A/N – They were not looking for anything, really. They certainly did not put it down to 'fate'. But chance has a habit of bringing people together, whatever the consequences.

This and the following chapter are going to bring in Liz and Patti, using what we know about their past and how they met Kid. Therefore, much of it is my speculation alongside what I've established in previous chapters. It takes more than one chapter because the length of 5 compared to the rest was just getting silly.

Chapter 5

There was no turning back now. As she rounded the corner into a sidestreet, the girl slapped a hand against the wall to keep her balance. She should have known better. It was a stupid, stupid idea to go to the same men again. But she needed to eat, after all. And if not her, then Patti. Always, she'd do it for Patti.

"Come back, bitch!"

Four had followed her and were quickly gaining, one genius supposing that ordering her to stop would get her to slow down. No way. But Liz's side ached from running so far, and for so long and she found herself stumbling and panting for breath as her head pounded in time with her heartbeat. Then came the bullets. Liz knew they weren't aiming to kill, or even seriously injure. There were some left in Brooklyn who had their own reasons to see the twin Demon Pistols in one piece. Kind of them.

She ducked as a bullet whistled overhead, gave a hiss of pain as a ricochet sliced past her arm, leaving a trail of blood to her elbow. Then she tripped, her foot catching in a box, sending Liz crashing to the ground. She choked as she landed, the impact slamming her jaw shut and grazing her palms. There would be no more running today. And, it appeared, no explanation from her pursuers. Four guns cocked above her, four sets of boots circled around the fallen girl in steely professionalism. No chance, then, that they'd be spooked by the very sight of a Weapon? One look up into the eye of the nearest man told Liz that was hopeless.

"You're coming with us-" The man began, but was interrupted by a familiar sound. To the man's side, one of his companions gave a cry and fell to the ground. The speaker raised his gun to the surrounding alley and windows. Liz wasn't about to give him the chance to find his target. Partly transforming was always a pain, both awkward and never producing the same effects as being wielded by her sister. But now it would be good enough. Liz grinned as her forearm altered into something sort-of resembling the barrel of a pistol. There was still skin amongst the curved metal, but the change was workable enough to send a shot of soul-energy slamming into the man's chest. He stared, disbelieving, before falling backwards onto the very box Liz had tripped over.

She changed back and rubbed her arm. Yeah, she liked the proper way a lot more.

"Sis!"

Patti clattered down the stairs of a fire-escape just one floor up. Apparently oblivious to the carnage she had just created, men lying injured and unconscious around her, she leapt at her sister and enveloped her in a hug. Liz too ignored their predicament for a moment, returning the embrace in silent thanks, to no-one in particular, for them having survived. Again.

---

"Patti?" Liz looked to the other girl who was kneeling down by the greying wall, chalking pictures into the grime. The graffiti tags were being invaded by bright, smiling suns, dogs and what looked like it could be a rabbit.

"Yeah?" Patti added eyes to the maybe-rabbit and turned to her older sister.

"We need to think about...getting out of here."

Knowing what was coming next, Liz turned her gaze to look out of the window. Once, the street beyond had perhaps been full of happy families. Now it was abandoned, left to people like her and Patti. The addicts, the thieves, and far worse. The stub of chalk dropped to the ground as Patti got to her feet, head bowed.

"Why?" There was none of Patti's usual bright tone in the question.

"You saw what happened today. There are even more people after us now, not just than the police" Liz almost added "worse than them".

"So? We've dealt with em' before, right? We can do it again!" Patti was fierce, speaking with the kind of stubborn determination that really had meant the Thompson sisters had survived so far in a world that could be so damn hard.

"Not always, Patti. I wish it could be like that. Hell, this city may be fucked up but it's still our home, right?" Liz managed a smile and held her hands out to her sister. Patti took them and met Liz's gaze, but there was no understanding there.

"Yeah. Home. You, me. Here. Nowhere else. Not givin' up."

Liz squeezed Patti's hands tight, wanting to agree, to believe that they could carry on. Maybe find something better, even (not that it'd ever worked in the past...). But they'd burnt some big bridges recently, and Liz wasn't about to risk Patti for the sake of nostalgia and some childish optimism. Dreams never get you anywhere.

