Please see Disclaimer in Chapter 1.

The events in Idiot Beloved take place shortly after the Dark Tournament; Firebird Sweet directly follows that timeline, and you can probably get more out of this sidefic if you read IB and its sequel first.

Title: Operation Rosary C6: Aftermath

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, General

Rating: K+/PG-13

Summary: Never leave a man behind---only now, there's no one to go back for.

A/N: Operation Rosary is told through the viewpoint of Hiei's 'partner,' who has just witnessed a tragic event. The burnt-out factory of Two Shots (YYH manga, Vol. 7) was the main setting. Thanks for reading this---I really appreciate your reviews.

"I can't believe he's gone!"

Operation Rosary (C6: Aftermath)

by

Kenshin

Yabuta, resilient to the last, had picked himself up off the floor and run from the room in pursuit of the humans. Kicking off his shoes to ensure silence, he dashed up the stairs two at a time. Once he reached ground level, he sped on, cursing under his breath when shattered glass pierced his stocking feet. It slowed his progress just enough to allow the human with his living cargo to temporarily outpace him, but he would make up the distance. Though his Eden had suffered a setback, at the very least, Yabuta would take the lives of these two as a sacrifice.

0-0-0-0-0

The Minoru Doll Factory burned anew.

As Special Agent Ueda Issei looked on in shock, light bloomed from the turret, a cacophony of light, clawing its way free like searchlights in a prison break, a weight, a pressure, a fire of stars, culminating in an explosion steaming from the building, a bomb-blast of pure white. Smoke roiled in extravagant clouds, black against the navy blue sky. Flames raked the factory's sides.

A single orange spark, a fairy light, detached itself from the blaze and drifted, dreamlike, toward Issei. Was this a dream? The bite of smoke in Issei's throat told him otherwise.

Nor was it Yabuta's Egg triumphant, the opening of Hell's gates. That unique and stifling miasma would spread, even as smoke and fire now claimed greater territories.

"Hiei," he whispered. Though he had distrusted the little freelancer on sight, during the course of their mission Issei had grown to respect Hiei, even like him. Now he felt genuine shock from this loss.

He's got a wife. That 'gunslinger' he spoke of back then in the car. And kids---he used the word 'family.' I don't envy N, having to make that visit to the house, give them the bad news---even if he died a hero.

He started toward the factory, as though he could still do something to help.

Never leave a man behind.

Close by Issei's side, Op-X toppled to the ground. Torn between two imperatives, he chose the immediate. Turning back to Op-X, he assisted the Agency man, and saw that Op-X was no longer clutching the Rosary. The things a man notices at a time like this. He must have dropped them along the way. "Better stay off your feet for now," Issei advised. His voice was steady.

Op-X grunted, nodding. "Dizzy." The movie-idol features shone with sweat. "Those monsters back then---"

"They're gone now," Issei assured him. "The monsters." And so's Hiei. Hiei was clearly carrying some explosive device the enemy couldn't detect---something along the lines of a bomb secreted beneath his skin, or even ingested, like a deadly variation of the classic cyanide pill. That's what he meant by an attack of light. Talk about completing a mission! There'll be nothing left but ashes.

And because of that sacrifice, Issei would live to see Miss Sakamoto Emi again, with her silver hair and violet eyes. But for Hiei and his family, there would be no such happy reunion.

Op-X settled on the ground, the tree supporting his back. Issei still felt the need to return to the factory, make absolutely certain there was no hope---not because it was something 007 would do; it was something Hiei would do.

The reek of burning wire stung his nostrils, needled his eyes. Smoke had spread from the building to engulf the grounds in a thick mantle. There were still enough combustibles inside to burn for a while. All those bodies, melting down to components of fat and bone. And he couldn't even call the Agency, let alone the fire department.

As soon as Op-X can move, Issei told himself, we'll make our way to the main road, thumb a ride, find a phone, file a report. Mission: accomplished. Egg: destroyed. Hiei: lost.

