieved that the test remains negative. He wonders if she too hopes for a miracle.

No, he decides. She has already made up her mind. She'll keep going until she sees the mission through.


Afterwards, if he doesn't work to actively remember why he is with her, it can be easy to forget their circumstance.

He hates himself for it. He hates how useless and violated he feels. He hates how dirty he always is, no matter how clean he gets. But he also hates how, about her, he can forget all of this so easily.

It is easy, when he straightens his clothes and fixes his hair, when he walks out and nods to the attendant before descending down the stairwell, to forget that the Temari he thinks on now is the same one he's always wanted.

He is well aware of the difference between themselves and lovers. But sometimes, he burns for her.

It gets worse and worse the longer they go. It's worse the longer she is in town.

Because, sometimes, most times, he wants her.

And it is stupid, stupid, stupid to want her even more now when he sees all the ways he can have her and knows all the ways he can't.

But even with all that is happening, sometimes, all the time, he wants her.

He always has. What a mistake to think otherwise. A mistake to disguise it as something else.


"So you've heard?"

Shikaku nods, dark eyes like daggers at his son. "I am the jonin-leader and your father, it is only right… it will be my grandchild."

Will it? Shikamaru wants to challenge, but he holds it back, knowing the reaction it will garner from his dad.

Instead, Shikamaru sighs, leaning back further in his chair. He should have suspected his dad would find out.

"I knew when Tsunade asked me to help find a loophole in the daimyo's request, and I knew when word came that it no longer mattered as Suna had agreed and already found a volunteer. What I didn't know was that my son was chosen as her partner."

"I volunteered, dad."

Shikaku takes a deep breath, huge shoulders looking delicate as he slowly lets it out. "Because she's your friend?"

"What choice did I have?"

"This goes beyond the role of friend."

Shikamaru frowns. "No one else was going to protect her," he justifies, knowing as he says it how wrong he is.

"Protect her?" Shikaku doesn't laugh at the outlandishness of it, but Shikamaru can tell his dad is only holding back for his sake. "She makes her own choices, Shikamaru. Before you think of yourself as the hero, you may want to take a harder look at your own conclusions."

Shikamaru doesn't respond. He knows what his father is saying. Maybe he's known it all along.

The sun is setting and it's too cold to stay out much longer.

A beat passes, but Shikaku understands the situation well enough. He doesn't need to push any further.

"It is not my job to tell your mother."

"I have yet to tell Tomomi."

There is silence for a few minutes while his father finishes his tea. "Are you really okay with this, Shikamaru? I realize that this is for the Kazekage's sister, and the child will only be yours by blood, not by birth or childhood, but…" he looks over at Shikamaru. "Are you ready to have it?"

He didn't have to think about it. "No."

"You can always pull out, you know. I assume she's not pregnant yet? You can ask for a replacement. I know you think you're helping her, but it might be easier with a stranger."

"There's no point now though, is there?"

Shikaku stands up, taking the empty cups from the table. "Another man would treat this as a mission, as it is supposed to be treated. You're too personally involved."

"Personally involved? Because I know her? Dad, I sleep with her every other night, how can I not know her?"

"Another man wouldn't like her."

"I don't like her."

Shikaku sighs, turning away and heading into the kitchen of his home. "Tell your mother soon. You don't want to find out what will happen if she learns about this from someone else…." He laughs, but it's sad. "Don't worry though, she'll probably kill you either way."


His father is right.

About all of it, really.

He can't deny that the sex is awful, terrible, no matter how he looks at it. It is wrong and sick and dreadfully inhuman. He knows how much effort it takes to climax, how difficult it is to see her face as he moves above her when she looks so immune, so indifferent.

It has gotten easier though. They know their roles. They know what the other expects. It becomes the chore it is meant to be. Nothing is good about it, but he doesn't get sick when it walks into the hospital as he had that first week. Now, he can come into the room, get ready (or, because he's usually late, find her ready) and give a few good thrusts and then finish as quickly as possible. They've gotten down the mechanics, in any sense.

Or they had, until he spoke to his father.

Everything is much harder tonight.

He is thinking about his mother. He is thinking about his family and the consequences of his actions. He is thinking about why he volunteered. He is thinking about what his father said. He is thinking about Temari. He is thinking about why he is always such a coward.

They're doing it from behind tonight. He's kneeling on the bed, his hands pulling her hips back over and over, eyes down on her shoulder-blades and the way her bones and muscles look in the moonlight.

