Archive of Our Own

Summary: He didn't feel the cold bay water that he fell into. Not even as it invaded his nostrils and throat. Ayatsuji & Chuuya friendship, oneshot.

I screwed up, the redheaded Port Mafia Executive realized. His glare turned to shock as his foot slipped. Chuuya's head hit the pier edge. He didn't feel the cold bay water that he fell into. Not even as it invaded his nostrils and throat.

A blond haired man with a hunting cap and cold eyes watched the event apathetically. He tugged down his cap and walked away.

XXX

Chuuya woke up in darkness and panicked for a second. Then he realized he wasn't actually dead. He was surrounded by water, salt water. He was in the ocean. He could feel the tug of the slight current on his long hair.

His nostrils and throat burned from the salt. Chuuya's lungs seemed clogged and heavy. He had dealt with far more painful things, but the sensations were extremely unpleasant.

Chuuya closed his irritated eyes. He focused on the strange draw of For the Tainted Sorrow. A red aura surrounded him as he flew upwards through the depths of the bay.

He burst out of the water and into the air. Chuuya choked and coughed out water. The acidic taste of bile sat heavily on his tongue. His throat, lungs, and nostrils still felt as if someone had coated them with chilli pepper.

Chuuya turned around, hoping to find land. What he found was even better; a few miles away, the bright lights of Yokohama invitingly gleamed. He smiled shakily at the city and sped towards it.

He stepped foot on a wooden dock. It was newly built if the unchipped, unwarped  state of the wood was anything to go by.

As Chuuya let go of his ability, the red tint around him faded. He shivered as a breeze pulled at his wet clothes.

He started the soggy quest to his apartment. Luckily, his knife had been strapped firmly to his thigh, and he hadn't been wearing his hat when he gone on a stroll tonight. The rest of his clothes he would likely just give or throw away.

Chuuya climbed up the stairs and reached the door of his second floor apartment. He shoved his hand in his jacket and pocket. He vehemently swore- he had lost his keys and phone when he went for an unexpected dip.

So, how would he get in? Break the door down or pick the lock? Or, the better solution, float up to his balcony and enter his apartment from there.

Chuuya slid open the glass balcony door. He took off his ruined dress shoes and soaked socks and left them on the tile.

His wet feet left damp spots behind him as he headed for his bedroom and then to his shower.

He took a shower and changed into fresh clothes.

Chuuya had come back from sure death. He had woken up at the bottom of a bay. He was pretty sure the reality hadn't sunk in yet.

The sun slowly rose as he ate breakfast.

He had refueled and given the a*shole a head start of several hours. Time to track down the blond b*stard who had tried to kill him.

The search wasn't that hard. Ayatsuji-the name given by the detective-and a quick search through a dark web data bank list of important people led to a description and address.

Ayatsuji, a tall blond detective who was one of the most dangerous ability users in the world-an asset of the Special Abilities Department. Apparently, the detective had given his real name. But that made sense, because he thought Chuuya would be dead in a few seconds.

Chuuya knocked on the white door. He rang the doorbell several times after that didn't work.

Finally, the door opened. The blond haired detective glared at him, icy apathetic eyes unusually full of annoyance. "What is it?" Unlike before, the blond was wearing a pair of yellow sunglasses.

Chuuya punched Ayatsuji in the jaw.

The detective stumbled backwards a step from the force. He stared at Chuuya intensely, icy eyes calculating. "How the h**l did you survive?" Ayatsuji mused with interest.

Chuuya took a quick step forward and nailed Ayatsuji in the stomach. He smirked in satisfaction.

The detective clenched his teeth, unwilling to let the hiss of pain escape. "Are you here to kill me?" He asked. His eyes were back to being icy and disinterested. The tone was uncaring, rather nonchalant.

The tone was familiar to Chuuya. The trace of fear was not present, only apathy and mild wonder. It reminded Chuuya of his traitorous suicidal partner.

Well, if Ayatsuji didn't care about living or dying, and Chuuya hadn't actually died, only suffered his outfit being ruined and some discomfort...Plus, would the problems with the Special Abilities Department be worth it? Chuuya paused as he reached for his knife, reconsidering. "You caused me a lot of trouble," he growled. Chuuya sighed and declared, "But, pay me back for my clothes and I'll call it even. Deal?"

Ayatsuji raised his eyebrows, once again legitimately surprised by the odd criminal. "Deal."

A wad of yen notes were handed over and Chuuya walked out the door.

The story could very well end there, but this was not their last encounter. This was merely the prelude.

XXX

The streets of Yokohama were busy and crowded. But occasionally people who had met before met again. This was the case for Ayatsuji and Chuuya. Their paths crossed for the second time about two months after their first meeting.

Here the lack of people created a pocket of space, which meant there was really no people pressing them forward. They stared at each other for a moment, surprised.

Ayatsuji suddenly changed his gaze from Chuuya to a man who walked past them. He waited a few seconds until the man had returned into the swelling crowd a few yards away. "The man who just passed us is going to rob the bank's delivery truck," he stated. "That is, him and his crew."

Chuuya shoved his gloved hands in his pockets. "Are you going to stop them?"

"Are you? They are competition for the Port Mafia," Ayatsuji pointed out logically.

"You're the detective here," Chuuya countered.

"True," Ayatsuji acknowledged. "But I can't stop a masked nameless truck robbery."

Chuuya shrugged. "Not my problem." He pulled out a cigarette from a recently bought pack.

Ayatsuji squinted calmly at the criminal. He took note of the slight agitation and tense shoulders of the other man. "Or is it?" He calmly, knowingly questioned.

Chuuya scowled, the white cigarette in the side of his mouth tilted down. He pulled out his lighter. "Why would it be my problem?"

"Because you care," Ayatsuji stated simply.

Five minutes later, a stolen bank delivery truck rammed into a black lamp post.

Ayatsuji pulled out his cell phone. "Hello, this is Ayatsuji, yes, the Homicide Detective. I'm calling to report an accident on..."

XXX

Boredom is a terrible thing. It is a state of inactivity due to lack of sufficient stimulation. Anyone can fall prey to it.

However, the cure varies greatly among the bored. A child can be easily entertained by a few wooden logs or plastic bricks. A book worm would read a book to cure it. An artist would work on a drawing or painting. And the few who for some reason like math, might calculate something.

But, what is a detective who is a deductive genius to do? What can Ayatsuji do to stimulate his brain when requests from the Special Abilities Department have run dry? Another walk perhaps? Something exciting rarely happened while on those. And people-watching had grown dull for the moment.

Ayatsuji reached for his phone. He needed to do something. Analyze someone? He scrolled through his notably sparse contacts. At this point, he'd be content simply talking to someone mildly interesting.

His thoughts strayed to the interesting people he knew. All of whom were criminals, unsurprisingly. He doubted any would want to talk to him, never mind that he wouldn't want to engage with any of them unless forced to.

How about mysteries? Had he truly left none unsolved? He paused, a spark of interest entering his previously empty gaze.

There was one major mystery he had yet to solve (of course, it involved a criminal). It was fairly recent. And Ayatsuji hadn't fully analyzed the man either. Perhaps he should approach the criminal. Specifically, one Chuuya Nakahara. It would solve his boredom.

His goal for the day decided, Ayatsuji started tracking down the criminal's whereabouts.

XXX

The sun had gone down by the time Ayatsuji showed up at the Black Cat. He walked up to the counter and ordered a drink.

It was a notably clean and new bar compared to others around the docks, more upscale. The Black Cat was funded, managed, and protected by the Port Mafia. Here was where well-dressed business men and mafioso bumped elbows.

Ayatsuji's clothes were more eccentric than the rest. Notably, his orange pants stood out against the black, white, and grey of the other patrons. But the detective's cold gaze was all that was needed for the more aggressive criminals to tolerate his presence.

