Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ And She Would Wait ❯ And She Would Wait ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

The first time Temari of the Sand visited Konoha after the Chuunin exams, she’d watched a boy break down and offer a promise she knew he would never be able to keep. Afterwards, when he had finally cleaned up and was unable to rest, she had told him it was a useless promise and his desire to keep it would only cause pain. He had responded with a rare show of anger; his fist had slammed into the wall and he’d quite bluntly told her to mind her own thoughts. His weren’t hers to sort through. She hadn’t argued and when he walked away, he left her wondering if perhaps he really could keep that promise to “do it perfectly next time”.

Temari decided to watch and see what kind of man Shikamaru would grow to be.

The second and third times she visited, she found out that he’d been pulled from any mission deemed above a B-rank. She’d whined, wheedled and finally threatened Gaara – which, in retrospect, was rather stupid – to get her any information he could; he was, after all, well on his way to becoming Kazekage and had an audience with Konoha’s Hokage. When Gaara told her that Tsunade-sama had reservations about Shikamaru’s abilities as a leader, Temari had only frowned.

She understood; she had the same reservations. He was too damned soft-hearted. Entirely too trusting. He was a boy who was scared of getting hurt, and of hurting others. “Coward,” she said softy, and Gaara blinked.

Then his dumbfounded look turned into something more calculating.

She had asked him what he was planning. He didn’t answer; he merely turned on his heel and marched right back toward the Hokage’s office.

Two hours later, she had been assigned as Sand’s liaison to Konoha to plan the next Chuunin Exams. Her first assignment was to speak with an examiner.

She found Shikamaru waiting for her.

“You’re the liaison?” he asked, a note of disbelief creeping into his voice.

“You’re the examiner?”

“One of them,” he said, shrugging.

They didn’t waste time; right down to business for the both of them. They ended up at a barbeque restaurant Shikamaru said was good, papers and schedules spread out around food and drink. They worked, not in silence, and set up meetings, outlined potential problems and solutions, and fell to reminiscing.

“You beat me, you know,” she said around a mouthful of meat. “You’re right; this is good.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Of course I’m right.”

She pointed a chopstick at him. “Funny.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

“You’re ignoring the first comment.”

He quirked a brow. “I only chose to comment on one part of the statement.”

“Do you disagree, then?”

Shikamaru considered that for a moment. “Yes.”

“So you honestly believe I beat you in that fight?”

“Yes.”

Temari narrowed her eyes; trust him not to elaborate. “Why?”

“I’ve explained this once.”

“At that time? All you said was that it was too troublesome to continue.”

He leaned back, abandoning the paperwork. “Well, it was. You would have pounded my ass into the ground after my Kage Mane gave out. It’s all I had left.”

“And if it were a real fight?”

“I would have retreated.” He shrugged. “Dead bodies don’t accomplish missions.”

She bit her lip and twirled the chopstick in her fingers. “I heard that later, you went out after Uchiha and Gaara.”

“Not my choice,” he answered slowly, not meeting her gaze.

“I also heard that you volunteered to stay behind and take care of the Sound pursuers you and the others picked up.” When he pointedly didn’t answer, she continued speaking. “You knew you were getting yourself into a bad spot, and you didn’t retreat. You could have, before you ended up trapped.” She frowned when he didn’t respond. Damn literal idiot wouldn’t answer until she actually asked a question. “Why?”

He shrugged. “I made a promise.”

Temari sat back, her appetite suddenly gone. Damn him and his promises. They were going to get him killed, and the boy would never grow.

It wasn’t until she was on her way back to Sand that she finally understood why they were working together. She needed to learn to make promises and he needed to learn to break them.

The next few times she visited, she grew angrier with each meeting. He was piled under paperwork, running pointless errands, and teaching pointless tricks to brats in the Academy. His intelligence was sharper than ever, but his skills were atrophying.

“Don’t you ever worry that you’re not learning anything?” she asked one day as she pushed papers away so she could reach the meat.

