A/N: I'm working on all three of these stories, it's just that this one might get published a little faster because I have ideas for this one~… I think. XD
Disclaimer: -does the disclaimer jig-
--
"DADDY! No, we have to keep her! The evil cop men are going to take her away and sweat every drop of hope and love she has left – you can't take her to the police! They'll give her to the adoption center!" Hira drawled, clinging to Kakuzu's leg and keeping him from moving out the door of the kitchen, holding the child he seemed to have picked up from the hotel.
"Hira." Kakuzu commanded, glaring down at his white-haired daughter, "We have to bring her to the police. She's important to the investigation!"
"Who cares what's important to the investigation! She's uber cute and I love her! PLEASE, DAD! DON'T DO IT!"
"I have to! Hira, let—"
"NO! Dad, please!" she started to pull so hard on his leg, his pants were starting to slide down on that side; he reached down and started to tug back, hopping his way through the kitchen door.
"I'll give you rug burn! You hate rug burn!" he barked, his electronic-sounding voice almost making her shiver, but it was him glaring down at her that did the trick; she never could get used to that. The child was having quite the time enjoying herself at this funny bit between the two.
"It's worth it!" she howled back, latching onto the doorway and glaring back at him, "That girl doesn't deserve to be interrogated like she's some sort of… some sort of… criminal! She did nothing wrong!"
"I know that, we just need to ask her for a sketch of the murderer! What he looks like – you know how it goes! Just let go of my leg before you pull my pants down!" Kakuzu started to shake his leg, "And I'll let it happen! All I need is new pants!"
Hira just closed her eyes, "BAD IMAGE!" she screamed, "Oh God, Dad, why did you have to do that to me?!"
"Because I know you hate that, too! Give up; we're turning her in – GET OFF OF ME!"
Hira glared at him for a moment, and then let go of him and got to her feet. "We're going to bring her back though…"
"We can't, Hira," Kakuzu turned to look at the little girl, who was playing with his hair at that point. He carefully dusted her off, and then looked back at Hira, "Having us two in the house is already expensive enough. A little girl with no parents is just going to make it worse."
"How are we expensive? Seriously. Water bills are nothing, electricity is hardly enough to keep the lights going… All it is the adoption bill—"
"Which is a lot."
"—and gas! You have a great job with a great income, so we can afford it!" she waved her arms around, "Come on! This little girl, who is what… seven? Seven year olds don't take up much room! She can share my bed even!"
"No." Kakuzu snapped back, "There is no way I'm raising another kid if you're just going to make her like you." He almost spat his words, even though he was very proud of his daughter in academics and sometimes (more like very rarely) in aesthetics, he could have much preferred if she hadn't bleached her hair, or pierced every part of her body, and got herself into a group of emo friends with an emo boyfriend in that mix.
Then he realized how bad that sounded.
"… Are you implying something?" she inquired, stepping back.
Why stop now? If that was what his mind was saying, he might as well just continue, right?
"Somewhat," he said, bouncing the little girl up so he could get a better hold on her, "Your boyfriend and some of your friends you could have chosen a little better…"
"So… what you're saying is that you hate me for my choices? How I hooked you up with some awesome earrings and now you have a date tonight with one of, um…. My friends and you hate me for my choices?" she looked almost dumbfounded at what she was hearing come out of his hidden mouth.
"No, that's not it at all," Kakuzu said with a little bitterness; "I don't hate you because I'm unable to hate you, Hira. I just think that you should have made a little wiser choices, is all."
The girl in his arms had stopped smiling or enjoying herself – in fact, she looked like she could have rather been somewhere else, out of the house. These two let off an amazingly strong aura of hate when they were bickering; the tension between them seemed like it was so thick you could cut it. They were scary when they were mad, and if they ever got into a fist fight (Kakuzu would win, of course. Guns and all, you know, and the power of authority and he took part in creating her, raising her, knowing her, etc.) it would be as if a twister was let loose inside the house. The little girl started to tug on Kakuzu's earring, making him grab her hands and tell her a stern "No" before turning back to Hira and waiting for her reply.
