Titel : The Grand Scheme

Rating: PG-13

Genre: Humor (+ sports!)

Wordcount: 9 450

Summary: When you go to a tennis final, it's to see a tennis final, right? Right. As long as your neighbor isn't some loud, blond, nagging idiot, of course. SasuNaru.

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. And I don't own Roland Garros, Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer either.

Warnings: Hum, might be a bit difficult to follow for anyone not knowing the rules of tennis. For those who need it, there is a short explanation of how points are counted at the end of the fic. For other details, Wikipedia is your friend, it'll answer all your questions, I'm sure.

A/N 1: Studying abroad is great except when neither have a TV nor a viable internet connection and thus end up missing the French Open. Result: endless frustration. Fortunately, we have fic. If the French Open doesn't go to you, you go to the French Open by any possible mean. Or at least make someone go in your stead. So. Two guesses on who ends up on the bleachers.

A/N 2: I apologize for the lame pun in the title. The Grand Slam is called "Le Grand Chelem" in French, which just begged for it. Really.

A/N 3: What my characters say and think about the tennis players and countries mentioned in this piece doesn't in any way reflect any opinion I might have. I don't intend to give any offense by portraying the thoughts of a very biased supporter and thank you for your understanding.

The Grand Scheme

"Little brother," Itachi said one day when said little brother went out of his bathroom after a long week and a warm shower. "My sadistic older brother side woke up this morning and realized it had left you in peace for far too long already."

He was sitting in one of Sasuke's armchairs, legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles like a lord on his throne. His sudden apparition didn't raise any surprise, for several reasons: 1, it wasn't the first time and wouldn't be the last Itachi invited himself in, never mind he didn't have a key as far as Sasuke knew; and 2, Sasuke, as an Uchiha, considered it a question of pride not to let his emotions show if he didn't want them to, which was the case in front of his older brother, especially when the man was in the middle of an evil scheme.

Undeterred by the apparent absence of reaction from his little brother, Itachi smiled, which was creepily chilly, and went on, interlacing his fingers on his lap and tilting his head to the side: "I come hither to inform you of the fact that I just deprived your workaholic self of its laptop, briefcase, blackberry, newspaper, books, scientific magazines and Ipad."

His smile was even showing some teeth. Had he been a lesser man and hadn't he had years of hard training, Sasuke would've felt dread at the pit of his stomach, shuddered and known he'd have nightmares for weeks afterwards. But, having become somewhat immune with time, he only threw a quick glance in direction of his bookshelf and then towards the entryway where he had left his work things. Both were conspicuously empty, thus proving that Itachi wasn't bluffing, as expected.

He brought his attention back to his brother when the man gracefully stood up, not even needing to straighten up his clothes. "I condemn you not to work for the whole weekend," he solemnly declared, the effect slightly reduced by the wicked glee peeking through his voice. Then he spun on his heels to walk towards the entrance door. "Have fun!"

He flicked his fingers over his shoulder in salutation, and then let himself out.

Only once the door had closed behind him did Sasuke let himself frown.

He slowly looked around himself, inspecting every last surface, impressed in spite of himself by the fact that Itachi had really managed to snatch away every single intellectually stimulating object in such a short span of time without him hearing a thing. The bookshelf was looking particularly forlorn. Even his DVD collection appeared to have been drastically reduced when he checked it out of a despair he would never admit to feeling; only leaving him with stupid films he didn't even remember buying.

It was only when he sat down with a sigh on his thankfully still present and comfy couch that he noticed the envelope innocently resting on the otherwise bare coffee table. With another suspicious frown, he inspected it from a distance, trying to determine how dangerous it was, and then decided he had nothing to lose and picked it up.

Inside, he found two train tickets and several other slips of paper that had him widening his eyes in spite of himself.

The next instant he was back in the foyer, picking up his fixed phone and dialling a number he knew by heart.

Itachi was waiting for his phone call, no doubt, but still let it ring at least three times before picking up and asking with soft laughter in his voice: "Yes, little brother?"

Never having been one to beat around the bush, Sasuke ignored the question and bit out instead: "How did you get these?"

"What are you talking about, I wonder?"

A conversation between the Uchiha brothers was often nothing but a series of questions that never got answered, which had always been pretty disturbing for the people trying to eavesdrop on it. Itachi and Sasuke might or might not have taken the time to hone their ability to communicate that way to fend off misplaced curiosity.

"And when?" Sasuke retorted. "There was no way for you to know things would end up like this even at the beginning of the week-"

"That's what you think, little brother," Itachi butted in in between his words.

"-and if it hadn't you know I wouldn't have been interested in the least," Sasuke went on, unfazed.

"On this subject, you obsession is more than a little bit unhealthy, you know."

"The tickets must have been sold out for months. What did you do?"

"Foolish little brother." Wherever he was, Itachi was without doubt fondly shaking his head, and freaking out an old lady with the look in his eyes. "I'm sure you have an idea."

Sasuke did, several ideas to be honest, and wasn't sure which prospect was the worse. He also thought Itachi was sounding all too satisfied with himself.

"Itachi," he said in a clipped voice. "It's been a long week - month. I'm tired. Since you put me on forced leave, what makes you think I'll go so far as to do what you want, that is to say go on an overcrowded train to reach another overcrowded city and a currently even more overcrowded place instead of spending my time in my bed, surrounded by calm, and sleeping?"

Blissful, blissful calm and sleep.

Itachi laughed softly. "I know you, little brother," he simply said.

"Don't be so sure of yourself," Sasuke retorted with a smirk. "I'm not going."

"Of course you aren't," was Itachi's answer, so deadpan that, had Sasuke not known him, he would've found himself wondering if he wasn't entirely serious and honest in agreeing with his little brother. Good thing he knew better.

As it often did, things had once more turned into a battle of will.

"Glad to know you agree," Sasuke gritted out. "I am sincerely sorry for the money you spent in vain."

Itachi only sighed. "My bad," he quipped, before hanging up and cutting their confrontation short.

