A/N: Important!

Hi there!

I adopted this absolutely amazing story created by Luna Darkside (with her permission, of course :) I'm so glad that I can continue it, thanks again Luna!)

The first two chapters are hers! If you love all this KaiShin/ShinKai stuff, check out her profile! She has amazing stuff there.

Now, I hope I'll be able to continue this story in good way ;)

So, enjoy (and R&R, please!)

I don't own DC or MK. If I did, there'd be KaiShin! ;)

Furthermore, I am German. So there'll be mistakes, but please don't be to strict about them!

Runs in the Family

Chapter One

Kuroba Kaito, the twenty-eighth head of the Kuroba yakuza family stationed in Ekoda and the first to fully legitimize the family's not inconsiderable quasi-legal entertainment companies, was shot on a Tuesday in the middle of a busy sidewalk.

Granted, it wasn't the first time he was shot – far from it, of course; the Kuroba group wasn't exactly a favorite amongst the other clans – but it was the first time a pretty, azure-eyed stranger with an adorable scowl pushed Kaito out of the way just in time for the bullet to clip Kaito's bicep rather than lodge in his chest.

It took Kaito a few seconds to realize what was happening (he had been walking down the sidewalk, flanked by Hattori, an ill-mannered kid from Osaka whom Kaito's father had inducted into the family on a whim, and Hakuba, Kaito's second-in-command who was probably planning to slit Kaito's throat someday, when all of a sudden there had been a gunshot and mayhem and someone shouting at him to move), but the burst of pain in his arm was enough to make him go wide-eyed and jumpstart the flow of adrenaline through his veins. He ducked behind a parked car, taking Hattori and Hakuba with him, as his savior swore loudly and leveled a painfully small handgun – handgun? Why did he have a firearm? – at a building opposite the street.

Kaito stared at the man for a moment, utterly transfixed as he ignored Hakuba's shouting in his ear and Hattori's very colorful threats and the blood dripping down his arm. The man was gorgeous; even from only his profile, Kaito could see the sharpness of his eyebrows and the jump of a muscle in his cheek, could detect determination and will and a goldmine of characteristics that Kaito admired all in the clench of his jaw.

It really wasn't the time, not when civilians were frantically running and screaming with gunfire and swearing as background music, but Kaito took a few seconds to mentally swoon anyway.

He was forcefully jarred from his swooning when Hakuba wrenched his wounded arm, eliciting a, "Goddamn it, Hakuba, I am going to bisect you," and began to drag him down the street.

"We need to get out of here," Hakuba hissed at him through gritted teeth as Hattori flailed around in their wake, possibly in an attempt at distraction, and Kaito was about to snap an irritated response at him when he heard a gunshot and a matching gasp of pain from behind them.

Instinctively turning to look, Kaito caught sight of the man who'd saved him grabbing at his right arm, blood spilling between his fingers. He was instantly struck with a wave of horror and indignation and strangely personal terror, and he almost broke out of Hakuba's grip, but the blond growled warningly and shoved him unceremoniously into the back of a black sedan. Hattori clambered into the driver's seat.

"We're getting out of here," Hakuba informed Kaito, no room for argument in his tone, and Kaito opened his mouth to protest, but they were already pulling away from the curb, leaving Kaito's wounded savior sagging against a streetlamp and Kaito's heart in his throat.

…

The next day, after his entirely not-life-threatening arm wound was fully bandaged up and he was no longer being subjected to the family doctor's overenthusiastic ministrations, Kaito called Aoko into his room.

Though she was a mix of mother and best friend to Kaito, Nakamori Aoko didn't have a technical position in the Kuroba clan. Her job was mostly secretarial – though Kaito flinched to imagine what sort of cruel and unusual punishment she would inflict upon him if he dared to refer to her as his secretary – and while she was far from being the type of mindless, groveling underling most yakuza bosses preferred, Kaito loved her all the same.

He was taking tentative sips of the green tea someone had brought when Aoko stormed in, brandishing her terrifyingly overstocked binder (full of trade secrets and blackmail material, no doubt, but Kaito hadn't ever dared to look in it) and looking about as pleasant as a hurricane.

