Chapter 1: Entre Nous


Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha.
Sooo…Back again…with a sequel. Mm…yeah.

And guys? Thanks so much for all the love you showed my last story, and I'm so glad you enjoyed the Epilogue as much as I enjoyed writing it. Maybe this story won't be so bad, either, but we'll see. ; )


This chapter is dedicated to Nekoreibaka, who helped me develop my characters, and offered invaluable advice. She was also brave enough to deal with hours of my ramblings about this story and where the plot should go. I really appreciate it, Stephanie!


I keep on playin' my favorite song,
Turn it up, while you're gone.
It's all I've got when you're in my head,
And you're in my head, so I need it.

--"In My Head" by Queens of Stone Age


'He's late.'

He nearly smiled at the irritation in the tone of his 'voice of reason'. 'Well…there's a first time for everything, I guess,' was his reply. It wasn't long before music began to fill his head, blocking out the luxurious waiting area he was seated in and the coy glances of his uncle's new secretary.

It was a warm day outside—he could feel it even now inside this tower of black glass with its lush carpet. Eyes the same shocking shade as Topaz drifted close as he relaxed in the moderately comfortable chair with Beethoven's Fur Elise running softly through his mind, which was somewhere else at the moment. He'd always loved the outdoors—his parents had made sure of that, what with hunting trips, star gazing, swims in the closest rivers, and tree climbing. Not to say that he was completely out of his element when indoors or that he was even uncomfortable right now in his suit and tie, but it wasn't him. He tried to imagine the sun on his face, the wind brushing against his arms, the feel of the thick grass between his toes, all the while that haunting music played—

"I'm sure he'll be here shortly," a timid voice interrupted, shattering the peace he'd just found.

Hiroshi offered her a quick smile and sat a bit straighter to clear his head. He must have been humming along…

'Business now, daydream later,' he told himself firmly.

Tapping the large, manila envelope against metal arm of his chair, he tried to ignore the persistent peeks of the secretary as he waited for his uncle. It wasn't like the great Sesshoumaru to be late for anything, and he was on a tight schedule as it was. He had two more files to look into before he could even think about taking a late lunch—dinner, actually, and he had a test to cram for all night.

He felt a pair of eyes on him and turned to meet the young woman's brown-eyed gaze. She flushed and looked away, and he went back to tapping the envelope in his clawed hand.

"I really am very sorry about this," she said suddenly, chewing nervously on her bottom lip. "He said he had to step out for just a minute, but…"

"It's fine," he told her. "I understand."

She smiled bashfully at him, and he heard that damned voice that often broke into his thoughts scoff.

'Look at her—' it went on, 'no backbone at all. How long do you think she'll last before she cracks from the pressure?'

His amber eyes flicked thoughtfully to her for a brief moment. She was still blushing uncomfortably while she typed away. He didn't fail to notice how often she was hitting the 'backspace' tab. 'You are so very negative.'

'I'm a realist. She can't even fucking look at us without melting into a simpering heap of goo—'

'Arrogant, too,' Hiro added silently, eyes falling back to the file in his hands.

'—do you really think she's really ready to handle Sesshoumaru Sesshoumaru—the ice king—of all people?'

'Why does it even matter?'

'…It doesn't, I guess. But it's still sad. Look at her—she's still blushing!'

'She's probably worried that the nephew of her new, intimidating boss is finding her incompetent,' he thought back with a hint of dryness.

'...Oh. You're making a funny. That's cute.'

He suppressed a sharp sigh, glancing at his wristwatch. Five more minutes. He'd give his uncle five more minutes to show, and then he was leaving this for another time. 'Then stop judging people you don't know.'

'You are absolutely no fun. You know that? What a prude,' it scoffed, and he scowled.

'I am not a prude.'

Laughter. 'Oh yeah? When was the last time you even thought about kissing a girl? You, Hiroshi Takenawa, are a prude'

With a sigh, he blanked his face and closed his eyes again, melting back in his chair as he let the music take him again. 'Mk, whatever you say.'

'See? You're really goddamn irritating sometimes. For fuck's sake—I tell you you're a prude, and you say 'whatever'! Life would be a lot more interesting for both of us if you'd ever argue!'