Sasuke glared at the handset for a long time, before putting it back down. "Asshole," he mumbled. He was now quite determined to do as he'd said. The train tickets would remain unused, he told himself. It was now a question of honour.

Another consequence of having Itachi Uchiha as an older brother: Sasuke had become quite adept at ignoring his wounded pride.

That's what he was very busy not thinking while he found his seat and settled down, straightening his raincoat, finding a place for his retractable umbrella and most of all ignoring the noisy people all around him blabbering away in their rhythm-less language, apparently having developed the ability not to breathe for five minutes while they were talking.

It was the 5th of June and threatening to rain. He was in a country he didn't like, sitting outside on a quite uncomfortable chair, and yet his annoyance remained mild, pushed away by the slight thrill he was feeling as his gaze swept down the bleachers and onto the plane of clay where referees and ball catchers were already milling around in wait for the upcoming match.

After all, honour was an outdated concept. Really.

"Dad, you know you're, like, the best dad to ever walk the earth?" Naruto asked, clutching at the cellphone pressed against his ear and not caring he was digging a hole in his savings just by prolonging this phone call. The occasion just asked for it: it was a one time experience, one he couldn't live alone.

He heard a chuckle at the other end of the line. "You know, it's actually your mother who came up with the idea," his father said, touched by his son's words but never the one to hog all the credit for himself. Naruto's mother often said that her husband's biggest shortcoming was that he was too nearly perfect. Naruto tended to agree.

"Yes, I know," he replied, opening his eyes wide and standing on his toes to try and see as much as he could while he was slowly advancing in the file leading to the entrance of the stadium. Only a couple of meters and he would be in. "But mom's awesomeness is already universally renowned," he went on. "People should revere the ground you walk on too, really."

"And Jiraiya helped with the financing," his father added, his voice warm. "So it's not really-"

Naruto had heard enough - or rather, he'd suddenly realized once more where he was exactly. "Oh my God, Dad," he breathed out, blinking at the people and flags and buildings. "I'm in Roland Garros. And today is the final!"

He did a small leap in the air, never noticing the winces and disapproving glances he got from all around for shouting so loudly and unexpectedly. He was all the more oblivious that the file went forward once more, allowing him to step through the archway and actually enter the stadium.

"Dad!" he reverently exclaimed. "Dad, I'm in! I'm in the Court Philippe Chatrier!"

Without the smallest care for the people he bumped against or jostled as well as for the insults sent flying in his direction, he made his way forward and up the first flight of stairs he found, not stopping until he'd reached the middle. There he turned back and looked down. "Woah, it's huge!" he shouted with a bright smile that almost compensated for the hidden sun. It soon disappeared, though, when he noticed another thing: "And crowded. I better try and find a seat now!"

On the other end of the line, listening to the phone put on loudspeaker, Minato threw an amused glance accompanied by a smile toward his wife. He had hoped she would reciprocate, but her eyes were riveted to the TV screen now that she'd found a channel that transmitted the final live. As he watched her, she squinted then let a sharp smile take over her features.

"No shit, Minnie," she said, batting a hand in her husband direction, never noticing the wince he couldn't hide at hearing one of his most hated nicknames once more. "I think I see him." She bounced slightly on the couch. "My baby is becoming a star!"

Minato fondly rolled his eyes, half-listening to his sons ecstatic comments, and tried very hard not to laugh.

Sasuke felt his frown deepen and threw another dark glare at the blond idiot who had plopped down next to him without a glance, without even asking if the seat was taken or not. For almost twenty minutes (not that anyone was counting), the man hadn't stopped chatting away on his phone with as much discretion and dignity as a teenage girl at the concert of her idol of the week. The worse being that he shared Sasuke's language and accent, preventing the Uchiha from starting on an internal rant against those bloody French people that didn't know how to behave themselves. Couldn't he at least have been an American?

Another disapproving glance was thrown in their direction and Sasuke sunk down on his seat, shoulder slightly hunched, cursing his brother who was always the ideal individual to blame for more or less everything. It wasn't like he couldn't take it.

"Oh," his neighbour suddenly choked out, catching Sasuke's unwilling attention. He'd straightened on his seat and was now leaning forward, his eyes riveted to the ground below while half the stadium exploded in cheers and applause. "Oh, oh, Dad," the man went on, looking for all the world like he was attaining enlightenment. "Dad, he's here."

A glance downwards informed Sasuke of who "he" was, which did nothing to abate his frown and discontent. Beside him, the momentary, awed calm ended as the man blurted out: "It's Nadal. Like, Nadal. Live! It's really him!" He was now gripping the front of his very orange t-shirt in a dramatic gesture. "If the saying went 'see Nadal and die', then I would now die happy," he declared with a childish smile.

Sasuke almost rolled his eyes. Figures. Of all the people he could've had as a neighbour, it just had to be a fan of the Spaniard.

Why had he come here, already?

Another glance toward the court and he caught sight of the other player who had also arrived and received his fair share of applause.

Oh yeah. That was why. He'd almost forgotten.

Sasuke settled himself more comfortably in his seat, deciding to ignore the idiot at his side and to enjoy the view.

Problem was, he couldn't. Just like he didn't know why exactly the blond man had caught his attention as soon as he'd stepped into his row, it wasn't possible to just tune him out like Sasuke was used to as soon as someone annoyed him - which was often - and this without effort. It wasn't even that he was particularly stunning. Sure, the bright blond colour of his hair was quite eye-catching, but aside from that it only looked like an ill-kempt haystack. He wasn't particularly tall, even his features were relatively nondescript, with a face that was a little bit too round, marred by strange linear scars, a straight nose that was a little bit too small and eyes that were a little bit too large. And his clothes - Sasuke'd rather not get started on his clothes. But when he moved and smiled...

He tugged at Sasuke's psyche like an insistent kid at his parent's sleeves.

