(A/N: Terribly sorry about the long wait. Communications between myself and my beta apparently broke down, and university has kept me so busy up until now, I haven't had time to even glance this over.
I must say I'm not sure these chapters have any semblance of plot. Basically, they're an exercise in writing. Think of them as me trying to wrap up everything, just for the sake of ending the story. Hopefully, they'll make you at least chuckle with their idiocy, or go "WTF?" with their strangeness.
Thanks to everybody who reviewed Chapter 41, and who reviewed the story in general. Chapter 43 should be out by the start of November.)
And the Beat Goes On
Chapter 42: I Have the Touch
"Uwah!" Naruto cried. "This is fun!"
Orochimaru stared at the disgusting state of his counter. If there was one thing Naruto liked, it was making a mess. The blond certainly had that down to an art. Now, if only he could actually get a grasp on the art of cooking, they'd be all set.
Maybe he should get Naruto to start with the clean-up before he started trying to teach him to make anything. After all, how could anyone work in this mess? He knew he certainly couldn't, and he didn't make any claims to be a person who sought order in everything he did.
"Naruto," he said, exasperated. "Will you stop wasting my flour?"
"Why?" the blond asked, turning around to face him. He kept pouring flour, and consequently made the measuring cup overflow.
"Aw, crap!" the blond cried, turning back around. "That's way too much!"
He tried to sweep some of the flour off the top of the cup, back into the bag, but only succeeded in sending it high up into the air and making himself sneeze. Orochimaru was about ready to dash his head against the wall. "Naruto," he growled.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" the blond cried, trying desperately to hide the mess he'd made.
Orochimaru sighed and sat down. He knew now why Iruka didn't let Naruto cook anything. At this rate, the blond was probably going to destroy the kitchen in a fire.
Naruto was dusted from head to toe in flour and baking soda, salt and sugar, and anything else of the fine, powdery variety. He'd spilled the vanilla all over the counter, and there was molasses being baked onto the top of the oven. There were a couple of broken eggs hiding on the floor, and the flour had dusted the linoleum, making it slippery and treacherous to walk across.
Orochimaru had decided to start with the desserts, because those were easy. He also knew how to make quite a few of them, because, as he'd found out, Itachi had quite the sweet tooth. Not that the stubborn Uchiha would ever admit that. . .
Naruto had grumbled about Sasuke being sour inside and out and liking his food that way, but Orochimaru insisted that desserts were easiest. Right now, Naruto had moved from burning muffins to mangling meringues to crushing cookies. Orochimaru didn't want to move any further ahead, though Naruto seemed to think they should.
"Maybe we should start with something simpler," he said with a sigh, getting up and moving to the cupboards.
He pulled out a box of instant cake mix. "Here," he said, handing it to Naruto, who looked at it in confusion.
"All you have to do is add water, oil and an egg," Orochimaru said, trying to run a hand through his hair and finding that it was all stuck together with something sticky. He made a face.
"Right," Naruto said. "Oil, egg, water. Mix, and bake for. . .however long."
"You got molasses in my hair! How the hell did you manage that, you little punk!" the older teen barked, glaring at the blond.
"Eh heh," Naruto said, sticking a hand behind his head and looking away. He wasn't about to tell Orochimaru that he'd done that on purpose.
"Bah!" Orochimaru said, tossing his hands up in the air. "You make that cake. I'll be back."
"Right-o," Naruto said, giving him a sloppy salute.
The older teen rolled his eyes and stalked out of the kitchen. Then, he turned around and stuck his head back into the room. "Don't jump," he said.
"Why?" Naruto asked, as clueless as ever.
"Because," Orochimaru snarled, "you'll make the cake fall. And don't blow up my kitchen either."
"Right, right," the younger teen muttered, turning around and starting to measure out the oil. Orochimaru winced, and retreated, unable to watch Naruto screw up any more.
"Stupid brat," he muttered, pulling at the molasses-induced knots in his hair. "I'm probably going to have to cut this out. . ."
Sighing, he tugged his shirt over his head and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. "I bet that little snot did that on purpose," he snarled.
Ten minutes later, he was out of the shower and in the bedroom, getting dressed and drying off. His hair was still a little stuck together in places, and he was annoyed with that. He trotted back to the bathroom to hack out the sticky parts.