Hiroshi bit back an irritated sigh as his eyes cracked open again—the secretary quickly looked away. Now that he thought about it, he always had been more reasonable than the voice that was supposed to speak reason to him—at least, that's what his father had told him its purpose was. Honestly, he believed it was an opposite meant to 'complete' him because it had yet to suggest anything short of irrational to him. Many times it bordered on violent and cruel…

And it had called him prude

Suddenly, he leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his thighs as he flashed a knowing grin at the now flustered brunette. "So how are things going for you here? You're new, right?"

She picked up a pen to give her hands something to do and promptly dropped it. "Oh," she murmured, startled still, "Y-yes, sir—"

"—You don't have to call me 'sir'. Hiroshi Takenawa."

"A-alright… I know who you are, sir—I mean…" Her blush deepened as she trailed off, and his grin widened. Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again, she looked much more together--collected. "I'm Saeko Nakai. And I like it here, I suppose. It's…different."

'Stop talking to her. She's getting on my last damn nerve.'

"Different doesn't always mean better," he pointed out, and she smiled at him, leaning forward to rest an elbow on her oak desk, cupping her chin in her palm.

"No," she agreed quietly. "But I really am enjoying working here. I just feel like it's taking me too long to get the hang of it."

'…I see what's going on. This is my punishment for calling you prude, is it?'

'No, you need to learn some goddamn manners. You're being ridiculous—she's not that bad.'

'Her voice…my ears' it begged dramatically, and Hiroshi refrained from rolling his eyes at himself.

'You don't even have ears,' he reminded it. "What about Sesshoumaru? Are you getting on with him?"

"Yeah, he, ah…he's…" she blushed again, and Hiroshi wondered if he should introduce her to Miroku—they'd get along great, more than likely. He wondered who would talk first, if that should happen. "He's kind of scary," she finally managed to squeak, embarrassedly.

Chuckling, he shook his head lazily. "He's not that bad, but I suppose he can be a bit daunting, huh?"

It was then that the door burst open, scaring the poor girl half to death, and the great youkai strolled in as coolly as ever.

"Speak of the devil," Hiroshi muttered with a small smile.

'And he will come,' the voice agreed.

Sesshoumaru lifted a single elegant brow as he approached his secretary's desk, grabbing a post-it note she held out for him. "Am I to assume you are speaking of me?"

"It's a possibility."

A ghost of a smirk flickered across his lips as he stared at the names and numbers of the calls he'd missed. "I am flattered. I was compared to God, once, but I must admit—the Devil was a much more interesting character."

"Then that's not the right comparison for you—you're boring as shit."

Sesshoumaru rolled his eyes toward the ceiling when his brother stalked through the opened door. Inuyasha tweaked Hiroshi's ear as he passed. "'Sup, pup? What are you still doing here? Thought you had some big test you needed to study for."

Ear still flicking, he stood to smirk at his father. "Waiting on Uncle, which is a first for me," he mused, staring at the said youkai.

Gold and silver gleamed all around the room, and the brown-eyed secretary, forgotten, could only watch in awe as they argued and teased. "Oi—you keep my pup from acing his test, I'll have your ass, you bastard."

"Mm," Sesshoumaru hummed, nodding to the speechless woman, before leading the way to his office. "It is most inconvenient, his education. Yet he insists on finishing college when he has a perfectly decent job waiting for him here."

"I've only got one more year," he defended with a raised brow. "I'm not so sure I understand why you're pushing me on this."

Seating himself silently, the Inu no Taisho leaned back into his seat and steepled his fingers, gold clashing against gold as they studied each other.

Inuyasha settle against a wall with a "keh!".

"I am 'pushing' you on this because it is serious. I am holding this position open for you, you realize, and as a result, I am short-handed at the moment. Yes, you come to work, but it is only part-time. And that's not quite good enough, Hiroshi."

His eyes hardened as he stood facing his uncle, and a streak of his father's pride shot through him. "I don't remember asking you to hold this job for me. Just because we're blood—"

"Do not be foolish, pup," Sesshoumaru warned, hands falling to fold on the desk before him. "This has nothing to do with our being related. You, of all people, should know that. Your talents are telling enough of why the position remains unfilled."

With a sigh, Hiroshi closed his eyes and took a deep breath, instantly feeling a calm rush over him. "All right. But I want to finish school. I'm so close, already—just wait a little bit longer. I'll put in more hours, but I'm not—"

"Damn right, you're not."

"Father, let me handle—"

"Hiroshi," Inuyasha warned. "You're not taking his shit."

"Fine," Sesshoumaru interrupted with a sigh. "I've grown tired of this conversation. What do you have to show me, Hiroshi?"