It might have been because he behaved like a kid: he was loud, as if he wasn't quite aware of his surroundings, and didn't stop fidgeting, craning his head this way and that to try and catch a glimpse of God knew what while continuing his running commentary. When he leaned to the right and thus blocked Sasuke's view with his head covered with unruly hair that definitely were in indecent need of a haircut, the Uchiha decided he'd had enough and loudly cleared his throat in warning.

The imbecile, of course, didn't notice a thing and leaned back into his chair with a happy squeal, going on and on about the awesomeness of it all. That is, until the girl behind him bent forward and tapped him on the shoulder, catching his attention at once and interrupting his enthusiastic monologue.

"Excuse me," she said in hesitant English with a sweet smile that was slightly strained at the corners. "The presentation is going to begin and I want hear what they say to get in the mood, so please..."

The man blinked and looked around himself like he'd just realized where he was exactly and what he was doing. "Oh," he said, a slight blush tainting his cheeks for a second. He raised a hand to scratch at the back of his head while he threw an embarrassed, apologetic smile at the girl. "Yeah, sorry about that." He then turned away, cupping his hand against his mouth to loudly whisper into the phone: "Dad, I gotta leave now, it's gonna begin." His pitiful attempt at being somewhat discreet was thwarted by the excited sound he let out before repeating: "It's gonna begin!" He listened for a second to what his father was saying on the other head of the line, nodding energetically. "Yeah, yeah, okay. I know, yeah." A quick smile illuminated his features on his last word: "Bye."

In a flash, he'd turned off his phone and put it back in his jeans' pocket.

Sasuke glowered at him, irritated and indignant. What, he spent at least twenty minutes deigning to shower the unworthy imbecile with the finest, most masterful version of the Uchiha Glare ©, and the idiot didn't even notice. And then that girl only had to bat her eyelashes for a second, speak with a dreadful French accent, flash a little bit of teeth and tits, and poof, just like that, Mr. Annoying obeyed and shut up?

Paying no heed to the negative wave of killing intent coming from his right, the oblivious man was now biting his lips, staring at the court below with wide eyes, his hands clasped between his knees. Both sportsmen had begun warming up, throwing balls and training their serve. As they watched, Nadal threw a ball in the air and hit it with his racquet, sending it flying and bouncing off right at the corner of the service box.

"Oh my Goood, he so rules," the man gushed happily.

Sasuke couldn't help but snort.

Which was of course the moment his neighbour chose to notice his very existence. Out of the corner of his eye, Sasuke saw him whip his head in his direction and narrow his eyes when he caught sight of the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Got something to say?" the man growled. It looked like he had a temper.

Sasuke slowly turned his head in his direction, raising an eyebrow and securing his smirk on his lips - which hadn't nearly slipped when he'd met the man's blazing blue eyes - and replied: "I was just remarking on your obvious lack of knowledge about what good tennis is."

The man saw at once where it was going and frowned. "Nadal is the best player to ever throw a ball on clay," he gritted between his teeth, balling his hands into fists.

"He's just an arrogant beginner with luck on his side," Sasuke retorted scornfully, bringing his attention back down to the court.

"A beginner!" his neighbour repeated in indignation before flailing his hands and shouting: "He won Roland Garros five times already!" But then, seeing Sasuke was still pointedly ignoring him, he let a wicked smile spread on his lips and suavely added: "And he kicked Federer's arse four times while he was at it. Let's be honest, he's the best of the two."

Sasuke had whipped his head back in his direction even before noticing it. "Must I remind you of how many Grand Slam titles Federer has?" he spat.

He was met by a somewhat smug smile, the other obviously reveling in the fact he had been spot on. "But he only won Roland Garros once, and it's only because someone else did the dirty job of knocking Nadal out for him."

"Which only proves your dear Nadal isn't the best, since he got beaten on his favourite surface," Sasuke argued, tilting his head to the side.

"He wasn't at the top of his form that year!" his opponent claimed, crossing his arms in a defensive gesture.

Now it was Sasuke's turn to feel smug at his ability to turn the tables as he went on: "And since we all know his game only rests on brute physical force with no refinement or technique whatsoever, it's no wonder he lost, really."

"Physical force is an important part of playing!" the blonde retorted, leaning forward as if to give more force to his argument. "How do you think they get their serve to exceed 200 km/h? And it takes a great deal of technique to control such striking power and send the ball exactly where he wants to, I'm sure!"

"Oh, you're only 'sure'?" Sasuke whispered with a chill, cruel smile, tasting victory. "Good thing to know you're aware of your own limits."

He had to hand it to the man: the Uchiha Creepy Smile © didn't even faze him. Instead he only pressed his lips together in what looked disturbingly like a dissatisfied pout and bit out: "You only say that because I'm right and you don't know what to answer."

Sasuke only sneered at this weak attempt. "I would advise you to look at Federer's game just for a second - it might help you to see real tennis for once."

He saw the man open his mouth to answer and was ready to catch his words to turn them back on him the first occasion he had - only it wasn't his voice he heard, but a more distant one, almost drowned under a wave of cheers and applause.

"Quinze zéro, Federer."

In the middle of the bubble of stunned silence that seemed to surround him and his neighbor, Sasuke found himself feeling amused at the man's expression, frozen with parted lips, before the bubble burst and the situation dawned on him. As if moved by the same puppeteer, they both whipped their head towards the court where Roger Federer, in all his red and white glory, was serving for the second time.

"Whaa-?" the man beside Sasuke choked before blinking and gripping his crazy hair in his hands. "I can't believe it! I missed them warming up! I missed the toss! I missed the beginning of the match!" he wailed, paying no heed to the impatient hissing sounds all around him commanding him to shut up. Sasuke, feeling slightly peeved for having been distracted too and missing out on the first point his favourite tennis player had won, consoled himself with a healthy dose of schadenfreude at his neighbour's despair.

Until an elbow rammed into his side, making him choke.

"It's your fault, you asshole!" the blond man hissed, eyes now riveted to the court like his life depended on it.

Sasuke bit back a pained grunt, replacing it by a retort. "Hn. Moron."

Just as he was talking, Federer sent the ball back on the other side of the net. Nadal caught it with a backhand stroke.