He picked an empty booth, the one in the far corner, and leaned back into the fake leather seat. The detective sipped idly at his glass as he observed those around him for several minutes.

Chuuya walked in. Several of the men noticed him, straightened up, and gave polite nods towards the executive. He returned them with a slight smirk as he headed towards the counter.

Ayatsuji stared at Chuuya. It took a split second until the ginger's head turned to the corner.

Chuuya frowned briefly. He said something to the person he was talking to and then headed towards Ayatsuji. He slid into the booth, on opposite side of the detective. "So, what are you doing here? Investigating someone?" Chuuya quietly asked. His smile was sharp.

Ayatsuji gave a small smirk. "You, actually," he admitted. He watched the criminal's reaction.

Chuuya's shoulders relaxed, either from relief or in preparation to swing at Ayatsuji. He raised his eyebrows. "Are you wanting to go for round two?"

"I'm looking for answers." Ayatsuji sighed. "I'm rather bored right now, no new cases," he calmly explained.

Chuuya took a few sips of his wine and nodded in understanding. "Which means you decided to look back into unsolved mysteries?"

"Exactly," Ayatsuji acknowledged. He put his elbow on the table and propped his chin up with his hand. "So, how did you survive?"

Chuuya's lips stretched into a crooked smirk. "Why should I tell you?" He hummed. "Besides, if I tell you, what's the fun in that?"

"Why?" Ayatsuji shrugged. "I would get my answer. And I would leave you alone."

"But, see," Chuuya laced his gloved hands together on the brown wood, "I don't think you can figure it out." He narrowed his eyes at the detective. "Nor do I want you to."

Ayatsuji smiled. "You've only managed to peak my interest in the answer more." He downed the rest of his glass. "I'll see you around, Chuuya-san."

XXX

There were many warehouses, some abandoned, some not. They lined the area around the docks.

Chuuya had no work that night, but he was still there. He liked to go on strolls and drives at night. When most were asleep, the stars shined, and the waves or animals made up for the lack of human generated noise.

He sighed as he spotted a familiar figure lighting a thin pipe. The detective strode down the street, the moonlight outlined him as a dark shadow, and his lighter briefly revealed his features.

Ayatsuji drew closer and stopped about four feet away.

"What are you doing here?" Chuuya asked. Although he had a feeling he already knew why.

"Investigating a case," the detective calmly responded. "A murder, to be precise."

Chuuya sighed. "You're in the middle of Port Mafia territory at night."

"Yes. And?" The detective replied, unperturbed. Grey smoke curled out from the end of his pipe.

"You're insane," Chuuya dead-panned. He shifted a hand onto his hip.

Ayatsuji smiled and continued walking. He passed the Port Mafia Executive. Soon, another set of footsteps followed.

"I'm coming with you," Chuuya explained. He kept pace with the detective, a half step behind.

Ayatsuji raised his eyebrows, mildly surprised. "Tagging along so you can kill me if the culprit is one of yours?"

Chuuya shrugged and gestured with one hand. "Killing you would put us in the bad graces of the Special Ability Department. But, if I'm with you, I can always knock you out if you're about to stumble onto something you shouldn't. And then there shouldn't be a problem."

"And if I do kill one of your men?" Auyatsuji immediately questioned.

"You get to bite the curb," Chuuya replied. He gave a cold smirk.

To bite the curb. The threat of the traditional Port Mafia execution. Ayatsuji chuckled. "I expected nothing less. Anyways, you may as well know where we're going. I'm checking an abandoned warehouse."

"To see if you can find a murder weapon?" Chuuya guessed. He kept glancing around them, his eyes alert as they combed through the dark for any visible change.

"Hopefully a weapon," Ayatsuji agreed. "This trip will be worth it as long as I get some kind of clue."

XXX

They slowed down as they reached their destination.

"The doors are locked," Ayatsuji noted. He puffed out a breath of smoke.

"Good thing you're with me, then," Chuuya drawled. "Do you want it to be undamaged or does it matter?"

"Doesn't really matter."

It was a rusty chain with a new padlock. The doors it was attached to were painted a dark brown. Under the peeling paint, weathered lighter brown wood could be seen.

Chuuya nodded and grabbed one of the metal links. He pulled on the opposite ends. The link, old and rusted, broke. The chain and padlock clinked when it hit the ground. Chuuya winced at the noise.

Ayatsuji clenched his pipe between his teeth and pulled a door open with a creak. He pulled out his lighter and flicked it on, then entered the warehouse.

Chuuya swept his gaze around behind them before he followed.

The inside of the old wooden building was musty and dark. The moonlight couldn't get in through the clouded dirty windows near the ceiling.

Chuuya pulled out his lighter and started walking down the right side of the structure. There was nothing particularly interesting here. It was mostly bare white concrete. But a few empty pallets were scattered around.

Near the end of the building, on the the left side, Ayatsuji stopped. He closed his lighter and the light around him went out. But there was a faint glow on the floor. He tilted his head up, following the light to its source.

A window was broken. A fist sized hole on the lower right side.

The detective flicked open his lighter and headed towards the window. He kept his gaze down and searched the concrete below.

Chuuya saw what Ayatsuji was doing and quickened his pace. He spotted the bundle of cloth first. "Found something," Chuuya declared.

Ayatsuji turned off his lighter and strolled over. Chuuya's lighter provided enough for them to see. Ayatsuji picked up the bundle and unwound it. There was a slight gleam as the lighter reflected off the object. The metal was bright, with darker smudges near the tip.

"A bloody knife," the detective stated. "He panicked when he heard the sirens. And he threw it through the warehouse window to temporarily dispose of the evidence."

"That makes sense," Chuuya affirmed. "Now that you have your murder weapon, do leave."

Ayatsuji smiled. "Of course. Thanks for the help, Chuuya-san."

XXX

It was a dreary wet day that Ayatsuji slipped out on. The rain drummed on roofs and pattered on the streets, like a band of drummers that played relentlessly.

He walked among the wet, mostly empty streets. Ayatsuji found he was feeling melancholic and bitter. What unusual feelings they were, the wish to reminisce and the thorns that pricked his stomach.

Ayatsuji's feet turned towards the Black Cat. He could hide out there again. And if he was lucky, Chuuya wouldn't be on a job tonight.

Surprisingly, Chuuya already sat in the corner booth. He had his back to the wall and had spread his feet out over the fake leather seat. From the table, his hand picked up a glass of wine. It was either slightly empty or it had only been filled that much originally.

Ayatsuji settled himself on the opposite seat. He tilted the handle of his soaked black umbrella against the side of the booth. His hand was still wrapped around a glass of whiskey, the large amount of ice cubes within chilling his fingertips.

"What's up with you?" Chuuya bluntly asked.

"What are you talking about? There's been nothing, just another case," the detective cooly dismissed.

"You usually don't have a lot of ice in your glass. Ice dilutes alcohol," Chuuya reasoned. "And I know you don't like to get drunk. So...you're concerned about drinking too much tonight, perhaps?"

A wry smile crept onto Ayatsuji's face. "Well, you've gotten sharper." He leaned back against the fake leather. "A mastermind I've been hunting down for a while. I found him, yesterday." His gaze cooled from amused to cold and calculating. "But some of his actions before he died were...concerning."

Chuuya raised his eyebrows. "A criminal mastermind? What did he do to get your attention?"

"He gave murderers the skills and tools to to carry out their crimes. He said he that he was helping people, giving them what they wanted." Ayatsuji paused and narrowed his eyes at the wooden booth table. "...He caused the death of too many." The detective took a few sips of his drink. The ice had mostly melted by now. His glass was covered with small drops of dew that rolled down the table.

"Sometimes...people getting what they want is a bad thing," Chuuya mused.

Ayatsuji inclined his head slightly in agreement.