He walked out into the kitchen, only to find it more of a mess than it was when he'd left it. "Gah!" he cried. "What did you do?"
"Made a cake?" Naruto asked, cocking his head to the side. "It's still in the oven."
"I meant the kitchen!" Orochimaru cried. "It's a mess!"
"Uh, yeah, it is," Naruto confirmed, looking around. "You might want to clean that up."
"I don't think so," Orochimaru said, "I think you might want to clean it up."
"Why would I do that?" Naruto asked. "It's your kitchen."
"And it's your mess," the older teen retorted. "Now, get cleaning, before I kick your sorry ass down the street and back!"
"I'd like to see you try!" Naruto exclaimed.
"Clean!" Orochimaru barked. "Now!"
"Yessir!" Naruto cried, grabbing the cloth from the sink and wiping down the counter in record time.
Orochimaru sighed and closed his eyes. This was a big mistake. . .
- - - - - - - -
Naruto walked in the door at ten to ten that evening. It was still raining outside, and he was soaked now. At least he wasn't covered in flour anymore. He sighed and tugged off his shoes. Then, he walked into the kitchen.
Iruka was sitting there, glowering at him.
"Crap," he said, feeling his heart sink into the bottom of his stomach. There was something he knew he'd forgotten. He just knew he'd forgotten. . .
"Where have you been?" Iruka asked, clearly annoyed.
"Um, at a friend's," he replied, then winced. That was a bad answer. He was grounded!
"At a friend's," Iruka said, sounding like. . . .well, Iruka when he's very pissed off. There's nothing that quite compares to Iruka's ire.
"Uh, yes," Naruto said, well aware that he sucked at lying.
"And aren't you supposed to come directly home after rehearsal?" Iruka asked, standing up and crossing his arms.
"Yes. . ," Naruto agreed slowly.
"What time is it now?" Iruka asked, pointing at the clock.
"Ten to ten," Naruto replied dutifully.
"And what time does rehearsal end?"
"Ten to five," Naruto responded.
"That means you're five hours late!" the brunet teacher snapped.
"I know, I know!" Naruto cried, turning away, as if trying to shield himself from his guardian's wrath.
"What the hell have you been doing for five hours!"
Naruto went red and looked down at his feet. "I was. . .um, uh,. . ."
Iruka rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. "Don't tell me you were with Sasuke," he said, sounding pained.
"No!" Naruto barked. "I was. . .um, learning how to cook stuff. 'Cause you know, I suck at it and all. . ."
Iruka sighed heavily. "Naruto, you and I both know that's not a good excuse. You could learn to cook here, just as well as anywhere else. And what on earth possessed you to learn to cook?"
"Ah," Naruto said, looking about a little nervously. "Ever hear the saying, 'The way to a man's heart is through his stomach'?"
Iruka frowned. "I should have known," he muttered, turning away.
"Look," he said, "I think it's great you want to impress Sasuke, and it's even better that you're learning to cook, but how the hell am I supposed to discipline you if you can't even remember that you're in trouble!"
Naruto tried to look innocent. "You're not?" he asked.
Iruka shook his head in dismay. "I'm not supposed to punish you for stealing money from me. Right. Keep dreaming, Naruto."
The blond teen perked up. "Oh, yeah! How come Sasuke still has the ring?" he asked.
Iruka gave him a startled look. "He still has the ring?" he asked. "How do you know?"
"He was wearing it today," Naruto explained, sitting down at the table. "Did he pay you or something, 'cause you haven't asked me for the money. . ."
He glowered a little bit at the teacher. Iruka turned away. "Well," he said, "he asked me not to tell you. . .but, yeah. He said he'd pay for it."
"That bastard!" Naruto growled, hopping off his chair and heading toward the telephone. "I'm gonna give him a piece of my mind!"
"No telephone calls, Naruto," Iruka said, waggling a finger in warning. "You've already overstepped one limitation of your grounding tonight. Don't you think that's enough?"
"No," Naruto retorted, sticking out his tongue. He dialled Sasuke's number.
Iruka grabbed the phone from him. "Bed!" he yelled at the blond. "Now!"
He slammed the phone down on the receiver as the blond scuttled away, eyes wide and round. Iruka sighed and shook his head. He flopped down in one of the kitchen chairs. "What a little brat," he muttered.
