Disclaimer: All fandom-based and real-life entities, including other art and literary works mentioned in this piece do not belong to the author with the exception of original characters, plot, and subplots. The views and opinions of the characters do not necessarily reflect that of the author.

Zwischenzug

by four-eyed 0-0

Part II

"Life's not a spectator sport. If watchin' is all you're gonna do, then you're gonna watch your life go by without ya."

– Laverne, The Hunchback of Notre Dame (Disney Movie)

o-o

Atypical

The first thing that registered when he crossed the threshold between sleep and wakefulness was how dark his room was. Kurama rolled over to his back, a hand connecting to his face as he blearily sought the alarm clock sitting on the bedside table, reading seven in the morning.

He pulled himself up to a sitting position and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, yawning for the first time for today. Standing up, he stretched his hands above his head, and hopped a bit in place, rousing his sore and tired muscles.

Silently, he descended the stairs and washed his face in the bathroom before proceeding to the kitchen to prepare his obligatory breakfast. It was almost a normal, human morning if not for the thoughts that plagued his half-awake head.

The beasts from yesterday possessed youki, and as was the case for the past two incidents, nobody knew where they came from. It was the third attack, and all of them were positive that the humanoids weren't anything but hanyou. With youki but no reiki.

Again, a paradox.

The four of them were definitely caught in a rut, and right now, nobody had a lead to solving the mystery of the year.

Kurama swallowed his egg roll without much gusto, washing off the gunk that stuck to his teeth with his freshly brewed tea. Recently, his breakfast had become more dull and uninteresting.

Thirty minutes later, he emerged from his house dressed in his suit and tie, briefcase in hand. He started for the familiar route to the train station, trying to feel more pleasant than he did for the sake of his morning in the office.

It was almost the same routine. He came and he went; he made excuses when he was needed by the Reikai. It was the reason he never got promoted to any higher position even after ten years of working in his stepfather's company, but he never regretted any of it. He found it more important to secure a lasting relationship with the people who would influence his life in the long run, when he moved on from this sedentary human life.

Kurama had no qualms with living out the rest of his human life in the same routine, but sometimes he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.

The usual train that stopped at his station today was brimming with passengers, and with much shoving from the "people pushers", he with the rest of the crowd were admitted to the train and he sealed a spot by the door opposite the entry and exit points, clinging to the safety handrail as he let the view of the city pass by in a blur.

It would take him three stops to get to the next district. The same old routine.

Not even fifteen minutes later, he was walking on the familiar streets lined up by shops and delicatessens, all only starting their Mondays that would prove busy. He passed by the humble greengrocer's already brimming with early shoppers, mostly housewives who'd sent their children to school and their husbands to work. He could picture his mother lining up in another shop at this same hour, pushing her way through the crowded morning market.

Kurama turned the last corner and proceeded to enter the lobby of a high-rise building smack in the center of the district, taking out his ID as he passed by the automated gates. Even with the volume of employees arriving, nobody had to wait in line as others pressed their cards onto the scanner.

With that protocol over with, Kurama strode to the lifts, pressing the call button and waiting with the rest of the employees who'd filed themselves behind him. The doors opened with a ding, and Kurama pressed the button to the twentieth floor as he passed, standing on the corner farthest from the doors to stay out of the way of those who came in.

Soon, the car was empty save for him and an older employee who kept his quiet at the opposite corner, briefcase clutched in front of him. Kurama was first to alight, and he wordlessly walked the rest of the way to a glass door at the end of the hallway, which he pushed to admit himself inside one of the divisions.

Brightly lit, the office was packed with desks and cubicles, a few potted indoor plants by the glass windows to give the place less of a stressful feel. Which was quite futile; after years of working here, Kurama'd known better than to think it was anything but hectic.

"Minamino, good morning," said the huge fellow who occupied the cubicle next to Kurama's, sipping his morning coffee and turning to nod at him.

"Good morning, Nakahara," Kurama said, nodding as he passed him by. He circled the length of his cubicle before he was able to deposit his briefcase on the table, taking off his jacket and draping it on the backrest.

A shift on his peripheral view tipped him off that Nakahara had stuck his head past the divider for their routine chatter. "How did the weekend go?"

Kurama sat himself on his chair and spun it slightly to face his colleague to seem polite. "Nothing of consequence. Yours?"

"My wife had a field day after my boy went home with a black-eye." Nakahara was laughing.