"Jerk."

Federer's retaliation was a lob.

"Idiot."

Nadal interrupted it with a volley.

"Bastard."

Which Federer cut with a drop shot.

"Retard."

Even if he ran, Nadal didn't reached the ball in time to hit before it bounced off the ground a second time. The chair umpire's words were music to Sasuke's ears:

"Trente zéro, Federer."

Sasuke bit back a smirk, his satisfaction made all the greater by the sullen grumbling at his side. It looked like it was going to be a memorable match, after all.

"Jeu, Federer. Trois à zéro."

By now, Sasuke's sly expression had turned into a full-fledged smirk that threatened to degenerate into a wicked grin.

"See what I meant, moron?" he suavely whispered in his neighbour's ears, evilly enjoying how subdued he'd become while Nadal got his ass handed back to him by a Federer in top form.

"Sod off," the man mumbled, not even sparing him a glance. He was biting his lips, his eyes never leaving the court like he could instil his will and determination into the Spaniard just by staring at him. "Come on," he even said, like the man could hear him.

Sasuke, a bit miffed at being ignored once more, turned his attention back to the ongoing match and glared.

"Jeu, Nadal. Un jeu à trois."

Apparently, glaring at the player he was supporting while promising him all kind of pain if he didn't keep on winning was counter-effective.

"Ha!" Sasuke's neighbour exclaimed, all his vivacity having returned in the blink of an eye. "See that?" he added, invading Sasuke's space to make sure he was bothered. "See?"

The Uchiha only leaned away with a sneer. "It's just one point, idiot."

"Oh, believe me, it's only the beginning," the other man whispered, his voice turning slightly husky.

Sasuke felt a strange shudder run down his spine and forcefully pushed him away.

"Avantage, Nadal."

"Holy shit! Holy shit," Sasuke's neighbour was repeating, gripping the bottom of his seat so tightly his knuckles had turned white. Sasuke didn't answer and forced himself to exhale slowly after realizing he'd held his breath during the whole tense exchange.

In the seconds that followed, while the players prepared for the next serve, he felt his shoulders relax minutely and his heartbeat slow down once more as silence settled.

And of course, his neighbour chose this moment to whisper out of the corner of his mouth:

"Won this one, by the way."

"Jeu et set, Nadal. Sept jeux à cinq."

The blond idiot had reeled back in his chair with wide eyes and was now laughing in delight - knowing that half his laughter was a jibe directed at Sasuke.

"Bwahaha! Right in your face, bastard," he managed to say after a while, when both players had sat down. "Awesome!" He shook his head, almost incredulous. "Five games! Your lame-assed player lost five games in one go! And the set while he was at it!"

Sasuke threw him a dirty look but didn't say anything, preferring to bring his attention back to the court, resting his elbows on his knees and interlacing his fingers, dark eyes calculating.

Several people in the rows in front of him shuddered or began looking around themselves, suddenly feeling like a herd of deer surrounded by lions without knowing why.

"Jeu, Nadal. Deux zéro."

"Seven games, bastard. Seven."

Sasuke didn't even dignify this with an answer.

"Jeu, Federer. Un jeu à deux."

Sasuke silently sighed in relief when those words came to put an end to a displeasing series of lost games. But the way that one had been won almost made up for it. He loved it when Federer went and concluded a game with an ace. A ball so perfectly and swiftly thrown was simply beautiful.

Beside him, his neighbour was scowling and pouting. "That's no fun if they don't even get to play and fight for it," he mumbled.

"You only say that because you're unable to understand the aesthetic of perfection," Sasuke drawled before he could think better of it. He was surprised by the fact he had to bit back another smirk when he caught his neighbour's glare out of the corner of his eye.

"I do understand," the blond man sullenly protested. "But I still think it's no fun."

"Then you don't," Sasuke retorted in a clipped voice.

"Do too," the other challenged.

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Do not."

"Do-"

Luckily for them, the next serve made them shut up before the woman behind them felt compelled enough to smash their heads together.

"Huh?"

That was the idiot's reaction when a raindrop landed on his nose, along with a blink and the reflex of raising his face towards the sky. Another drop jumped on the occasion to hit his forehead.

"Hey!" the man protested, his concentration on the match and first set point entirely broken.

"You might want to focus," Sasuke remarked just as Nadal missed his return stroke and with it the occasion to end the second set victorious. "You might miss something."

"Hey!" his neighbour repeated, this time looking at the court like it had done him a personal offence, before shuddering when the rain attacked him on his nape. "Hii!" he squeaked, rubbing the spot like it hurt. "I knew I should've bought one of those pretty umbrellas, but they cost, like, an arm and a leg and the earth while they're at it..."

Noticing the shower was intensifying, Sasuke swiftly retrieved his black umbrella. He'd consulted the weather forecast before leaving his home in London and had come prepared. He had after all had enough sore throats and coughs in his childhood to last him a lifetime, and wasn't very keen on repeating the experience in June. Itachi would never let him live it down, since the cold he'd caught once in August had gone down in history and still frequently came up when Itachi decided he wanted to prove to strangers how much of an asshole he was - the kind you couldn't take anywhere.

Gifted with the ability to render the most banal gesture incredibly dramatic, an ability that was passed down between every last generation of the Uchiha family, he found a way to open his umbrella right at the second the chair umpire announced the match was interrupted because of the rain.

"What? No!" his neighbour exclaimed as Sasuke settled back, holding his open umbrella in his left hand. It just so happened that he liked keeping his right hand free, so it was entirely a coincidence if said umbrella, which was a little bit larger than the standard one for only one lanky person, also protected the idiot who had been stupid enough to come in nothing but an orange t-shirt. The man didn't seem to notice, rubbing at his arms to ward off the chilly breeze and looking mournfully at the tennis players as they disappeared back into the building towards the changing rooms. Dark green tarp was being pulled over the court to prevent the clay from turning into bright orange, sticky mud.

