Read: For those of you who have been reading "My Shattered Necklace" and-or "Your Kisses like Cocaine", please go take a look at my profile for the ALERT!

Cry Baby

It happened so quickly that it was almost a blur. A dream, perhaps. One would have gladly accepted that with open arms. That false reality; that it had not happened. But of course it had happened, and a man can only go but so long before he must face facts. Shikamaru found that hard to do. Had been finding that hard to do even now, as he stood at the door to his hotel room, unmoving and gripping the handle. It was too difficult, too unbearable. He could not go to this ceremony.

Biting his lip, Shikamaru let go of the knob and backed away from the door, dropping limp arms to his side. He let out a grave, cheerless sigh. Feeling as though his feet were too heavy to carry him over to the sofa, much less back to his room, the shadow manipulator began unknotting his hitai-ate from its temporary place around his neck. He tossed it to the floor and moved on to his black jacket. As the piece of clothing flew across the room, dangling from the lamp shade, Shikamaru closed his eyes tightly, biting back the urge to let loose the cry that had been fighting to leave him since the day before. He would not cry. No. He was too old to blubber like a baby. Death was part of the shinobi life.

Swallowing hard, he finally opened his brown eyes and took a deep breath. A few seconds passed before he gained control over himself. He nodded to the emptiness of his room, a signal to himself that he was settled, and began pulling up the bottom of the black sweater. He had decided that going to the funeral was a horrible idea. There was no telling what would happen if he stepped foot up to that casket. Might throw himself upon it, cling for dear life, and refuse to be moved. Anything was possible.

He cleared his throat and tugged the top upward. He was halted however, by the swift knock to his door. Frozen, he suppressed the urge to scream for the visitor to leave. Best to simply ignore them. They would go away. He tugged at the sweater, now up to his chest, and then froze as the knock persisted.

Damn it. Troublesome. What a drag.

Shikamaru let the sweater fall back into place and stepped up to the door. He turned the knob and set his face in a glare for whoever was intruding upon his misery.

"Temari?" he asked, voice faltering only on the slightest.

She stared back at him, one hand firmly against her hip and the other hanging limp. He could tell that she was trying to hold back the sympathetic look. She was failing horribly. "Shikamaru," she began. She dropped the arm from her hip and cupped her hands once, then uncapped them and crossed her arms. Fidgeting. "What are you doing?" She was suddenly eyeing his attire.

Shikamaru looked down at himself. He mouthed an O and looked back up at her, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He said, "I'm…uh, decided—" Holding his forehead, he collected his words carefully and then went on. "I'm not going."

"Not going?" Temari repeated, dumbfounded. "Shikamaru, he was your best friend!"

Looking away with a scowl, brows knitted, Shikamaru exhaled heavily through is nostrils.

Temari shook her head. "You coward. I can't believe you."

"That's not—"

"No, that's exactly it," she interjected, voice calm, and holding a hand up to hush him. But then, after a second's thought, the blonde Sand kunoichi gave a small sigh of her own and softened her face. "Well, as long as you're going to be a coward, you may as well have company."

Studying her, Shikamaru understood just what she must be feeling; trying to cover up. Act tough. Yeah, that was Temari.

He moved aside and let her through. Shutting the door behind him , Shikamaru turned and watched as the older woman plopped down on the single, dusty bed. Unslept in, naturally. Who could sleep after that massacre? She crossed her legs and placed her hands atop her knees, leaning forward a bit and looking at the floor.

"I hate him…"

Shikamaru arched a brow at her whispered words. If they had been meant for his ears, she had certainly kept them so low that he barely heard.

"Who, Sasuke?" He sat beside of her, mimicking her posture. "I think most of Konoha and Suna can empathize, if not agree completely. You have my understanding."

A small, sad smile graced her lips as she nodded. "He was like a father to us, you know," she told the man beside of her.

Shikamaru knew she was speaking of Baki, for why else would the poor woman look so miserable? The battle that had taken place only days ago was still thick on the minds off all, even those who had not lost loved ones. The ceremony that was being held between the Land of Wind and Fire was only a pang in the chest for certain shinobi. Most would be able to face it with no tears, but there were a few who—and Shikamaru would know—could not venture out to watch the caskets lower into the ground by the waterfall. Burials were the worst of things. He supposed perhaps it was because the burial, watching the wooden box be lowered into the soil, made it all real. Made you realize that it was not just a bad dream; that next week, next year, tomorrow you would not wake up and see your precious person standing before you with a goofy grin.

"Want to share my chocolates, Shikamaru?", "Did you fall asleep again? You're such a lazy friend.", "I think that cloud looks a lot like a burger.", "Do you think I need to go on a diet? Ino says that—"

"Shikamaru?" Temari arched a blonde brow and shook his shoulder lightly as he stared down at the floor in utter silence. "Hey, Shikamaru!"

He came back to reality, pushing his thoughts aside as he sat up and rubbed at his knees absently. "Hm?" he grunted, eyes turning to her from the side.

"Fazing out on me, you bum?"

He tried to crack a smile, but found that he could not. "Hn."

Temari frowned, brow creasing. She kept her hand on his shoulder, thumbing rubbing against the fabric subconsciously. She coughed and turned away after a moment, hands going back to her lap. "Do you think they'll find him soon?" she asked, changing the subject.

Suppressing a sigh, Shikamaru shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno. I hope they do. And then fry his ass. That'll be one funeral I will attend, and I'll dance on his grave. I just hope Naruto won't hate me for it."

He looked back to her and his hand hesitated before once more landing against her shoulder. Shikamaru knitted his brow, trying to get a better look at Temari's face, shadowed mostly as she looked down to the floor. "Temari?" he asked, barely above a whisper. A gasp left him as he saw the drop of water hit the floor around their feet. "Are you…" Stopping himself, Shikamaru took a deep breath and bowed his own head, not noticing, or perhaps paying no attention, as the junin beside of him turned so that they were facing on the bed. He sucked back a sob once and looked up to the headboard, a flush on his cheeks because he suddenly realized that the tear had been his own.

"Shikamaru?" Temari's face was scrunched as she held back the water-works fighting to leave her. Watching the man beside of her cry only made her own tears scream for release. This strong, usually unwavering man, was…he was…crying…Oh. Well, Temari decided that for both of their sakes, she would remain the strong one for the moment. She took a deep breath and wrapped her arms around Shikamaru's shoulders, aware that the situation was a tad backward and unusual.

He stiffened, eyes wide and full of water before he relaxed against her and let the tears fall.

Sniffling, the kunoichi closed her eyes tightly and embraced him, trying to pretend that there were no tears running down her cheeks now.

"You…lazy cry baby," she whispered against his neck.

I'm more of a ShikaIno fan, myself; however,that's not to say I don't enjoy a good ShikaTema fanfic or fanart also. It's nice to be flexible (get your minds out of the gutters!)

Review!