Still doesn't belong to me, but here's hoping you enjoy my little spin-offs as much as I enjoy spinning them. I don't often beg for reviews, usually I'm content to wish my readers luck with their own fics, but as busy as I am right now, reviews really do encourage me to get a move on. So if you've got the time, if you like the fic, please review.

PINK AND GREEN

It had been a good night, he remembered, the last night he'd spent with Emily. She was unpretentious and undemanding, just as she always was. Rum and coke and a good action flick in front of the sofa pleased her as well as a fine Bordeaux and an evening at the symphony; a pink tank and thin grey lounge pants hugged her slim figure as neatly as the emerald satin sheath she favored for nights on the town. And though her dark blonde hair had been pulled back into a simple tail at the nape of her neck and her make-up nearly worn away by the long day, she'd been every bit as vivacious and beautiful at home in the apartment as she had been the night before at the opera hall.

He'd missed her.

She was full of surprises, she was. One night she wanted pizza and would splay herself out on the floor like an child for a board game, but the next she would don sequins and diamonds to assume a position as the unrivaled queen of whatever society function she chose to attend. But upper crust jail bait or girl-next-door, both of her personas were a far cry from the half-starved, battered little girl he and der Kaiser had happened upon that night in Berlin.

They never meant to keep her. After all, how did it look for two bachelors to live with such a young girl? But after they returned her to the orphanage she'd escaped from, neither of the two foster families she was placed with worked out. The first family returned her to the orphanage she'd run away from in the first place, terrified and eager to rid themselves of her. The second proved abusive, and when der Kaiser invented an excuse to visit the kid they'd rescued and found her beaten bloody, neither he nor Paul had been inclined to entrust her to the state a third time. So they'd smuggled her back to Japan with them, in a harrowing adventure involving Turkish prostitutes, giant snow crabs, and a very fine bottle of scotch.

And she stayed with them, finding her niche as their unofficial caretaker and ward, the one who kept up their apartment and made sure the bills got paid and waited up for them with a first aid kit and beer readily accessible. By the tender age of eleven, she probably knew more about running a home efficiently than he or his partner had. And they were grateful to her for it, for dealing with all the nasty little necessities that make the life of a bachelor so much less appealing than it ought to be – the laundry, the grocery shopping, the dirty dishes. When der Kaiser met her, Emily had remained with Paul, and had continued to do most of the same things she'd done all along.

Except, with der Kaiser out of the apartment, Paul began to see things he hadn't seen before.

Like how moist and how soft her lips appeared, slack with sleep, when he came home to find her slumbering on the couch waiting for him. And how her childhood scrawniness had faded into the softer curves of adolescence. And how her piping voice had settled into a warm, deep contralto.

It was bearable, because der Kaiser still treated her like a little girl, and that made it easier for Paul to deny that she was quickly becoming a woman – a beautiful, talented, kind-hearted and vibrant woman. A desirable woman. The kind you could fall in love with and never get over.

It got worse when der Kaiser disappeared into Moujenjou's upper labyrinths. She was only fifteen when the Get Backers' name was passed down to other, less jaded individuals, and the next three years were hell on Paul's nerves.

He considered himself a good man – a moral man – and there remained in him a love for the little waif from the streets. And that part of him hated the other part, the part that was imprudently but undeniably falling in love with the teenager he was supposed to be protecting. The part that got a little breathless when she walked by, noticing that her childhood gait had become a woman's saunter. The part that swallowed hard when she threw her arms around him, when the new, grown-up curves of her body pressed against him in all the right places. The part that found her tears heart wrenching and prized her silvery laughter and wanted nothing on earth so much as to see her smile. The part that had the effrontery to suggest that maybe he wasn't alone in his out-of-place affections.

She couldn't have really wanted what she seemed to want, and Paul knew it, and so he kept his eyes well-hidden behind his glasses and his heart conscientiously off his sleeve. But no matter how he tried, it seemed as if the girl he'd practically raised flaunted her new woman's body at him at every turn. She shifted just so that her shirts revealed more than they ought. Anything that fell to the floor demanded a long, luxuriant stretching of her body to retrieve. And there was a softness in her eyes and a gentleness in her smile that she reserved for Paul and Paul alone, the one person she ought to have been able to trust not to think of her like that.

