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Shikamaru was enjoying a quiet evening, sitting on the porch watching the deer graze on the grass, while Shikadai slept beside him after a long day of training with his team. The quiet was abruptly broken.
“I’m going to kill Kankuro!”
Shikadai opened an eye at the sound of his mother’s voice and, once realizing her anger wasn’t directed at him, closed it again to continue his nap.
Shikamaru stayed where he was, listening to Temari’s footsteps stomp closer to him. He let out a sigh as the deer bolted into the trees once Temari was on the porch.
“That absolute bastard!”
“What did he do this time?” Shikamaru asked mildly.
Temari loomed over him, arms crossed, face set in a frown. “He had one job. All I asked was that he let me know when the fan maker was in Suna. That’s all – and the incompetent asshat couldn’t even manage that.”
“What fan maker?” Shikadai asked, curious.
“There’s an old man who makes beautiful, decorative fans,” Temari explained, looking agitated. “He only passes through Suna occasionally, and he only makes a few fans. I want one, and I told Kankuro to let me know when he would be in Suna next so I could get one. Kankuro was apparently too busy – doing nothing – to do this one favour for me, and now I won’t get a fan.”
“What’s so special about them?” Shikadai cocked his head to one side. “There’s a ton of other places to get little fans. Why from this guy?”
“He makes them by hand, to order,” Temari said, glaring at the forest as though it were personally responsible. “He hand paints them, and makes the framework himself. It’s a silk fan – handspun silk. With handmade paints. On a frame made with wood from the brush in Suna. It’s expensive, it’s unique, and I’ve always wanted one.”
“Get one whenever he’s next in Suna,” Shikamaru said, as reasonably as he could.
“He’s retiring,” Temari snapped. “This was my last chance. I was meant to get it when I went to Suna tomorrow.”
“Then why did you wait so long?” Shikadai asked.
Temari eyed him, with a narrowed, calculated gaze that made him take an uncomfortable shuffle away from her across the porch. “Because they are ridiculously expensive and I couldn’t justify the cost for something useless. It’s not a weapon, Shikadai. It’s just to admire.”
“How expensive are we talking?” Shikamaru asked quizzically. “Seems like one little fan couldn’t cost that much.”
Temari heaved a sigh. “More than you’re thinking. A lot more.”
“Ah,” Shikamaru nodded. “You’re not really one for splurging.”
Temari let out a disquieted breath, irritated, and muttered several more insults to her brother.
Shikamaru stood up, stretching leisurely and ignoring the various cracking noises his bones made. “Let’s have dinner, and calm down, and then we can discuss fans.”
“Not a lot to discuss,” Temari growled. “The last chance at getting one was ruined by an idiot who can’t follow basic instructions.” She turned on her heel and stomped into the kitchen.
Shikamaru followed at a safe distance, remaining near the doorway in case a getaway was needed.
Temari yanked the fridge door open, taking note of what was inside. She looked over her shoulder at Shikamaru, who raised an eyebrow.
“Yes?” he asked. “What did I do this time?”
“Nothing yet.” She closed the fridge, and turned to face him. Shikadai appeared in the doorway behind his father, peering curiously inside. Temari flicked her eyes to him, then over to the countertop.
There was a box there, large enough to be a nuisance. It had long since worn out its welcome.
“And how long is that damned box going to sit there?” Temari snapped, her irritation now being aimed at anything that caught her eye. “Naruto gave it to you weeks ago. Why haven’t you checked the cameras yet?”
Shikamaru heaved a sigh, scratching at the back of his neck. “I’ll do it.”
“You’ve been saying that,” Temari said, crossing her arms and glaring at him. “But you haven’t done anything. Why are you even doing it? Doesn’t Naruto have anyone else who can test out security cameras?”
“Everyone who said they would test the cameras also works for the company making them,” Shikadai pointed out. “Naruto wanted me to check them because I wasn’t involved in them. Unbiased eyes, you know. A sensible thing to have when it’s the security of the village.”
