"I'm bored," Ren proclaimed, sprawling backwards onto the couch with an overly dramatic sigh. He glanced at Michiko out of the corner of his eye to see if she was paying any attention to him.

She wasn't.

"I mean, Kaito gets to play at pretending to be a head shrink and even Hideki gets to keep busy, but we have to 'wait here'. It's ridiculous." He glanced over again at the diminutive woman in glasses who was still completely engrossed in the soft glow of her laptop.

"Well," he continued, an impish grin forming, "I suppose we could at least go for dinner. If you let me treat you I could show you this really neat place in East Ikebukuro that serves the best sashimi."

"No thank you," came the soft voice from behind the laptop.

"The first words you speak in three hours and it's a rejection," Ren grinned, putting a hand to his chest as though wounded. It was a wasted gesture as Michiko still hadn't looked up. He dropped his hand and his grin, letting the silence invade the room again.

With another sigh, he turned his body to face her, pushing his bangs away from his face absently.

"You know, I kind of expected this to be more exciting. Big heroic, world-saving kind of exciting, not sitting around all day while the higher ups do all the work." Michiko still didn't look up, but Ren noticed her fingers had stopped flying along the keyboard.

"He's going to get all the credit for your hard work, you know."

"That does not concern me," Michiko replied softly, finally looking up to meet Ren's gaze, "the only thing that matters is stopping Pandora." Ren sat up now, feeling like he was getting somewhere at last.

"You don't think Kaito will manage to find her in time, do you?"

Michiko's hesitation spoke louder than her voice ever had.

"We need to motivate Shizuo into helping us," Ren prompted, watching Michiko's face for any sign that she agreed with him.

"You sound as though you already have an idea," Ren found it interesting that such a small voice could sound so accusatory.

"Well, I was thinking of giving my step-brother in Saitama a call, he owes me a favor," Ren began casually. Michiko's normally soft grey eyes turned steely.

"The one who is in that gang? You do understand what you are doing, correct?" Ren was suddenly less sure.

"Of course I understand," he grinned. He had never let uncertainty stop him before. Michiko held his gaze a moment longer before nodding in agreement.

"Very well," she said, "however, provoking him like that will not work. If you truly desire to motivate him, there is another way." She gestured for Ren to join her on the couch and he couldn't entirely suppress the sly grin that made its way to his lips. The expression was soon changed to one of surprise, eyebrows disappearing under his thick bangs as he took in the information displayed on the laptop screen. Michiko clicked on one of the names, opening another file on a different person.

"Really? I would never have guessed."

"It will be the most effective way," Michiko replied firmly. Ren shrugged in agreement then grinned again.

"You know, that offer for dinner still stands whenever you change your mind," He couldn't help but say it.

"I assumed as much from the last fourteen times you have offered," Michiko replied easily in her emotionless way.

"Cold," Ren commented, playing up the wounded gesture again. This time however, Michiko saw it and Ren could swear he saw a dry smile tug at her lips for just a moment.

"You truly are slow, are you not?" she murmured softly.

-DRRR-

The penthouse had the distinct air of disuse that a place acquires when someone has not lived in it for some time. Hideki sniffed and ran a gloved hand over a polished end table. His fingertip came back clean. Someone was clearly still looking after the place then. He frowned, scanning the empty room with annoyance.

A day and a half of observation and a couple of casual questions to other residents and a particularly chatty doorman had revealed that the owner of this apartment, one Orihara Izaya, had not been home for several weeks. The doorman had added that Orihara's secretary had come by every day for the first week and a half, but hadn't returned for six days now.

After confirming the apartment was indeed empty, getting inside hadn't proved to be difficult. The lock, while expensive and well-made had proven little challenge for Hideki who had slipped inside, closing the door silently behind him. A quick sweep of the dwelling had proven everyone correct: the place was deserted.

Hideki's frown deepened. He wasn't a private investigator, damn it! His job wasn't to find missing people, it was to make people go missing. He had no idea when this information broker planned to return, or even if he planned to return at all. If Hideki had thought any of the apartment staff had any clue where Orihara might be, he would have already kidnapped them and extracted the location from them as painfully as possible.

