Disclaimer: Kenshin does not own the Yuu Yuu Hakusho characters (they are the property of Togashi Yoshihiro et al), and does not make any money from said characters. Don't sue.

What Kenshin does own, however, are all the original characters in this work. Any attempt to "borrow" these characters will be met with the katana, or worse.

The events in Idiot Beloved take place shortly after the Dark Tournament; Firebird Sweet directly follows.

Title: You Have Entered The No-Hiei Zone: Part One

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond

Rating: T for anime-type violence and tough talk

Summary: Poor Kurama's having a bad night.

A/N: We take a short break from updating Firebird Sweet to post a completed sidefic!

One day, Kurama just started talking to me. Complaining, rather. The result: a comedy of errors from the world of IB and FS, taking place at an unspecified (and deliberately mysterious) time. Written in rare [for Kenshin, anyway! first-person POV, it takes Kurama's usually sleek, unruffled demeanor and gives it a bit of a twist.

You can read this on its own, I suppose, but it'll make more sense if you are familiar with both Idiot Beloved and Firebird Sweet.

This is the first sidefic I can actually post in completed form! (And now, in shorter installments, and with NEW IMPROVED formatting!)

As always, I thank you for choosing to read this, and I welcome your reviews.

A serial killer's on the loose!

You Have Entered The No-Hiei Zone (Part One)

by

Kenshin

Ahhhhhhhhhh.

That first moment of exquisite pleasure when your head hits the pillow. Especially after a long, frustrating day of doing everything and accomplishing nothing.

My eyes drifted shut.

The kiss of clean, fresh linens. The comforting swath of blankets. The blissful state when one is seconds away from dreamland.

The spark of someone else's spirit aura: a white-hot mix of purpose, arrogance, impatience.

I tried ignoring it at first---and the inevitable scratching at the window. The window I had made sure to lock.

But it was merely a window lock. Nothing that Hiei could not circumvent. The slider moved back with a metallic hiss. A blast of unpleasantly frigid air swept my bed.

I knew he was in the room and refused to acknowledge him.

"Kurama," he said.

I pulled the blanket over my head. "Go away."

"Get up."

"No."

The bed jiggled. "Five minutes," I murmured, turning over.

"That's what Shay-san always says."

"Then she is a wise woman and you should listen to her. In fact, go back home and do so at once."

"Can't. Get dressed."

I told him to do something one does not normally tell Hiei to do and expect to live. He snorted a laugh in response.

Then silence. But his ki still permeated the room. I slid the blankets down and risked a glance.

Hiei was balanced on the footboard, hands in pockets. "Koenma wants you."

"Good for Koenma." I turned over and buried my face in the pillows.

"He's called in the team."

"You don't work for Koenma any more, remember? You work for ROME." I laced that last word with all the sarcasm I could muster.

"Come as you are, then." The bed jiggled. A lot.

"Leave me ALONE!"

Hiei gave the bed a kick. I exploded from the blankets, grabbing for his throat.

Naturally, Hiei was elsewhere. Poised in the open window, arms crossed. "If I can make sacrifices, so can you."

"Sacrifices?"

He shuddered. "I have to wake Shay-san."

0-0-0-0-0

We gathered in Koenma-sama's office, Kuwabara-kun standing at parade rest, looking indecently alert, Hiei seated on a bench facing the desk.

I was using the wall to hold me up; Shay-san was using Hiei's shoulder.

For twenty minutes, Koenma had briefed us on the case, appearing in his teenage Ningenkai form. He takes that form whenever an attractive female is present, apparently whether she is conscious or not.

Sighing, Koenma put his head into his hands. "Is she even listening to me?"

"Every word," Shay-san murmured. "Something about chocolate milkshakes."

"I give up." Koenma parted the sea of papers on his desktop; they fluttered to the floor like leaves in late autumn. Jorge made a dive for them, but too late; Kuwabara silently helped the blue oni gather the fallen paperwork.

"I want Jorge along." Hiei's words startled us all, Jorge most of all.

"Why?" Koenma-sama scraped both hands through his hair. "He's not good for anything."

Jorge took on a wounded expression. "Koenma-sama, you always say that!"

"Only because it's true." Koenma accepted a sheaf of papers from Kuwabara.

"I am so good for something," protested the blue oni.

"Sure he is," purred Hiei.

Koenma narrowed his eyes. "And what might that be?"

Hiei's grin was pure brimstone. "Bait."

0-0-0-0-0

Urameshi Yuusuke alone was absent from the team, babysitting an extremely inebriated and projectile-vomiting Atsuko. I was thinking he had the right idea.