He isn't sure what it is. He isn't sure what, out of everything, prompts it… maybe it is that he can't see her face? Maybe it is just that he has been thinking about her all day? Maybe it is solely that he's finally been forced to face his own pride and stupidity.

Without meaning to, without even knowing what he is doing, Shikamaru pushes into her harder, digging his fingers into her hips. He is conscientious though, now, when he pulls her hips further from him than before, and then draws her back harder than he ever has.

Temari feels it too, exhaling in shock at the carnality of it.

He stops. Holds her on him.

"Temari." He says, hearing how low it is. He hadn't meant to say it like that. He didn't know it would sound that way. They've so rarely spoken during this.

She hasn't protested, and even though he can see the rigidity in her spine at his call, the tense in her shoulders at his thrust, he does it once more, pulling them apart and then together much harder than the shallow thrusts they are used to.

It's only once more. Then he stops again.

Temari grips the sheet.

He's never felt anything like it before.

It's not the sex. It's not the arousal.

It's the line of her spine and the heavy sound of her inhale. It's the look in her eye as she turns her head back.

"Why can't it be different?" He asks, meeting her gaze.

So long, he's been looking for her. They were so young back then. He's always been so selfish. He's only ever wanted for himself. And he's only ever wanted her.

"Stop," she says, but it's quiet, hardly a whisper. "Not like this."

"Why not?"

Temari stares at him, eyes hard. His hands are still at her hips, he's still inside her. He doesn't know if he could move away. He feels as though he can hardly breathe though his chest is heaving.

He's always wanted her. Everyone he's ever been with has only been on his way to her. All of this is a farce. Selfish. Coward. It was always a mistake to think otherwise, to disguise it as something else.

Seeing something, though he can't imagine what, Temari's gaze softens.

"You know why." She says, but despite the sad look she is sending his way, her voice is hard.

Resolute. Dangerous.

Shikamaru moves a hand to her lower back and then, shaking, he moves it down her spine, leaning forward so that he can touch her shoulders, leaning lower until he can kiss her skin.

"Please, Temari." He says, broken against her back. "Let me." He moans into her spine. "Please."

And then his hand moves from her shoulder and begins to wander back, over her hip, and around to her clitoris.

"I never wanted you for this."

She's sharp. Angry. And it stops him from doing anything more than resting his hand between her legs.

He may be a coward. He may have always known why he'd agreed to this. And a part of that, he knows, he's known, if he's honest, since day one, is that she knows it too.

"You knew it would be me."

"I didn't ask for you."

She says it so quickly, he finds himself smiling against her. Pitiful, to be here; to be with her like this.

"No. But you knew I'd volunteer. The moment you did, you knew I would too."

And then, slowly, carefully, he straightens, pulling his hand away —

but Temari catches it. Brings it back to where it was.

And it's all the sign he needs.

She collapses into the mattress when he starts moving again.

He can feel her clench around him, her walls locking onto his cock tightly. The moan is guttural this time, and it is accompanied by her name. He is using one hand to control her hips and keep himself inside her, the other to touch her.

And she's grinding against him, cheek against the blankets. She's moving with him. She's moaning into the bed, squeezing her eyes shut. She keeps one hand covering his, showing him exactly how she likes to be touched.

Yes, she keeps saying as she meets his thrusts over and over, fluttering around him. His body is on fire.

He's never felt anything like this. He's wanted this for so long. He always knew everything — he should have known better.

Temari is panting, her back arching, and seeing, no, feeling, her finally reacting to him is ruthless enough, but when she finally clamps down on him, her hands clawing at the sheets, this is what sends him over the edge.

The orgasm is nothing like it was last time, or the time before that, or any time they have been together. He is thrown off the cliff and he can't hear or think, nor does he have any willpower to move. He can only standby as his body convulses and he spills into her again and again, and for the first time, his mess drips down her legs.

It takes only a few seconds before it comes racing back to him. Who they are, what they're doing, what just happened.

What he did wrong.

How far she'd let it go.

He collapses atop her when he is done riding out the waves of pleasure, and now he hastily removes himself from her and jumps off the bed as though it were on fire.

She is naked, body spent, and breaths heavy. He tries to regain his balance.

He feels exhausted. His limbs hurt. But he is alert, he's awake, he's terrified.

