Well, I know, that with the loss of Amethyst Bubble to wherever she went, it'll be hard to take,
but, I'm leaving. On Friday, the 25. I'll have the next chapter posted in three weeks, and then
it's back to my weekly posting schdule, ok?

You know what? I DO own Rekka no Ken. Let's just see you sue me, I got $2.43 in change
and an old gum wrapper. Bring it on.

Another Guy POV fic. . . I just couldn't resist it when this idea popped into my head.
Detectives! Trenchcoats! Bowler hats! I have to say, though, I tried to keep this fic serious . . .
but my sarcastic sense of humor -- which is pretty obvious in my other fics -- decided to take
over halfway through. So we now have a sarcastic, victimized Guy for a protagonist. Yay, for
victimized Guy!

Warnings: Eventually, it'll have Matthew/Guy, Raven/Lucius hints (With my beta? A necessity),
and extremely blatant Legault/Heath hints. Any other couplings . . . are up to you guys.
(suggestions?) You no likee, you no readee, kapeesh? (And chapters will, to my discomfort,
be shorter then Don't Get Over It. Don't worry, though. I will make up for this with . . Ta da!
More and faster chapters.)

---------------------start fic----------------------

The rain pounded on the windows of my office, providing a gloomy sort of backdrop as I
drummed my fingers dully on my newspaper. I had my head in my arms, my hat and coat on
the rack in the corner, and was fiddling with my braid with one hand.

Today had been a boring day, with the one slight hiccup of almost spilling coffee and cognac
on my new blue pinstripe suit. I didn't really care that much about the suit, but it'd be damn
waste of perfectly good coffee . . . not to mention, it'd stain the desk, and I'd end up having to
talk to the annoyingly loud secretary to pay for it.

I lifted my head up from the cradle of my arms, took one long look around my cabinet stuffed,
paper riddled, stuffy cramped office, and then banged my head back down on my desk. This,
I thought wryly, sucked. One of these day, I'll be out of here. One of these days, I'll be the
best detective in all Sacae.

.. . . but until then, I'll have to continue playing lackey to Commissioner Rath and the rest of the
brass in the office. Stupid brass. Never giving me the cases that I know I can take, always
giving the good ones to the ungrateful bastards down the hall . . ..

I scowled at the hall. Stupid rain. My business is always slow when it rains . . .. I was very,
extremely bored . . . and kinda hungry, too, my stomach reminded me, but that was besides
the point . . ..

Truth was, I'd gotten into this line of work for the mystery, the suspense of it all. It had turned
out to be duller then dirt -- husbands suspicious of cheating wives, lost pets, and missing
jewelry being the majority of my cases, all of which catered to the sickeningly rich.

So, having tired of private investigating, I broke away from my old office -- and escaped from
my evil-incarnate boss -- and became a police detective. Where I, to this day, investigated
murderous wives, runaway pets, and stolen jewelry.

The police also cater to the sickeningly rich. Go figure.

My door -- which through the patterned glass, you could see my name embossed on it --
opened, and I jerked myself up to attention.

It was a girl. She had long blonde hair, and wore a dark suit, which only served to emphasize
her wide, darkly lashed eyes and innocent gaze. Most other detectives in the office would kill
to have a 'dame' such as this walk into their office, which was probably why she'd been sent
here. The Commissioner had figured out my preferences before I had.

I realized that me judging glance was making her nervous, and I looked back to the papers on
my desk. "Can I help you, Miss . . .?" I trailed off to prompt her name.

The girl blushed delicately. "It's . . . it's Mr. I'm Mr. Lucius Elimine."

I blinked. Oops . . . should've noticed the flat chest a bit sooner . . . and maybe I gave the
commissioner too much credit. "Uh, sorry."

"It's fine." Lucius smiled at me generously. "My employer will be here in a moment, we were
told to speak with you."

"Ok, then," I looked around the office embarrassedly -- I had clients in here all the time, but
Lucius had something that spoke of a slightly higher class than, well . . . this. I'm not a very neat
kinda guy. "So . . . you can have a seat, if you want."

"We won't be staying that long," a rough voice cut across. I looked back over to the door; blinked.

I assumed this was the employer, and from the way Lucius hadn't jumped at the cutting bark --
like I had -- proved it. The clothes he wore said he was pretty well off, AKA loaded. His rusty
hair had a military sort of cut, and his piercing ruby eyes that told me that he'd have no
patience for inefficiency. Erm . . . Maybe he was nicer then he looked?