“The security of the village has been sitting on our kitchen counter for two months,” Temari argued. “You’ve done jack shit to help.”
“I’ll do it this week,” Shikamaru promised. “The box will be gone when you get home on Friday.”
“It better be,” she growled. She sent a quick glare to each of her boys in turn. “Make dinner; I’m going to train for a while.”
“Not in my forest,” Shikamaru replied quickly. “Please. Leave the trees.”
Temari rolled her eyes as she strode from the kitchen. She left towards the front door, and Shikamaru let out a sigh of relief that his forest would live for another day. He absently made a cup of coffee, while Shikadai grabbed a snack and wandered off.
The box on the counter had been a source of arguments for a while now, and Shikamaru would admit he had been lazy with it. He was supposed to set up and test the security cameras, ensure they captured good quality sound and image, and could be discreetly hidden. Naruto had mentioned it a few weeks ago, in between two piles of paper, and Shikamaru had put the box in the kitchen in the hopes that seeing it at least twice a day would prompt him into taking action.
It hadn’t worked.
Shikamaru hoisted the box off the counter, intending to put it into his study and likely forget it there for another two months. Naruto hadn’t mentioned it more than once, in passing, so testing the cameras clearly wasn’t on anyone’s priority list.
He went to his study, and dumped the box on the centre of his desk.
“Dad,” Shikadai asked, coming into the study. “Can I get a new laptop?”
“What’s wrong with the one you have?”
“It’s old and out of date.”
“Why can’t you buy one yourself? You have a job.”
“Can’t afford it,” Shikadai replied, with a shrug. “It’s not like I’m doing Jounin-level missions ten times a month.”
“Not right now, kid. I’ve got bigger things to worry about.” Shikamaru shook his head. “Ask me next year. Or a few years from now.”
“Ugh,” Shikadai rolled his eyes. “Boruto got his upgraded.”
“His parents must love him more,” Shikamaru replied instantly, flippantly.
Shikadai paused, thinking. “Yeah, clearly. I’ll tell Grandma that you don’t love me enough.”
“Nice try, Shikadai, but that hardly counts as blackmail,” Shikamaru raised an eyebrow at his son. “I’ve been threatened with far worse in the past.”
“What if I tell Moegi-sensei I can’t relax properly between missions and it’ll affect my performance? Would that convince you?”
“Nope. If you want to blackmail me, you’ll have to do a lot better than that,” Shikamaru replied casually, as he strolled from the study.
Shikadai watched him go, and cocked an eyebrow. “Okay, then.”
When Temari returned home one week later, it was to Shikamaru asleep on a pile of papers at the kitchen table. She looked around, because often when she was away Shikamaru let all household chores slide. But the kitchen looked tidy, there were no endless dishes piled in the sink, and the fact that he was wearing clothes meant he had obviously done some laundry.
“Impressive,” Temari remarked, and Shikamaru startled awake at the sound of her voice.
He bolted upright, scrambling several papers, and looked around. “Oh, hi.”
“Hi. The house is still standing,” Temari observed.
“Of course it is. Do you think I’m incompetent?”
She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t answer him.
“How was Suna?” Shikamaru asked, around a wide yawn.
“Fine. Kankuro is still alive, only because Gaara asked that I not kill him.” Temari looked around the kitchen, eyes narrowed. “Everything is clean.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You never clean the kitchen,” Temari said, suspicions rising. She turned her gaze to Shikamaru. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” he sounded affronted. “Can’t you believe that I can clean a kitchen without you hovering over me?”
“I can answer that,” Shikadai announced, striding into the kitchen, laptop in hand. He paused, to look at his father. “Before I do – Dad, can I get a new computer?”
“I told you no,” Shikamaru sighed.
“No, you told me that if I want it, I need to blackmail you for it.” Shikadai set his laptop on the table, turning the screen towards his parents. He fixed Shikamaru with a serious look. “I’m blackmailing you.”
“Bring it on; what are you gonna do?” Shikamaru asked, with a raised eyebrow. He spent most of his days napping; that hardly made for effective blackmail.