In Hira's mind, all she was thinking is to take it slow, word by word, and break it down. Making sure she got what he was saying before she moved on, furthering the brawl of words with the perfect come back that might throw him off.
"So you hate my friends?"
"I hate your choices."
"Which is a part of me."
"I don't hate you, I hate your choices. Choices are not of the body, soul and most parts of the mind. Even you know that."
"But my mind still has a little part to make choices, which is still a part of me, Dad. You hate a part of me. You hate what I like, and so forth you hate the vital part of me that you have to understand," Hira leaned on the door frame, glowering at him, "What I don't get is what you hate about my choices?"
Kakuzu merely rolled his eyes and turned, "We'll continue this later, I need to head off to the—"
"No, because when you say 'we'll continue this later', it always means that you're out of things to say and you're chickening out – so I win."
Kakuzu stopped, the words digging deep into his pride and whispering quiet, unbecoming words into his ears; things that were unmanning and depriving him of that external boost of his matches with others that he usually won at the station, being top dog meaning he usually did win; she was such a… teenager though – she wasn't supposed to outwit him when he said something like that. Yes, he meant something like that, but not always; this time he really did need to head to the police station to get the girl turned in. The place closed soon, and even if he had a key, he did not, at all costs, wanted this girl to stay the night, where he could be convinced otherwise of his decision about not keeping the girl.
He took a deep breath, and then walked away, anger building up in the pit of his stomach.
"I'll be home later," he said, looking back at her one final time before he headed to the door and out of it, the girl still in his arms and slamming the door.
Hira stared for a minute, and then sighed, sinking in the doorway with her hands clasped together, "Thank you…" she whispered.
"Thank you, Hidan, for teaching me how to win."
--
"Shit, shit, shit…" Hidan growled, rubbing his forearm down with cool water, like he ad done the hour before when his bandage wasn't totally soaked with blood, and the hour before that when he was in total agony with the burn, and the hour before that when... Well, you get the point.
The red, irritated skin, looking as if it had small bubbles coming up from beneath it; he was burned from the fire at the hotel, when the small girl held him back in the room for too long. Of course, she hadn't gotten burned a bit, but she had gotten a good look at his face.
That was a bad thing, and a very bad thing, at that. An artist's sketch for the police would mean his demise. Going out to dinner with Hira's dad – what was his name…? – who was the head of the police department, which was running his case, was a bad idea.
Very bad idea.
He would probably come in all casual and then arrest him on the spot; that would be so embarrassing – all his "friends" would have to witness their good pal, so kind and sweet and probably wouldn't hurt anyone but himself, get arrested for 21 multiple degree murders, 6-and-counting genocides, more than enough vandalisms, 3 hit-n'-runs and 12 cases of stealing and/or robbery, mostly small gas stations or something.
And by his new boyfriend at that.
Hidan clenched his teeth hard and hissed when the water hit a sensitive part of his injury, and when he thought of how the people would react, how his whole performance would have gone down the drain because some little girl had caught a glimpse of his face, remembered it, and told some old geezer who draws that he was the one that had killed all those people – including her parents.
He had to make up a good excuse for missing the date; and if he couldn't think of one to get rid of the date, he'd ditch or just make up a better excuse for the burn.
Of course, an oven or stove would make patterned marks, so that wouldn't work – and thinking about ditching the officer was just a bad idea in general. His daughter saw him almost daily, when he wasn't doing shit, and then she went home to see him, so that wouldn't work for avoiding him at all.
Why were things so damn confusing sometimes?
"Fuck," he cursed aloud, looking up at the ceiling, holding his arm under the cold water; "Why, Jashin…? Couldn't you like… kill her? Please? I'll sacrifice a million heathens in your name – just… please, kill her. Make it impossible for them to recognize me…"
A couple more aloud prayers and he looked back down at his arm, thinking of a good excuse as he poured some more water on his wound.
