A/N This is something completely new from me. Every word I write on this fic forces me out of my comfort zone. Set post Gaiden, it is Seiji centered and is going to be a pretty rough, raw, and probably violent fic. It will be rated M for very good reasons. If I haven't scared you off yet, then I hope you enjoy it. Oh, and thanks to Mirror and Image, Moonlessnight, Rekkachan, and Kita for their early support on this project. :)

Destructive Interference

Prologue

The blonde kid had been sitting patiently in the waiting area for over three hours now, and it was bugging the hell out of Detective Matt Reynolds. He wasn't sure what it was that irritated him so much. Maybe it was the overly controlled expression on the kid's face, like it didn't matter to him one bit that he had been kept rudely waiting for so long. Maybe it was the ridiculous mass of fluffy yellow hair on a head that was most definitely Asian, and shouldn't have been blonde. Maybe it was the fact that his fingers didn't tap the arms of the chair, his feet didn't fidget, and he never once even shifted that Matt could see. Or that he refused to leave when Matt had way to much work to do today than to make time for him. There was a pile of paperwork up to the detective's chin, a cold half cup of coffee that desperately needed refilling, and dead New Yorkers piling up by the minute. He just did not have time for patience Asian boys who had asked specifically for him and him alone.

Matt deliberately turned around in his desk chair so that his back was to the far side of the room. Perhaps if he didn't see the kid sitting there every time that he tackled his next impossible task, he wouldn't be so damn distracted by him. Biting his pencil sideways between his teeth, Matt ran his finger down his long list of eye witnesses from last week's insanity, wondering if one of them was going to give him anything he could actually work with. So far it had only been Halloween costumes and explosions, impossible reports of fights and a military attack that had done nothing more than cause mass panic in the city. There were more dead citizens from the military response than from anything else. Didn't those idiots have a concept of the phrase "damage control"? Little kids had been trampled in the mess, and were still in the hospital. It made him so mad he could spit, and he had no problem showing it. If his superiors wanted to placate the U.S. government and the mayor, than they were welcome to be the brown nose ass kissing traitors that they were. Matt Reynolds was fighting for his city and there were killers on the loose that had started all of this. He didn't care how many people he pissed off in his search for the guy the papers had dubbed the green goblin. The name was stupid but the case sure wasn't. Too many people had died...

He sure as hell didn't have time for this kid.

"You certainly look cheerful today, doc," a woman said from the next desk over. Long brown bangs barely covered the smirking eyes of his partner, Fritz. She tossed her head back and spun in her chair, a cocky grin on her face. "Are we not enjoying our job anymore?"

"I'll be enjoying it when I have a decent lead for once," Matt growled, wishing she would just stop calling him doc. He hated the nickname with a passion. "Why are you so happy?"

"Cause I think I might have found that lead for you," Fritz said smugly. "A woman from Manhattan says that she got a good look at the green goblin himself. I've got a sketch artist headed her way in an hour. Maybe we've finally struck gold."

Matt gave her a tight grin, pleased. Fritz was many things, but a good detective was on the foremost of that list. He'd lucked out in the partner draw this time around. Matt grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and hoped to his feet.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" he said. "Let's nail this bastard."

Fritz rose more slowly, taking her time as she pulled on her own windbreaker. "What's the rush? We're a lot closer than the artist is. Might as well take our time. I'm hungry anyways, let's get some food."

"Work Fritz, then eat," he reminded her, causing the woman to sigh and brush her bangs out of her eyes. They fell right back in again.

"What about him?" she asked, pointing to the young man that had been waiting so long for her partner. "Aren't you going to at least talk to him?"

"Nope. If I'm lucky he'll be gone by the time we get back." Matt led Fritz out of the station, deliberately ignoring the violet eyes that stared at him as he left.

The lead was a bust. The only useful bit of information the senile old bag had provided them was the height and build of the green goblin, aka the man who had attacked and murdered innocent New Yorkers twice last week. However, it wasn't much to go on considering they had to factor in armor bulk. What looked like a six foot tall man could actually be a five foot six girl scout with a big helmet. And no, she had not seen a face. Just because it was dark inside the mask didn't make the killer African American. At that point Matt had fought hard and failed to keep his professionalism. Another false lead and they were nowhere closer to the actual murderer. Murderers, that is. From what he had heard from eyewitness account, the green goblin wasn't the only one fighting that day in weird funky armor. But they were fighting each other, which made this whole thing even more tangled. Halloween costumed gangbangers? It seemed like such a stretch, but there wasn't much to go by. And here he was, another day wasted.