They were back at the barbeque. Shikamaru gave her a longsuffering look as he rescued the papers from the grill. Any other time and she would have smirked at his action; he insisted they’d end up burning the place down one of these days and she insisted on eating there while they worked. This time, though, her concern overrode any amusement.

“What do you mean?” he asked as he laid a piece of thin meat on the fire. He poked at it, frowning.

She snorted; he knew exactly what she was asking, and she hated it when he did this. Making her drag her questions out, in hopes she’d forget the original point… It was a game he only played when he didn’t feel like talking, and especially when the questions got personal. “I mean,” she said patiently, “that you’re giving all your time to paperwork and lazing around. You’ll get sent on a mission one of these days and find that you’ll be outclassed.”

He looked up, brow furrowed. “I’m always outclassed.”

“You are not, and you know it,” she answered quickly.

Shikamaru shook his head and turned away to check his cooking meat. When he spent long moments contemplating his food, Temari sat back with a sigh.

“I like it this way,” he finally said, but he was peering at his meat as he lifted it from the grill.

Temari looked up at him, her mouth already open to call him a liar. It was the flash of something in his eyes, a small twitch of his brow, a tightening of his hands that kept her from speaking. The frustration she’s been harboring spilled over and she stood up suddenly, not caring that he flinched. As she gathered the files she needed, she spat, “you’re still a coward, and damned scared kid.”

She left him sitting at the table, his meat still hanging from his chopsticks and his gaze fixed on the tabletop. Temari ducked through the door, intent on finding a quiet place to finish up her part of the project, and was only slowed when a burly figure stepped in front of her. She pulled up, her eyes narrowed and shot the offender a glare that no one but Gaara could hope to match.

Sarutobi Asuma was unaffected. Cigarette dangling from his lips and eyes sparkling in amusement, he was the very picture of the man amused by a woman’s wrath. “Lover’s quarrel?” he asked, his rich voice barely hiding a chuckle.

She gave him a withering stare; Asuma had started teasing Shikamaru mercilessly, and while it normally didn’t bother her, this was hardly the time. “He’s an idiot,” she answered.

“Ah, yeah… he can be,” Asuma said, scratching his beard. “Anything in particular this time?”

Temari blurted it out before she thought. “He’s going to be killed.” There it was; the crux of the matter. He was letting everyone else push him into things, letting his skills rot, and one day, someone would get the better of him. And she worried about the day that would happen.

“Let’s talk,” Asuma said, and they did.

The next time she visited Konoha, Shikamaru merely handed her the papers she needed and disappeared. They didn’t eat together during her time in Leaf. She didn’t look back when she left. Temari told herself that, next time, she’d make him make time for conversation.

The time after that, he wasn’t even in the village when she arrived. Asuma met her instead, and her heart sank. She stopped in front of him at the gates and merely tilted her head; a ninja didn’t show emotion, she sternly told herself. Asuma regarded her with a curious mix of amusement and dubiousness; he was never quite sure what to make of the Sand shinobi his student worked so closely with. “He went out on a mission,” he told her without preamble. “Two days late coming back now. Tomorrow, I’ll head out with a few people and track his team.”

“His team?”

“He was leading it,” he replied, and she echoed the grin he gave her.

Despite the worry, she couldn’t help the pride that swelled in her. She ate at the barbeque that evening, poring over the schedules she needed his help with. Asuma dropped by once, telling her that he was definitely leaving in the morning. The invitation for her to come was open; she declined with a smile, telling him that she wouldn’t be the one to save Shikamaru’s sorry ass again.

Morning came and went with little fanfare; Asuma, Chouji and Ino left long before Temari had a chance to see them. She spent the day going about her usual business in Konoha, and that meant spending most of her time near the Hokage’s office.

And that meant, of course, that she heard all the news that came in.

Temari didn’t wait on pins and needles. She didn’t pace, didn’t sigh, and didn’t accost any messenger that crossed her path. She merely waited, like she had been all the months she’d been coming to Konoha.

