Menarche
"Baki!"
"Baki!" Whispered voice frantic, her hands are shaking his shoulder, rousing him.
"Temari? S'matter?" he yawns, sitting up in bed wondering why she's in his room.
"Baki…I'm…I'm bleeding…"
"Did you get hurt? What happened?"
Blond tresses brush against his shoulder as she shakes her head furiously. "No. I'm bleeding like… she did…"
And Baki realizes there is a tremendous gulf in the kunoichi's education that he has overlooked.
Power
She's fourteen, the best wind mistress Suna has ever seen with absolutely no idea what power she holds over the young shinobi that are sniffing around now like a pack of dogs.
Her father doesn't notice.
Baki does.
"Dammit, Temari, quit hanging around the barracks."
"Bastard! You can't control my life!"
True.
But he sure as hell can strike fear in the heart of those pups.
Which he does.
Crushed
"Baki?"
He wakes. In his room in the moonlight her voice isn't frantic, but it's... hesitant.
She's fifteen. In her nightgown. Simple. Cotton. Sheer.
"Baki… I know… sometimes… senseis teach their students…"
His voice is uncharacteristically soft, "No."
Later he goes to his favorite bar and gets drunk on cheap liquor and buys a cheap whore, one with raven hair who smells of perfume, not sun and wind and desert.