A/N: To answer most of the reviews: yes. I made it pretty obvious so it's not a spoiler, at least I hope not... Anyways thanks for all your reviews, the next few chapters will be a little slow story-wise but I hope you continue to read and enjoy :)
I'll try to get chapter 3 up as soon as I can, but finals week is coming up so sorry in advance


"The Surgeon of Death."

Law's voice echoed in Kid's head as he lied on the bed in "his" new room, staring at the ceiling. His hands were still handcuffed and that pissed him off, but at least the room was nice, better than nice. He laid on a double bed, soft mattress with more pillows than he needed, in the very far back of the room, directly across from the door, which locked from the outside. There was a bar counter on the left side of the room– though empty of any alcoholic beverage– and a nice low table in the center surrounded by two couches facing each other. Wardrobe for his newly bought clothes on the right, just next to the door that connected to the bathroom. Nice accommodations for a man that's suppose to be behind bars. Well, a window or two wouldn't hurt. The artificial lighting reminded Kid of the blinding prison lights, even though these were more orange and not the glaring white he hated so much.

Kid's thought kept returning to the doctor's returned smug smile as he uttered the epithet. Surgeon of Death. Surgeon of Death. Surgeon of Death.

The name had a good ring to it. Fancy. A little pretentious too. It oddly fitted the murderer well even though he had ne–
A knock on the door pulled kid out of his thoughts and he turned to look at the source. Even though he didn't grant permission, the blonde man walked into the room. In his hand, he held a folder, stuffed with papers, and a notepad.

"Getting down to business already huh?" Kid grinned, turning back to stare at the ceiling– white again but soft unlike the ones of his prison cell. Killer didn't respond, walking briskly to the couch and settling down. Kid listened as papers rustled and spoke again after a while.

"So how does this work exactly?"

More papers rustled.

"Is it just therapy?"

Killer sighed, prompting Kid to roll over and look at him.

"Do I get to look at the dead bodies?"

The man sat on the edge of the couch, papers spread on the low table before him, elbows on knees, notepad balanced in one hand and pen held lightly in the other.

"Yes it's pretty much just therapy."

Kid slowly dropped his feet to the floor and pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"So why the nice accommodations? We could've just had sessions while I was behind bars."

"A comfortable setting makes it easier to talk," Killer stated flatly, sitting up straight.

"For you or for me?" Kid quirked a brow, smirking at the man that didn't look at him.

"Tell me about your childhood Kid," Killer ignored the question.

Kid got to his feet and walked over to the couch opposite the therapist.

"I was a troublemaker," Kid said, settling down into the big couch. He wanted to stretch out his arms and rest them on the back of the sofa. "You know it'd be a more comfortable setting if I had free movement of my hands."

"Why were you a troublemaker?" Killer continued, again ignoring the question directed at him.

"Why?" Kid sneered. "Why not?"

"And why not?" Killer mimicked Kid's question in a more even tone.

Kid burst into laughter, stopped by the icy blue eyes that shot him a glare.

"People. Life. All the things in life," Kid shrugged, a grin plastered on his face from holding back the laughter.

"Any details," Killer asked.

Kid sighed. He thought, foolishly, that he would get to see the dead bodies and the crime scene instead of sit in this fancier prison, talking about his life problems.

"What was my epithet?" Kid countered. "My case didn't get reported in the papers."

"What should it matter? You've been caught," Killer stated, unfazed by his unanswered question.

"Was it as classy as 'Surgeon of Death?'" He stared into the man's cold eyes.

Killer sighed again, closing his eyes and putting down his pen and pad, which had no notes on it.

"I don't know, I didn't work on your case," He rubbed his eyes.

"I thought policemen all sat around lunch and talked ab–"

"Classified information applies to everyone, including people on the force," Killer cut him off. It had been a long day and he wanted to solve this as quickly as possibly. "What are you really interested in?"

"What do you think?" Kid continued to grin and stare at the investigator. "You're the therapist."

Killer looked at him for a second, then glanced down on the table, pushing different papers around and placing a photo in front of Kid.

Kid glanced at the picture that slid towards him; it wasn't what he expected but nevertheless his smile stretched wider on his face.

"Victim number one. Jean Stryder. Twenty. Four blows to the ribs, breaking the bones, three to the stomach, rupturing vital organs, and five to the back of the head, cause of death."

Kid stare at the picture of the handsome young adult, lying on the ground as his own blood pooled around him. Killer slid a second picture towards Kid.

"Victim number two. Melissa Brown. Thirty-two. One blow to the face– instant death– followed by three more blows. "

Kid shifted his eyes to the second picture, next to the first. A blonde woman, dressed too skimpy for her age, leaned against the wall splattered with her blood. Her face, beaten beyond recognition, looked like a clot of blood and flesh. Killer slid another picture towards him.

