DISCLAIMER: WELL, WHAT DO YOU KNOW! I STILL DON'T OWN THEM. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?

Chapter 1

'Damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive.' Josephine Hart

The problem with being assigned to follow and observe the behaviour of a former terrorist, now government agent, was that it was never as interesting as it would have been thought to be. Thus, within a week of following 'Duo Maxwell' around Tsuzuki Asato was bored. The activity was so boring that even the excitement of being in a new city wasn't enough to distract him, and even Hisoka was veering towards boredom with the assignment.

Mostly the problem with the assignment was that there didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary with the man-child they were following. Other than being a trained spy and assassin, not to mention a former terrorist and government agent, Duo Maxwell seemed perfectly normal, if a little excitable. He was, if there were such a thing, a perfectly normal reformed terrorist.

Although they had sent countless reports back to Meifu stating this, Hisoka and Tsuzuki still remained stationed watching over the teen. What's more, the money for their expenses kept coming in, more than they had ever received for any other job. What was it about this teen, other than obvious prodigious ability at leaving a trail of dead bodies in his wake, that made Konoe, and who ever was in charge of this branch of the European division, so nervous?

Even the wide variety of confectionary stores in the city failed to hold Tsuzuki's attention for the duration of what was turning out to be a very long and tedious mission. Nonetheless, with the surplus in their budget, Tsuzuki still dragged Hisoka along on his daily pilgrimage to his favourite. Fortunately enough for their being able to at least pretend to be concentrating on their mission with this daily excursion, this patisserie was in fact located within a block of the Preventers' headquarters, and also appeared to be a particular favourite of the aforementioned teen terrorist. Tsuzuki was thrilled…Tatsumi less so when he received their budget reports.

Other than that, however, the boy seemed to keep to what appeared to be a very mundane schedule – he got up, dressed, drank an obscene amount of coffee, left his apartment, drove to work on a motorcycle that made Tsuzuki's fingers twitch compulsively, spent his morning avoiding doing paperwork and annoying his partner, took a long lunch break, spent the afternoon on the practice range or annoying his partner some more, then he went home, actually did some of the paperwork he had avoided all day, before eating take-out and going to bed (with a gun and several bladed weapons close at hand, of course). For a reformed terrorist who wore almost as much black as Touda, his behaviour seemed relatively boring.

But he was redeemed in Tsuzuki's eyes at least by his taste in dessert. The patisserie, according to Tsuzuki's connoisseur taste-buds, was excellent, producing a truly terrific apple pie with enough cream artfully poured over it to give a diabetic an attack just from looking at it for more than five seconds. Unfortunately, they also did a chocolate fudge cake that might better be described as a chocolate fudge mountain, and that morning, as they entered once again into the patisserie, at what they hoped to be a discrete distance behind their target, Tsuzuki found himself facing a serious dilemma regarding his potential choice of dessert.

Thus, as they stood at the glass and chrome counter, Tsuzuki chewing absently on his lip as he attempted to make up his mind, Hisoka tapping his foot, blowing up his bangs and conspicuously checking his watch every forty-five seconds, they were so distracted and off-guard from their boredom, that they did not notice their own target approaching them in a guarded yet angry manner. Tsuzuki had just decided that he wanted neither the apple pie nor the chocolate cake, and was just about to order the custard tart, when he felt the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed low in his back. He turned carefully to Hisoka, about to whine that he was ready to order and that there was no need to get nasty, but then he saw that Hisoka's face was even paler than usual, probably due to the glint of a switchblade digging into his clavicle.

The switchblade was held firm in a slender gloved hand, the partner to which pressed the gun into Tsuzuki's own back. The owner of the hand's was their target, his usual mobile and expressive face implacably frozen into an icy mask. Silence spread through the café on glacial wings and the smiling girl behind the counter let out a small shriek before falling silent as the noise jarred the stillness of the air. Amazingly enough, she gathered her composure enough to turn to the heavily-armed seventeen year-old and ask in a shaky voice,

"Is there a problem here?"