"Your son is how old?"

He shouldn't have asked that, but he did anyway.

His officemate didn't seem to mind as he answered, "Six."

Nakahara's eyes sparkling with amusement and something else entirely—pride—told Kurama that he wasn't fazed that his son had had his beginnings with violence at such an early age.

Not that Kurama really cared.

"What did he do?"

"Got into a fight, of course!" said Nakahara, still laughing, patting his rounded belly. "Oh, how I wish I'd seen him throw his first punch."

As if to underline his point, Nakahara swung a fist in the air, complete with sound effects to imitate the action of a street fight only Yusuke and Kuwabara were familiar with.

Not really.

Kurama couldn't help but smile at the grown man's seemingly carefree attitude. "Your wife must have been really worked up."

"You have no idea! She was sobbing, worried that our boy's made enemies with the neighbors' children. But he said it was only in defense. My wife wouldn't rest until we apologized, but the family next door beat us to it," said Nakahara. "Nothing but a schoolboy scuffle."

Kurama would have said something about scuffles not being everyday, but he was cut off when a figure stopped in front of his cubicle and latched onto the white divider. He looked up to see the face of his stepbrother.

"Yo, big brother. How do you do?" said Shuuchi, grinning from ear to ear, nodding so that his dark bangs momentarily covered his eyes before he pushed them away.

Mother must have served him a king's breakfast.

"Hello, Shuuichi," Kurama said, tilting his head good-naturedly. "I'm fine. How's everyone?"

"We're good. Mom wants you to join us for dinner sometime."

"I'll try," said Kurama, smiling. It had been five years since he moved out of the house, when hiding the fact that he worked for the Reikai became more and more taxing with a house full of three other grown, conscious adults. They had become less easy to fool, and even he with his expertise in lying felt the pressure.

"Don't give me that. We'll see you on Thursday, okay?"

Without waiting for an answer, Shuuichi gave him a mock salute before disappearing behind the door that led to the executive's office. Eleven years later, the two of them had grown less of step-siblings. Shuuichi had gone from the awkward thirteen-year-old to a confident bachelor, rivaling Kurama's own. It was an embarrassment that his stepbrother secured a position higher than his, but he played it cool as he needed the more flexible hours for when he was summoned by Koenma.

It was really either that or let go of one job. The latter was an option that didn't appeal to him or to his teammates even if it scarred his pride. In the Ningenkai.

Nakahara proceeded to talk about the commissions he secured the past week, and Kurama listened with one ear as he read through his own records. He was awfully behind his target, and he was hoping to make up for it this week.

The rest of the day passed without incidence, even with the many calls Kurama had to make and answer to secure accounts for the firm and to keep up with the others. He was lucky to have secured a deal with one established electrical company, and although it took a bit more pushing on his side, he was able to surpass his daily quota for a few thousand yen before the clock ticked six.

He exited the building feeling better than he had in the morning, and he decided to drop by the local café a mere block away to have some snacks before he went home. It would take at least three trains before he'd get his ride, as the afternoon crowd of students and workers rushed. The moment he entered the dimly-lit establishment, the aroma of coffee and tea with pastry wafted through his nostrils, and he settled into his favorite booth by the huge, plate glass windows, hidden from the rest of the world through the high-backed couch.

With tea in his system, Kurama leaned more comfortably into his seat, chewing the last of his bagel. His eyes landed on the window just as a truck passed by outside, so that the interior of the café flashed before him.

Even though it was only momentary, he managed to catch the reflection of a very familiar face, and his head whipped to the spot three tables in front of the one across from his down the aisle.

Her back was turned to Kurama and he could only see her side profile, but he was positive it was Aoshi. One of her hands flew to the air as she gestured frantically to someone he couldn't see from his line of sight, bun bobbing up and down as she moved her head.

He should've caught her scent when they had entered, but the brewery obscured the definite smell of mint and tobacco smoke on her. He strained to hear the conversation, chewing more slowly than he'd have wanted.

"Look, I really need to know where I could find them—" Aoshi was saying, pleading to the person she was talking to.

"Okay, okay. Calm your tits, kid. I'm giving you an address."

Kurama's face twitched at the language. The scratching of pen on paper, which was then slid down the table, and Aoshi said, incredulous, "It's a pub."

The rasping voice of the other woman sounded bored. "Yeah, safest place in Tokyo for demons and humans to mingle. It's just a station away. If you go now, you'll get there dinnertime."

