I. Boy Meets Girl
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There was a knife being held against her neck- right at her jugular. If it presses any harder against her, she was sure that it would break skin. She would bleed out in a matter of minutes.
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Where am I?
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Her head throbbed. She could smell something salty and strong in the air. They are out by the Docks. The sound of ocean waves crashing against the shore became louder as she tried to focus on her surroundings.
"Let her go, Tousen! We've already got this place surrounded. You won't get away this time! So how about you let the poor girl go and we'll even play nice – toss in a few good words for you with the judge and have you serve a shorter time, sounds good?"
She vaguely heard the voice of someone talking- a police officer, someone with an air of authority and she tried to calm herself with the knowledge that she wasn't alone.
Yes, Tousen.
The name rang a bell. The Suzumushi Bay Killer, her sluggish mind helpfully supplied; a serial killer that had the entire Seireitei City in grips of terror. The police have been conducting a massive manhunt for him. She read about it in the news.
She scanned the newspaper with a distinct sense of dread in the morning; afraid that she was going to read reports of his most recent victim in the headlines; absolutely terrified that the victim was going to be someone she knew.
His killing spree started off in late September when a very human finger was wrapped in an unassuming brown-paper envelope and sent to the police headquarters by mail. Cruelly sawn off the first victim while she had been alive, he had the authorities' full attention the minute they laid eyes on its content. However, it would take more crudely hacked off gruesome body parts and a major stroke of luck with the surveillance camera of a secluded parking lot before the authorities managed to catch up with him.
By then, it had already been late November and in these two month-long unchecked rampages, Tousen had claimed six kills. His victims- all six of them had been raven-haired woman who have at some point of their ruthlessly cut-short lives, been alive and well, living and working in the Suzumushi Bay area of Seireitei City.
Now, they were very much dead. Their bodies savagely hacked and maimed into so many tiny parts, that there wasn't even much left to identify them by, save the maimed parts that Tousen has mailed to taunt the police.
She followed the news, much like everyone in the City did. Raven-haired, in her late twenties, and living alone in the Suzumushi Bay area; she matched the description of his victims to a tee. She wanted to move but her lease was not up till next year. Still, she did all that she could- changed her commuting routines and even her work shifts at the office.
So how did this happen?
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Why is this happening to her?
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She tilted her face upwards, realizing with a start that she is looking into the eyes of the same killer that has terrorized the residents of the Suzumushi Bay area for months now. He had her in a choke hold at knife point. She kept herself as still as she possibly could, afraid that any struggling on her part would make him snap. The presence of the officer did nothing to deter him. The grip he kept on her has not lessened by the least.
She licked her very dry lips and watched as he furrowed his eyebrows, as though he was mulling over his options, deep in thought.
The monster in human skin regarded her in contemplative silence, his empty soulless gaze meeting hers as she fought down a shiver. For a while, she dared herself to hope, to hope that there was still a chance that she could make it out alive from this traumatizing episode and live to see another day.
She did not bother disguising the fear in her eyes; her whole body was at this point, shaking with fright. She was not sure she was even breathing at this point.
A slow, maniacal grin surfaced on Tousen's lips and she felt her heart sinking.
"No."
The smell of metal invaded her nostrils. Was it her blood?
Someone opened fire and her world went black.
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Business that morning was slow.
She owned a small café at the corner of the street where she lived. It was comfortably tucked away in anonymity and surprisingly easy to overlook. After quitting her demanding job, she had thrown herself wholeheartedly into managing the quaint little café and integrated herself rather seamlessly into the community.
She was happy. Her past held no weight here and she was glad to be rid of those ties. Most of her customers were from the neighbourhood and knew her personally.
Old lady Unohana frequently dropped by with her poodle for morning tea. The florist opposite her coffeehouse would come for a chat around noon time when there wasn't much work to be done. Then, there were the Urahara kids who would visit usually sometime after school from their father's shop just two blocks away, but occasionally there would be a few new faces, visitors new to the area, stopping by to ask for directions or for a break.