Men were killed in the line of duty. Issei knew it. Didn't make this particular outcome any easier to take. If he had been faster, stronger, pulled Hiei out----

No. Then Op-X would not be here, breathing the smoky air.

Having made his decision, Issei felt calm and clear-headed. He would proceed, even if he only brought back a body for burial.

"Listen." Issei laid a hand on Op-X's shoulder. The man met his gaze, his blue eyes shedding some of their befuddled look. "I'm going back in now," Issei continued. "As soon as you're able to move, you---"

Op-X's gaze shifted. His eyes widened. "Behind you!"

Issei shot to his feet, spun to face the factory. At the distance of a quarter mile, smoke wreathing its foundation and spreading to encompass the grounds, the building's outline was difficult to see.

Even so, Issei saw clearly the forward motion of a figure emerging from the maelstrom.

This motion was no mere artifact of fire, no illusion of burning debris. The movements were deliberate, slow, filled with purpose. An upright form approached, weaving and staggering.

A worm of cold dread crept up the back of Issei's neck. The battle was not yet over.

Demons were a tough lot. Issei had shot several with no effect, and it took a .38 straight to the chest to stop Eight-Eyes. Obviously, one had survived. Although smoke blurred the approaching figure and denied detail, judging by the intruder's size, it was not the oni or minotaur. Who then---Four-Arms? The cyclops? Yabuta himself?

Issei automatically reached for his gun, even as he realized it was not there.

The intruder drew closer, stumbling twice, but even that might well be a ruse to convince Issei it was blinded by smoke.

Op-X was in no shape to fight, and must be protected. If only one of them made it out alive, it would have to be the particle physicist, whose knowledge could help the Agency detect another attempt at an Egg.

Issei glanced around, seeking a weapon; a rock, a fallen branch, anything!

Still keeping an eye on the demon's slow, steady approach, Issei knelt to rummage through Operative X's pockets.

The agent gave him a puzzled frown. "What the---"

"Holy Water," Issei replied. "Holy Salt. Effective against demons. You had some."

Operative X shook his head. "Not any more."

Rising, Issei made a frantic search of his own pockets---and came across the substitute Rosary.

No good. Hiei said this one was just a string of beads.

Issei's chains and shackles! Still attached after all this mayhem. If need arose, and at close quarters---

Backlit by flames, wreathed by smoke, the approaching enemy seemed a bat out of hell. Twenty feet away. Fifteen.

Time to fake it. Thrusting out his arms out as if aiming a gun, Issei shouted, "Freeze, you bastard! I got a bead on you, and at this range I won't miss."

0-0-0-0-0

He could not see in the dark, but a change in the air's quality told Yabuta he was on the threshold of revenge.

The human who worked alongside the little demon had looked at Yabuta's build and thought him weak. He was wrong about that, but the minions had indeed proven so. Not Yabuta. He would use his aura to overwhelm the humans, then strangle them as they lay helpless. Ah, to feel the life choke out of them, to watch then suffer as they were frozen by the power of his ki! There was no gun to get in the way now. A smile stretched his lips.

Nothing could stop him. Yabuta had strength, the resilient strength of a taut wire, the focused strength of a laser powered by a rare crystal, the strength of a demon thirsting for vengeance.

A raging thirst for vengeance that at first parched his lips, then froze them, then cracked them. Yabuta stopped. No! Mere feelings could not account for---!

Then Yabuta at last experienced something far more powerful than himself, at last felt the sear of Holy Fire at his back, as the legendary Sword of the Archangel struck.

0-0-0-0-0

Wobbling and weaving, still the intruder came on.

"One more step and you're dead!" The Rosary clutched in Issei's hand trembled, as if moved by an unearthly wind.

"If this how you greet your allies," said a deep, lazy voice, "I would love to see what you do to your enemies."

The intruder staggered two steps closer; and the breeze shredded smoke, parting it in great black curtains, revealing the face and form of---

"Hiei!"

