My Boss The Genius

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PART SEVEN

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Temari pursed her lips ever so slightly, tamping down the urge to tap her foot repeatedly on the elevator floor. The liftman was there, smiling to himself as he hummed some tune she was unfamiliar with, but sounded cheery and uplifting. Part of her wanted to tell him to stop, but that would be rude. And he really was a very nice liftman, not asking any questions when she told him to take her to Shikamaru's floor. The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open easily. She nodded her thanks to the liftman, stepping into the enclosure and waiting for the elevator to leave before she knocked hurriedly on the door.

"Shikamaru!" she called, hoping he was home. "Are you there? You better be, you crybaby—"

Her knocking fell on silent air when the door opened, and Shikamaru peered at her grumpily through the opening. "Stop calling me that," he muttered grumpily. Temari glared at him, as if reminding him that even if he was her boss, she wouldn't take his smack-talk lying down. He rolled his eyes. "What do you want Temari?" he sighed tiredly. She pushed the door open, stomping into his apartment.

"I want to know why the hell I wasn't informed about your official position as the FBI liaison," she rambled, gritting her teeth as she whirled on him, her arms crossed. "As your secretary, I need to know all pertinent information pertaining to your job and—oh my god, what the hell happened to you?"

Shikamaru grimaced, holding his side that was clumsily wrapped with bandages. Blood was seeping from the shallow cut on his side, staining his fingers and dripping on the floor. "It's nothing," he told her amidst the other minor cuts and scraps littering his body. A fine film of dust lingered on his skin, browning the white wife beater he wore under his dress shirt. Shikamaru brushed past his secretary and to the couch, where a bowl of water and new bandages were placed on the coffee table.

"Nothing? You're dripping blood everywhere!" she exclaimed, rushing forward. Her purse was thrown behind the couch, her jacket quickly divested of as she rounded the table and knelt beside him.

"I'm fine—" he tried to reassure her, but she slapped his hands away.

"Shut it, crybaby," Temari hissed, grabbing a towel and pressing it gently on his wound. He hissed in pain, and she smirked. "Told you so." He grunted, but moved his hands so she had more space to work with. Temari took the towel away, pulling his tank top up. "Shirt off," she muttered absentmindedly, trying not to flush red when he wordlessly obeyed, totally at ease with showing her his body. Not that he had anything to hide, she told herself. Even working in a lawyer firm for a few years hadn't dulled his trained physique.

Temari ignored those thoughts as much as she could, when her nose was only inches away from his toned abdomen. Right now, her concern was the cut on his side, still seeping blood. She washed some of the dried blood off of his skin, grabbing the roll of bandages. "Why didn't you just go to a hospital?" she asked him, clearing her throat and trying not to fumble as she began to wrap his stomach. She wondered if he could see her red cheeks as her face almost pressed against his pectorals while she passed the roll from one hand to the other on the opposite side of his body where the injury was.

"Sakura would treat me there," he told her, sighing. "And she'd tell Ino, and then Ino would give me shit for hurting myself." He groaned, rolling his shoulder once she leant back, done with dressing his cut. "Damn. I forgot how powerful the recoil on a gun is."

Temari let him massage his own shoulders for a moment, watching him curiously. His gun was nowhere to be seen, but having a gun out in the open was never a good idea, so he probably put it somewhere safe. He wasn't a muscular guy, especially compared to his football friend, Chouji, but there was a definite masculinity to his body. He was lean, sleek. Like a spy, able to blend with darkness and hide in small spaces. At first glance, with his easy-going nature and relaxed body language, Shikamaru Nara seemed like anything but a federal agent.

"Questions?" he said gruffly, sparking her out of her contemplation. He smirked, grabbing a loose t-shirt and carefully putting it on before sinking into his couch. Temari's lips tightened in annoyance at his confident, smug attitude. She rose to sit on the couch, her arms crossed again as she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Yes, actually," she said. He shrugged, waving a hand.

"Fire away."

She took a deep, silent breath. "Who was Asuma Sarutobi to you?"