XXX

The Black Cat was a bit quieter this weekend due to the lack of people. Ayatsuji noticed this, because he still went there about every other night that he wasn't on a case. Even though Chuuya hadn't shown up for several weeks. The criminal had gone silent without a word. Regardless, Ayatsuji found something about the place...nice.

"It's been a while," Ayatsuji said in greeting.

Chuuya grumbled something in reply as he slid into the booth with a bottle of wine and a glass.

"It was like you vanished for a few weeks," Ayatsuji commented. "I couldn't find anything about your location."

"I was on an overseas mission." Chuuya plunked down the bottle with more force than was necessary.

"...Did it go badly?"

"No. It went well." Chuuya poured a glass for himself with a scowl. He downed it quickly. He looked as if he was drinking ditch water rather than wine.

Ayatsuji gestured to Chuuya's face lazily. "Then why are you p*ssed?"

"My former partner showed up today," Chuuya revealed with a sigh. "He got captured-on purpose-and then escaped with information," he growled.

"Ah," the detective murmured. "Do you not like your former partner?"

"He's an a*s," Chuuya complained. "He always messes with me and I can't really do anything about it."

Hidden among Chuuya's annoyance and exasperation, Ayatsuji spotted a dash of fondness. Oh? "Is he younger than you?" Ayatsuji questioned,

"Yes?"

The detective smirked and suddenly proposed, "So he's like your annoying little brother?"

Chuuya screwed his face up into an expression disgust. "No," he vehemently denied.

Ayatsuji hummed, unconvinced.

"He's a genius suicidal b*****d. He's not anything close to family. I want to kill him for being such an a*s for all those years," Chuuya protested. He sounded slightly desperate.

"Right," Ayatsuji sarcastically agreed. His amusement was clear in his tone and the slight upwards quirk at the edges of his lips.

Chuuya glared at the detective. "Oh, f*ck you."

Ayatsuji chuckled.

XXX

A month or so later, Chuuya stopped showing up at the Black Cat again.

Ayatsuji sat and watched the news headlines on his phone. He was a spectator, relegated to the shadows by wish and need.

He watched the events of the three way war unfold with interest.

The mysterious mass hallucinations that turned people homicidal, either a drug related conspiracy or an ability.

The explosions and red lights in a forest meadow with a small house.

The large whale ship that almost crashed into the city.

The Port Mafia's and Armed Detective Agency's secret alliance surprised him. But it was the logical thing to when confronted with an enemy who would willingly burn down your mutual beloved home.

XXX

The Black Cat had returned to being more crowded.

Ayatsuji smiled, albeit slightly, when he saw the familiar red hair and black clothes.

Chuuya nonchalantly greeted some of his men and ordered a glass of wine. He hid a yawn behind a hand. Then he stalked over to the corner booth that had practically been claimed by him and Ayatsuji.

The detective observed the redheaded man. The dark bags under Chuuya's eyes. The unusual imperfect creases in his clothes, wrinkles from sleep and a lack of ironing. His gloved hands trembled slightly from overuse when Chuuya put his glass down. The unusual fact that the alcohol was vodka and not wine.

"Chuuya, go sleep," Ayatsuji quietly advised. "You need to rest."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Ayatsuji forcefully replied. He glared icily at Chuuya.

"I'm..." Chuuya trailed off, he frowned. "I'm fine, okay?" He stubbornly insisted.

"No, you're not," Ayatsuji countered, firmly.

"I'm tired, stressed, and I want a drink," Chuuya snapped. He leveled a harsh glare at the detective. "Just let me relax here. Or I will just go to a different bar. Got it?"

Ayatsuji sighed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and snagged his drink for another sip.

Chuuya downed his own glass in two gulps. "I've had a lot of work to do. Deaths, rebuilding, networking...Paper work, paper work, paper work," he muttered. "I'll be dealing with the backlog for weeks.

"But at least the war is over."

Ayatsuji swallowed another mouthful of whiskey. It left a pleasant burn as it trickled down his throat. "How involved were you?"

"I was in...charge of the front lines," Chuuya carefully replied. "And I got hurt near the end. Which is why I've gotten stuck with such an additional workload."

"How'd you get hurt?" Genuine curiosity seeped through Ayatsuji's voice.

Chuuya shrugged. "I was fighting."

"And?" Ayatsuji probbed. He kept his fingers curled around his glass.

"I had to...go all out. Which is rare. I barely survived." Chuuya grimaced. His expression soured into a dark scowl. "And Dazai f**king left me there, in the middle of the forest. That a*****e."

"You fought with your former partner?" Ayatsuji mused. "No, you fought against someone." He put the piece of information together with what he knew about the three way war. "Is he in the Armed Detective Agency?"

"Yeah." Chuuya's expression grew a tad relieved and just slightly fond. "He seems to be doing fine there." His scowl returned in full force as he sourly continued, "Even though he still keeps trying to commit suicide."

"What? He's suicidal?" Ayatsuji raised his eyebrows.

"Yup. He's been a suicidal maniac for years."

Chuuya got several refills from the counter over the next hour.

Ayatsuji watched as Chuuya's words slurred, his sense of balance worsened, and he grew a bit more free with his words. When Chuuya almost fell asleep, Ayatsuji decided to call it a night and intervene. "All right, where's your apartment?"

"I can get back by myself," Chuuya grumbled. He slipped out of the booth to prove his point. However, he proved Ayatsuji's point as he stumbled almost immediately.

"I don't trust you to get back to your apartment when you're like this," Ayatsuji dryly explained. He left his glass of whiskey a quarter full and swung an arm under Chuuya's shoulder.

Most of the patrons were rather drunk at this point. They headed out the door without anyone really noticing.

Ayatsuji mentally sighed. Great, now he was stuck with a drunk. Chuuya should have gone home when he told him to. "Where's your apartment?"

"Right," Chuuya responded. He pointed lazily in the direction.

The inebriated criminal kept giving directions as they walked.

The moon was a sliver. And even that was covered by clouds. The lampposts had flickered to life when dusk started. Now, late at night, they lit up circular patches of the sidewalk and some of the street.

About twenty minutes after they left, they arrived at an apartment complex. It was a nice place, one of the more pricey places in Yokohama.

Chuuya managed to gather enough mental concentration to put his key in his lock. He turned it and pushed open the door slightly.

"Drink water. Otherwise you'll end up with a horrible headache," Ayatsuji cooly reminded. He received an annoyed mutter in return for his efforts. "See you around, Chuuya."

XXX

Chuuya's phone rang. He slipped it out of his pocket and looked at the ID. 'Idiot Blond Detective' was calling. He sighed and picked up. "What is it?"

"Anything interesting going on?" Ayatsuji questioned.

Chuuya rolled his eyes. The detective was obviously bored. "Unless you can tell me who killed one of my men, don't bother me. I need to get whoever did this as soon as possible." He frowned at the bloody, bloated body a few feet away.

"Caused by?"

"A knife sliced open both carotid arteries. He was dumped in the river, got stuck in a shoal," Chuuya explained. He gestured a bit with his left hand as he talked, even though he knew Ayatsuji couldn't see him.

Ayatsuji hummed. There was the sound of chair legs scraping the floor and the rustle of pages for a few seconds. "State of the body?"

"Bloated. Not much discoloration. Some bleeding from the nose and mouth," Chuuya observed.

"Send me a picture," Ayatsuji requested.

Chuuya obliged. He stepped closer and snapped a picture of the dead man. He sent it.

"Barely three days since his death," Ayatsuji revealed. "I assume you are at the location where you found him? Send me your location."

Chuuya (PM): shared his location.

"All right, everything that's upstream of you in Yokohama plus within about three days of travel through the river. And...yes, there's an old shack from a business. Check there," Ayatsuji suggested.

"Well then," Chuuya muttered. He smirked slightly. "Never mind, you can be helpful. Thanks."

"You think the government keeps me around for my stunning looks?" Ayatsuji sarcastically asked.

