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Disclaimer: I do not own Yu Yu Hakusho; I make no profit from this story

Burning Angels
by R. M. Weiss

Chapter 4:

"I'm sorry sir but you're not allowed back in. This is the intensive care unit, only family is allowed." Dressed in a starched white uniform, the nurse had the looks of an angel but the unyielding resistance of a solid old oak. Crossing her arms over her chest she set expression into a concealing mask. "He's been put into a drug induced coma. He won't be awake again until his lungs can function on their own and the doctor pronounces him stable."

Kuwabara drew a deep breath in through his nose. "This is really important though, I was sent here to guard his room."

"And you will…from outside the door. In all my years of working here I can assure you no one will be getting in except through that door, officer." She smiled a viper's smile. "I'll be glad to get you a chair."

Holding up his hands in defeat, the carrot top quickly shrugged his shoulders. "No, it's fine. I'll just go sit in the waiting room….Thank you ma'am." Quickly turning on his heel, he retreated towards the elevator. He would need to make a few phone calls and he didn't feel like whipping out a cell phone around the delicate machinery that was keeping a number of patients balanced on the thin line between life and death.

It had been only a handful of minutes since the last of the nurses had trickled out of Itsuki's room and then focused all their attention on keeping both him and Yusuke out. When two of the older nurses recognized Yusuke from his stay in the ICU a short number of weeks ago they had all but pounced on him and propelled him to the elevator and back to his room.

'Drug induced coma…Koenma won't be happy to hear about this.' Kuwabara shuffled onto the empty elevator. Pressing the 'two' button twice he let his eyes rove across the ceiling of the metal box while he waited for the doors to close. He would make his call to Koenma first. Then, if he had time, he would go to the cafeteria and grab some food. Or maybe he would go down to the small bar and bistro five minutes away and smuggle some beer into Yusuke. Grinning, the blue eyed man scratched his chin where a now healthy growth of stubble was beginning to make itself known. 'I really need a shave,' he thought absentmindedly as the elevator car began to descend.

Stepping out when he reached the second floor he began searching his pockets for his cell phone. He strode down the hall as fast as he could without looking like he was in a rush. He had never liked hospitals, something about them always giving him the creeps and sending a cold chill down his spine.

Kuwabara followed the painted blue lines on the edges of the tiled floor to the exit. When the cold rush of air hit him as he pushed through the revolving doors he pressed his thumb against the plastic button on his phone. Bringing it up to his ear he began walking towards the bistro, hunching his shoulders against the biting wind.

No one answered at his boss's desk. Flipping his phone shut, the carrot top slid it back into the pocket of his heavy brown wool coat. It had been a gift from his sister three years ago and since then had gotten hardly any use. The only reason that he was wearing it now was because his favorite dollar-store army jacket had been torn to shreds by his neighbor's dog two days ago.

It had been a tragedy he would remember forever.

The bell over the bar's door jingled and the patrons all paused in their eating and drinking to look at who had entered their cozy little space. A few of the men at the bar gave nods or grunts of acknowledgement, recognizing Kuwabara almost instantly while others simply turned away and resumed their business. Not that it was of any consequence to the officer, he was only here for one thing. The all important drink that no Friday night sports game could be completed without.

"Three beers," he called to the bartender. Drumming his fingers against the wooden counter, Kuwabara watched the television across the bar. An anchorwoman was transitioning over to some smalltime reporter who was standing inside a musty concrete basement. He didn't need to hear what the mousy balding man was saying to know what had been found. For the past year police had been focusing a good portion of their efforts to wipe out the basement storage areas for the trafficking of humans.

It was just one more item on the long list of things the city's boryokudan operated.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

The question startled Kuwabara and drew his eyes away from the television. For a moment, all he could see was blonde before it dawned on him to lower his gaze. Inside he sucked in a sharp breath. He recognized the kid from that night at the warehouse and from the dossier on Seventh Shinobu-gumi. His name was Mitarai Kiyoshi, a student who had gotten involved with Sensui's gang of his own free will. He'd never been arrested, never even had gotten a single speeding ticket. He was essentially the perfect teenage son anyone could ask for.

Except that he was yakuza.

Mitarai frowned slightly and cleared his throat, brows drawing together in concern. "Sir? You're spilling your drink all over yourself."

Snapping back to reality the blue eyed officer yelped and dropped the glass of beer he had been holding. He hadn't even realized he had ordered a fourth drink for himself while he watched the news. Shirt now stained and wet, he grabbed at a couple of napkins provided by a dispenser on the bar counter.

Mitari flagged down the bartender and got a slightly damp hand towel. "Here, use this," he offered, his frown vanishing when he received a 'thanks' for his efforts and the blue eyed man began using the towel to dry his shirt off.

"Careful where you step too…you dropped the glass."

Kuwabara stopped his frantic and futile attempt to salvage his shirt. Eyes going from the shattered glass on the floor to the stain on his shirt and finally to the blonde in front of him, he felt a slightly sheepish smile tug at his lips. "Uh—yeah, yeah thanks."

The blonde rocked back on his heels ever so slightly, masking a wince that the movement caused with a polite smile. "I just thought I'd see if you were okay…you were doing it for awhile and I couldn't help but notice."

"I didn't even know I ordered something to tell you the truth."

Mitarai shrugged his shoulders a little, his yellow sweatshirt barely moving. It was too baggy for him in all honesty. He had only bought it because the color had reminded him of one of his favorite things. Letting out a quiet sigh when an awkward silence fell between his companion and himself, he glanced at the television. "So…are all those beers for you?" he asked.