Temari shifted closer to Shikamaru’s side to peer at the screen, interested.
“While you were in Suna,” Shikadai began, “I took the liberty of testing out the security cameras.” He sent Temari a quick glance, and explained, “Because Dad never opened the box.”
He reached over to tap a button on the keyboard, then glanced at his mother. “So I set them up around the house so I could show you what Dad gets up to when you’re not here.”
That made Shikamaru stiffen a bit. “You did what?”
“New laptop, and I won’t show Mom anything I recorded,” Shikadai reminded him.
Shikamaru froze in place, thinking fast. After a few seconds of agonizing indecision, his shoulders relaxed. “Nah, kid. Not a good enough play. I don’t have anything to hide.”
“Okay,” Shikadai raised an eyebrow. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He shuffled to the side, so his parents had a clear view of the computer screen. The currently static image showed the front porch, peering from above. When Shikamaru made no further protest, Shikadai clicked the video to play.
“Here he is sitting outside smoking,” Shikadai began cheerily. “This is Monday morning, after you left. Let’s see what time he goes to work . . .” Shikadai fast-forwarded through the footage, which progressed to Shikamaru laying down and remaining immobile for the better part of the day. “And now it’s five o’clock, when he wakes up again and has another cigarette.”
Temari sent Shikamaru a poisonous sideways look. He looked away from her.
“Now Chouji arrives,” Shikadai’s narrative continued. “He brings take-out, so Dad didn’t cook. Also note how Dad never checks if I’m alive all day, or asks if I want anything to eat.”
Shikamaru let out a sigh. “You’re a smart boy. You can handle yourself for a day.”
“Chouji and Dad have dinner, Chouji leaves and Dad has another cigarette – pretty sure that’s over his limit of one a day but I’m just a kid who knows nothing about blackmail so who can tell?” He shot Shikamaru a look, but his father remained stubbornly steadfast.
“No dice, kid. Computers are expensive and as we can clearly see, this one is still working just fine.”
“Alright,” Shikadai said agreeably. “Let’s check Tuesday.”
“You didn’t go to work at all on Monday?” Temari clarified.
“I told Naruto I was busy,” Shikamaru defended.
“You were sleeping.”
“And that kept me busy.”
They traded frowns, and Shikadai waited patiently until their attention turned back to him.
“Keep going, kid,” Temari said firmly. “I want to see the rest.”
“Tuesday,” Shikadai began, with a toothy grin. “Dad started his day in the afternoon. See how he doesn’t come out of the bedroom until after two in the afternoon? He’s still not at work, by the way. And then he goes outside, leaves the kitchen door open, and look,” Shikadai’s voice turned cheery, “there’s a whole lot of deer in the kitchen.”
“Where were you?” Temari demanded. “You just let a herd of deer inside?”
“I was probably doing something else,” Shikamaru scratched at the back of his neck. “The deer didn’t do anything. They just wandered about.”
“Ate all our fruit,” Shikadai put in. He grinned at his father. “The only reason they didn’t take over the entire house is because I came home and shooed them out.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re such a hero,” Shikamaru gave his son a firm, yet affectionate, shove to the back of the head. “Get on with it.”
Shikadai skipped the video further ahead, to later in the day. “Chouji came back. With dinner. Then he and Dad sat on the couch and drank beer until about midnight. Please take note that at no point did anyone check on me again. I could have been bleeding to death in the bathroom.”
“That can still be arranged,” Shikamaru muttered, and Temari snorted a poorly concealed laugh.
“Wanna see Wednesday?” Shikadai asked, throwing a cheeky grin over his shoulder at his parents.
“No,” Shikamaru groaned.
“I’d like to see it,” Temari nodded. “Keep going.”
“If you want me to stop, a new laptop would make all this disappear,” Shikadai reminded.
“You’re a long way off from a torture and interrogation specialist,” Shikamaru replied. “I can own up to being lazy – it’s hardly news.”
“Suit yourself.” Shikadai paused, for dramatic affect, before Temari nudged his shoulder.