"Victim number three. Erin Rayner. Fifty-six. Ten blows to the legs, shattering bones, two to the back, breaking the spine, and one to the head, instant death."

"You know. You say 'instant death' but I hit him twelve times before I killed him. He even tried to crawl away," Kid interrupted, looking at the picture of the old man that clung on to the rails as he tried to crawl away. Face down, smashed into the ground, and brain matter splattered on the sidewalk.

Killer sighed, talking up his pen and notepad and leaning back on the couch.

"Tell me," the therapist– more so interrogator– stared at Kid intently. "What did Jean, Melissa, Erin, Judy, April, Summer, Collin, and Fulbert d–"

"Fulbert?" Kid asked mockingly. "He must be grateful I put him out of his misery."

"–do to trigger murderous intent?" Killer continued, keeping his voice even and calm.

Kid closed his eyes and smiled to himself, laughing inwardly, "Asshole. Slut. Pedophile. Whore. Don't remember. Don't remember. Douche. Pretentious bastard."

He stared at Killer, trying to see underneath the cool façade. The investigator returned the man's stare intently before sighing.

"What do I have to do so that you'll be cooperative?" Killer asked, a little defeated.

"I want to look at the dead bodies."

Another sigh.

"You're not an investigator Kid," Killer looked sternly at the man.

"Not even pictures?" Kid questioned, a little childish.

"What did you do before you got caught?" Killer returned to his therapy session.

Kid gave an annoyed grunt before answering, "A detective, like you, except I didn't investigate homicide."

"Elaborate," Killer's voice wasn't demanding.

"Why don't you elaborate on your job," Kid said, like a command instead of a question.

Killer's eyebrows knitted together, narrowing his eyes, and a crease formed on his forehead. Rubbing his forehead, trying to relax the muscles, the homicide detective sighed, obviously fed up, but also a little defeated.

"Eustass Kid," Killer stated flatly. "We didn't give you an epithet."

"Well that's a little disappointing," Kid stated, pausing before looking at the other man suspiciously. "So you did know," He said, a hint of accusation in his voice.

Killer only sighed, continuing on the useless session, or interrogation. It felt more like an interrogation than anything since Kid was so unwilling.

"Visionary, mission-oriented, hedonistic and power/control," Killer listed, lifting his head up to look back at Kid. "The main categories for killer motives. Hedonistic divides into three more sub-categories: lust, thrill, and comfort or profit. What category do you think you fall into?"

"Getting direct now huh?" Kid smiled at Killer who only narrowed his eyes. "I don't really get thrilled or maybe I do." He shrugged, again, not really answering the question. "Listen, knowing more about me won't help you understand the Surgeon of Death," Kid chuckled.

"Fine," Killer stated slightly annoyed, leaning back into the couch. "Then what do you want."

"To see the bodies."

"No," Killer said tersely.

"Pictures?" Kid asked sternly instead of with the juvenile tone of voice, surprising Killer who was about to respond with another terse 'no.'

"Tomorrow," Killer conceded unwillingly. "So will you talk now?"

"Well you're not very good at keeping promises," Kid tilted his head, eyeing the man.

Killer sighed and got up.

"I'll be back in an twenty minutes," He said, walking towards the door and opening it.

"Make sure it's iced," Kid shouted behind him as the door clicked shut.

He sat there for the whole twenty minutes, staring at the photos in front of him. He told the truth. He didn't get some sort of excitement out of bludgeoning the people or more like he wasn't seeking for the excitement when he decided to bludgeon those people to death– that's where the 'maybe I do' came in. Sure he enjoyed beating their brain out, literally, but the thrill of it wasn't the reason he killed. The exhilaration was sort of like a side-effect. No. That word had a negative connotation. The exhilaration was more like a bonus. His reason was, well, he didn't have a reason. He shook his head, dismissing an analysis of himself. This wasn't what he was here for. No. He wanted to know who the serial killer was. Track down the man that eluded the police for so long, putting a face to the mystery that was the Surgeon of Death. He didn't want to play cop. He was simply intrigued, curious even, to know who this person was.

He turned his head towards the door as he heard it click open. Killer walked into the room, holding a bottle of cold beer. The pop sound made when Killer opened the cap made Kid smile and crave the drink, taking it up immediately as it was placed in front of him.

Killer sat back down, across from Kid, and started from the beginning. "What was your childhood like?"

"Normal. A little poor, but not piss poor," Kid drank the beer, making a satisfied noise when he stopped.

"Parents? Siblings?" Killer pressed as Kid tried to wipe his mouth with his arms, but proven very difficult with his hands bound.

"I was an only child. I had my mom, but I never knew my dad."

"Did that in anyway affect you?"

Kid let out a loud laugh, "I didn't even know the man."