He froze. His hands tightened, veins bulging from under his skin as his dark eyes narrowed. Temari startled a bit, not showing it from her poker face, but definitely feeling it in her gut as he rubbed his forehead. A tiredness came over him suddenly, a weight that had settled on his shoulders and stayed there.

"Asuma was my mentor," he answered softly, cushioning his chin on his hand, looking at the wall in front of him. "He was the senior supervisory agent in charge of me, Chouji and Ino. We… we were a team." There was a pause, and he stared into silence for a while. Temari had the impression he was remembering something from a long time ago, and she wondered for a moment what it was. But that was then, and this is now. And a Sabaku never regrets on the past, but looks to the future to set it right.

"What happened?" she asked slowly, thoughtfully. His eyes tightened.

"You read the report," he muttered, standing up. "You know what happened." He was tense now, strung up with energy, ready to burst. Temari followed him as he stomped into the kitchen.

"Not everything," Temari said. She paused for the slightest second, before reminding him, "It said that Chouji was fatally injured," he winced at the reminder. "So how is he not dead?"

"He did die," Shikamaru said gruffly, leaning against the counter, shoulders hunched. There was regret lingering on his face, a guilt so heavy that it made him slouch with all its weight. "He died three times in surgery. It was weeks before they took him out of ICU, and months before he was stable enough to leave the hospital." A choked laugh left his lips, and he ran a hand over his pinched face. "It took him a whole year in intensive physical therapy to be strong enough to function like a normal person."

Temari wavered on her feet, reaching for the counter to steady herself. Chouji? But she saw him just a few hours ago, happily munching on his potato chips and smiling in amusement at his friend's antics. There was such a serene air about him, an easy acceptance in his smile and if Temari hadn't known more, she would have thought he was just a civilian, like her. But he had died, and he had fought, and he had endured hardships that she couldn't even begin to understand.

"It said… that he was injured trying to rescue Ino," Temari said softly, watching as he flinched at the second reminder, his hands tightening on the edge of the counter. "Did she quit the FBI?" Shikamaru laughed harshly, shaking his head.

"No… Ino's not a quitter," he said hoarsely. "FBI let her go. Made her take a psych-eval. They said she needed time to cope, or something troublesome like that. When her dad saw the report, he flipped and banned her from coming back. She was furious." He grinned, chuckling and rubbing the back of his neck. "That's why we get her to profile for us sometimes; makes her feel like she never got kicked out."

"I see," Temari murmured, unsure of what else to say. It was hard to imagine Ino as a federal agent, with a serious demeanour and toting a gun on her belt. She was so cheery and bright, friendly to everyone she met no matter who they were and how well she knew them. That woman didn't seem like she could keep a secret at all.

"As for the liaison thing," Shikamaru sighed, pushing off the counter. "That's what Kurenai is for." She was the other secretary, but Temari only saw her every now and then because she was constantly out of errands for Shikamaru. Temari had never really bothered to ask why, but if Kurenai was an FBI agent as well, it made sense. She would have been out sending messages to other agents, acting as a connection to Shikamaru.

"Is she FBI too?" Temari asked, needing confirmation. Shikamaru laughed, a hollow bark that echoed in his large, spacious penthouse.

"She was," he murmured, rubbing his shoulder. "Until her husband died and she had to demote herself to something as paltry as my secretary." Temari could see the difficulty the conversation was having on him, and it was made apparent when he reached up into one of the cabinets for a short tumbler. Within seconds, a hefty dose of whiskey was poured into the tumbler and thrown back down his throat.

"Give me that," Temari hissed, snatching the now empty glass away from him, confiscating the bottle of alcohol as well. "You shouldn't drink when you're injured," she told him, putting the used glass in the sink and the whiskey bottle in the back corner of the kitchen counter. Shikamaru chuckled, watching her with his dark gaze.

