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The morning of, they usually don’t make love, even though they do most mornings they are together. They’re too sad, and this morning is no exception. They ended up talking until they fell asleep last night, which means yesterday morning will be the last time she will have felt him inside her, been in his arms as she comes apart at the seams, and laid in his arms while she put herself back together. He never passes judgement on her for falling apart, and he doesn’t try to interrupt the process or otherwise influence it. However, sometimes he does watch.
The look in his eyes when he knows he can watch her, bared, no masks and no walls, has always wrecked something deep inside of her. From the age of fifteen, something about him has reverberated around the inside of her skull, chanting words she tried with all her might not to listen to.
He’s it. He’s the one.
How cruel, then, for fate to make them for each other and place them in different worlds.
With a mundane finality more befitting of death’s looming visit, Shikamaru and Temari rise. They do not shower, but they spend many stretches of several moments staring at one another, teeming with unsustainable emotions and countless things they want to say.
He wishes he could stay, and they both know that he can’t.
He packs his bag as slow as humanly possible, and Temari smiles when she realizes that he is prolonging the seconds left until their inevitable separation.
When at last his things are packed and Shikamaru has pretended to search for something around her room twice, Temari rises from the bed.
“Time to change,” he says, even as his arms wrap around her. “I can’t leave you when you barely have anything on.”
“I did that for your benefit.” She teases, arching until her barely-clothed breasts lay against his chest.
Shikamaru exhales sharply, but not in the way that she’s just turned him on; it’s more that he’s sighing with grief, the difficulty of the situation, the fact that he must endure this pain again.
“Thanks.” He mutters, with an effort to sound brave.
But he pulls her fiercely as close as he can and buries his face in her hair. Both arms are around her with such strength that she knows his elbow from his wrist and can picture the angles of both arms: one at a 43 degree angle up her back, the other mostly parallel, by her waist.
She knows it is to feel her breathe. At this proximity, he could feel her hiccup.
She exhales, to fight pointlessly against all the romantic things that want to come out of her mouth, against the names she wants to call him, against the things she wants to admit, against the things she wants to apologize for.
“It’s not even a month this time.” She grips the back of his head, letting him know that she will not break his hold. “Today is the 26th, and I’ll be in Konoha to see you on the 20th of next month. It’s not even a month…” Her repetition is not useful in making her believe the words, either.
“Twenty-five days.” His voice is unclear, strangled by the constriction of his throat.
Temari’s heart seizes up in her chest. “Shhhh.” She finds herself muttering, knowing with absolute certainty that she would say anything if it soothed him. “The end is coming. We’ve made it through so much, Shikamaru…” She takes a big breath on purpose, hoping it will force him to breathe.
She pulls back, taking hold of his face with both hands and gazing into his warm brown eyes. She tries to summon what strength she can to give him a smile.
“You’ll be alright.” She tells him, and he laughs with the absurdity of it. After all, she knows what he’s like after recovering from having her and then losing her again for the first few days, how he keeps his head down, locks up his heart, and goes through the motions in a zombie-like trance until he gets a hold of himself. Ino has told her about it (not Shikamaru himself).
“ I’ll be alright.” She tries instead, half-kidding.
“I know you’ll be alright. You’re stronger than I am.” He says, a note of self-deprecation in his voice to pair with the note of farce.
“You think I don’t want to cry?” She asks sadly. “I wish I could cry more, sometimes, like now, so you don’t think for a second that I won’t miss you just as much.”
He gazes at her evenly, then lets go with another deep breath as he touches his forehead to hers. Blindly, Shikamaru feels for the engagement ring on her left hand. “One hundred days until then. And twenty-five until I see you again.”
Temari nods. She can’t close her eyes now; for some reason, her brain is determined to remember the picture of him like this, the pain that leaving her causes him.
“We can do it.” She repeats this phrase, too, as it’s the one that always seems to help the most. This time, too, it causes Shikamaru to open his eyes.
With only some hesitation, he nods. “We can weather this storm for the end goal. It’ll be worth it. Anything would be worth that.”
“An end to the long distance, an end to the desperation, getting to enjoy one another instead of… Living constantly with it over our heads that we only get each other for a little while.”