Matt tried not to take it out on Fritz, who looked embarrassed and pissed at herself.

"That was ridiculous," Fritz declared, slumping into the driver's seat of her car. Matt just shook his head silently as he climbed in. "Sorry, doc. I'd thought she'd seen something worthwhile."

"She may have once in her life," he grumped. "But not since the late nineteen-forties."

"Ouch," Fritz murmured as she started up the vehicle. "Can we at least get some food now?"

"Work, Fritz, work. We're falling further behind every day."

"Food, doc, food. Takeout Chinese. There's a place down the street that'll only take ten minutes out of your busy day," Fritz pushed, pulling out into the heavy traffic. Matt just sighed and nodded, closing his eyes to block out his frustrations. Sure enough only a few minutes later the car pulled to a hard stop, courtesy of Fritz's lack of driving skills. Matt grunted at the force of the stop and arched an eyebrow at his partner. She just grinned and left the car running as she jumped out. Only seconds later she was back.

"Not our day, it seems," she murmured. "The place is closed temporarily. I peeked in the window, it looks trashed."

"Welcome to New York," he said sardonically. "Where all things that can go wrong, do go wrong."

"You're a pessimist doc," Fritz declared, heading back to the station and her supply of frozen dinners.

"No, I'm a realist. You have to be in this job."

"I don't, I just have to be fed. Eventually. Then I can be as optimistic as I want to be."

Matt gave her a grin and patted her shoulder. "You're still just a baby, Fritz. One day you'll understand the limitations of hopefulness."

"And you wonder why you're divorced," Fritz countered, shooting him a smirk. They rode in a companionable silence back to the station, pausing briefly to speak to the chief about their failure to make headway on the green goblin case before dropping back into their desks.

"Now what?" Fritz asked him tiredly. Matt rubbed his eyes and picked up his list of eyewitnesses. He never had a chance to reply. Instead he was interrupted by a quiet clearing of a throat right behind him. Matt and Fritz turned and saw that same blonde Asian kid. He was standing behind them with his hands calmly clasped together.

"Yes?" Matt sighed, rolling his eyes at Fritz. "You're still here?"

The kid nodded, bowing politely. Matt eyed him up and down, noting the well made clothes and the proper behavior. The blonde hair was still irritating him.

"I needed to speak with you, Detective Reynolds," he spoke softly, his English smooth and precise, although accented.

"Listen honey," Fritz said with an appreciative smile as she too looked him up and down. "Doc and I are pretty busy today. Why don't you go talk to some of the other cops here?"

Violet eyes narrowed briefly, a show of irritation, then his face smoothed over.

"You are in charge of the investigation of last week's killings, are you not?" he asked. Matt nodded and turned back to his list, done with the conversation.

"Got some calls to make, kid. Take it to someone else."

"I cannot." The firmness in his voice made Matt glance up. Was it his imagination or did he just see a flicker of fear in the young man's eyes? Or was it something else? The blonde stepped forward and bowed once more, deeper.

"My name is Date Seiji. I have come to turn myself in."

Matt's jaw dropped as the kid held his wrists out in front of him.

"I am the killer you have been searching for."

Fritz thought she had seen a lot of off things in her life and nothing could phase her anymore. But now there was Date Seiji, here to dispel her theory.

He had been quiet the last few hours after making his statement, sitting on the hard holding cell cot with his hands folded in his lap. The cool exterior from before remained as steadfast as ever, but the longer Fritz watched Date, the more she picked up on his nervousness. His breathing was deep and controlled…too controlled. As if he was working on holding it slow and steady. He would blink rapidly every few minutes or so, as if surprised to find himself surrounded by steel bars and concrete. And one foot was now tucked beneath the other knee, as close as Fritz thought this guy could get to curling up in the fetal position. Which she would be if she was in his shoes, being questioned for multiple homicides and faced with life in prison if convicted. Fritz would be weeping like a child, calling every lawyer she could think of and praying like a fanatic to get herself out of it. But Date wasn't. He had declined his phone call. No, he did not want a lawyer present. Yes, he was responsible for the deaths from last week. Case closed.

Well, not really.

