Summary: Temari was never a good teacher.

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

Warning(s): Pre-timeskip.

Theme: The probability of solving a problem

Note: Part of the Iruka x Temari bombardmentchallenge by Demonic Angel Clone, on the forum of fauxPROJECT. Go check it out, and then do it. This pairing needs love, and I cannot seriously believe that this is the first of this pairing posted on this website.

Invincible

We can

change it all

from here or

simply let it

disappear.

There are many lessons to learn in life.

Temari has become familiar with many of them. One was to be wary of intruders, to prevent those on the outside from getting in. To not allow people to force themselves into the lives of others, although there would always be those who would not allow themselves to be shoved away. There were also those that she could invite into her life, those she could welcome with open arms, let them get close to her, although they were much rarer. But the most worrying of all were those who stood on the outside looking in, watching her continue her life without any doubts as to her purpose (that she didn't think about, because it was easier) and those she would never really know, despite knowing them for ever so long.

But although there were so many lessons to learn, some problems would never be solved. Like the lesson of closeness, as she liked to call the one mentioned, involving a certain teacher. Not her own, of course. That would be the strange, scandalous gossip relationship of the whole of Suna if something like that happened. Plus, Baki was getting on in years. That would be kind of sick. No, the teacher mentioned was one who was still a ninja, but he was a man who belonged to Konoha. He had a brown ponytail, dark skin, and God, he was the most aggravating fool she had ever met.

Umino Iruka. The smallest things about him, despite the things that she hated that were much more numerous, were the things she actually didn't mind. The things she daresay she actually liked. The goofy smile when he had helped on of his students achieve something, the small moment of happiness because he was doing something good. She could do good things, too. Putting an end to enemy ninjas to keep the young children alive, watching their blood stain skin as her steel fan connected with their bodies, often cracking their bones due to sheer force. It could be said that Iruka's method of doing good things was far less disturbing, and far more nice, in the least.

But he was training the killers of tomorrow. Those kids would wake up, be it five or ten years in the future, and by the time they went on the tenth mission assigned to them they would probably end up killing something. Or someone. They would never be able to take it back, either. So underneath, Iruka doing his job well was bad for them. So really, she was more inclined to believe her methods were nicer. Far nicer, in fact, than his would possibly ever be. For that reason she had decided when she was only fifteen and working as a temporary teacher in Konoha Academy due to the low number of (surviving) shinobi, the time she met him, that she would never like him as so much as even a friend. It was impossible to like a man like him.

Children could do it though. Then again, she supposed children could like anyone. Who were children, anyway? They were not legal to drink at twelve, or have children of their own, or to do anything much. Anything much but kill, that was. Though she supposed adults were not much better. Those who could truly have life, those in the villages they were meant to protect, were full of half-excuses and lies. The words stay together for the kids, the unspoken I hate you that so many people never let out, and even the odd something different that showed that they were human. A fumbled I love you, the small butterflies in the pits of stomachs between unspoken lovers, anything. Anything that meant they could still feel, that could show they were still alive, was something that needed to be clung to. They never knew. They weren't supposed to. But the kids, the twelve year olds? They were wise beyond their years. Perhaps that was why Iruka took the job nobody else wanted. To build them up. To protect them. To shelter them before everything else became crashing down without a single moments notice.

So the problem of being close to Iruka, the problem of Iruka, in fact, was that he was too damn kind, that he would probably never understand. He was a chunin just like her, and a few years her senior. How completely and utterly pathetic was that? Whenever she thought that, she let a small smirk grace her lips. It was funny really, that he tried to redeem himself with kindness. It was even more gloriously hilarious that he still did not know any of the lessons of life, not even the smallest ones, because he even tried to be nice to her.

No, even then, she could simply not allow it. He needed to figure things out, realise all the smaller insignificant things he thought he was doing by teaching were actually much larger when they were looked at from a different angle. He was a teacher, yes, but he didn't know the most important lessons that life had taught everyone else that she knew. It was then Temari decided upon one thing, and one thing only. She would be the one to teach the lessons.

Iruka needed to be more wary of intruders.

“We are machines.”

Temari states it without a second thought, determined to show only the tough side of herself to the man standing next to her. They were retrieving scattered kunai that they had been teaching some students to throw. It was by mere coincidence that both classes were being taught at the same time, though. She hadn't altered her schedule to keep an eye on him. Not at all. Not that he knew of, or needed to know of anyway.

