Rumor Has It

Rumor Has It


Warnings- Anal,AU,HJ,Lang,Oral,Preg,SoloM,Yaoi

New AN- Read me, please.

Old AN- It has been brought to my attention by that I made some grammar mistakes in my writing. I apologize for that, as I tried my best to catch them. They were probably typos, but that does not excuse me. I'll try harder in coming chapters.

Slightly different format for this chapter. I call it snapshot style writing, short little peeks into their activities instead of long drawn out encounters.

This chapter is coming out way later than I wanted it too. I've been busy with another fic and I ignored this one. Uggh.


Something


Kakashi

Iruka was there when I got to class, arranging personal items on the small desk in the corner of the room perpendicular to mine. He had lots of picture frames inter-spliced with the normal teaching equipment, pens, paper bins, a stapler. He must have a lot of family.

He looked up and smiled at me. The angry Iruka from two days ago was gone, replaced by this much more pleasant version. "Good morning," he chirped. "Nice day, isn't it?"

I peered out the window to look at the day in question. It was a blustery day. The sky was blue but the clouds had harsh grey underbellies. It might turn out to be a nice day, it might not. But weren't all days like that? I grunted in response. Let him take it for what he will. I wasn't quite awake yet. Why was he so chipper?

Setting my bag down on my desk, I rummaged through it until I found the object of my desire. My favorite book, Make-Out Violence. It was the best in the series, satisfying the touch of sadist I kept buried in the deep recesses of my soul only to be unleashed when I didn't have the proper amount of caffeine in my system. Coffee is a drug for teachers, keeps up sane, awake, and deters the strangulation of students. Yes, coffee is good. Wish I had some coffee now.

But I digress.

Make-Out Violence was going to have to substitute for today. The coffee maker in the teachers' lounge was on the fritz and if maintenance didn't do something about it within the next two hour then Lord Byron was going to be full of grumpy teachers out for blood. And coffee, of course.

Had Iruka somehow gotten his hands on coffee? Is that why he was so pleasant? Or was he just one of those annoying people they call a morning person, bright-eyed and bushy tailed before the sun even peeks over the horizon? I had deep respect for people like that. I also found them a bit on the crazy side.

The bell was due to ring in two minutes. It was seven fifty-eight now. I could take a two minute nap before the bell.

Yeah, because that would do a lot.

"Kakashi," Iruka ventured hesitantly. To my sleep deprived mind, it sounded like an over-excited chipmunk chattering in my ear. "I don't mean to be rude, but you said you'd show me the syllabus today?"

Curiously, he posed it as a question. Still didn't know how to deal with me yet, I saw. He'd learn soon enough. The first thing he needed to learn was that I didn’t keep a syllabus. I taught whatever I wanted to teach. I knew the material I had to cover, but I never did it in the same order. One, because I couldn't remember the order and two, because I just don't work that way. I don't have a schedule. In anything.

"I did, didn't I? I seem to have left it in my room. I'll show it to you tomorrow."

Iruka cocked his head, as if he didn't quite understand English enough to process my words. "Tomorrow is Wednesday."

The quizzical look on his face made me want to laugh. It's not that I don't like Iruka. I don't know him enough to have an opinion. But I did like annoying him. Call it a hobby or call it a specialty, I just enjoy the confusion on peoples' faces when I throw them for a loop.

"You're good," I said by way of compliment. "Did you have coffee this morning?"

Again, the cute look of confusion on his face. "Yeah, I got some just before the machine practically exploded on the guy behind me." Poor unlucky bastard. Heh, wonder who it was. "But Kakashi, I'd really like to see the syllabus soon. I'm not comfortable going into this blindly."

"Who was it?"

"What?"

"The machine. Who did it explode on?"

I was being evasive and I knew it. Like I said, his disconcerted state amused me and even more importantly, I had to gage whether or not he could handle me. This was the beginning of a test that would ultimately decide whether or not Iruka Umino was worth my time. So far, he was failing miserably, but it was still early in the game. He had plenty of time to shape up and stop being such a pansy.

"The tall guy with the bowl cut," Iruka responded immediately, a good obedient little worker. That made me throw up in my throat a little.

"That was Gai Maito," I informed him. "He's the one from the cartoon."