“Come on, little one, I just got off a train and I want to relax. Move this along.”
“Okay, okay,” Shikadai looked at the screen again. “Nothing much happened in the morning. Dad only came out of his bedroom after eleven.”
“How did I not see that camera?” Shikamaru groaned. It had to have been mounted to point directly at the bedroom door, yet at no point did he ever glance up and notice it.
“It’s because your shinobi skills are rusty,” Temari provided, and Shikamaru grumbled at her.
“Mirai came over for lunch,” Shikadai continued, and Shikamaru let out a loud sigh.
Temari sent him a sideways look, wondering what was coming.
“What’s more interesting than that, though, it how after lunch Dad makes her do the dishes.”
“Shikamaru,” Temari growled.
“She offered!” he defended, taking a step away from his wife. “She asked if there was anything she could do since she knew you were away!”
“Of course she offered, she’s a good kid,” Temari narrowed her eyes. “You shouldn’t take her up on the offer! Were you raised in a barn?” She swiped a halfhearted slap towards him, that he ducked neatly out of range from. “You owe her an apology. And dinner.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell her she can come over tomorrow night,” Shikamaru sighed.
“Then Dad fell asleep on the couch with the TV on,” Shikadai added cheerfully, and this time Temari’s slap hit Shikamaru’s shoulder.
He pouted, but couldn’t exactly contest that he deserved it.
“Thursday,” Shikadai’s bright narration continued. “Dad actually goes to work. For the first time all week.”
“Naruto didn’t need me every day. There was nothing urgent going on,” Shikamaru muttered, shoulders slumping.
“He comes back again after lunch, sits on the porch to smoke again, and then . . .” Shikadai paused, to eye his father over his shoulder. “Sure you don’t want to get me a new laptop? Instead of letting her see what you do next?”
“I want to see,” Temari said, laying a hand on Shikadai’s shoulder. “Keep going, kid.”
“Here you can see a team of Genin coming in,” Shikadai narrated cheerily, and Shikamaru groaned, hiding his face behind his hands.
Temari raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“I’m glad you asked,” Shikadai gave his father a sideways look. “Dad called them in. On a mission. To clean the house.”
“Did you really make a Genin team clean the house?” Temari asked incredulously.
“I paid them,” Shikamaru mumbled. “It was an actual mission. It went on their record.”
“You will do anything to avoid chores, won’t you?”
“You get to come home to a clean house; why are you scolding me?” Shikamaru defended himself. “Floors are mopped, surfaces are clean, our room is vacuumed. You can’t complain about that.”
“I’m not complaining about the house being clean,” Temari pointed out. “It’s how you got it that way.”
“I’m resourceful.”
“You’re lazy.”
“You knew that already.”
“There’s still one more thing,” Shikadai said, interrupting the beginning of a bickering match. “On Friday morning.”
Shikamaru stiffened. “You still had the cameras up this morning?”
Shikadai raised an eyebrow. “I did.” He waited for Shikamaru to say something further. When nothing happened, Shikadai tapped a key on his laptop. “This morning, Dad gets a delivery –“
“Alright, fine, turn it off,” Shikamaru said.
Temari turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Why?”
“Shikadai,” Shikamaru said wearily. “That’s enough.”
Shikadai paused the video, and turned to face his parents. “New laptop?”
“Fine. You win this one.” Shikamaru waved him away. “You still suck at blackmail, but I’ll give in. Now, go away and be somewhere else.”
“The report on the cameras is already finished and on Naruto’s desk, by the way,” Shikadai said, closing his laptop and tucking it under one arm. He sauntered from the kitchen, looking immensely pleased with himself and adding, in a self-satisfied tone, “You’re welcome.”
Once he left, there was a brief, tense silence between Temari and Shikamaru.
She broke it first. “What did you get delivered?”
“Nothing,” Shikamaru sighed.
She narrowed her eyes. “What was it, Shikamaru?”
“If I tell you it’s a surprise, will you drop the conversation?” he asked.
“What do you think?”
He grimaced, resigned to long days of nagging. “Well . . . it’s a surprise.”