The threatening note Koenma received had stated, in florid, overblown language, that the culprit would 'run amok in the very salons of your unprotected city,' blah, blah, et cetera, 'plucking from amongst you the most helpless of victims; I shall mute the voices of the mighty, and all shall bow down before me.'

The usual blather. No one takes that sort of thing seriously.

Except that four innocent boys, still in their teens, had already been abducted this past month. Their bodies were found with the bones turned to pulp.

The note mentioned a specific date and location: a costume ball at an exclusive new venue, the Imperial White Crane Hotel's Hyperion Ballroom.

Koenma-sama had said he did not know who the note came from---a carrion crow had delivered it; whereupon it was promptly eaten by one of Jorge's assistants.

So we went from his offices to our respective homes, and an hour later entered the Hyperion Ballroom.

Jorge was decked out in tiger fur, purple lipstick and gold earrings; Kuwabara---the only one of us regulars who appeared to make a real effort at costume---came as an American gumshoe, quietly menacing in trench coat and fedora; Shay-san had on bulky gray sweats; Hiei wore a sleeveless black shirt and loose black pants.

Just to be different.

The ball was already in full swing. There was a bandstand at the far end of the ballroom, and the slightly sticky, droning chords of the band-of-the-moment, Vapeur, had the effect of a soporific. The parquet floor was packed with revelers dressed as every conceivable type: I saw Goths and Gojiras, dolls and dandies, priestesses and Power Rangers among them. But nothing that smacked of youki.

We performed a quick perimeter sweep, Shay-san with Kuwabara, me with Hiei, and Jorge hanging out in the middle of the dance floor, pretending to be human.

"Got enough belts on you?" I shot a sour glance at the fire demon's midsection, which was nipped in by a profusion of white circlets. "What are there, five? Seven?"

"What do you care?" His unruffled demeanor---the demeanor of someone who has had enough sleep---only served to spur my resentment.

"Why you and me," I carped, "and not you and Shay-san? Don't you care about protecting 'the little woman?'"

He shrugged. "She's gotten really good with that Beretta. Besides, when she uses Command Voice, even I head for the hills."

"No katana?"

"Don't need it," Hiei said. "Not for this crowd."

"Arrogant little---"

Two werewolves approached, one wearing a badly-done rubber mask and the other with full theatrical makeup. They gave us a bold stare. Mask Werewolf stuck an elbow into Makeup Werewolf: "Hey, get a load of those two."

"Yeah," the other one snickered. "Dressed like that boy band from the stone age."

"Romantic Soldier, wasn't it?" Giggling, they went on their way.

My hands clenched into fists. Hiei appeared not to notice. "Someone needs to case the upstairs," he said. "It's a big hotel. I'm fastest."

"Lovely. You go and do that."

"Don't fall asleep while I'm gone," he cautioned.

"I'll strive not to."

As soon as Hiei darted out of sight, I collapsed into the nearest chair. Luckily it had a small table in front of it, in case my head should drop of its own accord.

Across the ballroom, I saw Shay-san speak to Kuwabara. Then she approached me. "Anything so far?" she asked.

"Alas."

"Us neither." Shay-san drew another chair over and collapsed next to me. Her fierce brand of American beauty seemed a bit faded at the moment; rubbing her eyes, she stifled a yawn.

I caught the yawn, then gave her a weary smile. "What are you dressed as?"

Angling her head to peer down at the baggy, hooded sweatshirt, which read 'Loyola Marymount,' she said at last, "A ragamuffin. Think I'll pass for a boy?"

The voluminous garb hid her figure, as well as the pancake holster housing her gun, but her face---

She cast me a wry look. "Ah, well. Let's hope this perv goes for adolescents." Working a baseball cap out of her pocket, she jammed it over her head backward, covering the red-gold hair. "What are you dressed as?"

"An overworked student and physician's assistant who never gets enough sleep."

"Silly me. I should have guessed by the luggage under your eyes."

"Tell you what," I ventured. "This place has rooms upstairs. With beds in them. Why don't we sneak off for a nap?"

"I wonder who would come to our funeral."

"You know as well as I do that Hiei would never harm you."

She slid an arm round my waist. "Poor dear Shuu-ko. I'll come to your funeral."

"Deal." I dropped my head into my arms. "Here lies Minamino Shuuichi, AKA Kurama. He died of exposure---to Hiei."

"Mou." I heard her slide the chair back. "I'm off to troll the men's rooms."

"Mnf," was all I came up with. The band droned on. Flocks of sheep arrayed themselves against my closed eyelids. I was about to drift off.