There's this little tiny thing in crime fighting that is necessary for a detective and her not so suave partner to make their arrests: evidence. The problem with this one was that there was no evidence, and not even the self proclaimed killer could provide them with any. Did he have possession of the armor to prove that it was really him? Yes. Could he show it to them? No. Why not? Because he couldn't. Was he protecting someone in connection to the armor? Yes. Were they responsible for the deaths as well? No. The others were fighting in the streets, weren't they? Yes, but because of him. That didn't matter…they still were party to the mass panic that caused multiple injuries that day. There was no answer to that, only a curt shake of the head, a denial, and eyes that closed for just a moment too long. Then the weird stuff came.

He couldn't explain how he killed them. He couldn't identify any of the deceased. He didn't know what day the killings occurred. He didn't know where the killings occurred. He didn't know why he killed them. No, it was not premeditated. Yes, he was very sorry. If it had been anyone else, Fritz would have said flat out that they were lying, as stupid as that would be to do. But this Date guy seemed completely sure of himself, sure of his role in the murders, whatever role that might be. And no, he still did not want to make that phone call.

Fritz was sitting backwards in her chair, leaning on the back two legs as she stared through the cell bars. She chewed on her bottom lip, hiding behind her bangs as she stared at him thoughtfully. If he was unnerved by her scrutiny, Date never showed it.

"You know, we still have a lot more questions we are supposed to ask you," Fritz told the young man, studying his reactions. He simply nodded acceptance.

"I will tell you what you need to know," Date told her, sitting up straighter. Fritz gave him a friendly grin and scooted her chair closer to the bars.

"Yeah? Well, here's the problem, darlin'. You're not really telling us anything we actually need to know."

He looked up at her, violet eyes darkening slightly. Like a cornered cat, looked in a cage of his own making.

"What more do you need?" Date asked carefully. "I have confessed to the crimes committed. That is not enough?"

Fritz leaned further in, until the back of the chair rested against metal. She could smell the perp from here. Soap and a touch of subtle aftershave. Not your average everyday perp.

"Evidence, my dear, evidence. We don't have any, and from what you've been saying, it looks like you don't have any either. If you're so sure of your guilt, you're certainly not doing a good job proving it."

Date's jaw clenched and he glanced at the wall. In frustration, maybe?

"My word should be sufficient proof," he told her in a tight voice. Fritz said nothing, watching him intently, waiting for him to become uncomfortable. To twitch, to move, to break, to mess up and become readable to the detective that had a rep for seeing through all the bad guys. Most guys would be sweating bullets by now, but this one…If anything he seemed offended that she didn't merely accept his confession and lock him up forever. There was a crack in this wall…pride.

Fritz let the chair drop back with a loud crack, jumping up and pulling her keys out of her pocket. Date watched her suspiciously as she unlocked the cell door and sauntered inside, straight up to him. She dropped down on her haunches, so that she was looking up at him, speaking quietly as if whispering a confidence.

"Here's the thing," she said sweetly. "I think you're a big fat liar. I think that you had nothing to do with this case. I think you're some rich foreign kid trying to make waves with his daddy and thought this would be a fun prank to pull. I think you have international incident written all over you, but what I don't think is that you're a killer."

"You're wrong," Date growled, obviously furious at the insult. Fritz laughed out loud and stood up, taking a step back from the cot.

"You're a killer, Date?" she countered with a smirk. Then Fritz pulled her piece out of her jacket and hefted it in her hand.

"Prove it." She tossed the gun at him.

It hit the floor by his feet with a metallic clang when he refused to catch it. Instead he stared at her. Fritz stared right back, hands on her hips, waiting. Date slowly leaned down and picked up the gun, holding it carefully pointed away from her and himself.

"There are no bullets in this," he said, voice dropping dangerously. "Or you would not have given it to me."

"Maybe, maybe not. You'll never know until you try. Do you really think I would make it that easy for you to call my bluff?"

Date glanced at the gun in surprise, then opened the chamber, letting three bullets fall out into his palm. Finally he looked shaken, completely unsure of himself. Fritz chuckled and stepped back up to him, taking back her gun and bullets.

"Fifty/fifty chance, baby. You're a killer and I lose." She slipped the blanks into her pocket and tucked the gun in her belt. Then she winked. "I never lose."

Date said nothing, and looked at his lap. Fritz snorted.

"You're no killer," she stated, shaking her head. "Sorry to disappoint you, Date Seiji."

Fritz left the cell, and the slam of the door locking behind her muffled the softly spoken words of her charge.

