A/N: Welcome to this weird little one-shot. Do I have any clue where it came from? Not really, but I (sort-of) like it. It is a look inside of the head of a Dee who has been pushed too far, and a little of what happens afterwards. Drop me a review and tell me what you think!

Disclaimer: Do you honestly think that I have the talent to write such an incredible manga? And, you should see me try to draw. It's scary, honestly, that's how bad my drawing skills are.

Blood On His Hands

They called it excessive force.

He called it protecting the person he loved.

He'd been threatened, pushed beyond his breaking points. He'd lost his temper. He'd pulled the trigger.

Police officers were trained to shoot to kill. It was the nature of the job.

He shot to kill.

It worked.

They called it murder.

He called it self-defense. His life was in danger, but more importantly everyone else in his life was in danger.

He stood with the smoking gun in his hands, staring at the body as Ryo limped up the street and the sirens began to wail.

There was blood on his hands. Literally and metaphorically.

He couldn't remember whose blood it was.

He hadn't meant to….

But he had.

He had meant to.

Murderer.

Murderer.

Murderer.

Ryo stood next to him, prying the gun out of his hands, letting it drop to the ground. His lips moved but he couldn't hear the words.

He stared right through him.

He had just killed someone in cold blood.

He clenched his jaw, clenched his fists, tensed his body.

They deserved it, his mind whispered.

The empty alley burst into life. Cops and guns and questions.

Ryo's lips were still moving and he was waving his hands. The Chief was there, in front of him, and his lips were moving too. All of their lips were moving.

JJ launched himself forwards and Ryo stepped into his path, slamming into the other man in an uncharacteristic show of force.

Ryo appeared in front of him, tugging on his arm, pulling him away.

There was blood on his hands.

He was a murderer.

Their lips moved.

'What happened?'

'—excessive'

'Self defense?'

'—all right?'

Murderer.

Ryo pulled him along, guiding him gently and pushing him into the front seat of the car.

There was silence all around him on the ride home. Ryo's lips moved but there was no sound.

The world was on mute.

He was on mute.

"Live your life as honestly as you can…."

What was he now?

Through the door. Up the stairs. Into the apartment.

He stood like a stranger on the threshold, blinking as if he had never seen the place before.

Bikky looked up and his lips moved, his eyes wide.

Ryo said something.

Bikky nodded, disappeared, re-emerged carrying a bag, headed for the door. The boy lingered next to him, his fingers locking for a moment around his wrist, squeezing tight.

The door closed.

Ryo guided him to the couch, sat him down, knelt before him. His lips moved.

He couldn't hear. Couldn't understand.

Murder.

Cold blood.

But he deserved it. The things he'd said, things he'd threatened….

He looked into black eyes.

The lips moved.

'Please.'

The lips stopped moving; they pressed tightly together, quivering.

Then they were against his, pressing, pressing, pressing.

He responded.

It was nature. It was instinct. It was something else entirely.

Ryo broke away.

"Dee?" His voice cracked. "Dee, please…."

He blinked.

"Ryo."

Ryo's eyes closed. "Thank you, God." They opened again.

Murderer.

His shoulders shook and he bent in half.

He cried.

The couch cushion sank to adjust to the new weight, and the arms cradled him, stroking his back, stroking his hair. The touches feather-light and soft. Ryo held him as he shook and cried and cried and cried.

Murderer.

Blood on his hands.

Cold blood.

"I love you."