Hisoka snorted slightly, or he would have, had not every breath he took further reminded him of the sharp blade running dangerously close to his jugular (AN: Author has been placing too much KHII and wrote 'jagular' instead of 'jugular' here…poor Pooh Bear). Was there a problem? An armed terrorist was holding two people at gun/knife-point in her café, and she wanted to know if there was a problem. But Maxwell smiled disarmingly, though not lowering either weapon, and spoke in an even voice,

"No, Sandra, no problem, just some Preventer business."

There was a strange amicable expression on the boy's face, which contrasted strongly with his strange priestly garb and the weapons he bore. Hisoka found himself reminded even more of Tsuzuki, who could summon Suzaku one moment and be pulling an impressive set of puppy-dog eyes the next minute. But the explanation seemed to calm the girl, who obviously knew Maxwell well enough to recognise his career. She smiled shakily and spoke in what she must have presumed to be a level tone,

"Oh…then, if it's not a problem, would you mind taking care of your…business outside; my manager's not here and I have customers to serve."

Tsuzuki wanted to insist that they were two of the customers she had to serve, but the gun digging into his spine persuaded him not to. Casting a last forlorn look at the mournful custard tart, he allowed himself to be escorted out of the patisserie by the gun wielding lunatic. Said lunatic directed them into the ubiquitous dark alley required for such exchanges and, removing the knife from Hisoka's throat, but keeping the gun levelled at both of them, he spoke,

"Ok. Who the hell are you and why the fuck have you been following me?"

Tsuzuki and Hisoka exchanged glances, and Tsuzuki reluctantly spoke, not knowing quite what to say,

"Ano…I'm Tsuzuki Asato and this is my partner, Kurosaki Hisoka…We're here from th-"

But before Tsuzuki could continue his stumbling explanation, Maxwell laughed, lowering the gun as a genuine smile spread over his face, causing a remarkable metamorphosis in his appearance. As Tsuzuki met those violet eyes he had never seen on another human, he had the bizarre feeling of looking into a fun-house mirror, that twisted his appearance but still showed his reflection. The teen spoke, his voice jubilant,

"You came, I can't believe it, you actually came."

Confused, but feeling that he wasn't likely to be shot within the next few minutes, Tsuzuki felt himself relax slightly, letting go of the ofuda he had been trying to subtly remove from his pocket without attracting too much attention. But a glance at his partner showed the Hisoka was by no means willing to relax in front of someone who had killed more people than even Touda had managed to. He spoke, his voice as cold as Tsuzuki had ever heard it, though he supposed their recent proximity to sharp point death had something to do with that,

"How do you know of us?"

The braided man let out an embarrassed laugh, flushing slightly and seemingly unconsciously slipping into a posture identical to Tsuzuki's own whenever he was caught doing or knowing something that he shouldn't. Hisoka found himself doing an involuntary double take, his eyes flicking from the teen to his partner and then back again. However, before any more could be said, an electronic repetition of what sounded disturbingly like a funeral dirge broke the quiet of the alley.

Cursing, Maxwell grabbed for his phone, checking the Caller ID and flipping the device open with a wicked smile that made the hairs on the back of Hisoka's neck stand on end.

"Shinigami's house of pain, what can I do for you lady?...Yeah, yeah, don't get your panties in a twist….you know, I don't think that's physically possible…Anyway, I'm on my break, so if this is about the perilous paper pile of perdition…What? Do we have a visual? Fuck! I'll be there five minutes ago…just, don't piss him off."

As the conversation continued, all traces of mirth disappeared from Duo's face to be replaced by anger and a threat of pain. Finally, he snapped the phone shut, turning back to Tsuzuki and Hisoka, his face set in a coldly furious mask.

"Come on, we have to get going."

Hisoka frowned,

"What's going on?"

"The name 'Muraki' ring a bell? Yeah, thought it might. Well, he's causing mayhem back at HQ and we need to be there now."

Tsuzuki paled,

"Muraki's here?"

"No, he's at the other Preventers' HQ, yes he's here. And we can only hope he's still there when we get there, because I owe him a scythe shoved somewhere painful."

Hisoka managed to regain composure as set off in a run to follow the departing Preventer,

"Get in line. If anyone's going to castrate that bastard, it's going to be me."

Duo's laughter echoed back to them,

"I like you, now let's get going."

TBC.

AN: I am so sorry about the delay on this, and hope that some of you guys still remember the hell I'm talking about.