All arguing and teasing aside, the father and son were nothing if not grave now, and Hiroshi stepped forward pulling out the manila envelope he'd tucked under his arm earlier and handing it to his boss. Sesshoumaru opened it quickly, silently, and pulled out the papers, dropping four photos of a butchered woman onto his desk. His face never changed, and Hiroshi continued. "4:20 a.m.—a Miss Hisae Orikasa, age 19, was discovered in the alley between Paddy's Irish Pub and Hataka's Tattoo Parlor 6.3 miles east of here. According to the human authorities, she had multiple knife wounds, up to and including near-decapitation. Upon further inspection, I discovered that they are not knife wounds, but rather injuries sustained from a youkai with claws. Possibly a badger or a raccoon. While visiting the scene of death, I determined that there were two youkai involved; however, only one participated in actually committing the murder of the human. The other—assuredly some type of fire youkai—remained a spectator, and the smell in the alley suggests that he pleasured himself while the girl was tortured," he stated without missing a beat, ignoring the vicious growls of his father. "I have found no evidence implying remorse and suggest the immediate pursuit and eradication of both youkai."

Sesshoumaru's unreadable gaze of ice flicked from his nephew to his brother. Otherwise he remained a motionless statue, seated ramrod straight in his plush leather chair, hands folded on the desk as he lifted his chin proudly. "Understood. Inuyasha?"

The hanyou—still looking every bit as furious as he ever had when some young girl was killed so brutally—bristled before leering sadistically at the Taisho. "I'm fucking all over it," he growled, cracking his knuckles with obscene confidence. "I'll even find these bastards myself."

"That is fine. Is that all?"

"I am still unsure as to whether or not this is connected, but Miss Orikasa is the daughter of Masato Orikasa—founder of—"

"Orikasa Finances, I am well aware…"

"I have already followed their scents. It cuts off in the subway station downtown once they boarded."

His brows furrowed for a brief moment before he schooled his features once more. "I see. Inuyasha, visit the alley and get their scent. Remember it well. This must be taken care of quickly—the human police will not allow the girl's death to go unpunished. Her father stands too high in their society, so this must be handled delicately. Take two of your men with you."

The hanyou grunted.

He sighed, and his eyes slipped close. "That will do for now, Hiroshi. Find out what you can about the two youkai, and let me know."

"Right. I'm out, then." He nodded goodbye to his father as he started for the door. "Keep me posted. I'll be in tomorrow at noon."

Inuyasha watched him go before his hard gaze fell on his brother, a fire smoldering somewhere in the distance of his amber eyes. And when he spoke, his voice was quiet and firm, an unexpected change that left the inu youkai hanging on each word that slipped from his mouth. "He's not going to willingly change his mind, Sesshoumaru. And he wants this—you heard him. So if I find out that he's dropped out of that damned school, I'm coming for your ass. Leave him alone."

"As long as you realize furthering the pursuit of his education is meaningless at this point."

Turning on his heel, he made to follow his boy out the door, calling over his shoulder, "I really couldn't care less, Sesshoumaru. But he's never asked for much, and even if I can't understand why he cares so much about that stupid school, it still stands that he does. So I'll say it again: Leave him the fuck alone." He closed the door behind him, leaving that bastard alone to contemplate a potential beat-down he might be receiving in the near future.

Kagome had always been excited about that damned school, too, back when she went. He couldn't figure out why, though—maybe it was some big joke he missed out on because he never went, but it was enough that it was something she had enjoyed. It seemed Hiro got his eagerness to learn from his mother.

But in all reality—he was nothing like her. Or him, for that matter, and he still, for the life of him, couldn't figure out how Hiroshi was so…good. That was definitely Kagome's influence, he knew, but…still. He was polite to everyone, friendly to everyone, and it seemed that the older he got, the less he swore. And for the last year, he hadn't heard him utter a single bad word in front of his mother or younger sister.

It was just weird.

Don't get me wrong, Hiroshi had the occasional, if not frequent, fights with his younger brother, but Inuyasha knew that it was all pretense. He had no doubt that the pup would lay his life down on the line for any one of them.

But he was still far from perfect, and Inuyasha knew he had to work to be as kind and patient as he was. He'd seen it in his eyes, hadn't he? Every day was a struggle, but the pup made the sacrifices necessary because he'd seen the alternative, and it had scared him.

Turns out that 'restraint' and 'Hiroshi' were pretty much synonymous.