The frown of disapproval returned. This sense of propriety he possessed was ingrained even more deeply than I'd thought. It was a funny cartoon. Anyone with a sense of humor would laugh. Made me laugh. "Right, the cartoon. Don't you think that was a little disrespectful?"

Don't make me laugh, Iruka darling. "The artist finds his creation highly entertaining. He finds you to be very droll but also slightly irritating. And he requests that you make no more mentions of a syllabus as he will show it to you in due time. In the meantime, he insists that you stay quiet and let him do his job." The bell rang, letting the students out of home room. They'd swarm my classroom within the minute. "Oh, and in the future, you will get two cups of coffee on the off chance that somehow I can't get my morning cup of joe, which makes me more than a little bit cranky in case you've failed to notice exactly how much you are grating on my nerves due to your selfish consumption of caffeine that I desperately need in order not to kill my students. You come second when it comes to coffee. I come first. Do not drink my coffee again."

Two of students ambled in, a long haired blonde and a perky red head. She probably had coffee. She looked happy. What a bitch.

"And don't talk to me while my students are in the room," I said quietly. "It undermines my authority and I will not have that."

"But. . ."

"I said no talking," I cut in blithely. "The students are here."

Naruto


I met Kiba in the hallway after home room. He was pretending to eye up the passing girls in order to throw the rumor mills off the scent of his sexuality. It was a terrific feat of acting, if I do say so myself. I can't even pretend to look like I'm interested in chicks. Triggers my gag reflex.

"Hey, Kiba" I called out, willing my voice to reach Kiba's ears over the insanely tall seniors. Is everyone taller than I am? I felt like a lost kid in a field of corn, unable to see a way out. Luckily for me, Kiba had amazingly good hearing. He located me within a second, pulling me by the tie to the safety of the lockers.

"What's up, man? I haven't seen you in, like, five minutes."

I punched him in the shoulder. "Whaddaya got first?"

"Bio. We get to dissect frogs."

"Gross."

"Says you. I love gross shit. Anything slimy is right up my alley, baby."

Shikamaru breezed by right in time to hear Kiba proclaim his love of slimy shit. Miraculously, he knew what we were talking about. "Don't play with formaldehyde, Kiba. It's not good for your health."

"How do you do that," Kiba called out to his retreating back. "You psychic or something?"

"You're a highly predictable creature," Shikamaru said as he turned around and began walking backwards. "Try doing something interesting every once in a while and I might stop surprising you."

Kiba laughed him off. "You got bio?"

"Can't hear you, Kiba. It's too loud out here."

Kiba flipped him the bird. I grinned at Shikamaru's retreating back. Call him an ass and he nods in agreement. "I love that guy."

"Yeah, yeah. Where are you headed?"

"English, I think." I double checked my schedule to be sure. "Yeah, definitely English." Inner groan. English was not my strongest subject. Well, nothing is my strongest subject, mostly because I had the attention span of a six year old. Since I found shiny objects more fascinating than studying for history tests, I tended to not do so hot in school. I zoned out in class, forgot to take notes, and basically screwed myself over. English was the real killer, though. Reading and I were not friends.

"I have that fourth period," Kiba said as he scrutinized his schedule. "Hatake's the teacher."

"Same here."

"At least we'll have the same assignments. Do you have lunch fifth?"

"Yup. Good, we're in the same lunch."

"And Gaara's in my French class, so that's good too. When do you have gym?"

"Sixth."

"Second. Damn, we have practically no classes together. I have history sixth period. Gaara's in you gym, by the way."

"Great. Shika's in your bio class, gym class, and my Spanish class."

"Math?"

"Third."

"Score. See you in math, then."

As we parted ways (our classes were in completely different corridors) I was relieved to know that I would have at least one friend in most of my classes. Not first period of course, the longest period of the day in my least favorite subject. That was just my luck. I had to wait until second period before I saw a friendly face, but I could deal. I was resilient. I could deal.

I hoped this Hatake guy was easy-going.

Shikamaru


As luck would have it, Kiba was in my biology class. That meant of course, that we were automatically lab partners. The minute he walked through the door he locked his eyes on me and made a beeline for the empty seat of lab station I occupied. I automatically moved my bag to make room for him.

He hopped onto the stool immediately, grinning at me. "Fancy meeting you here, Shika."

"Naruto told you, huh?"

"Stop being physic. You creep me out when you do that."

"It's a little thing called common sense that you seem to lack, not physic abilities. You headed right for me."