Chuuya snorted. "If they were doing it for your looks, they wouldn't have much reason to keep you around, would they?"

Caught off guard, Ayatsuji gave a short bark of laughter in reply.

XXX

Sidewalks were not the greatest place to encounter enemies. But unfortunately, Chuuya seemed to be cursed with doing exactly that.

Dazai had on his new tan trenchcoat. It was a stark replacement for his black coat made of heavy cloth. Chuuya remembered many frosty mornings that his ex-partner had practically lived in that coat. Not that the black coat was ever far away from Dazai. It was Mori's gift, a symbol of Dazai joining the Port Mafia. Chuuya heard Dazai had burned it.

"Hello, Chibi," Dazai happily said.

The insult was mostly ignored by Chuuya. He merely frowned slightly.

The bandages were normal-- neck, ankles, and forearms swathed in clean white cloth. Dazai was a little paler than usual. There was a slight dimness to his eyes and a brittle quality to his smile.

"What happened?" Chuuya bluntly asked.

Dazai's eyebrows briefly dropped downwards. "Oh? What do you mean?" He smiled cheerily. A slight gleam of wariness and curiosity sprung up in his earthy eyes.

Chuuya rolled his eyes. "You're not the only one who can play detective, Dazai. Fine, fine," he decided as he walked away, "Keep whatever dastardly problem you have to yourself." Chuuya smirked and threw over his shoulder as a parting shot, "With any luck, it'll kill you."

At the last part, Dazai smirked at his ex-partner's back. 'Oh, you have no idea,' he thought to himself. 'Against him, I might actually die.'

XXX

The office was large. It was colder and darker then his executive one. The carpet was a dark red-a good way for recent uncleaned blood stains to go unnoticed. The table was large and made of dark oak. The room's atmosphere was calculating and apathetic.

Chuuya didn't really like it. If he were to have this place as his permanent office, he'd change some things. Mainly the furniture and lighting. But it wasn't permanent. This was only temporary. Until the Boss, Mori, got better.

'Idiot Blond Detective' was calling.

"Hey," Chuuya tiredly greeted. He held the phone against his ear while using the other to type out a response to Hirotsu's question about troop placement on his laptop.

"Hello. I-Chuuya?" Ayatsuji's voice immediately dropped from a cool apathetic tone to suspicious. "What's going on?"

"The Boss and Fukuzawa are sick. The antidote is to kill one, which cures the other. And there's a time limit," Chuuya conveyed in a quiet voice. "I'm the acting Boss right now. Since I'm Mori's right hand."

Ayatsuji gave a small, deep sigh. He took off his glasses and held them in one hand. He massaged the bridge of his nose with his left. That...was a bad situation, if he had ever heard of one. "How are you holding up?"

"Not the greatest," Chuuya admitted.

"It's understandable that you're dealing with a time sensitive issue, but sleep. Otherwise you'll make stupid decisions."

"Yeah," Chuuya murmured neutrally, dodging an actual response to Ayatsuji's piece of advice. "I have to go. Talk to you later."

XXX

"Where have you been?" Ayatsuji asked, curious. Chuuya had been absent from the Black Cat, once again seeming to have vanished from existence. Had Mori sent off his right hand on a mission out of the city even with how unstable Yokohama was?

"I got stuck in a f**king book," Chuuya snarled. He had a dark scowl on his face.

Ayatsuji's eyebrows rose. "Well, that's a new one," he commented and took a small sip of his scotch.

"I'm hoping it doesn't become a common one," Chuuya irately replied.

XXX

Chuuya picked up his phone without looking at the ID. It was about 7 AM, which meant it was probably a subordinate of his. "This is Chuuya Nakahara, who's this?"

"I need help catching an invisible man," Ayatsuji bluntly divulged.

XXX

"What are you doing here?" Tsujimura questioned. She looked warily at the Port Mafia Executive.

"He owes me a favor," Ayatsuji explained.

That was true, but that wasn't why Chuuya was there. It had to do more with being bored.

They managed to corner the invisible man in a barn.

The homicidal maniac quickly unwound the bandages around his face. He had already lost his clothes on the way, his hat and trenchcoat in the mud outside the barn's brown double doors.

Chuuya strolled into the barn, flanking him were Tsujimura and Ayatsuji. He quickly activated For the Tainted Sorrow and gestured with a gloved hand. "Against me, being invisible doesn't help. As long as you're made up of atoms, I can affect you."

There was a small thud and 'oof' of surprise as the invisible man hit the floor.

Chuuya crouched down close to where the sound came from. He felt with his hand what his eyes could not see, he was by the man's head. He placed the tip of his knife against the man's throat. Chuuya picked up the bandages and wound them around the invisible man's forearm.

The invisible man struggled against the oppressive gravity. He succeeded in cutting open one of his carotid arteries. The blood seeped out of the wound. It covered down his neck and onto his collarbone. A small puddle of blood suspended in midair.

"I am H.G. Wells," the invisible man man revealed. It was better to die here than end up as an asset of the government, a lab rat. "I have meddled with things that no men should know."

A split second later, a wooden ceiling support fell down. It crashed into the invisible man's head, killing him instantly.

Tsujimura stared at the corpse, visibly distraught. She frowned. "Why do they always die?"

Ayatsuji sighed.

XXX

"So, what you're saying is that the brat is currently unconscious and can't help us at all," Chuuya translated. "Well, that's great," he snarked.

The library was a large circle. The shelves reached up to four stories. Large ladders were scattered around the room. In the center were several tables and chairs. A door with several padlocks was wedged among the massive bookshelves.

"At least we know we can call for outside help," Dazai replied with a shrug. He put a book on the table they had unofficially agreed to be their base of operations. He then twirled a key around his finger. "Found one," he chirped.

"It was in the novel?" Atsushi asked.

"Yup. I'm willing to bet it's the same for the other three." Dazai grinned.

"Yes, sir," Kunikida acknowledged and ended his call with the Agency. "They've lost track of the criminal. Which means we can't rely on our coworkers being able to rescue us for the moment."

"That's assuming there is a way for the criminal to bring us back if he chooses to. It's possible that even if he gets captured, we won't be rescued," Dazai pointed out.

Yeah, when Chuuya got out of here, he was going to maim the ability user responsible. As long as the Armed Detective Agency got the culprit alive, there shouldn't be a problem, right? Well, maybe Dazai wouldn't appreciate him traumatizing his new apprentice, the weretiger kid, Atsushi. And Kunikida wouldn't want that happening, being the idealistic guy he was. But, Chuuya could settle for just beating the culprit unconscious.

Kunikida and Atsushi were still gathered around the table. They were trying to think of someone they could call to help them.

Dazai had already gone off again. He had returned to checking through all of the bottom three shelves and gradually started to make his way around the circle.

"I...might know someone who can help us," Chuuya revealed. "Unless he's in the middle of something." He pulled out his phone and scrolled to one of his contacts, 'Idiot Blond Detective.'

"Good," Kunikida responded. He stopped flipping through his book of Ideals.

Atsushi politely excused himself and went to help Dazai.

"Hey," Chuuya calmly greeted. "Got caught up in something work-related. So, unfortunately, no, I won't be there tonight.

"Of course." He smiled. "I'd appreciate the help. Well, we need to figure out where the h**l a few keys are hidden in books so we can get out. I'll send you some pictures. Dazai got one already, it was in a copy of 'Don Quixote'. Check satire? All the books are jumbled." He stole Kunikida's pen, and the blond man frowned at him. "Any notable titles to look for?" Chuuya listened for a bit then rolled his eyes. "Give me like...three, not a dozen." He sighed and scribbled the titles down on his forearm. "Okay, thanks for the help."

Chuuya activated For the Tainted Sorrow and soared towards the ceiling. He would scan the book spines for the three, starting at the top. It took a few minutes, but he recognized the book Catch-22, one of the three satire novels he was looking for. He pulled it out and opened it to see a small metal key.

