A/N: Based on a real-life experience I had at work. Yes, I actually know someone this stupid.

The Deep Fat Fryer

Sasuke, Gaara, and Shikamaru; AU

-A study of just how little it takes to screw something up-

x x x

Of all the exotic things Gaara had ever put in the fryer, it struck him as odd that something so organic and transient would do the most damage.

He bravely poked his head over the snack-bar counter, darting a guilty eye across the game floor. The arcade was still empty (it was a rainy, freezing sunday in November for god's sake), his manager was no where in sight, and he knew exactly where the degreaser was located.

He could fix this.

Maybe.

One Uchiha Sasuke, cashier extraordinaire, looked up from where he had been bunkered next to him, one of the excessively-gelled spikes in his hair poking Gaara heartily in the eye.

"Dumbfuck," he said, an air of complete stupefaction in his tone.

"Excuse me?"

"Dumbfuck, noun, one who is so stupid, it causes physical pain to all unfortunate enough to be in the immediate vicinity, which oftentimes results in more far-reaching consequences," he pointed to the steaming kitchen, "due to the profound lack of a brain."

"I know the definition, bastard. Explain."

"You could have blown this entire shit hole sky high, you know that?"

Sea-green eyes rolled.

"C'mon, Sasuke. I've put entire lemons, pepperonis, even fucking birthday candles in there before and nothing this bad has ever happened!"

"As unhealthy and law-suit worthy as that is, what's important is the chemical reactions. That's the difference between a birthday candle and a melon-sized block of ice"

Hairless eyebrows raised.

"So you're trying to tell me that ice was more harmful than all the wax and dye and shit in a birthday candle?" And this guy claimed to go to one of the best private schools in the city? Gaara was finding that hard to believe.

"Noo.." Sasuke drew out the word as if explaining this to a four year old. "The chemicals in the candle are more harmful to the customers, but the ice, when it comes in contact with such high temperatures, immediately melts and expands resulting in half and inch of boiling oil all over the kitchen. So, you tell me which is more of a problem for you?"

Glaring bullets, Gaara had to admit, the bastard had him there.

"Touché."

FLASHBACK

"Three hundred and forty six"

"Three hundred and forty seven"

"Three hundred and forty eight"

"Three hundred and for....whatever."

By the three hundred and forty ninth time, Gaara had decided that bouncing a golf ball against the wall was getting a tad redundant.

You'd think working in an arcade would be more entertaining, yet, somehow (and Gaara himself wasn't really all that sure how this works, jaded as he was) you'd be mistaken. Either it was incredibly busy, with every child in the city having their birthday party at exactly the same time, or it was completely dead, as was the case today. Despite his nearly unbearable state of boredom, Gaara preferred the lazy afternoons when he could just ride the clock till the end of his shift to busy ones. Why? Two reasons. Firstly, customers are bitches, and secondly, it allowed one to find more...creative...uses for their time.

It was with this mentality that Gaara glided silently past Sasuke, who was methodically wiping down a mirror for probably the five millionth time that day, and slunk into the kitchen.

For lack of anything else to do, Gaara idly flipped open the ice machine, running a grubby hand over the misshapen cubes, his fingers coming to rest on a particularly promising hunk of ice that had melted together. Pale lips drew together and twitched ever so slightly into a malicious grin. Lifting the melon-sized block from amongst its frozen brothers, mischief in mind, he skimpered back behind the counter, past the pizza oven, stopping in front of the deep fat fryer.

Without a moment's hesitation, eagerly anticipating the results of his experiment, Gaara placed the ice into the fryer, lowering the ice and its metal cradle into the percolating black grease.

It struck him as amazing, later on, how it only took half a second for him to immensely regret doing so.

Almost instantly, half the ice was gone, and the black grease had gone from gently bubbling to ominously sizzling, a deep rattling sound coming from within the machine itself as it began to shake violently.

Eyes widening in shock, Gaara reached a shaking hand to the fryer, and pulled the ice out, moving more quickly and less gracefully than the could remember recently doing, and threw the fryer and the undissolved half of the ice into the sink.

But the damage was done.

The formerly black grease had been consumed by sickly yellow-orange bubbles as it poured out of the fryer from every imaginable orifice.