These new faces irritated her, made her palms clammy with sweat and her heart racing.
It made her paranoid, feeling a constant need to look over her shoulder, as if there was a cop always lurking right behind. Of course, no law-enforcer of any kind had ever set foot into these parts of Karakura, let alone her café. It was funny; her behaving like a criminal, when she was in the past anything but.
If she were any wiser, she would have known this would never last and that sooner or later, her past was bound to come back and haunt her.
This semblance of calm in her life shattered that very afternoon.
At precisely 12, a blast from her past waltzed into her quaint little establishment and she almost had an apoplectic fit. Her favourite mug shattered into a thousand porcelain pieces the moment she saw his face.
Everything from his loud red hair, inky black tribal tattoos and the rugged-looking leather jacket he had on, clashed with the interiors of the homely coffeehouse, where the walls were painted cream, most of the furniture were sturdy pieces of woodwork and the floor tiles were cheerfully pink.
Her café was quaint and muted with the simple aesthetic tones, but he represented everything she knew a lifetime ago- loud as a police siren and twice as attention-grabbing as a 'stop' sign.
His presence brought her reality crashing down.
She scowled. This café, this neighbourhood, heck this entire new life she had was built on the belief that she no longer had anything to do with her past.
She was Rukia Kuchiki the civilian now and she had wanted to put everything behind her, where it rightfully belonged.
Yet, all it took was Renji's arrival to change everything and drag her back into the hole that she had so valiantly dug herself out from four years ago.
It wasn't fair.
He cleared his throat awkwardly and Rukia pointedly ignored it, opting instead to retreat back into the kitchen, but he was faster.
"Rukia, could we at least talk?"
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Talk?
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She scoffed. No, she didn't want to talk, she wanted him to leave and to pretend this meeting never took place at all. She wanted him to leave her alone and she never wanted to hear from him again; not when she had finally managed to put everything behind her and moved on.
"Get out of here, Renji," she hissed coldly as she turned to face him.
He narrowed his eyes. "I thought we were partners," he snipped.
Partners?
Right, where was her goddamned partner when she needed support to fall back on? Where was her partner when Tou-
Well, two can play at that game, she thought grimly.
"That's right. We were partners. Now we're not, so—" she pointed to the door— "There's your exit, please for my sake, don't trip on your way out, partner!"
Her voice was as cold as ice and if looks could kill, the way she was looking at him right in that instance, would have him buried six feet under without so much as a tombstone to mark his grave.
He sighed. "The offer still stands, you know?"
She raised her eyebrow at that before snapping, "And what makes you think that I would change my mind if I hadn't accepted the offer the first time round?"
Renji shook his head and said, "I know you, Rukia. You may think you like this—" he gestured at all the wooden pieces, the antique grandfather clock sitting innocuously by the corner and the cakes on display, his lips pulled into a disapproving sneer— "quiet way of life, but I know that the old Rukia is still in there. She misses her old life."
Rukia snorted at her ex-partner's statement. "And pray tell, what exactly do I miss, Renji? The shiny badge? The god-awful piss they insist on calling coffee? The big guns?"
"Knowing you," he smirked, "I'd say the guns, definitely the guns."
At this point, she lost all patience with him. Stomping past him like a hurricane, Rukia viciously jerked the door open and commanded him to leave.
"OUT!"
Renji threw his hands up, a universal sign of defeat and left, but the damage was done.
As he drove off in his very conspicuous police vehicle, Rukia could almost hear the murmurs of gossip rising and spreading through the neighbourhood like an infectious disease, a cancerous growth that was entirely self-sustaining, and her cracks showed as her wide violet eyes met the curious gazes of several well-meaning neighbours.
They know.
She slammed the door shut, cursing Renji and his stupidity until she was blue in the face. It was bad enough that he had the nerve to send her letters and emails, that stupid pineapple-head never did have any semblance of tact, but this?!