“That's not true.” Iruka replied immediately, without a moment of hesitation. Her hair bristled on her neck in excitement. She was going to prove him wrong. The teacher was going to learn something here, whether he knew he would or not. A small smirk, one belonging to the cruel side she knew she kept hidden too often that day when dealing with most of the bratty little runts that were supposed to be the future of what she herself did. She had asked herself if that was the future, if she really wanted to be in it. So now she had the chance to release her mean streak on someone like him, she almost felt that she would enjoy it. No, she knew she would find it the utmost peak of delight in her day.

“I'm never wrong. We were trained to be machines from a young age, perhaps less with you. A place like Konoha has more shinobi, so it relies on that. But the Sand village is something else entirely. You would be trained to kill at this age. The younger you get over it, the better. You learn to be made for nothing else. Why do you teach them to throw kunai now then, rather than training them to kill? Or does Konoha just let things lead up to death, not to disturb the precious darlings?” Temari scoffed. Who was this man to think that she would ever get anything less then completely and utterly correct? A fool, a stupid, ignorant fool. One who was staring at her with shocked brown eyes, reminding her of a deer. She let a cruel smile form on her lips. She had always wanted to go hunting. Mounting his head on her wall would be a pleasure.

“If you were a machine, you would not be alive. You would not have senses, you would not feel pain or pleasure or love. Nobody can have things like that taken from them. If the closest think to love you feel is protection, then you are like me. Because just for a little while, you are able to believe that they will not end up doing out job. That they will give up, like we never did. So I let them have their childhood. Shinobi are not just machines. They are alive, and they need to value what they have. Why learn to kill when you're too short to even go on one of the festival rides?” Iruka summarised. The weapon that Temari had been holding slipped, clattering to the ground. Yes, they were human. Yes, they still had feelings and deep down he was right, because kids should not have been learning to kill when they were still busy trying to grow those few extra inches required for a ride. They were too young. She had to admit, if begrudgingly, that he was correct.

“So tell me Iruka, what would you know of love? If you had to choose between that and your village, which choice would you make?” She said bitterly. She knew she was wrong, but she saw no harm in trying to remedy the situation, thus restoring her confidence and the contempt she saw him with. She couldn't deny that he was smarter than she gave him credit for, though. She stooped down, her hand enclosing around the thin metal of the weapon. He was like the dust that had clung to it, she noticed. Weak, but could stain so that it was hard to remove. She did not like that idea in the slightest.

“I would do as my parents did, and give my life for this village, because it is the thing I love and therefore I have nothing to lose. To be able to defend this, I would say I know all that I need too of not just love, but unconditional love.” He smiled brightly. Regaining her composure, she crouched down and began regathering the dropped weapons. Once again, he had succeeded in almost reversing the situation and making her feel like the fool. She chewed her bottom lip in thought. He had no parents, he had not known love for a long time. Just like her. Yet she had siblings. He only had his village. If by teaching he was giving something back to it, if by becoming a killer he was being the protector of it, if by listening to these children share their hopes and dreams he was being a confidant. This man, he was just so many things. But he didn't know love.

“But if you keep looking out for others, who will look out for you?” She whispered, knowing that he only barely caught the words that carried on the wind to his ears. His smile lessened slightly, but it remained, almost unnerving her even further. She stood up again, the metal weapons caught in her fingers tightly, held together strongly by an shaking fist. Iruka motioned to it, tactfully not mentioning her nerves. She handed them to him, waiting for his explanation. This would have to be good.

“One of these weapons alone cannot do much damage, can it? But together, they can destroy something completely. Tell me, who are we to question who will look out for us when we know the village around us depends on us for it's very existence?” Iruka answered. She didn't have the heart to tell him he was wrong. One weapon could do a lot of damage. A kunai in hand, a vital spot, sharp instantaneous piercing. It wouldn't take much, not in the slightest. Yet he believed, or wanted to believe (she was more inclined to think this) that the villagers usually hated them. They were those who helped them and saved them, yet those that were despised and feared. They had unnatural skills, abilities they could never understand. In the hands of ninja, the world could flourish with the peace they created, or they could destroy it with war. With war, peace could not be created, yet with war, there was a chance that everything could fall. It scared people, there was no doubt about it. Yet this man thought they would be there to help him.

Temari didn't have the heart to teach the lesson that they were made to destroy, that all humans were. Not to Iruka, the man who so desperately wanted to believe something, who probably did believe these things in truth. She was the sort of girl who tried to be cruel, and failed at the facade she tried to uphold so often. It would have been easy, she tried to think, to tell him that what he believed was a self-taught lie. But how could she? From that smile, she had learned so many things. So many disgustingly sad things, that she doubted she would ever even be able to mention them to him with fear of breaking him. It was easy to lie to yourself, Iruka obviously must have known that to be so flippant about something so crushing. He was being held together by the thinnest of threads, which could be so easily torn and snapped. Without them, he would fall to pieces, and even though she held no feelings of friendship or even some form of like for the man, she could not watch him shatter into tiny shards. She just couldn't. She was certain of one thing though, which would make it better for the both of them. If only he could manage it.

