Author's note: we're back! yay! -grins- we're going to concentrate on this story now, mostly because thesepeopleareus won't leave me alone. -growls- this is what happens when you let people you know in real life read your stories. -rolls eyes-
Disclaimer: all recognizable characters belong to kisimoto. all dry psychology passages belong to wikipedia. (yes, i copied them word for word. i'm so bad... feel free to skim over them. you won't hurt my feelings, i promise.)
--kyra

Stage one

Sasori glanced around the crowded lobby before the first bell rang. He wanted to find the others and warn them ahead of time, just in case. He didn't think Pein would intervene – the orange-haired boy seemed about as exasperated as everyone else with his and Deidara's constant bickering – but you never knew. Pein could be devious sometimes, and there were times when he did things that absolutely no one could understand. Sasori still hadn't forgotten the amusement park incident, among other things.

Unfortunately, none of them were anywhere in sight. Not even Kisame was there, and he was usually inordinately easy to spot, mostly due to the fact that he was freakishly tall. The fact that he wasn't in the lobby was worrying – it meant that he was not the only one with a fiendish plan, and when fiendish plans involved Kisame, people were likely to get hurt. He debated whether or not to feel sorry for Kisame's victim, whoever it was, then discarded the idea. They probably deserved it.

He glanced at his watch. Three minutes until school officially started. With a sigh, he began to make his way towards the woodshop room, wondering if his teacher would allow him just to zone out in a corner all period. He had the oddest feeling that the answer would be no.

Sure enough, not only did the teacher forbid him from zoning out, but he actually made Sasori pay attention in class, instead of working on his own as he had been doing. Granted, Sasori had finished the puppets of his parents – and had indeed decided to paint their toenails purple, just for the heck of it – and so he had nothing to do, but it was the principle of the thing.

But they had some kind of guest speaker, and it would apparently be considered disrespectful for Sasori to blatantly ignore him. Sasori was tempted to ask if this meant that he was allowed to subtly ignore him, but then realized that, if he didn't ask, the teacher wouldn't be able to say no, so he would not technically be breaking the rules. Amazing how six-year-old logic still worked all these years later.

The speaker might have been interesting. He might even have been utterly and completely fascinating. Sasori could not have said. He spent the entire period rehearsing what he was going to say when he saw Deidara at lunch. True, they did have English together, but it would somehow be more satisfying to begin stage on in full view of everyone. Besides, Zetsu had said that he wanted to watch, and who was Sasori to deny him that small pleasure? So he plotted and ignored the speaker, and left the class dutifully when the bell rang, still planning.

Unfortunately, next he had psychology, and that class was far too much fun to waste it plotting. Sasori too had his small pleasures in life, and watching the constant feuding between Erin and Itachi was one of them.

"Phineas Gage was born in 1923. As a young man, he took a job working for a railroad company. During the course of his work, a tamping rod was blasted through his brain, causing irreparable damage to his frontal lobes. Though he survived the accident, the damage to his frontal lobes destroyed the emotion centers in his brain, turning him into an unfeeling drone for the remainder of his life."

Sasori listened with half an ear as the psychology teacher explained the tragic tale of Phineas Gage. He really could care less about a mentally destroyed railroad worker; he was far more interested in the two people in front of him.

"Hey, Itachi!" Erin's whisper was masterfully done: just quiet enough that the teacher would not hear it, caught up as she was in her lecture, and just loud enough to ensure that Itachi could not ignore her.

He tried valiantly to pretend he had gone temporarily and unaccountably deaf in his left ear, but finally he turned to stare blankly at her. He did not speak, but she did not need him to.

"Does he remind you of anyone?"

Itachi answered this with a blink which somehow managed to convey the utmost contempt for her words.

"Erin!"

The girl looked up at the teacher. "Mm?"

"Would you like to fill us in on the purpose of the frontal lobes?"

Erin shrugged and glanced up, meeting her eyes briefly before looking back down at the ever present notebook. Sasori wondered idly whether Erin was actually in trouble, or whether the teacher just knew that she would know the answer. Judging from her indulgent smile, he decided that it was the second.