Oh yes, this took the fucking cake!
Her past was catching up on her! And it was all stupid Renji's fault!
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His partner was right. The coffee tastes like shit, always has and probably always will. But still, Renji grimaced as he gurgled down the rest of the black drink; caffeine is caffeine and beggars can't be choosers.
He turned to face his enormous pile of work papers and inwardly felt his newfound bravado fleeing at the sight. Amongst the pile, there was the jewellery store break-in, several dozens of petty thefts and then there was that case.
The cop in him missed the good old days where Rukia was his partner and they were golden. They were the Karakuran version of Starsky and Hutch. She was the brains of the operation, the one who came up with the plans and he pulled his own weight, acting as the muscles, the much-needed boost in height to make sure nobody made fun of his partner's lack-there-of.
If she were still here as his partner, he had no doubt that they would be able to make quick work of the new case.
But she wasn't.
Renji hadn't known about her demotion or her subsequent appointment with the Police Conduct Review until they were both called into the room.
He wanted to defend his friend against the unjust treatment. If it weren't because of Rukia and her efforts, they would still be chasing after Tousen's goddamn shadow, but the Chief wanted to play politics, something about how Rukia had gone against police protocol and how he needed to do something to placate the higher-ups.
It didn't help that Rukia did not pass her psych evaluation. Yoruichi said it was PTSD. She needed time off work, but they didn't give her that. She never recovered completely and the Chief sold her out, claiming that it was for the greater good of the force.
The brazen young man wanted to tell him and the rest of those sycophantic bastards to shove it, but the Chief was adamant and he left Renji with an ultimatum, either he let him demote Rukia without a fuss or he loses his badge.
The red-head grimaced. He wasn't proud of himself. He thought he was fearless, the rebel who wasn't afraid of anything, but when push came to shove, he was just another pussy.
He let his partner down, betrayed their friendship and knowing her very well, Rukia had chosen to quit the force, rather than suffer the indignity of a very public review with dozens of hungry news reporter hounding her every step. They all want a piece of her- Detective Rukia Kuchiki, the detective behind Tousen's eventual incarceration; the woman who faced off against the serial killer and still failed to save his final victim.
The petite detective packed up her personal belongings and left the station without saying goodbye. For four years now, he had kept his distance, knowing how she wouldn't appreciate his presence in her new life and besides, he remained ashamed of himself. He knew that if the situation had been reversed, Rukia would have stood up for him, regardless of how much pressure she came under.
She would have been strong and she would not have folded like he did.
But a new case had popped up two months ago and with just one look at the case file, he knew what had to be done.
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"Detective Abarai," a voice had called him out from his reverie and blinked. The newcomer had jet black hair and for that, he was sorely reminded of his favourite midget partner, but it wasn't her. It was Rikichi, a rookie fresh out of the academy with a dangerous case of hero worship of him.
He frowned. A spineless coward like him didn't deserve it. "What? Can't you see I'm busy?"
"Busy daydreaming, I see?"
His senses kicked in, brown eyes widening as he caught sight of the woman standing behind Rikichi. His partner was back in the station, in their old office and she was about as cheerful as a sourpuss.
Dressed in a simple sundress and sandals, she had never looked more out of place in the dingy room. It was hard to believe that she; no, they used to slave for an average of 10 hours a day in the very same room, breathing the same stale air, drinking the same miserable coffee.
Her legs carried her into the derelict room of their own accord. Her side of the room was bare, almost exactly the same as the day she walked out of there. Her oak table was still there, albeit coated with a serious layer of dust. She tried the lower left drawer and almost laughed. It was still stuck. She was struck by a sudden sense of nostalgic.
She could almost see her Chappy the Rabbit stationaries littered haphazardly across her table top, her files stacked and organized alphabetically on her shelf, charts and figures of all sorts tacked onto the wall by blu-tack and there was her limited edition Chappy coffee mug sitting right next to her files.