Noontime found her grabbing food in a small room near Tsunade-sama’s office. The afternoon was spent poring over reports that she had thought she’d save for Shikamaru. When she was hungry again, it was late, and the barbeque was closed. A day gone, and no word; in her mind, that was much better than Asuma’s team coming in hours ago with dire news.

No word meant she would wait a while longer.

She never did tell anyone she didn’t sleep that night. Sometime before sunrise, she gave up the pretense of sleep, and sat in the sitting room, fully dressed with her fan across her legs. It was immaculate, yet she cleaned its slats over and over again.

The knock at her door couldn’t come soon enough. She scrambled to her feet, forgetting that a kunoichi didn’t show emotion, that she was supposed to be asleep, that the sun hadn’t even risen yet. She threw the door open, somehow remembering propriety in mid-swing, and greeted her visitor with the aplomb appropriate to a Sand shinobi.

Asuma stood there, his ever present cigarette rolling through his fingers. “Thought you’d like to know,” he said, “that Shikamaru’s not dead.”

She snorted. “Like I’d let him stick me with all this work.” Then she looked at him closely; he was tired. Bags rested under his eyes, the small lines around his eyes and mouth were more prominent, and he was slouched over.

“He’s in the hospital, though,” Asuma said. “Did something to his knee, hit his head. Haven’t got the whole story yet, but that’s part of the reason they were late.” He shrugged. “His team wasn’t moving very fast, and they had a few pursuers we took care of.”

Temari waited as he drew a breath.

“Mission was a success, though,” he finished.

She grinned.

“You gonna see him?”

Temari shook her head. “I’ll wait.”

Asuma nodded and left it at that. After he left, Temari slept until the sun woke her.

Lunch that day was a simple affair; Temari was at the barbeque, her files for once not spread about the table. She was leaning back, her head resting against the wall, eyes closed. She wasn’t asleep; she was alert, and pointedly didn’t respond to the awkward sound of someone walking with a crutch.

“Your meat’s going to burn.”

She only grunted. She heard shuffling as Shikamaru sat across from her. She opened one eye when he sighed. He raised a thin eyebrow at her as he settled the crutch out of the way. The meat started to sizzle, hissing for attention. Neither moved to rescue the food. Shikamaru leaned back, wincing as he moved his knee.

“Should you be moving around?” She opened the other eye and crossed her arms. “You look like hell.” She wasn’t far off the mark: he sported a bandage on his temple, a scraped cheek, and bruises that covered one arm almost entirely.

He shrugged.

Temari tilted her head. “It’s not like you to move if you don’t have to. You got kicked out, didn’t you?”

Shikamaru didn’t answer; he leaned forward, his movement stiff, and pulled the meat off the grill.

Temari grinned. “Thought you were going to be stubborn about that.”

“Chouji would kill me if he ever found out I let a good piece of meat burn.” He regarded the meat for a moment before popping it into his mouth.

“Hey! I paid for that.”

“You were going to let it burn,” he pointed out. “’Sides, I need the nourishment. I’m injured.”

She rolled her eyes, but put a fresh piece on the grill. “That one’s mine.”

“Don’t let it burn.”

She snorted. “I’m going home tomorrow.”

He nodded. “I thought you might.” He paused. “Hey, sorry about this.”

She snorted. “I know you planned it this way. You finally get a mission, and you engineer it so I have to take care of all the paperwork, you lazy ass.”

“Yeah, yeah…” He trailed off. “Hey,” he said after moment, “still a coward?”

She smirked. “Always will be, you crybaby.”

“Good,” he said, and stabbed her piece of meat. “’Cause I don’t want to change.” He groaned, shifted, and stuffed the meat into his mouth. “Or freaking move. I hurt.”

Temari gaped at him. “You ass! That was my food.”

“I was hungry. It was there.” He shrugged. “Hey, how much of that work did you get done the last couple days?”

“I should have left it all for you.”

“Yeah, yeah… How much?”

Her answer was to throw the files at him. “See for yourself.”

He scrambled to keep the papers off the grill.

She grinned.

