#as an attempt from the boys to adjust to her inevitable move to konoha and to make their sister happy

[dragonfruitsoup]

temari, who gives so much of her life to her family, to her village. the girl's been aging at an exponential rate since she was 6 (as most nin do, but shhh). temari, battle-worn and bruised and as resilient and proud as ever, being shoved into the kazekage's office. kankuro, (alive. alive.), leaning against the closed door and gaara, (alive. alive.), propped up in his fancy little chair at his fancy little desk with his fancy little hat hanging off the hook behind him. a formal little slip of paper, an ultimatum.

the 'we don't care if you go spend it with your boyfriend. ('my what!!?') or go find a beach house along the coast somewhere. but you're not stepping a single toe in this village for the next year.'

they give her a week to pack, and the second swiftest messenger bird suna has, and the reminder that all the major villages have been informed that any expense of hers is to be billed to suna. (amazing what a united front can do...)

temari, stepping out of her home for the first time without her brothers or backup or a mission. she has her fan, of course. she has her headband, of course. she has her tiny gourd of sand from the youngest and a little wooden weasle cause kankuro is, in fact, a massive dork. she has a new scarf from baki and sandals from ebizo and a very pretty set of kunai from her team, just in case.

temari, who looks east, toward konoha, a familiar trip at this point, but catches a caravan moving south. sits along the shoreline for three months, horrified at so much water. learns to swim through a riptide the hard way. aides the fishermen pulling in nets and fixing their sails and teaching the young ones to navigate by star because some things are constant.

packs herself up and heads north when the weather gets cool. passes through the land of rain and earth to get to the land of iron. learns how to pack snow to insulate and how to make the thickest stews. spends two months picking up swords and getting a crash course in smithing.

she writes letters every three days. keeps them bundled together until the hawk swoops back with its latest delivery. the ache of being without her brothers has shifted, no longer a gaping wound. still hurts, of course. she still turns to ask kank something or point out a plant to gaara, but it happens less frequent. her letters look less and less cohesive and more like notes stitched together as the months wear on. (she keeps a letter tucked between the folds of her shirt, just below her left shoulder. the one where the ink is smudged and splattered, where you can tell the boys were fighting for the pen before the other could fill up the space. curls her hand over it while whispering prayers to the stars. she will die before she admits this to anyone.)

she writes occasionally to baki and ebizo and her team. she starts writing to shikamaru when kank starts ragging on her ('your sad, pathetic boyfriend came looking for you and moped around the village for a week before going home with his tail between his legs. it was hilarious. i definitely took a photo for you. can't believe you dumped him already. what, find someone cuter in your travels? -k' 'shikamaru asked about you while he was here. he was here for standard meetings, don't listen to kank. be safe. -g' she does, in fact, keep the picture kank sent in with the rest of her letters. it's shikamaru, leaning against a railing, head tilted back, smoke curling from his mouth. he's backlit by lantern and she has to press a hand against her chest to quell the stuttering of her heart.)

she stumbles through the gates of konoha two weeks before fall truly hits, the leaves on the cusp of change. her pack's frayed, busting at the seam in one spot. she's come up from the coast, mouth blistered from fruit that apparently she's mildly allergic to, who knew. her hair is long, longer still, summer sun bleached and braided over and twisted up to keep off her neck. probably the longest it's ever been in her life. (she's four seconds from chopping it off herself. holds out solely to take a picture for kank, because she knows he'll want one). seeks out chouji first, her favorite and she makes that no secret.

she shares a whole notebook with ino over plants she's seen. talks weapons with tenten and parts with a small dagger she helped temper. gets drunk and shit-talks with kiba & naru.

she spends a whole day cleaning and talking to the stones of asuma and shikaku. the private ones, tucked into the nara land. she made her rounds to the public graves earlier when she arrived, paid her respects to those that served in the war. but these. these she spends the extra time to honor.

meets the downright horrifying deer the nara are so proud of. learns how to tend the woods and the deer alike. temari decides, that while she understands what an absolute honor this is, she would be okay with never stepping foot in there again, thanks. the deer know things. they see things. (she'd never tell shikamaru, but staring into their eyes is not unlike being on the business end of shukaku's gaze.)

it snows the day she leaves. soft and slow and glittering while she presses a kiss just below the corner of shikamaru's eye outside the gate. her bag's been replaced and her sandals repaired and she's eager to get home to her brothers.

and the homecoming is spectacular. the sun, already hazy and stuttered as it breaks the horizon, lights up the walls. turns them into a crown of brass and copper and gold for half a moment. a blink-and-you'll-miss-it. catches all the little specks of rock and sand that refract from the edges. and oh, oh. she'd been taking her time, meandering her way back on an unfamiliar route. but her heart stops in time with that blink and oh.

she doesn't know when she started running, but the ground rises up to meet her.

the unforgiving earth slides and shifts and throws her towards the silhouettes, parasols in bright red and purple like halos, perfect circles behind them that burn with the sunrise.

the sand in the gourd at her waist hums. like it knows. like it's trying to reach its own brethren, matching grains in matching gourds.

the backpack gets dropped and so do the parasols and the impact makes her teeth clack and gaara wheeze and kankuro, the ass, just topples them back, letting the sand plume up around them as they bump their heads.