Meanwhile, Kunikida found a bronze key in a copy of Animal Farm. He placed it on the table.

And Dazai and Atsushi discovered two boxes of files hidden behind fake books. It seemed that the ability user had stored some good information there judging from Dazai's pleased smirk.

Chuuya had checked the other two Ayatsuji suggested, but didn't find anything.

He decided to glance around the shelves. Not to scan for a specific title, but to see if there was one of interest.

The white spine stood out to him. He slid the book out and looked at its cover. 'I am a Cat' was the title. He opened it, curious. A key slid out and he hastily caught it.

"I got it!" Chuuya yelled. The detectives below him looked up at the announcement. For a moment, all of them experienced at least a flicker of relief. He briefly let go off For the Tainted Sorrow's power and rushed towards the ground. He slowed his descent as his feet came within a yard of the ground and used the leftover momentum to briskly step onto the tiled floor.

Dazai swept the keys off the table and headed towards the door. Behind him, his coworkers followed. Atsushi seemed to have been designated as a pack mule, considering he was caring a box of files.

Chuuya tried the key on two padlocks before he found the correct one. It opened easily.

Dazai quickly took care of the other three locks. Not without ribbing Chuuya while doing it.

That led to an argument. It didn't really have the harshness of their usual verbal bouts. Both were far too happy about getting out and all too aware that a mutual enemy was on the other side of the door.

Chuuya grinned and gripped the bronze knob. He didn't feel the cold metal on his palm or fingers, separated from it by his glove. With a twist, the door swung open.

XXX

A thick fog had rolled over the city of Yokohama.

Ayatsuji immediately noticed the lack of noise and the disappearance of his personal sniper team. No, they weren't there to protect him. They were there to kill him when there was a higher-up who ordered it.

He took a step outside of his front door. There was no one in streets. All of the cars were empty. The city had fallen silent.

The detective retreated back inside. He turned around to see a clone of himself. He stared it down and puffed a curl of smoke. It was faceless. Completely cream white, except for an orange crystal on its forehead.

The clone lunged for Ayatsuji. The detective quickly side-stepped. The clone hit the door, the wood cracked slightly as it bent outwards from the force.

Ayatsuji grimaced mentally as he thought of what the punch would have done to his face. He quickly ran to the basement and locked the door behind him.

There was a specific doll he was looking for. He had hid something under her. There it was, the one with the puffy red dress. The detective gently lifted the doll up by the torso and slipped a hand underneath. He felt the cold metal on his fingertips.

The basement door finally broke. The clone stepped into the basement.

Ayatsuji awaited it on his chair. He needed to do a bit of thinking after all.

The clone ran at him and Ayatsuji fired the gun. The bullets hit the crystal. It was the only distinctive thing, the only different thing.

Ayatsuji's guess about the clone's weakness was correct. It crumbled into dust.

He went back upstairs and stared out the window. He drank tea and compiled a short list of repairs.

It was unfortunate. Ayatsuji couldn't really do anything.

He watched from his window as red lights and white lights exploded amid the fog high above. The red lights were reminiscent to the ones that were seen by locals in the forest during the three way war.

XXX

The door to Ayatsuji's study opened.

"You moved in the past few years," Chuuya noted as he walked in. He draped his trenchcoat on the back of a chair and sat. He was dressed in his full attire even this early in the morning.

Ayatsuji noted the dark bags under Chuuya's eyes. "Yes, I did." Not that it was completely voluntary. "Coffee?" He suggested, getting up. He had on a comfortable yellow sweatshirt, orange pants, and glasses.

"Sure."

Ayatsuji made two cups. Two teaspoons of sugar and one milk. He handed a cup to Chuuya, it was accepted with a muttered, "Thanks."

Several minutes later, Chuuya started talking about an expensive bottle of wine he had bought the other day.

Ayatsuji decided to derail the topic. He had grown a bit tired of it. "Wine is just grape juice," he bluntly mused.

Chuuya rolled his eyes. "And coffee is just bean water," he shot back.

The two men tried to suppress their smiles as they mock glared at each other. Ayatsuji had more luck than Chuuya. The latter's lips twitched up at the edges.

"How to get your daily fruits and vegetables, drink wine and coffee," Chuuya joked. His lips quirked up into a smile and stayed that way.

Ayatsuji snorted.

Chuuya clicked his tongue and shook his head at the detective. "Don't believe me?" He teased. "Each bottle of wine is made out of six hundred to eight hundred grapes."

"I still doubt the nutritional value of either beverage," Ayatsuji skeptically replied. He smiled slightly.

One mark of friends is the casual insanity they openly bring with them. Another, is when the most absurd ideas and topics are discussed as stoically as possible. As was the case with these two.

About forty minutes later, the study door opened again.

Curls of smoke from Ayatsuji's pipe and Chuuya's cigarette had coated the ceiling in a light acrid fog.

Tsujimura stared at the two men in surprise. The young, teal-haired woman was dressed as usual, a black suit and blue scarf.

"Are you joking? Last time we went drinking together in random bars, you killed a record of twenty seven people. I'm not doing that again," Chuuya insisted.

"It's not my fault you brought me to a shady bar full of criminals." Ayatsuji shrugged.

"But it is your fault if you kill them," Chuuya shot back. He muttered something under his breath and took a sip of his coffee.

Ayatsuji tilted his head slightly forward, a reply on the tip of his tongue.

"I...I thought you were dead," Tsujimura blurted out. The two men turned towards her.

"Well, I'm not, as you can see." Chuuya replied and spread his hands out. His mug was still in hand, the little bit of coffee left pooled together as it was tilted for the gesture.

Tsujimura sputtered, "How? You beat the dragon, but-"

"Dazai survived," Chuuya shrugged, "He stopped me from dying. But, never mind that. How are you doing?"

Tsujimura blinked. "Umm, well?"

"That's good." Chuuya glanced over at Ayatsuji, "Ayatsuji-san, do you want some more coffee? I'm almost out."

"That'd be wonderful. And maybe brew a new pot? It's likely cold by now." Ayatsuji held out his cup for Chuuya to take it.

Chuuya hummed as he grabbed the cup with his left hand. "Hmm, true."

"So, um, why are you two...hanging out?" Tsujimura's eyebrows furrowed. "Sensei, how did Chuuya-san get into the house? The report was that no one else was in the house except you."

Ayatsuji and Chuuya exchanged a glance. It was best to ignore the second question. "He's...an unsolved mystery, you could say," Ayatsuji replied.

"You actually have things you haven't solved?" Tsujimura asked, surprised. Her mouth fell open slightly.

"A few," Ayatsuji admitted.

"Do you want some coffee?" Chuuya offered. "There's enough for the three of us left, although it is a bit cold."

Tsujimura smiled warmly, surprised. Usually she was the one who made the coffee at Ayatsuji's house. Here, it hadn't been offered to her before. "I'd love to."

XXX

The office was humid and dim. Tsujimura's superior officer sat behind his desk. He was a rather plain looking man from what could be seen of him. Dark hair that was parted in the middle, sharp brown eyes behind glasses, and an expensive black suit. A contemplative expression was on his face, partially lit up by the blue glow of his computer screen.

He leaned back into his chair slightly and laced his hands. His face was mostly obscured by shadow. "If you're implying anyone should look into Chuuya Nakahara, I must forbid it. We can't do any surveillance on Chuuya."

Tsujimura bit her lip. "What? Why?"

Ango sighed and propped his elbows on his chair's arms. He slowly explained the situation, "At the least, he would simply leave the bodies at our department's front door. At the most, the Port Mafia would start retaliating to even the score. An all out war with them...is not something the Japanese government is completely sure they will win. And for good reason. Understood?" He leaned forward again, allowing his face to be seen.