What was the professor getting herself into and why was she going to that place? He should've known letting her go that time would put her in more trouble.

"It's not where I can find them, is it?" Aoshi said, an edge to her voice.

"No."

"Then why give me this address?" she asked, voice higher with exasperation.

The informant's hand made it to Kurama's line of vision, thumb rubbing against her other fingers. "One thousand more and I'll tell ya."

Aoshi was silent for a moment. Then she said, dejected and thwarted, "Never mind. I'll just find out myself."

The professor stood up and put on her leather jacket, bowing to the grizzly-haired woman who only waved her hand at Aoshi as she too got up.

Kurama's legs worked fast, and he was under the table in no time at all, waiting for the overhead bell to tinkle at the opening of the door before the sound of a busy street dissolved their footsteps in the background, everything cut off by the door's falling closed.

He waited a beat before he wormed his way back to a more dignified position in his seat, extracting from his wallet the amount he needed to pay for his tab and leaving it on the counter as he jogged to the door to follow the professor's trail.

Leaving the remainder of his meal untouched, Kurama burst outside and craned his neck to look over the crowd of pedestrians. He spotted the dark bun and grey hair about ten yards away before Aoshi and the unnamed woman parted at the crossing, the former walking down the street to the train station.

Tucking his chin into the collar of his overcoat, he tailed the unsuspecting professor, keeping her at a safe viewing distance.

He was certain she was bound for the pub in the shady part of Ginza, way down south of the district, and if he wasn't mistaken, it was the one run by a psychic and a demon. It was indeed a safe establishment, one that was off-limits to people who had so much as a violent thought; a territory warding off the wrongdoers.

But how she'd managed to find someone who knew about it… Kurama thought the woman must be one of those who'd taken up after Yusuke's idea of a business in the guise of the ramen stand he'd abandoned a long time ago. Granting favors for money.

It took another five minutes before they were able to reach the station, and Kurama waited behind a pillar for her to get past the automated gates before slipping in and taking the rear of the second file from where she stood in.

As he watched her fiddling with her jacket and a small satchel, Kurama wondered if they were mistaken for putting faith in the assumption that they'd managed to scare her off so she'd stay out of their business. He was still unsure whether this undertaking had anything to do with the incidents and her involvement in them, but somehow Kurama knew it at least entailed their group, that they were whom she meant to find.

He was able to occupy a spot by the doors as she had, her back conveniently turned to him once more as she leant on the doorframe despite the warning stickers bearing the message, "Please do not lean on the doors."

She must be in too deep a thought to be clear in disregarding train etiquette.

When she pushed herself from her position and got off, Kurama deftly followed, letting her lead the way with the paper in her hand. The breeze blew past them as they reached the top of the subway stairs, and her other hand gripped the small piece of paper in an effort to keep it from flying away.

The bandaged hand caught his eye before it disappeared into her jacket's pocket once more. Upon the sight of her injury, her intentions a week prior became more authentic to Kurama, though it definitely raised the question of why she was getting into a seemingly more serious a trouble this time.

She continued to walk three streets down, past the colorful displays of the shops and restaurants, unaware of the soul tailing her. Checking his watch, Kurama realized it was already fifteen minutes past six but the sun had yet to begin setting.

Aoshi crossed the street when the light changed to red, turning the corner after pausing to read the street sign. She walked to the end of the block and disappeared into an alleyway.

Kurama pressed his back to the wall of another restaurant, craning his neck to see how far she'd gone into the dark passage. When she took another left upon checking the piece of paper, he abandoned his hiding place and silently treaded on the same path, his feet not making a single sound against the damp, cold stone. Or if they were, the loud, echoing scuttle of the professor was overpowering enough.

He cringed inwardly. She hadn't thought this out, had she?

o-o

That little witch. Just because she made it her business to know the comings and goings with regards to the supernatural, that didn't mean Chiaki had to pay for every single word out of her putrid mouth. She'd encountered her in one of the more secluded areas in the Shibuya district, one night many months ago when she was walking alone after a late drinking party with the faculty where she didn't drink any.

"Young lady," she said, voice all spooky and airy. When Chiaki turned to her ramshackle of a mystic shop smack in a dead end between two garment shops, she continued, hand on what people called a crystal ball, "You have a gift."

