Okay, looks like this might be an ongoing thing! (nervous laugh) I'm going for film noir-esque as well as fanservice, so please bear with me. The juicy yaoi bits may be pushed back a few chapters til mood has been established ^^;; Anyways! Thankyou everyone for the positive responses I've had so far, the faves and reviews especially. Keep the comments and/or criticism comin, and we'll find out together how this thing plays out :3

(Quick note-I would like to offer apologies to any Sakura and Ino fans who may take offence reading this chapter! I do like both characters and their role in this is largely due to my slightly twisted sense of humour *cue maniacal laughter* Hinata will appear at some point, but I like her more, so she'll get a better role. Them's the breaks :P)

Chapter Two

Hookers and Heartache

He had been walking now for some time. A silvery crescent moon hung in the cloudless sky, illuminating the dark streets and silently observing the crime about to be committed. His boots splashed in the occasional puddle as he stalked by; it had rained last night. He liked the rain, especially the fresh, clean smell after all the miseries had been washed away, down the gutters and drains of the dirty metropolis. Rain offered a curtain of tranquillity and silence; it blanketed his crimes and then cleansed away the blood. The rain couldn't heal his heart though.

Even after growing accustomed to the city he preferred to move on foot. Taking a cab in his profession was too risky, and he hated trying to drive through the tangled web of intersections in the inner city. His body was and always had been his only trusted ally and most dependable form of transportation. When he'd been leaping through the tree branches of the forest or performing ju-jitsu against cut-throat opponents wielding kunai he hadn't needed a car, and he didn't need one now in this steel jungle he called home. Some things had changed though. His beloved pistol with its silencer was now his weapon of choice; he considered anything less to be primitive. There was something deliciously impersonal in shooting your target long range and then calmly walking away, as opposed to the strength and passion required to hurl knives at them. He'd lacked passion for a long time now.

The desired apartment block was coming up; it didn't look all that different from his except that obviously his was on the upper side, and far more expensive. There was a doorman out in front, as he'd expected, and knew exactly what to do. Slipping by the greying man in his smart blue coat unnoticed, he made his way down the street to where a young woman about his age was loitering on the corner.

He adjusted his tinted black sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, but didn't take them off. She had long, dirty, creamy blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, and watery blue eyes that darted from side to side like a snake; always wary, always on the lookout for her prey. She spied him coming her way, and though a grin eased across her hard mouth it didn't make her look youthful; it just made her look sinister. He tipped his head and lowered the shades just enough for her to catch the look in his eyes; affirmation, and she bounded up to him.

Her outfit left little to the imagination anyway and with this motion he was thankful her breasts didn't fly out of her low cut top altogether. She took his arm, positively beaming, and he eyed her coldly. She was fresher than most of the woman of this area, but she still didn't arouse his interest in the slightest.

'Hi honey,' she cooed. 'You're a new face. You want some company?'

He gestured toward the building behind them, and then spoke in a low tone. 'You live here?'

'Sure do; not a bad place at all, is it? You can even stay the night if you like. Entertainment and accommodation all at a great price…compared to the competition.'

She pulled a face at a pink haired street girl lurking on the other side of the road, and then made a shooing motion as though she were getting rid of an unwanted cat. The pink haired girl sent her a very unpleasant hand gesture and screamed a few rapid fire choice words that young women that age shouldn't usually know, before stomping away.

'They're like vultures,' she snapped, before turning back to him.

She leaned against him, and he obligingly put his hands around her waist, his expression not changing in the slightest.

'How much for one night?'

She told him, and then pouted her red lips. 'Cash up front of course. Not that I don't trust you, but you can't be too careful in my business.'

He nodded. The money wasn't an issue; he'd be earning it back hundredfold if he could get access to that building. Her eyes bulged from their sockets as he pulled out a wad of dollar bills from his back pocket, and as he handed her the correct amount plus tip she snatched it greedily.

'So what's your name, or do I just call you honey all night?' she teased, as they walked back to the doorman.

He ignored this comment.

'The strong and silent type, huh? Well, my name is Ino.'

Though no emotion showed on his stony face inwardly he raised an eyebrow. It almost sounded Japanese; what a coincidence.

'It's not my real name of course,' she continued, 'but my regulars seem to think it's cute. Very geisha-like and fashionable. Do you like it?'

'It's fine,' he said.

His coal black eyes were now on the doorman as they approached. As he'd hoped the older man barely even looked their way as he let them in; he must be used to Ino bringing a countless flood of men home and knew better than to pry. It was the perfect way in; with so many men going back and forth there was no way he, incognito with his dark shades and the collar of his jacket pulled over his lower face in the cold weather, would stand out.

