"Naruto?"

I look to my left where a boy with dark eyes and deep ambition mulls over one of many problems that float through his life. His name is Sasuke, and he could be my friend.

"What is it now?"

He looks down at his perfectly cooked, formed, and cut triangle of tuna and mayo as though it has offended him. "Why don't people look at you when you smile at them?"

I want to ask, "Why are you asking me this, when you don't look either?" What I say instead is, "You know why."

He is silent, thinking about that.

"Is it because of...your eyes?"

"Huh?"

"...Naruto...you're special, aren't you?"

Excuse me?! "Bastard! I am not retarded!"

I receive a blow to the side and my milk spills with my shift. I frown and consider making him get me a new one. That might lead to fighting, and with us that seems to work well.

We smile when we fight.

"Moron. I didn't mean that kind of special."

"Than what?" He frowns some more, throwing his tuna away in a fit. I sigh at both the waste of good food I rarely see and at the tell-tale signs of a Sasuke Fit. "Look, Sasuke--why don't we just drop it already and I can kick your ass for some more milk money. Or the rest of your lunch--either way."

This time I get a slap--open handed slap for Christ's sake--and I'm stunned silent by the blow.

Sasuke is the only one who could shut me up so well.

"Would you just stop it?! For Gods' sakes how stupid do you think I am? You think I haven't been listening--watching you?" He jumps off the steps and moves to stand before me like a lecturer in a hall of students.

I fight the urge to cry at the look at his face--I know what those bitter eyes are saying.

Time's up, Naruto. Wake-y, wake-y to the real world.

"You're special--you stand out and do...things to people that make them fear you, or want you, or hate you without any reason." He runs his hands through his hair, angry and frustrated for lack of a reasonable (or rational) explanation. "For as long as I've known you I've always been better--better grades, better clothes, better looks, better luck. Better life, damnit! And yet every time I beat you, there's no satisfaction."

I swallow, and inject a synthetic anger into my voice. "And that's my fault?!" I don't want to be angry at him. Suddenly I feel very small--very young. I feel like the child I am for the first time in a long while, and I scan my peripheral vision for Iruka--Kiba--anyone to hide behind. I don't want to face this yet.

"It's your fault because you're the cause of it! I beat the others as much as you and every time I know that my father is right--I am an Uchiha, and I will always be the best! But you--"

He looks at a loss for words.

A challenge rises in me, and I can't tell if it's mine or Kyuubi's. "I 'what' Sasuke? What do I do?!"

A flash of a little boy who's gotten lost is in his eyes before it's replaced by a resigned despair. "You make me feel like every time you lose, you've won something better. And I want that--whatever it is. I want it more than I can bear."

There is silence between us, and even the voices of from the cafeteria are muted. The world pauses, and for that moment, we are just boys trying to find a fixed common ground to make up for a childhood of hate.

He could have been my friend. We could have had it all.

The moment passes, and my heart feels cold. "So what now?"

He breathes deeply. "I don't know. I guess...something has to change...right?"

I fiddle with my hands, avoiding looking directly at him. He wants me to lead us into the first steps of a vicious circle, and Kyuubi is glad to oblige.

"I think...I think we won't be fighting like this. Not anymore."

"Never?" He sounds disappointed. He's not alone.

I shake my head. "There's no room for it. Not between us."

There is a long silence as he digests that, and I wonder for a moment how he thought this all would end. Maybe he thought we could manage hating each other without sacrifice. Maybe he thought hate wouldn't be a part of it at all.

But I am a realist--I expected nothing less.

"Couldn't you share it?" he asks. The last hope he has before his destiny kicks in. "Couldn't you share that special-ness--teach it to me? Couldn't you teach me how to win?"

I tell him no. "It doesn't work like that."

"...Oh. I see."

The hope is gone from him, and I search his eyes for the cruelty that I see in everyone else. Ah! There it is--hiding behind the first dustings of disgust.

It smells like burnt paper and raw coffee beans.

He stiffens his jaw and collects his remaining lunch, not looking at me, not speaking, though I don't take my eyes from him.

I feel that we are men now. Silently grown up and as immature in our grudges as any other adult out there.

Why did you have to spoil it? It's too soon--too soon! We could have stopped this!

As he leaves, he spits before my feet and I feel a change in my face.

That night, I find my paste-on-grin is gone.


"Hey there, Goldfish."

I mean to say, "I'm in the middle of lunch," but with a mouthful of noodles, it sounds more like, "Mm n mimm ah unche."

Fish man pulls a face.

"Swallow or spit it out kid; either way, you aint eating lunch here."

I push the food down my esophagus and bite back the tears that well up at the stretch. "What are you talking about?"

"Itachi want's a word. Now. So toss the food and let's go."

He gestures to the car sitting outside my favorite Oriental place about a block from the school, and I give him a look before turning back to my noodles.

I'm hungry.

"Let's go, krill."

"No. Lunch first, Uchiha-bastard second."

A barrel pushes into my back in a moment of almost-de ja vue, and my back stiffens.

"I said move, jellyfish."

I stand and follow the push of his gun in my side wondering why no one's started screaming--this is a fairly public place. "Technically, you told me to go; there was no moving mentioned. I could have very easily assumed you meant to go in my pants."

Not suave, I'll admit, but better to tickle this fish's funny bone than scratch his raw nerve. He escorts me to the sleek jaguar the color of tarnished nickel and I feel a sharp resentment as I recall the worn-out paths I've killed my sneakers on.