She had thought he might begrudge her blunt wording, but he does not. He only nods. “Exactly that. Until you become Nara Temari, and we get every day with each other.”
The desire to kiss him burns through her, but she knows, after much experience, that if either of them initiates a kiss, they will not stop. She settles for smiling at him and hoping it gets through to him.
“I’ll change.” She volunteers, and he at last withdraws his embrace.
Now it is his turn to watch her ; she feels his disarming gaze on her as she undresses completely, stepping into fresh underwear and her favorite sports bra, the one that zippers in the front that Shikamaru has voiced his appreciation for, but she is careful not to look at him until she is fully dressed. This is how the world sees her, after all, and this is who she’ll have to be again without him here.
She goes to him, adjusting the pack on his back like she won’t do it three more times before he leaves, and Shikamaru has to gently take her hand to stop her. She can see by the set of his jaw that he’s resolved to leave now, so the time for delaying him is over.
He threads their fingers and they wordlessly exit her room, down the stairs in a single file with Temari leading the way, out the door, and through the village’s red-brown buildings. This early in the morning, the streets are deserted, though they will not be for much longer.
They walk in silence, alone with their thoughts, but this way they are best able to feel the presence of the other. Temari thinks that there is no greater love than a person content to let you think without interruptions, happy to simply be by your side.
At the western gates, her brothers are waiting for them.
“Shikamaru, thank you for coming for Temari’s birthday.” Gaara nods formally at him.
“It was no problem.” He mutters. “Thank you for allowing me to stay in your home.”
“Of course. You’ll be family soon enough.”
Bravely, Gaara claps him on the shoulder. “Safe journey home.”
Shikamaru nods in thanks, summoning his best imitation at a smile (it’s not very good).
Kankuro usually has less to say at these things.
“Make it back safely for our sister. Don’t let any of the giant bugs eat you.”
It’s almost enough to get Shikamaru to crack a smile, but it fails today. “I won’t.” He holds out his right hand to shake, which Kankuro grasps with a scarcely perceptible second of hesitation.
A silence develops around the four of them--Temari’s cue that it is her turn to say goodbye. Feeling brave, she drops his hand and turns to him, patting imaginary dust off his shoulders. “Watch out for those southwestern coordinates we told you about. Kankuro’s right, the giant scorpions are nesting there this time of year.” She straightens his bag again, frowning until she can get it at the optimal angle to not add any resistance to his run. “And don’t travel in the middle of the day. If you don’t make it to the oasis before noon, it’s okay to rest for a few hours.”
She makes the mistake of looking at his face. The heartache in his eyes, premature as he has not even left yet , is almost enough to do her in and beg him for another night. She swallows thickly, about to open her mouth for words that she does not recognize, when he leans in and kisses her quickly.
“I’ll be safe, Tem. You be safe, too.”
He hesitates for a few more seconds, eyes so intent on her that Temari feels she might burn up on the spot, before suddenly plunging into the desert’s unforgiving landscape.
She watches for a few minutes, as the ache of missing him settles in her chest.
She can still see him when Kankuro touches her shoulder, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Aneki,” he begins, surprising her mildly by using Gaara’s preferred nickname, “are you okay?”
Her first reaction is anger. She isn’t, and anyone with eyes could see it. He must want her to lie, to make him feel better about being mean to Shikamaru, like he always is, mean for trying to take her away, without ever realizing that she wants to go. Even worse, she thinks she spots guilt in the corners of his eyes.
He wants her to make him feel better, and she won’t. She simply stares at him, and there must be something in his eyes that unnerves her, because he cannot hold her gaze.
“Want breakfast?” Kankuro asks, kicking the dirt with the toe of his sandal.
“Fine.” She doesn’t feel like eating, but she will so they don’t bother her about it later.
--
That night, Gaara finds her only thirty-five minutes into her alone time, gazing up at the stars of kaze no kuni, stars that she will not see in hi no kuni, as there is too much light pollution.
“I’d like to be alone.” She surprises even herself with the gruffness of it. It’s hard to tell, but with the little light there is out here, she’s pretty sure Gaara flinches. He isn’t used to being addressed in such a way.
“Please?” He asks softly, and Temari relents immediately with a nod. He’s usually pretty good about not bothering her, not wishing to intrude upon her thoughts and not demanding to know what she’s thinking about.
