[fic] rumours have become history (Shikamaru/Temari)
Title: rumours have become history
Fandom: Naruto
Pairing: Shikamaru/Temari
Author: Ryuuzaki
Recipient: Swift
Rating: PG
Words: 1560
Request: I'd love to get a look at just how bitter and dysfunctional a relationship between two shinobi whose countries haven't had the greatest relationship in the past must be.
Notes: Spoilers for the recent chapters, up to 342. Swift, my sincerest apologies that this is a few days late. I really hope that you like it, even though it might be a little be different from what you might have wanted. I also apologise that my blatant love for Gaara managed to slip in the fic. I'm sorry!
Gaara sleeps for three days, and she stays in the white hospital room and waits. The first day she stays because she’s still afraid to let him sleep (it’s an irrational fear, she knows, Shukaku’s gone and Gaara’s alive, but she can’t forget the look on his face). The second day it rains, and she leans out of rain streaked windows, trying to catch the water in her palm. The rain is heavy and suffocating, but it’s warm against her skin and the noise drowns out the clocks and Gaara’s breathing. The third day she tosses the wilting flowers on the bedside table into the garbage and watches the sand creep in through cracks in the window, gathering on the floor around the bed until Gaara’s eyes open. He turns, and stares wide eyed at her until she manages an awkward smile. He struggles, sits up and falls back against the pillows with his eyes on the ceiling.
Gaara’s fingers clench (one, twice) and the sand murmurs around the edges of the bed. He reaches (long fingers outstretched, grasping) for the glass of water on the bedside table, and knocks the glass over. There’s an awkward stiffness in his movements as he manipulates the sand, almost as if he’s testing his control. Temari thinks she has not seen this Gaara, and for a moment she wants to keep him here inside the stuffy hospital for fear that someone else might see him the way she does. Footsteps, and Kankuro is leaning in the doorway, shoulder blades against the hinges. There are faint smudges of makeup around his eyes, paint stains across his left cheek and his face is still pale.
When do you leave for Konoha, he asks, pushing off the wall and taking a few steps in the room. Gaara unclenches his fist, looks up. The sand murmurs, settles against the bedposts. She wants to say I’ll leave when you don’t look so pale but she bites the inside of her cheek, looking away.
You should go back tomorrow, Gaara says, and she’s so surprised that she nods, agrees.
It rains in Konohagakure on the day she leaves, but the stench of rain is still hanging heavy in the air faintly metallic and musty. She half expected stares, as if the rumours had reached the country before she did. Her apartment near the academy looks the same. She leaves her fan leaning against the front door and tosses her backpack on an unmade bed. There’s a faint layer of dust on the kitchen table, a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, and she left the radio on. She finishes washing the dishes to a murmur of voices and laughter that drifts in from the bedroom.
The blinds in the living room rustle, and there’s a soft burn of familiar chakra against her skin. Shikamaru is sticking his head through the open window, brushing the blinds aside. I didn’t feel like knocking, he says, as if he expects her to let him inside in the first place. She crosses the room with soap on her fingers and locks the door.
There’s a sigh, and then in an attempt to either relieve boredom or just to annoy her, he lays down on her front porch, folds his arms behind his head and starts talking. She ignores him (for the most part) and starts boiling water, pulling anything worth eating out of the fridge. Shikamaru’s still talking, about his team, the upcoming chuunin exam (delayed again, and there’s some irony there), that Naruto’s already on another mission (he mentions Uchiha Sasuke and there’s a pause), and Hatake Kakashi’s still in the hospital. She wonders (offhand, with a slight smirk) if this is some way of consoling her.
She wonders (passing Shikamaru a plate through the window) when she started to fit in.
Shikamaru’s leaning on his palm, ignoring the papers and mug of cold coffee in front of him. She taps her fan against the ground once, and he turns his head slightly to scowl at her. They’ve been reviewing exam questions for three hours (after two hours of meetings) and even Temari’s starting to fidget. The chuunin exam will have to be delayed slightly (again) due to the Akatsuki threat, and the fear of repeating the exam three years before. An hour ago she overheard a group of jounin complaining about the changes, and the Sunagakure-Konohagakure alliance (only held together by two teenage boys, one of them had said) and watched Shikamaru’s frown deepen. She wants to say something, but there’s more truth in that then she’s like to admit.
