Naruto 1. Chapter 1

Two people rush past him, laughing and clutching at each other, urgency hidden behind bright smiles. Shikamaru rolls his eyes very slowly and sighs, disturbing the wisp of smoke curling up from the end of the cigarette tucked in the corner of his mouth. He leans a bit more heavily against the wall of the bar, head tipping forward, and growls as his hair falls in front of his eyes, partially obscuring his view of the street. He pulls a hand out of his pants pocket to angrily push the stray strands back behind his ear, muttering darkly about uppity ninja and broken hair ties. If a certain person didn't insist on removing his hair tie every time they were anywhere near each other, the elastic wouldn't strain so much as to snap in the middle of a mission. At least, he didn't think so. It was good enough to have someone else to blame for this particular misfortune.

_Speaking of_, Shikamaru thought darkly, watching as a few more inebriated fools stumbled out of the bar and onto the dark street. There were things he was supposed to remember. For a moment, nothing came to mind, and he cursed under his breath for not having Chouji write the damn thing down for him. He could have written it down himself, but that would have been too troublesome. He'd remember it all soon enough. Probably.

_Come back in one piece._So far, he'd upheld that one to the letter.

_With most of your blood._ That one, too. He'd only suffered a few scratches. Well, the gash on his arm hardly qualified as a "scratch," but Ino had bound it tight enough, and she said that if – or _when_, to put it in her words – he ripped the wound open again, he'd only need a stitch or two.

_Don't be lazy._He'd been as true to that one as he could possibly manage without wanting to scream. He was only good with so much activity.

_Don't be late._They were running ahead of schedule, as of this morning. Bonus points.

_No-_

Someone new stepped out of the bar. Someone he'd not seen go in. Someone wearing impossibly tight leather pants and a fishnet shirt that hugged all the right places. Someone with the strangest air of familiarity, accidentally moving into Shikamaru's bubble of personal space. When he realized who it had to be, his eyes widened fractionally, but he held back the urge to reach for his kunai and shout an alert to the rest of his team.

The man's face was almost startling. If not for the ponytail and the lines under his eyes – ignoring the height difference – he could have been Sasuke. He registered the barest hint of shock, as well, before he started to smirk, shifting a little – closer to Shikamaru, not further away. It crossed his mind briefly that although Itachi undoubtedly knew he was a shinobi, it was very possible the traitor Uchiha didn't realize he was from Konoha, especially considering his current lack of identifying markings of any kind. That might account for his seeming unconcern with personal space.

Or he might just be a slut. Whichever.

Shikamaru took a long draw on the cigarette to buy a moment, and then removed it from his mouth, flicking the ash onto the ground. He gave a huffy little sigh and raised an eyebrow at the Uchiha, who still hadn't moved. Perhaps he'd be lucky enough to survive this encounter.

Itachi's smirk grew a little wider, making it actually perceptible. "Waiting for something good to come along?"

Shikamaru suppressed a wince at the line and made a mental note to tell Sasuke his brother was a whore. Before he could think of an answer, the Uchiha was much closer than he'd remembered. Little warning lights went off in his brain, and his laundry list of things to remember came up again, the last objective conspicuously empty. Shit.

"…Depends. Does "something good" involve sex or death today?"

The older man looked amused at his response. Possibly. He was harder to read than Sasuke had ever been, but Shikamaru had some practice on troublesome idiots who didn't always remember how to smile. One of the less focused parts of his brain wondered vaguely if Itachi ever used any sort of inflection while speaking at all, or if he really did always talk with that constant monotone. It had to be incredibly annoying to the people who dealt with him every day.

"Both, I think. Nara, is it?" It didn't even sound that much like a question.

But still. That sent the situation from only slightly bad to so much worse in half a second. He nodded nonchalantly and took another draw of his cigarette, cursing silently for not having an immediate way to alert his team that severely bad shit was going down, right now.

Ah, well.