Temari kept her word; she left the next day. When she would come back, she was never happier when it was Asuma or Chouji who met her at the gates. Asuma only shook his head and smiled, but Chouji questioned her once. It was Ino – who had met them for lunch – who answered.

“Don’t you get it?” she’d asked. “She’s just glad Shikamaru’s out not getting his ass kicked.”

Temari had laughed at that; Shikamaru had the unfortunate reputation in Konoha as the smartest ninja who couldn’t win a fight. While most of it was teasing, the grain of truth at the center of the rumors, Temari knew, wore on her younger friend.

She had waited, and she was still waiting, but she kind of liked the path Shikamaru was walking now.

The news came after the fact, of course. The smartest ninja in Konoha had gotten his ass thoroughly kicked.

Temari couldn’t blame him, though. The Akatsuki were strong; one had taken Gaara and poisoned Kankurou. They were a threat beyond what any of her friends, family or acquaintances could ever hope to match.

She dreaded ever facing a member of that group. She wondered if that made her as much a coward as Shikamaru. But then, he’d faced down two of the bastards and lost a mentor, and she had, thus far, only waited on the sidelines while her brothers were nearly taken from her.

She’d heard that Gaara made a promise to protect his village, and died for it.

She’d watched Kankurou on the verge of death, because of a promise to follow his younger brother.

She’d heard of Shikamaru’s group – of the tragedy they faced – and knew that it was because of a promise made nearly three years ago.

Next time, I’ll do it perfectly. She could still hear his words, see his shaking shoulders. How many times had that promise been broken? How many times had he given all he had to even try to keep his word?

Temari hadn’t spoken with Shikamaru in awhile; not since she’d left Konoha for the last time as Gaara had been abducted. Sand needed her; Gaara and Kankurou needed her, and she found herself making promises left and right.

Her brothers still lived, though. She couldn’t possibly say for how much longer, but they still lived, and they would protect Sand. Temari tried to refuse to think of Konoha and her losses, but could only hear him speak. Dead bodies don’t accomplish missions, he’d said so long ago.

Living bodies can’t keep promises, but Temari was beginning to admire their ability to keep trying.

After the news of Konoha’s disastrous encounter with two of the Akatsuki, Gaara had doubled the reconnaissance patrols around Sand, and now, he had found something – Temari hadn’t wanted to know, but Gaara had insisted on telling her – and deemed it important enough that a messenger carry it personally to the Hokage. Gaara felt he owed Naruto much more than passing along information about the Akatsuki, but it was a start. She hadn’t wanted to leave Sand; a part of her still recoiled at the thought. What would happen while she was gone this time? Gaara, though, had personally asked her to leave. He hadn’t ordered – which she would have argued with – but had looked at her and said the one thing that had broken her resolve: “I need you to, Temari. Please.”

So, Temari had once again left her home, and traveled alone through the vast forests near Konoha. Her Sand escort had left her half a day ago, at the border, and she was moving faster now. She told herself it was not because she was eager to be in Konoha, but she couldn’t deny that she wanted to see her friends hale and whole.

She wanted to make sure he really was all right.

Temari shook her head, firmly telling herself that dwelling on such things was not the way of a ninja, and definitely not the way of the Sand. She passed tree after tree, traveling light and fast, and soon she wasn’t alone. Her companions showed themselves near dusk, but she didn’t start; she’d felt them coming for some time. Two to the side, one in front, one behind. She didn’t miss a step when he fell in beside her. She inclined her head in greeting, and Shikamaru grunted.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you,” she said.

“Wasn’t expecting word that a Sand shinobi was on her way,” he answered in his lazy drawl.

Her mouth drew into a thin line; behind that drawl was a tired, hard edge. Her eyes slid sideways, and she watched him like she’d watch an enemy: carefully gauging his movements, his speed, his face. He was tired, that much was obvious to her. The bags and lines around his eyes spoke volumes. He had never been the most graceful of shinobi, but his deliberate and sometimes jerky movements spoke of a bone-deep exhaustion, and Temari wondered why he’d even leave his bed, much less leave Konoha.