Slinging his leather satchel into the back seat of his SUV with one hand, Hiroshi used his other to pull down the visor, snatching the falling keys out of the air before they could hit his lap. It was Friday—'and thank God for that,' he thought as he turned the ignition, backing out of his parking space before pulling out of the crowded University lot.

'So…violence in children, hn?'

He was thoughtfully silent as he drove out of habit, heading for his office while he carefully reviewed each question on his Criminology test. 'I did well on it,' he finally stated. His hand began to search the passenger's seat for a CD case he'd tossed there earlier. Pulling it into his lap, he unzipped it and grabbed the first disk he saw.

'I'll bet.'

He frowned, pushing a CD into the player and leaning back in his seat, barely registering the first fast-paced notes of 'Il Barbiere di Siviglia'. 'And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?'

'Mm,' it hummed smugly, but otherwise ignored him. 'I wonder if the old man's found anything else about those youkai bastards.'

His suppressed aggravation with his conscience vanished completely when the mangled body of that poor girl ran through his mind; his hands tightened on the steering wheel. That alley had reeked of blood and tears and death. And then there was the overwhelming stench of animalistic fear that left her nails torn as she'd scrambled at the pavement below her in a pathetic attempt to escape.

He had no doubt that they'd laughed at her while she cried and bled. Hell, one of them even got off—

'Well, look at you…' the voice praised mockingly, 'getting all angry and shit. Just when I was starting to think it impossible to ruffle your feathers. If I'd known all I had to do was talk about dead girls—'

Jaw setting at the callous words, Hiroshi glared at the road ahead of him, but it had always been this way. 'You really are a sadistic bastard, you know that?'

He could practically feel the grin, taste it, and bile rose in the back of his throat. 'I'm you, love.'

Stopping at a red light, the hanyou took the opportunity to roll down his window for some fresh air. Well—as fresh as the air in downtown Tokyo can get, anyway… The polluted air stung his nose, but the small discomfort was refreshing after the stifling prison his jeep had just become.

'Look,' it finally sighed, relenting grudgingly, 'That dead girl comment was a bit much—'

'A bit?'

'I'll behave.' It didn't say anything after that, and Hiro released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He could almost smell that same diluted scent—the fire youkai, his semen spilled in the streets while his partner tore into the girl again and again and—

'Hiro…let me handle those thoughts. You just…Oi! You smell that?' it barked, jarring him from the gruesome image.

He never would have noticed it if his nose hadn't been training for this type of occasion for years now. It was subtle, weak and mixed with the scents of thousands of others; it had even been tempered by last night's rainfall, the scent barely wafting before cutting off completely.

So it was coming from inside a store, hm?

'You gotta pay more attention than that, Hiro,' it growled. "If I hadn't noticed—'

'If you hadn't distracted me—' Hiro reminded as he quickly pulled his car to the side, veering into the closest available parking space.

It ignored him, suddenly vigilante as he slipped out of the black Jeep. 'Other side of the street.'

Locking the doors behind him, he shoved the keys in his pocket and jogged across the crosswalk. He stopped on the sidewalk, staring at all the stores before him. 'Which one?'

'Check the jewelry store first. Maybe he was pawning some of her—no…scent is too old for that.'

'This happened before the murder,' he agreed.

'…Maybe she wasn't the first. Oh, fuck it, just check!' it bit out.

Brows furrowing, he reached for the door handle, pushing it open. His ears twitched when the 'ding' of the bell sounded above him, but nothing else hit him. No fire youkai was here.

He checked the grocery store beside it, but once again, there was no lingering youkai scent. He got the same result from the barbershop next door, too. And this pattern continued for the other two stores on this particular sidewalk.

He frowned. 'I know I didn't imagine it.'

'Keep going North.'

Crossing another crosswalk, he started searching for that elusive scent again, freezing when he started to pass an American style diner, fairly uncommon in downtown Tokyo…

He'd only been to one once before when Miroku, Rei, and he spent two weeks in Big Timber, Montana the summer before—the first and only time he'd ever been to the United States. It was…kind of dull. But peaceful.

'Snap the fuck out of it,' the voice interrupted, shattering his memories of the mountains. 'The youkai was in there.'

Pushing his way through the door, he smiled wryly when the faint scent hit his nose. At least three days old, he realized, bowing his head apologetically when the old woman behind the bar raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"Go ahead and take a seat—anywhere you'd like," she told him, waving him away with a hand as she poured a cup of coffee with another and passed it to the man on the barstool.