The freelancer was alive: battered, burnt, bruised, but alive. His clothes were in shreds, but the Rosary---the genuine article---lay around his neck, the pewter figure of Christ on the Crucifix softly gleaming against dark wood.

Hiei stopped close to Issei, his face reddened and soot-smeared, his grin charcoaled. "Shaken and stirred."

"Why, you----" Issei burst out, then forced himself to speak calmly. "Where's your sword?"

"Who knows?"

"Careless of you," said Issei, as Hiei fumbled into his pocket, took out a phone, almost dropped it. The way he groped for its buttons made Issei wonder whether he could see at all. "And where on earth did you get that phone?"

Hiei answered, but his reply was not directed at Issei. He spoke into the phone, the quality of his voice becoming a contented purr. "Woman? I'm at the old abandoned doll factory. Yeah, that one. What? Oh, nothing much, broke people, killed things, the usual."

For a crazy moment Issei was torn between laughter and tears. He settled instead for swallowing hard, which caused him to hack out a lungful of smoke.

"Think you can pick us up?" Hiei went on. "Yeah, starved. Sushi will be fine. Great, and tako yaki. Oh, and can you also pick up some vitamin C and echinacea? No, I haven't gone nuts. It's for a friend. Thanks. See you in a few."

Issei could do nothing more useful than gape.

Hiei fumbled the phone back into a pocket. "I don't like to lose," he explained. And with that, the tough little bastard sank to his knees, then fell senseless to the ground.

0-0-0-0-0

One of Yabuta's final mistakes had been to pocket Hiei's phone himself instead of destroying it. He probably never even realized when Hiei lifted it off him.

And the 'gunslinger' girl arrived shortly afterward: a fire-haired American driving a sleek black Nissan Quest. By then, Hiei had regained consciousness. Issei helped his two comrades into the van's capacious back seat and took the passenger seat.

Paradoxically, the van's luxury set Issei's overused muscles to twanging like bowstrings. But he sank into the van with a sigh of pure relief, blushing to realize that he felt the same sense of comfort as being tucked into bed with a lullaby.

The girl had brought a First-Aid kit, blankets and a handcuff key. Maybe she was psychic. Maybe she was a genius. Or maybe she was just used to mopping up after Hiei. In any case, Issei was never so grateful to be free. They had been cleaned and bandaged, the Agency had been contacted, and the world was regaining some sense of order and justice.

Hiei had apparently also regained much of his sight, judging by the speed with which he tore into the box of tuna rolls.

Pulling away from the factory, the girl flicked Hiei a glance in the rearview mirror. "Can you see yet?"

Hiei snorted. "The day I need vision to be able to eat, you can shoot me."

"I'll mark it on my calendar," she assured him.

Issei, too, glanced into the rearview mirror. Hiei grudgingly shared some tuna rolls and tako yaki with the much-recovered Op-X, who wielded his chopsticks with great panache. "I don't believe I ever got your name," mused Issei.

"Op-X." The agent spoke with a mouthful of octopus dumpling.

Issei was too keyed up to eat, but he did gulp a handful of the supplements the girl had brought, chasing them with bottled water. Later, hunger and weariness, and likely the shakes, would hit, and hard. For now, he was simply running on vapors.

He sat in front with the girl---Shayla Kidd. She wore a gray velour jogging suit which, on her, managed to look like evening wear. After a few courtesies, he felt comfortable enough to bemoan the loss of his Walther PPK.

"A sweet little protector," she agreed. "But way too much trigger pull for the likes of me." Issei could see that. She was little, smaller even than Hiei.

"Not to mention the snappy recoil," said Issei, warming to the task.

"Nothing so manly on my Beretta Cheetah," she said.

"That mouse gun?" he scoffed.

She shrugged, refusing to be baited. "I'm kind of attached to it. The Agency will issue you a new sidearm, right?"

"Won't be the same," he lamented. "You get used to a particular piece, all its quirks."