It’s Shikamaru, of course. The man hasn’t gotten out of her head since she was sixteen, and it had only gotten worse with time. Surely that was the reason he was to be her husband.
She’s worried about him, how far he’s made it, if he packed enough soldier pills to get through the journey. She’s worried about how hard he has pushed himself already, if he forgot to wear his hood and got a nasty sunburn, if he will sleep alright tonight, without her, and with knowing he has to leave at first light. Against her wishes, she cannot quell the urge in her heart to be there with them. Then, she would know all of these things and not have to wonder.
“Don’t be mad at him.” Gaara speaks suddenly.
“Who?”
“Our brother.” His voice is quiet, but not without authority, or the unnamable quality that makes people listen when he speaks.
“I’m not.” She says immediately.
Gaara snorts. He doesn’t believe her. “He just wishes that…” Gaara tries to explain, but the words don’t find him.
“That I hadn’t said yes.” The words found Temari months ago.
“No,” Gaara says, even though they both know it is at least half a lie. “He wishes that Shikamaru was from here, too. He wishes that loving him didn’t mean you had to go. He doesn’t want to lose you from his life.”
Temari finally grants Gaara the grace of looking at him. He’s looking straight at her, uncharacteristic for these talks, when he’s trying to be brave and put words to feelings.
“He will miss you, as will I.”
“He takes it out on Shikamaru.” She lifts her chin, suddenly righteous in her anger. “You never do that.”
“I wanted to.” Gaara admits quietly. “In the beginning. But I saw the way you looked at him, and I couldn’t. Kankuro just…”
“He doesn’t want to see the way I look at him.”
Gaara nods, giving in and agreeing. Temari knows he came up here to try to soften her against their brother, but this concession seems to signal to her that he’s given up, or somehow thought he made enough headway. He closes his eyes, pulling up his knees and resting his chin on them. She feels somewhat relieved by the posture, content to fall into her thoughts again even though they cause her a bit of misery.
Gaara surprises her by speaking again.
“I think he wishes he could fall in love. I think I wish I could fall in love. That way we would understand better what you’re feeling.”
“I didn’t mean to .” Temari sniffs. Something uncomfortable suddenly hits her in the chest, something she doesn’t know the name of.
The abrupt change in her voice alarms Gaara, he drops his posture and half-moves toward her, eyes wide when he sees the tears in her eyes. “Aneki, I’m sorry…”
Temari shakes her head. “You didn’t make me cry. Kankuro didn’t even make me cry. It’s just that…” She sniffs. “I didn’t used to cry so much. Don’t you remember that?” Gaara nods, eager to make her feel better. “I never cried. I had that beat out of me by the time I was eight years old. Not literally , but… I learned that crying never solved anything. I learned that crying didn’t help. What helped was getting stronger, being so self-sufficient that nothing could touch you.”
Her pain leaks into her voice again. “When did I start relying on him?”
She’s tried to offer a similar explanation many times, but it has always sounded like an apology. I’m sorry for falling for him. I didn’t mean to. I just woke up one day and… This is the first time her offer hasn’t been an apology. Today, it sounds like she’s asking for help .
“I don’t know.” Her brother smiles sadly at her. “Somewhere along the way you just started to rely on him. Probably similar to how you fell in love with him. It happened when you weren’t looking.”
A mixture of shame and guilt, and several others things, wash through her, and Temari takes up Gaara’s earlier posture, burying her face in her knees. She takes the extra step of wrapping her arms around herself, anything to have a little more protection against the world, the reality of her choices.
“But… He fell in love with you, too.”
She doesn’t move, so Gaara takes that as his cue to continue.
“I would understand being in all this pain if he didn’t love you back, if he had betrayed you, if you couldn’t trust him or you somehow couldn’t be together, but… you can be. You’re going to be.” She hears Gaara scooting across the roof, closer and closer until he can touch her, until he places his hand on her arm.
“What is causing you all this pain, Aneki?”
Without the ability to disguise any percentage of her broken heart, Temari looks her brother in the eyes and lets out one single sob, clearing enough space in her throat for a second’s room to speak. “I don’t know.”