The Shikamaru she knew would be lazing about somewhere, not running beside her. Temari stopped, settling gracefully to the ground and frowned as she watched him stumble forward a few steps before finally stopping. Elsewhere, she heard branches rustle as the other shinobi stopped. “Why’d you come out here?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“Eloquent, Shikamaru. Really.” She snorted. “Look, you’re dead tired. Why’d you come?”

He looked at her, and she saw nothing but him: none of his games, no calculating look, nothing but whatever emotion filled his dark eyes. He finally shrugged. “I’m a coward,” he said.

She couldn’t answer that; she knew he wasn’t lying, but she didn’t know what he was saying.

He overrode her thoughts with a snort and a shrug. “We’ve seen some Sound bastards out here. Once we caught wind of you coming, we thought it best if you were escorted in.” He looked over his shoulder, dark eyes narrowing as he perused the area.

One slender blonde eyebrow was raised at that; he was out of sorts, more bothered than usual about some troublesome mission. Restless, fidgety, and tired. Temari held back a sigh. Best, then, that they not hang around. If the Sound were truly around, and Shikamaru were this tired, Konoha was the best place for them. She shrugged and smiled. “What are we waiting around here for then?”

“You’re the one who stopped,” he deadpanned.

She shrugged, and started to answer, but cut herself off as something tickled her senses. Her hand automatically went to the fan on her back. “Shikamaru?”

His brow furrowed and he spun, putting his back to hers. His hands drifted together, and Temari shook her head at the familiar habits she’d grown to recognize; some things never changed.

“Not yours, then?” she asked quietly as she pulled her fan from her back.

“There’s not supposed to be anyone else out here,” he answered. “What are you guessing?”

She glanced over her shoulder, frowning. For him to be asking… He was more than just tired; exhaustion was overriding his senses. Damn it, Shikamaru. Now was not the time, though, to berate him. She’d take care of that later.“Too close,” she said succinctly. “Four or five, maybe.”

Tree branches rustled to their right. Temari unfolded her fan to the halfway point and swung it to the side, and hoped he didn’t catch the move to guard him. Apparently, though, he wasn’t quite that tired and shot her a glare from behind the fan. She didn’t wince, didn’t acknowledge it at all; only kept her gaze on the trees.

A clipped, strangled cry tore through her thoughts, and a body fell from the trees. Shikamaru jumped, his jaw dropping as his comrade landed with a sickening thud. Temari cursed as she heard the whistle of steel sliding through the air. She brought her half-open fan up, blocked the kunai, and watched the trees intently.

“Temari. I’m moving.” The call was soft, but collected and calculating. There was a soft touch on her shoulder, and Shikamaru stepped around her, hands clasped together. Her gaze traveled to where he was moving; a Sound shinobi had slipped past one of their comrades. The bastard was running toward them, hands flying in seals that she didn’t want to know the end result of.

A handful of shuriken cut neatly through the air on an unerring course to Shikamaru’s back. Temari dropped back, snapped her fan fully open and stepped between them. The shuriken bounced harmlessly off the metal slats. Temari pulled the fan back and swung it forward fiercely. Wind whistled and cut into tree trunks and branches, but Temari didn’t hear or see any evidence her attack had fazed her opponent. Fan still held to guard, she listened intently; sight was, in her opinion, the most oft-fooled sense. Kunai clanked against each other behind her, and she heard a grunt and a soft cry. She resisted the urge to turn and look; she had her own enemy to fight.

Near silent wind rustled through the leaves. Muted sounds of fighting came from behind her. A light, almost cheery bell jangled in the background. Temari whirled, peering into the foliage and still listening. Before her eyes, the vegetation blurred. What the hell? Her eyes narrowed, but she couldn’t bring it into focus. A wave of nausea swept over her and her fingers tightened over her fan. She staggered backward, and brought her fan up reflexively.