"I hear you, brother."

The night sped by. Hiei was demolishing the last piece of tuna roll and looking---or sniffing---for more. He fumbled opened a carton of beef curry, opting for a plastic spoon instead of chopsticks.

Issei watched in amazement. "You always chow down like this? Or are you just trying to recover from that beating?"

Shayla Kidd lifted an eyebrow. "Beating?"

"He's delusional." Hiei spooned more curry. "Smoke inhalation."

"You should take some of my echinacea and C," advised Issei.

"Yeah," said Hiei. "That'll happen."

"Don't worry," the girl told Issei. "If he bolts it too fast he'll just puke it up again."

Though he said nothing, Issei's eyes were starting to bulge.

"Like a cat with a hairball," she elaborated.

"How do you think I keep my girlish figure?" said Hiei.

"Don't let him fool you." Shayla Kidd snorted. "He saves it for later."

Issei felt as though he had wandered into some surreal comedy, the kind they only show on late-night TV.

"Is there any more curry?" inquired Op-X. Wordlessly Hiei handed him another carton and another plastic spoon, his own spoon---and fingers--- already stained golden yellow.

"This car will need serious detailing," the girl said, sniffing. "What with the blood and the smoke and the curry."

Issei frowned. Again he experienced that odd deja vu: why did Hiei look familiar? He knew for a fact that until this mission they had never met.

Late-night TV. Curry. "Got it!" he crowed. "Now I remember you!"

"You made me drop my food," Hiei griped.

"Good thing this is an Agency car," said Shayla Kidd.

"It's because you're dressed differently," Issei said, with a sense of relief.

"Thanks for noticing."

"No, I mean, where I've seen you before. All along I thought I was going nuts, but---"

"I'm not saying a thing."

"It was an ad on TV," Issei crowed. "You wore this yellow track suit and you were capering around inside this huge---"

"Saucepan," supplied the girl, flashing Issei a movie-star smile. "Hiei played the part of Nishimura Beef Curry: 'The curry so good it jumps into your mouth.'"

"From the pan to your plate in two minutes," sang Op-X.

Issei nodded enthusiastically. "Hard to equate that dumb ad with the one-man wrecking crew here."

"Thanks." Hiei daubed his fingers with paper napkins and stuffed the crumpled napkins into the empty curry container.

"Boy, that really was an idiotic ad," Issei went on.

"Tell me about it," said Op-X. "And that stupid jingle? I still can't get it out of my head."

"I don't write the damn things," said Hiei.

"Good product, though," Issei soothed.

"Let's talk guns instead," suggested Shayla Kidd.

And as the darkened landscape slid past them, Issei returned to the subject of his lost Walther PPK, and all the rest of the way to the Agency the girl happily commiserated.

She also came inside the building with them and waited in the outer office during their initial debriefing.

At first, all three men were debriefed together. Though he could sing the curry jingle without a hitch, Op-X still had difficulty remembering his name.

Later, a courier arrived to escort Issei into a separate room, and when Issei was finished with the private debriefing, both Hiei and his gunslinger had gone.

0-0-0-0-0

"We would have liked to get our hands on X the Unknown," said N. Issei thought that the chief addressed Hiei as though gently chiding a favorite nephew who'd accidentally lobbed a baseball through a neighbor's window in foiling a burglary.

It was the morning after, a bright clear day. The three of them sat in N's office, a steaming pot of green tea on a low table before them. Thanks to timely doses of C, B-complex, arnica and more, Issei's bruises and scrapes had faded into a tolerable background ache. Hiei, on the other hand, looked as though he had never been touched, much less beaten unconscious and burnt to a crisp.

Issei marveled at Hiei's resiliency. Maybe he took supplements on the sly.

"It would have helped us to examine the device ourselves," continued N, pouring tea all around.