"What if I'm just happy to see ya?"

I snorted and took out a notebook and a pen. I probably wouldn't use them since I tend to fall asleep in the majority of my classes, but it always helped to keep up the illusion of preparation. There were few things in life I despise more than class. Stupid questions, waking up before ten, and obvious observations were a few of them, two of which my friend had titles in. Naruto was king of obvious observations and Kiba was the lord of stupid questions. Lord Byron was responsible for my general before noon funk. "You're just happy because I'm the only one who can stop you from licking formaldehyde."

"Whaddya think it tastes like?"

See, king of stupid questions. "I'm sure it tastes like chicken," I said sarcastically.

"You never know."

Sasuke


I hadn't bothered Naruto in a few days. My plans involved time, planning, precision. I needed to study him first, find out exactly how his little mind worked and use that to bring him down. In order to do that, I allotted a period of time to observe his routines, his friends, his habits, his thought process. From there I could get inside his mind, predict his reactions and come up with counters, stalk his usual haunts and plant listening ears near his friends.

I did't take these kinds of things lightly. I liked being in control of things at all times, being able to see a move before it happens. It's my little bit of power where I would otherwise have none. I always had a plan and I always struck when the target least expects it. Naruto thought he was safe because I hadn't so much as looked at him in the past few days. He'd already written me off as harmless, a mistake which I would exploit with deadly accuracy.

He sat one seat behind me in the row. Alphabetically we were always near each other since our names both started with “u,” not exactly the most common letter in the alphabet. Hatake-sensei, as he requested to be called, arranged us alphabetically until he learned our names. This worked well for me. I could do a lot when I had an innocent excuse for close contact.

"Okay," Hatake-sensei said. "I'm extremely tired. I had no coffee this morning and that does not put me in the best of moods. So take out a piece of paper and write something."

There was silence in the classroom. Student were looking at each other for answers to this strange request. The man at a desk in the corner, who I could only assume was a teaching assistant, looked just as put-off.

Barbie raised her hand with some prodding from the Leech. "Sensei?"

"Yes, blondie."

Hn, I might just like this guy.

"It's Ino Yamanaka, sir," she bristled. A few girls around her twittered.
"What do you want us to write?"

"I already explained the assignment." He tipped his chair back and propped his feet up on the desk. "Write something. It's not hard. You know how to use a pen."

"Oh," she replied flatly. "Is it going to be graded?"

"This is a school, Ms. Yamanaka. Everything is graded."

Sakura shrugged at Ino and a ripple of discontent spread up and down the rows. I myself was at a slight loss. No parameters? It wasn't something I was used to, but how hard could it be? All I had to do was write something.

Twenty minutes later I discovered that it wasn't as easy as I thought. I wasn't a writer. I'm wasn't even that big of a talker. Normally I wrote what I was told, book reports, essays, picture prompts. I wrote for class assignments, homework, extra credit.

Write a memoir? Too long.

Write a poem? No, I wasn't especially poetic. I prefered the straightforward when it come to writing. Itachi was the one who read poetry.

An anecdote? Those were personal, and I didn't like sharing personal stories with strangers if I didn't have to.

A joke? I wasn't funny.

A short story? About what? I'd have to make up characters and put them in an imaginary situation. I got enough of that in real life. I didn't need it in a story.

Everyone else around me was rapidly scribbling away. Even Naruto was writing. I could hear the scratch of his pen behind me. What was he writing about? Something longer than a joke. He'd been writing for a while.

Focus Sasuke. Imagine this is a test that you will fail if you don’t write something. You perform well under pressure. This is just a test. You do not fail tests.

Wait. A test?

I smirked to myself and started writing. This was too easy.

Kakashi


As the students fled the room after class, Iruka clicked his pen obsessively. If he gripped it any harder it was going to snap in half. All the papers were in a neat pile on my desk. I shuffled through them quickly. Most of them appeared to be the standard, "my name is______" papers. There were a few poems, one which rhymed horribly. Syringe does not rhyme with orange. There was one very long-winded anecdote involving a banquet of some kind.

None of them had managed to understand the assignment.

"So," Iruka said. "Is that what you use to assess their writing skills?" He sounded hopeful, praying that there had been a point to my little assignment.

"Nope," I replied honestly. "But thanks for playing."

The pen clicked some more. "What was it for then?"