"So you got shot by some sniper from the Nakagawa clan?" she remarked, sitting down across from him with a disapproving huff.

"I think so – it was because they were still sore over us taking control of their stocks. That's what Hakuba said, right?" At Aoko's nod, Kaito relaxed in his chair. "Well, I'm sure Hakuba's taking countermeasures as we speak." He rubbed absently at his arm.

Eyes flitting to the motion, Aoko shook her head with feeling. "I don't understand why you can't go out for one day and not get shot," she chastised.

"Maybe it's because I'm the leader of a yakuza group," Kaito suggested hesitantly.

"Whatever, like that's any excuse." Aoko rolled her eyes, waving a hand dismissively. She tucked her binder under one arm before leaning forward expectantly. "So. What did you want? I hope you know I'm busy negotiating about the Teimuzu River location, and I don't have time for anything unimportant –"

"There was a man on the street," Kaito cut in, watching Aoko's face carefully. His eyebrows went skyward as she blanched.

"No such man," she insisted immediately, and Kaito narrowed his eyes.

"May I remind you that I was there, Aoko? I know what happened."

"It would be best if you –" Aoko paused, choosing her words carefully. "You really rather shouldn't try to pursue this –"

"I'm not accepting that as an answer," Kaito told her firmly, with all the assertiveness he could muster, and Aoko fell silent.

Straightening, Kaito continued, "There was a man on the street. He pushed me out of the way of the bullet so I only got hit in the arm, but I think he was shot while we were escaping. And I know you've researched who he is, even if you don't want to tell me," he scowled at her; her mouth had been opening, and from her guilty expression, she had been about to try to feign ignorance, "so tell me what you found out."

Fidgeting a little, Aoko bit her bottom lip. "Look, Kaito, it's really kind of…" she began, clearly hesitant, but Kaito headed her off with a shake of his head.

"This is important, Aoko," he said quietly, studying her face as she frowned uneasily at him. "He saved my life. I don't think this clan would have a leader anymore if it weren't for him."

Frowning contemplatively, Aoko made a small sound in the back of her throat before she sighed and opened her binder. The troubled expression on her face didn't fade as she carefully thumbed through a few pages and extracted a thin stack of papers. "Here."

"Thank you." Kaito took the papers from her. The first one was a general biography, complete with a grainy, unofficial shot of the same pretty stranger from the street. According to Aoko's file, Kudou Shinichi was the man's name, his birthday was May 4, his blood type was A, his hometown was Beika, his parents were bestselling author Kudou Yuusaku and former actress Fujimine Yukiko…

Blinking, Kaito arched an eyebrow up at Aoko. "I don't see what's wrong with any of this. He seems fairly ordinary."

In response, Aoko leaned over and pointed at the line labeled PROFESSION.

"Oh," Kaito said, blankly.

"Yes," Aoko agreed, emphatically, "oh."

…

Shinichi was in the middle of a mildly gory dream involving a velociraptor gnawing on his right arm when the murmuring of voices – "Uh – well – sir – ah, he's stable, quite drugged, but still, um, try not to – to excite him, sir, thank you, please, er…" "I understand. Thank you." – reached him. One of the voices belonged to a nurse, but the other was unfamiliar.

?, he thought, and opened his eyes.

He would never stop being surprised by how blank and clean hospital rooms were, Shinichi thought absently. How blank and clean and mind-numbinglyboring they were, all sanitized and spotless and silent, save for the rhythmic beeping of machines and the occasional sound of a wheeled bed rolling down the hallway.

It took Shinichi a few moments to notice the one not-blank, not-clean, and not-boring person sitting in the visitor's chair.

The person – a man – was dressed in a crisp black suit that was far too formal for the creaky wooden seat he was occupying, the lapel framing a starched silver silk shirt. He was holding a pair of dark sunglasses in one hand, the nearly-black plastic contrasting sharply with the mix of silver and gold bracelets and rings he wore, and his head was angled to one side, allowing a sliver of bright, colorful tattoos to show along the top of his collar. He was clearly yakuza, which was worrying enough. Shinichi should have probably been concerned that the man was even at his bedside.