Erin closed her eyes, shifted into 'textbook mode,' and answered, "The executive functions of the frontal lobes involve the ability to recognize future consequences resulting from current actions, to choose between good and bad actions (or better and best), override and suppress unacceptable social responses, and determine similarities and differences between things or events.

"The frontal lobes also play an important part in retaining longer term memories which are not task-based. These are often memories associated with emotions derived from input from the brain's limbic system. The frontal lobe modifies those emotions to generally fit socially acceptable norms." She glanced momentarily at Itachi, then added, "So, in essence, those with damaged frontal lobes are unable to function normally in polite society because their reward functions have been damaged, and so they cannot see the consequences of their actions. This leads them to blatantly disregard the feelings of others, doing what they like, instead of what their missing frontal lobes tell them they should."

The teacher raised her eyebrows slightly, perhaps sensing the insult, but unable to actually pinpoint it. Instead, she turned toward Itachi, who had definitely noticed, and was smoldering at Erin, who, of course, was looking down at her notebook and so did not notice.

"Very good. Itachi, can you elaborate on the procedure known as a frontal lobotomy?"

"'Lobotomy' means cutting a lobe of the brain. It is synonymous with leucotomy (from the Greek 'leukos', 'white' and 'tome', 'cut') — that is, cutting tracts of nerve fibres (white matter) that connect different regions of the brain. Lobotomy of the frontal lobe is an operative procedure used to alleviate symptoms of mental illness. Currently, it is used more commonly in North America than elsewhere."

Erin glanced at him and raised her eyebrows, as though to say, 'is that all?' The teacher sighed, then nodded at her. "Do you have anything to add, Erin?"

Erin took a deep breath and smiled smugly. "Well, on November 12th, 1935, a Portuguese neurosurgeon by the name of Almeida Lima performed the first human lobotomy, using alcohol injections to destroy the brain tissue. This procedure had been proposed by his Nobel Prize-winning colleague Egas Moniz as a result of hearing a lecture by the American neurologist John Fulton earlier that year. Fulton had described a chimpanzee that became much calmer after surgery destroying the connections between the frontal lobe and areas below the cerebral hemispheres, which are concerned with the emotions. Lima operated on a total of 20 patients, all of whom survived. Seven were considered to have made a complete recovery and an equal number were described as having markedly improved.

"Encouraged by these findings, Walter Freeman and James Watts modified Moniz's technique and introduced 'frontal lobotomy' into the US. This operation, also called prefrontal leucotomy or standard lobotomy, was performed widely, and soon its detrimental as well as its beneficial effects became apparent." She paused to take a breath and to glance at the teacher, just to make sure that she was, in fact, allowed to continue.

"Like other brain operations, frontal lobotomy was associated with risks of infection, bleeding, and an increased likelihood of developing seizures. In addition, it also became evident that it altered the behavior and personality of patients, and this gradually limited its use, which further declined in the 1960s because of the development of pharmacological means of treating mental illness. Nevertheless, the use of neurosurgery for treating mental disorders has continued to the present day and is still available in several centers worldwide.

"Earlier operations underwent many modifications, as neurosurgeons sought to reduce their damaging and irreversible side-effects. 'Open' procedures gave way to 'closed' ones, in which the neurosurgeons operated through small holes in the skull, and free-hand operations were replaced by stereotactic procedures, which allowed the neurosurgeon to site lesions with great precision. These changes and developments resulted in the neurosurgical procedures that are currently in use today. The four procedures available worldwide aim to interrupt key connections between specific parts of the frontal lobe and other areas of the brain. Lesion sites vary, and the surgeon's blade is no longer used; instead lesions are created using controlled radiation, or burning or freezing of tissue.

"As more operations were performed, it gradually became apparent that the patients that benefited most had primarily mood and anxiety disorders as opposed to schizophrenia. Hence, the aim of current procedures is to destroy those areas of the brain thought to be important in the regulation of emotion and anxiety.