Iruka needed to be stronger.

People didn't need emotions.

That was what Temari told herself. Because that was what she had been taught to believe by her private tutors as a young kunoichi, and being brainwashed to think something like that as a child had made her try to be tougher for a long time. It made her try to be anything but Temari, Temari the human and the strategist who avoided fights because they usually ended in someone getting hurt. She didn't like hurting people, not unless she felt it was necessary. But Iruka had complicated things with one of his lessons, one she had been listening to. She had sat with her back against his classroom door, listening to him give his sermon on emotions like a preacher, and for once she understood why the Konoha shinobi she had worked with were usually unable to hold things back.

“Joy, anger, sadness, all are vital.” She'd tutted at this, a clear sign of idiocy from the man (a commonplace thing) and she had to say that it was obvious why so many of these children failed their tests on clause twenty five. The most important rule, as she had been taught, of all shinobi. Old or young, genius or fool, fighter or pacifist. Lifesaver or killer. A shinobi must never show his tears. A shinobi must never show emotion, regardless of the situation. It was easier said then done in some cases, she supposed, but she was fifteen and she was young and she was more inclined to believe what she was taught than what she pondered about. He was a man, and she was a girl, but she knew what was right and he was teaching all the wrong things to his students. She would need to correct that.

“What about clause twenty five?” Someone piped up, the squeaky voice of a child ringing the words into her ears. She closed her eyes, slipping into a daydream. Smart kid, she would have to find out who it was. Reward them, perhaps, for saying the thing she couldn't. She couldn't interrupt, but this voice of opposition, tiny and insignificant, was the next best thing she had at the time. A small smirk lined her lips. She couldn't wait to hear his reply for that one.

“All emotions make us human.” Iruka stated, without missing a beat. Her next breath caught in her throat, sending her into a coughing fit. Small spasms snaked through her body as she was deprived of air, the thing she so needed. The class fell silent. Forcing herself to her feet, she managed to think. She wobbled as she did so, unsteady and unsure. At some point when she was near to collapsing, the door behind her slid open. Brown eyes stared down on her, and by the time she managed to look up to meet them the entire class of his midgets were staring. She growled, bearing her teeth. Some of the girls squeaked, and the boys looked slightly scared. Not that she cared. Damn all of the brats.

“So what am I to you? A monster?” She managed to spit out between ragged breaths, clutching the red ribbon-like tied knot behind her back. It was the only thing she had to cling to, the only thing she could hold on to. The steady knot would not let her down. This man, why did she even care what he thought of her? He was ten years her senior, but it did not stop him from being everything she wanted to detest. She raked her short, bitten nails against her arm. Short as they were, they left thin red lines in their wake. Red was the colour of anger, the colour of rage and one she rarely liked. But somehow, she felt that it could fit her then.

“No.” Iruka managed to say. He didn't say anything else. She supposed it was because it was true, and it was just that he was a bad liar. He didn't say otherwise, he couldn't. But a small, thin lipped smile was on his lips and she hated it. He held all the answers, but told her none. He knew everything she needed to know, and would not release her. At first, he had just been a misguided teacher that she wanted to correct. But slowly and steadily, he had become something she couldn't let go, no matter how much she tried. She was trying to alter something, trying to make it perfect, and it had become her obsession. Her little secret, the thing she had come to actually be able to like. A bit. Who was she kidding? She needed him.

Turning her back on him, she began to walk away from the room. The eyes of the children did not dare to follow her, and she could feel only one pair of eyes burning into her back. He couldn't stop watching her, could he? She laughed manically, kicking the door open to leave the building. Collapsing unto the steps, she buried her face in her hands. She had gone and done it. In becoming her obsession and her need, he had become something she loved. Something she wanted to hold, to know and to trust, because he was so unlike how she was and he was too damn good for her. He was everything she wasn't. These life lessons she had clung to so dearly, what had they taught her? She was trying to be tough, to be strong, and she'd been able to keep up the bloody facade for so long. She had needed to. But now that Gaara was getting better, their family didn't need someone to lean on. It didn't need someone strong. It didn't need her to be like this. It needed her to show more love, to care for them instead of falling apart. It needed her to feel. Maybe it was time she stopped trying to teach. Just maybe, there was one more possibility.