Some of the more intelligent systems in his brain kicked into overdrive, immediately reminding him not to meet the other's eyes under any circumstances. He let his focus wander and ended up, much to his dismay, realizing how completely hot Itachi was. He had a sudden flash of Sasuke glaring darkly at someone for mentioning Itachi, a memory of the younger Uchiha's strange hate/worship relation to his brother. What he wouldn't give right now _not_ to finally understand that strange look on Sasuke's face when Itachi was mentioned. The elder Uchiha fairly reeked of uncaring sexuality. There was no word for pants that tight other than _sinful_, and in his quest to ignore the other's eyes he noticed that the fishnet shirt was slashed across the front, torn and fraying, exposing his abdomen. Fucking hell.

Warning lights went off again, more urgent this time. _No sex with strange men._

_Damnit, it had to be __**that one**__ that I forget 'til the last minute?_he thought wryly, a little smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Sorry, Uchiha-san. I've got orders against that sort of thing."

"The dying part, or the sex?"

"Both, actually."

"Hn." Kami, he even _sounded _like Sasuke sometimes. That was way too creepy.

Itachi shifted back out of his space bubble, though, much to his quiet relief. The older man was still way too close, but at least he didn't have to feel the heat coming off him anymore. He could certainly live without that.

The Uchiha left without another word, stalking silently down the dark road. Shikamaru saw someone peel off a building further down – someone decidedly taller, with a sword that looked, in the shadows, to be bigger even than Asuma-sensei was – and followed Itachi, handing him something that a streetlight nearby revealed to be an Akatsuki robe. He hadn't realized the man wasn't wearing it.

A warm hand slid into his chilled one and squeezed, familiar and soft. He turned back and smiled at Ino.

"Anything interesting happen, Shika?"

"…Nah. Nothing." No need to worry her, after all. He'd report it to Sensei, and it'd get to the Hokage that Itachi had been here.

"Mmkay, then, Asuma-sensei wants us all back now."

"Hn, all right," he grumbled, stubbing his cigarette out on the wall before tossing it in the trash off to the side of the building.

He was following all the rules. _I'd better get something for this_, he thought darkly, before following her off down the road in the opposite direction from the one Itachi had gone.


	2. Chapter 2

It occurred to him that he didn't really _want _to know why he was here again. It was enough that he had a hair tie this time, and a new pack of cigarettes, and it was quiet where he was in the dark near the door. If he got any closer, he'd be able to hear the noise of the bar and it's occupants, and he was against finding out what sort of nonsense was going on in there right now, especially since he knew there was one person currently present that he really didn't want to encounter again, or have anything to do with ever. But it seemed to currently be his own twisted fate to meet Uchiha Itachi on dark roads outside of bars in out-of-the-way villages in Sand Country.

Shikamaru had the feeling that Tsunade had sent them back here just to spite him. He also believed wholeheartedly that Temari found his subsequent assignment utterly hysterical, and was probably taping it. She'd send a copy to Ino, who'd share it with Sakura, who'd say something about it in front of Lee, who would then shout it all over the entire Village, and Neji would hear about it and never, ever speak to him again.

Contemplating his imminent social downfall was almost mildly interesting enough to distract him from how _boring _it was just standing here waiting for something to happen.

There weren't even any clouds to look at. There hadn't been, since they'd reached Sand. He was starting to see it as a sort of sign that bad things were coming his way, very quietly, wearing tight black leather pants.

_Uhm. Where did that come from?_ He thought absently, flicking his cigarette against the wall. It sparked for a moment before fading to nothing. His mind was obviously betraying him.

But Itachi wasn't wearing black tonight, he was wearing blue, and he had his hair down, and Shikamaru knew instantly that this had been a bad idea, and he should have refused and stayed in Konoha staring at the cloudy sky where there was only one mildly temperamental Uchiha to worry about, instead of this older, more violently sexual version. Itachi's eyes were red and strange and he found he couldn't look away.

"Did you reconsider, Nara?" he whispered inquisitively, and Shikamaru noticed suddenly how dangerously close the Uchiha was, even though he hadn't been seconds before. That was just what he got for being distracted.

Warning lights again, and he was reminded forcibly of his laundry list of objectives. _No sex with strange men._

Kami, but he wanted to uphold that one tonight.

"I don't know. Death still on the menu?" he shot back, sounding much more self-assured than he currently felt. He finally managed to look away, pulling out another cigarette and sticking it in the corner of his mouth if only to have something solid to focus on. The match he lit fluttered a little even cupped in his palm, but the tobacco caught and he shook it out.