He allowed Ino to tug him into the elevator, and was barely able to hold her advances back in the confined, private space as they travelled upwards.

'Cool customer, aren't you?' she muttered as he pushed her away for the tenth time. 'Most of them can't keep their hands off me.'

As they stopped at the ninth floor and she wandered out, pulling him along behind her, he removed his hand from hers.

'I've changed my mind,' he said quietly.

Ino gave him a searching, wary look. 'I don't do refunds, honey.'

'Keep it.' He turned away, and she called after him.

'Are you sure, honey? That's an expensive change of heart. You look like you could use a good time.'

He disappeared down the stairs, and she stared after him for only a moment before pulling out her money and fanning through it, just to be sure it was real.

'What a strange guy,' she murmured, and shrugging, went back into her apartment. She'd earned enough for one night.

His breathing shallow, almost silent, he was one with the murky shadows as he reached the floor he needed. There was no light shining from under the door and no sounds coming from within. It was just gone 1:30am after all; most normal people were asleep at this hour. He removed his shades. Picking the lock was almost a joke to his skilled hands, and slipping his gun silently from its holster he stepped inside the home of his target. He crept down the corridor, pressed his back to the wall, and gun first he furtively swooped around the corner and glanced into the tiny living room/kitchen.

All was silent and peaceful, if very messy. Horrendously messy. Even with only the moonlight revealing the cramped little room, he could see his target lived like a pig. Bags of half eaten potato chips, never-ending trash bags filled with discarded paper coffee cups and a shockingly high stack of empty instant ramen noodle containers that might actually be a safety hazard if they got any closer to the ceiling, littered the space and made any sign of a couch or chairs invisible. It was a far cry from his stylish, classy, minimalist room.

Inwardly he felt a stab of disgust and at the very same time a curiously odd sense of familiarity, but he had as job to do. Moving like a panther in the gloom he reached his destination; the bedroom, and while one hands squeezed the doorknob another squeezed the trigger. It opened an inch; neither the hinges nor the floorboards creaked, and he pursued. As soon as it was open enough for him to slip through, he scanned the room.

A figure was undoubtedly laying in the bed, a snoring lump in the duvet; his desired target. How thrilling it was, what a terrible adrenaline rush to be a voyeur; a trespasser in the bedroom of another, holding a gun to their unsuspecting head. The palpable tension raised the hairs on the back of his neck and he licked his dry lips. He raised the heavy pistol in his hand and released the safety with a barely audible click. A simple execution was his favourite style-no muss, no fuss, and he didn't have to see their glassy expression as they died. That was what he hated most. It reminded him of his family.

But what was this? A wave of scent reached his nostrils, and stopped his heart in his chest. His throat squeezed even more tightly than his clammy hand around the pistol, and he tried to sort the conflicting emotions in his head. It was dizzying.

'What's wrong with me?' he thought madly. 'Millions of guys in the world must use this aftershave. Focus. Focus, dammit.'

But the scent would only ever mean one thing…one person to him, and his vision was blurring as droplets of sweat fell into his eyes. He couldn't do it. For the first time in his career he couldn't go through with his mission, and all because of aftershave? Frustrated with himself he forced his shaking hands to raise the gun once more, level it to the target's tousled head, just peeking out of the blankets, but he couldn't force himself to shoot. To his horror, at that exact moment, he realised he'd been so focused on his inner thoughts he hadn't heard the snoring stop.

Silence filled the room, pressing down on his ears, and as he watched, stupefied, the target raised his upper body from the tangle of bed clothes and blinked sleepily at him. Was this some kind of joke; a nasty, hangover induced dream? No, it was all painfully real. He stared at his target, and the young man stared back. A shaft of silver danced its way through the curtains and lit up the kid's face. Those ocean blue eyes, almost the colour of a hyacinth in bloom, gazed at him with round wonder. Even that goddamned froggy t-shirt that made him look like a pre-schooler; there it was, rumpled from sleep. How many arguments had they had about that shirt?

'I'm not sleeping next to you if you insist on wearing that.'

'But I love this shirt!'

'I'll be going home then.'

'Ah-no, wait. I'll sleep without it, if you promise to keep me warm?'

Such stupid nostalgia, yet the heartache was overwhelming.

The kid raised a hand-the hand that had held his own so many times-and rubbed his eyes as though he wasn't sure what he was seeing. He squinted down the barrel of the gun.

'Sasuke?' he asked drowsy awe.