Rating: T for Teen, because, hell, if you can handle The Grudge, this should be a piece of cake

Warnings: crossover, creepy-crawlies, gore, boylove and Yuusuke's usual potty mouth

Pairing: Kurama x Heero Yuy; yeah, you read that right. And then various other hintings. In my head, they're ALL pretty much sleeping together, but not much of that makes it to the page.

Summary: Sometimes the ghosts and demons of war are not just metaphorical. Tantei and Pilots team up to stop a ghost story from devouring the world. Oh, and Kurama makes eyes at Heero.

Authors' Note(s): Writing Gundam Wing doesn't come easily to me, but I think I managed to keep the pilots in character for the most part. Rabid Gundam Wing fans feel free to nit-pick, and I'll take suggestions into consideration. This was written for the 30 Kisses community challenge at livejournal. This is Theme #15 - perfect blue

Blue was the new black. Or was it the new pink? Or was pink the new gray? It was so difficult to keep track. Whatever it was, it meant that almost everyone at the formal dinner party was wearing some shade of blue. And not dark jewel tones, no. This year was all about soft, pale colors, like the kind one might find in a baby's nursery.

Hiei would have looked good in the ice blue that seemed most prevalent throughout the room, the color of moonlight on snow. It was wintry to match his personality. Second runner up in popularity was a vibrant light blue, like the color of Yuusuke's ki. Yuusuke could wear blue well, in tints like the hottest part of the flame, to match his temper and underlying intensity.

Kuwabara too, Kurama thought with a touch of sadness. In Kurama's mind's eye, Kuwabara would perpetually be clothed in his dark blue school uniform, gold buttons and starched Mandarin collar to set off the messy orange hair and the wide grin.

But Kurama didn't look good in blue, in any shade, though he might have been able to manage a navy or a sapphire.

Why couldn't the powers of fashion have chosen a nice green for the new fad?

He liked greens. He wore greens with finesse. No matter what--and despite all logic or knowledge of color scheme--they never clashed with his deep red hair, and they always brought out the color of his eyes.

Well, Kurama thought after a moment, green probably wasn't a very popular color right now, here in the careful calm of traumatized post-war Earth. Anything that even hinted at military was frowned upon in this Age of Peace (the random capitalization of this in newspapers never failed to amuse him). That included, he supposed, the subdued olive and dark navy of the uniforms worn by the discrete Preventer security around the room. He eyed the nearest one as he sipped his champagne.

Surprisingly young, this small, fierce-eyed protector, wearing a uniform that must have been custom tailored, unless child-soldiers were common enough to warrant keeping that size in stock. Compact build, hidden under the formal, straight-line cut of the cloth, caught somewhere between teenager and adult. Chocolate-colored hair more ragged than usual military, bangs falling into eyes that were too far away for Kurama to catch their color.

Kurama didn't know whether to be intrigued or just on the cynical side of melancholy when he noticed three more adolescent Preventers stationed around the room--one at the north exit, the other at the south and the third in the mezzanine. Perhaps child-soldiers were more common than Kurama had realized.

Or maybe he was just old. Yuusuke and Kuwabara had barely been fourteen when they'd been recruited into the deadly-frantic life of a Reikai Tantei, and Kurama hadn't even blinked then. How many years ago had that been?

….how many centuries ago?

Kurama sipped more champagne and felt the weight of years settle on his shoulders, making the conversation around him seem even more asinine.

Sometimes it truly…how would Yuusuke have put it? It truly sucked to be stuck looking perpetually eighteen, because that meant many people at these high-end parties he found himself trapped in throughout the centuries felt the need to speak to him about grown-up topics in an overly simplified way. Teenagers were, after all, like adults, but stupid with hormones and lack of experience.

Or maybe, that was just due to the self-image he'd cultivated for himself these last few years.

After all, no one spoke to Relena Darlian or Quatre Raberba Winner like they were idiots, and they were a few years younger than he looked.

They also appeared poised and at ease surrounded by politicians, most of whom were twice their combined ages. Kurama was edgy. He didn't have to be, but that was the personality he'd cultivated. This black-tie occasion wasn't really something that interested him, not this decade.

Actually, human politics tended to bore him or wear him out in turns anyway. Demon politics tended to be messy, bloody and much more violent, or exceedingly complicated and drawn out, like a thousand-year-long game of Go on an infinite board. Either way, it was a bit more interesting than this silly get-together of elegant fashions, mild colors and solemn faces.