Gaara doesn’t move an inch, and the ever-present rustling of the sand is loud enough to hide the sound of his breaths. It’s almost silent enough to pretend he isn’t there, and it is enough to get her to admit it (the thing she's been burying deep down for months, no matter how ferociously it tried to surface).
“I never thought about being this person, the one who falls in love and moves away. I don’t recognize myself, but… I also…” Her voice drops, softer than the sand. “I look in the mirror, and I see myself. I see Temari, I see Nara Temari. I see the version of myself that I’m becoming; it’s like I’m already married to him, like I’ve already been his.”
She sucks in a sharp breath, close to a gasp.
“I think it hurts because I don’t know when it happened.” It’s difficult to speak around the tightness in her chest, the painful way her heart is constricting around sharing this knowledge. “When did I change? When did I become her? This version of myself that Father wouldn’t recognize, that the people of sunagakure do not recognize.”
“I recognize you.” Gaara’s voice is soft enough to match her own, but it snaps Temari’s head up, eyes wide.
“I recognize you.” He repeats. “You’re my sister. You’re the person I’ve always been able to count on. You love someone who isn’t me or Kankuro; that doesn’t mean you’ve changed into anybody else or a different version of yourself.”
Not quick to react, Gaara continues in somewhat of a panic.
“I don’t think I’m a different version of myself. Who I used to be is still inside me, after all. I remember what it was like; I just don’t want to be that anymore. I don’t want to be a monster." Staring hard at him, Temari can remember quite easily how hard he tried to change. She might argue that there's no way he's any longer that past self, but she gets what he's saying after thinking about it. It's still inside of him, still a part of who he is... Gaara draws her attention back, offering a hesitant conclusion to his thoughts: "I guess you just don’t want to be a Suna shinobi.”
Gaara’s words strike Temari through the heart, but rather than something cold and painful, she feels warm. Light, poking through the darkness of guilt and shame.
“I want to be his wife.”
Gaara nods. “You want to be Nara Temari.”
Temari covers her hand with his and squeezes. She lets out a breath, smiling wetly, wiping away the last of her tears with her left arm.
“I needed to hear you say that.” She confesses.
“I know.” Gaara smiles back at her, but she can tell there’s something heavy about him. She guesses instantly that it was hard for him to be there for her through this; she knows he knows that he helped her leave.
“You’re going to be a great Kazekage even after I’m gone. And you call me anytime, about anything.”
“I know.” He repeats, but now his voice is choked-up, and it pulls on Temari’s heartstrings. But the tugs are light compared to what she felt moments ago, what her little brother just assauged her of.
“I love you.” Temari tells him, because they never said it as kids, because they don’t really say it even now, because she decided one day that she was sick of not saying it and has been resolute about it ever since.
Gaara nods, and though he turns away she can see that his cheeks are flushed.
“I’ll always love you.” Temari continues, grinning in her older sister right to tease him. “So does Shikamaru. He always asks about you. We love you, so much. We’re family. We’ll do anything for each other.” She stops--finally--because Gaara removes his hand from hers and begins fanning his red face.
Smiling, Temari leans away from him to give him a few extra inches of breathing room. She grants him silence, the way he granted it to her a few minutes ago, the way she hopes she always knows when he needs her words or simply her presence.
“Beautiful sunset,” she comments some moments later, easing the conversation into a more comfortable direction for him.
“Mmhmm.” He agrees. His face is still pink, but he looks up to observe the sunset.
It’s a brilliant one, in Temari’s opinion, more red than any other color. Pink and yellow at the edges, where the sun is disappearing into the desert, and there’s almost no transition of purple where the sky turns into dark blue.
She wants to take a picture of it to send to Shikamaru, but she knows that sunsets are one of the things pictures cannot capture--even the newest photo lenses pale in comparison to the human eye. It’s an ache within her that she cannot share this moment with him, that a picture would not do it justice, and that if she were to attempt to describe it, he could not adequately imagine it. Just as photographs cannot capture it, one’s imagination cannot accurately recreate how beautiful of a moment it was to see.
Give and take, like all she is gaining for all she is giving up.
She and Gaara sit on the roof together until the sun is gone. They rise together in silence, relying on the other’s presence for comfort, and Temari is very aware of how much lighter her heart is.