- - - - - - - - -
Itachi had been called out to the funeral of their great-grandmother that night. He'd opted to leave Sasuke at home, because sending one person was cheaper than sending two, and Itachi had to go, because he was clan head now.
Sasuke was home alone. The lights were off everywhere, and the curtains were drawn in every room. The house was silent, and dark. The youngest Uchiha brother was in his element.
He prowled around the house, like a cat in the dark, on all fours, occasionally hitting his head against some piece of furniture or another. He didn't know why, but he felt like he had to sneak around.
It was well after midnight, and he knew it was a school night. He didn't really care though. His mind was running away on him, and he wasn't going to be able to sleep just yet. There had been a late-night horror movie marathon, and while he normally didn't like those sorts of things, he had watched all of the movies, and now, was wide awake.
That was why all the lights in the house were off. It just didn't do to watch horror films by yourself with the lights on. It was a stupid thing to do. They weren't half as scary with the lights on. In fact, they seemed kind of stupid like that.
He'd done his homework, like a good little boy, and he'd made himself dinner. He was surprised he hadn't heard from Orochimaru. He wasn't surprised he hadn't heard from Naruto. The blond was grounded, after all.
He flipped on the lights in the kitchen and winced as they came on. They were so very bright, but he wasn't about to risk reaching into the knife drawer in the dark or something and cutting himself to pieces.
He was on the prowl for his brother's alcohol stash. He knew it was there, and he was going to find it. He was also on the lookout for the little brown paper bag his brother had brought home one night last week. Something had been going on between Itachi and Orochimaru, and they were keeping it hush-hush from him.
He got to his feet and walked across the kitchen, checking each cupboard individually. He normally didn't do things like this, because he was the 'good' child, but he didn't care tonight. Itachi wouldn't catch him, Orochimaru wouldn't know and nobody could say anything. He'd still have his reputation.
He found some unopened bottles in the back of one of the cupboards. He dragged it out to the light, checked for a date on the stuff, and opened it up. It was vodka, or so he thought, so he set about making himself some screwdrivers.
He set out the bottles, and got out a glass. He poured some of the clear, alcoholic liquid into the glass, and then, moved to the refrigerator. He dragged out the orange juice and mixed it. He left the two liquids out on the table and moved off.
He went into the den, where they kept their computer. It wasn't a room they used a lot. It was tucked underneath the stairs, and fairly spacious. They kept a sofa in there, and a couple of chairs, along with the computer. The window looked out at the front lawn. It had a very old feel to it, and Sasuke drew the drapes. It probably hadn't been redecorated since their parents moved into the house.
The room was cut off and quiet and secluded, which was just how he liked it. They didn't use it, or the computer a lot. The computer was mostly for school projects, and the occasional business e-mail from someone or other, which he didn't have to worry about. Itachi looked after those.
He wasn't trying to be nosy or anything. He just wanted to see what his brother did online. He had a funny feeling that after he went to bed, Itachi logged some hours on the machine and the web.
He didn't need to guess what the first thing his brother did was. All of the bookmarks under his user name were porno sites. He didn't bother with them. He had his stash upstairs in hard copy (hah, hard.), and he could do what he liked in the comfort of his bed.
"Ew," he said, glancing down, and wincing. No wonder Itachi didn't endorse the use of the den. He didn't even want to think about how many times his brother had probably sat in the chair and. . .
"Not going there," he muttered, launching the web browser and looking at the homepage. It was a boring school web page.
He sighed, and went to Itachi's e-mail, hacking into it. It wasn't very hard to guess the password. There was a lot of things he would have dubbed spam, but to Itachi, he supposed they were business transactions. "Renew your subscription now!" they exclaimed at him. He rolled his eyes.
He read a few of them, and frowned. Maybe his brother wasn't as completely. . .gay as he'd thought he was. There was a lot of subscriptions to things that were completely heterosexual. "He's bi?" Sasuke asked of no one in particular, then closed the browser. "Yuck."
He tossed back the rest of his drink, then got up to get another one. He went back to the den, despising the walk from the kitchen back to the computer. He was going to have to fix that. He felt like getting absolutely smashed.
He got bored with the computer and went upstairs instead. He went into his brother's room, a place he would normally never invade. He didn't even want to think about what went on in there. It made him a little queasy, and he wanted to hang onto his alcohol a little longer.