But most importantly, he was probably the most attractive person Shinichi had ever seen, and apparently Shinichi had a thing for bad boys?

Shoving the thought aside, Shinichi struggled into a sitting position as gracefully as he could manage. "Hello," he croaked, then cleared his throat. "Uh – do I know you?"

The man gave him an appraising look. "I suppose that technically, we've never been formally introduced."

God, his voice. His voice alone could put the red light district out of business. Shinichi coughed, pushing the thought into the furthest part of his fogged brain. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," the man said, leaning forward to brace himself against the edge of the bed as he met Shinichi's eyes, "that you saved my life. I'm here to thank you."

For a long while, Shinichi stared, trying to comprehend before he choked out, "What?"

The hint of a smile played over the man's frankly sinful lips. "I don't suppose you remember getting shot while pushing someone out of the way of a bullet? You know, what happened yesterday?"

"Oh. That." Feeling rather like a deer in the headlights, Shinichi swallowed. He certainly remembered spotting a sniper rifle, gleaming in the midday sun, aimed at someone in the street, and he'd acted entirely on instinct, shoving the targeted person aside and returning fire and, well, eventually getting hit rather devastatingly in the arm, but he hadn't exactly considered that he had saved the life of a yakuza member. The identity of the person he'd rescued hadn't even crossed his mind. "I – yes, I do remember." The dull sparks of pain that continued to eat at his arm were enough of a reminder, at least.

"Good." The man nodded slowly. "I…" He stopped for a second, gathering himself, and Shinichi raised his eyebrows internally. The man certainly didn't seem the hesitant type. "I hear you're part of the police force?"

Something stuck at the back of Shinichi's throat, but he nodded all the same. "Assistant inspector of division one. I work –" he refused to change the tense,it wasn't a sure thing yet, there was still a (slim, ridiculous, incredibly improbable) chance, "– homicide."

"I see." The man nodded slowly before rising. "Well – since you're a police officer, I suppose I should cut this short. We wouldn't want it to get around that an assistant inspector is hanging around a yakuza boss. Thank you for your help yesterday – I'll be rewarding you as soon as possible."

Shinichi barely heard the last sentence. "You're a yakuza boss? How?" He couldn't keep the incredulity out of his voice. Wasn't the man only twenty-six? Twenty-seven?

Interpreting his surprise correctly, the man smiled faintly. "And you're an assistant inspector. Both of us are rather impressive, aren't we?"

The words hurt like a kick to the ribs. Shinichi felt an urge to sink down into the bed and never show his face again. "I was rather impressive, wasn't I?" he murmured, and the yakuza boss, at the doorway, glanced back at him quizzically.

"What do you mean, was?"

"Well," and here, Shinichi had to stop and force a smile, "I can't exactly be a police officer like this, can I?" He lifted his bandaged arm weakly, cringing.

The man was turned completely away from the door at this point, eyes intense on Shinichi. "What do you mean?" he demanded, and Shinichi tried not to hear the horror in his voice. It wouldn't do to project his emotions onto the man, after all.

"According to the doctors, the bullet damaged some nerves in my arm, impairing my motor control," Shinichi began, laughing a little as he did. It hurt, both the laughing and the talking. "There's a – there's a ninety-eight percent chance that I'll never regain full use of my arm. I'll always," he had to swallow and look away, "I'll always have tremors in this arm."

"I… don't quite know what you mean." The yakuza boss just stood beside Shinichi's bed, confused. "Why does that matter?"

Shinichi choked back a wince. Turning to smile as normally as possible at the man, he answered, "Have you ever heard of a police officer who couldn't hold a gun steady?"

The abject dismay that was immediately evident on the man's face was almost enough to make Shinichi laugh. Ironic, wasn't it, that a yakuza boss, someone who crushed the fingers of traitorous underlings and organized hits over morning coffee and generally hid from the law, actually seemed to care that Shinichi had lost his dream?

"Don't worry," he told the man, allowing himself to fall back into a horizontal position, "I feel the same."