Still, though her youth stung him uncomfortably, she didn't act like a child or even a teenager; she'd abandoned childhood long before he and der Kaiser had walked into her life, and adolescence had passed as quickly as it arrived, in the ugly underbelly of Shinjuku in which he and his partner had operated. She'd seen and learned about and endured things early on that many people are never unfortunate enough to witness, and that assuaged his guilt just a bit. More importantly, he knew all along that he wanted so much more than the slim young body with its tantalizing new figure. He hadn't wanted anything dishonorable. Just her, every sweet curve, quick smile, and throaty laugh, he wanted it all. Her maturity and his own certainty of the feelings beyond the desire, well, if it didn't make it right, it at least made it understandable.

He was thirty years old before he could admit to himself – and to her – that he'd been in love with her since she was fourteen, with her wry little smiles and her insistence on bandaging up injuries that didn't really need the care, with her big heart and her brilliant imagination. She'd been quick to retort that she hadn't ever wanted anyone but him, and didn't he know it wasn't nice to have flaunted all those pretty, older, appropriate women at her?

The day she turned eighteen, he gave her a pale green convertible, because she loved the feel of the wind in her hair and because the color was just exactly the sea-glass green of her eyes. But he made her promise to wait to drive it until he could ride along. He came back to the apartment after closing down the Honky Tonk, which he'd purchased recently, anticipating her excitement, her innocent exuberance with his generosity.

But when he opened the door, the innocence he'd taken such care to protect was gone. Her eyes burned with an intensity he'd never seen there before, catching his own eyes the moment he stepped inside. About her body, which reclined fully nude with false languor on the sofa, a thousand tiny candles flickered hesitantly in the darkness.

She watched him, watched the horror that spilled out of his soul and into his face, and he almost could have wept at the sudden shame that flushed in her cheeks and exposed bosom, as she mistook his old guilt and self-loathing for rejection. She fled him, pausing only long enough to snatch up the keys and her purse, and an old coat of der Kaiser's, and before he could say a word to forestall her, she was gone.

He searched frantically for her, to no avail. The police could not locate her. The youths he had passed on the Get Backers' name to could not find her. And none of his many, many contacts had any idea where she might have vanished to. It wasn't very long before he gave her up as lost.

But she did come back to him, eventually. She returned, harder and thinner, but her smile was still wry and her imagination still vivid, and when they spoke together, as the truth came out, her eyes became soft and her smile gentle, and whatever had been wrong between them was forgotten in the passionate sweetness of their reunion.

She'd become a Keeper in those years apart, a protector who specialized in the defense of children. It suited her, took full advantage of her talents, it kept her heart young and something of her innocence intact. He was happy for her, even though assignments often lasted months and took her away from Shinjuku and the man who loved her there.

Yet the flames remained undimmed, and she came to him whenever she was able. There had been no one else since that first night together, and though their time together was brief and infrequent, it was filled with all the love of a lifetime of closeness.

Paul relished the nights she was able to come home to him, and they made the most of every moment together, going out or staying in with equal ardency. She remained his solace and his refuge, the quiet place in his life where nothing else entered or mattered. He kept her to himself, never spoke of her, never even mentioned her name, because the secrecy with which they conducted their great love affair was part of the charm of it, part of what made it sacred and precious. And he had guarded that sacrosanct bond jealously for almost five years now.

Two days ago, someone had violated that bond. Which was why he found himself now on the 7:45 train from Frankfurt to Berlin, that ancient city that had brought them together the first time.

Paul's fingers closed around the slim golden band he cherished, but seldom wore. It seemed he was never to be free of the old days. It hadn't been so long ago he'd been in Moujenjou, facing ghosts. And here he was again, chasing demons that should have been laid to rest ages ago.

Rosenthal had special reason to hate Emily and the Get Backers who had harbored her. Paul could only pray that he knew her value as a bargaining chip in getting to Paul, and to what he knew, and that he would be gentle with his captive.

Hot fear mingled with cold rage in Paul's belly as dark memories resurfaced.

"Ban-chan," Ginji breathed. "What the hell?"

Natsumi was trembling; Rena stood silently in the doorway, appraising the calamity that was Paul's apartment. Every cabinet was flung open, everything that ought to have been in a cabinet lay scattered and broken on the floor. Drawers had been pulled out and dumped onto the dark beige carpet. What had once been surprisingly nice furniture lay overturned and broken, and its navy blue and sage green upholstery had been slashed, its stuffing ripped out. Ginji stood still only a moment before he rushed to investigate the other rooms, probably trying to make sure Paul wasn't lying dead or unconscious somewhere in the ruin.