"Temari," he tries, reaching out a hand. He's standing there, awkward and naked and completely unsure of what is to happen next, completely unsure of what he wants. Of what she wants.

He never should have said anything. He never should have asked for more.

And he had done just that — he has asked for more. For so much more.

Not just sex. He didn't just ask for a good fuck. He told her that he's wanted her, nothing they haven't always known. And he blamed her, for putting him in this position. For putting them both in it.

And maybe he does mean that? Maybe he blames her? Maybe he hates her.

He's always known — she knew he would say yes.

There was never any other option.

But he also knows her and knows there was no situation in which she said No.

More than that, more than any of this, he knows nothing. He knows absolutely nothing.

For the first time in his life, there is no logic. There is no reason or logos or purpose. He has no idea what they've done and what they will do now.

"Temari," he tries again. She is on her stomach, legs long and bright in the light of the moon. She's not looking at him. She won't. It's meaningless for him to try.

Finally, after what may have been only seconds or whole, long minutes, Shikamaru steps back, stumbling to find his underwear.

He's almost all dressed when she finally speaks.

"Shikamaru." It's hard. She still isn't looking at him.

He swallows. He can't think.

"Why?" Her words are strained.

"Please,Temari." He urges. He doesn't know how to deal with this.

"Leave," she says. It's definite, hard and edged, but not cruel. "Get out."

He can do nothing more (he knows of nothing more to do) than comply.


Half his bed is occupied when he comes home.

Fuck.

He shucks his shirt to the floor and then lays down against his own, much harder mattress.

It wakes her up and, groggy, Tomomi rolls over into his waiting arm.

As Tomomi scratches lightly against his chest, head on his shoulder, he is struck with the knowledge that the skin underneath his fingernails belongs to another woman.

He doesn't sleep all night.


"One more, Sir?"

Shikamaru slips another two bills onto the table as he accepts his glass. The sake is strong, as strong as whatever it is Temari gave him that first night.

And the rush through his throat is good, the instant heating of his gut welcome and celebrated.

It is here he can forget it all. Forget what happened the previous night, forget what may happen tomorrow, and the nights after that, forget how he must explain to his girlfriend his absence every other evening, find a way to convince his friends there is no reason he is avoiding Temari, and forget that the ending result of all of this will be a living, breathing child.

His child.

The boy (girl?) would have half his genes, half his blood. He might have his hair, or Yoshino's eyes? Would the child have his jutsu?

Would his child grow up practicing a jutsu from his father? Would he hear stories of his father, the Shadow Master Shikamaru? Would he read the bingo book and answer questions about his own dad?

Would Temari marry someone else? Would he grow up knowing some taller, stronger, surely more handsome man was his parent?

Would everyone think that this supposed perfect man had been the one to love her? The one to sire her child?

Without thinking, he gulps down the last few sips of his sake. His head is swimming.

She had only come once, in the more than two weeks they'd been together.

It is how she wanted it.

And how it was to continue to happen, he knew. Nothing would change. They'd go back to the clinical experiment they'd been put in.

In the end, it is what they both want.

Though, now, ever since last night, all he can think about are all the ways it would have been different. All the ways, had this never happened, had they continued on with their lives, things would have been different.

Perhaps they need a break. They could resume this in another week.

But, he knew, the sooner she was pregnant, the sooner it was over. Taking a break was only prolonging the inevitable, plus she should be ovulating now. If there was ever a time, it is now.

And if he pulls out of the mission this far down the line, what would be the point? Their relationship was already damaged beyond repair. Any future they would have had (and, he knows, they both know, they would have) is no longer a possibility.

It wouldn't do anyone any good if he didn't see this out till the end.

He puts down more money and the man brings him one more glass. The room is starting to spin now and he supposes he shouldn't drink this last one.

He just wants this to be over — his life was much simpler a month ago. Missions caused stress, yes. But not like this.

Shikamaru briefly wonders how much he's getting paid. It better be one good fucking check. Whatever it is, it's surely far too little.

And so, thinking about this, he takes a sip of his new glass, opening his lips wide enough for a decent amount of sake to spill down his throat.

Still. Still. No matter how much he drinks, it doesn't stop him from thinking about anything. It doesn't stop him from remembering anything.

Last night finalized their future apart. But it also showed them both what it could have been like.

They would have been good. They would have been the real-deal. They would have been so happy.

Shikamaru finishes his glass.


"You have a note," Choji comments, reaching onto the door to pull the tacked letter from the wood. "A bound one."