Hiei shrugged. "It's the best I could do with what I had." Today, he looked a different man altogether, sleek and subdued in a charcoal-gray suit shot with threads of red, gold, and green, the same colors echoed in his tie. But he still wore the white headband, and the slightly mocking gleam in his crimson eyes.

Issei felt like a new man himself.

This was in part due to Miss Sakamoto's revamped attitude toward him; on Issei's way to N's office, the cool and collected blonde debriefed him extensively about his favorite brands of supplements. And when Issei suggested they conduct the rest of the debriefing elsewhere, she readily agreed to meet him at the Silver Moon cafe.

But the change was also due to Issei pinning down what had so disturbed him about Eight-Eyes.

The truth had struck him last night, after an hour's fruitless attempt at sleep. The uneasy dichotomy of spider eyes in a human face simply underscored the folly of merging the demon world into the human one.

He wondered why it had taken so long to figure out. Possibly he'd been looking for a more complex reason. Possibly he'd been preoccupied with demons who were trying to kill him.

Issei finished his tea. It had a pleasant undertaste of roasted barley, and he was still a bit dehydrated.

He had 'adopted' the Rosary Hiei shoved into his pocket back down in the dungeon. If nothing else, it was a souvenir, a reminder of this most unusual mission.

"Well." With a sigh of resignation, N poured another round of tea. "At least Egg The Unknown is no longer in enemy hands."

"It's no longer in anyone's hands," Hiei reminded him.

That same night, a forensics team had returned to the factory. They had found nothing to recover, no Walther PPK, no remains of demons, no trace of the Egg, nothing but a circle of black glass encompassing much of what had been the basement.

"Some Holy Salt might have been spilled on the device," was Hiei's only explanation. "Or something. By accident."

But Issei knew better: Hiei had employed his 'court of last resort,' whatever weapon or attack it was, and despite all odds, managed to live through it.

"It's also good to hear that Operative X is beginning to regain his memory," Issei said. "Though who would have guessed Op-X is his legal name?"

"The important thing is," said Hiei, "I got my Rosary back."

Both Issei and N regarded him in silence, unsure whether he was entirely joking.

"And some curry," Hiei added, getting to his feet. He gave Issei a half-humorous, half-insolent glint. "Not a bad job you did back there. We'll make a delinquent of you yet."

"Yeah," said Issei. "That'll happen."

Hiei turned to N. "Next time you need a babysitter for this guy..." He nodded in Issei's direction. "Call someone else." And he left N's office with as little ceremony as before.

Sipping tea, Issei grinned at the freelancer's retreating back. "Arrogant jerk," he said fondly.

"Congratulations." N spoke with a dry humor. "I think Hiei's just admitted you to his inner circle."

"I doubt it. That runt's still a mystery to me."

"That 'runt,' as you put it, is probably the most-decorated person you are ever likely to meet."

"I beg your pardon?"

"He has more orders of merit than you have vitamins."

"You're joking."

"In addition to the Order of the Golden Kite, and the Order of the Rising Sun, and the Order of the Sacred Treasure---"

"What?"

N raised an eyebrow. "You'll spill your tea."

Issei sank back into his chair. "I need to sit down."

"I believe he was recently awarded the Supreme Order of the Chrysanthemum as well."

Issei shot to his feet again. "The what?"

N chuckled. "Don't you read your history? The Supreme Order of the---"

"I know what that is!" Considered Japan's highest honor, the Supreme Order of the Chrysanthemum was normally reserved for the Emperor, or perhaps foreign heads of state.

"The Grand Cordon, if I'm not mistaken," N continued, ignoring Issei's third outburst. "Only three living people have been awarded that one."

Issei shook his head in wonder. "Hiei never mentioned it."

"He never does. I'm beginning to think it embarrasses him."

"Then why did he pick such a public 'cover?'"

"He didn't---it picked him. Long story."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"And to think you had reservations about him."

"Who, me? That arrogant little jerk can try to get me killed any time he likes."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that." Rising from the table, N strolled to the window and admired the October sky, presenting Issei with his broad, stolid back. "And on a more serious note..." He trailed off, his hands folded. "Now that you know about the existence of demons..."