Shikamaru leans over at eleven thirty, covering the papers in front of her with his hand and insisting that they go find something to eat. If you’re paying, she says. He scowls and rolls his eyes, but says nothing. Ichiraku is still open, and he orders for her. They eat together under dimly lit lanterns, shoulders brushing.
He shows up on her doorstep two days later at nine thirty with a slip of paper between his fingers (From the Hokage, he says, bringing in the rain). She slams the door in his face while she grabs the fan leaning in the doorway, slinging it over her shoulders before meeting him out on the front steps. He walks a few steps of her (and she lets him, clutching an umbrella with on hand). She wonders if it ever stops raining here.
When they walk in to the fifth Hokage’s office (Shizune lets them in after two knocks), Temari stays a step behind him. She only half listens to the conversation, picking up on Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke and Orochimaru, rumours another failed mission and two Akatsuki members nearby . The fifth Hokage taps her pen against the desk as she’s talking, eyes on the open window and Shikamaru manages to look uninterested (though he’s clenching his fists at his side). The mission briefing’s in a hour, she says.
Shikamaru challenges her to a game (or two) of shougi before he leaves. She plays recklessly, losing a pawn, a bishop, a silver general. He plays six moves ahead of her, losing a general and a rook before he moves foreword, sliding his knight across the board. He picks up the white king between shaking fingers, places it on the other side of the board.
The last meeting ends and she’s waiting in front of the Hokage’s office (arms crossed and eyes closed) when she overhears murmurs of another failed mission. She catches the words Akatsuki, Asuma Sarutobi’s team, and rumours of a casualty and pounds on the front door until the Hokage lets her inside.
She finds him after the funeral in front of her apartment building, pressing a cigarette to his lips. He doesn’t look up when she approaches, sits down beside him. He’s wearing black (it reminds her of the shougi pieces, white or black tosses aside, won, lost). She had thought he might cry. She remembers his tears three years before, the shadows of his shaking shoulders and clenched hands at his sides, the dull and musty air of the hospital and the faint smell of blood that seemed to follow him. He’s not crying now, and she’s not either, but the smoke from his cigarette is getting in her eyes. She’s probably supposed to put her hand on his shoulder, or reach for his hand or something, but her hands remain curved around the familiar edges of the fan resting against her knee. He breathes around the filter and she leans against his back, fan tapping once against the ground. She tilts her head back, watching the clouds.
Smoking doesn’t make you look any older, she says.
No, he says. I suppose it doesn’t.
Temari leaves for Sunagakure the day he leaves for revenge. There’s no work to do (not alone, at least) and her apartment feels to small. The journey back is uneventful but for the first time in her life, she starts to feel the heat (the dry air, the scratch of sand). She’s been in Konohagakure too long.
She knocks once, and walks into the Kazekage’s office without waiting for a response. Gaara barely looks up from his paperwork, nods in her direction. She sits down in a chair, crossing her legs and dropping the fan at her side, pausing only a moment before starting to talk. Sunagakure will hold the chuunin exam the following year (if the off on alliance between Sand and Leaf remains on). Gaara hands her a letter from the fifth Hokage, and her eyes scan the letter (Nara Shikamaru, Uzumaki Naruto, successful mission, two Akatsuki members defeated) and she sinks back into the chair with a faint smile. She supposes she should be surprised, but she’s not. She watches Gaara poke at the cup of instant ramen (delivered at Naruto’s request) out of the corner of her eye and it’s almost ridiculous, thinking about the two of them. Gaara’s already the Kazekage and it seems like it’s only a matter of time before Naruto become the next Hokage. She watches Gaara attempt to eat the instant ramen (It’s not bad, he says, want to try some?) and rubs her temples.
Shikamaru’s waiting for her at the gates, with his arms crossed and back against the wall, staring at the clouds.
