Depthless Intentions

A sharp blow to the jaw jerked his head back up. The abrupt pain briefly cleared the disorientation in his head from the various hits he'd already taken. The clarity was quickly swallowed up by a new wave of dizziness as the effects of the punch-upon-punch system his captors preferred settled in. It got more severe with each fresh blow and it was getting harder and harder to maintain consciousness.

No matter what though, Izaya would not let himself fall before them. It was degrading enough that his attempts at escaping had been so futile. He was so much faster than these thugs and yet, they'd still gotten the jump on him. He wasn't about to add to his own embarrassment by passing out in their clutches.

They'd come for him in a group of five: two to restrain him, one to beat him up, one to do the talking, and one to drive the getaway car. The men holding his arms were like cinderblocks. His knives were so close, weighing in his coat pockets so unhappily, and no amount of struggling could get his fingers any nearer to them.

The man heading the barbaric little power play gave a rough tug to his hair and forced his unfocused eyes to look up at him. He wasn't the most attractive human, Izaya thought through the haze forming in his skull. Scar-faced and beefy with beady black eyes, Izaya supposed that to any other person he would be frightfully intimidating – he thought the face to be comically stereotypical.

"You can't keep quiet forever Orihara," the man growled – his voice had an unpleasant gurgling sound to it. "God knows you love to talk so open that fat trap of yours and tell us where the money is."

"I'd assume it would be in a bank," the informant chuckled back. "Isn't that where you're supposed to put money you don't want used? If you lost it well, that's your fault for being so irresponsible."

He was punished for that with a hard fist to his ribs. The metallic sting of blood lapped on his tongue as he doubled over, only kept aloft by the iron grip of the two henchmen holding onto him. Before he could get a second to blink the stars from his eyes, the hair was practically torn from his scalp as the scar-faced man pulled him up again.

"Where. Is. It."

They'd been at this for a while now. Izaya wasn't sure how much time had elapsed exactly since they'd cruised up and dragged him off the street. The toll the beating had taken on his body made it feel like hours. Usually, these types of things were quick since no one wanted to chance being seen. However, these guys had taken him into one of the darkest alleys of the city. No risk of witnesses; no risk of interruption.

He was about to deliver another unanswering comment but, the hired muscle for the night punched him in the face again before he could. While his vision was still buzzing with blackness, he felt that meaty hand in his hair again. They'd been using the same pattern since they'd restrained him and it was finally escalating its pace. Punch. Tug. Ask. Don't answer. The faster the cycle became, the closer he felt they were getting to an upgraded method.

"You're in over your head, Orihara," the man said, tugging his chin up this time instead of fisting through his hair. "You picked the wrong people to screw over."

"Somebody thinks very highly of themselves," Izaya taunted in a rasp past the pain throbbing through his body, blinking blood out of his eye as it ran down from a cut on his head. "For a guy that needs so many minions to beat up one man instead of doing the dirty work himself, that is."

The beauty of a man's pride was that it was at the same time his greatest strength and most terrible weakness. Using it to his advantage had often saved Izaya from little "incidents" like this one. He knew people. He knew that if he could provoke this amateur leader into facing him alone, he could easily take him out. And once he was taken care of, it would be no small task to submit the hired help to his authority. Men like them were bred for instruction over loyalty. He mapped out his moves systematically in his head while staring "Scar-face" down, daring him to concede to that need for sole dominance over his prey. He could see it simmering just beneath the surface. One more blow and he could get it to boil over. Then, he'd have his opening.

Licking blood from a gash in his lip to make a show of how useless the beat-down was on him, Izaya challenged him to barrel over that last hurdle and give him all that he had – which Izaya had already measured wasn't much.

"So much big, scary, expensive muscle," he said, glancing from henchman to henchman in wicked mockery before settling back on the man. "We wouldn't be trying to over-compensate for something now, would we?"