"What if it doesn't stop?" he suddenly asked, making Sasuke glance at him with a raised eyebrow. He was now biting his lips and when he abruptly turned his head towards the Uchiha, his eyes were clouded with excessive worry. "What if all the rain that miraculously hasn't fallen in the past two weeks decides to come right here and now?"

"Then they'll continue the match later," Sasuke flatly answered.

"What if it takes days?" the man insisted, flailing his hands. "Weeks? Forty days and nights?"

By then, Sasuke was seriously tempted to roll his eyes. "Idiot," he retorted, looking back down at the court to see if anyone was giving any indication of how things were turning out. "Shut up."

The man beside him frowned, but huddled closer under the umbrella, his voice dropping as if they were both kids hiding under a blanket with a flashlight whereas they should've been sleeping. Sasuke could feel the heat of his body even through his own raincoat.

"Well, aren't you polite," his neighbour grumbled. "Name's Naruto, y'know. Try to use it."

Sasuke didn't know why he felt so satisfied at learning the idiot's name without even asking for it. "It might be difficult, moron," he whispered with a smirk.

"Asshole," was the immediate retort.

It was followed by a short silence, which 'Naruto' soon seemed to find oppressive and unsustainable, and was only to happy to break with an inane remark: "Did you have to choose a black umbrella? I mean, it's depressing as hell, as if the weather wasn't enough already."

Sasuke sneered internally and remained silent. At least he had come with something to protect himself from the rain, contrary to some idiot they both knew. And an umbrella didn't have to be anything but practical and sober, two qualities that the one he had possessed.

The blond man beside him apparently understood what went unsaid and snorted derisively. "One day, I'll find and buy an umbrella with blue sky and white clouds on it. I saw one once. It was nice."

"It would be awfully kitsch and tacky," Sasuke replied, barely holding back a disgusted wince. Why don't add one or two birds, a butterfly and flowers swaying in the breeze? He refrained from suggesting it though, suspecting the idiot would find it was a great idea.

Naruto only shrugged, apparently unaffected. "Psht, like I care what your prissy ass thinks. I'm sure Shikamaru would love it."

Sasuke felt his eyes narrow and his jaw clench slightly as he wondered who that Shikamaru guy was and what he meant exactly to the blonde. He didn't ask out loud, of course, and did an excellent job at pretending the question had never crossed his mind.

"Glad to know you've got friends with as little taste as you."

"Glad to know your name really is Douche-bag," Naruto bit back, crossing his arms.

Sasuke pretended not to hear him, reaching a hand out to test if he was seeing right and the rain had already stopped.

It had.

He folded his umbrella back up. "Actually, it's Sasuke," he said as the players were called back onto the court and the crowd exploded in relieved cheers all around them, drowning his words.

Naruto heard him anyway. "It's a pleasure, bastard."

Apparently, the small break had done wonders on Federer. Not only did he broke his opponent's serve, thus depriving him from winning the second set, but he also won the following game without Nadal being able to score any point, making him lead by 6 games to 5.

"Love game," Sasuke murmured in quiet satisfaction, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, fingers interlaced on his crossed knees in a position very similar to his older brother's favorite one, not that he noticed it.

At his side, Naruto was probably remembering what he'd felt at the very beginning of the match and looked quite vexed. He snorted. "You must not have much of a love life if you're so happy about that."

Sasuke blinked at the court and felt his jaw clench. Had the idiot just made a jibe at his long-standing celibacy he knew absolutely nothing about? He had a scathing remark on the tip of his tongue, but when he turned towards the blond man to deliver it, Naruto only straightened and leaned forward, watching intently as the Spaniard got ready to serve and looking quite obviously unable to hear anything.

Discontented, Sasuke bit back his words... and did exactly the same.

Nadal was serving. Sasuke narrowed his eyes, wondering if it would be better to glare at the Spaniard to force him to lose his cool and the game, or to glare at his opponent to order him to win this fucking set. He was so busy internally debating that the first point was scored without any Uchiha influence.

0/15. For Federer. Sasuke forced himself to breathe. Nadal served once more...

"Quinze A."

Without Sasuke's or Naruto's knowledge, the camera swept on them while briefly filming the public, showing them onscreen sitting as huddled together as they'd been under the umbrella, both unconsciously biting their lips with the same intent expression on their faces.

(In a small house on the other side of the Channel, a red-haired woman gave an exclamation while the blond-haired man beside her frowned briefly, wondering who that dark-haired guy daring to sit that way beside his son was.)

The exchange was dragging on. Suddenly, Naruto gripped Sasuke's arm - and Federer's backhand went right into the net. 30/15.

Sasuke threw his neighbour a dirty look, wondering if this gesture had been a clever trick to break his concentration and eye contact so that he lost all influence he could've had on the game of the player he was supporting.

He ignored the fact that he was thinking like some dumb wizard throwing a spell in that freaky series for kids everyone was raving about in favour of focusing on the following point without letting himself be distracted.

It didn't help.

40/15. Naruto held his breath and tightened the grip he had on Sasuke's arm.

Nadal served. Net. Nadal served a second time. Federer returned the ball. Nadal stroke back. Federer held his ground. Nadal attacked. Federer tried to retaliate and-

"Tiebreak!" the imbecile bellowed for all the stadium to hear even before the chair umpire had the time to announce who had won the game. He threw his left fist in the air and jumped on his seat, his face split into a large smile. "We got a tiebreak!"

His right hand was now entirely crushing Sasuke's forearm. Not that either of them noticed it.

Contrary to everyone's expectations and hopes, the tiebreak didn't last long. Ten minutes in, Nadal was winning the second set and Sasuke wasn't trying very hard to smooth out his frown. To his credit, the heap of unbearably retarded and blond loudness beside him wasn't helping to reach Zen-like calm at all.

"I'm winning, I'm winning," he was repeating, a wicked smile sharpening his features.

"Nadal is winning, idiot," Sasuke snapped. "Certainly not you."

Naruto threw him a conceited glance. "Really, I'm not?" he asked, leaning forward until Sasuke bristled and realized he was losing his cool - which was probably what the idiot was aiming for.