The Uchiha traitor was almost smiling. That was a terrifying thought. "Depends on whether or not you're as good as you look."

Where did he get these lines? Shikamaru could remember a hooker in Lightning Country who'd done a better job trying to convince him. But maybe it was the lack of inflection that made Itachi sound so cheap; although, if you took into account that he dressed like a male pin-up and looked like someone's demented wet dream, maybe he didn't really ever find the need to think of something better to say. People probably fell over themselves to sleep with him, when they didn't know who he was. And for some of them, that knowledge would be an added bonus.

He was in such deep shit.

But Itachi took the choice away from him, because he'd already made the mistake of meeting the Akatsuki's eyes, and Kami only knew how long he'd really been under the other's sway.

**Damage Report**:

That was all it said at the top of the paper the Hokage had given him after he'd given her his report on the mission. Shikamaru snorted derisively and almost put his cigarette out. Fine, if they wanted his version, they could have it, but they weren't getting details. He'd die before he gave them that.

Especially after the trouble he'd had to go through to get that damn tape away from Temari.

_Inexplicable bruises: 3_

All right, so he could explain them – he just didn't want to. The one on his shin was self-explanatory, but the other two were in places he wasn't disclosing to public knowledge, no matter how much the Hokage wanted to know for "medical reasons."

_Cuts/Scrapes: 1_

He stubbed his cigarette out a bit more forcibly than he'd intended to after writing that one. Coming to with a kunai pressed to his throat was not an experience he wanted to repeat ever again. Lucky for him Itachi had decided that there were larger, more shark-like distractions for him to tend to, and flitted off.

Not that Itachi really "flitted" so much as "stalked," or – when he had located his Akatsuki robe, which had mysteriously appeared on the back of a door – "vanished without a trace." But Shikamaru preferred "flitted." It soothed his ego.

_Life Threatening Injuries: 2_

Damn Uchiha. Stab wounds were _not _funny, no matter how amusing the traitor found them. And while technically, getting stabbed in the leg wasn't a mortal injury, Ino had said it would probably kill him anyway, since he wouldn't let her stitch it. Leave the actual doctor part for the medinin. Yes, she was competent, but he'd rather limp than let her at him with a needle.

And certainly, being made to believe that you had been completely gutted counted as a mortal injury, even if it was only in your head. Shikamaru would contest that if he had to. Let them bring Itachi in and prove it. That shit fucking _hurt_.

The Hokage wouldn't get it, though. And Asuma would read this before he passed it in. Sighing, he fixed it to be at least slightly more accurate.

_Life Threatening Injuries: __0_

Shikamaru leaned back in his chair and stretched, yawning. He needed to sleep. He didn't really want to, though. He fully intended to go sit by the gates until Neji got back from his mission. _Then_ he'd sleep. Of course, Ino would probably stop him. She was like that, trying to make him be at least kind of a good ninja when he just wanted to be a lazy mess.

Sitting by the gates wasn't bad; it was sort of like training. Maybe some day he'd get into some weird situation where he wouldn't be able to sleep for a long while – this would be good practice. Besides, he wasn't actually going to sleep if he stayed home, anyway. So what was the point?

_Other: hearing still off_

Things exploding near your head were another source of nothing fun at all. His head was still ringing. Someone would probably want to check that, despite his continued assertion that he'd be fine if they just left him the hell alone.

He reached into his pocket for another cigarette and found nothing. He frowned and opened the desk drawer, where he usually kept an extra pack. None. And while sometimes Neji could be counted on to supply one when he ran out, the Hyuuga kept them on his person, and only when they were both home. Growling in irritation, Shikamaru picked up the pen again.

_Also I'm out of cigarettes again. I think that bears mentioning here._

Maybe Sensei would take pity on him. Not likely, but worth a shot. Anyway, he considered that "damage" worth reporting. He was turning into a chain smoker because they couldn't think up any _sane _missions to send him on.

He dropped the pen and shrugged his vest back on, not bothering to zip it. No need to be uncomfortable _and_ sitting by the gates, was there?


End file.

Naruto, Humor