He took another deep breath, taking in more of the faded youkai before he slipped into one of the questionably safe booths that lined the walls. Taking a quick glance around, he noticed that there were only five other customers besides himself in the old diner—all of which were men.

Rolling his eyes as one made a rude comment to the only waitress that appeared to be on the job, he pulled out his cell.

"Oi, pup—where are you?" his father asked in lieu of greeting.

"I'm at…"—he glanced at the menu for confirmation—"Anne's Diner"

"…I'm assuming there's a reason for that…"

"Well, yes. Were you able to catch the scent of those youkai?" he hissed into the phone, an ear trained on his surroundings at all times.

"Keh! Course I was."

"Just making sure. I made a pit stop today when I smelled one of them—"

"Which one?" he barked, and Hiroshi winced.

"Fire."

"Fuck. Anne's Diner was it?"

"He's obviously not here, Father. The scent is older than that of the—hold on a sec…" He laid the cell on the table to smile at the black-haired waitress that was stalking toward him with a frown, which disappeared once she could feel his eyes on her.

"What would you like, sir?" she asked with a smile, brushing a black curl behind her ear.

"I know what I'd like," a man called out loudly, crudely, before he and his friend burst into laughter. Her face flushed as she worked to ignore them. She'd slipped back into that irritated scowl for a brief moment.

"Are you alright?" Hiro asked, and she smiled at him.

"Nothing I can't handle," she told him. "Most customers aren't like this, but sometimes…" she sighed, pulling out her pen to write down his order.

"Just a coffee, please."

She looked surprised—probably by his manners. "Just coffee? You sure you wouldn't like something to eat? Our apple pie is fantastic."

He almost grinned. She was American—obviously. "No, thank you. Coffee's fine."

"Alright then."

He waited until she was near the bar before he picked his cell up again. "Still there?"

"Yes," the inu hanyou growled grumpily. "I took a fucking nap while you were away though."

"Sorry about that," he murmured, glancing over his shoulder at the waitress. She was still behind that horribly turquoise bar. "Just wanted to let you know I smelled him. His scent is old—three days, I think, so you're better off following him from the alley—which is futile, I know."

There was a sigh. "So the point of all this…?"

"Well," he began, picking at a tear in the seat cushion, "the diner I'm in… Looks like it doesn't get many customers. Maybe I can get an identification or a receipt even, if he used a credit card."

"Mm. We're not that lucky."

"Right. Well, I'll be there in about an hour, I suppose."

"Fine. Sesshoumaru's shitting a brick over here, just so you know. Be prepared for another go at the old education-is-useless routine. See you around."

"Later," he agreed, flipping his cell shut with a frown and stuffing it into his pocket just as the waitress came back from behind the bar with two plates full of "afternoon delight" as the menu called it.

He grimaced, listening to the two men chuckling as she neared, and looked over his shoulder in time to see the bolder man's hand brush over the waitress's backside. She froze before snapping her head down to glare at the two grinning men.

The ire that darkened her face was so great, that Hiroshi was amazed when she forced out an unconvincing smile, throwing down the two plates with a little more force than necessary.

A sausage rolled onto the floor.

"Hey!" the man started to complain before grinning up at her again. "You gonna replace that, sunshine?"

"Let me get right on that, sir," she muttered stiffly, leaving them to their comments of other things she could 'get right on'.

'Oh, hell,' Hiro sighed, scooting out of the booth. Taking a moment to make sure she had gone into the back kitchen, he walked up to the two men, now eating their food as they told jokes amongst themselves.

"Excuse me."

They looked up at him, gave him a once over before they started snickering again. "Yeah?"

"I was hoping to discuss that waitress with you."

He didn't miss the look they shot at each other. "Oh you were, were you?"

"Yes. I was wondering if you treated all women that way. It's pretty chauvinistic, actually."

The one that had grabbed her ass barked out a loud jarring laugh. "Is that so? And who the hell are you to say this to me? You come over here in your vintage jeans and brown leather jacket—hair dyed silver—you must really think you something big, don't you?"

Hiro raised his eyebrows and smiled pleasantly. "I don't think that at all. I'm just saying…this is the twenty-first century; we aren't Neanderthals anymore. Women are to be treated with respect—especially women you don't know."

He could practically hear the voice in the back of his mind gagging.

"Look, Pretty Boy," the bolder one began, running a hand over his thick jaw. "Why don't you just mind your own business, and walk your narrow ass back over to your table. You can have the waitress once we're done with her."