Shikamaru groans, his head is pounding and he can't think straight. The hangover will be killer come morning.

It's only evening though. Maybe he can sober up some before bed. He'd better start drinking water.

"Give it to me."

Choji eyes the note, but then hands it over. Shikamaru pricks his fingers on his teeth before dropping the blood onto the paper. It unseals itself immediately. Choji leans closer.

"Are you busy tomorrow night?...Is this how Tomomi asks you out?"

Shikamaru groans and shakes his head. "It's Temari — she's…. we have plans." He takes a step closer to the door. "Fuck."

"What is it?"

"Not again," Shikamaru leans against the wood, banging his head over and over in time with the throbs.

"What.… are you okay?"

Shikamaru shakes his head, falling to the floor of his porch.

He can't do this. He can't. He can't.

He can't come home and see the same note on his door again, as it was every other day.

"Where are you going?" Choji demands, left dumbfounded on the porch as Shikamaru heads off to the gates of the Nara estate.

"I have business to take care of."

"Business? You're completely drunk, Shikamaru."

But the man is already out of earshot; headed down the street to a place he hasn't been in years.

"He never was a fun drunk," a voice says as Choji steps back onto the ground.

Shikaku shifts the groceries he is holding to his other hand, looking back towards his own house only a few over. "But I suppose this type of business is better suited with a little drink."

"What do you mean?"

Shikaku sighs. "Nothing. Now come home with me, Yoshino saw you pass and told me to come find you before I go inside. She's cooking duck for dinner. Are you hungry?"


The banging on her door is probably much too loud for this sort of hotel as no more than three guests stick their heads out before she finally opens her door. She is staying in the same place she used to, back when they were proctoring the Chunin Exams.

Last time he had been here, last time he had knocked on this exact door knowing she would open it on the other side, everything had been so different.

"Oh," she says when she opens it this time. "It's you."

She isn't glad to see him, that is obvious enough, even in his state, but for some reason, she steps aside and lets him in. In all reality, she can probably smell the alcohol on him and is aware that he will cause a scene if she doesn't grant him access to her suite.

"Can I help you with something?" She asks, crossing her arms over her chest. She is wearing pajamas even though it's not even six.

"We need to talk about what happened." He manages, though his words are paced.

"Now? Couldn't this wait until you were, you know, perhaps more aware?"

"No." He pulls off his vest and slings it over a chair by the door. They are still standing in the entryway. "We need to talk about this baby."

"Shikamaru," her voice is a warning, her patience is thinning but he is taking no heed.

"We're doing this wrong." He continues, unabashed. He is stepping closer. "This, you and I. You're not pregnant because we're doing this wrong."

"Shikamaru," she repeats, tone exasperated. "You know how these things work."

"Yes," he pulls the tie from his hair and rubs his fingers into his scalp. "And we're not doing it right."

She is about to reply, but then thinks better of it. Her hands move to her hips.

"What we have isn't sex, Temari. You have no idea how it could be, how good I could make you feel." She narrows her eyes and steps away from him. He is toying with her anger and he is aware enough to know he doesn't have long before she either kicks, or knocks, him out. "That is what will get you pregnant, not this. Not us pretending."

His breathing is heavy and she is staring at him warily. She's unamused.

"People get pregnant all the time from doing less than what we do, Shikamaru," she counters at last. "We're doing fine."

"No we're not."

She sighs and rolls her eyes, clearly done with the conversation. She gestures towards a small kitchen, "can I offer you some tea or — "

He steps closer again."Don't you remember?" He says. "The way it was. You and I. Please. Temari."

"You have a girlfriend."

Shikamaru sighs. "It complicates this."

Temari shrugs, stepping further back. "Not anymore than things already are."

"But Temari." He's desperate. He can hear it. He knows he should stop. "Don't you remember?" She narrows her eyes as he comes too close. "The way it was?"

She scoffs, a hand to his chest to push him back, but she doesn't actually push him at all.

She's sad, again, as she looks up at him. "You're so drunk," she chastises. "I doubt you could even get it up."

"You always doubt me," he says, exhaling into a smile. He closes his eyes. He likes the press of her hand against him. "Always did."

She smiles now too. He opens his eyes, hearing it in her sigh. She's nothing but light. He wants nothing but her.

"Only to your face." She says, and her fingers are curling into his shirt. "You never gave me anything real to doubt."

