A/N: Hello, this is your friendly Mangascribbler here, posting a story requested by yellowmellowonthewall… although I don't technically ship this pairing, I'll admit, they are fun to write about. For this story I will be posting on Saturdays… I really hope everyone enjoys this; give me some feedback if you would! Thanks for reading, Ciao!

Mellow, you better leave me a review after all the crap you gave me about getting this posted! *3*

Starting with a Bang

-May 22, 22:41, Karakura Museum-

The first thing that someone reviewing the footage of the Museum security tapes might have noticed was a slight tapping sound, an echo of footsteps, and a slight golden gleam that shone from the farthest corner of the room before the glint revealed itself to be a pair of eyes before disappearing back into the shadows. But no one reviewed the footage, as the next thing that happened was the sudden failure of the electronics- security cameras included- throughout the building. The first hint that something was amiss.

"Did the camera stop working?" a voice crackled out of the earpiece that was clipped safely to the side of the young man's head as he crept around the side of the pillar where he had concealed himself. His rubber-soled shoes made hardly any sound against the white marble flooring of the city museum as he stepped into the moonlight, black braid swinging behind him as he sauntered forward confidently.

"Everything's out," he murmured in reply.

"Good. Look…" a pause for a sigh; the voice shook slightly as it continued, "Listen, what we're doing…. Just don't screw up, alright? This is our last chance."

"I got it Tesla," the man hissed as he approached his target, "just shut up and stop buzzing in my ear like a fly, jeez!"

"Our last chance," the voice repeated, and the earpiece went dead as the man at the other end hung up.

…..

Across the building, a second form slipped silently through the high window, dropping noiselessly to the floor so far below, rising like a shadow brought to life. Dark brown irises shone in a delicate face that was set in cold determination as the slight woman crept across the room to where she knew riches awaited her. Two thin plaits swung behind her, and her resemblance to the first of the uninvited guests in the history hall was shocking, but as of yet unknown. The pair had yet to notice the presence of one another.

The woman in question, unlike the man, had brought her partner with her, although the third thief lay in wait, holding a getaway car out front. The sleek black convertible, painted with violet fire, fit the woman in it perfectly. An exotic beauty with purple hair lit her cigarette and waited for her slender friend with patience belied by her twitching fingers as they tapped the dashboard rapidly. It was their last shot, this job. Their last shot to make it big and to make it so that neither of them would ever have to work again.

The woman in the building glanced back at the window. Did she hear police sirens? Well, they were far away, and she had a job to do; she went back to the task at hand. It was strange, that no alarms had gone off… and looking at the ceiling, there was no telltale blink of video cameras. She was either incredibly lucky, or the security in the museum was stupidly lax.

She stepped forward, again, coming closer to her prize. It was in a glass case, but that would be little protection against the glass cutter she had brought to access the horde of precious gems inside, a treasure that had belonged to some king or other, but who gave a damn? To her they were just a few expensive rocks…

Something shifted in the shadows on the other side of the case, and in a fraction of a second, two guns pointed at the face opposite of them, clicking as they were cocked at the same time. Both faces remained hidden but for their eyes, the light of the moon and the deep shadow playing havoc with both thieves' sight.

"This is mine, bitch," a low male voice bit out at the woman across from him. She noticed that his face was painted liberally with blacking, "I've had my sights on these for a long time. Go find something else to pocket… a nice necklace to fit that pretty face of yours."

"I was here first, pig," the woman shot back, only half as quiet, "If you want to steal something, you can go get something else. Ever heard of 'ladies first'?"

"I'm not really into the whole 'chivalry' deal, lady," the man's voice was rising as well, "And you weren't here first. If you had been, you would have been caught, seeing as I was the one who hacked the security system. Also, this doesn't exactly work on a 'first come first serve' basis, now does it?"

"Shut up and get out of my way before I put a hole bigger than your mouth in your face," the woman spat coldly.

"You smell of cigarette smoke… don't you know smoking kills? Maybe I should put a hole in your neck to help you breathe!" The man pulled the trigger, and the woman flinched, only to realize that it hadn't gone off. The man's laughter rang off the walls, neither person making any pretense at silence now. Had they been a little quieter, they may have noticed the whooping of police sirens closing in with alarming rapidity.