His countenance grew cold, and he leaned down, placing a hand on both men's shoulders. "We are all grown men. I'm sure we can reach some sort of understanding…"

The man stared in horror at the hand when Hiroshi flexed it, tightening his grip. "Ow,ow! Holy hell, that hurts!"

"Let go!"

His hands bit down more fiercely, and he could feel his thumb dig under the clavicle, prying it up. But he minded his claws. Last thing he wanted was their reeking blood on his claws. "So we have an understanding then?"

"Fucking yes! Just let go!"

He pulled his hands away and smiled at them. "Okay, so you're both going to be polite and respectful when she comes out of that kitchen to bring you your sausage. You're going to say thank you, and you're going to eat it—I don't care if she spit on it, or dropped on the floor or in the toilet. You're also going to like it. And after you finish your meal, you'll tell her it was delicious, thank her again, and walk out of this diner after leaving her a big tip. …Right?"

The man glared at him, but flinched away when Hiroshi reached for his shoulder again. "Fine," he snapped, holding his arm gingerly.

"Good. Well, have a good day then, and enjoy your meal. I'll be back over if I think there's trouble." He nodded to his own booth before nodding to both of them and walking away.

He had just settled back into his seat when the door to the kitchen opened, and that waitress came out with a small plate—a single sausage resting on it, and—

'Hm. She didn't do anything to it.'

Hiroshi shrugged, staring at his hands against the white of the table, an ear trained on the two men at all times. He smiled when they stammered out a 'thank you', which earned a shocked 'you're welcome?'

'You're unbelievable, you know?' the voice began tiredly. 'You go out of your way to appear more diplomatic and noble—a fucking tree-hugger, you are. I know you wanted to rip their throats out.'

'Because that's an option,' he snapped back sarcastically. 'Let's murder two fairly innocent men in the middle of a goddamn diner!'

'…Why don't you get angry more often? You're so much more fun this way.'

'Fuck you.'

'If you don't take a mate soon, I may take you up on that offer.'

He had just made the decision to ignore it and let his blood cool, Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata' drifting and weaving through his mind, when the young waitress set his coffee in front of him.

"There you go."

He smiled up at her. "Thank you."

"Are you sure you don't want anything else?"

He grabbed a few packets of sugar, and began to stir them into his coffee. "Actually, I'm looking for someone and wanted to ask a few questions—do you have time?"

"I don't—" She paused and glanced around the small diner. Other than the old woman behind the bar—probably 'Anne', he noted—only those two men remained, and they were pulling away from their plates now. She stared at them a few moments before biting her lip and nodding. "Sure. Let me just take care of these two really quick, and then I can answer your questions."

"That would be great. Oh, and you said the apple pie is good, right?"

She nodded, and he smiled again. "Then I'll have two slices, please."

She'd just left when his phone rang. He glanced briefly at the name that flashed across the screen before flipping it open.

"Aren't you supposed to be in class right now?"

"So fucking nice to talk to you, too," Kannon muttered dryly.

"What do you want?"

There was a pause on the other end, and Hiroshi knew his brother was thinking over the question. "Well…a chick would be nice, and so would some concert tickets, but…just letting you know, I'm coming over later."

Hiro pulled the phone away from his twitching ear to frown at it. "You never call before coming over," he drawled suspiciously. "You just show up and eat all of my food."

"And you love me for it."

"That's debatable."

"Anyway…thanks for getting me out of class, Old Man," Kannon said a louder, more dramatically, and he winced away from the receiver when his brother broke into a fit of coughs. "I just don't want to make anyone else sick, you know? It might be contagious. Hold on while I check and see if you have to okay it with the Assistant Principal."

His brows furrowed as he realized what his younger brother was doing. "Oh, there is absolutely no way in hell I'm helping you cut cl—"

"Hello? Is this Mr. Takenawa?"

Rolling his eyes, he slumped further into the booth. "Yes?" It wasn't an outright lie…

"Kannon has been telling me that he's sick again, but I must say, his school record shows that he's out of class more than he's in it."

"He's a…" Hiro closed his eyes and sighed, trying to ward off a developing headache. "a sick boy," he bit out irritably. "Just send him on home. His mother's already setting up a doctor's appointment, but I'm sure he'll be fine by tomorrow. He can make up for the classes he's missed this week over the weekend."

"That sounds like a great idea. I'll expect him tomorrow then. Here, Kannon would like to speak with you again."