"Not any more, sis, not any more..." Liz hung her head now, tears stinging her eyes. God, she hated this. Perhaps staying would be easier, if the thought of starting out somewhere else made her feel so lost. Better the devils you know, right? She felt Patti stroke her hair a few times in a vain attempt at comfort. When Liz raised her eyes again Patti was back at the wall, striking vicious lines through her artwork, growling;

"We're not giving up!"

---

Death the Kid was being watched. He could tell this without looking up from his paperwork. Sitting in the waiting room of one of Shibusen's small regional offices he could feel the gazes of the staff upon him. The receptionist spoke to one of the meisters in hushed tones, occasionally giving Kid the odd sideways glance. From what Kid had overheard, it was the same old story. Without some irrefutable proof, the good men and women of Shinigami's school did not, would not believe that a young boy had quickly and precisely taken out some of the more taxing kishin in their area. Much less that he had done so single-handed.

Kid was ready and willing to give them the proof that they required. Short of summoning his father, of course. Doing that would surely admit defeat, give the Shinigami further evidence that Kid's kishin-capturing efforts were not entirely accepted by his staff. And Kid could not have that. He knew his place as a shinigami, and no ignorant humans were going to make him doubt it. That it had come tonight was especially frustrating. Honestly, he did not know what had taken the western Europe contingent so very long to eliminate one particular target.

The man barely fitted the criteria for a potential kishin – little more than a serial killer with some unpleasant habits. Kid suspected that lingering sense of ambiguity was the reason behind the Parisian teams taking so long. Except under dire circumstances, Shibusen teams did not kill merely 'criminal' humans. And under no circumstances did a sanctioned Weapon take the soul of such a person. It was fortunate, then, that Shinigami had at least one operative who lacked the same moralistic doubts on the subject. Kid knew his father's lore on hunting kishin, and had followed it to the letter for over a year. Any being who earned himself a place on the Shinigami's list of targets would be dealt with. As far as Kid was concerned, that was the beginning and the end of the matter.

A hand was waved in front of Kid's eyes. He looked up so sharply at the interruption that the men, a meister and Weapon, stepped back in surprise;

"Ah...so-sorry! You see, we, I..um." The meister stuttered in broken English. Having a talent for languages was another of the skills Kid put down to being a shinigami; Death was universal, after all.

"You are the head meister here?" He asked in French.

"Yes, sir. Charles Allard, sir." The 'sir' was not necessary (certainly not twice), but Kid could not bring himself to correct the man who was nervous enough as it was.

"Well. I believe I explained my position to your receptionist. I am here" at this point Kid handed the man a sheet of paper detailing the mission and the signature of his father "at the request of the Shinigami to eliminate one of your local kishin."

The meister took the paper and swallowed hard. Apparently information in black, white, and French was harder to question than the evidence of his eyes.

"While I have the most respect for the Shinigami," He began after a moment, and in a slightly patronising tone that made Kid question that respect "you must accept that I and my staff find it a little hard to believe that a, ah, child could destroy such a target."

No, I 'must' not accept that, Kid thought sourly, patience wearing thin. I could just leave you people to your small thoughts and take my results to father personally. But he'd promised father that he would do these things properly. He fixed Allard with a penetrating yellow gaze, and tried a new tactic.

"Would it satisfy you to see the results?"

Allard exchanged a glance with his partner.

"Yes." he said a little hollowly "That would suffice." He wrung his hands in obvious anxiety, and Kid could not help but be a little amused.

What he intended to do next was not something Kid enjoyed very much. Souls that he had collected were meant to stay put. It was just what needed to happen, and meddling further gave him a stomach-ache. But with only half an hour having past since consigning the murderer to his final destination, Kid had the leeway to give the good meister the proof he so desired. He held out his hands, fingers turned inwards; one. Next, he brought his hands up with the fingers bent; two. Finally, he extended his arms with just four fingers out, two on either hand; three. The process was one so old that even father had not been able to tell Kid its origins. Perhaps it was just a form used to focus the mind and had no deeper significance. Whatever the meaning, Kid felt the changes immediately.