It'd taken all of her last reserve of energy to keep herself from laughing. "A gift?"

"Yes. You can see things only few people can."

Chiaki raised an eyebrow. "I know that. Excuse me."

"Wait!" The greying woman almost scared her shitless with the dark urgency in her raspy voice. "You know too little. I can help you see more."

"Sorry, but I'm in a bit of a hurry," Chiaki said, bowing. The crystal ball reader's face fell and Chiaki amended, "I'll drop by if I need anything."

"I'll see you then."

Who'd have thought the time would come for when she'd really need the enchantress's help… at a high price? Which included free tea and a bagel, much to Chiaki's chagrin. The little leech. She wasn't even an enchantress for real. When Chiaki arrived at her booth, she wasn't garbed in her dark hooded robes and cloak but was smoking her pipe and lazily wasting her afternoon away. Turned out she was "a slave only for the night" (her words, not Chiaki's; they were too corny to be hers).

But Chiaki had questions for the four of the people involved in all of the uproar that had recently begun to creep into her otherwise peaceful, routine life; she had no choice.

Only this morning she'd gone to Yamamoto's hometown in Yokohama to pay respect and mourn for his death. She'd have gone yesterday, but she found out she was weakened from the news, the reason for which she only realized after she'd gone to see him.

His siblings, his only living relatives, had been devastated with the loss, and even they couldn't comprehend why the scientist would go as far as killing himself when he was at the peak of his career.

Chiaki had wanted to ask about the book, but thought better than to cause a diversion. Looking at their faces, she was pretty certain they didn't have a single clue about their brother's dealings as he'd usually kept to himself. She felt sorry for his family, unaware to what had actually happened.

It wasn't even until she was out of the house that she realized how much she would miss her boss. He wasn't the friendliest and most accommodating senior, but she'd learned a lot from him and his backwards ways of dealing with new breeds of researchers.

She'd actually wept upon seeing the coffin. Which was all right as she'd known him for nine years, but rightfully gross, in a manner only she could make sense of. She was never really fond of him after all.

Thinking about it that way, the fact that he'd sent the book to her, that he'd chosen Chiaki of all people, meant that she must have made a difference.

But she couldn't shake the feeling that it could have been not for the reason she'd drawn up to placate herself. For all she knew, he might have never sent the book. He couldn't run that fast to just disappear right after ringing the doorbell. He was a greying man and his knobbly knees wouldn't take him places in a span of two minutes.

But if that was the case, then who did it? If it wasn't him, then who was the anonymous author, "Y. K."?

And so she resolved to find the four people she'd seen only two weeks ago, with a little—very little, actually—help from the Wicked Witch of a Random Impasse in Shibuya.

As she turned the last dingy corner according to the Witch's illegible handwriting, Chiaki saw the humble two-story building at the end of the block, its plate glass windows revealing a full-packed pub, diffuse lighting from the inside contrasting with the incandescent and multi-colored sign hanging from the roof that read in bold letters, "Tenshi to Oni".

Chiaki trudged up the last few feet and slid the door open, pausing slightly at the threshold to take in the room at large before she became too noticeable for the odd mix of patrons. Some of them were dancing and singing to the karaoke machine pushed up against the far corner while some were huddled around tables, chatting and laughing about things she couldn't hear over the noise. A few people were seated in the counter, drinking and smoking.

Her heart caught in her throat as she took in the different forms of demons talking animatedly and having the time of their lives with the humans—horned, scaled, feathered, fanged, blue, grey, black. One moment she felt like she stepped into a whole other realm, one so detached from reality she must only be dreaming. The fact that such a place existed in the heart of a city—even if it was in its less popular area—made her feel far less than the scientist she thought she was.

She must have been really closed to the rest of the world if she'd never seen anything like this before.

Chiaki checked her watch. It was too early for people to be this intoxicated. On a Monday, no less. It was a pub as rowdy as any, and she had to remind herself that it was the haven to both demons and humans who weren't inclined to doing anything underhanded lest they wanted to get chucked out.

Feeling safer than she had only a moment prior, Chiaki proceeded to the wooden counter and sat on the stool closest to the door should she need to hightail it down from there. Not that she hoped to see herself doing it.

"What can I get you, newbie?"

Chiaki slightly jumped at the booming voice before she realized it was just one of the bartenders, a dark-haired young man who looked no older than she was. He was smiling, wiggling his eyebrows at her with a knowing look.