Temari nearly yelped when several senbon needles dropped to the ground after hitting her fan. She shook her head, banishing the nausea to the back of her mind. “Shikamaru,” she called, looking over her shoulder. “Watch for senbon,” she said when he nodded to her.

He cocked his head, kunai in his hand lowering a fraction. The Sound shinobi that faced him came at him, and he jumped back, skidding to land just a few feet from Temari. He held up his other hand and Temari winced at the three bloody senbon clutched in his fist.

“Oh, so you already knew,” she said lightly. She tore her gaze from him and back to the thrice-damned foliage in front on her. “You know,” she said, “in Wind Country, you can see for miles.”

He grunted, not turning away from the shinobi that was advancing on him.

“You all right?” Temari asked.

“You got yours yet?” Before she could answer, he leapt forward, the kunai leaving his hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Sound ninja jump to avoid the thrown knife and toward Shikamaru’s Kage Mane.

She shook her head and didn’t bother calling out an answer to his rejoinder. Another flurry of senbon needles flew through the air. Temari knocked them away with a flick of her fan. “That’s it,” she muttered. “I’m not standing here and taking this.” She set her feet and swung the wide-open fan with a cry.

This time, she saw her opponent dodge the blast. Temari snapped the fan closed and ran to the side, following the Sound nin. A burst of chakra, and she leapt into the tree branches and shot forward. She didn’t take the time to savor the look of surprise on his face when she landed mere yards from him; she swung the fan with a ferocity that wasn’t quite needed. It did, however, get the job done. Overkill. She was learning from Gaara, apparently. She grimaced, but didn’t dwell on it. Temari turned back to the initial battlefield.

A shout made her quicken her pace. She landed in the small clearing in time to find Shikamaru rolling across the ground. He rolled to his knees, hands together. “Move, Temari,” he called.

She didn’t question; she jumped back, eyes widening as a kunai flew through the air inches from her nose. She landed on one foot and was immediately hit from behind.

Shit! Temari stumbled forward, awkwardly twisting her fan behind her. Shuriken bounced off the slats harmlessly, and she berated herself even as she turned: she should have seen the blow coming. Something thudded against the fan, and it took her a moment to realize it was a foot. She dropped to her knees and levered the closed fan upward, throwing her assailant back a few steps. She caught a glimpse of Shikamaru rushing forward, his shadow bending and stretching, as she turned. Fan still closed, she swung it hard and belted her newest opponent across the arm. He staggered sideways, but came in close again. Temari danced backward, blocking his every blow.

She leapt back, her fan snapping open. She brought it back, intending to level her opponent – and half the forest behind him, if she had to – with one blow. He twirled a kunai in his fingers and she smirked; no kunai would hurt her.

He let the kunai fly. Temari faltered when it missed her by a good margin and her eyes widened in horror when she heard it connect.

She whirled, mouth agape, and watched Shikamaru stagger forward as the kunai bit deeply into his back. He went to one knee, and he braced himself with one hand on the ground as his shadow receded, freeing the ninja he’d trapped. The freed shinobi jumped forward, and tackled Shikamaru, the point of a kunai against his throat.

Temari stumbled as her assailant launched an attack at her midsection. With a vicious punch, she sent him staggering backward a few steps. “Bastard,” she hissed, and she brought the fan back for another blow. The ninja danced to the side, dodging the hit. Temari chased him, her anger overriding all else. Granted a reprieve as he retreated a few steps, she glanced back. She found Shikamaru on his back, snarling at the Sound ninja leaning over him. His hand was wrapped around his opponent’s wrist, and the kunai the enemy held was dangerously close to his jaw. A line of shadow connected them, a dark wavering hand around the Sound nin’s throat and Shikamaru brought his other hand up and shoved against fist holding the kunai. He managed to shove it away from his throat, until it hovered over his chest.

The Sound nin brought his other hand back and brought his fist crashing down on Shikamaru’s temple. The kunai dipped lower, the tip scratching against Shikamaru’s vest. With a grunt, he shoved again and the kunai hovered over his ribs. A cry echoed and the Sound shinobi punched him again.

