Gaara calls me up around Sunday to check if I'm still alive and I can just imagine what a fit everyone must be throwing over there.

"No. I'm not a squealer and yes, I was caught and no, I wasn't arrested."

"Why?" Gaara seriously needs to take some cough syrup or some throat lozenges or something for that voice.

"There are some seriously fucked up cops out there."

He takes a breath as if to ask more but I guess he thought better, telling me he'll see me in a day or two and hangs up before I can ask.

Something about a pity party he has to go squish.

I don't get him sometimes.

I spend most of the morning slipping in and out of consciousness with a warm cup of tea in one hand and a decrepit copy of Kafka's Metamorphosis in the other. A possible load of laundry sits at my feet and I debate the pros and cons of dragging up the energy to go to the laundry-mat.

Three floors of stairs vs. clean clothes.

Tricky...

RIIIIIING! RIIIIIIING! RIIIIIING!

I really don't want to move...maybe I'll just ignore it and let the answering machine get it...

RIIIIIIIIIIIG! RIIIIIIING! RIIIIIING!

Oh. Yeah. I don't have an answering machine. I forgot--I'm poor.

RIIIIIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIIIIIG! RIIIIIIIING!

Guess I better get it.

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIIIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIIIIING!!

Is it just me, is the phone getting louder and more irritable? Can phones do that?

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIIIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIIIIIII--

"Hello?"

"BRAT! What took you so long to pick up?!"

Now I know why the phone seemed to have a personality. Tsunade was channeling her anger into the rings.

"Sorry. What's up?"

"'Sorry?' That's all you have to say for yourself? What kind of person doesn't answer their phone until the fifteenth ring?!"

"It was too far away?" I guess she's forgone the tranquilizers today.

"I ought to go over there and kick your scrawny blond ass into next year for that!"

No wonder I was so reluctant to answer. Here's to self-preservation instincts! May they be stronger in the future!

"Did you call to nag or for an actual reason?"

She huffs and for the second time today I hear someone change their mind about something. "Nope. Not a thing."

Bull shit.

"How's Sakura?" I can almost hear her flinch, but she doesn't let it take the smooth control out of her voice.

"Stable, for the moment. She came home late from a party glowing like a neon sign and took a morning-after pill with her granola. I think Sasuke must be in a good mood this week."

This is punishment for arguing with her--I know it. She's bringing up this stuff to get under my skin.

It's working.

I grind my knuckles against the edge of the kitchen table hard enough it could bruise a different man.

"Why'd you call, Tsunade? Tell me now or hang up; I'm busy."

She calls my bluff with a laugh. "If you're busy, my boobs are real."

"Oh really? Prove it--you don't know me."

She's probably raising an eyebrow at that. Tsunade is one of the few people who would know me.

"How's your Kafka fairing?"

I involuntarily move the tea stained pages behind me as if she could see through the phone.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm sure."

"Look--I said I'm busy, so speak your peace or hold it 'til death."

She weighs her words carefully. "How fast can you be at the train station in Vallor District?"

"Uh...three hours, give or take?"

"Well shit, kid; you've got ninety minutes."

"What?!"

"Well you would have had more time if you'd picked up last night but I guess there's no point in asking where you were now."

"What's this about? What's at the train station?"

"If you want it bad enough--your future."


I can't believe this. I'm half tempted to get out now and take my chances with the rush hour traffic. I can barely breathe and the guy next to me smells like a trash can. A baby starts wailing near the back while a wannabe gangster dances to music that everyone can hear.

Let me tell you something about public transportation; it's crowded and smelly and everyone is rude and irritable and no one understands proper seat etiquette.

Take thirty-something anchovies and stick them in a matchbox and make every single one of them have a bad day. Now put them in motion and watch them try and keep their balance by holding onto little rope loops and metal poles they can bang their heads against and spill their coffee or soda or breast milk or what-not all over people.

That, is public transportation on a good day.

Another idiot gets on the bus and finds a spot in front of me, inadvertently stepping on my foot.

Hard.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" I can't help but shout.