I cleared my throat. "Er . . . Hello. Do you need something, Mr. . . .?"

"Raymond Cornwell, I wouldn't be here if I wasn't," The redhead said harshly. I flinched.
Oook . . . something told me not to tangle with this guy. Not that I'd planned to anyway, of
course . . . he was a lot bigger then me.

"So . . . Why do you need my skills?" I asked carefully. I leaned back, instinctively making
myself as small as possible. I wasn't really afraid, but you just don't want to provoke the
unstable types. And trust me: at first glance, this guy seemed pretty damn unstable.

"My sister's horse has been stolen," Raymond Cornwell said flatly. "I want it found." He was to
the point, I'll give him that.

"Miss Priscilla . . . " Lucius spoke, "she loved that horse to bits, mostly because Raymond got
it for her," Lucius elaborated gently. "She's quite distraught over its disappearance."

Ah . . . more lost pets. Well, at least a horse would be easier to find than most other animals.

"Does the horse answer to anything?" I asked as politely as I could. The guy looked like he
wanted to cut off my head for just looking at Lucius. Needless to say, I liked my head just fine
where it was, so I tread lightly.

Lucius opened his mouth to reply, but . . . "Heart," Raymond cut in gruffly. "She named it
Heart. It was a roan mare." Raymond glared at me, daring me to ask him any more questions.
He brought his hand up, and keeping eye contact, put it protectively on Lucius's right shoulder.

Wow, this guy was really possessive . . . so this was the reason Rath had given me this case;
he knew I'd be open about the pair's poorly veiled, er, 'companionship.' Every other detective
in the place would've seen the signs and, with a snort of disgust, thrown them out. They were
just that obvious.

I'd remained quiet too long for Raymond's tastes, it seemed, and he barked, "Well? Are you
up to the task or not?"

I only took a few seconds to consider. It wasn't my lucky break. It wasn't 'the case to end all
cases.' Hell, it was barely able to be called a 'case' to begin with . . . it was almost a blow to
my pride, but my two-year foray in the police business had pretty much made my pride
invulnerable to all but cheap advances and blatant insults.

But . . . I had bills to pay, and you need money to eat.

There was no choice but to accept.

I couldn't help but bristle, though, at his seeming doubt of my competence. "O-Of course I'm
up to it!" I shot out reactively. My recoil at his even suggesting it was obvious, and I could
have shot myself for my lack of professionalism. Well, not like I COULD have shot myself,
considering I was so scared of my gun I never loaded it . . .. Er, I mean, not really SCARED, I
just . . . prefer my pocketknife, is all.

I knew I was flushing from embarrassment at this point due to my train of thought, but luckily,
neither of my aspiring clients were looking at me. They were busy 'communicating' in that way
that only the annoying sort of obsessed couple can, a weird mix of pleading glances and
returning nods and frowns. Wow, they were REALLY obvious.

I waited patiently.

Finally, Raymond turned to me and snapped, "Fine," he spat, seeming to have lost his
nonverbal battle with his partner, "The job is yours."

The pair turned to leave, standing . . . very close. WOW, they were OBVIOUS. I sighed. I
thought it best, in 'accordance with my duty for the welfare of the public' (which I quoted from
the plaque on the wall) that I'd better give them some sort of warning. "Hey, you guys?"

Raymond turned sharply, not taking too well to being referred to in such a casual way as 'you
guy.' I quickly amended my mistake. "I mean, sirs . . . Listen, it'd be best if you two left . . .
separately, because every one in here is trained to be observant and you two aren't exactly . . .
um, well, not everyone in here is as forgiving as I about your . . . er, type?" I finished lamely,
before ducking my head down. Gee, that'd go over well . . . ..

Lucius turned a deep shade of crimson and winced, before giving me a thankful sort of half-
smile. Raymond's face, however, contorted into an enraged look, and in a bounding step, his
face was all of a sudden very near mine. "What," he hissed, forcing me to lean back from his
close proximity, my braid dangling freely, "Are you accusing us of?"

I blinked, and am happy to note that I wasn't all that afraid of the taller, more muscular, more
powerful man . . . "A-Accuse? You m-make it sound like a crime." . . . but I was still shaken
up enough to stutter. Grr . . .