"Psychosurgery, the treatment of mental illness by neurosurgical procedures, has been criticized because it has developed empirically more than on rational grounds, and because of a lack of 'scientific' evidence supporting its purported therapeutic efficacy. However, the operations are offered only to those patients with severe intractable illnesses who have unsuccessfully tried all reasonable alternatives. In order to evaluate the effectiveness of these procedures accurately, a closely-matched, comparative group of patients would need to be studied, and this would be extremely difficult. Furthermore, it is not ethical to deny patients an operation altogether or to withhold information concerning treatment options for the purposes of research, and this also limits the feasibility of conducting a 'clinical trial'." She paused again, composing her thoughts. Sasori guessed that she was skipping ahead in her mental recitation of the textbook, and he couldn't help being grateful.

"For many people the term 'lobotomy' conjures up images of disturbed beings whose brains have been damaged or mutilated extensively, leaving them at best in a vegetative state without a personality or feelings. This was never true, even in the case of prefrontal leucotomy, and is certainly not the case for the modern stereotactic procedures. Indeed, even in the classical case of Phineas Gage, who in 1847 through an industrial accident suffered severe damage to his prefrontal brain, there was no evidence of impairment of intellect or memory." This was accompanied by a meaningful glance at Itachi, which he ignored.

"The term psychosurgery has had years of bad press and is now wrongly associated with only the adverse effects and negative outcomes. It has been suggested that such terms should no longer be used to describe the sophisticated procedures in use today and that, in the new millennium, a simple descriptive term, 'neurosurgery for mental disorders' (NMD), be adopted, in the hope that the prejudices associated with this treatment can be forgotten. It is only then that NMD will be thoroughly evaluated and its place in the management of mental illness ascribed." Her pencil began to move again, sure sign that she was finished.

Sasori risked a glance at Itachi, trying to gage how he was taking this further demonstration of her knowledge. To Sasori's surprise, the black haired boy looked thoughtful, rather than incensed. Sasori frowned; Itachi looking thoughtful was just as bad as Kisame plotting. He resolved to keep a close eye on the pair of them. There was no telling what they might be up to, what with Itachi's ruthless need for revenge and Kisame's blind obedience.

The teacher, perhaps feeling that they had spent enough of her class time sparring, turned to other students, asking them questions that they answered more or less accurately. She did not call on Sasori, thankfully. No one ever called on Sasori; he actively discouraged it, and most teachers respected his wishes. At least, they did so after the first few times.

The bell rang eventually, and Itachi left at a brisk walk, possibly to go find Kisame and put his plan into action. Sasori followed at a more leisurely pace, going over the finer details of his own plan. It occurred to him that it might not be all together normal for there to be so much intrigue and plotting happening within a high school social group, but he instantly dismissed the thought. Anyone who knew anything about high school girls could tell you that there was more intrigue there than between enemy countries. Not that Sasori did know anything about high school girls, mind you, but he could guess, judging from what he knew of Konan and high school in general.

Zetsu materialized by his side as he walked to the cafeteria. "Are you going to do it?" he asked eagerly.

Sasori nodded. "I am indeed," he agreed. Wondering if Zetsu knew anything about the others, he added, "Which reminds me, what's Itachi up to?"

Zetsu shrugged. "Who knows? He doesn't confide in me, you know."

"Itachi doesn't confide in anyone," Sasori said dismissively. "But you're quiet; people tend to forget you're in the room. Kisame hasn't let anything slip, has he?"

Zetsu shook his head. "Not that I can think of, no," he said. "Why?"

"Because I think they're planning something even more fiendish than I am, and I like Erin better than I like Deidara."

Zetsu's eyes widened. "They're plotting against Erin?"

Sasori raised his eyebrows. "This is Itachi we're talking about," he reminded his friend. "Who else would he be plotting against?"

"Good point," Zetsu muttered. "I'll keep my ears open."

"Good." They crossed into the cafeteria and sat at their usual table. Kisame was there, as was Itachi. They did not speak to each other, but that was only to be expected: Itachi did not speak at all if he could help it, and even Kisame could see that he was in a bad mood. Kisame would not like to press his luck by trying to engage his friend in conversation.

Deidara arrived last, as usual, and sat down across from Sasori. "Hi Danna!" he said brightly. "Are we going to fight again today? 'Cause I want to eat first, yeah." He made a face. "I haven't managed to eat all my lunch in days!"