Scanning the room again and hoping to come across something that might lead him to Orihara's whereabouts, he noticed a paper neatly folded on the computer desk that dominated the back half of the penthouse suite.

Gingerly unfolding it, he scanned the brief message penned in neat, curt handwriting.

Izaya,

I assume you have been captured, killed or otherwise incapacitated. Whether it was by the many gangs you toy with, the Yakuza or Heiwajima-san, whatever the case, I'm sure you probably deserved it. As this means I will no longer be receiving a paycheck, you can take this as my written notice. I have taken that "thing" from the bookcase as well. Given that I assume you are dead, I can't see what purpose you would need it for. If, by some miracle you are not dead, I expect to be reimbursed for the missing two weeks of pay.

Yagiri

He refolded the rather unhelpful note and pocketed it. Apparently Orihara's secretary didn't know any more than he did. Hideki glanced up at the loft area that was ringed with bookshelves. Yagiri had claimed to have taken whatever "thing" that had been in the shelves, but with no other possible clues, Hideki shrugged and easily scaled the ladder to the loft. He was carefully examining the books, trying to discern which had been recently moved. It took a while as the bookshelves had been fairly well dusted, but eventually he did notice several tomes that seemed hastily re-shelved.

Carefully removing them revealed an empty space behind the shelf. At first there didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary, but upon closer inspection Hideki noted a discolored ring stained into the dark wood of the shelf. It was about the size of his fully extended hand but what could have created it was anyone's guess.

Disappointed, Hideki had just finished replacing the books exactly as he'd found them when he heard the sound of the front door opening.

Idiot! He reprimanded himself, dropping low to the ground and gripping the handle of his hidden tanto. From his vantage point he could clearly see the front door crack open cautiously before a figure stepped through.

Hideki blinked in surprise. He had been expecting the secretary Yagiri, one of the building staff or even Orihara himself, but instead found himself watching a figure clad completely in a black leather biker outfit with a yellow full-face helmet.

The black rider, is it? He wondered if the figure before him was the legend he'd heard Ren mention once before. The description seemed to match. His friend had excitedly told him about how the black biker wasn't human, but some mythological shadow creature that didn't have a head.

Watching carefully, Hideki noted the figure's human-like movements, cautiously entering the penthouse and looking around. Yet there was something distinctly other about it too. The black biker moved to the desk underneath Hideki's hiding spot and he shifted trying to stay out of direct sight. His foot brushed the carpeted floor ever so slightly. With the background hum of lights, the fan, and the sound of running water several apartments over, no human ear should have been able to discern the sound.

The black biker, however froze, head instantly snapping towards Hideki. He was glad he had elected to flatten himself against the floor instead of trying to move over. As it was, he wasn't certain he was completely out of sight, but could only hope. After a long moment, the black biker continued rummaging around the desk. Hardly daring to breathe, Hideki listened carefully to the sound of a laptop lid being closed and a power cord being pulled from behind the desk and wound up. The black rider moved a couple more objects around before smoothly striding to the other side of the room and disappearing upstairs to the bedroom.

Interesting. Hideki mused to himself, wondering at the figure's motives. It had only taken one of the laptops and possibly the cell phones that had also occupied the desk. Probably not a thief then, he decided, then again, seeing as Orihara is an informant, the information on that laptop was probably hundreds of times more valuable than the machine itself.

The sound of eerily soft footsteps made him look up and he saw the figure cross the hall, stuffing clothing into a bag that seemed to be made entirely of shadows.

Clothing? Hideki felt his face split into a wide malicious grin, now who would need Orihara's clothes I wonder? He suddenly remembered another detail about the black biker Ren had mentioned. Apparently, it currently worked as a delivery rider.

By the time the figure emerged from the bathroom across from the bedroom, Hideki was already outside the apartment, descending the many flights of stairs and finding a good location where he could safely follow the black rider from. He noted the lightly falling snow and smiled again. Following the distinct tire tracks of the black motorcycle parked in front of the apartment complex in the fresh snow would be child's play.

He allowed the black biker a good two minute head start before following with his rental car. He could stay far enough back that the black biker would never suspect it was being followed.

-DRRR-

Celty was being followed.