Raymond's face was almost unreadable, but his gaze just wasn't as harsh. Apparently, I'd
made some sort of impression. He didn't stand as close to Lucius -- at least he was smart
enough to heed a warning -- as he had before.

" . . . " He glanced at Lucius, and gave a curt nod at the door. The employee took the hint, and
left. Raymond crossed his arms. "So, you're going to do this personally?"

"That IS what I'm paid to do," I pointed out. "Yeah, I am."

He eyed me with a serious look. " . . . Good." He stalked towards the door, just as Rath
passed. I held my breath as Raymond shoved directly past Rath with the use of a shoulder and
a scowl. Uh . . .

Rath merely raised an eyebrow, and let it go. Lucky for Raymond. He was a weird guy, not to
mention slightly crazy; I can't think of many people stupid -- or brave -- enough to just shove
off the commissioner like that.

He turned to me, and, with a blinking sort of calm, said, " . . . Come."

I jerked up out of my seat, knocking over a box of something, to obey. Why did he want me
to follow him? I stumbled around my desk, grabbed my hat for luck, and trailed him down the
hall to -- I gulped -- his office.

I had put my hat back up as I walked in. The commissioner, being the commissioner and all,
had a larger office then I, but it was still pretty damn tiny. Rath sat at his desk quietly.

I shifted my weight impatiently. I shouldn't have put up my hat; I LIKE my hat. It keeps my
bangs from sliding over my eyes as much as they like; I brushed them aside in an annoyed
manner. They flopped back over my eyes.

Rath was staring at me. This was how the commissioner communicated -- an odd mix of
stares, peppered with the occasional verb. He held eye contact for a few moments more, and
then gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Sit."

See? See what I mean? I was right, wasn't I? I sat, forcing my nervousness down as I shifted
in my seat. Rath stared some more, and opened his mouth to speak. I perked my ears; he
never said anything twice. " . . . You'll be working with a partner on this one."

Wait, what? That was the longest sentence I'd ever heard the Commissioner say. That was,
what, eight, nine words? And then what he had actually said hit me. "W-What?" I swiveled to
face him incredulously. "M-Me?" Work with a partner? "I, uh . . . sir, you know I don't work
well with p-partners . . .." I cursed inwardly as I stumbled on the word. (Damn my nervous
tongue!)

Rath sighed, and looked at me with one his stares. It's well known throughout the building that
if the Commisioner stared at you long enough, you could actually begin to interpret what he
was trying to get across to you. Luckily, I didn't have to stand there very long because he
came right out with it.

"The Cornwells," he enunciated slowly, "are very . . . rich."

I blinked . . .

. . . Ooh, oh man . . . I get what he's saying. I swallow more loudly then I liked, and nodded
energetically, feeling my braid flap at the nape of my neck. You see, the police building is kept
running through two things: the government's pitiful pension -- and I don't think that could
keep a dog alive for very long -- and the more, ah, 'generous' donations of the rich people in
the area.

While the donations are usually in return for a 'favor,' like the finding of lost rings like I
mentioned, we could be in very big trouble if the Cornwells told their people we were
unreliable. They'd go to the West Side department for their 'favor' and take their donations
with them.

I had successfully interpreted Rath's 'look.' It meant, "Don't screw this up, or it's your head on
the line." Rath wouldn't put it in so many words -- hell, he hadn't even put it in one -- but I got
the message real clear.

"Yessir." I got up, and put my hat on as dramatically as possible -- all for my image's sake, of
course. "Can I ask who'll be my partner?"

"A private investigator," Rath said flatly. I did a double take at him for this. Rath made it a
matter of pride not to go to the 'mercenary detectives' for help. If he'd actually hired a P.I. to
help on this, then the Cornwells were richer then I thought . . . and I'd thought they were pretty
rich to begin with.

Maybe I'd get a bonus . . .

The door opened behind me, and I turned to face the only slightly damp -- it was still raining --
person who entered. He didn't have a hat on, which struck me as pretty stupid in that weather.
I couldn't see his face as he shut the door behind him, but the hair was honey colored and
mussed. The man turned, and flashed me a wide, roguish grin.

Strange. I knew that grin from somewhere before . . . wait, did I . . .