Damn it.

"Okay, third set," Naruto said when the players went back to the serve line. "Just so you know, we're gonna kick your ass."

Sasuke had to admit that Federer was a bit at a disadvantage now that he had lost the first two sets. But not all hope was lost, and if there was something Uchiha's were very good at, it was to stubbornly fight tooth and nail until the very end, all along with panache and grandeur, if you please. So he only retorted:

"Keep on hoping, moron."

Thing was, both tennis players acted like they'd been infused by the one thing both their supporters were equally matched in: stubborned determination.

The third set was tight - and even the term sounded like an understatement. Federer like Nadal fought tooth and nail for each point, each game, and the score crawled up at a snail's pace without showing any sign of giving one the advantage.

On the bleachers, the banter was just as brimming with tension.

1-0

"Look at that, bastard. You're so going down."

1-1

"You were saying, moron?"

2-1

"It's only a question of time, you know."

2-2

"Well, I hope for you you're very patient, then."

3-2

"Oh, don't worry, I won't have to be."

4-2

"..."

"BREAK!" Naruto hollered in his Sasuke's ear, making him wince in spite of all his efforts at remaining impassible. Throwing a glare at the offending blonde, he caught sight of a large, wicked grin. "This is the end, Mr. Douche-bag."

4-3

"Don't be hasty. As you can see, this match is far from being over."

4-4

"..."

"What? Cat got your tongue, idiot?"

5-4

"Ha! What do you say now? One more game and you're dead."

"I wouldn't be so sure about it, retard."

5-5

"..."

"See? That's what you get for counting your chickens before they're hatched."

"... Who the hell still uses that kind of phrases anyway?"

Sasuke only snorted lightly over his crossed arms, watching the match below in satisfaction. The chances for Federer to turn the tables and win the match were more than slim, he knew it, but damn if the man wasn't going down fighting like a lion. Even if he never got to see a fourth set, he would be conten-

"Quarante quinze, Federer."

Forty to fifteen in favour of Federer? When had that happened? Every last muscle in Sasuke's back tensed as he bent forward, looking intently as the player prepared to serve. He held his breath all along the exchange until-

"No!" Naruto whimpered, fingers digging into his tights.

"Yes!" Sasuke hissed, barely refraining from jumping up and clapping like half the spectators in the stadium had, feeling they were witnessing one of these moments that go down in history.

"Jeu, Federer. Six jeux à cinq."

Sasuke had been right. Things were far from being said and done.

"Whatever, asshole," Naruto had sullenly mumbled. "It'll only come to another tiebreak. Don't hold your breath."

Since then, he'd been strangely silent. Glancing at him, Sasuke noticed he was frowning at Federer without letting the player out of his sight, like he was trying to understand how he was doing this, that is to say suddenly taking back the upper hand on Nadal.

At 15/0, he began pouting.

At 30/0, his gaze grew puzzled.

At 40/0, his eyebrows had shot up.

Sasuke had to admit, Federer was pulling out all the stops on this game, not hesitating to use sliced strokes and drop shots that were perfectly mastered. That, and Nadal was still there, trying to catch and hit back every single ball with no less control. It looked like a grand finale, and at the end of it, the idiot was blinking and stuttering, raising wide, dazed eyes towards Sasuke and babbling:

"Ah. Ghu. This. Huh. I... I think I'm in love."

There was even something that looked suspiciously like drool at the corner of his mouth. Sasuke felt his own brow wrinkle in perplexity, but couldn't ponder over the strange feeling that had pricked his insides at hearing that word, seeing that Federer was serving for the set.

This time, he wasn't the only one silently holding his breath.

"Game and set, Federer!" Sasuke's neighbour exclaimed in another bout of mood swing, covering the chair umpire's voice to Sasuke's ears and throwing his arms in the air. "Yay! Go Federer!"

Sasuke stared at him. "I thought you were supporting Nadal," he finally said.

"I am!" the other replied like he didn't see what was wrong with his behaviour.

"And not five minutes ago you were complaining because Federer got one point ahead."

"I changed my mind! 'Cause like this we get to see another set!" Naruto gushed, fist raised, eyes as bright as his smile. "At least half an hour of tennis! Of awesome tennis! That's great! I didn't come here to see a match ending after two and a half hours!"

"It's been three hours already," Sasuke calmly replied after a quick glance at his watch.

The other went on as if he hadn't heard: "And if I encourage him enough, perhaps he'll win the next one too and we'll get to have a five sets final! Go Federer! Go-" He abruptly interrupted himself, furrowing his brow in an expression of puzzlement, before he looked at Sasuke. "Huh, where does he come from already? Belgium?"

Sasuke stared some more and had to acknowledge he was dumbfounded. "... Switzerland."

A pair of blue eyes blinked. "But he speaks French."

"French is one of the official languages in Switzerland," Sasuke automatically answered.

"Oh."

"But Federer's mother-tongue is Swiss German," Sasuke went on. "It's obvious when he talks: he's got an accent."

The blank look he got in answer told him it might have been better if he hadn't added that last information. What his neighbour hesitantly said at this moment only confirmed it: "So Federer is actually German?"

"..." Never had a silence asked more loudly: do you even have a brain?

Perhaps hearing a faint echo of this last question, the blond man narrowed his eyes. "You just told me he was Swiss," he accused.

"He is Swiss," Sasuke confirmed, and felt very patient.

"But then..." Naruto began, but then thought better of it and shrugged the matter away, rolling his eyes like he thought Sasuke was the retarded one. "Okay, never mind." He turned back toward the court, raised his arms back up and bellowed: "Go Switzerland!"

"Jeu, Federer."

One to one on the fourth set. Beside Sasuke, Naruto was giddily jumping up and down on his seat like an overexcited child.

"That's what I mean," he crowed. "More than ten minutes just for two games. We're here till tomorrow!"

He glanced expectantly at Sasuke, who didn't answer. But far from interpreting it like the dismissal that it was, the idiot took it as a prompt to poke him in the ribs.