She could hear laughter, the roaring loud guffaw from Renji as they hit a breakthrough in their case, her holler for Renji to fetch her more coffee. The bitching session they had on coffee, the Chief and higher-ups, life as a cop in general; the sound of pen on paper, the clicks on the keyboard, softer on her part but obnoxiously loud for Renji who insisted on treating the thing like trash, the sound of doors slammed and their angry voices rising in octaves.
She blinked and everything vanished.
By the time she whirled around to face her loud ex-partner again, they were finally alone and her emotions were carefully held in check. Rukia wasted no time in addressing her agenda for the visit.
"I accept your offer, but Renji—" she narrowed her eyes at him— "I want your promise to stay out of my life from now on."
Once she wrapped up this case, she was going to pack up her bags and move; far far away from this godforsaken city and all its miserable memories; a completely 'new' life, in every sense of the word.
It was long overdue.
Inwardly, Renji let out a whoop of victory. This was all happening according to his plan, a plan to reintroduce Rukia back to her old life and their partnership. After all, Rukia didn't belong in that crummy little café. She was a cop. The need for excitement and to solve cases should be in her blood.
She just needed a little healthy reminder. This could work if he played his part well.
The man cleared his throat, feigning his uncertainty, as though he had doubted her abilities.
"Ok, if you think you can handle it."
Rukia quirked an eyebrow at that, bristling in anger. Her life had been perfectly fine without his intervention for years. Her tone was sharp.
"I can handle anything, you stupid pineapple!" she told him, violet eyes ablaze.
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Yes!
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She took the bait and now, all he had to do was to reel in the line. Gently, he added almost as an afterthought as he hid his smile.
"Come with me."
He led her to the interrogation room. After four years, she would have thought she had forgotten all about this, but her body remembered the walk down the stairs, the almost sharp turn on the left corridor and subsequent 4th door to the right.
She sniffed. The smell of sweat, nervousness and fear forever lingered on those walls, guilty convictions, blatant denials; human emotions that were left and imprinted in the dark corners of the small cubicles. It wafted through the air like poisonous fume into her nostrils.
The moment she stepped into the room, she hated how she inherently held herself a little straighter; her posture became rigid, shoulders back and her eyes gleamed, just a tad bit darker to her surroundings. She had unconsciously reverted into her own self and fought hard not to let it show.
Detective Rukia turned in her badge four years ago and had no place here.
Then, Renji stopped and Rukia inadvertently followed his line of vision. She spotted an orange-haired man on the opposite side of the one-way mirror.
The fluorescent lighting did little justice to his vibrant orange tresses, but the way he held himself in the unpleasant setting deserved commendation. He wasn't hunched over or pulling his hair in frustration. He just sat there scowling, glaring venomously at the mirror, as though he could see right through it with his laser beam eyes. He looked livid and incredibly pissed off.
"Who's he?" she asked.
"Meet Dr. Ichigo Kurosaki, Rukia."
Renji handed her a file. She quickly opened it, skimming through his profile in silence. A surgeon at Karakura General Hospital, young but already on his fellowship programme, almost flawless academic transcripts, graduated with first-class honours from Seireitei University School of Medicine- almost like a genius from the looks of it, no criminal records. Mother deceased, father- Isshin Kurosaki, a general practitioner with his own practice and two younger twin sisters.
Still, she shrugged. Nothing out the ordinary, he is a good kid from a moderately well-off, upper middle class family with a bright future ahead.
She flipped to the second page and that's when all the gruesome pictures appeared. Her hands trembled, causing the heap of crime scene photos to drop. With a curse, she stooped over to retrieve them.
She exhaled sharply as she paid closer attention to the three women, different ethnic, race and built, some younger, some older but all of them with their throats slashed; vacant eyes and a silent scream that was forever carved on their pretty faces.