Temari tore her gaze away, narrow eyes seeking out her opponent. Her fan snapped completely open. “C’mon, you,” she muttered as she leapt forward, the fan behind her shoulders.

Her opponent’s eyes widened, and he clasped his hands together, starting a string of seals Temari wouldn’t let him finish. With a yell, she swung the fan, blades of wind leaving a field of devastation and a mutilated body.

She didn’t bother with gloating. She landed on one foot, and spun before shoving off again and running back toward Shikamaru, cursing all the way. She could see the lines of shadow wavering.

Temari swung the fan, crying out. The shadow disappeared, and the kunai was shoved forward. There was a cry, and Temari winced; she knew that voice too well. The Sound ninja flew backward, his back cracking against a tree before he slumped forward. Temari brought the fan back again. “Don’t you move,” she said quietly as she stepped over Shikamaru, refusing to look down. To look down would acknowledge his hurt, her failure. Without hesitation, she whipped the fan forward.

A ninja was emotionless in the face of her enemy’s death, yet Temari found a grim satisfaction in the blood that arced in her wind.

He coughed behind her and she whirled to find him struggling, one hand braced against the ground, the other wrapped around the kunai’s handle. She blanched at the blood coating his hands. For a moment, she was silent as she stared at the metal in his chest. “I told you not to move,” she blurted, her voice hard.

He gasped an answer she didn’t hear; all she saw was the blood on his lips.

“Don’t,” she said again, and she leaned down and rested her hand on his, stilling the fingers moving against the kunai. “Don’t mess with it; we’ll take of it. Not now.” She nodded once when one of the other Konoha shinobi appeared beside her; he was one she didn’t know, but he gazed upon Shikamaru with obvious concern.

“Is he all right?” he asked.

Temari just shrugged. “Two kunai,” she said. “Our status?”

She thought for a moment that he might argue – he was Konoha, she was not – but he didn’t seem to care. “Two of our own are dead, four Sound dead. Two others fled. I decided not to pursue.”

She nodded. Shikamaru jerked to the side, hand resting against the nearby tree. Surprised, Temari pulled her hands away. “Shikamaru? What?”

He grimaced, clawing at the tree. “Can’t breathe.”

Temari nodded. “Help him sit up a bit,” she instructed her companion. She had her hand on his shoulder, peering at the wound in his chest when she heard them again.

Her head snapped up. The bells jangled merrily behind her. Shikamaru’s hand tightened around the handle of the kunai embedded between his ribs. “Don’t you even think of moving,” she told him. She spun on her heels, and leaned to the side to reach her fan.

The Sound shinobi came out of the trees, his hands already moving.

The other Konoha chuunin cursed. “The bastard doubled back.”

Temari dove forward, her fingers brushing against the metal of her fan, swearing mightily; she didn’t have time. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and stilled. A bloody kunai flew past her and a line of dark shadow shot along the ground. The Sound ninja stopped suddenly, his eyes wide with fright, and the kunai – coated in the blood of a Konoha chuunin – buried itself in his neck. Temari didn’t watch him fall; she whirled around, mouth agape as the shadow receded.

A ninja was supposed to be emotionless in the face of death, but Temari knew her limits would be tested when she turned. Shikamaru slumped forward, and Temari couldn’t move. She watched him fall, watched the blood coat the ground and knew it should coat her hands. It was only when he hit the ground that she finally moved. She leaned forward, hands reaching for his shoulders. “Shikamaru?” She turned him onto his side, careful of the wound in his back. “Be breathing, Shikamaru.” She hated how tentative her voice sounded. She hated him for making her uncertain.

His mouth moved, and he cleared his throat. His breath caught, and she heard wet rattling in his throat. She wanted to wipe the blood from his chin. If she couldn’t see it, it didn’t exist. He was trying to talk, and she put her ear next to his lips. When she heard him speak, her breath hitched and she cursed every damned promise that lead to this.