--
Kakuzu, driving to the police station, glanced back to the rear view mirror, looking at the little girl, sitting contently with her seatbelt buckled over her and staring at the window sadly, probably reminiscing about her parents.
Kakuzu's weak and ill-misfortunate heart seemed to sink to his stomach when he thought about it for a while. He had his father and mother back somewhere, usually on vacation somewhere in Puerto Rico, Bahamas, or really anywhere in the world except for where he was, and not keeping in touch with him, one of them could have died and he wouldn't have known until the one still alive gained a backbone and called him, or he heard it off of somewhere from the police station, government news – wherever.
They had done this to him ever since he divorced his wife, and so, now, they didn't keep in touch and Hira practically didn't have Grandparents on his side – nor did he have brothers or sisters, so it was just him on his side, and practically everyone on her mother's side; but he guessed that he was the favorite one not because he was him solitary and he didn't hound her as much as her mother (scary amounts), but more of it was just him an her, together in a house, where they could act open and normal, and just be themselves around each other.
Now, this little girl didn't have that.
This little girl, who he didn't know her name at all, didn't have her parents to take care of her, even when she was happy, sad, and mad, even crying so hard that she could have sworn someone was beating the tears out of her… Even through the hate, and the love – she'd never have the opportunity to be held by her mother's warm, comforting arms ever again.
Now, they were cold and uninviting.
Now, they were gone.
He glanced back at the road, but only for a short moment; his eyes grew quite wide and he slammed his foot on the breaks and jerked the wheel, but it was too late.
The car wreck in front of them was in his way, and as he swerved to the right, slamming his side of the car into the ruins of the smashed cars, not remembering for the short moment of which way to turn that the girl was also on his side of the car.
The air bags exploded to full extension in his face, glass shattered at the severe contact between his car and the other two, colliding against the door even with the seatbelt holding him in his seat, and he heard the small high-pitched scream in the back of the little girl.
The question, "What have I done?" came into his mind for a moment before he looked down at his hands, which automatically rose to cover his head, all cut up and bleeding from the glass that had flown at him in the most aggressive but graceful way he had ever seen. He realized that the girl was behind, him, and he hesitantly just wanted to leave her there. But that would just wound his pride as the head of police and re-manning himself from the blow from his daughter farther.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and then, glancing up to the broken rear view mirror, he found the small images of her, but it wasn't clear, other that spatters of blood.
He swallowed hard, showing small bits of fear, but turned to her in his seat.
This time, the girl was clutching and clawing at a large piece of glass that was piercing, ironically, her was-healthy and long-lasting heart; her face had the most horror-stricken expression etched onto the flesh, and tears were dripping down her face with, what seemed like blood mixed into the ends of them – the slightly red drops making their way, some, to her neck, and some others dripping down to the other crushed pieces of glass on her puppy-dog pajama covered lap, shimmering delicately and gracefully – like God's work was put into this...
… This horrible, devastating, heartbreaking, image of the child, longevity waiting in her life, dying before him, and he couldn't do anything.
She made a small gasp, her blue eyes, filled with fear and the last torrents of life, rolling up in throbbing pain, and her face turn a light pale white.
Kakuzu stared for a little while, watching as the lights left her eyes, agonizingly slow, and he couldn't do anything, paralyzed in the act of death, removing her verve, her existence from the human race.
"… Please," he muttered, even through the mask he sounded soft, quiet, but insistent, as if he really wanted her to live, which he did – who else could have helped him as much as her? She could have been the solution, the sum, the quotient, the whole damn answer to these murders, and all that ends up happening is that she was… she was dying.
His answer was dying, slipping out of his grasp, the time slipping away like trying to hold water in your hands; it just wasn't possible, not for long anyway. He parted his lips carefully, his mouth dry and voice shaky.