His soul wavelength expanded greatly, skull-like shapes snaking from the circumference. The outline of a skull with three pointed teeth appeared on the floor before him. A simple image of death that father had used for longer than Kid could remember, it was enough to make the men beside him step away in fear. That was the easy part. Exhaling, Kid focussed upon the soul he'd collected that evening. It still wavered in the limbo between the physical and deathly worlds, recently removed from the former and yet to be taken fully into the latter. He found the damned thing, and pulled.

Kid felt sweat break out on his forehead and gritted his teeth. He blinked once, and the soul was in front of him once again, small yet exuding an air of nameless menace even to him. Allard and his partner were staring at it. Kid looked questioningly to the pair, eager to let the soul fall back into its place. Evidence enough, was it?

---

From the air, Death City at noon was always a sight to behold. In the wide desert the sun shone unhindered onto the city the Shinigami had built. Kid's vantage point, high on Beelzebub, allowed him to gaze down upon his father's domain, every deliberately placed skull, horn and other seemingly ostentatious ornament. But today the effect upon Kid was dulled – he did not want to be here. When he'd explained to father why he'd saw fit to retrieve a soul, Shinigami's reaction had been low-key at best. Kid had sensed in his father's voice the kind of unspoken disappointment he always hated to hear. It was not even as though Shinigami thought Kid was abusing his abilities, but that he felt he was using them unnecessarily. Kid had been unsurprised when Shinigami, asking that Kid return home as soon as possible, mentioned that he did not think there would be any more suitable missions for the time being. Which, really, left Kid at a loose end. And he did not like that one bit. Looking down to the three orbs hanging above the centre of Shibusen, Kid came to a decision; he turned left.

The absence of the younger death god was noticed only when, having finished the day's meetings and observations, Shinigami realised that he really should have heard from his son by then. Normally, Kid liked to take the quickest route from A to B and flying on his skateboard meant that he could achieve this without compromising his attention to detail. Shinigami wondered briefly whether he'd upset the boy by reminding him to use his abilities with caution, especially when

around humans, who could be funny about that sort of thing. It was only when a look into his mirror revealed Kid several hundred miles east did he become a little puzzled;

"Hey, Sid?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you know about New York?"

---

The first thing Kid noticed was the number of people. Death City felt like a small village compared to this massive city. Part of a city, even. He had walked in his usual fashion with no particular destination in mind. One direction led logically onto the next, and for now that was enough for him. It had been a few days since he'd turned left from Shibusen, and since then he'd spoken to his father but thought about him rarely. Or at least had tried not to. The ensuing guilt, the sensation that Kid was doing something wrong by indulging in this fickle impulse, was not one he was comfortable with. But the fact remained that Kid had put so much into assisting his father's operation that – faced with the possibility of not doing so – he had no idea of what to do next. He had no school to attend, no Weapon to train with.

Although aimlessness had never sat well with the young god, he had surprised even himself with this reaction and had several periods of decrying his own inadequacies, loudly, violently, and in public to the alarm of passers-by. So, he had taken his new-found freedom and found in it an objective; exploration and understanding. He had observed from a distance the lives of people, individuals and families, had found in them experiences that related to his own. They were children with parents, fathers with sons... In short, Kid had found nothing that was new to him. Not that this displeased him, of course, and far from it. Were the human race in its entirety based on a foundation of the same principles of interaction, he would be happy. It was, in fact, a form of order he could accept.

His path had led him from bustling streets full of shops, down into far less lively areas. And now, into a selection of alleyways. He seemed to have a tendency to end up in such places. Kid paid no heed to the looks he got from locals who were maybe amused to see a boy wandering around in suit. Their opinions mattered nothing to him. A point which, as it happened, he soon had a chance to demonstrate. Kid felt their souls at first, emitting wavelengths that were frustrated, angry, and very much human. He noticed also that they were Weapons, though he did not bother to ascertain which kind. Perhaps he should have done.

Turning, Kid found himself approached by two girls. Well, 'girls' was not quite the right term. They were older than he, most likely in their late teens. It was difficult to tell behind the ragged, garish clothing and vacant expressions. The tallest had a cigarette in the corner of her mouth, and it twitched slightly as she smiled at him. It was not a nice smile. The other was practically beaming at him, but there was something predatory in that childish grin and wide blue eyes.