Ban drew a deep breath, thinking quickly. If Paul had any old enemies that would do this kind of thing, he'd never told Ban about them. The lock hadn't been forced; that suggested a plunderer – or, he thought wryly, a retriever with a lucky key. The chaos indicated a search of some kind. Ban just hoped that they hadn't found what they were looking for.

At least it wasn't a computer file, he realized, slowly making his way through the trashed apartment. The computer system, which, incidentally, did take up half the spare bedroom, was still whole, although the CDs that had been in a crate beneath the desk had been systematically broken. Whatever they'd been looking for, it was some object, or a hard copy of a document. Not a single CD had escaped intact – maybe that's what they were looking for. Maybe they weren't taking chances?

As Ginji and Rena tried to calm the panicked Natsumi, Ban considered their next step. Whatever he did, he surmised, the apartment would have to be searched. He had no idea as yet what Paul's attackers had been looking for, and Paul hadn't left any word saying where he would be going. But maybe there were plane ticket confirmation stubs, or an answering machine message confirming hotel reservations, or something of that nature.

Or maybe he'd get really lucky and come across whatever the intruders had been looking for to begin with.

Ban frowned, and pulled a cigarette from his carton. Something was off about the apartment, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Ban-san, you shouldn't smoke in Master's apartment," a tearful Natsumi said, outrage stifling her hysterics. He ignored her and headed back into Paul's bedroom. He had walked through it briefly already as if surveying the damage; in truth, like Ginji, he'd wanted to make sure Paul wasn't around.

Something was definitely not right. Figuring it would come to him sooner or later, he crouched in the bedroom, gleaning what he could about the man who slept there.

The bedroom suite was fashioned of dark maple wood and extremely well-made. The walls were a pale, sea-glass green, as were the linens on the bed, again, obviously expensive. The duvet cover and the neatly tied drapes that hung over the windows were dark brown. The artwork on the walls were original, abstract paintings full of sensuous curves and undulating lines, and were framed by simple maple frames that matched the bedroom furniture. The room was not quite the disaster the kitchen and living room were, although the drawers of the armoire, dresser, and nightstands had been removed and dumped out. The closet had been rifled through as well, and its contents proved more interesting.

Aside from the white shirts and khaki pants of Paul's work clothes, there were a few nice suits, a very nice tuxedo, some dress shirts, some slacks – the usual middle-aged guy's closet. But those were Paul's clothes, and Paul's clothes actually made up a very small percentage of what was in the closet.

Whoever she was, Paul's mysterious lady-friend had a thing for pink and green and all shades of both. A few more subdued black and white articles appeared, but for the most part, the blouses, skirts, and dresses he found were anything from baby pink to fuchsia, peridot to hunter green. Evidently she also had a thing for matching bags and shoes.

Other than these clothes in the closet – none of which had been worn recently, as Ban could see by the fine layer of dust that coated them – nothing in the apartment indicated a female presence. He dug a little deeper into the tumbled mess of the closet, then stopped.

"Really?" He laughed quietly and adjusted his shades, finally recognizing what had been bugging him about the apartment. If it hadn't been for the distraction of the mess, he'd have noticed it immediately. "Typical, old man." He stood up, walked back into the kitchen, judging the distance of the kitchen wall that lined the back of Paul's closet. Yeah, that had to be it.

"Ginji," he called, and turned back to the bedroom. Rena took over comforting Natsumi, and Ginji followed him.

"Look at this – the back of the closet isn't the same length as the kitchen wall on the otherside."

"Could be the water-heater," Ginji offered dubiously.

"Nuh-uh, that's at the back of the linen closet." He'd seen that with a quick look into the bathroom.

Ginji shrugged, but shook his head unhappily, blonde spikes shivering with the movement. "I really don't want to mess up the apartment any worse than it is."

"Can't get much worse." Ban felt along the too-short side of the closet, rolling his eyes when his fingers encountered no cobwebs or dust, and tapped the wall. "Hollow," he said with satisfaction, and felt along the edges for some kind of catch or release that would permit the false wall to be removed. "Got it."

The side of the closet came off cleanly, revealing a steel safe.

"Bingo." Ban turned to flash a grin at his partner, but a strange look had come over Ginji's face.