"Not even loaded!" he snickered, "Now run home little mouse, before you wet your shorts!"

"You…." The woman raged. There was a sudden crack, and she jumped again. The man lowered his gun, having loaded it and raised the barrel to her face again in the blink of an eye.

"You ever done this before, lady?" he sighed, "You're awful slow to shoot."

"I've done this plenty of times. And I'm not slow, you're trigger happy," she scowled.

"Maybe so," she caught a glimmer of white in the shadow as the man flashed a quick grin that dropped away in an instant, "But I'd rather be trigger-happy than dead. Seriously," he leaned on top of the case nonchalantly asserting his claim, the gun he held loose in his hand, "I've worked too hard to be chased off by a woman."

"Are you saying a woman couldn't stop you?" she snapped at him, growing genuinely furious at the slight to her gender.

"I'll admit," the man sighed, "I have a weakness for pretty women, but between you and me…" he lowered his voice to a mock confidential whisper, "I don't think I would go for someone as uptight as you!"

"You bastard!" she snarled, finding herself looking down the barrel of his gun a second time.

"Maybe so," he repeated with another quick smile, "But this gun is loaded, and you are at my mercy now, so calling names like grade schoolers won't do us much good. Now back off like a nice little mouse, won't you? I don't like killing women. Makes me feel a bit guilty, ya know?"

"Oh shut up!" the woman shouted at him, knocking his gun aside. She loosed a stream of curses and he matched her pace without losing that domineering smirk of his for even a second.

A pair of guards ran by, escaping their notice as they continued to hurl insults, the man keeping his gun in hand despite the smile on his face. The guards halted, and turned to face the pair.

"Are… these the two we're looking for?" the guard on the left asked, nudging his friend.

"If they are, they're either really confident or really dumb, you think they'd keep quieter if they were thieves…. But one of them is wearing gloves and blacking, so…"

"Only one way to find out!" the first man cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled, "Hey! You two! What are you doing over there?!"

"Sh-it!" the male burglar, who had been backing away from the woman as she put her fists up; she looked like she knew how to use them. He whipped around, his long braid smacking the woman in the face as he shot once, twice, three times at the security guards. A scream rewarded the man, and the guard who had shouted went down, holding his stomach with blood pumping over his fingers.

The sound of shouting, sirens, and a woman screaming abuses came through the window at the other end, finally finding audience in the pair.

"Yorichi!" the woman cried, sounding horrified, and running back the way she had come. A hand gripped her wrist tightly, pulling her to a stop. Behind them there was a crackle of a speaker as the uninjured security guard yelled a report into a walkie-talkie that had been clipped to his belt.

"You wanna get caught too? What are you, stupid?" the man whispered to her as he dragged her close to him. She wrinkled her nose; he smelled of alcohol.

"I can't leave her there, she's my friend! She was meant to be my getaway driver! I let her down!"

"Oh shut up," the man sighed, running the opposite way which she struggled to go, stepping around the prone figure on the floor and dodging a blow from the second dark form on his way to the door, "Look," he snapped a little breathlessly as they ran, "As long as one of you is free, there's always a chance at a jail break or bail; you both get caught, and you're screwed for life, you hear me?"

The woman didn't reply, merely biting her tongue when she was slung into the back of a black motorcycle that had decal claw marks down the side, and a rash of bullet holes that were unfortunately not stickers.

"Here we go," the man breathed, squealing the tires as he blew his way out of the parking lot at the back of the museum. The woman behind him held back a squeak of shock and gripped him around the waist tightly. A few bullets whistled by, one taking out the side mirror. The man driving swore loudly, adding: "I just got that damn thing fixed! I swear, every time… well, at least Tesla can't take it off with his car door this time…"

After only a minute or so, the howl of police sirens rose behind them. The woman cursed under her breath as the man's braid whipped her in the face for a fourth time, and then chanced a look back. Three cop cars, gaining quickly.

"We've got trouble!" she called over the screaming cacophony of slipstream wind and sirens.

"Hold on tight, lady," the man called over his shoulder, "And lean the way I do, when I do!"