What kind of jack ass wears cleats around a city?!

"Sorry man," he mumbles and tries to make himself look very, very small.

"Watch you're mouth back there! No swearing on my bus, mister!" The bus driver's voice is like a Chihuahua on helium. Did he skip puberty or something?

Not ten minutes later the trashcan man is drooling on my shoulder.

He's not even asleep.

"Hey. Buddy. Get off."

Nothing. He's got this stupid expression on his face like a love...sick...puppy...

I wave my hand in front of his eyes and all he does is giggle and gurgle.

Charming.

"Whoops!" A suit-and-tie trips and the next thing I know there is scalding. Hot. Starbucks. On my leg.

"SHIIIIIIT! OWWWW!"

"What'd I just say buddy?! Watch you're language! There are kids on this bus!"

"Ha-ha-haaaaa!" I grip the leg of my pants where I swear my skin is being liquidized. I whimper incredulously.

Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-iiiiie...

As if to punish me for all the evil things I've ever thought about doing, at the next stop an athletic guy with a cell phone glued to his ear and two ladies on the hefty side march on board and force everyone into even closer confines. The athlete with a developing tumor by his ear (he's probably getting enough radiation from that phone to spawn toad men) seems to have tuned his vocal chords to a bellowing A-sharp in Fortissimo Piccolo.

The heavy ladies are chattering something obnoxious in Portuguese or Spanish or whatever and I can barely breathe between McDrool and four other offenders. Someone gets on in the back and now I can't even move my wrist to check the time.

Dammit, Tsunade! She had to dangle Namikaze's teacher in front of me like that...


"What are you talking about, Hag?"

"Keep talking like that and I'm not telling you jack-shit."

I keep my mouth sealed for a moment. But just a moment.

"You remember the old colleague of mine we talked about? The one who taught Minato Namikaze?"

"How could I forget?" No, seriously--how could I forget? Namikaze's been my idol since I could read. "You promised me a sit down with him."

"Yeah. About that. He's leaving the country in about four hours."

Excuse me?

"What?!"

"You've got an hour and a half to catch him at the train station or you're shit out of luck. He's headed straight to the airport immediately after, to a sunny little villa in Tahiti. Get to him before that, because I can promise you you're never going to see an opportunity like this again."

I grab the nearest Sharpie and start scribbling on my arm. "Name, description, and what I'm supposed to say to this 'Legendary Writer' to get him to stay." I doubt any bigwig scholar is going to listen to a scruffy brat like me.

She chuckles and my hackles rise. How does she do that?

"Trust me kid. You don't need to say anything yourself. Just relay this..."


"I know, Mary--isn't it insane?!" My ears just tuned into the athletic-cell-guy. "There are so many sequins on her dress it just--uh! It just sparkles!"

God help me but I think cell phone guy just bumped it up a notch. And in a southern accent, too.

"I know! How droll was her dress?!"

Well, what do you know? The Village People lost their cowboy.

"Ah! No WAY! SERIOUSLY?! THAT IS SO FETCH!"

That's it. I give.

"HEY! ASS HOLE! THAT'S MY EAR YOU'RE SCREAMING IN YOU BASTARD!"

Take that Mr. Volume control.

"Watch it buster," the bus driver yells, "One more swear out of you and you are OFF this bus! You hear me?!"

"Yeah, yeah."

Cowboy is just staring at me like I asked to screw him in the back of the bus; scandalized and tempted.

"Well, excuse me!"

We all shift to the side so a woman and her stroller of twins can get off. Now the heavy women are blocking the bell.

My stop approaches and--shit! I can't reach it!

By the time I've hit the yellow tape, we've gone past it.

"Stop, please!" Dammit, I don't have time for this.

"Sorry, kid." No he's not. "That was our last stop until the transfer station."

I think I just got my first whiff of dread. It smells like butter.

As I approach the edge of a critical-panic-overload, I begin weighing the pros and cons of screaming until I'm blue. We're moving further and further from the best shortcut in town and if we get too far, there'll soon be no point in any of this.

Dammit dammit dammit! I just want to let it all out!