He found the little brown bag and looked inside it. There was nothing left in it. He shrugged and tossed it away. He rooted through Itachi's room for a little while, but found nothing that was of interest, except maybe the flavoured condoms on the floor. He shuddered and left the room as quick as he could. He didn't need to know about his brother's quirky sex life.
He went into their parents room. He hated going in there, and hadn't been in there in quite a while, but he just felt like he should. There were a few things in disarray, indicating that someone else had been in the room, most likely Itachi, but it didn't matter.
He knew that his parents had kept the photo albums in their closet, so he opened it up and went digging through the old, unworn and out-of-fashion clothes. He pulled out the albums and went digging through them.
Every so often, he'd go downstairs and get another drink. Eventually, he brought the vodka upstairs, and drank it straight. It burned on the way down, but it was making him feel better than those pictures were. He laughed at a few of them, and cried at a few more.
He put those away, and dug out a couple more, some that were even older than the ones he'd just had out. The pictures were foggier, and sometimes in black and white. There was pictures of his parents as children, with their families. There was pictures of them as teenagers, and at special events in their teenage lives.
He stared at a picture of their mother, in which she was wearing the shortest black dress ever known to man. He guessed that these pictures had been taken either just before or just after his parents had been married.
He flipped over the page and stared. She wasn't wearing just a bloody dress! It was a little French maid's outfit. He started to gag. "Ew," he whimpered. "Disgusting."
Apparently his entire family was kinky. He shuddered and closed the book, putting it back in the closet. He got to his feet and wobbled a bit. That didn't stop him from taking another shot of vodka. He started to rummage through the closet.
He found a big bag, and he dragged it out of the closet with some difficulty. "Wonder what this is," he muttered, unaware that he was slurring.
He fumbled with the zipper and opened it up. It was his mother's wedding dress. It was starting to go a little yellow around the edges with age, but he didn't care. It was a Western sort of confection, big and lacy and not at all like the traditional robes they'd worn for weddings in the past.
He took it out of the bag. It tumbled off the hanger. "Crap," he muttered, tugging at it, pulling it up off the floor. "Gods, how did she wear this? It's heavy."
He set his drink down on the bedside table and unzipped the back of the dress. "Looks like it'd be hot too," he muttered.
He took off his shirt and clambered into the white, lacy dress. He had some trouble zipping it up again, seeing as how the zipper was on the back of the dress. He didn't even realize how smashed he'd have to be to willingly get in a dress.
"Stupid thing," he muttered, growling and tugging it up. It cinched at the waist, and he suddenly couldn't breathe.
"Stupid women," he said, "how do they put up with this?"
He moved forward and nearly tripped over the trailing gown. "Goddamn!" he growled, hiking the skirt up. The back end was still dragging on the floor. He snorted. "Who designed this thing?"
He found her shoes in the closet and pulled them out, sticking his feet into them. He wobbled a bit, and held his hands out to the side, in order to stabilize himself. He giggled a bit, drunken beyond belief.
He looked at himself in the mirror. "Make-up," he muttered, moving over to the vanity and sitting down.
He looked at the decaying make-up and wondered what to do with it. He remembered, vaguely, watching his mother put on her make-up, but that was a long time ago when he'd be sober. This was now and he was drunk.
"This goes. . ," he murmured, creasing his brow. He grabbed his drink and shot it back. "Here."
He rubbed the red stuff all over his lips, wincing at the disgusting feel of it. It was waxy and his lips clung together. "And this. . .goes here," he said, picking up the blush and dusting it, rather heavily all over his cheeks.
He put on the eyeshadow next, unaware of how lopsided he looked with it on. He looked a little too made up. The make-up was too heavy. He didn't care though. He laughed at his reflection. "Oooh, I'm so pretty," he cooed at himself, batting his eyelashes.
He fell backwards off the stool, laughing hysterically. He wasn't sure he could get up. Eventually, he managed to get up, shaking and stumbling. He laughed some more, then grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and pulled them back, sloppily, messily. He grabbed some jewelled pins out of his mother's jewellery box and pushed them roughly into his hair.
"I look ridiculous," he told his reflection, then started laughing. He laughed so hard he cried, and his stomach hurt from the cinched waist of the dress biting into his flesh.
"Oh, oh, it hurts," he gasped, getting to his feet again and looking at his empty glass.