Another nutcase serial killer on the loose.
Just like Tousen.
Perfect, she thought grimly.
She flashed back to the night at the Docks. The sneer on Tousen's face, the shaking hands and hastily fired shot, the blood, the scream, the sound of a body hitting the ground. She dug her fingers hard into her palm.
She swallowed thickly.
"He the killer?"
Her ex-partner frowned. "Not sure, but he could be," he muttered, retrieving another stack of files from the table and handed it to her.
"Every woman there—" he gestured at the folders— "was at some point, his patient. Took us a bit of digging and persuasion, but the hospital finally gave us clearance to the victims' profiles, but Mr.I-am-a-professional over there won't give us any more information to work with and the hospital can't make him, says it's a breach of patient-doctor confidentiality."
Rukia bit her lips. "The MO?"
"The killer targets single women, patients of the doctor in their late twenties. The murders have a random pace to it. The last body was found about a week ago. He always slits his victims' throats. Doc concluded that that was the killing blow. Sick fuck kills them and then mutilates them afterwards—" Renji pointed out a few pictures in particular. Rukia noted the multiple stab wounds in the abdomen and the pool of blood puddled underneath them— "and leaves us with this recording."
He flicked on a button and a haunting croon echoed through the small barren room.
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She's in it just to win it,
Don't trust her for a minute.
It's like a cheap thriller,
She's such a lady killer.
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The recording stopped and Renji continued, exasperated. "I swear this song is going to be the death of me before we've even wrapped up the case," he growled, running a hand through his thick maroon hair.
"No signs of sexual assault or any hint of physical struggle prior to the victim's deaths. For as long as we've got him in custody, there hasn't been another dead body turning up. Awfully suspicious, if you ask me."
Rukia didn't bother telling him that it wasn't, just circumstantial evidence that had no way of landing the case into court.
"What makes you so sure that our killer is a guy?"
Renji paused, and then replied, "The song for one thing, wasn't it sung by a guy? No signs of forced entry either. The killer was someone that the victims knew and trusted enough to let them into their house. If he's their doctor, they would have a good reason to let him in."
His ex-partner wasn't as convinced. "The last few lines in the song seem to imply that the woman, or in this case the victims were all trying to lead the good doctor on and our killer is trying to do our doctor here a favour, to protect him from all the 'cheap thrillers'. Sounds like she's trying to get rid of competition. Besides—" she tutted, tapping her finger against her chin— "it's far more likely for a woman to let another woman into her living space."
"Ask any woman living in the city by herself and I am sure you'll get the same response. No male doctor, no matter how good looking he is, is going to be able to come up with a good enough reason to be let in without a very good reason behind it."
The red-head set his mouth into a grim line. It made sense of course, what Rukia said. But he still was not entirely convinced.
"You can't be 100% sure about this," he grumbled, "it could still be a man and it still could be him," said Renji with his eyes still trained on the doctor, "for all we know, he could be fucking his patients in secret. Wouldn't be the first guy to do it. Some guys like that kinky doctor-patient sorta thing."
Rukia frowned. Crass aside, she didn't think Renji was looking at the case from the right angle. She shook her head. "Call it a hunch, Renji, but I don't think he did it. Seems to be like someone is trying to set him up."
He grimaced. "So, what do we do now?"
"Let's go and have a little chat with our doctor."
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Brown eyes regarded the newcomers warily as the pair entered the room. Detective Abarai's unsmiling face was nothing new to him. His swirls of tattoos, angry visage and scuffed leather jacket that had seen better days painted a rather unflattering first impression of him, making him seem more like a thug on the other side of the law than an actual detective.
Ichigo frowned. He has not seen her before.
The woman standing next to Detective Abarai barely came up to his shoulders. She looked young, probably in her late twenties. Elfin features on a heart-shaped face, jet black hair cut into a fashionable bob; she did not look as though she belonged in the interrogation room, but she had a presence to her that showed in the way she held herself, standing right across the table from him.