She wondered if she should tell Shizuo as he hopped stiffly off of her bike, offering her a wave of gratitude. She decided to see if her pursuer continued to follow her or stopped after she'd dropped off Shizuo.

It followed.

Her pursuer was good, staying just out of sight but still able to track her. After a few minutes of trying to shake him she finally doubled back and stopped in an abandoned park next to a winding oak tree. She summoned her scythe and waited.

To her complete surprise, she heard the whinnying sound of a horse. A moment later a shadowy figure rounded the corner astride a large black bike that could have been Shooter's twin. If Celty had a jaw, she was fairly certain it would have dropped. The figure's face was obscured by a dark reflective surface that she assumed was a biker helmet, though it was difficult to tell as shadows poured from around it and seemed to form a hooded cloak that billowed and rustled in time to a wind only it could feel.

It was different and unearthly. Unnatural and yet completely and undeniably familiar.

It was a dullahan.

Surprise.

Celty wasn't sure where that emotion had come from, but she knew it was separate from her own. The other dullahan stopped in front of her and slowly pulled out a phone with a keyboard. For some reason she couldn't adequately describe, Celty was certain this other dullahan was male. Didn't someone say once that dullahan were only female? Of course, Celty had never met another dullahan, or at least, didn't remember ever meeting one. Those memories were locked in her head, wherever it might be.

I'm not here to fight you.

Celty read the message on the phone and hesitated for a moment, scythe still poised. The male dullahan held up his hands in a placating gesture.

Sincerity.

Again, the foreign emotion came to Celty, and oddly enough her instincts told her she could trust this other dullahan. At least as far as his first words were concerned. Still, she dissolved her scythe slowly, keeping her guard up.

You noticed me. I'm impressed.

Impressed.

Celty finally realized that the strange other emotions that were coming to her were being projected by the other dullahan. Does that mean he can read me as well? Is this normal for dullahans? Honestly, she had no idea, given that her experience with dullahans was limited to herself. Cautiously pulling out her own phone, Celty tapped out a message, keeping an eye on the other figure.

Why are you following me?

Hesitation.

He's clearly hiding something.

Ah, well that's a bit of a long story. I'm afraid I can't really get into it now.

If she was broadcasting her emotions to this other dullahan, Celty was certain that she was radiating suspicion at this point. Slowly typing out another message, she showed it to the other figure.

That's… really suspicious. You're… you're not after me to take me back are you?

Amusement.

Back where?

Celty turned away, flustered. She scratched at the back of her nonexistent head; a habit she had picked up to let people know she was agitated. With a start, she suddenly realized that if this other dullahan was indeed reading her emotions the same way she felt his, the gesture was completely unnecessary. Maybe this is how dullahans convey emotion without facial expressions? It was beyond strange.

I-I don't know… back to… uh… wherever it is dullahans normally live I guess…

Amusement.

Why would you think that?

I don't know! I um… I lost my head, so there's some things I don't remember… oh! Do… do I actually know you? If we've met before, I'm sorry… I can't remember.

Grim amusement.

Strange, it's a subtle change, but there's something different now.

We've met before.

The other dullahan confirmed her suspicions, flashing the screen quickly before adding:

Though it's not surprising you don't recognize me.

Celty cocked her "head", trying to recall the other dullahan anyways. There was definitely something vaguely familiar, but she couldn't put a finger on it. Hesitantly, she typed out:

What are you doing in Ikebukuro? Are you… searching for something as well?

Grim determination.

The male dullahan glanced off into the distance for a moment before facing her again, not taking his gaze off of her even as he typed out his message.

Celty, there's something very dangerous happening. I'm here to try and stop it from happening.

Celty felt a shiver roll down her spine. Between the ominous words and the intense emotions emanating from the other dullahan, she was starting to feel really uneasy. It wasn't that she didn't believe him; rather, she really did think he was telling the truth and that was the truly unsettling part. Without really knowing why she was asking, she found herself typing:

Does it have to do with Orihara Izaya at all?

Complete surprise.

The other dullahan had apparently been taken so completely aback by her comment, he fumbled with his phone for a moment, nearly dropping it.

Why do you say that?