My unorthodox teaching methods were scaring him. I ignored him and continued to skim the papers. In the three years I've been teaching, only a handful of people managed to understand the point of the exercise. This was not about how they wrote, it was about what they wrote. It was about seeing past the obvious, to see the underneath.

I was about to give up hope for this class when I hit the last paper. Smiling, I motioned Iruka over. He approached me cautiously, still afraid of me after my coffee rant. "This," I said as I handed him the paper of Sasuke Uchiha, "is what this assignment was for."

Iruka's lips curved into a frown. "There's only one word on this paper."

"Yeah," I dragged out contentedly. "Isn't that something?"

Itachi


I'd just opened my book when Kisame plopped down next to me, long limbs flying everywhere. "Hey you. How were your classes?"

I stared him for a long minute, willing him to disappear right in front of my eyes. Perhaps indulging him was a mistake. He had obviously mistaken my apathy for something else, something that drove him to return and bother me.

As usual, Kisame continued without waiting for an answer. "Senior year is going to be a killer for me. I'm in calculus. Just hearing the word gives me the chills."

I hoped he wasn't in my class.

"You got calc?"

Rather than respond verbally, I slid my class schedule to him. He studied it for a minute, then grinned. Uh oh. A grinning Kisame was not good for me. "Cool, mate. He have calc, history, and lunch together."

That would figure.

"Guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other this year." He dug his fork heartily into his food and shoveled it into his mouth. "Practically three periods in a row."

Kami, Zeus, and Mary, help me. I couldn't shake him. What did I have to do to tell him I was not interested in his company? I ignored him, stared at him, treated him curtly, and generally acted disinterested. Stupid, this one. Getting rid of Kisame called for more drastic measures.

Maybe I *should* start worshiping Satan. That would creep him out.

A tap on my shoulder distracted me from my Kisame troubles. My little brother was passing behind me with his posse, tray in hand. "Queenie's coming," he whispered out the side of his mouth. There and gone.

Temari was never good news.

Kisame


One second he was there and the next he was gone. Vanished, like magic. For a split second I wondered if the rumors about his satanic worship were true. How do you just up and disappear like that without help from the Otherworld?

"Hey Shark-boy," a condescending voice said from across the table. I glared daggers when I looked up. One little mention of my fascination with sharks in bio and I’d earned myself a nickname at Lord Byron. You'd think they'd come up with something more original, though. "Have you seen Itachi?"

Yeah, I did. He was sitting right next to me before he pulled a Houdini on my ass. As perplexed as I was, the way she was staring at me like she expected complete obedience made me not want to tell the little bitch.

"Nope. Haven't seen him?" I chewed thoughtfully. "Maybe he's eating in his room."

"Uncanny. Someone said he saw you two together. Five minutes ago, in fact." She folded her arms over her waist, fingers drumming on her arm. "You really haven't seen him, huh?"

"What, you want me to sign in blood?"

"That would be smart of me, now, wouldn't it?" Her grin turned a little to feral for my tastes. Something told me see loved the taste of blood. "Anyway. If you do see him, tell him I'm looking for him. Impatiently."

"And who, exactly, should I say you are?"

Her own fingernail nearly pierced her skin. I knew exactly who she was. I'd have to be a complete idiot not to recognize Temari Baki. That didn't mean I couldn't try to slap her ego around. And surprise, it worked. For a second, it worked. "Tell him," she insisted sweetly. "He'll know."

A smug finger wave later Temari was sauntering away to rejoin her friends.

"Thanks for that," a voice said out of nowhere. I jumped involuntarily. I'd never considered the possibility that a human being can turn invisible but Itachi's voice was really close.

A sigh was accompanied by a poke to my shin. I grinned sheepishly. Under the table. Right. That made sense. I dipped my head under the table. Itachi was sitting cross-legged on the floor as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. His tray was perched on his knees and his book bag was on his left. He looked perfectly comfortable down there, more comfortable than he looked aboveground.

"No problem, mate." Ten seconds passed, him under the table chewing on a mouthful of food, me waiting for him to reemerge. He took another bite of pasta. "You comin' back out?"

"No," he said simply.

Weird kid I thought as I shook my head. Weird, weird kid.


TBC

*~*~*~*~*~*

It's so short. Damn, I'm slacking. The next chapter will be longer, I promise.