"Oh, Sir!" Jorge trumpeted in my ear. Reluctantly, I lifted my head. Jorge stood there like a disco caveman, wringing his hands in consternation.

"I haven't been accosted yet, Kurama, Sir. What shall I do?"

"Try harder."

"I will! Thank you, Sir!" Beaming at me, Jorge scuttled off. Dragging myself to my feet, I attempted to do the same, but only managed to achieve a snail's pace. A groggy snail.

Hiei was nowhere to be seen among the revelers, but I spotted Shay-san ducking out of the ballroom, and Kuwabara heading toward me. I trudged to meet him half-way.

Kuwabara squinted at the black-leather, black-haired musicians occupying the bandstand. "What's that group's name?"

"Vapeur."

"Oughta change it to Sleeping Pill." Kuwabara shook himself like a dog. "Someone throw a cold drink in my face."

"Remind me to buy their CD the next time I have insomnia."

"Sure thing." Kuwabara lowered his voice. "Nothin' yet from this side. You got anything, Kurama?"

I shook my head. "What about you? Are you sensing any demonic ki?"

"Yeah," he said. "Yours, Hiei's, and Jorge's."

"Well. That narrows it down."

"Could also be someone who can hide his aura. You can."

"To an extent. When I've had a decent night's sleep."

"Don't look now." Kuwabara sidemouthed me. "But that classmate of yours is here, too."

"Who?" Quickly I scanned the crowd.

"That bunch near the free bar." Kuwabara jerked his head in their direction.

Not far from us stood Kaitou Yuu, with his inevitable sycophants, all of them dressed as 18th-century European dandies. "Kaitou? What's he---?"

"Probably covering the party for one of those stupid arts journals."

"For joy."

We watched as Kaitou and his hangers-on siphoned drinks like their guts were on fire. Jorge wandered, lonely as a cloud, in the middle of the ballroom, trying to get accosted.

One of Kaitou's cohort elbowed another, then giggled at Jorge. "Two words," he told the second sycophant. "STER-oids."

"That's one word," corrected Kaitou.

"Where's Hiei?" Kuwabara was pretty good at that sidelipped gumshoe delivery.

"He told me he was going upstairs to 'case the joint,' I believe. Maybe he stole a nap."

"Naah. Shorty may be a jerk, but he's no slacker." Giving his fedora a tug, Kuwabara headed off to investigate a gaggle of Goths slouching near the bandstand.

There followed a half-hour of fruitless searching, during which I received some odd looks, one proposition, and a pair of extremely dry and bleary eyes.

I was only putting off the inevitable---the stalker was unlikely to go after anyone right in the middle of a crowded ballroom. Time to find some dangerously secluded spot.

I ducked into the nearest men's room to administer eyedrops, but Jorge was right on my heels, and hogging the mirror.

Adjusting his enormous gold earrings, Jorge turned to me, quivering with eagerness. "Do you think I look all right, Sir?"

"I'm quite certain you do," I soothed.

The door opened. "Any time you two are done imitating a pack of girls," Hiei said.

Jorge brightened. "Any luck, Sir?"

"No." Hiei shoo'd him out: "On to the next bathroom."

I squinted into the mirror. Hiei flicked a glance in my direction. "Assuming Kurama is done primping."

Brandishing the bottle, I waggled it in his face. "I was trying to see whether I needed some eye drops."

"Of course you were."

"Are you suggesting I have succumbed to vanity?"

"I'm suggesting my stupid woman spends less time fussing in the mirror than you do."

Irritating little fire demon.

"Here." Snatching the bottle from my hands, Hiei forced me to my knees, tilted my head back, thumbed my right eye wide and dropped fluid in. "Better?"

"You enjoy bullying people, don't you?"

"Shut up and hold still." He pressed his thumb to my left eyelid.

Which was when the door crashed open, tumbling us both to the cold tile floor.

I snarled at Hiei: "Get OFF me!"

"Well." An eighteenth-century fop surrounded by sniggering dandies leered down at us, waving a hankie. "At least now we know which is the top man."

Before I could react, Kaitou slid a camera from his ruffled sleeve. The bulb flashed, then he and his cohort left in a riot of giggles. Kicking Hiei aside, I shot after them, but Hiei hauled me back with one hand on my collar.

"Forget it," he advised.

"Aren't the rumors bad enough without---"

Grinning, he brandished a roll of film between thumb and forefinger like the entrails of a dying oni. "Idiots. Now give me that other eye."

Hiei had managed to hold on to the eye drops as well. Sometimes he has his uses.

(To be continued: Will the boys find the culprit before he strikes again?)

-30-