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Shikamaru had a rare day off for an even rarer work-related injury. It wasn’t in noble defense of his village. It wasn’t an S-ranked mission fraught with danger. It wasn’t even from the high-level training he did to maintain his skills.
No, it had been from sipping coffee.
Shikamaru, the renowned genius of Konoha, had walked into Kakashi’s office to deliver a scroll, taken a hearty swig from his mug of coffee since it was the excruciatingly early hour of two in the afternoon and, with his vision thus blocked by his mug, didn’t see the box of papers left on the floor, tripped over it, and smacked his head into the edge of the desk.
This had resulted in not only spilled coffee and the handle snapped off his mug, but also massive bruising to his ego, nose, and eye socket, as well as a possible concussion (And a nosebleed).
Sakura had been less than helpful when Shikamaru went to the hospital, laughing so hard at the retelling of the accident that she nearly passed out, and when Ino had coincidentally walked past and questioned what had happened, she too had succumbed to endless guffawing while Shikamaru sat miserably with a pounding headache, and slowly dripped blood from his aching nose and hoped they both broke a rib.
Once home, and declared the next day off to recover, he had garnered even less sympathy from his wife.
Temari had managed to somehow listen to his entire story with a straight face, until he lamented his broken mug. The corners of her mouth twitched slightly, and she pressed her lips firmly together.
Shikamaru glared at her. “Don’t you dare.”
“I’m not doing anything,” Temari said innocently, trying and failing to suppress more twitches.
“Tem . . .”
She snorted once, a thoroughly inelegant sound akin to a stuck pig, and dissolved into hysterical laughter.
“It’s not funny, Temari-“ That statement resulted only in Temari wheezing and failing to smother her giggles. Shikamaru hoped she would strain something laughing so hard.
She didn’t.
By the time Temari had recovered, still snorting at intervals, Shikamaru planted himself on his bed and determined to sleep the rest of the day, the night, and hopefully the next day away.
When Temari joined him in bed later that night, he was feeling slightly better. He heard the occasional page turn as she read quietly, and he rolled over to face her, cracking one eye open.
She looked at him, then back to her book. After a beat of silence, she burst into laughter again, and Shikamaru groaned.
“Woman, stop it!”
The reply was more raucous laughter.
“I’ll go sleep with Shikadai,” he threatened. It was an empty threat at best – he didn’t have the energy to get up out of bed, and certainly no energy to spare to stagger across the hall to Shikadai’s room.
Temari tried her best to refocus on her book, but her shoulders continued to shake with poorly suppressed giggles.
Shikamaru closed his eyes again, and tried to sleep.
“Temari,” Shikamaru sat at the kitchen table, chin propped up on one hand. “. . . Why are you giving me tea for breakfast?”
“Because coffee is too dangerous,” Temari claimed. There was a cheeky undercurrent of mischief in her tone, and Shikamaru sighed. This was, clearly, not something she was going to let go of any time soon. He resigned himself to it coming up in every conversation for the next several weeks – Temari had a mean streak in her that he was well aware of, but was used to her directing towards other people.
Her vindictive, spite-filled attitude didn’t seem nearly as endearing when it was pointed at him.
He gave her a sour look, but didn’t say anything. Whatever he said would only be fuel for the fire – Temari was relentless in her teasing, and the less ammunition he gave her, the easier his life would be.
“I’m going to wake Shikadai,” she announced, passing behind him and running a hand across the back of his shoulders. “Try not to kill yourself while I’m gone.”
“You’re not funny,” he replied, flinching as she flicked his ear.
“And you’re not living this down,” she replied airily as she strode out the room.
Shikamaru had assumed that much. He stared into his tea. Once the ripples settled, he could see a distorted image of his face staring back at him. His nose looked too big, and red, and he had a feeling that it was an accurate representation of what he currently looked like.
“Troublesome,” he mumbled.
Since Shikamaru had an unusual day off, he decided to spend it doing what he enjoyed – which was nothing.
He sprawled out onto the porch outside to enjoy the sun and listen to the forest, and spent the entire morning dozing in and out of consciousness. There were birds chirping, and insects buzzing, and at some point a young deer had wandered onto the porch and licked his hair.
If Shikamaru ignored the slight ache in his nose whenever he breathed, it was a lovely day.
The sun had moved, indicating the day had slipped into early afternoon, when Shikamaru heard the light thump-thump of Shikadai’s little feet on the wood.
“Hey, kiddo,” he mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes.
“Hi, Dad,” Shikadai greeted cheerily.
“Did you walk home alone?”
“No. Uncle Chouji walked me home, and then took Chocho to get ramen. He asked if I wanted to go with, but I wanna nap.”
No paternity test needed there, Shikamaru thought. He waved an arm around until his hand bumped into Shikadai’s soft stomach.
“Sit down. Tell me about your day.”
“Your face looks funny.”
Shikamaru heaved a sigh, and cracked one eye open. Shikadai’s big green eyes were staring down at him, head cocked to one side in curious concern. “I’m fine. Sit.”
Shikadai plopped down, as always finding a seat in his favourite place – planting his bony butt into Shikamaru’s gut. Shikamaru winced at the sudden pressure, and hoped this was a trait Shikadai would outgrow.
“Boruto gave me sweets. Want some?” Shikadai offered.
“No, it’s okay.” Chewing had proved to make his face hurt, so Shikamaru was hoping he could bribe Temari into making him soup without too much snark and ridicule. He could make it himself, but where was the fun in that? Life was better when your wife did all the important things – like making food.
“Wanna know what we talked about today?” Shikadai asked.
“Sure.” Shikamaru pushed the child back a bit, moving him into a less uncomfortable position. Shikadai let himself be moved without protest, and settled into a long, needlessly detailed explanation about his day, starting with his conversation with Boruto before classes began.