"No..."
Immediately, one large gasp, meaning to be a scream of some sort, and the blood came spilling from her pink lips – it was like screaming without lungs. Talking without a tongue. Living without a life.
Coming from the lungs, how it was punctured from the angle of the projectile, but… Kakuzu couldn't assess. All he could do was watch, learn, experience, even at his age.
All he could do was observe.
"Sir!" he heard faintly, under the sound of rushing blood, the small and light drips of blood on the glass, which was so soft compared to the blaring sirens outside the car, loud car doors slamming, the incessant chatter of people, right there, out of focus.
But to him, it was like a waterfall of the red fluid, before him – he was standing under it. The entire burden was on him now; no one else could feel any more need to finish what he, the murderer, had started.
It hurt, the pressure on his shoulders hurt so badly; holding the weight of the whole investigation on his head.
"Another one gone, Kakuzu," a small voice said inside his head, his bright, liquid emerald pools encased in the white surrounding it, shivering lightly at what he was staring at, or what he thought he was staring at as he was being dragged and pulled out of the car, totaled and wrecked to where he would have to get a new vehicle at this point.
He closed his eyes, inviting the waterfall of the solution, inviting the voice, inviting whatever may come. The silence around him was wrapping him in what seemed like a blanket of warmth; a pair mother's arms holding him close, a feeling he missed so much, a feeling only the child within would want – a grown man at the age of 43½ shouldn't be feeling, wanting, yearning for.
Now, she was cold and uninviting.
Now, she was gone.
--
Kakuzu walked into the house that afternoon, a bloodied jacket on and hands bandaged and wrapped, looking stirred and almost awaken from something.
Hira was sitting in the kitchen nibbling on her nails. When she heard the door open, she got up, carefully, and walked to the doorway. Upon seeing her father shaken, she nibbled her lip nervously.
"Sorry," she murmured, looking at his absent eyes.
"For what?" he asked, after a second of realizing he was being addressed.
"'bout the whole fight-before-you-lost-your-life deal…" she looked down at the ground, saddened that she had to say that aloud. Had he already forgotten? He insulted her point of view, and then continued to walk out the door without a decent goodbye, and he had forgotten after about two hours; "And for your car."
Kakuzu stared for a second, before remembering what she was talking about; "Right. Forgiven," he walked forward, and rested a draped-with-gauze hand onto her shoulder, "…Forgiven," he repeated more hushed, leaving her to head toward the kitchen.
He carefully repeated what he did every bad day that he had; first he checked for calls, and then he started on a cup of tea to calm his nerves. Maybe this time he'd drug his tea and just wait until he passed out on the table before he woke up the next morning to whatever had happened.
But that was too easy.
Hira joined him in making tea, since his hands were so shaky that even she noticed, she helped him gather his tea-making supplies and made it for Kakuzu and her.
"Thanks," he muttered, after he was nudged aside so Hira would make the hot beverage and he would just be able to sit back and relax for a while. He walked over to the table and sat down in the wooden chair, leaning back a little and staring out the window.
"… Was that girl in the car with you?" she asked, looking back at Kakuzu, breaking him out of his train of thoughts.
"…Yeah," he murmured.
"Did… Was… Erm…" Hira rested her hands on the counter, unable to force the words out without a rebellion of hatred fuming in her stomach against life.
Kakuzu, getting the idea of what she was saying, slowly nodded, "Yeah, Hira…" he said back, turning his head to look at her, "Just yeah."
Hira slowly thought out her words, "… Was it scary?"
"What was scary?" Kakuzu posed, glancing her way for a moment, to find her resting her face in her palms, probably crying or thinking very hard, like always.
"Watching her die, was it scary watching her die, Dad?" she asked in a hurried and shaky tone. She was anxious to know, but she had the courage to know she could face it.