"What was that?" she asked, tucking the keys back in her pocket. The blonde man looked up and held her gaze. Despite the fact that she had won this round, the look he gave her made her uncomfortable. "What, Date?"

"I said, I don't need a gun."

She didn't say anything, the cold and tired voice creeping her out. When did kids, barely more than teenagers, start talking like this?

"Of course you don't," Fritz finally agreed, shrugging. Maybe the kid was just a nutcase. Better call for a psych evaluation after she met up with doc. Convinced that she had this guy pegged, the detective left the room, not hearing the blonde's raw words.

"I've never needed a gun."

"Reynolds! Fritz! GET IN HERE!!!"

The detective team simultaneously winced. The roar coming from the chief of police's office was loud enough that the entire station momentarily went silent. Then a nervous twitter accompanied the scraping of Matt's chair as he grudgingly stood up. Fritz stared longingly at the front door as she followed her partner into the large corner office, past smirking cops. They weren't the most popular pair these days. Between Fritz's unnaturally lucky streak that had risen her too far too fast, and Matt's single minded bulldozer personality, they were too successful in their coworker's eyes. And the general "screw you, I'm doing it my way" attitude equally shared by both seemed to rub most of the other cops the wrong way.

Not that Matt gave a shit about what people thought, but the room was a little too eager to see him and Fritz get their butts chewed. Which was definitely going to happen. Making a mental note to rein in his temper, Matt thumped the back of a rookie's head for good measure right before entering the office. The rookie called him an asshole. It made Matt smile as Fritz shut the door behind him.

"Reynolds! Wipe that damn smirk off you face! What do you have to be smiling about?!" the chief whirled around in his chair, eyes flashing. He was a big man, but big men had never intimidated Matt. Big men were clumsy…they missed things. Matt never missed anything. "Does it amuse you that we have a murderer that we have to release tonight? Because of your failure to get even one scrap of evidence out of him!"

Fritz sank down into a chair silently, knowing better than to open her mouth right now. She tried her best to blend in with the chair fabric.

"And you, Fritz!" No such luck today. "What the hell was that earlier?! Giving a suspect your goddamn gun? Are you out of your fucking MIND?!"

"It had blanks," she murmured in her defense, then ducked from the paperweight that went flinging past the chair.

"Blanks?! Your reasoning for providing a killer with an armed weapon is it had blanks? What about the fifty odd codes you broke by that dumbass stunt? If the fool actually had a lawyer we wouldn't have a case at all right now! Not that we have a case anyway, since you two idiots can't get one freaking piece of evidence out of a guy that went to all the trouble of gift wrapping and delivering himself to our fucking doorstep! Is this job too hard for you two? Do I need to send you back to basic training? Would you two like to be goddamn HOTDOG vendors for the rest of your careers cause you SURE AS HELL AREN'T COPS!"

The chief seethed, glare moving from one to the other.

"Would you like to explain yourselves or should I just fire you now?"

Fritz licked her lips, glancing uneasily at Matt. To her, Doc seemed as cool as a cucumber. That meant he was two steps away from losing it.

"Date's a goldmine of uselessness, Chief," Matt said simply. "Whoever he is, he's not the killer. If it bothers you, then feel free to set him up. You've got the confession, and I'm sure Date will not fight you if you manufacture yourself some evidence. But I'm not sending some messed up kid to jail for life just so you can look good on the six o'clock news."

"You're out of line, Reynolds," the chief snarled.

"No, sir, I'm out of patience. This whole case is ridiculous. Suck up your pride, call in some favors, turn it over to the FBI, and get on to something else. Let the feds chase down the green goblin so that we can get back to actual police work," Matt snapped back. Fritz slunk lower in her seat. Be like the fabric, be like the fabric…

"You think the feds aren't already on this, Reynolds? You think that the only one breathing down my neck is the mayor? Well, I got news for you, jerkoff. This is my city! These are my folk that died out there, and I will not suffer incompetence nor boredom to distract the department from this case! You think you have more important things to do than stop a serial murder?!"