He was here because his publicist was constantly looking for the next New Thing. And, it appeared, the next New Thing in the Age of Peace was for celebrities to become active participants in the political scene, promoting Pacifism and Good Will Toward All People…

Kurama, for his part, was getting really tired of all the random capitalization flying around.

Because political activism was "in" these days, he was just another pretty face in the crowd, surrounded by other people whose fame, while not as intense (he was the newest hot young thing, or so he'd been told by a teen magazine reporter who'd interviewed him), was more firmly established. Kurama, himself, had no intension of staying in the spotlight long enough for the gaudiness of his celebrity to settle into something more dignified. He'd only chosen this career because of Yuusuke.

Stupid Yuusuke and his stupid bets. Stupid Kurama for being bored enough to take him up on it.

The champagne--which was undoubtedly expensive--was getting flat. He set it on a passing server's tray, and declined an offer of another glass.

Kurama realized he was tired. Not even the languid, low-key amusement he usually found in watching humans waltz around each other in intricate dances of etiquette kept him interested. He wondered if he could cut out now without being too much in suspect. He darted a look around the room, searching out the most surreptitious exit.

There was a stir on the edge of his vision, a slick-slide of darkness, skirting through the crowd. It was a type of movement he recognized instinctively--inhuman, sentient in its small hesitations, tiny pauses. Kurama focused, feeling a chill trickle down his spine, senses coming awake.

It had been a while since he'd been an active member of the Reikai Tantei, but he should not have been caught so unawares. How had it come so close without his noticing?

Of course, "close" was at the other end of the seventy-foot long ballroom. The thing was hunting, but Kurama didn't think he was the target. He broke from the group of tittering twenty-somethings he'd been standing with and circled slowly, casually, trying to watch where it went, predict where it was going. He couldn't see it in any detail--it wouldn't solidify. Just clung to what shadows it could find, like an oil patch with intelligence and intent.

Kurama was fairly powerful, as demons went, even if he preferred his less-powerful human form. There wasn't much he needed to fear nowadays. Besides, the party had been particularly dull, and this promised at least some entertainment.

He let his ki spike, like sending up a flare, a blatant here I am to anything sensitive enough to notice.

Over in the gaggle of admirers surrounding Winner and Darlian, a white-blond head turned sharply in his direction. Kurama had moved close enough in his circling to see wide, sky blue eyes settle on him unerringly.

Interesting.

He tucked that bit of information away and focused on his original purpose. The thing had spasmed and shivered and faded when Kurama provoked it, but it wasn't gone. He searched the room with his eyes, tagging corners and clusters of people, seeing nothing. Long-dormant ki uncurled like adrenaline under his skin.

Where? Where was it?

Cold malevolence hit him, like a pressure impact between his shoulder blades, and he gasped, stumbling forward. The world bled out, iced over, colors paling, sounds muffled and growing more distant. Kurama couldn't breathe, alien anger and rage like frigid waves of the ocean, pulses that threatened to knock him over, suck him under.

He caught himself against something hard, hoped it was solid enough to hold him. He didn't want to cause a scene by collapsing, if he could just get his breath back--

"Sir, are you alright?" The voice was young, clipped, and precise--military.

Kurama looked up, realized he'd stumbled into a someone, not a something. The crazily spinning world caught and held in a steady pair of deep blue eyes. Kurama found himself staring and forced himself to straighten, but he didn't look away.

"Sir?" There was a touch of impatience in the voice now. Kurama realized it was the child-soldier in front of him, the one with chocolate brown hair, bangs too long, shadowing an intense gaze.

"Er…fine," Kurama said. "I'm fine."

He was still freezing cold, and couldn't stop shaking, but he managed to stand stubbornly on his own, trying not to display any more suspicious behavior as he held eye contact and stretched out his other senses, searching, hunting…

That wasn't a demon. What was that?

Blue eyes flinched to one side, focusing over Kurama's shoulder and froze. The young Preventer's body coiled with sudden tension, and that was all the warning Kurama got before a hand grabbed his throat, jerked him backward, up against a solid chest.

Guttural voice in his ear--German, not demonic. Out of the corner of his eye, the gleam of a weapon--gunmetal blue, and the soft kiss of a barrel touching his temple.

That's when the screaming started.