A/N: I do not own Naruto.

Diplomatic Immunity

Shikamaru Nara was the smartest person around.

It was just a fact. A single, annoying fact. He knew it, and so did everyone else. This fact, perhaps most regrettably, made him eligible for more missions and assignments of which he wanted no part. He always wondered vaguely if he'd get fewer missions by being arrogant about his intelligence, but decided it was not worth the effort. Besides, extra money wasn't something he could brush off.

One such troublesome assignment came recently to him as a "special favor" from Tsunade—as they typically do.

"Shikamaru," she had said, looking at him intently from her desk. "You have the capacity to be a very influential and dominant shinobi in this village. So I think that the… special favor I have lined up for you will provide some priceless experience for your future in politics."

"What makes you think I want to go into politics?" He'd asked, slightly irritated.

"I'm merely suggesting that your abilities would be best suited for a political career—you've certainly got the aptitude. But that's irrelevant—"

"Is it?" He muttered to himself.

"—I need you to act—again—as a Konoha diplomat to the Sunagakure ambassador who shall make an appearance later this evening. You will be discussing the continued peace between our nations, and other such business—be it trade, treaty, or trust, and so forth—you know how these assignments always go."

"Lady Hokage," Shikamaru said exasperatedly, "I think you're wasting your time with me. All of the diplomatic missions recently—you might as well give them to someone who can appreciate and learn from them."

"I have faith that you will do great things, Shikamaru. I also have faith that these great things won't come at the price of combat. Your intellect is far superior than your physical abilities and jutsus combined. You can serve your country, and the cause for peace, without the hassle of war. These diplomatic missions I assign to you are vital, and—who knows?—you might find them more rewarding than you ever thought possible..."

"Alright, alright," he relented. It wasn't worth fighting over. Especially not with Tsunade, who grinned at him knowingly as if she were hiding something from him.

And she probably was.

"Well, if it isn't Shikamaru Nara in the flesh."

If Shikamaru had managed to hold on to any sort of hope that this night could go smoothly, it was obliterated the instant he recognized that voice.

"Temari," he sighed. "I knew this assignment would be troublesome."

"Please," she replied, "tame your excitement. We have much to discuss, as always." She grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into a restaurant called 'Dragonhide,' at which they had been told to meet. It was fitting, seeing as Shikamaru decided in that moment that he'd rather be facing a dragon than Temari—dragons weren't nearly as stubborn or loud.

Once they sat down (Temari bypassed the hostess and chose her own seat), Temari leaned back and glared at Shikamaru. "Alright, Nara. Let's get this over with so we can both go home."

Shikamaru couldn't have phrased his thoughts any better, and Temari suddenly didn't seem so troublesome after all. "Fine," he replied. "Let's do the usual: I'll tell you what Konoha needs, you tell me what Suna needs, and we'll compromise."

"Brilliant," Temari said, grinning.

"Oi, Nara!"

Reluctantly, Shikamaru turned around. Upon seeing Naruto charging towards them, he silently cursed every aspect of his assignment. And here he had just thought things were going in his favor.

"What?" Shikamaru replied curtly.

"I just saw you as I was walking by, and… wanted to congratulate you on scoring such a fine date!" Naruto exclaimed with his thumbs up. "Nice!"

Temari snorted, and Shikamaru thought fondly of using his Shadow Paralysis Jutsu to make Naruto strangle himself. "Naruto," he began coolly. "We are on official diplomatic business, which you are interrupting. This—and I emphasize—is not a date. Where do you get such fanatical and troublesome ideas?"

"Oh!" Naruto said, winking at him. "You're on 'official business.' I gotcha. Way to go, Nara! Get lucky tonight!" He then turned and sprinted in the opposite direction, a maniacal grin in tow. Shikamaru turned slowly back to Temari.

"You have an unfortunate taste in friends," she remarked. He sighed.

"I know."

Shikamaru was surprised at how quickly, efficiently, and easily the negotiations were done, both sides equally pleased with the results. Their food came and went just as quickly, and in the blink of an eye Shikamaru was standing outside the restaurant and saying a perfectly platonic goodbye.

He watched Temari walk away, suddenly and reluctantly curious. In the entire two and a half hours they just spent together, he was unable to glean a single thing about her—but he shook those thoughts from his head. It was irrelevant. And troublesome. They completed the assignment as expected—and probably in record time, too. But it still gnawed at the back of his mind—he'd known her for a while, but… who was she? Where did she go when all of her cares were gone?

As if his body moved of its own will, he followed her. Curious, he said to himself, not creepy. So curious, he thought, that it was troublesome—the fact that he was going to such lengths was almost absurd. But he was curious, and he trailed her distantly as the city and lights and sound faded, and a shanty apartment complex loomed on the horizon. He watched from a tree as she climbed four levels, and opened room 403. After a few minutes, he, too, climbed four flights of stairs, and stood in front of room 403. He leaned back on the railing that stretched across the outdoor hall, and fought internally with himself.