"Do I look that out of place?" Chiaki said, discomfort coming back full-force.

"Yeah," the bartender said, chuckling. "You spent a good two minutes gaping by the door."

"Oh," Chiaki said stupidly. Then, just to check, she asked, "Are you human?"

He raised an eyebrow, amused. "Yeah, I am."

"Oi, Fujiwara, whatcha doin' chattin' with the lass? Serve her a drink," said an insanely tall demon behind the counter, clapping on the shoulder the person named Fujiwara who promptly slipped away.

Chiaki gulped as he leaned down to look at her, his green skin and three eyes the perfect, albeit otherworldly, picture of a bad case of hangover.

Ha. He must have been drinking all his life.

"Name's Kurosaki. Fujiwara and I run the place. What's yours?"

"A-Aoshi," Chiaki said, sputtering.

He smiled. "Dontcha worry, kiddo, I ain't gonna eat ya. Else I'll get kicked out." For good measure, he patted her on the head, too gently than she expected when she'd braced her shoulders for the impact that never was.

Kurosaki laughed. She must be the picture of an idiotic human who didn't think this through.

"You're not here to drink, are ya?" said Kurosaki, baring his yellow teeth as he grinned at her.

"I… I don't drink actually."

The demon turned to Fujiwara. "Dude, the lass ain't gonna drink. Give her soda."

Fujiwara only smiled and gave Kurosaki a thumb up.

"So, what did you come here for, Aoshi?"

Chiaki gulped and turned to look if anyone else had noticed her presence. No one was turned to them, and she all but shuddered in relief. After she cleared her throat, she raised her eyes to meet the smiling face of Kurosaki.

"I was directed to go here so I could find four people."

"Four people?" said Fujiwara who placed a tall glass of iced fruit soda in front of her. Chiaki stared at the bubbles of carbon dioxide rising up to dissolve in the air above the liquid surface, trying to convince herself that the drink wasn't poisoned.

"It's on the house, kid," said Kurosaki. "For newbies."

Chiaki's head whipped up to look at the two of them once more. She wasn't thinking that as she had money on her, but when she saw their smiles, she realized drugging a woman was not one of the things they'd think of doing. Guess Kurosaki'd caught up on that and decided it was an unspoken rule, hence a statement different from what she was expecting.

"Uhm, thanks," said Chiaki, sipping her drink to show she trusted them. "Yum."

"'Course it is. The best things in life are free," said Fujiwara, chuckling. "So, as you were saying, who are these people you're looking for?"

Chiaki fiddled with the straw and swallowed more of the drink. She'd have to tell them if she wanted answers. "I don't know all of them but I'm pretty sure two were named, or aliased, for that matter, as Kurama and Hiei. They're both demons… or so I was told."

"The Reikai Tantei, then?" said Kurosaki, a single dark, bushy line running across his forehead shooting up as he did so. Chiaki surmised it was his eyebrow.

What a misfit. Three eyes and one eyebrow. The world didn't run out of weird.

"The Reikai Tantei?" she echoed. "Is that what they're called? As in, detectives to the Spirit World? I thought Kurama and Hiei worked for the NPA."

She was surprised she let it out in one go, surprised she was able to project much incredulity to her voice. So they'd been lying to her. No wonder they had the audacity to alter her memories.

"I'm pretty sure the two were only bluffing. They're pretty popular around here," Fujiwara replied, nodding his head. "The other two are humans, Urameshi and Kuwabara. Although I heard Urameshi wasn't…"

"He's part demon. Complicated stuff, if you ask me," said Kurosaki. "But what about 'em?"

Chiaki swallowed. If the two people in front of her weren't evidence enough, then the alliance between the Reikai Tantei should be a glaring proof that the world wasn't as it seemed.

She didn't know whether the group answered to someone else's cry for help in private or not, so she settled for a safe response, "I have questions that I think only they could answer."

"And you'd rather talk to them about it and not to odd business partners," said Kurosaki, free from any hint of malice. "You're in luck, one of them is here."

Fujiwara saluted someone who took the seat to the left of Chiaki's. "Yo, Kurama, what can I get you for today?"

The skin on Chiaki's exposed nape crawled and she jumped to a position she'd have called defensive, satchel covering her face and more importantly, her nose.

"I've had my fill, Fujiwara. Thank you," he said, before looking at Chiaki. "Professor Aoshi, it's nice to see you. How have you been?"