Celty shrugged, unsure herself.

A friend of mine claims he's always at the heart of every diabolical plot. He's a bit paranoid, but he's also usually right.

Tense amusement.

Well, he's more or less right this time too. Orihara Izaya is the central point from which this chaos stems. I suppose he's finally reaping what he's sown.

Bitter amusement.

Celty internally sighed, about to type out another message, but the male dullahan beat her to it, surprisingly adept at typing quickly on the small phone keyboard.

It would be easier to simply let him die, but unfortunately he must live. There's a role only he can fulfill.

Sadness.

What? I don't understand, what's going on? Instead, she found herself asking:

What do you need from me?

Regret. Guilt. Sadness. Determination.

The emotions flashed by so quickly, Celty had a difficult time understanding them all. It worried her though, and the next message, carefully and slowly tapped out, did nothing to assuage her concerns.

Hopefully nothing. But if I can't stop it… I may need you to pay a very steep price. I'm sorry.

W-what do you mean?

I have to go. If you're on your way home, I need to be in Saitama shortly.

The dullahan turned to go, leaving Celty more confused and distraught then she would care to admit to anyone except maybe Shinra.

Wait! Can you tell me your name?

Celty nearly leapt in front of him to show him the message. He hesitated for a long moment before typing on his phone, erasing it, and typing more slowly.

You can call me Nozomu Shinya.

The dullahan turned away without waiting for her reaction. He nudged his bike into a speedy takeoff, spinning for a moment and throwing up fresh snow, before disappearing into the night.

The name was a fake, Celty knew right away. It was too odd to be real. It was also written in kana instead of the usual kanji which was strange. She puzzled over it for a moment, but eventually shrugged and urged Shooter into a fast pace, eager to return home.

-DRRR-

Hideki watched with interest as the two bikers finally parted ways after several minutes of silent conversation. For a moment he'd wondered if this was supposed to be some sort of diversion tactic. Both motorcycles looked eerily similar, but if he was supposed to be confused as to which biker was his original target, it seemed logical to have the newcomer wear the same distinct yellow helmet instead of the strange smoky cloak. He concluded that this must just be a chance meeting which meant the black biker still had no idea it was being followed. Shifting the car back into gear, he continued following the motorcycle tracks, still leading to what he hoped was his target.

-DRRR-

Izaya yawned, wincing as the deep breath pulled at his still tender stitches. He'd spent the majority of last night and this evening going through his emails, text messages and voicemails that had gone unanswered for the past few weeks. The damage was almost as bad as he feared. There had been several clients he'd had to simply cut ties with and many others that he'd had to pull out every ounce of charm and persuasion at his disposal to convince he could still be trusted. Seeing many years of careful planning and manipulation come undone so easily had left him in a sour mood and despite the fact that Shinra was going to give him hell for it, he'd already snapped at Celty. Truthfully though, he was glad to receive his laptop and cell phones.

And clothes.

He'd surprised himself with just how happy he had been to see his own clothes. Which reminded him, he still had to ask Shinra about where his favorite jacket had disappeared to. He was pretty certain he'd been wearing it that night.

Izaya swallowed back another yawn, mousing over to his emails again. His ribs were screaming in protest from the long hours spent propped up against the pillow and his one good arm ached and trembled with the strain of the splint's extra weight. His own weakness was only fueling his irritation and it was taking all of his concentration to remain courteous to his many rather demanding clients.

He'd counted himself lucky that he'd only missed two relatively minor calls from Shiki. The Awasuku-kai member was really someone Izaya couldn't afford to piss off right now. He already knew he was under an, albeit rather deserved, large amount of suspicion from many members of the yakuza group and really had to be careful how he handled them.

"Izaya," called a voice from outside his door. The informant mentally sighed. No doubt the doctor was going to ream him out for being rude to Celty earlier.

"Hm?" Izaya asked instead, pretending to be completely absorbed in his emails. Shinra entered, looking a little frazzled, running a hand through his hair.

"I just got an urgent house call from one of my important clients," Shinra explained, crossing the room and grabbing his medical bag. "Celty is going to drive me there, so we probably won't be home until late."