Tsujimura swallowed nervously under the steely eyes of her superior. She felt as if her thoughts had been laid bare and crushed without sympathy, but she was only used to it from Ayatsuji having experienced it on a regular basis. She hadn't expected such a harsh response from her superior. "Completely, sir."

XXX

Ayatsuji had gone on a rambling...not a rant-his tone was too apathetic for that word-but, a lecture. As he sometimes did when immensely bored, prideful, and/or underestimating the IQ of those around him. It was on the topic of criminal masterminds, and what he saw as the decline of quality and quantity.

In the moment of pleasant silence that followed and his solid memory of aggravation over recent events in Yokohama, an idea struck Chuuya. He cooly smiled, a mix of slyness and sincerity. "If you're ever looking for a real challenge of someone to pin a crime on, I do have one suggestion," Chuuya drawled. "Have you ever heard of Fyodor Dostoevsky?

Ayatsuji narrowed his eyes with a smirk. "Yes, but I haven't looked into him. I'll have to keep him in mind."

XXX

Tsujimura was surprised to see Ayatsuji in his arm chair. The detective was reading and puffing clouds of acrid smoke. A weathered book in one hand-his thumb stuck between two pages to keep him from losing his place-and his pipe in the other.

"Not sneaking off tonight?" Tsujimura asked.

"I've already solved two cases today," Ayatsuji pointed out, gesturing with his pipe. "I don't feel like accidentally picking up a third right now by going for a walk. And Chuuya is working late shift, so I can't meet up with him." For the Port Mafia, 'late shift' meant a night job.

"Ah," the female agent muttered, "That explains it."

XXX

Two people needed to take care of the forty or so people inside, if the worse came to the worst. In other words, if the alarm was sounded and the immediate death of everyone became needed, Chuuya and Akutagawa could handle it. Therefore Chuuya chose to take Akutagawa with him.

But, of course, the mission wasn't to decimate the facility. It was to sneak inside, assassinate a scientist, and steal some research.

The first step was to get over the large fence that lined the perimeter. Lights were regularly spaced on the top of the fence, tall oblong boxes. The two men were sneaking towards one of the darkest spots along the fence. A space between two of the lights.

Akutagawa was about three feet from the base of the fence. A hand clamped down on his shoulder. He looked behind him.

"Wait," Chuuya quietly ordered. "There's something in the ground. Explosives."

Akutagawa squinted and barely made out a slight protrusion. It was vague and small, a thin rectangular shape.

"It's a claymore. Our spy never went to the fence, so he had no way of knowing. Regardless, the operation must go on, this is a small hiccup if anything." Chuuya let go of Akutagawa's shoulder. A slight smirk speed over his face, hidden by the darkness. "Can you lift us over with Rashoumon?"

Akutagawa nodded. Then, realizing the light was very dim, he coughed and replied, "Yes."

XXX

Step two, kill the scientist. He usually stayed in his lab when he had a new project. He was an older man, with fuzzy white hair and deep wrinkles. The scientist wore a brown coat and cream sweater. He looked like a regular old civilian grandpa. But some of his methods for gathering data on electric shocks shattered that kind of mental image for any who had the correct info.

Akutagawa had a black tendril poised above the sleeping scientist's throat. Chuuya's apprentice was always over eager when it came to assassinations.

Chuuya's phone buzzed. Since it was a stealth mission, he had turned his volume off. "Take care of him," Chuuya ordered with a wave of his hand. He slipped his phone out. 'Idiot Blond Detective' was calling. That was all well and good, but he was in the middle of a job.

He declined the call and texted a reply to Ayatsuji while Rashomoun ripped into the scientist.

Chuuya (PM): I'm in the middle of something

Chuuya (PM): Late shift, remember?

Chuuya (PM): I'll call you back later

XXX

The two hadn't expected to run into another person at Chuuya's apartment door. There was a tall brunette man in a trenchcoat and bandages. On the right side of the door, a tall blond wore orange pants, a hunting cap, and a heavy tan coat.

The brunette spoke up first. "Who are you?" Dazai asked with a wide grin. He had a tall paper bag in his hand, with contents unknown to the person he had encountered.

"Yukito Ayatsuji," the blond detective cooly replied. "And you?"

"Osamu Dazai." The brunette detective put his pale hand forward for a shake. Dazai still had a large smile on his face.

Ayatsuji scrutinized Dazai closely and didn't move to shake his hand. "The happiness you've just shown me is either completely true or completely faked. Considering your background, it's most likely the latter," he deduced.

Dazai stuffed his rejected hand back into his trenchcoat pocket. "Oh? And what's my background?" He challenged.

"Former criminal." Ayatsuji smiled slightly. "Considering you're here, you are Chuuya's former partner, the former Port Mafia Executive. The famous 'Demon Prodigy'. Want me to to go on?" His demeanor was cold and apathetic.

"Oo, my turn," Dazai replied, mockingly sweet. "You're a genius detective. You try not to care. Because every time you do, you get hurt. You've accepted that your place in the world is as a cold hearted killer in the guise of a detective."

"Speaking from experience? It's rather the same for you, isn't it?" Ayatsuji mused, Dazai smirked in response. The blond detective looked thoughtfully at Dazai. "But, I do have one question, one thing I haven't figured out. What radical event caused you to leave the Port Mafia?"

Dazai narrowed his eyes. His smile grew into a dark smirk.

Ayatsuji stared back in reply. A gaze cold enough to turn lava into solid obsidian in split seconds.

The two detectives had immediately recognized each other as similar. They understood each other on sight. But that did not mean they liked each other. Understanding does not always promote 'like' or 'peace;' that, is a myth. It could be said that they understood each other too well for them to get along.

The door partially opened. Chuuya appeared. He raised an eyebrow at Ayatsuji, then scowled at Dazai.
"So, why are you two darkening my door step at midnight?"

"A case," Ayatsuji divulged. "It's at the docks."

Dazai's grin spread across his face again. It was slightly more cheerful than the one he gave to Ayatsuji, more genuine. "I brought wine," he chirped and pulled the bottle partially out of the paper bag to illustrate.

Chuuya furrowed his eyebrows, confused. "What for?"

"Eh, I took a bottle last week." Dazai lazily shrugged.

"You, son of a b***h," Chuuya flatly cursed. "Which bottle?"

"Relax, it was only a cheap bottle," Dazai replied dismissively with a sluggish hand wave.

Chuuya socked Dazai in the shoulder, hard. "Ah, yes, only a cheap bottle, from my wine supply," he parroted sarcastically, greatly annoyed.

The brunette detective pouted. "That hurt," he whined. "And I got a bottle of wine to make it up to you."

"Still doesn't excuse it. Don't steal my stuff," Chuuya chastised.

Dazai took a step back from the door and rolled his eyes.

"Anyways, I'll take that." Chuuya plucked the paper bag from Dazai's hand. He went back inside and set it on the table beside the door.

Dazai's grin curled into a smirk. "Well, you two have fun investigating at the docks tonight." He paused and then advised, "You might want to check out the north side. I heard about something...going on, over there."

"Thanks for the tip," Ayatsuji icily replied.

XXX

Chuuya's apartment door opened. He had returned from his 'adventure'. Chuuya closed the door behind him. He immediately peeled off his soggy black sneakers and wet socks. He didn't want to track mud around his place. The bottom foot or so of his black jeans were wet, small crystals of salt and sand stuck on the denim. He would need to change and wash his pants.

He glanced curiously at the paper bag on the hallway table. It sat beside a small lamp-that had a timer to turn it when it was dark-and a bowl of miscellaneous items. He dropped his keys into the bowl and picked up the bag. Chuuya carefully slid the bottle out.

It was a Petrus 1889. That...was not what Chuuya had been expecting. Not at all. To most, they would just look at the bottle and say it's gift. But it's more than that. Because it's this specific bottle. Because Dazai knew that Chuuya drank a Petrus 1889 the night he left the Port Mafia. In a sense, it was an apology. By form of reimbursement. And Chuuya sure as h**l didn't know what to do with it.