I knew him! My eyes widened. I-I KNEW him! He . . . NO! He wasn't! M-My old boss! T
-The evil one! Why me?! Why?! Why, why was I still sitting?! RUN, damnit!

I bolted up out of my seat, placing the chair between him and me. My mouth was working
desperately to get something -- anything at all -- to come out, and all it managed to do was
squeak, "Y-YOU!"

The newcomer raised an eyebrow, as though not surprised at all by my reaction. "Well, yes, I
do tend to get that a lot. I am me." He took off his trench coat and placed it nonchalantly on a
hook near the door, as though he WASN'T ruining my life by waltzing in here. "Commissioner,
it isn't often you need a man of my talents," he said, sounding almost annoyed. "Don't tell me
I'm just playing babysitter to some newbie."

. . . N-Newbie? M-Me? WHAT?! That was an insult to my pride! I slammed my fist into the
desk -- hope I didn't dent it, those government-issued metal things are flimsy -- and burst out
at him. "W-What are you talking about? Don't you start ignoring me again!"

He turned to me and arched an eyebrow amusedly. "Again? Have we --" he stopped, and
began to look me over.

That was an awkward moment. I could practically feel his eyes start at my face, and slide
down the rest of me. The fact that he lingered uncomfortably long in some . . . er . . . areas
made it worse. My flush -- originally out of anger -- deepened, due to . . . some other cause.

"I know you." His grin widened as his eyes met my face again, no longer merely indifferent. He
had t-that old . . . LOOK of his that look that made me nervous. He hadn't changed a bit, not
in the two years since we'd last seen each other.

"It can't be Guy," he drawled slowly, putting an especially long emphasis on my name. Why,
why was my face getting hotter? "Am I right? So, have you become the best detective in all
Sacae yet?"

His almost growling voice put the hairs on the back of my neck on end. "Now . . . isn't the best
time to catch up," I gritted out, managing -- to even my surprise -- not to stutter.

"Ah," His honey eyes glinted to copper. "But why wouldn't I catch up with my favorite ex-
employee, hmm?" He leaned towards me, and in the close quarters of the office, I instinctively
leaned back, turning my head aside. Wrong move.

The nimble fingered sneaked reached up and gave my braid -- MY BRAID! -- a swift yank.
He KNEW I hated that!

I squeaked horrendously -- I squeak a lot around him -- and leaped back, banging into an old
file cabinet. A pile of paperwork slipped off into the trash bin in the corner from the hit -- hope
those weren't important -- and I clenched my braid in my fist as I furiously bit out, "D-DON'T
t-touch the h-hair!"

. . . And the stutter was back. Of course. Why? Why me?

The commissioner cleared his throat with a resounding " . . . " to get our attention. Salvation!
Rath, thankfully, seemed willing to pity me.

I choked out in as quiet a voice as I could manage -- and it was still pretty loud -- "Why is H
-HE here?"

" . . . " Rath gave me blank stare. The newcomer was smiling in his evil, pleasant way.

I looked back and forth between the two of them in horror. "Ah . . ." A horrible, horrible
thought struck me. It couldn't . . . Commissioner Rath couldn't be so cruel, could he? "Oh no .
. . " I felt my overactive sense of panic rise up, and my voice began to crack embarrassingly.

"I'm not . . . I'm not working with HIM, am I?" I grabbed the front of Rath's coat, giving it a
shake even feebler then my voice. "Please, please tell me he's n-not my p-partner!"

Rath sighed . . . and said nothing. His silence was accompanied by one of his 'looks,' and I
didn't really like what that 'look' was telling me. I turned away from the commissioner to look
at the other man in horror and shock.

Private Investigator Matthew Ostia, tilting his head towards me, gave me an almost feral grin.
"It will be a pleasure working with you again . . . Detective."

---------------------------------------------------

Background, if you don't pay attention to American History (I'm guilty of that): In the 1930's, it
was the Great Depression. The police force, which Guy is a part of, was riddled with leaks,
loose caps and bribed cops. They really did cater to the rich.

Also, back then, the car actually wasn't as common as it is now -- about as common as, say,
owning a pool. Most others in the city used taxis. The incredibly wealthy, as I portrayed Raven
and Lucius, owned cars and horses. Horses were a sign of wealth -- the wealthier you were, the
more horses you had.

. . . hmm. Well, if you're still reading this, you liked it enough to review, ne?