Vintage Venus

Pairing: Shikamaru/Temari Theme: canon-divergent; immediately pre-fourth war

Temari is waiting for him when he comes around the corner. Shikamaru assumes who is there— he must have known — before he even catches the bottom of her kimono blowing gently in the breeze, the hem just brushing the top of her ankles. It has been a while since she has worn that kimono. So long that he feels the pool of heat in his stomach at the sight, but not long enough that he doesn’t know who it belongs to.

Seeing her is an old confidence, intrinsic and settled long ago, as though it has always been this way. As though it has never been anything else.

“I’m sorry,” he says as soon as he is clear of the corner. His flak jacket is zipped all the way up, snug around this neck, and he feels a bit choked. “I didn’t know.”

Temari huffs, annoyed at him already. The sun catches her eye as she looks toward it, lashes fluttering. “Don’t apologize.”

He feels the weight of it in his chest, in his head; spilling out of his mouth.

“I don’t deserve it.”

“Shikamaru—”

“No,” he says, taking a step closer. The sun is hot on his brow even though it is already evening; even though he can feel the breeze chilling the rim of his ear in shadow. “You rank higher than me. I’m usurping you. For absolutely no reason.”

When she looks over him, she doesn’t look angry. She doesn’t even look sad.

“It's not a question of deserve, Shikamaru,” she answers gently, as though coaxing him into placation. “I shouldn't be it. You should.” Her eyes level his, her chin raises. “Now stop. Guilt makes you seem weak.”

He doesn’t look down to trace the shadows of her collarbone and the set of her lips, but he somehow notices all these things anyway. Instead, he matches her gaze, focusing on the intent behind her eyes.

“You’re a jonin,” he clarifies, as though she isn’t well aware of the circumstances. “I rank below you.”

She exhales and her whole chest falls with it. “Yes. Realistically I may deserve it. On paper. But that means nothing in real life.” Temari pushes off the wall she had been leaning against and takes a step closer to him. “Rank doesn’t designate skill. It’s just a flawed systematic way of trying to locate a range.”

Shikamaru holds his breath. He, too, takes another step forward. She is beginning to crowd into his space, or perhaps he into hers.

“Aren’t you the one who wanted me to become a jonin?”

Was he always this much taller than her?

She tilts her head to the side. Her fan shifts on her back, but her shoulders remain square. “Not for me,” she says.

Shikamaru swallows. His mouth feels dry. He shifts his weight. She is staring him down, keeping him grounded in her gravity.

“I wasn’t telling you to do that so you could fight me, but because you should do it for yourself. You could be — should be — a jonin.”

He doesn’t blush, despite the compliment heating his stomach. Instead something about the words feel right; they feel common, easy… expected.

He takes one more step forward, just an inch, and looks down at her. He lifts one hand and places it on her shoulder, strong beneath his palm, and he straightens the strap of the fan. “I know,” he says, as she is waiting for him to say, “but I’d do it for you.”

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this is an excerpt from the tsafv2 chapter On Mercy