He could not believe himself. Even a genin knows never to take his eyes off the enemy. It was solid proof: a shinobi must never be taken by his emotions. He searched the perimeter.

"How'm I going to report this to Tsunade," He moaned. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you," Temari said, softly. "I shouldn't have taken you seriously when you said that." She was remorseful.

"Yeah, well. I still shouldn'tve said it." He was cross with himself.

"C'mon, let's go." Shikamaru turned to walk away, then realized Temari wasn't following him. He turned back, anxiously; she was very slowly and shakily attempting to keep pace with him. His eyes widened, concernedly.

"Oh, you're in shock. I'll carry you." He stepped forward, dutifully.

"No, I can..." She started, as he swept her easily off her feet. "...well, thank you."

He smirked, Shikamaru-like. She took it as sheepishness.

"Let's get you home," He muttered, before leaping onto the rooftops.

Once at the house, Shikamaru shrugged off his jacket and kicked off his shoes.

"Why don't you go take a shower or something?" He suggested. "You had a long night. I'm going to change the sheets on the bed."

She nodded, momentarily unable to speak. Her mind was spinning, and she was grateful that the normally quiet genius had taken the trouble to become vocal.

Temari slipped silently into the bathroom, stripped, and welcomed the hot water, which washed away the rough touch and bitter scent of the cruel stranger.

When she stepped out, dressed once again in some of the soft, worn clothing that Shikamaru had outgrown, She found he had even gone to the trouble of making her some tea. It was perfectly hot, sitting on a wooden coaster on his coffee table. She sank into the couch, beside him and his half finished mug. Picking hers up, she leaned into him. His arm rested on the back of the sofa, creating a comfortable space at his side.

They didn't say anything as they drank. Shikamaru finished his quickly, and announced that he was about to take a shower. Temari felt a slight tug in her chest as the door closed between them, leaving her alone in the suddenly spacious living room. She didn't like it...she didn't like it at all.

When he finally came out, halfway clothed and still dripping; a towel around his neck, she relocated their empty mugs to the sink. Emerging into the main room, she found that Shikamaru was in the bedroom, looking for a clean shirt.

"You should go to bed," He suggested, not unkindly, as he toweled his torso dry.

"Mm." She slid onto the bed, stretching and turning to that her back faced him. She ran her fingers through her loose hair a couple of times. The house was dark now, except for a bedside light in this one room.

"I think I'll go to sleep, too," He murmured, and made for the door.

At those words, the thought of being alone agian; of being vulnerable, siezed her with an overwhelming anxiety.

"You can stay!" She said, quickly; urgently.

He picked up on the fear in her voice, and perched himself on the edge of the bed.

"Let's talk for a while, OK?" She requested, in hopes of calming her nerves.

"What about?"

"Nothing."

There was silence for a long few moments; Shikamaru put his feet up on the bed and leaned against the headboard. He shrugged off his towel, replacing it with his shirt. He shook out his hair, which fell in damp strands around his neck, splattering the bed with droplets of icy water.

"Stop it!" Temari giggled, made silly by fatigue. She was falling asleep as the moments passed. Come to think of it, so was he. He slid lower and lower into the bed. Finally, as he was almost fully stretched out, she spoke agian.

"It's cold." A breeze, leftover from winter, was filtering in through the open window, filling the curtains so that they billowed like loose sails.

"I'll close the window."

He moved to get up.

"No, it's okay."

Her voice held that edge agian.

He sighed, turning off the light, and lay down fully behind her, a wall agianst the wind. Their bodies were only millimeters apart.

She curled up tighter, and her back brushed against him. She held that pose for a long moment, her entire body trembling with the emotional effort. Finally, she pressed her shoulders against him, too.

That was all the incentive he needed. He slid fully beneath the blanket, pulling it up to their eyes, which were nearly closed, anyways. His arms went around her and his knees beneath hers; she pressed agianst him with equal urgency. It was warm; it was an unquestionable place of emotional safety.

That was the way they fell alseep: not separated by a wall or a distance, but merely some soft woven cloth, shielded from the eyes of the judgmental public. Surrounded by his arms; his scent, Temari had no room to be afraid.

Kira-sama worked hard on this chapter. Please review. *malevolently strokes notebook of death*