“A surprise like getting Genin to clean the house and getting Chouji to bring you food and not going to work?”
“No, a good surprise.” Shikamaru fell silent, until the strength of Temari’s glare was too much and he added, “Let it go, okay? For now. I’ll tell you when you need to know.”
Temari looked doubtful, and overtly curious, but she thankfully let the subject drop. She looked around, and admitted grudgingly, “The house does look very clean.”
“I know.”
“No thanks to your lazy ass.”
He nodded slowly, figuring agreeing with her was always best. “I know, I know. I’m a lazy crybaby.”
“You are,” Temari said, but she threw him a toothy grin. “But that’s exactly what I look forward to when I come home.”
The sky was dotted with bright stars, and Temari leaned against the back of the small bench on the porch, watching the night unfold. The stars in Konoha were different from those in Suna, and often upon returning to Konoha, she liked to spend an evening observing the sky and relearning the differences in her two homes.
She knew Shikamaru would join her soon. He rarely missed out on the opportunity to both do nothing and spend time with her. So it was no surprise when she heard his footsteps approach, and he sat down beside her with a heavy sigh.
For a while, they did not speak. Merely watched the night together. Then, with a muted groan of annoyance, he turned his head to her.
“I was saving this for your birthday,” Shikamaru mumbled. He placed a small, rectangular box down between them. “But since Shikadai outed me, I knew you weren’t going to ease up until you knew what I was doing.”
Temari glanced at the box, then up at Shikamaru. “What’s this?”
“Birthday present. Although apparently now I’m going to have to think of something else.”
Temari snorted. “What a hard task for you.”
She absently opened the box, then froze in place. “. . . What?”
Shikamaru shrugged. “Well . . . you’ve always wanted one . . .”
Temari lifted the tiny fan from the box, opening it slowly. It was lightweight and delicate, the silk screen painted with red and tan dunes and the desert’s starry night sky. She flicked her eyes up to Shikamaru. “How . . .?”
“I asked Kankuro to order it and then tell you that he forgot,” Shikamaru explained, with a smile. “All he asked in return was that I let him know some of the creative insults you called him.”
“I spent a week in Suna cursing his guts,” Temari said. “Now I know why he just laughed at me.”
She studied the fan closer. The paintwork was delicate and precise, the colours bright and vibrant.
It was exactly the way she had always hoped it would be. The vibrant dunes had been a place of comfort all her life, the stars a way to navigate the world. It was a view she had taken in many times before, and it never lost its wonder and beauty. The desert had a way of calling people back.
She studied the painting carefully, closely, in wonderment at the details. The fan was so delicate, lightweight, such a feathery contrast to the strength and force of the desert depicted upon it.
“Those stars look familiar,” Shikamaru frowned at the fan, leaning in for a closer look.
“The constellations are accurate, that’s why,” Temari murmured, never taking her eyes off the fan.
“That explains the price.” Shikamaru sighed. “I have never paid that much money for such a small amount of silk.”
Temari chuckled. “That’s why I waited so long to get one.”
She leaned her head on Shikamaru’s shoulder, nuzzling her cheek against the warmth of his body.
“You don’t have to get me another birthday present,” she murmured. “This is perfect.”
Shikamaru cleared his throat. “Actually, I do. Otherwise I’m that husband who didn’t get his wife something to open on her birthday.”
Temari laughed lightly, slowly opening and closing the fan. “I won’t tell.”
“You will,” he sighed, resting his head on hers. “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something to give you. Then you’ve got a month before you one up me on my birthday.”
“I don’t think this can be topped,” she replied, idly opening and closing the fan. It was whisper quiet, the kind of wind that tumbled only the uppermost grains off the tallest dunes.
“So I’m the best husband?” Shikamaru asked, with a crooked smile.
“You’re the only one I’ve had, so I don’t have anything to compare it to,” Temari replied, considering her words. “But . . .” She smiled, at the stars in the fan and the stars above the trees.
“Yes,” she concluded, shuffling closer. “Yes, you are.”