He knew the exact moment his brother had possession of the phone, he could hear it groaning under his tight grip as he crossed the room for a bit of privacy. "What did you do?" he hissed sharply. "Why is she expecting me tomorrow?"

"To make up for the classes you're going to miss today, of course."

"…You are such an ass, Hiro!" he whispered, his tone promising violence later."Tomorrow is Saturday!"

"Yes…I'm aware of that." He smiled a thanks at the waitress when she put the two small plates in front of her, pushing one plate across the table and motioning for her to sit.

He sighed when she slid into the seat—Kannon was being a dipshit again.

"I'm sure you are—"

"You should be grateful I helped you at all, dragging me into—"

"—A Saturday, Hiro!" he whined. "I'm going to have to go to school on a fucking Saturday!"

"You shouldn't be cutting class anyway—not as often as you do, at least. But look, the best thing you can do is just suck it up, and get over it. You asked me to get you out of class, and I did. For today. I've got to go now."

"Don't hang up on me, you dou—" His profanity was cut short when Hiro snapped his phone shut, setting it on the table before pulling his plate closer.

"Sorry about that."

"Don't be," she told him, picking up her fork thoughtfully before finally taking a bite of the dessert. "Brother?"

Hiro sighed, grabbing his own fork. "How'd you know?" he muttered.

She laughed. "I have one, too."

"They can't all be as bad as mine."

She hummed a 'Not-so-sure-about-that' before turning back to the food before her. "Thanks for the pie, by the way. I've had a bad day."

He took a bite, and nodded. "Hey, no problem. Thanks for using your break to answer my questions. And this is very good pie…"

She pushed another lock of curls behind her ear. "You sound surprised. I told you it was good."

Hiro glanced at his watch; he had a minute for small talk he supposed. Make the 'witness' less nervous, though it'd probably help if he could just remember to ask questions rather than interrogate her, as he was apt to do. "Did you make it?"

She laughed again, and he smiled, taking another bite. "I'll take that as a 'no'."

"A big one," she agreed. "I'm a terrible cook. My specialty lies in cold sandwiches—Grilled Cheese on a good day."

"…Grilled Cheese isn't bad," he allowed slowly, and she gave him a look that nearly had him grinning.

"You've clearly never had my grilled cheese," she muttered under her breath before dropping an elbow on the table, her other still busy with squishing her pie to mush with her fork before she'd eat some more. "So…what did you want to ask me?"

He sighed and pushed his plate away before staring at her in a blunt, piercing way that he was sure made her feel awkward, so he tried to soften his expression. It must have worked because she went back to mushing her pie. "Well, like I said, I'm looking for someone."

She frowned, carefully putting her fork down on her plate before pushing her plate aside as well to fold her hands on the table top. "I don't know many names. We only have a handful of regulars," she told him quietly. "So I don't know if I'll be able to help you…"

'This is fucking useless, isn't it?' the voice asked, bitter disappointment laced in the angry words.

"I was wondering if you remembered anyone strange coming into the diner on Tuesday?"

Her frown deepened, and she stared thoughtfully out the window. "Tuesday…" she repeated absently. "I don't think—"

"A man. Probably red hair. …He may have died it, but it should be red."

"There was a red-haired man, yes," she finally told him after a moment. "But he's been here a couple of times before."

"Yes—that's great, perfect," he told her, beaming, and she forced a smile in return, grabbing her fork to play with the remainder of her pie.

"And then there's my brother," she told him quietly. "He has red hair."

"I'm not looking for your brother," he assured her, and she let out a deep breath of air.

"Good," she sighed, before studying him thoughtfully. "You're probably with the police, aren't you? The police or the mafia, one. And neither is good when Jackson's concerned…"

He laughed at her light tone. "I'm neither."

"But then again, if you were, you might not tell me."

"But then again, I might not," he agreed nonchalantly. "I suppose you could call me a reconnaissance man."

Her lips tilted into another lopsided smile. "A spy? Like James Bond?"

He chuckled again, and peered at her over the rim of his coffee mug. "No. But tell me about this red-haired man."

"Well…he had red hair, like I said. But not that normal brownish-orange, like Jackson's…his was like…" She looked around the room, searching his body, the wall, for any way to describe it. She ended up grabbing the ketchup bottle. "Like ketchup."