"Are you telling me to be good while you're gone?" Izaya asked, smirking slightly. Shinra glanced at him, offering a quick, tight smile before returning to packing his bag. He opened various drawers and cupboards, grabbing things seemingly at random.

"I suppose I am. Just try not to do anything stupid, okay?" Then as an almost afterthought, "something about this seems off…" Izaya studied the doctor a moment longer, debating with himself whether it would be worth the effort to try to leave the apartment while Shinra and Celty were gone. Much to his chagrin, he realized he really did hurt too much to make it very far.

"There's still some leftovers in the fridge if you're hungry," Shinra was saying as he surveyed the contents of his bag one last time before nodding and heading for the door, "oh, and Izaya?"

"Hm?"

Shinra offered him a grin and a little wave before adding,

"Be good!"

Izaya snorted as the doctor disappeared. Moments later he heard the front door close and soon after that the sound of a whinnying horse vanishing into the night.

He wondered for a moment what mischief he could cause before reluctantly coming to the conclusion that he was too tired to be bothered.

I could take a shower though. His first attempt at taking a shower had resulted in a ninety minute endeavor, half of which was spent trying to take off his borrowed clothes without tearing any stitches or passing out from the pain of lifting his arms. The ten minutes of showering had been agonizing and the clean feeling hadn't really persisted for very long after he'd worked up a pain-fueled sweat trying to get back into his clothes because he would be damned if he asked for help getting dressed.

Still, the idea of feeling clean and wearing his familiar clothing again was too great of a temptation to resist.

Izaya closed the laptop, setting it on the side table and carefully slid out of bed, hobbling over to the neatly folded pile of clothes Celty had left him. Selecting a black shirt and a pair of slacks he made his way to the bathroom, ignoring the mirror as had been his usual routine since that first good look.

Getting undressed was as bad as he remembered. Even with the loose T-shirt, there was no getting around lifting his arms to some degree which made his eyes water with pain. The pants were somewhat easier, using his feet, he was able to step out of them without too much difficulty. His boxers were much the same, he kicked them off to join the rest of his discarded clothing in a pile.

I guess I shouldn't be getting the bandage wet, he mused, glancing at the gauze which still covered a large portion of his chest. The bruising and swelling were finally starting to recede, but his chest still looked oddly misshapen. Izaya looked away, preferring not to think about it too much. He adjusted the water and carefully stepped into the shower.

The shower itself was actually pretty nice this time. Without the fresh wounds, the water didn't burn like it had before and Izaya felt himself relaxing as steam filled the small bathroom. The gentle shushing of the water and the warmth that quickly filled the room lulled him into a peaceful semi-conscious state. He stood there for a long while, finally beginning the painful task of washing his hair while trying not to get his arms or chest too wet.

The water had just started to get cold when he finally, reluctantly turned off the tap. He stepped carefully out of the wet tub; a fall on the slick linoleum without his arms to catch himself was not something he wanted to chance.

Izaya slowly dried himself and pulled on his clothes. The shirt was a struggle, and he had to sit heavily on the toilet seat and concentrate on his breathing for a while after managing to pull it over his head. Was it worth it? He wondered to himself, grimly. Finally able to stand, he draped the towel over his shoulders to catch the stray droplets from the hair he hadn't bothered to dry and made his way slowly back down the hall to his room.

Something's wrong. Izaya wasn't sure what it was, but with sudden certainty he tensed. It was the sixth sense that had kept him alive in all of his bouts against Shizuo and he'd learned to trust it instinctively. He entered the room slowly, cautiously.

Everything looked the same.

Except…

His laptop was moved.

The screen was flipped open.

Frowning, Izaya took a step towards it.

Instantly he realized his mistake when his danger sense spiked. He turned to face the presence that had been behind the door, but wasn't fast enough.

With incredible skill, the presence behind him grabbed his shoulder, knocked his legs out from under him and pinned him to the ground. In the seconds before his body registered the pain, he felt something sharp pressed to his neck and heard a voice.

"I was told you were dangerous. How disappointing. At least have the courtesy to scream nicely, okay?"

Then the pain hit.

A/N: I apologize for the formatting nightmare that was the dullahan conversation. Also for the cliffhanger (but not really).