This is it. Prepare to be kicked downstairs, if not terminated altogether with your memory erased. Determined to face the worst on his feet, he rose one more time.

N turned from the window at last and regarded Issei. One thing about the district chief---he was no coward. He always fed you the bad news head-on.

A bead of sweat slid down Issei's back as N strolled to the sofa and sat. He took his time pouring himself another cup of tea. Taking a sip, he looked up at Issei. Issei's heart sank. "And given the way you handled yourself," N continued, setting down his cup, "you leave us no recourse... but to kick you upstairs."

Issei blinked. Blinked again. "But, Sir," he pleaded, though at this point he was unsure whose cause he was pleading and why, "You read the debriefing. I screwed up right and left!"

"Yes. However, look at it this way---you got thrown into the deep end and swam with the best of them. You also showed an uncanny ability to think on your feet, to adapt and improvise in the teeth of tremendous odds."

"I... do you mean to say... I'm being promoted?"

The unflappable N nodded.

"Even without retrieving the Egg?"

"Even without."

Hiei was right! This mission was a test. The reality of Issei's promotion sank in, and he gave the older man a formal bow. "Thank you, Sir. I am most unworthy of this honor, but I will strive to live up to your trust."

N dismissed his concerns with an airy wave. "Besides," he added, "We won."

"This time," said a chastened Issei.

"As will also be the case next time." N favored him with a penetrating stare. "You appear to have a bit of a sixth sense regarding youkai. It can be trained."

"And maybe," Issei said, "instead of that James Bond gun, I should be packing more firepower." Something along the lines of a Glock 18, Issei thought, warming to the idea of the sleek machine pistol's 33 rounds per magazine.

"Of course," said an unruffled N. "In fact, I approve. But as you've discovered, a gun could be turned against you."

Issei recalled the Walther PPK in Yabuta's hands. A flush warmed his face.

"Now, a Rosary," N continued, "can not. And since demons may again come under your jurisdiction..." Lifting his shoulders, he trailed off.

Issei finished the thought. Wondering whether it would make him as strong as Hiei, he drew the 'souvenir' from his pocket and studied its wooden beads. "I'd better get this one blessed as soon as possible."

0-0-0-0-0

(A/N: This concludes Operation Rosary. Thanks for reading it, as irregular as my updates have been, and please review! Now, scroll down for another short excerpt from the forthcoming Kaito-centric fic, The Book of Cat With Moon.)

0-0-0-0-0

Though it was past midnight, Kaitou Yuu had another column to put to bed.

The column, lamenting the sorry state of contemporary television programming, was all but finished, and just wanted a light touch of editing before Kaitou could call it quits. Now would be an excellent time to take a break, stretch his legs, and stroll around the block for some coffee.

It had rained earlier, and the air still held onto a scent of flint, and a knife-edge of distant thunder. The sidewalks glistened with flecks of color stolen from neon signs. Pulling up the collar of his overcoat, Kaitou headed for the coffee shop.

"You're dead," said a voice.

Kaitou froze.

The sepulchral pronouncement had startled him, but not nearly so much as the simultaneous tap on his shoulder.

"Who's there?" No one behind him.

"This way, dolt."

On the rain-slicked sidewalk, appearing like Satan's favorite handmaiden, stood Hiei, arms crossed, scowling.

He had come upon Kaitou so suddenly, soundlessly, yes, supernaturally, that Kaitou never realized it until the fire demon was standing before him and Kaitou's heart was slamming against his ribs. "You can't kill me!" He gave a thin protest. "Demons aren't allowed---"

"I have a license to kill."

Kaitou's blood turned to ice. "Like James B-bond?"

"Sort of, but less discriminating." Hiei bared his teeth. It was not a smile. Kaitou took a step back, but there was no escape.

(From The Book of Cat With Moon: to be continued---eventually)

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