"Your money, kid. Drop it."

The smoking one ordered sharply, tone monotonous enough to make Kid suspect that this was not the first time the pair had happened upon a tourist in the wrong place (for him) and the right time (for them). She punctuated the command by spitting out the cigarette and squashing it under her heel.

"No." Kid responded. He had money to drop, of course, but he was not about to relinquish it to a pair of muggers. It would be best for all concerned if they left and found another target. Such small-scale crime was not the business of a shinigami. If they persisted, he could simply hand them over to local law-enforcement. The police would surely deal with them appropriately.

The young woman frowned and the smile drifted from the face of her companion. In trice, the second girl was gone, replaced by a pistol in the other's hand. So that was her Weapon form, Kid noted. No matter. A gunshot wound would be a painful inconvenience and end to his excursion. But they'd have to catch their target first.

Backing against the wall, hands in pockets, Kid allowed the woman to bring the barrel of the gun up close to his chin.

"You heard what I said. It's, like, your money or your life, yeah?"

This time, her speech was slurred and something about the phrase did not ring true for Kid. As though the woman was forgetting herself. This possibility was only furthered by how her eyes seemed unable to fix upon him. Drunk, maybe. Or otherwise inebriated. He'd heard that there were plenty of substances that caused humans to take leave of their senses. Kid was thankful he was not familiar with such things. He had had quite enough;

"I've not got time for this." He pushed the woman aside, firmly but not aggressively, and made to continue down the path.

Kid sensed the shot before he even heard it, and stepped quickly to one side. Sure enough, a shot of soul-wavelength sizzled into the wall ahead of him. All Weapons manipulated the soul wavelengths of their meisters in one way or another. For firearms, it took the form of bullets. But Kid did not have time to admire the strength of this particular team. Spinning around to face his attackers, he snatched the girl's wrist before she could fire again. But before he could move further things changed. They changed.

His grip faltered as the would-be mugger slipped from his grasp, and at the same time the pistol began to take on a more human form. Next, it was all Kid could do to get out of the way as he was fired on once more. Two pistols? Two of them that appeared, at a glance, identical? It would take more investigation, but a bright possibility presented itself to Kid's mind. He dodged the onslaught without thinking about it, grabbing the blonde girl's hand only to this time twist her Weapon out of her fingers. Kid didn't even blink as this was met by a fist aimed at his face. He held the girl at arm's length – she could not harm him, and he had no intention of causing her injury – and regarded her critically. Sure enough, her soul's Weapon form was identical to that of the other Demon Pistol.

"Let her go!"

In his examination, Kid had almost forgotten about the woman. She had transformed back into human form, and was now raising a hand towards him pleadingly.

"Let her go!" She repeated, voice cracking with desperation, the self-assured tone all but gone.

Kid released the girl, asking;

"Who are you two?"

"What?" The two exchanged a glance bemused, as well they might be.

"You are Weapons with identical forms. Please, who are you?" Kid continued, unable to quite keep the joy out of his voice at this wonderful discovery. He knew much of the Demon Weapons, but have never before encountered such a pair.

"I'm Patti!" The grinning one said. "That's Liz. My big sister!" She announced, as though this was a matter for great celebration. Kid was beginning to think she had a point: sisters, Weapons, identical. But what was he thinking, really? The two had tried to rob him, a shinigami.

Liz gazed at him in understandable suspicion, and took Patti's arm without a word.

"We're going."

"I thought you wanted my money?" Kid reminded by way of stalling them. He wanted, needed, to know more about this example of order in a chaotic city.

"Yeah, and you disarmed Patti. Ain't many who can do that. We know when we're beaten." For some reason, Patti giggled at this."So, unless you wanna arrest us-" she raised her hands in mock surrender "we're out of here."

Stuffing her hands into the tight pockets of her jeans, the Weapon called Liz walked off, Patti skipping beside her.

Kid made no move to stop them for his mind was already made up. He would find them again, these twin pistols who were, in part, so beautifully symmetrical. It looked as though he had found something new here after all.