His smile was indulgent. "I see…"

"It was," she protested, brows furrowed. "He must have dyed it or someth—"

"Oh, I believe you," he quickly assured her. "I was amused by your analogy, though. Is there anything else you remember? How he dressed, what direction he came from? Was he with anyone? Did he say anything?"

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. "His clothes were…nice, I suppose. A real leather jacket, like yours, but his was black. And he seemed greasy," she told him as she tried to work out how best to describe him. "Like…you'd expect auto-mechanics from the past to look. But I don't think he was a mechanic."

"But he looked like one," Hiroshi repeated to clarify.

Her frown deepened, and he could smell her frustration. "No, not exactly. He reminded me a bit of the Greasers from The Outsiders—a book I read when I was a kid."

"So he was…a Greaser?"

"No."

Hiro sighed, feeling his patience coming undone, and the voice in the back of his head started snickering. "Okay then, just…just tell me everything you remember."

"He had some tattoos—" that got his attention— "I couldn't really see it, but it must have been big, maybe covering his chest, but I couldn't tell. It peeked through the collar of his shirt—just at the base of his neck. It was black. Maybe tribal marks…or something…?"

"What about the length of his hair?"

"Pretty short. Not really shaggy, but not shaved either. And he was alone. He did answer his cell when it rang once, though—no defining tune, really. Just ringing. And I didn't hear what he said. Sorry."

"No, you've been a great help," he assured her. "You didn't see which direction he went in, did you? A car he might have gotten into?"

"No, I didn't."

He hummed in the back of his throat. "How old did he look?"

"Around…twenty five, maybe?"

"Did he pay with cash or credit?"

She smiled wryly. "Cash."

Hiroshi sighed again. "And you said he's been here before?

Her shorter hair fell over her shoulders when she nodded. "That was his third time in…about three months, I suppose. But don't quote me on that."

He reached into his pockets, pulling out a small wad of money and a piece of paper. "May I see your pen, please?"

Quickly grabbing the pen from her apron pocket, she handed it to him, watching as he scrawled a number across the back of some business card. "Alright… These are my cell and office numbers. The moment he comes back, I want you to call me—this is really important. Even more importantly, leave the diner when you make the call. Pretend you're going outside to smoke or—"

"—I don't smoke—"

"—something. I'm being serious about this, alright?" he asked, meeting her eyes with a sudden gravity that belied his sweet smile from earlier. "Do not call me if you're in the same building as he is. If he hears you, well…" He winced, and she paled. "I suppose I don't have to tell you he's dangerous?"

"I suppose you already have," she managed with a tepid smile.

"I'm sorry to drag you into this, but you've been a tremendous help."

She took the paper and pen he offered, but refused the money. "It's on the house. You were polite, and, well…thanks." She read the card, and he slid the money under the plate. "Kenta Asano, hm?"

He smiled and shook his head, sliding out of the booth. "Not my card," he clarified before offering his hand. "Hiroshi Takenawa. Nice to meet you…" he glanced at her white, plastic name tag "Julia."

"We'll have to do this again sometime," she teased weakly, following him out of the booth and taking his hand for a quick shake. She turned to collect the dirty dishes. "I've never been interrogated by a spy from the mafia before. It made me appreciate my pie—knowing that I could be 'whacked' at any moment." She shot him a dry glance. "I'm not going to get 'whacked', am I? I'm blaming you if I do."

Grinning, he shoved his hands into his pocket, as he turned and headed for the door. "We'll see."

"That's a joke, right?"

With a lazy wave, he left the building.

"Oh, no—You left your money—" she called after him, but he'd already faded into the crowd outside. With a sigh, she picked up the notes and counted them, eyes widening as she did so. "…Oh great…I really am going to get 'whacked'" she muttered, shoving the money into the pocket of her generic blue waitress dress. "Happy Birthday to me."

She smiled.


Guess who's in the next chapter! Kannon! Woot! And that cutie, Miroku. I still don't have this story 100 percent planned out, so bear with me while I try to get a feel of it. I have a destination, but still working on the best way to get there. Hope you enjoyed it!

Entre Nous - (Fr.) Between us


Quotes of Randomness:

"'Tis an old saying, the Devil lurks behind the cross. All is not gold that glitters. From the tail of the plough, Bamba was made King of Spain; and from his silks and riches was Rodrigo cast to be devoured by the snakes." --Don Quixote by Miguel Cervantes

What's with this sudden choice of disorders we get right now? When I was a kid, we just had crazy people. That's it, just crazy people. -- Ellen DeGeneres