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She squinted her eyes, letting her lashes sift out the debris flying through the air while still maintaining her vision of the battlefield around her. It had been years since the shinobi war, yet she couldn’t help but feel the overlap between her memories and the current battle: the heavy weight of her fan in her hand, the taste of dirt and grit in her tongue, the thick stench of smoke and burned flesh, the screams that marked the end of another shinobi life. A shinobi that she had undoubtedly known at some point in her own existence.
In a war between Suna and Konoha, it felt like a battle for her very identity.
It was more instinct than conscious thought that had her turning away from the kunai that flew at her throat, and she berated herself for allowing her mind to drift in battle, even while her body continued pivoting, her arm whipping another kunai back in retaliation. As soon as her eyes met her opponent’s, she felt her concentration fail and her feet stutter to a stop.
“Temari.”
The sound of his voice, seeped in anguish yet hard as steel, washed over her and froze her mind and body more completely than if he had melded his shadow to her own. She absently wiped at the line of fire on her cheek, evidence that she had not made it through their exchange unscathed, and heard her heart thunder in her ears. She wished that it was louder. Loud enough to drown out the sound of names screamed in anguish, putting faces to the horror around her. Loud enough to wash away the memories of the faces of those she murdered already. Loud enough that she could somehow forget the echoes of his voice whispering soft words of love and devotion.
“Shikamaru.”
Her heart hammered even harder in her chest, belying the cold hollowness of her voice. She grit her teeth, struggling to find the words to say. Was there even a way to say “I’m sorry” and “how could you?” at the same time?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a flickering darkness in the periphery of her vision. In a single movement she jumped into the air and whipped her fan in front of her, simultaneously launching her body away from his grasping shadows and forcing him to release his signature handsigns in the face of her impromptu attack.
He wiped away the blood that now trickled from the cut on his face and glowered at her. In any other situation she would have been pleased by his frustrated countenance, but the weight of the dead would not let her enjoy even the smallest victory.
“Temari, you need to stop.”
She stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief.
“I need to stop?” All at once, her anger broke through her despair. “We are in the middle of a war, a war that Konoha started when you murdered my brother , and you have the gall to tell me to stop?”
His eyes widened at her words, and she saw his brain predict her attack almost as soon as her body moved. He nimbly dodged out of the path of her wind scythe, but made no attempt to move any closer to her position; staying close enough to speak to her, but too far to stage his own attack. She narrowed her eyes at the implication.
“Shikamaru, you better not think for a second that there is a way that you can talk me out of this.”
He exhaled slowly, his face twisted in anguish before hardening once again. He continued watching her carefully, but she noticed his eyes unfocus and his hands twitch for a moment. She recognized it as the lingering remnants of his old thinking pose; a moment in which he analyzed every variable around him to find the one true strategy for success. A moment that she refused to give him.
She knew that he was as familiar with her own jutsu arsenal as she was with his, but she also knew that that familiarity could let him grow complacent. Complacent enough to overlook the fact that she already had fresh blood on her hand from their earlier exchange. She swung her open fan to the side and ran her fingers along the backside of the fabric, trusting her weapon to hide the true extent of her attack. She inhaled, letting the air fuel the chakra into her weapon, and began her swing. Only once her body was fully committed to casting her summoning jutsu did she allow herself to look back into the eyes of the man before her. The man she had sworn to love for the rest of her life, even as he promised the same to her.
She knew that it was a promise that they both would keep.
The wind tore from the end of her tessen, and she turned away, not wanting to watch Kamitari and his whirlwinds tear across the battlefield until he had consumed everything before him. The breath finally exhaled from her lungs in a harsh cry, tears falling from her eye to mix with the blood that had once again started to drip down her cheek.
She was so caught up in her grief that she didn’t immediately notice the abrupt silence until his shadow was nearly upon her.
Her muscles instinctively fought against the binding, leaving her caught in the follow through of her attack. “What- what did you do Kamitari!” She practically spat the words at him.
He regarded her cooly, and she found her rage tempered by his own anger. It was a look that she had rarely seen in all of their years together. “Temari, Kamitari was never summoned, and I need you to think about why . Where are we? How did this happen. Remember.”
Her body continued to instinctively fight against his restraints, and she once again felt her anger spike before catching sight of the chain and the ring within his grasp. The ring that she had given him. The ring that had been embedded with jutsus from the Akimichi and Yamanaka clans.
“ Temari. You can do this”
It was less than a whisper, but Temari could recognize Ino’s voice anywhere.
She felt another spike of anger, willing her to fight the bonds that held her tight, but she ignored the emotion in order to look around and analyze the battle that still raged around her. She first looked at the cuts in the earth from her own attack and realized that they were far too shallow to have been a part of her summoning jutsu. Which meant that despite her perfect form and technique, it wasn’t that Shikamaru thwarted Kamitari’s attack, but rather that her bonded weasel had never been summoned in the first place. Or at least not summoned here.
Where are we?
She looked around; the battle continued, and she recognized the faces of those who fought around her, but the cries didn’t seem quite as desperate as they did before. She took note of the low shrubs and the sandy soil beneath her feet, but the sun didn’t feel quite as intense on her skin as she remembered, and the taste of the grit in her mouth was far too earthy to be right for the sandy soil of the Suna-Konoha border.
I’m in Konoha. This is a genjutsu.
She focused inward, trying to fluctuate her chakra to break the mental prison, but when she opened her eyes the scene remained unchanged, the fight seemingly growing more intense around them.
“Shikamaru- what happened. I can’t break the genjutsu.” She noticed the hard set to his eyes. “Shikamaru. Tell me what happened. What did I do?”
He sighed and held his ring before her. “You still have your ring, right?”
She nodded silently.
“Take your ring in hand and channel your chakra through the ring. Ino should be able to help you break the jutsu.”
“Shikamaru- what did I do?!”
Shikamaru continued to look at her, his gaze heavy, and Temari took a stuttering breath.
“I tried to stop you, but every time we tried to break the genjutsu, you would fight even harder. Kiba and Akamaru tried to bind you… Sakura’s working with them now. Once you’re back we’ll find who did this.”
Temari met his eyes, seeing the same sense of harsh determination she felt mirrored back at her. She didn’t need to tell him about the burning need for retribution nor the fear that his friends may blame her for the acts that she had committed on behalf of someone else. Still…
She reached into the hidden pocket of her kimono and gripped the ring that resided there. As her chakra flooded into the object, the sights, sounds, and smells of battle slowly began to bleed to darkness. Her body was still locked in the same position, held in place by Shikamaru’s jutsu, but the sensation that had triggered anger and rage through the unknown shinobi’s genjutsu now invoked a sense of calm resolve.
Still…
Just before the blackness enveloped them, she looked into Shikamaru’s eyes and saw the same weight of guilt reflected there. The guilt of feeling powerless to help the one you love.
I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you
I’m sorry I was used as a weapon against you
“Forgive me.”