Chuuya (PM): Anything interesting going on?

Idiot Blond Detective: Why?

Chuuya (PM): I don't want to think right now.

Idiot Blond Detective: Hm.

Idiot Blond Detective: Okay.

Idiot Blond Detective: There's another case I'm working on right now.

Idiot Blond Detective: It's about an armed robbery that happened two days ago.

XXX

Ayatsuji and Chuuya wandered the streets of Yokohama on a cool fall night. It was more accurate to say they investigated on this night by exploring several sites of interest.
Eventually, the duo finished their task.

They walked up the pristine brick steps of Ayatsuji's house. Ayatsuji unlocked the door and they entered.

Ayatsuji took off his glasses and coat. He slipped the former in his pocket and placed the latter on the black coat rack.

Chuuya hung his trenchcoat up beside his host's.

Instead of heading towards his study, Ayatsuji made his way towards a different wooden door. He opened it and went inside.

Chuuya raised an eyebrow and followed. He stopped at the top of the steps, just inside the basement, and stared.

There were pristine, white, ceramic dolls. With black, blond, red, or brown hair in multiple hairdos, wearing various dresses and other outfits. Some seemed passable for a normal doll, while others were contorted and looked borderline demonic, at least in the dim lighting of the basement. They seemed to cover every available surface aside from the steps and a small circular area around a simple chair.

Chuuya whistled in surprise as he swept his gaze around the room. "I think you need to get a new hobby," he commented.

Ayatsuji rolled his eyes at Chuuya's comment. He then sat in the chair, head slightly bowed and hands pressed together, thinking.

Chuuya slowly meandered down the steps. He carefully inspected the dolls he passed. But only a visual inspection, as he had a strange feeling that it wouldn't be a good idea to move, or even touch, one.

Ayatsuji stood up. "I know where she's hiding," he announced.

Chuuya gave a crooked smile. "That's good."

XXX

There were several benches along the road. The street was wide and often fell under the hot glare of the sun. Due to the shroud of clouds that continually passed in front of the sun, the metal was only warm, and not scorching.

On two of these benches-placed a spare three feet apart-sat four people, all young men. Dazai was next to the white haired boy, his apprentice, Atsushi. On the other bench were the strict blond Kunikida and deductive genius Ranpo. They had grown tired of walking a few minutes ago and had unanimously decided to rest their feet.

Kyouka would have come with them, but she went shopping with Yosano earlier that morning. Tanizaki and Naomi were in school. And Kenji was on vacation visiting his family.

Out on a walk with a less celebratory-that of investigating a nearby area for packet of diamonds-the Homicide Detective, Ayatsuji, and his somewhat assistant/government agent Tsujimura strolled down the pristine white sidewalk. Well, Ayatsuji strolled, but his strides were longer than those of his companion. Tsujimura briskly walked to keep up.

A woman ran into the street. She yelled for help.

The two groups of ability users nearby rushed over.

The woman was young, maybe in her early twenties. She wore make-up, earrings, and a blue dress. She had a large blue purse-the same shade as her dress-that she clutched. Her mascara was running, tiny black rivulets that she smeared with the back of her hand. "My boyfriend!" She wailed. "A mugger killed him!"

"Are you all right? Where is he?" Tsujimura asked. She had put a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder, a look of clear concern marring her usually chipper features.

"Back there." She sniffled and pointed at the alleyway behind her.

"Ma'am, we're detectives. We will find who did this," Kunikida promised.

Two more men approached the group that had gathered around the distraught woman. They were casually dressed, as the Port Mafia members did not want to attract attention. To put names to the two criminals, it was Chuuya and Akutagawa. They were out on an early lunch break, but it seemed their free time had been interrupted.

"What's going on?" Chuuya drawled.

Automatically, the detectives and government agent looked at him, questioningly. "What? It wasn't us," he immediately responded with a roll of his eyes. "Now, putting aside the instant accusation-of what I assume to be murder-do you really think we would have let her get away if it was us?"

Curiosity sated, eyes turned back to the distraught woman and the shadowy space behind her. The group entered the alley. It was a plain white slab of concrete, with the exception of a deceased person, a dark red stream of blood, and many trash cans.

Chuuya elbowed Dazai. "Two thousand on Ayatsuji figuring it out first," the Port Mafia Executive quietly bet.

"Deal, my money is on Ranpo," Dazai replied without skipping a beat. He grinned.

Ayatsuji and Ranpo both strode forward-breaking away from the rest of the group. They surreptitiously examined each other out of the corner of their eye.

The dead man wore a black sleeveless shirt and jeans. He was slightly muscular and Japanese. His black hair had been gelled and meticulously styled, but it was now dirty and pitifully disheveled. The blood that was on the cement had trickled out from his throat.

Ayatsuji crouched down near the man's throat. "Someone slashed his throat with a knife, hit his carotid arteries."

Ranpo withdrew his glasses and peered at the wound. He squinted slightly as he put his glasses on, and as his eyes adjusted to the lenses.

"There's a bit less blood than I would expect for a carotid artery," Chuuya commented. "I mean...unless the killer got covered in the blood, that's possible."

"So, ma'am, what happened?" Dazai cheerfully prompted.

The woman frowned. The trails of tears on her cheeks were still wet. "He decided to take me on a date. I didn't have anything better to do so I decided to go." There was a hint of scorn in her voice, but it quickly disappeared. "He was taking me to a small diner, and he wanted to take a shortcut. A guy stopped us, a big guy, told my boyfriend to hand over his wallet and for me to hand over my purse. He, the idiot, decided to be a hero. The mugger," she swallowed hard, "slashed his throat, and I ran."

Ranpo stared at the corpse's wrists for a moment. He moved over to the man's feet and slid up the man's jeans with a finger. "This is a pretty simple case," he declared. His glasses only added to his already sharp stare.

Ayatsuji and Ranpo locked gazes. "We might as well give our theories at the same time," Ayatsuji coolly suggested.

"The 'mugger', the killer, is...her," the two competing detectives declared. They looked at the girlfriend.

The woman gasped at them. "But I, but I, I didn't," she desperately replied.

"This entire affair was rushed, barely premeditated if at all," Ayatsuji deduced. "This was not a mugging gone wrong, but a kidnapping and subsequent murder."

"There's unusual redness around the wrists and ankles. Undoubtedly from some kind of restraints rubbing the skin raw, either rope or handcuffs," Ranpo explained.

"No one heard any screams and the blood is more coagulated than would be expected. But most importantly, the body is cold as ice."

The woman paled. Tsujimura, Dazai, and Chuuya moved closer to her, in order to stop her from escaping.

"Kunikida, Atsushi, check the trash for a wallet please," Ranpo lazily ordered. His two coworkers nodded and slipped towards the trash further down in the alleyway.

Feeling threatened, the woman stepped closer to the body. She slipped a pocket knife out of her purse and prepared to fight her way out. Her eyes went wide as she took another step back and her heels slipped on the blood. There was a sickening crack as her head hit the concrete. Propelled by momentum, the knife stabbed itself into her throat. Blood poured out of the wound.

Some of the spectators were stunned and horrified. Others, those who were or had been Port Mafia members, watched with a more clinical, apathetic air.

"Why do they always end up dead?" Tsujimura whispered. She felt numb, disconnected, as if she had been unknowingly ejected from her body. She took out her cell phone and started requesting what was necessary to take care of this.

Ayatsuji sighed. "Well, that's the end of things." He stood up and drew out a cigarette pack.

Ranpo didn't really understand what happened. He was piecing it together rather rapidly in his head. "You...you're responsible," he stared at Ayatsuji, "You caused her death, somehow. Which means you're an ability user."