Sasori took a deep breath. This was it. This was where he put his plan into action. He looked slyly at Deidara, swallowing his distaste as he regarded the blond idiot. "You know what? This is stupid."

Deidara frowned, clearly suspecting a trick. "What are you talking about?" he demanded.

Sasori shrugged. "This. The two of us constantly fighting about art. I mean, everyone has a right to their own opinions, right?"

Now everyone at the table – barring Zetsu, who knew the details of Sasori's plan – was staring open mouthed at the redheaded artist. At last, Konan broke the slightly stunned silence. "Um, Sasori? You are Sasori, aren't you? You haven't been taken over by pod people when we've had our backs turned?"

Sasori shook his head. Konan ignored him.

"If he had been taken over by pod people, you would expect them to deny it," she murmured. She glanced around the table, and her sharp eyes fell on the nearest victim: Kisame. "Hey Kisame, do you think Sasori's acting… weird?"

Kisame blinked and looked up from his tray of goop at last. "What?" he asked, his mouth still full.

Konan, much like Sasori had done, in fact, repressed her distaste and pressed on gamely. "Sasori just offered to compromise with Deidara. You don't find that odd?"

Kisame shrugged. "I don't get any of you," he pointed out. "So there's no point in me trying to figure anyone out."

Konan's eyebrows rose. "If you don't understand anything, then why are you here?" she asked, sounding genuinely curious despite the fact that Sasori knew she was well aware of the answer. Being Pein's girlfriend has its benefits, after all.

Kisame grimaced. "I'm tall and I have a knife," he said. He glanced at Pein, who was looking decidedly bored. "Anything else?"

Pein shook his head. "Actually, that's about it, I'm afraid," he said, his voice positively oozing false sympathy. "Will you need counseling to help you get over the disappointment?"

Kisame shook his head, oblivious, as always, to Pein's sarcasm. "Naw, I'm good." He turned back to his food, leaving Konan to shake her head in disgust.

"Boys," she muttered murderously. The rest of the people at the table, all of them boys, glanced at each other.

Finally, Sasori muttered, "You know Konan, it might not be the best idea in the world to antagonize a group of rather heavily armed and notoriously unstable juvenile delinquents, all of whom, apart from yourself, of course, just happen to be male."

Konan tossed her head in disdain. "I'm not afraid of any of you," she informed the group as a whole. "There isn't one among you who could take me on and win."

Pein's lips tightened as he clenched his jaw. "Would you care to put that to the test?" he asked, every word forced though what appeared to be rapidly numbing lips.

Konan shrugged. "If I must," she said airily. "But you won't win. Why don't you just give up now? It would be so hard on your egos if you were beaten by a girl, don't you think?" She flashed them a completely insincere grin, then stood. "You know where to find me if you don't change your minds."

They watched as she left the cafeteria, all of them staring slightly. Finally, Zetsu shook his head. "She's good," he murmured. "I wonder if any of us really appreciate how good she is."

Pein winced. "No comment?" he offered.

Sasori snorted. "Right, yeah," he muttered darkly. "She might be good, but she's also a pain in the ass."

Zetsu shook his head in amusement. "You don't have any sense of self-preservation, do you?"

Sasori frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"You really don't think she'll know everything we say here?"

Sasori shrugged. "So? I don't care." He turned back to his empty tray, then picked up his coke and drank. "So, Deidara. What do you think of my idea, anyway?"

Deidara frowned suspiciously at him. "What was it again?" he asked.

Sasori sighed. "You and I stop fighting about art. We stop talking to each other unless we're forced to, and everyone goes about their lives like nothing ever happened."

Now everyone was staring at Sasori. "Um, have you gone mental?" Kisame wanted to know.

"Yes, but that was a long time ago," Sasori told him, deadpan. Deidara snorted, then sobered, still frowning.

"What happened to make you change your mind, yeah?"

Sasori shrugged. "I got sick of being miserable, and, since you're not about to do anything, I have to."

Deidara's frown deepened. He stared at Sasori, as though he were trying to figure out just what the redhead was playing at. Sasori looked back, confident that Deidara would never be able to figure it all out. Sure enough, Deidara eventually sighed. "Fine. Truce."

Sasori smiled smugly. Stage one had been successfully completed.

9