I haven't written Shikatema in nearly a year. I thought I'd bundle the last few things I've written and upload them.

I'm kind of done with Shikatema, at least until further notice. It's been a wild ride. I've really enjoyed writing for them, but I think that - for now - it's time for me to move on. There's another oneshot collection for misc. shikatema stuff, as well as a few oneshots here and there.

Thank you for being one of the most welcoming and fun communities I've had a pleasure to be a part of.

...

xviii. Respite

a)

"You're gonna get wet."

Temari's eyebrow arched. She gestured to him, through the double-paned glass door, then above her, to the veranda. Shikamaru couldn't help but to snort. Her arms folded in response, and then the sand-nin tapped her ear. He considered getting off the couch; instead he shook his foot once. "I said, you're going to get wet."

And as if in response, the wind howled once, whistling through the barely more than a hairline crack between the door and the wall, the single break in the separation between indoors and out. Through that same crack was her yelp of indignation, as rain splattered noisily against the door like fingernails tapping glass. She huffed, her shoulders rising and falling comically, and for a second he considered laughing again. He swallowed the urge away as she surged the sliding door aside, stepping in. Her teal eyes snapped onto his – and yet again, he was tempted to smile. She wasn't quite dripping, but was clearly wet: her clothes clung to her, hugging her curves and her frame; her eyes weren't indignant, but bright, excited, a mild child-like wonder edging the rims of her irises.

"What were you saying?" She huffed distractedly as she kicked off her slippers.

Shikamaru rolled his eyes. "That you're going to get wet."

Her eyes caught his – and his heartbeat leapt to his throat – and she shook her head, something like a chuckle audible in his ears. "You are the genius, after all."

"It doesn't take a genius to know what happens when you stand outside in the rain."

"I like the rain."

"So do I; I don't like getting wet."

It was Temari's turn to roll her eyes as she stripped off her coat. She tossed it aimlessly, Shikamaru barely managed to snatch it out of the air before it landed on his head. He promptly dumped it on the floor beside him.

Temari laughed and sauntered over, lifting his legs from the adjacent seat. "At least hang that up," she said teasingly, maneuvering his limbs for him before she plopped down in the now-vacant space, letting his legs fall back onto her lap. And then she turned, the rain still splattering the glass in their silence. "I like Konoha storms," she said conversationally.

Shikamaru shrugged. "As opposed to Suna storms?"

Temari wrinkled her nose. "They're dry. And painful." As if in response, a crack of thunder shattered mutedly from beyond their dwellings. "Generally hot, too."

"I think I'll take Konoha," Shikamaru absolved as her fingers snaked their way around his calf. Temari began to knead, delicate and poignant, and he was just beginning to relax into her touch when light flooded their living room – bright, then gone. Her fingers had frozen, just momentarily, before they resumed.

"How are people scaredof that? I think it's beautiful," Temari murmured, more to herself than for him, and yet he couldn't help but to respond.

"Does that say more about you or more about everyone else?"

She clicked her tongue and gripped his calf – not enough to hurt, but enough to make him jump. "Don't test me, Nara."

I deserved that,he thought, but it didn't stop the grin from crossing his lips. He watched as her gaze grew distant, and he wasn't surprised as her head began to turn mindlessly, drifting languidly back to the window. Another crack of thunder escaped through the double-paned door – and lightning followed, faster than the before, lasting no longer than a brief second.

Yet in that moment, the light outlined her face, making her glossy and damp hair shine as it clung to her neck. Her inhale was audible, sharp and low, her chest expanding then contracting as she breathed. Her fingers remained motionless against his leg, fingernails mere hair-widths away from his limb. And her lips, just slightly parted, sips of sighs complimenting her eyes – vast, lost in the moment.

His inhale was serrated, breathless. In those few seconds, he'd never seen someone so encompassed, so captivating.

– And then his heart caught up to him, fluttering like a caged bird, mild and unexpected embarrassment flushing his cheeks. A cross between a hiccup and a chuckle bubbled from his throat, unconstrained and entirely self-conscious. Her fingers twitched back to life, closing the gap as Temari suddenly gripped him and turned, her eyes no longer cloudy but sharp. "What?"

Shikamaru tried, and failed, to disguise himself with a cough. "Nothing."

Something in her gaze, and likely in his face, told him she suspected otherwise.

b)

When she opened the box, Temari's eyebrow raised. And then a smile crept along her face. "You didn't have to."

Nestled in the small bed of tissue paper were a pair of gloves. Different from the ones she's used to, not the same practical set or feel that were standard for Shinobi. Made of some sleek black material, she rubbed the tip of where a hypothetical finger would be with her own.

Several things came to her mind: sincere thanks, bashfulness amongst them. But what actually came was more what they were used to - perhaps inappropriately so, at this stage of their relationship.

"Is this an excuse so you don't need to hold my hand anymore?"

It was teasing, and Temari knew it; so did he, apparently, as Shikamaru merely cracked a smile. And that'swhat she loved most about him. Whereas others may have been scared, even offended, he merely laughed, unfazed and undeterred.

"I'm not gonna be your guide forever, you know," he teased, the same smile never once leaving his face.

The implications of his words weren't lost on her, not as she slid them on and flexed her hand into a fist. The sound of stretching leather was satisfying to her, if not still a little foreign. Though not gaudy nor particularly extravagant, Temari could tell that the material would keep her warm. Suna certainly never stocked this type of leather.

All the while, he watched with a smile. He didn't bother asking if she liked it – he could probably tell (she could feelthe smile on her face) and it wasn't as if he'd get a straight answer, anyways.

"They're nice," was the response Temari settled on, before she shed them one by one, laying them on the table beside her. And then she plopped herself down on their bed, her fingers - if somewhat shyly - finding his. "But I prefer the real thing."

His smirk softened to a smile, a full smile, as their fingers laced together, as if by their own volition.

Ah, Temari thought, the mere skinship soothing and familiar. Much better.

(bonus:

"So you're the one from the desert… how are you the one with cold hands?"

She whapped him with back of one glove.)