It was stupid that he was out here; it was stupid that he was so curious about something so trivial. It was stupid that he wanted to know more about her—and it was stupid that he should go to such tiresome lengths to learn. But there it was—he just admitted it to himself: he wanted to know more about her, this familiar-yet-mysterious woman. He wanted to see beyond the façade of Ambassador Temari, and to see who she was when she was just 'Temari.' He was about to go against every natural instinct—every code of law prohibiting diplomatic fraternization—just to find out.

Suddenly the door to 403 burst open, and Temari stood with her arms crossed. She had changed out of her formal shinobi attire into plain gray pajama shorts and a tank top—and she didn't look happy. "What the hell are you still doing out here?" She demanded. "I left that door unlocked for a reason. Now get inside."

Shikamaru, probably more due to his intellect than anything, was not accustomed to being caught off guard. But there he stood, immobile and speechless. He must have looked truly dumb because Temari finally huffed, grabbed his collar, and dragged him inside her apartment. After she slammed the door, she turned to him again, waiting for him to say something.

"You, uh…" He coughed, and tried again. "You knew I was coming." It wasn't a question. Of course she knew.

"You're more obvious than you think," she replied, shrugging. "So what's up? I'm sure you didn't follow me without a reason."

Shikamaru cringed. He had, actually.

But he decided to be honest with her—it was less of a hassle than trying to lie. "I sort of had a reason, I guess." He paused, choosing his words carefully. He couldn't believe what he was about to say. "I just wanted to know how you spend your evenings—you know, what you do and where you go when your cares are gone. I think I just wanted to get to know you better. We've been collaborating as diplomats for a long time, but I don't know anything about you. I mean, maybe we could grab some food and actually talk about ourselves, or something. I don't know," he shrugged. "I'm not good at this kind of stuff. It's all a drag, really."

Temari snorted. "I appreciate the sentiment, but stalking a girl isn't the right way to get to know her. And neither is going out to dinner. Let's just chill here—look," she walked down the hall and into her kitchen, pulling out a large bottle of sake from one of the cabinets. "Sake and time—that's all you need to really get to know someone. Grab a chair, Nara. You're in for a long night." She grabbed two glasses, and poured generous helpings of sake.

"Fine," he said, and took a seat and some sake. "But you start."

"Fine," she replied. "Geez… well, I was born in Sunagakure. My father was the Fourth Kazekage—killed when I was young. I had a tense relationship with my brother, Gaara, growing up, but… he's really grown into something, now. He's been reaching out to me these past few years, and it's been nice. What else…? I became an ambassador because I think promoting peace and unity would be a good way to make up for the blood I've spilled in this world. But you don't ever repeat that—it's personal. I don't know," she said, drinking heavily from her glass. "There isn't much to tell. Sorry."

Shikamaru leaned back, absorbing everything. But he found her last comment most intriguing of all. "You really think you're making a difference as an ambassador?"

She shrugged. "I'd hope so. That's my goal, anyway. But I'm sure there are other people who could easily do my job just as well—better, probably. I think I'm really trying to make a difference in myself. After seeing Gaara change so dramatically, it really made me look inward. But just because I'm saying this now doesn't mean I've gone soft—I'll still kick your ass. But I'm sick of talking about me. It makes me feel too transparent."

"Alright," Shikamaru said, his head feeling slightly lighter. "I guess I'll start, now, though there's not much to say, either. I was born here, in Konohagakure, to parents who do nothing but fight. My old man's a real piece of work—says I'm good for nothing if I'm not good at something. Maybe that's why I have the intellect I do, all that damn pressure. It's annoying. So that's why I'm a jounin—and why I'm trying out politics. I just want him to be proud of me, or something. So, yeah. I've got minor daddy issues."

"Who doesn't?" Temari raised her glass, and Shikamaru met it with his, both of them downing another drink. After pouring more sake, Temari looked at him sternly. "Are you happy, Shikamaru—with what you're doing now?"

Shikamaru paused. He'd never considered his own happiness or misery in relation to his assignments—they'd always been delegated to him, and he'd always accepted, hopeful that his father might be pleased to see him serving the Village. "You know," he decided, "I am. I never cared for fighting, as it was. Too much work. Too much blood—justified only by 'the Way of the Shinobi.' I feel like I get a say in how we do things—how we operate, and if we even fight at all, by being a diplomat."

"Hmmm… I think you'd make a great Hokage, Shikamaru," she said. "You're level-headed, wary, smart, and reasonable. Give that some thought."

He smirked. "That spot's already booked. But thanks. It's nice to be appreciated."

And they continued talking and drinking, topics ranging from how troublesome marriage was to the true meaning of peace. And Shikamaru had never been so riveted by a woman—even as he was learning more, there was still more to learn. She was a perpetual mystery, but he was determined to solve her. Seek her. Understand her. Maybe it was the liquor throwing such ridiculous thoughts into his head, but maybe she wasn't so troublesome, after all. Maybe fraternizing wasn't so bad, either.