...Wait...That might not be such a bad idea...

I look around--at least six kids are within range of this.

Taking a deep breath, I ready myself, getting as close to the driver as possible.

"MOTHER FUCKING SON-OF-A-BITCH!"

As if on-que the bus dives to the side and Captain Helium reaches through the crowd and puts a vice grip on the front of my shirt. The driver then proceeds to turn me into an airborne sack of sand and hurls me off the bus.

"AND STAY OFF, YA FOUL MOUTHED SCUM!"

Psh. Hypocrite.

The bus takes off (without me, thank god) and I cast it a two-finger salute.

Good riddance.

I rise with a relieved fashion fit for soldiers who've just been told their going home after a war. My skin itches where the pavement touched and I glance at my watch.

3:43

I have fifteen minutes.


The rush to the shortcut becomes a hazy blur of people shouting as I push them aside, car horns honking and screeching to a halt, and guys popping out of manholes in time to get a face full of shoe as I use them to leap away.

I want it to be noted that I ran almost three miles non-stop, in twelve minutes, and I'm panting like a St. Bernard in summer.

Now I have three to find him.

The train station platform is busy, but if I stand on a bench I can still pick out a few prospects. Tsunade said his looks are as eclectic as him.

"White hair as crazy as "Doc's" from Back to the Future but longer and red lines on his face that make him look like he's crying blood. He should be flirting with some hot piece of ass."

"And when I find him?"

"Tell him I said: 1U2G6G5H9Q 2J2K1N 0Y7V3X 4W4X2W3S6O9M 4T1F1S0V. 0T2J3H1Z4V12Q 2Q2P 3W3R 3B7V1V. 0Y11Z1V 10W2W2U1U 5H4S200E 1I1P1N6K, 2Q1S 9N12X3V5J."

"Huh?"

"Trust me kid, he'll get it."


Sure as shit, there's a guy in a suit that looks like a knock-off Armani chatting up a stewardess at the steps of the Number 2 train. I think I have just enough air to holler.

"Jiraiya Sannin!"

He turns to me and for some reason, his face gets very pale.

What could he be seeing?

He wanders over to me slowly, always keeping his eyes locked on me and his expression fixed in wary disbelief. He doesn't even notice when his train pulls away.

When he finally stands before me, I notice that there must be sunlight screwing with my hair because his eyes are reflecting the glowing profile of an angel.

"Minato?" he asks carefully.

Huh? I shake my head, still panting. I feel a bit light-headed.

"N-no," I pant. "Naruto...Uzumaki." A hint of realization in his eyes. I stick out my arm with the message on it. It's a little smudged but legible. "Tsunade Hokage...pant...said to...huff...give this...to you." Dammit--still haven't caught my breath. "She said you'd...understand...?"

He drags me off the bench and looks at my arm like a doctor holds a fracture. "Hm... Do you know what this is?"

He waves my arm a bit, ignoring my breathing.

"Nuh...uh. It's just...gibberish..."

"Hm..." He looks at me with dark eyes that belie something...strong, and even a little wise, and I have to fight hard to keep Kyuubi hushed up. "Naruto, huh?" He smiles conspiratorially. "What do you want from me?"

I think I'm hyperventilating.

"I'm...not really sure...I guess I want...to learn..." Things are getting blurry and I can feel my balance waver. "Will you...teach me to...change the world?"

My legs crumple beneath me and I can almost make out a man in the distance. He's pale and clad in dark clothes and shadows. There's a bulge of something in his coat and a red emblem glares from his chest.

Three dark marks on a red annulus.

...U...chi...ha...?

My vision tips and things go dark.


"You really ought to get in shape if you plan on running after me very often."

What a lovely introduction back into the waking world. Now whom do I have to hit?

"Ugh...What happened?" The station blinks back into focus with notable reluctance and there is a tingling in my hands. I seem to be laying on a bench while the crazy writer guy looms over me.

I look to my left and the man--Uchiha--is gone.

"You passed out from hyperventilation. Really kid--you couldn't have asked Tsunade for my cell phone?"