Ayatsuji's lighter flickered to life. He lit the end of the white stick. "Correct," he cooly admitted and put the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. "We'll see more of each other in the future, I'm sure. And don't worry about the mess, the Special Abilities Department will take care of it." He nodded politely to Chuuya as he moved towards the other end of the alleyway. "Let's go, Tsujimura."

"Thanks for the wine," Chuuya quietly stated. The meaning of it was 'apology accepted', but Chuuya just didn't want to say that out loud.

But Dazai got it. He understood, it was a silent 'I forgive you'. He blinked slowly at his ex-partner. "You're welcome." He grinned.

XXX

Ayatsuji's office was usually orderly. Books filled the shelves and a few spots would show where the one or two books that were on the small tables or chairs came from. A few files would sit on the desk along with a pen and saucer. However, today it was not orderly at all. On the floor and desk there were stacks of books, journals, manilla folders, and the odd loose paper.

From his desk, Ayatsuji watched as his new antique cherry bookshelf floated in the door. "How much can you pick up with your ability?" He questioned.

Chuuya walked in the office after the back of the bookshelf cleared the doors. He hummed. "I don't know my current limit. At least a few tons, five or six."

Ayatsuji nodded slightly. "How about the opposite? About the same amount?"

"It's easier to increase gravity," Chuuya shrugged, "So maybe double the amount." He gestured towards the bookshelf. "Where do you want this?"

"Just put it where the old one was."

Instead of the thump Ayatsuji had been expecting, the furniture was lowered to the ground without a sound.

"Do you want me to put everything back for you?"

Ayatsuji paused. He had been typing up some information requests-aimed at some of his preferred information brokers-and appropriate responses to various e-mails and texts. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble," he replied. His tone was amicable, but cool. The latter was due to the issues he was trying to solve and not due to his present company.

The stacks had been kept in the order they had been taken out. The books floated up and turned sideways. They neatly slotted themselves into the shelves.

Chuuya promptly sat down and relaxed into a comfy armchair. He shrugged off his coat.

"Your ability is extremely useful," Ayatsuji complimented.

"For manual labor you mean," Chuuya snarked. "You're paying me back with takeout."

Ayatsuji raised his eyebrows. "What kind?"

Chuuya lazily waved a hand. "Whatever you want, as long as it’s good. Oh, and get some for Tsujimura, since she's going to be here soon."

XXX

It was a wet, rainy night. Two men stood in an alleyway, one was annoyed and apathetic, the other cooly carried himself with determination and slight curiosity.

The chilly breeze that swept through the small opening of the alley did not endear the sopping wet Chuuya to the instigator of this nightly investigation. Beside him, Ayatsuji was huddled inside his own wet coat, eyes fixed on the back door of the Pol Corporation's building.

"You never told me this was going to be a stake out," Chuuya pointed out, rather petulantly. His black trench coat helped him blend into the dark alley rather well. He seemed at ease here, although he scowled at every sudden breeze.

Ayatsuji avoided the question and instead offered up an appeasement,
"It shouldn't be long before the thief comes back."

The Pol Corporation was one of the top three manufacturing companies based in Japan. However, a problem had arisen when they were going over the books-someone had been consistently stealing money.

Ayatsuji had quickly deduced the thefts happened only at night. Then he established a pattern for them. Additionally, the thief always exited through the back right door. Of course, Ayatsuji wanted to catch the culprit red-handed and so had let the person enter without interference.

After another few minutes, the back door opened. The exiting thief had a hoodie over his face and a suitcase in his hand. He glanced down the alleyway on his right. The thief did not expect to be slammed to the ground. He struggled, but was unable to break out of the rear naked choke hold. His chin was pressed to the concrete and the hold around his throat tightened, but he still had enough room to breathe.

There were two clicks as the suitcase was unlocked. Ayatsuji picked up a stack of cash, running his thumb over a bill to check the quality of the paper it was made with. "There's a good fifty thousand of real yen in here," Ayatsuji cooly noted. "Give me his phone, please.”

Chuuya ruffled around in the man's pockets and lobbed the cell phone to Ayatsuji.

The detective spent a minute scrolling through the various messages and e-mails. Ayatsuji looked thoughtfully at the thief. "Return the money you just stole. You're no good to your family dead. I'll take care of your blackmailer, I'm a detective. Understood?"

Chuuya could feel the thief tremble beneath his hands and the quick nervous swallow.

"Yes," the thief affirmed. "I got it...Thank you. "

Chuuya let go and took three steps back. He popped his sore neck. Then he gently stretched his arms out, he didn't want to end up with cramps later that morning.

After another glance over the contents, Ayatsuji locked the suitcase and offered it back to the thief. His expression was bored. But he couldn't mask the slight spark of interest in his eyes and the slight smirk on his face as his brain ran over the possible ways he could handle the next step of the the case.

With a cautious nod, the thief carefully accepted the suitcase and went back inside. The back door closed quietly behind him.

"Is he actually going to return it?" Chuuya asked, doubtful.

"Yes," Ayatsuji replied simply.

Chuuya shrugged and moved on to a different topic. "So, are you going to take care of the blackmailer tonight or  tomorrow?" He asked, half-curious and half-hopeful that the answer would be the latter.

Ayatsuji nodded at Chuuya and stuck his cold hands in his pockets. "Tsujimura and I will handle it. I'm going back home, I've had enough excitement for tonight." He paused. "Thanks for the help."

Chuuya smirked at the detective. "You're welcome."

XXX

For the first time in a while, Chuuya arrived first. As was common, he ordered a bottle of wine-not the super cheap kind, but the slightly expensive kind- he could easily pay for such a habit with his salary. Chuuya made small talk with a few of the other regulars he recognized, then slid into the corner booth he usually sat in.

Ayatsuji appeared a few minutes later, partially soaked from the downpour of rain that had continued over the past two days. He nodded towards Chuuya as he walked in and ordered a glass of scotch at the counter. After his glass arrived, he leaned a wet black umbrella next to his side of the booth, mirroring Chuuya's own blue umbrella.

Chuuya knew the rest of the money had been returned and that the 'culprit'-actually the blackmailer-had been killed in an 'accident' after he resisted arrest. But still, "How'd it go?"

"Good," Ayatsuji cooly replied. "I caught her." He took a sip of his scotch.

Chuuya nodded in acknowledgement. He waited another few seconds, watched as his companion took another drink, waited for Ayatsuji too swallow. "What about the thief?"

Ayatsuji's expression tightened slightly, wary. His reply was nonchalant, "Oh? What about him?"

Chuuya raised a red eyebrow in question. "Last night was unusual," he pointed out. "You let him go. There's been no other unfortunate 'accidents' in Yokohama. I checked."

"So what?"

Chuuya sighed, exasperated. Getting answers from Ayatsuji was close to the experience of pulling teeth, messy and painfully annoying, that is, for the dentist, not the patient. "You spared him. Why?"

"I don't know," Ayatsuji smoothly responded. He shrugged.

It was a lie. Chuuya knew it. He narrowed his eyes briefly, then sighed. "Fine, fine," he waved a lazy hand, "Don't tell me if you don't want to."

Ayatsuji smirked slightly. "It's only fair after all."

Chuuya snorted. "Where's the trust in this friendship?" He joked.

Ayatsuji chuckled and shook his head.
"You have a mystery and I have a mystery."

Chuuya grinned. "True," he drawled. His blue eyes seemed to twinkle and his grin curled into a mischievous smirk. "But I think we both have more then one."

Ayatsuji hummed an affirmative and took another sip.

The two kept secrets. Chuuya wouldn't know about Ayatsuji's family or why he spared a common thief. Ayatsuji would never know how Chuuya survived their first encounter or what was up with the odd friendship between him and his former partner, Dazai. They would remain mutually mute about many of their past experiences and the happenings that occurred because of their jobs. But although the omissions of their lives were mutual, their trust and camaraderie remained remarkably unshaken.