"You know, you could at least look a little bit happier since your player just won a set," he said, unfazed in spite of the dirty glare Sasuke sent him. On the contrary, he only poked harder. He obviously hadn't any notion of personal space.

"Smiiile a bit, bastard. We've got a great match here. Try and enjoy it."

Sasuke raised an incredulous eyebrow - that's what he was trying to do, was a little bit of calm really too much to ask? - but refrained from doing anything else, stubbornly looking back at the game and wishing for a miracle.

And then came what Sasuke had been dreading ever since the beginning of the fourth set, after Federer had given all he had to snatch away the third one.

"Double faute."

He winced.

By the time Nadal won the game, breaking Federer's serve, Sasuke's face was impassible once more, but Naruto had stopped nagging him about smiling.

"Jeu, Nadal."

Sasuke was a little surprised at the silence beside him despite the fact that Nadal had just completed a double break and was therefore only two games from the set and match. He briefly glanced at Naruto, only to see him pouting dubiously, as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It didn't.

It's only when Nadal served for the match point that Naruto seemed to wake up from his strange subdued trance and blinked.

"Wha-?" he asked. "Already? When did that happened?"

And, surprisingly, Sasuke found himself smirking slightly even as his favourite player got defeated once more at the final of Roland Garros.

"He won," Naruto said once the applause had been going for more than a minute, like he couldn't believe it.

The players had already shaken hands and exchanged a half-hug, complete with light tap on the back. The chair umpire had stepped down and the court was hastily set up for the remise of the cup.

"So... It's over?"

"What do you think, moron?" Sasuke snapped, a bit annoyed and spiteful now that he'd seen Nadal displaying his joy at winning. Seriously, after the sixth time, you would expect that he would greet his victory with a little more dignity. Although Federer wasn't any better, in a way, Sasuke sullenly thought, actually feeling a bit peeved about how the last set had turned out. Losing six games to one wasn't the best way to go down in history.

With all the training of yearly practice and the pressure of international expectations, the set up went smoothly and everything seemed ready in the blink of an eye. In a second, the players would come back out, step onto the podium and receive their shiny tool that would go gather dust in a shelf somewhere. Sasuke wondered if he should try to leave. Such ceremonies were far from being his thing. Had Federer won, he might have stayed and silently reveled in seeing the Swiss' rival finally reduced to second best. Problem was, he hadn't, and the upcoming scene wasn't one Sasuke wished to witness once more. Leaving sounded like a good idea.

But the idiot was blocking the path on his left, and on his right... He glanced at the long row and caught glimpse of: a duo of hulking black men with white hair you certainly didn't want to cross, a woman with a pig on her lap, a man with long black hair and even longer clothes passing a tongue that was decidedly forked on his lips, and a duo with bowl cuts, bright green raincoats and tears streaming down their faces. Yeah. He wasn't going there. So he settled for (im)patiently waiting for this whole charade to be over.

The speeches began - but Nadal had hardly uttered his first sentence that Naruto began to talk, dubbing the Spaniard's hesitant words and covering the official translation with his own commentary.

"Blah blah blah," he sighed dismissively, batting a hand as if in disgust. "I hate these hypocritical speeches," he explained when he noticed Sasuke's slightly raised eyebrow. "It's like, 'you played really well, pal'." He took on a soft, commiserating tone at that and threw a comforting arm around Sasuke's shoulder. "When all they're thinking is 'ha!'" There he punched his neighbour in the arm, and Sasuke knew he should've pushed him away when he had the occasion. "'I kicked your ass! Eat that!'"

He made sure Sasuke had seen his shit-eating grin - so he was gloating about the victory of his player, Sasuke should've known. Then he straightened a bit, letting his arm drop from Sasuke's shoulder to come and rest on the back of his seat instead of bringing it back toward himself. Not that anyone noticed.

On the court, Nadal and Federer had received their trophies and were now posing with remarkably fake smiles in front of a sea of flashbulbs. Sasuke silently admired their ability not to flinch or squint despite the aggressively blinding lights.

"I'm kind of disappointed by the last set, though," Naruto mused, and Sasuke could only silently approve. And since Naruto apparently didn't need any prompting to believe he was heard and invited to continue, he added: "It's just too bad stamina is Federer's weakness. You could see at the end that he was getting tired."

That much had been obvious. Sasuke was tempted to smirk and retort that it wasn't the case for Nadal, who took his role of Neanderthal very seriously, which was proved by how he could strike harder and harder and harder without ever getting tired. The player was now shaking hands this way and that, pretending he was civilised and not just clumsily acting like he'd been told without quite understanding why.

"But still, he fought well," Naruto went on before Sasuke had found quite the right formulation to crush the blond man and his beloved Spaniard under his sarcastic contempt.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Uchiha saw his neighbour turn his head in his direction just as the ceremony drew to a close and most of the public began to get ready to leave.

"D'ya think one day we'll get to have a final in Roland Garros with five sets between the two, and no means to know who'll win until the very end?" Naruto asked while standing up too, checking his pockets to make sure nothing had fallen off while he was jumping up and down. Sasuke straightened his coat, picked up his umbrella, and followed when Naruto began walking towards the extremity of the row.

"Or even better," the blond man suggested over his shoulder as they reached the stairs and began slowly going down. "A match ending in an unending tie break, something even longer than last year in Wimbledon, so that the players and referees decide there are two winners!" He shot his arms up in the air in a dramatic gesture, almost snatching a hat on the way. Not even hearing the complaints of said hat's owner, he suggested: "You know, something like... 139 to 139 and counting."

"Idiot," Sasuke snorted, entirely denying that the idea appealed to him and even amused him. "They would interrupt the match long before that."

He then wondered why the idiot was still talking to him. And why he was still listening. And why he was even bothering to answer. And why he was leaving the court by his side like they'd come together or something.

"Don't shatter my dreams, asshole," Naruto protested, voluntarily bumping into his shoulder. He did it with a little more force than necessary to get his point across, making Sasuke stumble to the side - how undignified - and right into someone.