"You sound like Ino," he said, making her heart skip. "Any chances you'd give me that glass back and let me pour you one? That's what Ino would end up doing anyways." His gaze had drifted off into his own personal oblivion, and she knew he was thinking back to the past, back to a time when things weren't peachy keen, but at least they were good. The memories made him smirk. "We used to load Chouji up with so much booze he'd fall asleep on my couch. And then Ino would complain that a lady wasn't supposed to walk home alone, so she'd crash in my extra room."

"Is that how these Friday things started?" Temari asked, and he nodded.

"Ino made us promise to meet at my place, like usual, every Friday. She was worried we'd grow apart." He snorted. "As if that troublesome woman would ever let her personal punching bags run away." His annoyance was feigned, and Temari could see it in the light that shone in his eyes. It told her that even if Ino hadn't put so much effort into retaining her friendship with Shikamaru and Chouji, he'd be the one to do it for her instead.

"You guys seem pretty close," she commented almost off-handedly, but watched closely for Shikamaru's reaction. He smirked a little, a fondness to his gaze that transported her to that very faithful, very damning afternoon when she had met Ino for the first time.

"Yeah," he sighed, "we've known each other since we were babies." The news made Temari blink in slight shock. She realized they were close-knit, but she didn't realize their history went that far back. Their parent must have had to be mutual friends in order for them to know each other at such a young stage in their life.

"You grew up together," she stated matter-of-factly. The admission made another smile crack across Shikamaru's face, a larger one.

"We did everything together," he said, amusement colouring his tone. "Even if we didn't want to, we were forced into each other's company. Almost every aspect of our lives, we shared together. Even if…" his eyes softened here, and a soft smile graced his lips. "Even if we weren't exactly next door to each other."

Temari's forehead creased in confusion. "What do you mean?" she asked, but he didn't seem to hear her. "Shikamaru?"

He jolted out of his minor trance, shaking his head. "It's nothing," Shikamaru assured the older woman. He stepped forward, and Temari froze as his arm reached over her, bringing his body tantalizingly close to hers. She felt shivers ripple under her skin, felt the higher temperature of his body as his shirt brushed against hers. She struggled to maintain her cool façade, staring unabashedly up at him as his fingers closed around the tumbler in the sink behind her. She hoped he would step away quickly, unsure of how cool she could be when he was so near. But her prayers weren't answered when his gaze locked with hers, and he paused.

They stayed that way for a long while, staring at each other with impenetrable walls locked over their eyes, determined not to be the first to slip. But Temari could already feel her walls crumbling, caving under the strain of keeping her feelings locked up so tightly for so long. She didn't want to look away either, because that also meant failure, that also meant a shameful admittance of her emotions. A Sabaku was not ruled by their emotions.

But she was also just a woman.

"Temari…?" Shikamaru asked slowly, quietly, carefully. Her muscles tensed beneath the scrutiny, the curiosity in his questing eyes that made her lips tighten and her hands shake. She did not answer him, only met his dark eyes with her turquoise ones. And she prayed. She prayed that she would hold on long enough, prayed that her walls would stand tall enough to hide her secret. She prayed for his curiosity to go away, prayed that he was merciful enough to let her keep her secret, to understand that this was something he didn't need to know. She prayed for something, anything—

A knock echoed through the penthouse.

"Shikamaru?"

He looked up, distracted by the newcomer. Temari breathed a soft sigh of relief as he left the kitchen, going back into the open space of his living room. She allowed herself a moment to catch her breath, to marvel at the close call. She had been so close to giving in, so close to breaking.

"Oh, there you are," the voice commented, relieved. "Man, don't leave your door open like that. I'm your protection detail, dude, and if something happened to you, Uchiha would tan my hide."

That voice…

Temari didn't notice it before, too grateful for the distraction, but now it was seeping into her brain, triggering memories. She knew that voice. She had only heard it twice before, but the easy rhythm of it was unmistakable. Temari could even see it; the roguish grin that she knew was spread over his lips. And her feet couldn't walk fast enough into the living room to see him with her own eyes.

"Sorry man—,"

What was that saying again?

"—my secretary barged in here and forgot to close the door."

The third time's a charm?

"This is Temari, my secretary. Temari, this is Supervisory Special Agent Kiba Inuzuka."