He tugged on the white gloves he'd found in the bag and pulled them on. He found the veil there as well and pulled it over his head. He looked at his reflection. "Here comes the bride," he crowed, off-key and out of tune.
He swept out of the room, carrying his glass. He had no idea how to walk in high heels when he was sober, let alone when he was drunk. He stumbled and tripped here and there. He barely managed to make it out into the hall.
That didn't deter him from going downstairs, however. He marched down the stairs, giggling and shuddering at the strange feeling of lacy scratching at his bare skin. It tickled, and hurt all at once. He tripped over the dress' train and tumbled down the stairs, landing on the floor of the living room, laughing breathlessly. He hadn't broken the glass.
He clambered to his feet, and stumbled into the kitchen, nearly falling to the left, then to the right. He made it back to the kitchen table, unaware that he'd left a half-empty bottle of vodka in his parents' room, and he'd left the door to that room open.
He poured himself some more alcohol and drank it in one go. He poured himself more, not even noticing that he missed the glass almost entirely. "Congrats to the newlyweds!" he slurred, loudly.
He tipped back yet another glass full of vodka, and hiccuped. He left his glass on the table and took the bottle with him instead, tottering upstairs unsteadily. He flopped onto his bed, the shoes making his feet hurt, his lungs aching from being unable to take a proper breath, and his head splitting in two suddenly from having too much to drink. He felt sick.
He was alone, and he was drunk, and he was in his mother's wedding dress, with her shoes on his feet and her make-up smeared across his face and her hairpins buried deep in his hair. His vision was a bit blurry around the edges, not just from the alcohol as he looked across his room. Sitting at the corner of his desk was a picture of them, when they were still a family.
He normally turned it over whenever he felt particularly melancholy. But tonight, he couldn't be bothered to drag himself from his bed to turn it over and hide the faces he'd forgotten. He sat up on the bed, and took another drink from the bottle, trying to stay the quivering of his bottom lip. He hugged his knees to his chest and started to sob.
"Mommy," he said to his knees, choking on his sobs. "Please come back, please, please, please. . .just come back. . ."
He was all alone.
- - - - - - - - -
Itachi arrived home in the first early light of the morning. Actually, it was still very dark outside when he walked up the driveway, but the light was coming.
He'd left directly after school that day, heading out to the funeral home. There had been no visitations, and now, there was only the funeral. Great-grandmother Uchiha was nothing but ashes now, in an ornate jar, buried under the earth in the Uchiha family tomb.
They'd wanted a speech from him, and that was it. He wasn't really a man of words, so what he'd told them had been fairly short and uninspiring. He was quite sure they'd all left wondering if he really was fit to be the next Uchiha clan head.
He didn't care. He hadn't been to a funeral in years, and years, not since his parents died. He had wondered what they would want him to do. He'd been half expecting them to ask him to eat her bones. He shuddered.
He couldn't really remember what had happened at his parents funeral. He'd been in such a daze. He remembered Sasuke was sick, and crying, because he was a crybaby. He remembered standing there, solemn and quiet, but that was all he really remembered. He couldn't remember if his parents had been cremated. He supposed it didn't really matter. They were dead, all the same.
He had expected to find Sasuke asleep in his room, or at least, the door to the boy's bedroom locked. It was open, and he had found Sasuke asleep, but not how he'd expected to find him.
His eye twitched. "Sasuke," he growled, but his brother didn't stir. "What the hell are you doing?"
He moved across the floor, shutting the door behind him with a frown. He sat down on the bed, and shook his brother by the shoulders. Sasuke groaned and winced, as if opening his eyes was painful. He looked at his brother.
"'tachi?" he asked, looking a little sick.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Itachi asked, his voice calm and monotone, as if he was asking Sasuke the most mundane question to have ever existed.
"Huh?" Sasuke asked, and made a move to sit up. The rustling of cloth and the scratching of lace alerted him to the fact he was wearing something he shouldn't have been. "Oh. Uhm. . ."
He tried to remember what on earth had possessed him to wear their mother's wedding dress, but thinking hurt his head and made him feel sick. "I. . .uh. . ."
"You were drunk," Itachi said with a sigh, looking at the bottle spilled all across the floor.
Sasuke looked away. He might have been blushing in shame, but Itachi couldn't really tell under all the make-up the boy had smeared across his face.
"You're a mess," Itachi said with a sigh.
"My head hurts," Sasuke whined, closing his eyes and trying to lie back.