...Oh...no...Did I just--

"Cell phone?"

He pulls out a blackberry and looks at me sympathetically. "Don't tell me she didn't tell you? I never go anywhere without it--Tsunade knows that better than anyone."

...For this, she is going to die, and there will definitely be torture involved.

I wonder what would happen if you switched botox with hair-gel?

"So you're her new victim, huh?" He shakes his head pityingly. "I was wondering who she'd pick on when I left. Guess she decided Minato's brat was a fitting replacement."

Wait--Minato's what? My ears are a bit stuffy since I ran out of q-tips, so I might have misheard but--

"What did you say?"

He gives me an odd look and shakes his head. "Never mind. Not important. Did she tell you what that code on your arm was for?"

"No. I thought you might get it but--" Well jeez, what do I say now?

"Not surprised. It's an old code we used when we were young. You take the number before each letter and go back up the alphabet however many letters it says from the letter in front of it."

I just look at him. He sighs.

"Like this--1U2G6G5H9Q. One up from U is T. Two up from G is E. Six up from G is A. Five up from H is C. And nine up from Q is H. Get it?"

"Uh...yeah. I guess. Seems like an awful lot of trouble for a message. What does it say?"

"Oh, just something of her usual repertoire. It turns out to be, 'Teach him you stupid perv.'"

Kyuubi is almost breathless with laughter.

Congrats, runt; you're the most gullible shrimp since your school counselor believed that bull about being friends with Uchiha.

Shut it, fur ball.

Kyuubi snickers and is silent. There is a moment of digestion between Jiraiya and I, as we ponder the details of our sudden introduction.

The older man claps his big hands together, and I notice that they are calloused from more than just thumbing through pages. He rubs them together, obviously nervous from the quiet and I sit up to get a better look at him.

He wears a tie with dancing toads and frogs but I choose to be quiet about it.

"So, Mr. Uzumaki, I bet you're just dying to begin you're studies!"

I shrug. "I guess. I'm not actually sure what you're supposed to teach me, so..."

"What?!" He looks hurt and offended. "You mean you didn't hear I was teaching you and immediately swoon in ecstasy?!"

It's very hard to keep a straight face right now. "Actually, I've never heard of any of your work. You're a political writer, right?"

"Ex-Political Activist,brat. Keep your facts straight. I am now a proud connoisseur of the refined varieties of voluptuous profiles of the opposite gender and an endorser of the artistic applications of the karma-sutra and video and photography."

"So...basically you're a perv and a porn director."

"Porn director and screen writer."

Old people are great--they just give up on modesty after a while.

"So, you've never heard of the great Toad Sage of Modern Literature?"

"'Toad Sage of Modern Literature?' Did you give yourself that name or was it a sad joke that stuck?"

"Hurumph!"

He leaps to his feet and onto the bench and I have to dive to the ground to avoid being trampled by surprising platform heel boots. He strikes a ridiculous pose on one foot with his hands motioning for something to stop and his back hunched as he grins ridiculously. Horrifying as this moment is, it's nothing to what I feel as he starts hopping to the side up and down the bench, randomly grabbing his hair by the two locks at his cheeks and swinging his pony tail in a long windmill.

"I am the most respected master of the written word in the entire known universe and the entire known world!"

"Universe includes the world," I call to him, giving into my urges to taunt and torture old know-it-all-egomaniacs.

He straightens suddenly and calls to the heavens, "The greatly endowed Princess Tsunade has sent this peasant child to be my peon and gain wisdom from a disciple of the gods. Praise me, oh short-blond-boy and gaze with adoration at what you may dream to become!"

...I'm going to be the disciple of the reincarnation of an escaped mental patient.

Tsunade really will die for this.


When I get home, there is one thing that bugs me enough to pull out a piece of paper and write down the alphabet and the code on my arm.

Ten minutes later leaves my stomach tightening.

The first part of the message does say, "Teach him you stupid perv," but as I suspected, that's not all I have passed on.

The rest of it is far more ominous...

They're on to you. You must come home, or else.