Depend On You

by Hotaru

Preliminary Notes:  This is not the first time I'm writing a fic about RRK, but the first time I'm actually posting one.  I hope the prose does its job—I'm definitely not as good as Linay, Anna-neko, Kyaa-Kyaff, Aya Komiyama, Kamimura Kaoru, Chibi-angel, Dementedchris, Yuki, Kard of Dark, or any of you fanfic writers out there—but I'll definitely try.  So please e-mail me for your comments and suggestions.

For those who want to know whether this is going to be a K&K or a K&T fic, well, you can start picking out some clues yourself (though I tell you, I love unpredictability).  Besides, I think my pen name already says a lot!!! (he he he, as if that's really enough).  By the way, this is also an A/U fic, and though I would normally NOT retain the original names for the sake of plausibility (since it's most unlikely even for reincarnated souls to have the same names), I will make an exception here.  I believe most fans like me have some kind of (perverted?) attachment to the original names anyway, so…

This fic can be classified as Romance/Drama/Angst, though I wouldn't say that this is a DARK fic.  I haven't tried writing lemons and may come up with a rather poor attempt here (but what the heck!!!) and there might be a bit of OOC as well, just enough to keep the story moving in unpredictable directions.  So for you readers out there, enjoy!!!  Hope you don't flame me just yet!!!


Gloved fingers tapped against the receiver, impatience tightly controlled as eyes flickered from amethyst to amber, its owner pursing his lips if only to keep himself from struggling for words.

The silence was unnerving.  Darks fingers moved to resume its tapping, this time, its owner's voice sounding hoarse as he nervously asked. 

"Do I sound like I'm angry?"

A grin.  He saw it in his mind's eye as the man on the other end of the line snickered.

"That would be an understatement, Himura.  Your ki betrays you only too well..."

"Not if I could help it," he answered, hands diving into the pocket of his coat to resume its nervous fiddling there. 

"Had a tiff with your woman lately, or should I even ask?"

Amber flashed as the red-haired young man in the long black overcoat shook his head.  "Never mind.  I'd rather discuss the case for now.  So you think the girl's been kidnapped then tortured?  So what's new about that?"

"Nothing.  Do you really think I'd need your help if it's all that simple?"

"I thought I said I'm retiring, Saitou..."

"Jesus.  You're not even thirty yet.  Don't tell me your significant someone got you convinced…"

"Hell, no.  It's just that…" the young man curled his fist into a ball inside the pocket of his long coat, his shadowed face suddenly taking on a more serious expression.  What could indeed be the reason?  He knew that the intel officer was at least, partially correct.  The retirement issue has most—if not everything—to do with his fiancée.  They've talked about this for years, about his job, how it's been pulling them apart.  She told him she wanted a normal life.  A family.  A house by the lake.  Maybe two kids or even more, even if it ruins her figure.  Despite the fact that they both share the same depraved reality constituted by criminals, cutthroats, and malcontents, they share an unspoken bond—a dedication to the goal of eradicating the filth and muck of humanity, she as a lawyer, he as an intelligence agent.  Perhaps that's the irony of it all.  He and his fiancée agree in the most important things—things which matter the most. 

So why is he still confused?

"Hey, still in there Himura?"

The red-head snapped his eyes open, his hand fisting inside the pocket of his coat for the second time.

"Yeah, Saitou.  Still here.  Can we discuss this over coffee?  I just realized I need to make a few urgent calls.  Why don't we meet an hour later?  Same place."

"I see.  Just do me a favor, Himura."

"What's that?"

"Stop thinking about her and start thinking about you.  Next time I see that lost kid look of yours I'd definitely bash your head into a pulp."

"That will be all Saitou."

The line went dead.  And the man in the black coat walked away from the telephone booth, his violet eyes now the color of rain pooling below his feet.