"Get out of this thing before you go to bed," Itachi growled, tugging on the material. It was stained with make-up smears and alcohol now. He winced.
"I. . .uhm. How?" the younger Uchiha asked.
"Up," Itachi commanded, frowning.
Sasuke got up, slowly, looking sicker every second. He wobbled when he got to his feet, unused to the high heels. "Her shoes too?" Itachi asked, with a sigh. "Sasuke. . ."
"Just get me out of it," the younger brother whined. "I want to go to sleep."
Itachi yanked on the zipper, and the dress practically slid off Sasuke, as if cheering its freedom from its abuse. Sasuke kicked off the shoes, his aching feet thanking him for taking them off. He grabbed onto his brother's forearms and carefully climbed out of the pooling fabric at his feet. Itachi yanked the gloves from his forearms and pulled the veil and the hairpins from his head. "Go to the bathroom and wash the make-up off your face," he growled.
Sasuke swayed and walked to the bathroom, looking as if he might fall over at any second. Itachi sighed and looked at the damage done to the dress. He decided he'd better find out what else his brother had done to mangle the house while he'd been gone.
- - - - - - - - -
"Sasuke!"
He turned toward the pink-haired girl calling his name. He clearly wasn't in the mood to be dealing with her. "You've got a little something here," she said, pointing to the corner of her lips, indicating where he should be trying to rub to remove said something.
Ino frowned, having just walked up behind Sakura. "Are you wearing make-up?" she asked of the boy, pushing past Sakura, and moving up closer to him, as if to study him. She leaned up on her tip-toes, and scrutinized him.
"No," he said, turning his face away and rubbing at it. The make-up he'd put on his face last night had been so old it didn't want to come off. He'd scrubbed for the better part of an hour last night before going back to bed, and then for at least twenty minutes again before he left for school. He didn't think it helped that he was hung-over, but. . .
"Yes you are," Ino said, frowning, and chasing him, her hand on his shoulder for balance.
"Don't touch me," he growled, jerking away from her, causing her to lose her balance.
She caught it, and he cursed at her inside his head. He'd wanted her to fall flat on her face. "Why on earth are you wearing make-up?" she asked, hands on hips.
"I'm not!" he cried.
"I know you're naturally pretty," Sakura jibed, "but you aren't that pretty."
He raised an eyebrow. Ino shook her head. "Sakura -"
"Good morning!" Naruto cried, running into the music room. "I hope I'm not late -"
He paused and looked at the clock. "Bah! Iruka told me I was going to be late! I'm early!"
He whipped around and looked at Sasuke, then frowned. "What's wrong with your face, bastard?"
"There's nothing wrong with my face!" he barked, glowering at Naruto. Oh, his head hurt. . .maybe coming to school had been a bad idea.
"He's wearing make-up," Sakura told the blond with a nod.
"Am not," Sasuke grumbled.
"Are too," Ino accused, pointing a finger at him.
Itachi walked into the room, followed by Orochimaru. He looked at Sasuke. "Did you get that garish make-up off your face?" he asked, before sitting down and ignoring Sasuke.
The younger Uchiha fumed. Sakura and Ino cheered in victory, and Naruto just started laughing. "Sasuke-bastard's wearing make-up! Oh-ho, isn't that precious!"
Sasuke hit him. "Shut up, idiot!"
"Ow," Naruto whimpered, rubbing his head and closing his eyes. "Jeez, who pissed in your cereal this morning?"
"Nobody," Sasuke snarled. "I didn't have breakfast."
"Didn't have breakfast?" Sakura and Ino chorused in horror. They were back to being annoying - in unison.
"You can't not have breakfast!" Ino scolded.
"It's not healthy!" Sakura exclaimed. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day!"
"And you two have breakfast all the time," Naruto said, jumping to Sasuke's defensive, despite the fact that the Uchiha had just smashed him over the head and called him an idiot.
The girls fell silent and looked at the floor. Iruka walked into the room at that point, raising an eyebrow. There were people in the room, but dead silence. None of them were talking. "Odd," he muttered, eyeing his students as if he thought they were all aliens.
He marched down the steps and into his office. The door closed behind him. Sakura and Ino moved to their seats. Sasuke took his and continued polishing his flute. He hadn't cleaned it in about a week. It was starting to sound a little funny.