Iruka was right.

To be invincible, you needed only one thing.

That was to find the best thing about yourself. But for the life of her, Temari could not find one redeeming quality that she could connect with herself. What was the best thing about her? Well, she was a good shinobi. Scratch that, she was a brilliant shinobi. She was tougher then the majority of males she knew, and she wasn't lacking in brains either. The steel fan she always carried wasn't any good for her posture, but it was one of her strong points. Her control over the wind didn't leave much to be desired. But of all these things, nothing seemed to really stand out. So she couldn't find it. She couldn't find the best thing about herself, and because of that reason she could not be as strong as she wanted to be.

“Don't ask me. I think you're brilliant at everything.” Kankuro had dismissed the question, pointing her towards Gaara, who had equal difficulty in answering her question. Neither of her brothers seemed to be able to appoint one thing about her which they thought was the best. She frowned at this, seating herself on a bench outside the gates of the Konoha academy. She didn't really want to show her face there again after the commotion she had caused (although she blamed Iruka for provoking her) because she was pretty sure she had petrified all the children (not that she cared at all, of course) and because she didn't really care anyway. One failed mission wouldn't matter, not with the track record she and her brothers had.

“What are you doing outside?” A familiar voice asked. She knew who it was immediately. Her key problem. The fool she had actually managed to care about. Raising her eyes, she met the soft brown orbs of Umino Iruka, looking at her with apparent worry. If he didn't learn to hide his emotions, he would get himself killed. Especially if he was ever attacked on a mission away from his village. She frowned deeply at him. Damn his concern and pity, she didn't need it. She never would.

“Trying to figure out the best thing about myself, which obviously isn't being a teacher.” She answered angrily, pulling at the sleeves of her purple top. If she stretched it any more, it would rip. She had little care for her clothes, however. She had many outfits exactly the same. Suna, her home, made so many outfits perfect for battle, but for her this one was by far the best. It wasn't expensive, either. It was conventional, and it suited her style of fighting. What would one missing outfit matter? It wouldn't. Then again, even one outfit being destroyed would add to the many things she had ruined. She stopped pulling the sleeve quickly.

“Maybe. But there are many good qualities you do have.” He said, obviously trying to make her feel better. He failed miserably. But then it struck her. All along, everyone had been thinking about qualities, when she herself knew the bes thing she connected herself with (although she really wanted to hate it) was the thing she had come to love. Her eyes slid over to him, awkward about the situation before she managed to say it. She needed to tell him. He needed to know. Even if he didn't feel the same way. It would be better if she finally mastered acceptance, teaching herself that she wasn't good with lessons and that sometimes things were better when you just gave in. That way, things could go back to normal again and nobody would be any changed in the least by what had transpired. She took a deep breath. It was better this way. So why was it that no matter how many times she told herself that, she couldn't quite believe it? She had always been a good student. This was one of the most important things she knew.

“No. The best thing about me is someone else.” She said, hoping he would catch her drift. He looked at her, a look of some sort of confusion on his face. She breathed out deeply, then gathered all her will again. He chewed on his bottom lip, staring at her. He knew, he had probably known all along. But he didn't want to believe it. Not in the slightest. His fingers were playing with one another, ducking, looping and weaving in and out in a clear gesture of worry.

“Someone else? But you are already per-” Iruka was cut off by her lips, pressed against his. Her lips weren't smooth, on the contrary they were quite rough, and she hadn't wanted to resort to this because he was too damn innocent-acting and good. He'd give in, give her all that she wanted, and never give a price. He'd never want anything for himself. It wasn't fair really, that she was stealing such a perfect man, attaining something so many other women probably yearned for. He was good with children, he was a good teacher, he was nice and sweet and everything she tried so hard not to be. He was what she detested the most in people, but he was still somehow complete and utter perfection in her eyes. She pulled away in an instant, allowing herself a small pleasure in a tiny grin. He looked stupefied.

“You. You are the best thing about me.” She grinned, before charging off in the direction of the gates. She rushed into the school laughing like a maniac, and the tinkling sound echoed down the empty corridors. It was six in the morning, school hadn't even started yet, and she had kissed the teacher. He would become the worst teacher ever, if he kept allowing things like that to happen. Somewhere behind her, she could hear him calling her name, but it didn't stop her dancing down the corridors. She was a hider, he was a seeker, and together they could be something so invincible it could make any city crumble to dust. There was no probability that anyone could solve this problem of them, not in the slightest. Most lessons weren't needed.

Not when they had each other.

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