Killer nodded, jotting down a few notes on his pad.

"I may not have had a traditional family setting, but I liked my mom," Kid added, watching Killer scratch illegible writing onto the yellow paper.

"Any traumatizing events?"

"Not really. I saw old people make out once. That was pretty traumatizing," Kid grinned, wondering if the man would jot that down.

"You said you were a detective?" Killer continued.

"Eh. I got paid to track down and extort people but I didn't abide by any laws or have a fancy badge like you."

Killer nodded, "And what led you to that job?"

"I wasn't good at anything else. I guess I could've been a drug dealer but I'd have killed more people," Kid laughed at his own joke and chugged down the rest of the beer.

Killer continued to write a few notes, pausing as if hesitant to ask his next question, even though he had asked it before.

"So what category do you put yourself in?"

Kid held the empty bottle in his hand, dangling it for the therapist to see.

"It'd be nice if you brought a whole case."

Killer glanced towards the door, not wanting to waste another twenty more minutes.

"Category," he stated, then added much softer. "Please"

Kid quirked his brow, surprised that he had uttered the magic words.

"Normal," he stated as if it was obvious.

Killer took in the words, thinking about the next sentence or question that he should say.

"What sound mind would do what you did?" He eyed Kid, no accusation in his voice, just genuine interest.

"There's your problem," Kid chuckled. "You think only a crazy person would do what I did."

"Well if you told me your motives were mission-oriented, I wouldn't call you psychotic for your murders," Killer responded, knowing from his classes that not all serial killers were psychotic and mentally unsound.

"Murder? According to who? The law?" Kid scoffed. "Listen, I didn't pick those people or plan to kill them, but it happened. People die everyday," He shrugged. "Wars and bombings aren't natural disasters and they kill a lot of people. So shouldn't they be considered murders as well?"

Killer tried to mentally analyze the person in front of him, Eustass Kid, as the other continued to speak.

"Let's face it, if there wasn't a punishment, people would be killing each other left and right.

"So what? You're making your own laws?" Killer asked, trying to make Kid's thoughts more coherent, writing down all that the red head muttered.

"Not at all," Kid shrugged, placing the beer, that he had forgotten was still in his hands, on the table. "I'm just saying that your views and ethics are bound by society and the government."

"Wouldn't a mentally sound mind know to abide to those ethics?" Killer challenged, though there was nothing challenging in his tone of voice.

"Touché," Kid grinned. "So if the law forbid you from swatting an annoying fly, you'd abide by it?"

"So you're better than others?" Killer asked, not answering Kid's hypothetical one.

"No. Well, probably," Kid smirked, laughing as if he told another casual joke.

Killer didn't laugh at all, continuing to jot down the few helpful notes he could get from his conversation with Kid.

Kid killed those people because he thought of them as annoying flies. So what? Humans were nothing more than insects to him? Killer rubbed his head again, trying to massage the stress of the multitude of questions, that wouldn't be answered soon, away. He didn't have much time.

"Listen," Kid stated, causing Killer to raise his head to look at the man. "I had no motives, you're right. I'm not some chosen person, or thrill seeker, or power hungry killer. So there's no point sitting around, asking me for reasons." Kid hit the nail on the head. Although Killer hadn't asked Kid directly, he was innately searching for the real reasons that would come out from Kid's mouth, hidden between the words spoken.

Killer sighed once again, a resignation. He was tired. Tired of the case. Tired of dealing with Kid. Just plain tired.

"Alright. We'll continue tomorrow," Killer stood back up, gathering up the papers and photos that were strewn across the table. Once he had gathered and put everything into the folder, he turned and walked towards the door.

"Hey," Kid called, raising his cuffed hands as the other turned around.

Killer's hand reached for his front pant pocket, pausing as he hesitated, hovering over the key that was there.

"Part of the conditions," He stated flatly, dropping his hand, before opening the door and shutting it behind him.

Kid sighed. There was some space between the cuffs and his skin– they weren't bound as tightly as he'd been used to over the past years– so hopefully he won't lose circulation in the middle of the night. He got up and stalked over to his bed, throwing himself onto the soft bedding. He rolled over and waited for the lights to go out, taking a minute to realize that he had to switch them off himself. Grunting as he got up, he flipped the switch and lied back down. He stared at the ceiling, black in the darkness. Things weren't as exciting as he imagined– same situation only in a more comfortable setting. He sighed, giving up on finding out who the serial killer is. It wasn't that important anyways. Even if he knew, it wasn't like he could meet the man or talk to him casually and he certainly wasn't going to do anything to help the police. Oh well. It had been fun imagining the events in his head, but now that he had had a taste of the reality of the situation he couldn't care less. He sighed again.

Whatever.

Kid thought, closing his eyes and drifting off.