Naruto sat down at the piano and cracked his knuckles, which earned him a glare from everyone in the room. He grinned raucously and started playing "Chopsticks". Sakura and Ino groaned. Sasuke buried his head in his hands. He was now sure that school hadn't been a good idea.
Slowly, the band members filtered into the room. At start time, Iruka walked into the room, and they struck up, the sound bellowing into the room and echoing. Sasuke's head throbbed unappreciatively. They played the piece through, without any mistakes or interruptions.
Iruka clapped from them when they finished. "Very good!" he crowed, like the victor of some major competition. "That'll get us gold for sure!"
He sounded as if he were about to start cackling evilly. Naruto shuddered, and studied the notes on his music sheet. He didn't think he'd ever heard Iruka cackle evilly, and he didn't want to either. Iruka had stopped practice now, and was blathering to them about their club photo for the yearbook.
The bell that signalled classes were going to start in five minutes rang. Iruka jumped, startled and looked at the clock. The students had started getting up and were moving toward their respective classes. "Remember, next week is our last regular rehearsal!" he called after them.
"Hard to believe another semester's almost over, huh?" Naruto asked Sasuke as they climbed up the stairs.
He shrugged. "Not really, I suppose," he said, with a frown.
"You know what I mean," Naruto said, giving him a playful shove. "Next year, we only have two more years of high school left, and then, we're outta here!"
"Hn," Sasuke said, sounding a bit thoughtful. "That's only if you don't flunk out, idiot."
"Eh?" Naruto said, stopping. Then, he frowned in anger and caught up to the Uchiha boy. "Are you implying that I'm gonna fail? 'Cause if you are, you're dead wrong, Uchiha!"
"We'll see about that," Sasuke replied with a smirk.
- - - - - - - - -
Hinata didn't miss many days of school, unless she was sick. Today, however, was a special day. She'd been asked to stay home from school, to help TenTen get settled back into the house.
Neji was part of the branch house, it was true, but since his mother had died, Hinata had automatically been raised to the position of female care provider. Neji and his father would have no idea what to do with TenTen and the baby.
The truth was, she didn't have any idea what to do with TenTen and the baby either. She'd never changed diapers, or rocked a baby to sleep. She'd never been permitted to hold her baby sister. It was just the way things were in the main house. She didn't even think her own mother had taken care of her sister. It wasn't something that a lady of high stature did. If she could, she would get other women to take care of her children for her.
Despite this, Hinata was somehow expected to know what to do with an infant. She would have much rather been at school, or even better, hanging out with Kiba somewhere, instead of in that room, propping TenTen up with pillows and rocking the sleeping infant in her arms.
"I'm sorry to be such a bother," TenTen said, shaking her head. "I mean. . ."
At least she was apologetic about it, though there was no need for it. "You're not a bother," Hinata told her with a shy smile. "It's not your fault."
They were silent for a little while. "Have you thought of a name yet?" Hinata asked, after she'd put the baby back in his crib, where he continued to sleep happily.
"No," TenTen replied. "We weren't sure. . ."
"It's okay," Hinata said, smiling. "I can't think of anything. I'm sure Neji will, though."
"I'm sure he will," TenTen echoed hollowly. "I'd like to hold him." She held out her arms.
"Right," Hinata said, and got the baby out of his crib, and handed him off to TenTen. She winced as she held the squirming thing.
She'd always played with dolls when she was little. She'd had a great many of them, and she'd had all sorts of things for them - a new dress for every day, a stroller, a crib and lots of baby blankets that always smelled like detergent. She'd always pretended she was their mother.
But now that she held an actual baby, a baby that was so floppy, yet squirming and moved of its own volitation, she didn't want to be a mother anymore. It scared her a little. The baby had a weight to it that her dolls had never had and she didn't like holding the baby at all.
TenTen, on the other hand, looked perfectly content holding the child, who squirmed and wailed a little bit. TenTen cooed at him and rocked him back and forth, trying to shush him back to peaceful sleep. Hinata supposed that was because it was her child, her only child and she was doomed to love him, no matter what he did.
She sighed. She'd never really believed that. That was simply what society wanted her to believe about women and their children. Society wanted her to believe that women always placed their children ahead of themselves, and protected their children to the very end.
She knew for a fact that wasn't true in all cases. She knew it wasn't true, especially in Kiba's case.