Before they knew it, hours had passed and the sake was nearly gone. Temari suddenly seemed foggy, and Shikamaru's head was buzzing. He tried to look directly into her eyes, but it was hard to find them… He needed to leave. "Hey," he said, still searching for her eyes. "I think I'm gonna go." She laughed at him in the distance.

"I'm not letting you out on the streets looking like that," she said, standing up. She took a final swig of sake before leaving the empty bottle and pulling him to his feet, which looked distorted and strange to him. She held him up while he tried to balance himself. "Just stay the night. But don't get any ideas—there's the couch."

He stumbled over and collapsed on it, feeling embarrassed for some reason. He'd had just as much to drink as she… So why was he the only one affected? He tried to say "thanks," but it came out slurred and inaudible. She seemed to come to the same realization he did.

"Man, for someone so smart, you don't know when to stop," she remarked. "But you've had just as much as me… Poor Nara. Just can't handle your liquor." She dug a blanket from one of her closets and threw it over him. He buried himself into it, hoping vaguely that he could disappear completely. He heard a door shut in the distance, and sighed to himself.

He was never going to drink again.

Shikamaru jolted awake suddenly. There was a stabbing pain in his head, aching and pulsing. He groaned, cradling it gently. He looked frantically around him before remembering where and who he was. He craned his neck, looking for a clock. It was three forty-five in the morning, but what had woken him? Reluctantly, he listened harder despite how much his ears stung. Hangovers needed to be more accommodating.

To his surprise, he heard the sound of crying. Was this what had really woken him? Carefully, he rose and tread softly to find the sound. The dark and shadows were all too familiar to him, and their company made it easier for him to navigate in spite of his throbbing head. He paused outside of Temari's bedroom. He could hear her from the outside, crying softly—but why? What could make such a rough woman cry? Reluctantly, curiously he opened the door. He was never going to be able to sleep again if this troublesome crying continued, anyway.

She was sitting cross-legged and hunched on her bed, but before he could say anything there was a flash of silver, and a kunai buried hilt deep into the wall next to his head. "You have poor aim," he remarked, not too startled. She hastily scrubbed her face.

"It was a warning shot—I forgot you were here for a second," she replied, her voice thick. "Trust me, if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead."

Shikamaru yanked the kunai from the wall, leaving an ugly gash in the paneling. He dropped it, letting it clatter to the floor. The sound was like thunder in the silence. "You've been crying," he said.

"You're full of it," she said, not meeting his eyes.

"There are still tear streaks on your face," he sighed. "Look, I don't usually do this kind of thing. But your crying woke me up, and I need to be able to sleep off this hangover. So… what's going on?"

She shrugged. "It's nothing. You wouldn't get it."

Shikamaru rolled his eyes, and plopped down next to her on the bed. "Like I said, I don't ever do this kind of thing because I don't know how to talk to women like this. But I do know that you aren't a woman to cry—you're too brave for that. Too proud. So what in the hell could ever make you cry?"

"That damn curiosity of yours will kill you someday, Nara," she said, softer this time. She huffed and folded her arms, grinning slightly. "Well, you were honest with me today, so I guess I'll return the favor. I think it kind of hit me tonight just how alone I am. This was the first time someone's bothered to know me in… years, really. This world cares for no one, Shikamaru. Not you or me or anyone else. So maybe it's nice to have someone curious about me again—someone similar to me, who understands how absurd it is to want to know someone, but bothers to do it anyway. We're a lot alike, you know. But, uh… thanks for everything. And don't you ever repeat this to anyone—you saw nothing, Nara. Got it?"

He stared at her—into her, really, nodding vaguely when she was finished. He almost smiled—to think the night could have unfolded as it did, and all thanks to some dumb and curious impulse. She looked back at him, teal eyes wide, knowing. There was a mutual understanding and appreciation, and they realized that maybe the world wasn't so cruel, after all. Maybe the universe still had its own sense of irony. Humor, too, in drawing two stubborn people together. Though it was now four in the morning, Shikamaru didn't feel tired or hung-over. He felt alive in every sense of the word. Alive with her, Temari, who abruptly grabbed his shirt and pulled him into a kiss.

He made no protest, even when her hands wound their way around his neck. His hands made trails across her body in reply. Even when her lips parted, he found his doing the same. She tasted of tears and honey—but mostly honey, and that was all right with him. When they finally pulled away, breathing labored and eyes glossy, something dawned on her.

"This probably won't go over well with Tsunade. Sorry."

"You're not sorry," he smirked, and she punched him. "Besides, something tells me she'll be more than understanding. But I don't want to think about it—it's a drag."

"Yeah, it is."

And so they resumed, undisturbed, and Shikamaru decided that maybe life wasn't so troublesome, after all.

Thanks for reading! Reviews are always welcome!