This was her territory.
Ichigo had easily lost track of time, being locked and detained in a sealed room with no windows. He was innocent, not that the police would believe him. His 24 hours of detainment were coming to an end. He was tired and he was most definitely, cranky.
Something made worse by the undrinkable concoction they insisted on calling coffee.
"Dr. Kurosaki."
The man had called him in a relatively civil manner. Ichigo saw no reason not to reciprocate. He nodded likewise.
"Detective Abarai."
The woman gave him a sharp nudge with her elbow and the detective grimaced, begrudgingly making introductions.
"Doctor Kurosaki, meet my par—" she cleared her throat and Ichigo watched in quiet bemusement as the detective scowled, retracting his statement— "right, as I was saying, this is Miss Kuchiki, an associate of mine. She would be helping the case as a consultant and for this session, she would like to ask you a few questions."
The woman leaned in. Up close, her eyes were a vivid hue of deep violet, offset by the dramatic canary yellow sundress and her beige sandals. Her voice was huskier than what he had imagined, but it suited her demeanour well- no nonsense and straight to the point.
"Dr. Kurosaki, are you aware that there's a serial killer out there targeting your patients?"
"Yes," he replied, "that's why I'm here. Suspended from work until further notice, 'volunteering information'."
Ichigo scowled when Renji snorted in the background. Rukia made it a point to ignore both of them, quickly moving on.
"Who else has access to your list of patients?"
He grimaced. "Patient information are accessed and keyed in electronically into the hospital's database. Ideally, I would be the only one privy to the information, but the receptionists and occasionally some nurses could gain access to it as well."
"I see—" Rukia's frown deepened— "and your patients, are you seeing them outside of work?"
Ichigo bristled, offended by what she was trying to insinuate. Brown eyes narrowed into slits as he growled at her, "I assure you, Miss Kuchiki. Any relationship I have with my patients is strictly professional."
Renji snarked, "Yeah well, too bad, Doc. Someone doesn't think so."
Rukia ignored the quip. "Do you know anyone who has a grudge against you? Anyone who lost a family member on the operating table, rivals or vengeful lovers?"
"No," Ichigo replied, smiling sardonically, "I'd like to think that I'm rather well-liked by the staff and my colleagues."
"Awww, come on, don't sell yourself short, Doc!"
Rukia narrowed her eyes at him, crossing her arms. "What do you mean by that, Renji?"
Ichigo observed the dynamics of their interactions in silence. The two obviously have a history together. But from the woman's posture and her icy tone, their past seemed complicated.
"I'm just saying," Renji explained with a careless shrug, "that Doc has a fan club in the hospital."
"A fan club?"
Rukia deadpanned. Well, she wasn't blind and the detained doctor was undeniably... attractive with a certain amount of charm to him, she mused.
But still, a fan club?
Ichigo winced at her incredulous tone and her unimpressed expression before she whirled around to face him. She had a demanding air about her as she shot him a questioning look.
"A couple of nurses thought it would be fun to start a fan club about the hot doctors working in Karakura Hospital," he grimaced, "things escalated from there."
"And by a couple," interjected Renji, "He means quite a bit. Roughly about 100, maybe more. The entire nurse population in the hospital and some doctors even, are club members. They even have a forum. Isn't that right, Doc?"
Ichigo growled as expected and Rukia watched as the smirk on Renji's face widen. She shook her head at the childish display.
"So what do they talk about in the forum?"
"You mean besides, the- I quote and unquote 'hotness factor' of the various doctors," Renji smirked, making air quotes while the doctor glared angrily at him.
"Yes, Renji," she sighed exasperated; Renji always did take too much fun in riling up his suspects. It was counterproductive at times. "Besides that."
Here, Renji gave a wide, beaming smile. "Some very interesting snippets of gossips, like who's dating who and who's sleeping with who."