The woman caught a disconcerting gleam of gold from his face for a fraction of a second before she was distracted by a sudden increase of speed. The motorcycle roared and wove between the nighttime traffic. The number of times that they were almost crushed between bumpers was lost on the woman, but the police cars fell steadily behind until the motorcycle whipped around a corner. It would only be a minute until the authorities came into view again, the woman thought solemnly, and they could only keep swerving between lanes for so long.

The man up ahead suddenly jerked the handlebars, and the bike's tires shrieked against the asphalt as the motorcycle whipped around at almost a ninety degree angle and fishtailed for an instant before roaring into a thin alley between buildings. The woman watched in horror as the bike tore toward an old bum in the alley, but the motorcycle screeched by with an inch to spare.

The sirens died away behind them as the man navigated a maze of alleyways. At last the growl of the engine slowed, and went into a low whine. The bike sagged to the side as the man put his foot down against the cracked concrete in front of the back door to what seemed to be a bar. A 'closed' sign glowed a dull red in the window, beside a neon advertisement for Coors Light beer and a card that showed the hours and asked customers to use the front entrance. A hand written sign was propped in the window which read, 'Ggio, if it's past midnight you can sleep in the alley' with an angry looking emoticon drawn on the side.

"Could you let go?" the man grunted, sounding out of breath, "Not that I mind having your boobs pressed against my back, but I would like my lungs back."

The woman snorted in disgust at his comment and hopped lithely off the bike. The man dropped the kickstand and flashed a glance at her, too quickly for a good look at his face before he said: "Come inside," and turned away.

She followed him blankly, still unsure of what had happened, and her heart aching for Yorichi.

"Tesla," the man called, "I'm back," he walked away to another room grumbling, "Damn am I thirsty… ugh, and I have got to wash this shit off…." Moments later there was clattering and then the sound of running water from the far back.

"Ggio!" a blonde man in an apron stepped out from the taproom, a wet glass in one hand and a rag in the other. The woman was slightly surprised by his appearance; his short, sandy blond hair was unkempt and stuck up at strange angles. An eye patch covered his right eye, his remaining orb a bright brown with a strange hard meekness. Strangest of all was the green tattoo on his face, a rectangle that dashed from his jawline to his cheekbone on one side. Upon catching sight of her, however, his gentle gaze became virulent and he shouted over his shoulder without looking away, "You brought home another one of your whores, didn't you? I thought I told you if you did that again I'd throw you out! Have fun sleeping in a box, I'm sick and tired having to listen to you and your women having-"

He stopped speaking as quickly as he had started, his eyes almost crossing as he tried to keep sight of the gun barrel pressed to his forehead.

"I am not a hooker, barman," the woman hissed, her dark eyes bright with fury.

"Of course n-not," the man called Tesla gave a nervous laugh, "Because, you know, prostitutes don't usually carry a Glock in their back pocket…"

The man she had come back with walked out of the back room, an open and half gone beer in one hand, a second, closed bottle in the other. A towel, smeared with the blacking he had wiped from his face, hung around his neck. He sat at one of the tables and kicked his feet up, taking a long draught of alcohol and ignoring the scene at the door.

"So your name is Ggio," the woman said flatly, no question in her tone.

The man smiled, and she got a good look at his face this time. Slanted, almond shaped eyes set in an angular face gave him distinctly feline features. His ochre irises shone around slightly slitted pupils, and his smile was made dangerous by the presence of two abnormally sharp canine teeth that would have been called 'shark teeth' in the dentistry business, and would have been prescribed filing. His hair was long, and wrapped into a braid that fell almost to the floor from the back of the chair.

"Ggiovanni Christian Miguel Ortiz-Vega," the man grinned, raising the open beer as if in a toast to himself, "in the flesh. And you, lady?"

"Soi Fon," the woman answered in a tone like a blizzard, "Just Soi Fon."

"Glad to meet you my little bee," Ggio sighed, finishing up the first bottle he had brought and opening up the second to take a swallow.

"Call me by my name," Soi Fon snapped.

"Can I please have this gun out of my face?" Tesla asked uncomfortably.

He was ignored.