Rich, blue-blooded bastards.

When we've gotten into the chauffeured car (gods-sake--I always knew the rich were lazy but can't they drive their own cars?), Kisame pulls the gun out of my back and tosses it to the side, but not before I see it and curse.

He was holding a curling iron to my vertebra.

"What happened Jaws--couldn't get your hair to cooperate with you so you decided to control innocent civilians?"

I get a disturbing gurgling-growl back and wisely shut my mouth for the rest of the trip.


Le Café du grand

.

Literally translates to The Cafe of the Great.

I'm not sure if this is Itachi's idea of a joke or bad irony.

The place is fancy enough that the moment I step in the door the little man with an up-turned nose steps from behind his podium to say something, but Kisame is right behind me and all he can do is sigh and escort us to a private table in the back where Itachi lurks over a glass of red wine.

I notice Kisame stands away from us like a sentry--guarding against eavesdroppers. Even waiters are avoiding the area.

Who does he think cares--the fashion police? Oh yes--I can just see them bursting in now; flashing badges and demanding to know what I was thinking with my neon orange shirt and camo-pants, because they so clash with my hair and make my eyes look totally drab.

God help us, but now I actually half expect the Fab Five to run in here at any moment and whisk me away.

Still, even I know what might be assumed by a meeting between me and the mysterious top-notch detective and heir to the Uchiha throne. I admit even I think this whole thing looks suspicious--and I'm the supposed criminal!

He stands courteously to shake hands without greetings and we sit in synchronization. He looks me over and I keep my peripheral vision locked on his hands. He could be here to offer me something, or poison me--I really have no idea either way. But I've learned from experience that anyone close to Sasuke is usually at least half-rotten to the core if not molding in the heart and/or brain.

I'm not going to be the one to instigate conversation--the only one I want to talk to is someone who can bring me a bread basket and some complimentary after dinner mints.

My stomach growls.

See, this is why I didn't want to leave my fucking noodles!

Finally, he speaks. "So. You came."

I shake my head. "No I didn't. I've sent an android that's reciting everything I tell it on a radio from a broken down car across the street."

He doesn't look impressed with my brilliant sarcastic wit. I didn't expect him to be.

"I suppose you've been wondering why I let you go during our last encounter?"

"Just a little bit."

He traces one slim fingertip around the edge of the fine glass and I am reminded of the equally fine line we are both treading--him between what I suppose he'd like to do and what he is expected to do as a cop and a business man, and myself between the decisions within myself and my world.

The glass rings eerily.

"I have heard rumors that you made contact with a relic from the tomes of the Reform."

"He's springy as hell for a relic."

"What do you think of him?"

I shift in my chair, suddenly uncomfortable. "He's...inquisitive."

Inquisitive is putting it mildly.


"Tell me, brat--where are your parents?"

"You tell me. You'd know about as much as I do, I'm sure."

"Hm...So how do you know Tsunade?"

"Aunt of a friend. You?"

He grins ridiculously. "Let's just say we've gotten to know each other very well over the years."

Ewe. "So what have you written?"

He puffs up proudly like a toad. "Essays!"

I raise a brow. "Essays."

"Yep!"

"Is that it?"

"What do you mean, 'is that it?!'"

"I mean exactly what I say."

"What's wrong with essays?!"

"I was hoping for something a little...longer." Man, this guy is just one let down after another.

"I'll have you know I wrote 62 essays for the Reform that were celebrated throughout all corners of the Konoha Society!"

Aw, shit--he's got me there. And by the look on his face, he knows it.

"You really wrote for the KS?"

He gives me a blindingly sparkly white grin that would put Lee to shame. "You better believe it kiddo. I was right up there with the best of the best and I set some of the greatest on their feet too."

"Tsunade mentioned you gave advice to Namikaze."

"Of course I did--I practically raised that boy--taught him everything I knew."

"That would explain his early demise then, now wouldn't it?"

His eyes go cold.

"So. You're a fan of the KS?"

"You could say that..."

"Why?"

"My reasons are my own."

"Then so are my teachings."

I huff and cross my arms.

"They were crushed before their time. This country could have been a great nation under their words. But now we'll never get to see them in action." I look him directly in the eye. "That's all you get to know for now."

The grin returns. "For now."


"The Toad will be a great influence in your work. I look forward to watching its progress."

Huh?

He pulls out the latest copy of ANBU and I eye it like a ticking bomb.

"I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty to do a little research on your...friend, Kyuubi. He has some rather controversial political points, as demonstrated by this article in particular." He thumbs open the magazine and starts to read aloud.

"I quote--

It is my understanding that in the time since September 11th opened our eyes to the ongoings of the rest of the world, America has set in motion the growth of seeds--planted by our own hands generations ago--that will become the weeds that choke our country to death."

He smirks and I can hear Kyuubi growl.

"How...bold, of you. Ever since they brought back Alien and Sedation Act, it's rare to see such outright irritation with the government."

"What can I say? Kyuubi has no particular fondness for civil obedience."

"From your association with Sabaku, I could see that."

I recline and he rests his chin on a bridge of laced fingers.

"So--you going to tell me what you want or can I leave?"

A twitch that could be a frown or a grin tugs at his lips. "You hate my brother--yes?"

"Very much."

"Good. And as I hate my entire family, I think we may have a bit of...common ground."

"I'm listening."

"I propose...an alliance."