Fandom: Naruto
Pairing: Shikamaru/Temari
Author: Ryuuzaki
Recipient: Swift
Rating: PG
Words: 1560
Request: I'd love to get a look at just how bitter and dysfunctional a relationship between two shinobi whose countries haven't had the greatest relationship in the past must be.
Notes: Spoilers for the recent chapters, up to 342. Swift, my sincerest apologies that this is a few days late. I really hope that you like it, even though it might be a little be different from what you might have wanted. I also apologise that my blatant love for Gaara managed to slip in the fic. I'm sorry!
Gaara sleeps for three days, and she stays in the white hospital room and waits. The first day she stays because she’s still afraid to let him sleep (it’s an irrational fear, she knows, Shukaku’s gone and Gaara’s alive, but she can’t forget the look on his face). The second day it rains, and she leans out of rain streaked windows, trying to catch the water in her palm. The rain is heavy and suffocating, but it’s warm against her skin and the noise drowns out the clocks and Gaara’s breathing. The third day she tosses the wilting flowers on the bedside table into the garbage and watches the sand creep in through cracks in the window, gathering on the floor around the bed until Gaara’s eyes open. He turns, and stares wide eyed at her until she manages an awkward smile. He struggles, sits up and falls back against the pillows with his eyes on the ceiling.
Gaara’s fingers clench (one, twice) and the sand murmurs around the edges of the bed. He reaches (long fingers outstretched, grasping) for the glass of water on the bedside table, and knocks the glass over. There’s an awkward stiffness in his movements as he manipulates the sand, almost as if he’s testing his control. Temari thinks she has not seen this Gaara, and for a moment she wants to keep him here inside the stuffy hospital for fear that someone else might see him the way she does. Footsteps, and Kankuro is leaning in the doorway, shoulder blades against the hinges. There are faint smudges of makeup around his eyes, paint stains across his left cheek and his face is still pale.
When do you leave for Konoha, he asks, pushing off the wall and taking a few steps in the room. Gaara unclenches his fist, looks up. The sand murmurs, settles against the bedposts. She wants to say I’ll leave when you don’t look so pale but she bites the inside of her cheek, looking away.
You should go back tomorrow, Gaara says, and she’s so surprised that she nods, agrees.
It rains in Konohagakure on the day she leaves, but the stench of rain is still hanging heavy in the air faintly metallic and musty. She half expected stares, as if the rumours had reached the country before she did. Her apartment near the academy looks the same. She leaves her fan leaning against the front door and tosses her backpack on an unmade bed. There’s a faint layer of dust on the kitchen table, a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, and she left the radio on. She finishes washing the dishes to a murmur of voices and laughter that drifts in from the bedroom.
The blinds in the living room rustle, and there’s a soft burn of familiar chakra against her skin. Shikamaru is sticking his head through the open window, brushing the blinds aside. I didn’t feel like knocking, he says, as if he expects her to let him inside in the first place. She crosses the room with soap on her fingers and locks the door.
There’s a sigh, and then in an attempt to either relieve boredom or just to annoy her, he lays down on her front porch, folds his arms behind his head and starts talking. She ignores him (for the most part) and starts boiling water, pulling anything worth eating out of the fridge. Shikamaru’s still talking, about his team, the upcoming chuunin exam (delayed again, and there’s some irony there), that Naruto’s already on another mission (he mentions Uchiha Sasuke and there’s a pause), and Hatake Kakashi’s still in the hospital. She wonders (offhand, with a slight smirk) if this is some way of consoling her.
She wonders (passing Shikamaru a plate through the window) when she started to fit in.
Shikamaru’s leaning on his palm, ignoring the papers and mug of cold coffee in front of him. She taps her fan against the ground once, and he turns his head slightly to scowl at her. They’ve been reviewing exam questions for three hours (after two hours of meetings) and even Temari’s starting to fidget. The chuunin exam will have to be delayed slightly (again) due to the Akatsuki threat, and the fear of repeating the exam three years before. An hour ago she overheard a group of jounin complaining about the changes, and the Sunagakure-Konohagakure alliance (only held together by two teenage boys, one of them had said) and watched Shikamaru’s frown deepen. She wants to say something, but there’s more truth in that then she’s like to admit.