A beat passes.

And then, even though he didn't think it was possible when he'd asked her for it, she throws herself forward and into him. Her hands are in his hair and her lips are so tight against his it is a miracle either of them can get enough breath in.

It takes a moment, but then he realizes that the taste on her lips is whiskey.

That is why this is happening.

He doesn't care.

Her lips are warm and firm and it is miraculous that he went all this time without feeling them. Surely, every man deserved to kiss these lips at least once. His life suddenly feels quite under-lived.

She is moving her mouth, nipping his lip between hers and he is just lost.

It is too hot. Her mouth and her skin, soft and fiery beneath his hands, against him. He's dizzy. He's swimming. He's under.

But she is kissing him and so none of it matters.

He opens his mouth and she makes a noise against it. Her tongue is light, hot and flaring and they are stumbling further into the suite. She has her fingers around his neck now, scratching at the base of his hairline.

Shikamaru doesn't know where to touch her; he doesn't know where she wants him. And it is awkward and new and brilliant. It is nothing like room 706, nothing wrong, and he can't even concentrate enough to remember anything other than this.

"Condom?" He hears her ask.

It takes a gross amount of pure will to move his lips from hers. "Do we need one?"

Her breath is so heavy and her heart is thumping against his chest so loudly. He opens his eyes to see her attempt to concentrate. As if she suddenly remembers who they are and why she is here in the first place, she nods. "Right." And then they are kissing again and she is pushing him to a bedroom.

He feels his throat choke and he sees she is trying to force her hands into his turtleneck and it just isn't working. He moves away by some grace of god and pulls his shirt off so fast he tears the sleeve. His hands are furious on his buckle next and when he is touching her again, there is skin against skin and his chest is straining against her.

"Shikamaru," she groans as his lips touch her jaw, hands roaming and grabbing at her body without pause.

His arousal is throbbing against his zipper.

"I've wanted this," he hears himself say, "for— this for years." He doesn't know where the words came from and he doesn't care.

He just wants her.

"We shouldn't," she is saying. But her pants are falling lower the more he pushes his own hands down her hips and over her rear and he is cupping her and her hesitance is gone and her legs collapse and they are then only a tangle of limbs on a bed. .

"We shouldn't." She tries again.

But then she stops speaking, because he is kissing her. Kissing her, just there, and nothing else matters.


She had been right. She's always been right. He is too drunk to perform. But they have all night.

And so when they wake up a few hours later, still in bed, still together, there is nothing more to stop them.


He wakes up too early. His head is pounding and his face feels swollen. He can see her above him, lips red as he rises. There is a light on in the room and pain splinters through his head. The hangover is killer, but she is also wearing a man's nightshirt, and he can only focus on one thing at a time.

She is sitting beside him, legs crossed and hair brushing over her shoulders, messy and knotted. If he could, he would lie here and make love to her for the rest of the day, for the rest of his life, but the clock beside the bed reads four am and it is time for him to leave.

She says as much. "Leave before it gets light."

He nods and sits up slowly, clenching his fists into the blankets before relaxing and stretching out his fingers.

They won't do this again. Nothing like this will ever happen again.

He pushes himself out of bed. His shirt is by the door, but the rest is all piled on the bottom of the bed. He blushes when he sees it, and hopes she doesn't see the stain of redness on his face when he slips everything back on.

"Shikamaru," she says as he buckles his slacks. He glances over and she pauses, eyes falling to her curled up legs as she hesitates. "I don't think I'd mind… you know, if it worked this time."

He doesn't know what to say, how to react. But she is right. If they had conceived a child last night, he wouldn't mind. Not like he had before.

He has put on his shirt now, and as she sits there brushing the pads of her fingers along her calf absently, he slips his hair back into place and untwists his sleeves, wondering all the while how she can be so calm about all of this.

This is everything. It's always been her. And, even though he'll never have her now, it will have always been worth it. If this was yet to happen, if the Kazekage were to agree and Temari were to sign up, Shikamaru would have done nothing differently.

"Take the back stairwell," she tells him a few moments later. He nods. They never know who is watching.

"I'll see you tonight," he says lightly.

She looks at him. He wants her to never stop.

The morning is waiting for him when he exits her building.


"How's it going?" Shikamaru asks.

The attendant shrugs. "Same old."

"Do you do anything besides stand outside a room while I have sex?"

"It's better than your job."

Shikamaru snorts. "I suppose that's true."