"Ban-chan," he began uncertainly. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open wide. "Oh, shit!" He jerked Ban to his feet, wrenching Ban's left arm painfully, and snatched up the safe, bulky and unwieldy as it was. Then he dragged both into the living room, and to the accompaniment of a startled string of oaths from his partner, hurled the safe out the window and onto the lawn below.

"Ginji-san!" Rena protested, as Natsumi's eyes went wide with fear. Ban started to demand an explanation, but suddenly his arms were full of Rena, whom Ginji had grabbed and flung at him. And then he was falling out the window, trying to protect Rena's head, unceremoniously shoved through the broken glass by his supposed best friend.

Within seconds, Ginji had launched himself and Natsumi out the window after the safe and his partner.

"What the – " Ban sputtered, but stopped when his mouth filled with dirt as Ginji pressed his face into the ground. He didn't get a chance to ask more, because at that moment everything became clear, and his words wouldn't have been heard over the explosion anyway.

"Fuck!" After several moments of deafening silence, Ban sat up, surrounded by debris. After a quick look about him to make sure everyone else was alright, he cursed again. "Fuck!"

"Sorry, Ban-chan," Ginji said sheepishly. "It took me awhile to figure out what was so weird about that apartment. I knew there was an off current somewhere, but I didn't realize what it was until you triggered it in the closet.

"A bomb," Rena wondered. "Did Paul-san install that? Why?" She brushed bits of broken glass from her shoulder, and then she turned to do the same for a terrified Natsumi.

"Probably to make sure no one got into this." Ban hauled the heavy safe upright.

"Is everyone okay?" Ginji was up on his feet, fussing worriedly over everyone. Ban waved him off, careful to avoid showing him the nasty cut along his side that he'd gotten when Ginji had thrown him into the jagged glass of the window.

"I have a key to the Honky Tonk. Let's go there and see what Paul-san's gotten himself into. At least it would be more private than this front lawn." Rena got to her feet, looking about her anxiously.

"The police will be here any minute," Natsumi agreed, her voice shaking a little. A bit of color returned to her face as Ginji took her small hand in his to help her to her feet. "We should get out of here."

Taking the girls' advice, Ban and Ginji carried the safe to the 360, under the cover of Natsumi's sweater. The explosion naturally drew a crowd, but they'd managed to get far enough away before anyone showed up that no one connected them to it, dirty and battered though they must have appeared. They got to the Ladybug without incident, and drove back to the Honky Tonk in silence.

"You two should go home." As he pulled up by the café, Ban tried to keep his voice stern without sounding bossy. The situation was becoming far too hot for the café waitresses, and if he came off autocratic or domineering, or too cavalier, they wouldn't take him seriously.

Rena gave him a dirty look, but the explosion had rattled Natsumi, and she didn't argue when Ginji offered to walk her home.

"Please just let me know when you find Master," she asked quietly, before stepping out of the 360. Ban watched, a small smile at the corner of his mouth as Natsumi's small form pressed closely against Ginji's larger one as they walked away. It widened when her hand reached hesitantly for Ginji's, and his partner took it.

Ban looked away. He didn't have to see them to know they were both blushing.

Rena unlocked the door, and he carried the safe in, trying not to wince at the strain that pulled at the slashed flesh on his right side.

"Take your shirt off," she said, when he had put the safe down. She pursed her lips and raised a brow at him, daring him to disobey.

"You wish, sweetheart," he retorted. She shrugged, flipping hair over her shoulder.

"You can let me deal with those cuts now, or I'll tell Ginji about it when he gets back, and you can answer to him for it. I know he'll be just thrilled to know that he managed to get you all cut to pieces saving your life." Crossing her arms and leaning against the bar, she tapped her fingers thoughtfully against her forearms. "He might even cry," she mused heartlessly.

"You little bitch." Ban swore. "You wouldn't do that to him."

She tossed her head defiantly. "He would rather know than not – I'm not being very kind to keep him in the dark as it is. But since you won't argue if he's the one trying to fix you up, you're not leaving me much of a choice. Even you can't turn him down when he gets to feeling guilty. Why put him through that? He's your friend, after all, isn't he, Ban-san?" She leaned back against the wall, eyes hard.

Damn her. He glared at her, knowing he was beaten. "Try me, Ban-san. Just you try me," she taunted. And she smiled in triumph and Ban peeled off his shirt and tank with gritted teeth and a string of very nasty words.