"Yeah," Matt stated coldly. "Yeah, I do. Because while you sit in here on your butt all day thinking of new ways to look pretty on TV, actual crime is going on out there. We've got Italian mafia, Irish mob, Japanese crime syndicates, and gangbangers fighting for territory, with innocent citizens caught in the crossfire. We've got drugs and arms and child prostitutes being smuggled into the city at alarming rates. We've got old women getting raped and beaten to death in their homes at night, and to me that's more important than dissecting some kid who is not a murderer. Give me a real lead, a real suspect, and I'll nail the sonofabitch, cause that's what I do, Chief. But nothing's coming up, and yes. I do have more important things to do. If you think you can get more out of Date, enough that your tiny speck of a conscience is satisfied, then let the kid fry. Earn yourself a gold fucking star from the Mayor. But I'm not going to be a part of it, because I'm a real cop. Sir."

Even Fritz's jaw dropped in the silence that remained. Then Matt decided he wasn't done quite yet, this was a little too much fun, and it only went downhill from there.

The blonde man looked like he hadn't moved since earlier that morning, when the chief of police himself had come to Date's cell and given him a taste of the good old American justice system. Date had ground his teeth audibly in irritation and had glared furiously as he wiped the spit out of his eyes. But he had stood his ground. There was no evidence to give, just his word. That was going to have to be enough.

Except that it wasn't.

Forty-eight hours after Date Seiji had confessed his guilt to the multiple murders committed last week, Detective Matt Reynolds and his partner Fritz told him that he was free to go.

"No," Date said instantly, head snapping up, eyes wild. "You cannot do that."

"It's not a question of can or cannot, kid," Matt said with a grunt, tossing Date a stack of release forms. "I am. It a matter of we have nothing to hold you here. To keep you any longer in custody would be a violation of your civil rights. And considering you aren't a citizen of this country, international policy makes things even more complicated. You need to leave. We won't keep you here, even if I have to drag you out."

The young man was visibly upset, paler than usual, his hands clenched tightly into fists in his lap.

"I need to be here," Date told them in a thick voice. "I'm supposed to be here. You have to keep me here."

"Listen honey," Fritz said with a sympathetic smile. "Psych might have okayed you, but we know you're still a little crazy. If you need a place to go, we can help set something up. If you need someone to talk to, we've got those too. But this is a police station, not a bed and breakfast. Unless you want to finally give us something more, than we have no choice but to release you."

The kid closed his eyes and bowed his head, trembling. Matt watched him, wondering just what the hell was going on in his mind.

"I don't get it," Matt said quietly, leaning against the wall of the cell. "Why does it matter so much to you that you stay? Why do you want to go to jail so bad?"

"Because I killed innocent people," Date whispered, eyes still closed.

"Are you afraid if we let you go, you'll kill again?" Fritz asked. Date jerked his head sideways in a stiff motion.

"I will never hurt an innocent person again."

"Then don't hurt anybody," Fritz shrugged, willing to leave it at that as she pulled a pen out of her pocket. Matt however squatted down next to the young man, leaning in slightly.

"What's this all about, Date?" Matt pressed softly. "Really?"

Sage Date took a deep breath and lifted his head up, so that he was eye to eye with the detective. His violet eyes were bloodshot but steady as they stared directly at Matt.

"Penance."

Matt nodded and then looked at Fritz. She tipped her head sideways, recognizing the look in her partner's eyes. The wheels in his head were turning and he rose, pacing across the cell. Finally he wheeled around and pointed at Date.

"You think you're a killer? You believe you have to make amends for whatever it is you think you've done? You want to go to jail?"

There was a long moment of silence, then Date bowed his head in acquiescence. A tiny smile touched Matt's lips and Fritz started to shake her head.

"Doc, I don't think this is such a great idea…" she groaned, knowing it was already too late. Matt's grin grew as Date looked on with haunted eyes, shoulders slumped.

"The chief isn't the only one who can manufacture evidence," Matt smirked.

Forty-nine hours after walking into a New York police station to turn himself in for murder, Date Seiji walked back out, cleared of any involvement in the previous week's spree killings. Four hours later at Benny's, a dive bar in the bad side of town, a brawl was started. It spilled out into the street, both men fighting to the screams of the girl that the brawl had started over. Unfortunately one of the men was more vicious than the other…he didn't stop punching and kicking the first even after the poor wretch had been beaten unconscious.

It took five cops with tasers to finally contain him. The man he had beaten was taken to a hospital, apparently in a coma. The winner of the brawl was handcuffed and taken in for questioning. His name was Tsukada Shin, and he had no identification proving he was in the country legally. His use of martial arts was judged as assault with a deadly weapon and attempted homicide. One month afterwards he was delivered to Rikers Island, the most violent jail facility in New York City.

Shin never made his phone call.