Chiaki's eyes widened as her heart began thumping against her chest. The demon Kurama was mere inches from her just a moment prior; she was this close to danger just a moment ago.

But in his suit, Kurama screamed anything but demon. He looked too human.

"What are you doing here?" she all but squealed, panicked. She hadn't braced herself; she was only going to think of what to say when she had to finally face them.

"I'm here to speak with Fujiwara and Kurosaki," said Kurama, making a show of smiling at the two people still watching them. "It's your being here that's a mystery."

Chiaki couldn't have phrased that any better, but she wasn't convinced he was actually here on business. "I… I have to talk to the four of you."

Quit stuttering. What are you, an eight-year-old?

Kurama's hand connected with his cheek. "Whatever for?"

"It's… something private."

"Oh," said Kurama. "If you'd come with me, then we could discuss it with my companions."

Chiaki's eyes narrowed. "What happened to speaking with Fujiwara and Kurosaki?"

Kurama's face lit up. "I think by now it's evident that I didn't come here for that."

She dropped the satchel and rolled her eyes to the back of her head. "What do you mean?"

"I've been tailing you from Shibuya."

"What?" Chiaki's heart had started on overdrive again, trying to make sense of it all. "You were following me? How—?"

"I was in the local café when I overheard you talking to this… strange woman."

She wasn't convinced that he just happened to "overhear." What a smooth liar. "More like eavesdropped, I'd bet."

"Right you are, Professor. You're always perceptive."

The calm demeanor of the redhead made her blood boil and her fist clenched more tightly on her satchel. "And that prompted you to follow me all the way here? How then do you expect me to trust you?"

Kurama smiled. "You would because you need me."

This little effeminate in suit and tie… how dare he! Oh, how I'd love to strangle you right now and—!

Without warning, Chiaki felt a jolt of electricity envelope her torso and she was lifted off the air, a squawk escaping her throat. The next things happened so fast she wasn't sure they weren't part of a very, very lucid and elaborate dream.

The sound of the door banging open. Her feet lifting parallel to her head, her body four feet off the ground.

"Professor!" Kurama exclaimed, arm shooting out to her and his hand wrapping around her wrist.

At the moment of contact, another jolt of electricity shook her and she cried. "It hurts! What the hell is happening?"

She was being pulled away by something invisible, and Kurama's hand on her wrist with the electricity and his resisting the force proved too painful. For all she knew, she could snap in half, like a twig from the force of the wind before it broke off the branch.

Kurama was yelling over her cries. "Professor, listen, stop thinking!"

"Thinking what?"

He was on his feet now, two hands already holding her. "Just stop!"

This guy was insane. "How do you even do that?"

Kurama's mouth moved then dropped open. Exasperated, he called over his shoulder, "Fujiwara, please put it down for now."

"You should've said it sooner," said the bartender, smiling as though the entire situation was amusing.

Just as suddenly as she was lifted off the air, the force ceased to pull, the door slid closed, gravity took over, and she was going to collide with the stool—

Something else hard—but not as hard as wood—made contact with her body, and warmth enveloped her as the scent of roses, mixed with soap and fresh clothes filled her nostrils. Her breath whooshed out of her, and her stomach lurched in a sickly somersault.

"Professor?"

The voice was coming mere inches from her ear, and she snapped her eyes open to a splash of flaming red hair. Breath shallow, she pushed herself away from the man, stumbling a bit from the lack of support as she put two feet between them. The world spun for a moment, and she found her bearings as she placed a hand on her head.

"Professor?" Kurama repeated.

"Hold on," Chiaki said, too weak to put spite in it.

She became more aware of the tingling on her wrist as the world shifted back to focus, and she pushed the cuff of her jacket to survey the damage. It was pink from the pressure Kurama had put on it as he prevented her from catapulting out into the open, thus saving her from a major embarrassment.

Not that the fact that she was hovering feet above the ground only two minutes ago made her feel any better, as it had been a spectacle for the whole pub.

She cursed under her breath and stumbled to the stool, dropping her head on the counter as her face went redder than Kurama's hair.

The whole pub was quiet and she didn't dare move until the twitter began again.

"Professor? Are you all right?"

"I just managed to injure my good hand. I'm not okay."

"Are you still thinking of killing me?"

"I wasn't—" The gears in her head started turning and she sat up straight, looking back and forth between the redhead and the proprietors. "That was it?"