They continue up the rest of the way in silence. Room 706 looks particularly scary today. He'd rather stay in the hall.

"Do you do this for many people?"

"If you're asking me to discuss confidential inform —"

"No," Shikamaru interjects. "I'm just wondering if you've done this before. Worked, you know, with other couples?"

The man takes a breath and then nods. "Yes."

He wonders how many other people have been in their position. He'd thought that he and Temari were the first, for Konoha and Suna at least. "Does it always go this way?"

"You mean in length? Some can take one or two visits, others take weeks."

"What about afterwards?"

"I don't work with that," the attendant says. "But the child is raised to be a shinobi, I know that much."

"Yeah," Shikamaru responds. He knew that much too.

The attendant unlocks the door. "She's waiting for you."


"Well?" She says, arms crossed in front of her as she paces before him. "Say something."

"What do you want me to say?" He is at a loss.

"Anything!" She snaps, eyes dark with a warning. "Just say something."

But what is there to say?

He crumples the paper in his hand, careful enough to not damage it, but certainly with the intent to inflict harm.

He wants to say that he's not ready to be a father. But he won't. She knows.

She'd gone to Sakura this afternoon, manipulating the girl's friendship with Temari's youngest brother to her will. She didn't have a doctor's appointment until the next day, so Sakura had helped her out.

He takes a deep breath. He'd been waiting for this moment for almost a month and now he has no idea how to proceed.

She sighs and moves to sit beside him. "I want you to know," she starts. She is beside him, not close enough to feel her presence, but close enough that all he would have to do to take her hand is reach out. "I never wanted you to do this. I knew you would, but I didn't mean to damn you to it. I'd hoped, sometimes, that you'd say No."

"'Sometimes,'" he repeats, eyes unfocused.

"Sometimes I hoped you'd say Yes." She swallows. "But I didn't want to hurt you. I did this because it is my duty. I am a master of the wind, a royal sister to the Kazekage and the daughter of two past ones. I was born into protecting Sunagakure, and as long as that is still my duty, I will continue to serve the village at its will. Gaara gave his life a while ago when the Akatsuki attacked. He put himself between the village and those who would do it harm. Even if I'm only giving up a few years of my life, and my sacrifice is incomparable to his, it is the least I can do to serve my people." She sighs. Her hands rest on her knee. "You are just from a middle-class clan with a fair amount of missions under your belt and a respected name in the bingo book. I never meant to drag you into this. I knew it would. I knew you were a consequence. But I didn't want it."

"You've certainly thought this out, haven't you?"

"I don't make rash decisions about people's lives."

"No." He rubs his eyes. "You don't." Shikamaru turns and looks out at the fading light from the window. "I mean, you did this to protect your people, I did this because I love you."

He doesn't see her reaction, and he is certainly trying not to look, but the words hit hard enough. "Bastard."

He'd figured as much.

Temari swallows. "I don't need your protection. You're just making things harder."

He huffs a laugh, pained. "So my father says."

"Smart man." She stands up again, unable to sit still.

"What do we do now?" He asks after a while.

"We've completed our mission."

"Are you going home?"

"I suppose so."

Finally, Shikamaru looks back at her. "We could get married."

She stops pacing.

"It's probably what they want."

"It's not like that, Shikamaru. You don't have to feel obligated, you're not supposed to."

He could argue, but she'd probably shoot him down. He wouldn't mind marrying her, he had become rather keen on the idea in the last few seconds since posed, but he isn't going to stand by it.

They descend into silence and he doesn't really mind this time.

He has known this was coming, he knew the sex would eventually be successful and Temari would head back to the Sand. He knows all of this, but that doesn't mean he likes it.

Eventually she sits beside him once more, fingers racing along his leg as they both sort some things out.

"Stay," he says after a good ten minutes. "Stay with me, tonight."

"We shouldn't be doing this now."

"How long?"

"Years, maybe."

"Temari," he takes a breath, "I know what I signed up for, but it's my child too."

She nods softly, nails still scratching at his knee. "I know."

The window is covering the both of them in the last traces of daylight as they sit upon the worn, ugly bed. Her breathing is heavy and slow, and it weighs them both down in the present.

He can feel the faint counterpoint rhythm of her heartbeat too, loud and betraying of her calm demeanor. It's nothing at all, but it's hers and it's his and and it's enough, enough for tomorrow at least.


a/n: Thank you so much for reading!