Summary: Wherein a super-shinobi of Kohoha is trapped through no fault of his own. A kitchen drabble.

Step.

Crouch.

Step.

Creak.

Damn. He froze near the entrance of the hallway, cursing the unstable floorboards and their perverse desire to shout his presence in enemy territory. The building was small enough, and the walls thin enough, that any scant noise could alert the nearby vigilant shinobi, destroying any chance of reaching his elusive target.

Immobile for two panic filled beats, he slowly relaxed and gave a long (and silent) exhale, before letting a shaky grin slide across his face.

Close one, he breathed, and took stock of his situation. The narrow corridor offered a dimly lighted view of doors to the left, which he glanced at appraisingly before dismissing. No, he could smell the target even from here, the unmistakable scent tickling at his nostrils before leading him towards –

His grin faded as he stared in horror at the steep and rickety (noisy, he moaned) stairway, which seemed to mock him with its deceptively welcoming wood floor and smooth handrails.

Mentally flailing about for a way to reach to lower level without detection, he briefly entertained the whispered thought of giving up, and promptly smacked himself for even thinking such a nasty idea.

I can do this, he chanted as his eyes roved over the faded wallpaper and scuffed steps, I just need some way to…

Pause.

Of course.

Once more convinced of his supreme being, he smirked and, resolving to thank his pervert sensei for a surprisingly useful skill, concentrated on letting the chakra flow to his sandaled feet.

The trip downstairs, even upside down, was anticlimactic, if only due to the earlier tense entry and subsequent achingly slow crawl across the jinxed floorboards, but he stiffened when, once more, the scent of his target wafted in from the large doorway to the left.

Stopping at the edge of the room (kitchen, his mind supplied helpfully), he felt his smirk widen into a full-fledged, fang-baring leer as he caught sight of the target resting innocuously on the table.

Bulls-eye.

It would be so simple, just to run and grab. In and out before anyone noticed. However, given the much-sought nature of his target, undoubtedly its guardians had littered the surrounding area with veiled traps, ready to catch any shinobi fool enough to fall for the ruse.

But not him. To his discerning eyes, staring hard at the almost negligible space keeping him from his prey, nothing seemed to prevent him taking such a little step inwards.

He snorted. Not bloody likely.

Invisible traps were no match for such an accomplished nin. Besides, he had come fully prepared for such dirty tactics. A hand reached into his ratty pouch before carefully lifting out a fistful of white powder. Flour, not just for baking.

Lifting his hand, he took a deep breath, and tossed the powder into the seemingly empty space.

A maze of threads appeared out of thin air in the shower of dust.

Gotcha.

Firmly resisting the urge for an impromptu victory dance, he gradually, painstakingly maneuvered his way through the strands, moving ever closer to his prize.

Two strides away.

One stride away.

He was within reaching distance. By now, he was sweating with the effort of slowly tiptoeing around the traps. Just one more step….

Thunk Thunk Thunk

Three kunai suddenly pinned him against the wall.

Stock-still, he could only groan as the net of threads fell around him, further trapping him and coating the entire area in a fine layer of powder.

That, however, was the lesser of his concerns.

Barricading the doorway were the wonderful girls of Konoha, all primped up for darling Sasuke's (the bastard, he was helpfully supplied again) birthday party, a strapping force the even he, super-shinobi extraordinaire, cowered against.

Leading the pack of lust-driven females, and always ready to protect her own tender offerings to Sasuke, was his very own pink haired teammate.

"NARUTO! I TOLD YOU TO STAY AWAY FROM THE COOKIES!"

Notes: I wanted a happy Naruto fic like this, but sadly found none. So, I bit the bullet and, hence, this, which was mostly an exercise to stretch the writing muscles away from finals shakes fist at sodium potassium-pump. Oh, and mental flailing (aka Read and Review) is always appreciated. Also, this formatting is something else.