I finally did it perfectly. It was the last thing she’d heard him say, and it echoed cruelly in her mind. It drowned out everything else, kept anything from making sense, kept her from peace. She didn’t cry, she didn’t pace. She merely stood, silent and unmoving and let the world pass her by and, God, what she wouldn’t give to just go back in time. She never would have left Sand, would have broken every promise she make to her brothers if it just meant not having dragged him into this.

She had tried to yell at him for it. She had tried to berate him for keeping that damned promise. She had tried, tried and failed, and all she could give him was her assurance that she really did respect him. Always had, she had said, and she couldn’t be sure if she had been lying or not.

No matter how hard she had tried, or what he’d done, they were both the same people. He still was a soft-hearted lazy coward and she was… she wasn’t sure anymore. She was hurting. She was wishing. She was stuck, standing still, forever waiting.

She had once promised to wait and see what kind of man Shikamaru would grow to be.

Temari closed her eyes, blocked out the sounds around her and listened to nothing. Not Ino crying, not Chouji fidgeting, not Shikamaru’s father pacing. Not the sounds of the hospital. Nothing. Nothing but the sound of her own heart pounding, and she wanted to stop it if it meant she’d hear the words she needed to.

She had promised to wait. She would wait until she heard what she needed to. Wait and see if she would keep this promise; it did no good to wait on a dead man.

So Temari kept waiting, standing stoically outside a hospital room, listening to nothing and praying that, for once, a promise kept wouldn’t end in misery.

The sound of a door opening prompted her to open her eyes, and she watched the Hokage stride down the hallway and stop in front of Shikaku. Temari pretended not to listen, not when Ino stepped beside her and rested a hand on her arm. Not when Chouji stood up and took a step forward. Not when Shikaku bowed his head, nodded once, and followed Tsunade behind closed doors.

Temari had waited until his team members – they were fragile right now, she could see it clearly – and his family had seen him. She had waited until Tsunade and Shizune had been in and out so many times she’d lost count. Ino had invited her to for lunch, and Chouji had handed her a bag of chips (and then sat with her and ate half of it). She had waited, pretending she didn’t care – that she wasn’t trying to keep a useless promise – and finally went into the room as the sun set that day.

Shikamaru was sleeping, and she wasn’t sure if she was glad or disappointed. She had wanted to ask him a few things. She wanted to talk.

She wanted to yell at him for what he did. “Were you trying to kill yourself?” she asked quietly as she crossed the room. She rearranged the flowers Ino had brought earlier, and lifted herself onto the window sill. She rested her chin in her hand, and watched him sleep. “I don’t get you.”

Shikamaru shifted in his sleep, his brow furrowing.

Temari frowned. “Yeah, she’s got you so drugged you won’t be awake for days.” She sighed. “Really, there’s no point in me being here.” She dropped from her perch. She looked at the flowers again and carefully put them in their original arrangement. “They looked better that way.”

She stopped for a moment beside the bed. “I’m sorry to break it to you, crybaby, but you’re not a coward.”

She walked away and was halfway to the door when she heard his voice. She turned, eyebrow raised. “Shikamaru?”

“Am.”

Temari frowned and crossed the room again. “Am what?” she asked, kneeling.

His eyes were slitted, fogged and full of pain. He licked dry lips and a trace of that smirk she couldn’t decide if she liked or hated appeared. “Coward.”

Temari rested her elbows on the bed. “Why?”

The smirk faded and was replaced with pain; a raw pain that Temari had only been on the fringes of. “Don’t like it,” he said softly, his voice rasping a bit. His eyes found hers. “Losing people.”

Temari looked down, resting her forehead on clasped hands. When she moved, she did so swiftly. She patted his shoulder and stood. “You need more medication,” she said quietly. She turned to leave, then looked over her shoulder as she opened the door. “Sleep, all right? I’ll be back.”

She closed the door quickly, and leaned against it. A smile spread across her face, and for once, she was glad for those damned promises made: it made him grow, and it made her wait.

Temari sent a message to Gaara as soon as she could; she was staying a little longer than she had thought. She had promises to keep.