"Vous pouvez pas regarder où vous allez, nan?" the man he'd just jostled snapped at once, so viciously that any idea Sasuke had had to apologise flew through the window to be replaced by a cold look. It had the expected effect, since the man began to simply turn away with another growl. "Emmerdeurs de touristes."

Sasuke only noticed that Naruto had protectively stepped to his side and put a hand on his arm when the blond man's grip tightened and he snarled: "Verpiss' dich, Arschloch!"

That caught the man's attention: he glanced over his shoulder to meet Naruto's glower, which made him hastily look in another direction and scurry away. Only then did the blonde noticed the blank stare Sasuke was throwing in his direction.

"What?" he asked as if nothing was out of the ordinary. "I noticed that people never know how to react when you insult them in German."

These words were followed by a quick smile that made something spike up and topple over somewhere between Sasuke's lungs and stomach. He quickly looked away, snuffing the feeling out, but couldn't shake off the buzzing wisps it left behind. The idiot's proximity as they walked towards the exit didn't help matters at all.

"Is it your first time in France?" Naruto asked after a while, apparently deciding that the rumble of conversations and footsteps all around them wasn't enough and he just had to bring in his own input.

"No, unfortunately not."

Naruto wasn't deterred by Sasuke curt, dry answer, and went own with a somewhat childish enthusiasm. "Well, it is for me. And I got a whole week to visit! Isn't that awesome?"

Sasuke pressed his lips together to refrain from uttering the choice adjectives that came to his mind when associating France with the timespan of a whole week. They were surrounded by French people, after all, who in spite of their cleverly hiding it could sometimes understand English (speaking it was another matter altogether) and could be very vicious when vexed.

"What about you? Are you staying for a couple of days?" Naruto asked too nonchalantly to feign any real lack of interest.

"I'm supposed to leave tomorrow morning by the train of 7:13," Sasuke retorted, and had to bit back an unexpected smirk bordering on a smile at his companion's short, obviously disappointed answer:

"Oh."

He didn't point out the fact that Itachi had made sure his ticket was exchangeable and refundable in case the match was interrupted or prolonged itself so late the end was postponed to the next day. It wasn't like he was beginning to toy with any kind of ideas, anyway.

"Where are you staying tonight, then?" Naruto asked, prolonging the conversation in a particularly non-discrete way. "I have a room in some hotel near that famous big cemetery - don't remember the name. Isn't that creepy that they have a cemetery people actually visit even when they don't have family buried there?"

Sasuke looked at him and pointed out the obvious: "You're going to get lost if you don't even remember the name of the place you're going to sleep at."

"Oi, I'm not going to sleep in the cemetery!" Naruto protested, entirely missing the issue.

"Not so sure, if you get lost between the graves," Sasuke went on with a full-fledged smirk. "You might find your last resting place in one of their vaults. It's really posh, I hear."

The look of quiet horror on Naruto's face was worth the incessant cries of the unavoidable children all along the train journey. "I almost missed the beginning of the match because I couldn't find the shuttle," he admitted in a small, worried squeak.

Sasuke only shrugged, like he couldn't care less about the man's fate.

"You'll need a guide," he found himself saying after a while, though, as an afterthought. He saw Naruto blink at him and he stuck his hands deep into the pockets of his raincoat, his umbrella tucked under his right arm.

Then Naruto smiled. "Say, bastard, do you know any French?"

Sasuke snorted. "I learned it in school." Not like some people. "A long time ago."

"Great!" his companion exclaimed, never one to let go of his enthusiasm. "I learned it in bars during the football World Cup - mostly insults. So you can do info-gathering and buy tickets, and I'll defend us against adversity." He tilted his head to the side and waited until Sasuke consented to meet his gaze. The Uchiha didn't know what he saw there, but it seemed to satisfy him entirely. His smile widened.

"Let's take the metro!"

Sasuke had never liked the Parisian metro. It was cramped, crowded, badly aerated and dirty. There were far too many people, none of which knew how to behave, especially not in promiscuity. The tiles were cracked and dusty, he didn't want to know what all those stains everywhere were, didn't want to know when or how they'd appeared. Every last slightly isolated corridor reeked of urine or stagnant sewage. The carriages had their place in the former century, the seats were awful in color and you never knew what was on it.

But, he thought as he was looking at one blond idiot trying not to fall on the wagon's floor without holding onto the sticky bars, lips split into a bright smile which not even the dreary yellowish lights could dim, he guessed that, under certain circumstances, it wasn't so bad.

And that's how Itachi learned not to let out his sadistic older brother side too often. Sasuke wasn't a defenceless little boy anymore, and turning a one-day-short forced vacation into an unexpected week-long absence was a surprising and therefore all the more efficient revenge.

That is, until less than a month later Wimbledon proved he could do even better. Or worse, depending on how you looked at it.

END

I love feedback. :)

FYI: the match described here took place on the 5th of June and ended with the following scores: 7/5, 7/6 (7-3), 5/7, 6/1. Let's live in hope they can do better.

About how the points are counted, for those who are confused

- a match of tennis is divided into sets. You have to win 3 sets to win (2 for women). A match can reach 5 sets (3 for women).

- to win a set, you have to win 6 games with an advance of two games (that is to say 6 to 4). If your opponent has won 5 games, you can still win the set if you reach the score of 7 to 5. If both players reach 6 games, they reach what is called a tiebreack: every point counts and once more the one who wins is the first reaching 7 points with an advantage of 2 points (if he doesn't have those 2 points, the score keeps on escalating until one of the players does, and can reach 70-68 like it did last year in Wimbledon).

- a game is divided into points that are counted that way: 15, 30, 40, then game. If both players are at 40/40, then one of them must score once to get the advantage, then score once more to win the game. If he doesn't score the second time, the players are back to 40/40 (in theses situations, win the game can take a lot of time).

Other details:

- an ace happens when the serving player wins a point because his opponent didn't even manage to hit the ball. Ace rules.

- a love game is a game where one player won the game without his opponent scoring any point at all.