Shikamaru leans over at eleven thirty, covering the papers in front of her with his hand and insisting that they go find something to eat. If you’re paying, she says. He scowls and rolls his eyes, but says nothing. Ichiraku is still open, and he orders for her. They eat together under dimly lit lanterns, shoulders brushing.
He shows up on her doorstep two days later at nine thirty with a slip of paper between his fingers (From the Hokage, he says, bringing in the rain). She slams the door in his face while she grabs the fan leaning in the doorway, slinging it over her shoulders before meeting him out on the front steps. He walks a few steps of her (and she lets him, clutching an umbrella with on hand). She wonders if it ever stops raining here.
When they walk in to the fifth Hokage’s office (Shizune lets them in after two knocks), Temari stays a step behind him. She only half listens to the conversation, picking up on Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke and Orochimaru, rumours another failed mission and two Akatsuki members nearby . The fifth Hokage taps her pen against the desk as she’s talking, eyes on the open window and Shikamaru manages to look uninterested (though he’s clenching his fists at his side). The mission briefing’s in a hour, she says.
Shikamaru challenges her to a game (or two) of shougi before he leaves. She plays recklessly, losing a pawn, a bishop, a silver general. He plays six moves ahead of her, losing a general and a rook before he moves foreword, sliding his knight across the board. He picks up the white king between shaking fingers, places it on the other side of the board.
The last meeting ends and she’s waiting in front of the Hokage’s office (arms crossed and eyes closed) when she overhears murmurs of another failed mission. She catches the words Akatsuki, Asuma Sarutobi’s team, and rumours of a casualty and pounds on the front door until the Hokage lets her inside.
She finds him after the funeral in front of her apartment building, pressing a cigarette to his lips. He doesn’t look up when she approaches, sits down beside him. He’s wearing black (it reminds her of the shougi pieces, white or black tosses aside, won, lost). She had thought he might cry. She remembers his tears three years before, the shadows of his shaking shoulders and clenched hands at his sides, the dull and musty air of the hospital and the faint smell of blood that seemed to follow him. He’s not crying now, and she’s not either, but the smoke from his cigarette is getting in her eyes. She’s probably supposed to put her hand on his shoulder, or reach for his hand or something, but her hands remain curved around the familiar edges of the fan resting against her knee. He breathes around the filter and she leans against his back, fan tapping once against the ground. She tilts her head back, watching the clouds.
Smoking doesn’t make you look any older, she says.
No, he says. I suppose it doesn’t.
Temari leaves for Sunagakure the day he leaves for revenge. There’s no work to do (not alone, at least) and her apartment feels to small. The journey back is uneventful but for the first time in her life, she starts to feel the heat (the dry air, the scratch of sand). She’s been in Konohagakure too long.
She knocks once, and walks into the Kazekage’s office without waiting for a response. Gaara barely looks up from his paperwork, nods in her direction. She sits down in a chair, crossing her legs and dropping the fan at her side, pausing only a moment before starting to talk. Sunagakure will hold the chuunin exam the following year (if the off on alliance between Sand and Leaf remains on). Gaara hands her a letter from the fifth Hokage, and her eyes scan the letter (Nara Shikamaru, Uzumaki Naruto, successful mission, two Akatsuki members defeated) and she sinks back into the chair with a faint smile. She supposes she should be surprised, but she’s not. She watches Gaara poke at the cup of instant ramen (delivered at Naruto’s request) out of the corner of her eye and it’s almost ridiculous, thinking about the two of them. Gaara’s already the Kazekage and it seems like it’s only a matter of time before Naruto become the next Hokage. She watches Gaara attempt to eat the instant ramen (It’s not bad, he says, want to try some?) and rubs her temples.
Shikamaru’s waiting for her at the gates, with his arms crossed and back against the wall, staring at the clouds.