Shikamaru was listening with half an ear, rotating on the porch to get optimal sun exposure.
“And then later, Shino-sensei told us all about bugs and spiders,” Shikadai continued, apparently high on too much sugar and willing to talk Shikamaru’s ear off.
“Hm,” Shikamaru made an agreeable noise, figuring it was best to let Shikadai talk himself into a nap. And then Shikamaru could also have a nap. A foolproof plan.
“D’you know some bugs only live for a week?” Shikadai crawled in closer, a knee in the centre of Shikamaru’s stomach, to impart this very important piece of information. “That’s not very long.”
“No, it’s not,” Shikamaru agreed drowsily, basking in the sun. He carefully lifted Shikadai off his diaphragm and onto the porch, and took in a grateful breath of air.
“And,” Shikadai continued, talking directly into Shikamaru’s eyeballs, “there are spiders that eat each other!”
Shikamaru nodded, cracking an eye open and being faced with a looming toddler. It was getting late, and Shikadai would be hungry soon.
The day of rest had also eased some of the ache in Shikamaru’s face, although he was still wondering if Temari could be bribed into soup making. Possibly, if Shikamaru did something to butter her up first.
“Some spiders eat their mate,” Shikadai proclaimed loudly, sitting back pompously. “Shino-sensei says the female will kill and eat her mate if she’s angry and hungry, and – where are you going?”
“Keep talking, kid, I’m just starting dinner before your mom gets home,” Shikamaru replied, already halfway into the kitchen. “I’m listening.”
“Okay,” Shikadai hopped up to follow. “The angry girl spiders are so violent. If they’re annoyed, they rip the boy spider’s head off. Isn’t that fun?”
“Sounds great.” Shikamaru opened the fridge. Bending over made his head pound, so he did a careful inspection of everything without moving. He really, really hoped Temari could be persuaded into making soup. Maybe he could tempt her with some sweets. She rarely refused a treat. If he made Shikadai dinner, and had something nice ready for Temari, she could possibly be placated into cooperation.
It was worth a shot.
And there were enough leftovers to get a good meal together for Shikadai, and the ingredients to quickly make some dango. It was a treat Temari liked, and excellent leverage to get her into a good mood. Although, he reflected, she was already in a good mood. She had been bursting into random bouts of laughter every time she looked at him.
He winced internally. While he had always known that Temari was, for lack of a better term, mean, he had hoped the prolonged exposure to himself and Shikadai might have developed her sense of empathy.
Apparently it had not.
And he was reminded of that fact when she came home later that afternoon and erupted once again into snickers.
“You are meant to support me,” he grumbled, as she failed to smother her giggles. “You’re my wife. You’re meant to offer sympathy and understanding.”
“You’re meant to be able to walk across an office floor,” she replied instantly. When Shikamaru did nothing but glare at her – and it lost some of its power when his eyes were still under shadowed, and his nose was still swollen – she sauntered up to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Don’t touch my face,” he warned, as she leaned in close.
Temari cocked an eyebrow. She stood up on the toes, pressed a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. Shikamaru winced at the pressure, turning his face away.
“Troublesome woman,” he muttered.
“Clumsy idiot,” she replied, brimming with affection. She remained where she was, hands linked behind his neck. “I see you fed Shikadai. And got him to take a nap.”
“I was hoping to bribe you into being nice,” he explained. “So I could rest and you’d make soup.”
“Hm,” she took a moment to think, eyes twinkling with mischief as she studied his face. He stared deadpan back at her. “I could do that.”
“Really?” He cracked a grin. “I have dango as well. In case feeding Shikadai wasn’t enough.”
“I won’t say no to that,” Temari replied airily, stepping away from him. “Go lie down. I’ll make soup.”
“You’re the best,” he said, and his words were heartfelt despite her meanness and spitefulness.
“I know,” she wandered towards the kitchen, and glanced over her shoulder. Her grin was wide and wicked. “I’m gonna make some tea. Want some?”
Shikamaru’s face felt oddly numb the next morning, but at least it was starting to look somewhat normal, although still purple in places. He studied himself closely in the bathroom mirror, turning his head from side to side.
“Very sexy,” Temari commented from the doorway.
He threw a grumpy look over his shoulder.
“Going into work today?” she asked, still grinning. “Or are you staying at home and feeling sorry for yourself?”
“Can’t you be supportive?” Shikamaru groaned.
“No. So, what’s the plan?”
Shikamaru let out a sigh, and continued staring balefully at himself in the mirror. “Ugh . . . I’m staying home. I’m going to sleep.”
“Have fun with that,” Temari said. “Shikadai and I are going out. We’re doing some shopping, then meeting Ino and Sakura.”
Shikamaru nodded, slowly, because it still hurt to move too quickly.
True to his word, he did spend the entire day sleeping. He was rudely awoken by his toddler clambering onto him later that afternoon, and probing at his nose.
“Ow,” Shikamaru mumbled, barely cracking his eyes open.
“You look funny,” Shikadai said, reaching a hand forward again.
Shikamaru caught his wrist before he could get groped. “Hey, buddy, that hurts.”
“Aw. Okay.” Shikadai drew his hand back. “Can I lie down with you?”
“Yes, of course.”
Shikadai let out a happy yell, and immediately burrowed into Shikamaru’s chest. Shikamaru wrapped his arms around his son, letting out a long, relaxing exhale. He closed his eyes once more, happy to sleep the rest of the afternoon away as well.
He heard Temari enter the room, listened to her footsteps approach the bed. Her hand stroked his forehead gently, then ran through his hair.
“Need anything?” she asked softly, so he assumed Shikadai was already half asleep.
Shikamaru nodded. He cracked one eye open, to see her face above him, still smirking. He closed his eye. “Some coffee would be nice.”