"Yeah," said Fujiwara, as he and Kurosaki laughed. "Welcome to the safest place in Tokyo for you and your demon friends."

"No violent thoughts," Chiaki told herself, and she pressed her still reddened face on the counter once more. That little Witch! "Of freaking course."

"Are you still thinking it?" asked Kurama, laughing.

"No," said Chiaki, twisting to glare up at him. "I only wanted to get even—in my thoughts, at least—and this is what happens."

"Sorry, kid," said Kurosaki.

He didn't sound sorry at all, and Chiaki's nostrils flared, upset of not knowing better than assuming anything and everything violent was a major no-no. She could be really thick when it mattered most not to.

"Is this how much the soda costs?"

The three men howled with laughter again, and Chiaki silently wished she would just dissolve then and there.

"Now that you've mentioned it, we might consider," said Kurosaki, still laughing.

"We're putting the wards up again, so refrain from thinking dark stuff," said Fujiwara, wiggling his eyebrows.

Chiaki, lips still pursed in a picture of upset, turned to wait for him to do it, but after a moment of stupidly watching the bartender prepare a drink for the new customer who'd entered, she said, "Is it up?"

"Yeah."

"How did you do that?" He didn't even move! No incantations, no finger movements, no anything. He just went to the shelves holding the drinks.

"It's a secret." He winked at her, tray in hand, and pushed with his backside the swinging doors to get out of the bar and serve the mix. Kurosaki disappeared with him after a moment of looking at his wary customers, grumbling something about cleaning the windows under his breath.

"How's your right wrist?" asked Kurama after Chiaki turned to finish her soda and they had the counter to themselves.

She cast him a sidelong glance. "It hurts."

"I think that's because I touched you when you were thinking of hurting me," said Kurama, rubbing at his temple.

Like she didn't know that.

"Sorry about that."

Chiaki looked away as he bowed his head. She couldn't believe this. One moment, he was the greatest douche in all of Japan, holding himself with such high regard just because she sought their group's help, and the next he was sorry. But Chiaki wasn't unreasonable. She was twenty-seven years old, after all.

"I'm partly to blame, so don't be."

"Still, you acquired your injuries because of us," he said. It was a roundabout way of taking the blame, but it worked for the mean time.

"I broke my wrist two weeks ago because I was stupid enough to help."

"And you hurt yourself today because you didn't trust me enough."

"It's difficult to do that. You almost erased my memory of the incident, in case you forgot." Chiaki's lips twitched as she chuckled. "Ha, isn't that funny."

He clearly took the lame joke as it was and Kurama sighed, reaching for his nape concealed by his long locks. Chiaki turned to see him withdrawing his hand, which he held out in front of her, palm up. For a moment she thought it was the powder again, but it was only a seed as yellow as sweet corn, but none like a monocot's, innocently sitting against his skin.

"Uh… why are you showing me a seed?"

"This seed came from a samara fruit of the demonic Yggdrasil Ash," said Kurama, looking at the seed. "Concoctions made from it should heal sprains and fractures."

"Yggdrasil Ash? As in that from the Norse mythology?"

Kurama nodded.

She couldn't believe it. "What are you, a Japanese demon, doing with the seed of a sacred Scandinavian tree? At least according to legends, that is."

"It's a long story but let's just say I have my ways."

Chiaki paused, repeating what he just said. This man was dangerous. And as far as demonic things go… "Isn't it dangerous to administer something demonic to a human?"

He smiled. "No, unless it's poisonous."

"How should I know it isn't?" Chiaki asked, cocking an eyebrow at the overspill that was Kurama's confidence.

"I can drink some."

"You don't have any injuries."

"Then I'll injure myself."

Chiaki gaped openly at him. He was deathly serious, with a smile on his face to make it seem less sick. "That's crazy."

Kurama's smile widened. "If that's what it takes for you to trust me enough, then so be it."

She searched his eyes for the lie, but when he only stared steadily at her, she sighed. "You're doing this to make up for the powder fiasco and for today?"

"I am," said Kurama as he pulled his hand away and reached for his hair once more. "I'll brew the concoction at Yusuke's."

The question was automatic. "Who's that?"

"Urameshi Yusuke," said Kurama.

When he placed empty hands on his knees with no seed to be seen, Chiaki asked, "What are you doing hiding seeds in your hair?"