"Fuck."

And thus, Gaara found himself running like shit out of the kitchen, lest he be overtaken by boiling grease, while in the background the fryer was emitting a frightening cloud of smoke as the entire kitchen was overcome by steam, the sizzling and rattling reaching a crescendo.

Sasuke poked his head around the door frame just as Gaara was rounding the corner in a state of maximum panic.

"What's going- OOMPH"

He was silenced as Gaara was regrettably forced to make physical contact, swooping the indignant Uchiha up and diving over the snack bar counter.

END FLASHBACK

"Day-umn."

The two surveyed the ruined kitchen, Sasuke gleefully rejoicing at the final straw that would actually get his impossible co-worker fired. Maybe they would replace him with someone who actually gave a shit, and wouldn't add even more dead weight to the work team. Gaara, on the other hand, was engaged in a moral debate over wether to try to clean it up, or sneak upstairs with a mini-golf club and preemptively fuck Shikamaru's shit up. Unwittingly, Sasuke voiced his internal dilemma.

"So, what're you gonna do?"

"I guess...try to clean it up, but if Shikamaru finds out I'll...eliminate the possibility of this going on my resume, and quietly turn in my resignation. I'll go out heroically."

"'Eliminate the possibility...?' How would you do that?"

"With a golf club."

"Wha...?"

"Don't worry your spiky little head over it, Uchiha, hand me the degreaser and get the fuck out of my face."

x x x

And Sasuke complied. Wanting to be as far from the scene of the crime as possible (not that he was a pussy, of course, he wasn't afraid of getting caught, he just figured it was dumb to get in trouble over something the didn't even do), he busied himself with making cookies.

He turned on the oven and retreated into his happy place. He only hoped he could be there to see the look on his manager's face. Shikamaru might be as worthless as everyone else in this shit-hole, but even he couldn't ignore the fact that Gaara's ass was as good as fired.

x x x

Gaara watched Mr. Betty Crocker disappear into the freezer and continued using the squeegee fruitlessly to push the grease towards the drain. It had been half an hour since the incident, and even as slow as it was, it was still completely unbelievable that the fact that the fryer had almost exploded had gone unnoticed.

He had just decided it was impossible and was about to resign himself to asking Sasuke for help when he emerged from the freezer (after, which, of course, he would have to kill him), when the inevitable occurred.

From the distance, he heard the ominous jingling of keys: signaling the approach of a manager.

Before he could even compose himself, Shkiamaru poked his spiky head from behind the pizza oven, casually saying,

"Hey."

"..." Gaara was incapable of answering. His brain had gone to self-preservation mode, and if he didn't find out how this was gonna end soon, he was about to go batshit first and ask questions later.

Shikamaru surveyed the situation, munching on a macadamia nut cookie, roaming eyes pausing on the depleted grease levels in the still-leaking fryer, the squeegee in Gaara's hand, the mop on the floor and the bucket filled with degreaser.

Thus followed an incredibly loaded silence.

Finally,

"Do you know where Sasuke is?"

"In the freezer."

"Cool..huh huh...literally. Thanks man."

The sharp snap of the freezer door popped what was sure to be a stupendous moment of awkwardness.

Upon seeing that Shikamaru had entered the scene, Sasuke's face curled into a despicably evil sneer. Finally....that idiot was getting what he deserved.

Surprising both of them, however, Shikamaru turned to leave, sparing Sasuke an uncomfortably knowing look filled with dark amusement. He casually threw back over his shoulder,

"Oh, and, Gaara?"

Sasuke's insides squirmed uncomfortably. Gaara lifted one bald eyebrow.

"Great job on taking the initiative to clean the kitchen. Way to go."

Taking in Sasuke's dumbfounded expression, Gaara smirked in victory, sticking his tongue out at the Uchiha and the deep fat fryer.

"I win.

x x x

End notes: The events in this story are accurate down to what the manager is eating and the lame pun he makes. Only the dialogue and the fact that the two hate each other is exaggerated. I was the Sasuke in the story, but I don't hate the Gaara. He's funny.

Also: update news is on my profile! Things are kind of getting under control, so..yeah. Good news for this account. You know where to find me,

BISCUIT