Disclaimer: If I owned this shit, would I be sitting here unemployed?

A/n: Urgh, it's been a long, long, long and convoluted eight months or so. Don't look at me like that, i'm just guessing. Y'all are gonna hate me so hard for writting a such a cliffie, but don't worry, I'll wrap it up. Eventually. But I'm definitely trying to get back into writting here a little, even got a collab in the works that I'll put up here in a little bit. Alas, it's not Wolf's Rain, though. You'll just have to see tight and see, ne?

Chapter five - Rest for the wicked (Inu)

"Rocks for my pillow and sand for my bed,

For better or worse, I left him for dead,

But two rivers to each other run,

Words that shook me like the kick of a gun…"

- Laika, 'Black Cat Bone'

There was something in the dark. Something…bad.

The black dog growled, her hackles bristling, staring into the shadows where something was shifting, rust-black against the night, and a shape that might have been another dog but was…was…not-right.

Bad-feeling swelled up as it turned. The too-sharp muzzle lifted to show too-sharp teeth in a too-sharp grin, and the creature began to laugh.

The bad-feeling increased.

"Inspector Yaiden!"

Yuki 'Blue' Yaiden jerked awake, nearly falling off her desk. "Wha'?"

The Chief was standing over her, arms crossed, and a look on his face that was mixed irritation, exasperation, and sheer gruff annoyance. "How well did you sleep last night?"

She made a face, straightening up and running her hands through her hair, and affected a careless shrug. "As much as you did, probably."

He scowled. "I didn't sleep at all."

Crap. She sighed, took a sip out her coffee mug, and immediately regretted it. It was now totally stone-cold, and tongue-numbingly bitter to boot."No-one slept, I'll bet. I guess –"

"Not an excuse." He growled, then his expression softened marginally. Not so much that anyone who didn't know him well enough would notice, but Blue knew her adoptive father as well as - better than - anyone else at the police station. "It's next weekend."

"Already? I –" She swallowed, but whatever she was going to say was quashed when one of the younger officers stood and ran over to Quent.

"Sir, I – there's- it's –" He was excited, stumbling over his words in his haste.

"Spit it out." The Chief snarled, any soft feelings fled once more.

The kid licked his lips, and composed himself. "We've located the Claw, sir. We got an anonymous tip-off, and the patrol group are on their way to pick him up."

"No!" Blue realised she was standing, and half the police station was staring at her. A muscle in her jaw tightened, and she turned to the Chief. "Sir, I've been tracking this criminal for the past year. Permission to call off black group and apprehend him myself, please."

His eyes narrowed, and he scowled harder. The answer was pretty clear. She tried to stare him down, but he stared back. She chanced a glance around. Everyone was pointedly looking elsewhere. Perfect. It was evil and underhanded, she knew, but if there was one thing that was Quent's big weakness; it was the Puppy Eyes of doom.

That what her adoptive mother - Quent's wife - had called them, part-jokingly. If Yuki (nicknamed 'Blue'- short for 'little blue-eyes' – because of it) and her 'little brother', Ruth, had decided that there was something that they really desperately wanted, it was he they'd go to. He couldn't stand two pairs of huge, pleading eyes staring up at him, much less one. Back in the present, she watched with a kind of childish triumph as his mouth twisted and his resolve crumpled.

"I should get you moved to another sector for this," He growled, then his head snapped up. "Well!?" He roared, "Get to it, you mutts!"

The others scurried to do his biding.

About ten minutes later, a police van rolled, quietly as a car can, to a stop outside a huge crumbling concrete building – whether it had once been an apartment block, or an office block, or even a hotel (she thought with not a little irony – one of the raided establishments had been a hotel) it was hard to say, it was so far gone.

"This is the place?" Blue asked the three other officers with her. It seemed…almost too obvious. Contrived. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end in warning.

However, the others seemed to be having no such misgivings. One of them, a cop a little younger than herself, nodded earnestly. "Yep, that's what the guy said. Third floor, likely asleep. Eurasian male in leathers and white buzz-cut. The top-dog for the Claw."

Blue stifled a groan, and resisted the urge to bang her head against the side of the van. They already knew the description from the debriefings – if not, what CCTV footage they had of him was pretty distinctive – and this pup was all but bouncing up and down and wagging his tail.

"He's still dangerous," she reminded him and the other three, who looked about the same. Glory, riches, and getting some poor chick into bed, that's all they want, she thought wryly. "A sleeping dog can still bite."

Another of them rolled his eyes. "Yes, mom."

As the three males sniggered, Blue shook her head and disembarked, stepping out into the cold night air and staring up at the building, hand resting on her hip-holster. The clowns tumbled out behind her. She wondered if their coffees hadn't been extremely Irish.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled again. "He's not there."

The boys stopped tussling long enough to stare at her. "What?"

"He's not there." She repeated. That much instinct told her. She'd learned to trust her hunches – they'd caught her enough convicts in the past. However, the squad Quent had sent with her (revenge for the puppy-eyes, she suspected) was barely past training, and it was a wonder they'd even survived that.

A second later, she was proved right, as a lean figure dropped out of a large complicated plane tree across the road and loped off into the shadows. Streetlight reflected off white hair, and she caught a flash of gold as he glanced back over his shoulder.

Blue cursed loudly, using a word she hoped that Quent would never learn that Ruth knew. Her squad stopped messing around and instead of a group of clowns, they now gave off the impression of a pack of hounds waiting to be let off the leash.

She issued her orders, and off they went into the darkness. In the silence that followed, she simply stood, eyes closed. Then, out of sheer impulse she went into the abandoned building.

There were signs of habitation everywhere – discarded wrappers, and crumpled coverings of varying degrees of thickness. Blue guessed that anything of real value had been taken when the place had been vacated, and she had no illusions of lying in wait for them to come back; maybe set surveillance on it for a day or two, but nothing serious unless they –

A muffled cry of pain of pain echoed from outside, dragging her out of her thoughts, frowning. She hadn't heard any engines. Surely even those clowns could take one man?

Actually, probably not. Great. Ah well – hadn't she specifically asked to go after the guy herself?

As if answering her question, brisk footfalls echoed outside and then there was another dull, angry thud – the sound of metal hitting flesh. Blue hesitated, then moved towards the noise, keeping close to the nearest wall, gun drawn.

The thin light of the streetlamps cast

(wrong)

eerie shadows as she took a few steps towards the entrance. Then a soft crunching noise made her turn, startled. The light seemed to glint off eyes and an earring of the same colour like strange will'o'wisps, and for a second it seemed to her that he spoke twice.

"You're pretty good."

"Not bad for a girl cop." The tone bore a great deal of the kind of grudging respect held between born foes, and he took a step forward. She raised the gun, aiming for the distinctive X-shaped scar on his chest. It was an almost perfect target-mark, and it struck her as odd that he wore it like a badge of honour.

He shook his head, a little. Blue wondered if his thoughts were following the same

(iknowyouyourpack)

route, then a small smirk chased any shadows away. "You won't kill me."

She nodded in agreement. No, it wasn't her job. She shifted her aim, tightened her grip, and fired.