"That's a story for another day."

"Touché," said Chiaki. But she briefly wondered at his answer: another day. Did that mean she was going to see him again even after this?

Kurama smiled at her before saying, "So, would you come with me? I'm heading out to meet the others."

"How should I know you're not going to kill me?" That same questions were coming from her was getting old.

"That's a violent thought," he pointed out, still the picture of patience.

Chiaki rolled her eyes.

"All right, if it would appease you, I'm going to give them a call," he said, brandishing a compact mirror.

"With a mirror," she said, incredulous. She could definitely laugh at his serious, no-nonsense face. "Aren't you a girl."

Kurama tilted his head, and Chiaki wasn't sure if he was offended. If he was, he was doing a great job hiding it. He probably got it all the time, what with his appearance.

"It's a communicator," he said, opening it and letting her see.

When Chiaki laid her eyes on it, she realized he wasn't kidding at all. The spot where the powder should have been was loaded with multi-colored buttons with numbers and symbols too small from the distance she was keeping between the two of them. Kurama pushed a lone black button at the topmost corner of the makeshift keyboard, and the mirror that turned out to be a screen came to life, the emblem of a certain Koenma flashing before them.

"Who's Koenma?"

"The King of the Reikai."

"So you really are working for him."

"Is it obvious?"

Chiaki fixed him with a glare.

Kurama wasn't fazed a bit and pressed another set of buttons. The screen flashed again and was then divided into four frames, with small letters reading, "Urameshi Yusuke", "Kuwabara Kazuma", "Hiei", and "Botan".

"Hiei isn't an alias?"

"No," said Kurama, just as the frames changed from blank, black visuals to the faces Chiaki was fairly familiar with.

So they lied to her. How could she have put faith in their words?

"Hello, Kurama!" said girl named Botan, waving, before she noticed the redhead wasn't alone. "Oh, it's the professor. Why is she with you?"

Distracted from lamenting the fact that all these started out wrong, her hand connected with her mouth in shock at the sight of Botan.

"You were the ghost with the oar!" said Chiaki, recognizing the blue-haired kimono-clad girl.

"You can see me? Then you must be spiritually aware," said Botan, smiling broadly at her. "It's Botan, by the way; reaper of souls, messenger to the River Styx, and assistant to the Reikai Tantei."

Shit. "I'm speaking to Death. Oh my god," said Chiaki, feeling queasy all of a sudden, hand still on her mouth. "I might die soon. You're here to take me!"

Then…

Her head whipped up to snarl at Kurama, "How dare you trick me into this!"

Just as Chiaki raised her hands to wrap around the redhead's neck, almost screwing with the fact that the wards were up again, laughter echoed from the communicator and Chiaki glared at Kurama who was joining in, a hand held up to placate her. Remembering where she was, Chiaki lowered her hands.

"Calm down," he said. "That wasn't my intention."

Botan's voice resounded from the communicator, waving her hands to dismiss her worrying. "I'm not here to take anyone away, Professor. I'm sorry if you thought I was."

Chiaki turned to Kurama. "I just have to let them know that you're with me."

"So what if they knew?" Chiaki said through gritted teeth, the relief and confusion coming to her at once and making her feel uncertain.

"I'll be held responsible for your safety till we meet them," Kurama said, all cool and patient. When she only blinked back at him, he turned to the others. "We'll meet you at the diner in an hour. She wants to talk to us."

"About what?" said Yusuke, eyebrows knitted.

Chiaki looked back and forth between the screen and Kurama. She dropped her voice, leaning in as she said, "Yamamoto Koji."

Judging from the look on their faces, she'd come to the right people.

A/N:

* In Japan, there are employees called "people pushers". Job description? Exactly as that. They push people to fit into train cars especially during rush hours.

* Yggdrasil ash - from Norse mythology; an evergreen ash tree that spanned heaven and hell. Why use it for recuperation of injured muscles and bones? Because it spans heaven, earth, and hell and should therefore be very powerful. Haha. Why does Kurama have its seed? Let's just say that somewhere in the Makai other mythological forms dwelt: plants and animals alike, whether they be the yeti or the banshee or the kitsune.

So... what is Kurama's profession? Haha. And Chiaki is having a field day, I know.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter! You're the best! And to everyone who added this chapter to their faves and alerts! :) I hope you've all enjoyed it and would drop a line or two to tell me about it.

See you next chapter!