Rukia pursed her lips tight, a hand under her chin as she gazed into empty space while she pondered over the new information.
Let's consider the facts:
Ichigo Kurosaki is a popular resident doctor with a fan club that has 100+ members in it. His patients are getting murdered and of these 100+ members, quite a few would have access to his list of patients.
100+ potential suspects.
She frowned, that's quite a long list to go through unless…
Renji knew immediately that something was up. For the briefer of a second, he felt that was looking at Detective Rukia again, her with her trademark smile as she cracked her case or found her loophole to exploit.
Either way, this case- that psychopath of a killer was going down!
"So," he cleared his throat, "What's the plan, Rukia?"
"To set a trap for the killer," she said simply.
"Right," Renji began dumbly and furrowed his brows, "how are we going to do that?"
Rukia narrowed her eyes, not liking the way 'we' had wormed their conversation. Hadn't she made it clear that from now on there was no 'we'?
They were Rukia and Renji, respectively and individually. Partners were a thing of the past.
"You are going to dig deeper to see who actually has access to the information and check to see if there's anyone with a grudge against the doctor. The suspect list should be narrowed down by at least 30 and see if there's another connection between victims. Were they all handled by a specific receptionist or nurse at some time, or if they had all treatment scheduled on the same day?"
Renji nodded at that. It sounded sufficiently reasonable.
"I am going undercover."
"Ah, as a nurse?"
Renji thought that it was a good ploy. With an insider like Rukia in the hospital, they could dig up more info on the patients without too much of a fuss and make it significantly easier to narrow down the list of potential suspects.
"No, Renji. As his girlfriend," she informed him offhandedly, as though they were having a conversation about the weather instead.
For Dr. Ichigo Kurosaki, the highlight of the day turned out to be watching the ever-so intimidating detective choke on his own spit.
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"NO, ABSOLUTELY NOT!"
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Rukia winced at his loud tone, before snarling back just as viciously, "In case you haven't notice, I wasn't exactly asking for your permission, Detective."
His temple throbbed. Typical Rukia! She always had a penchant of getting too liberal with the risks.
"Rukia," he sighed, "You quit, remember? You're not a cop anymore! You don't have a gun. This is dangerous!"
He grabbed her by her shoulders, shaking her, "I don't want you to get hurt. You're a civilian now!"
She scowled, angrily slapping his hands away. "Don't lecture me, Renji," she hissed, "You're the one who brought me in as a consultant, so at this point, what I say goes."
"Well now I'm ordering you to back off and I'll have someone fill in as the girlfriend!"
Rukia scoffed. "In case you haven't noticed, Renji. I am a civilian. I don't fall under your jurisdiction. This is a free country—" she crossed her arms— "I can date who I want and you can't stop me."
She watched as his face turned redder and redder with disinterest and resolutely refused to back down from a staring match with him.
He weighted his options in silence. Contrary to popular belief, Renji wasn't stupid. Rukia's plan was brilliant. She was a good candidate. A civilian like her didn't have to report to anyone and no one, especially the killer, unless they dig deep enough, will doubt her cover. After all, like she said, a civilian like her could go out with anyone she wanted.
He sighed. They will do it her way.
"FINE! You win, there! You happy now? But I'm assigning you extra security details. I want a full report from you every night and you—"
He suddenly turned the full brunt of his wrathful gaze to the amused but silent doctor— "You don't let her out of your sight. Not even for one fucking second, you got that, punk?!"
Ichigo raised his eyebrows at that, mildly entertained by the spots of red on the detective's enraged face and the imaginary smoke whizzing from his ears.
"Loud and clear, Sir," he smirked.
"Good," Renji grumbled, "Now get the hell out of my office and I want you two lovebirds to come up with a damn convincing show tomorrow for the bastard, you got that?"
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Author's note:
What have I done?
XD In other words, happy IR month! Let's see how many prompts we can fit in this multi-chap fic.