Knowing the answer already, both of them just sat quietly; Kakuzu shook his head with a soft sigh, then got up to be alone in his room for a while, "… We'll continue this later," he said, stopping in the hallway for a short moment, and then turning to head up the stairs.
"... No, we won't," Hira mumbled.
--
Hidan tapped his foot impatiently on the concrete; he was about two blocks away from the Karaoke bar that they were supposedly going to meet up at, and Kakuzu and him had set a time to be there: 6 o' clock, since he had detective work to do that night, and he'd probably be busy with some crackpot bonfire to go to around 9-ish.
It was already 7 o' clock, and there wasn't a trace of Kakuzu known in the area.
Of course, Hidan could have always gone to the house to pick him up or just to check on him, but… Was he being ditched? Or was he forgotten?
His lip jutted out slightly in a pout, and he pulled out a cigarette to light, putting it between his soft lips before he saw the large figure come out of and alleyway with a girl on his arm, small compared to him, and head toward Hidan.
"Kakuzu?" he called, his eyes lighting up unexpectedly – all in the act, I assure you – and him taking the cancer stick out of his mouth, since the urge to smoke could wait if it meant that he had to fake wanting to get closer to Hoku.
"Hm?" the figure looked up, and then came into the light; no, it wasn't Kakuzu. It was just some guy with the same build and a slut from the whorehouse hanging on his arm with her fat, bruised lips and over-heavy makeup that didn't look good.
Hidan saddened, and then walked up to the wall and leaned against it, putting the nicotine back into his mouth and lighting it without a second thought who may be coming around the corner. Maybe he could call Hira and ask her what's up.
Yes, that would be a good idea.
He took out his phone and flipped it open, dialing the numbers of Hira's cell phone, memorized for a reason like this, and pressed send, raising the phone to his ear as he looked around the street, eyeing garbage cans and alleyways.
A couple of rings, and Hira picked up the phone with a "'lo?" just like her Father did most the time.
"Yo," he said, "Where's your dad? I thought we were going to meet up tonight."
"Oh," she sounded distressed, which couldn't mean anything could be in his favor; "Some… things came up, Hidan. My dad got into a car accident today, and… he's…"
"He's what?" Hidan asked, moving the phone around so he could hear her soft voice a little better, "Is he okay?"
"He's just a little… okay, he's a lot down. Seriously, this is the most… ugh, if you want to stop by, go ahead, but I'm sure he's not going to be too happy with himself for forgetting."
"But is he hurt?"
"Not really, his hands are cut up pretty – shit, here he comes. See you later, Hidan."
"No, don't hang—"
And with that, she hung up. Hidan felt his stomach squirm a little in a twinge of anger and a little of a sensation to hurt. He didn't get any good information, and if Kakuzu was hurt, that meant more tiresome acting and his most unwanted and hated emotion, too: Worry.
He groaned aloud, and then looked down at his arm; would it really be worth it to go to his house to check up on him if it meant jeopardizing what safety he had left? Showing that he, too, got hurt and then telling Kakuzu the lies that he made up?
What about that little girl, what exactly happened to her? Maybe he was just being lured in to be arrested – maybe, Kakuzu was trying to catch him after knowing his face.
But Hira wouldn't be in on that.
Hira wouldn't be the one who would be going against her friends; no, Hira was too good for that, Hira was his one way ticket to beating them, she would have warned him if it meant that he was going to get caught if he came along looking for his boyfriend and comforting him in a time of need. That'd be the perfect cover – and Hira, without knowing, would help him all the way through it.
Thinking over some things in his head, he started off toward the Hoku residence, knowing he would be there by at least 7:30; he fished his iPod out of his pocket, stuck one earbud into his ear, turning it on and playing the previous music he was listening to.
--
A/N: I think my most favorite hobby is to torture Kakuzu in my stories as much as possible, and make Hidan as innocent as ever, but he's the one behind it all D:
I think…
It's fun though XD Fun writing indeed~