"Oh, uh," Kuwabara snatched the three unopened bottles off the counter, "no. Just bringing some to a friend." He let out a nervous sort of chuckle. 'Why am I talking to you? You put a bullet in me! You tried to drown me in that vat of water!' Clearing his throat, the carrot top focused his gaze on the blonde. He had to know if the kid was simply messing with him, and remembered the night at the warehouse, or if he had no clue. "Hey, do I know you from somewhere?"

Blinking, the teen furrowed his brows again. "I don't think we've met before. Maybe we've just passed each other recently? I go to school around here…."

"I work around here," Kuwabara replied.

Mitari snapped his fingers, "That's it then. We've probably just seen each other coming home. Do you take the walkway above the old underpass four blocks down?"

Kuwabara hesitated, "Yeah," he admitted at last, "I go that way every day except Thursday."

"Why not Thursday?"

"I get out late on Thursdays and car pool with a friend."

Relaxing a little as the heavy discomfort had been lifted from the air, Mitarai eased a hand into the front pouch on his sweatshirt and discreetly rubbed the still healing wound across his stomach. "My name's Mitarai Kiyoshi. Everyone just calls me Mitarai though." He stuck his free hand out, another polite smile gracing his lips. He didn't bother asking for a name in return, if the older man wanted to give it to him then he would, if not, Mitarai doubted it would matter much since they'd probably never meet again.

The officer fidgeted for a moment, his hand clenching once, twice, at his side before he grasped the offered hand briefly and gave it a quick shake. "Ku-Kuro Kenji. You can call me Kenji." Kuwabara winced at his own lie, it sounded completely fake. 'Kenji' of all the names he could have picked, why did he pick Kenji? Perhaps Shizuru was right when she said he was watching too many wrestling re-runs.

"Kenji," the blonde murmured after a minute, aqua colored eyes studying Kuwabara's face. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too, Mitarai."

They stood facing each other quietly for a handful of moments before the blonde let out a little laugh, hugging his tender belly tightly when the sound caused a searing pain to rip across his abdomen. His smile held a grimace behind it, and it was all he could do not to double up on the spot and let out a little cry. "You should get going," he mumbled, clutching tightly at his stomach, his hand crating a bump in his sweatshirt. "Don't want to let the beer get warm on your friend."

Kuwabara fought with his conscience and lost. Setting the beers down on the table he put a hand on Mitarai's shoulder. "You okay?"

"Oh, I just had a small accident earlier. I think I hurt my abs."

"Car accident?"

The blonde shook his head. "Tripped down the stairs," he lied. "I was coming home from school and the apartment I live in is pretty high up. I missed a step and went skidding."

Kuwabara nodded slowly. "Done that myself a couple of times."

"Well from the way you were tipping that glass I can only imagine what your sense of balance is like," the blonde said, cracking a smile after a moment. "Sorry…I just had to rib you about that…It's been a long day…I'm a bit out of sorts myself."

"Don't let your day ruin your night."

Aquamarine eyes seemed to lose the heavy burden of sadness that had settled into them. "Same goes for you," Mitarai replied in a quiet voice just barely able to be heard over the din of the bar. Bowing ever so slightly he made to leave, "I should let you go. It was nice to meet you, Kuro Kenji."

"Likewise," the cop replied just as quietly. He watched the young man slip away back into the crowd and as he did so a phantom ache passed through his right side. He'd been torn up by the blonde's knife pretty good that night. In return though, he'd nearly disemboweled Mitarai. Not intentionally of course, but until tonight Kuwabara had wondered if the blonde had managed to escape with his life.

"Damn kid," he huffed after a moment, grabbing his beers again and sitting them securely inside his jacket. Slapping some money down on the counter he pushed his way out of the bar and back towards the hospital. It would be just like high school again, sitting in a room with Yusuke and sneaking in a few drinks to kill time while they talked about this and that. Granted this time they wouldn't be listening for the sounds of Yusuke's mother treading towards the room, but rather the quiet click of a nurse's shoes against linoleum tiles. It would be tricky but worth the buzz in the end.

Kuwabara took the stairs this time as he entered the hospital. By the time he reached Yusuke's floor he was out of breath—inside at the back of his mind a voice chided that he was out of shape too. Opening the heavy off-white door to the nearly empty hallway, the carrot top fixed his coat a little and stilled the bottles inside as best he could.

The walk to room three forty-three felt like a mile, and every nurse that turned a corner sent his heart into his throat. It was the old thrill. The feeling of doing something he knew was morally wrong and yet seemed acceptable on some level to him.

"Urameshi?" he called as he entered the two-person room. The old man that was in the bed closest to the door twitched in his sleep when Kuwabara spoke.

Seeing a side of the cloth divider between the two beds move, the carrot top grinned and crossed the room in three easy strides. He sat down heavily in the chair next to the elevated bed where Yusuke sat rubbing sleep from his eyes.

He checked his cell phone quickly before setting it to silent and placing it back in his pocket. With both hands now he carefully extracted the smuggled beers and set them down on the edge of the bed. "You've corrupted my morals," he said, grin staying in place.

Yusuke reached for the closest bottle and twisted the cap off with a quick flick of his wrist. "What morals?" he asked after a long pull.

The two friends and rivals shared a look before breaking into quiet laughter.

TBC

Sorry for the long wait. Real life has knocked me for a loop in the past months.