There it was; a quick, insulted flare that brightened the man's glare in the murky darkness. His gnarled fingers twitched at his sides, the gaudy gold rings upon them glinting dangerously in the headlights' beams. "This punk was just asking for it now," was most likely the stream of thought his immature brain was taking. He wasn't the most remarkable criminal mind Izaya had faced. The informant's mocking grin remained plastered in challenge, waiting for him to wave off his boys to "give him some room."

Then, the tone of the mobster's face made an abrupt change and a treacherous glint, which was familiar to Izaya only because he bore it himself, entered the man's eyes. In that fleeting instant, Izaya saw his calculations scramble out of alignment from an errant variable he'd mistakenly failed to input: that this opponent might be smarter than he'd let on; that he might be playing Izaya's ego as much as the informant was playing his. The gangster sighed and in that exhale, the boorish and brazen street-fighter faded into the air like a wisp of cigarette smoke and a dispassionate chuckle introduced a mob prince with a grin sharp as ice.

"If that's the way you want to play it, then fine. I'm game."

Izaya was impressed. Even as they snapped his arm from his shoulder, he was impressed. Fuck that hurt, that really fucking hurt. He had to scream it hurt so much but, once the enduring sear settled between the broken places in his arm, he laughed. He laughed and laughed because shit was this funny. He would work for this guy. He would weasel his way into this guy's organization merely to study the way he manipulated his rivals. He would sit and revel in how he shuffled through false faces to lure his opponents into his illusion. Izaya laughed because Christ, wasn't this ironic? The only human he couldn't read was himself and here was this bastard, using that against him. Beautiful.

"You're one crazy son of a bitch, Izaya," he said – incredible, even the way he addressed him had been for the performance. "Break until he talks."

Laughing was starting to hurt more than the shattered limb, hanging like a party streamer, at his side and he just could not stop. Human beings never stopped surprising him and there was nothing that made him happier. So, he whined like a child having its toy taken away when the loud crunch of metal interrupted the dim silence of the alley. Damnit, he wanted to see what else this guy would do! It was just getting interesting, why did he always have to go and ruin all of Izaya's fun?

The cars that quartered off the alley started flying and the people around them started screaming. Guns went off, curses were spat, and all that paid bravado was snuffed out like a cheap candle. Izaya didn't mind a little chaos but, only if it was contained. The obnoxious volume of metal screeching and stuff breaking was just so tasteless. There was no finesse to the barbarian's chaos. It was all noise and no craft. And that's why he hated Shizu-chan.

The men who had been holding him tossed him to the side, the brick wall of the alley scraping along his back as he slid down to the ground against it. They scrambled to defend their boss, the man whom Izaya continued to observe with keen interest. Even though this attack had been the furthest variable he might've included in his own calculations, the mobster kept his head screwed tightly straight. Even when his remaining pair of men were vaulted overhead and vanished into the mouth of darkness at the end of the alley, their boss hardly flinched. Ideas flittered in and out of his head between the shadows at the corners of his eyes, searching for an outcome that would ensure he walked out of this unscathed.

Past the ribbon of blood crusting around his eye, Izaya saw which course the man decided on before he translated it to action. He would have appreciated the decision if he didn't have the previous experience which proved the intended effort would end in futility. Reason was wasted on Shizuo Heiwajima like a book without pictures given to a toddler. He only responded to a certain language, and logic wasn't it. The mobster didn't know that though and while Izaya was still intrigued by the man's method, he was feeling more vengeful than curious from the beat-down and the broken arm. Although he was still rooting for the guy, he wasn't gracious enough to warn him about how pointless distracting Shizuo's bloodlust would be.

"If I'd known Tom's attack dog would be crashing the party I would have hired more challenging men," the mobster said to the silhouette in front of the dying cars' headlights.

Shizuo – stupid, brutish, senseless – hefted whatever traffic sign he'd uprooted up against his shoulder, cocking his head to the side with an aggravated, "Huh?"

Dear Lord, at least challenge the man with a witty comeback, you mindless animal. Izaya let his disapproval out in a huff, pressing the back of his head against the wall and waiting for this taxing interaction to end.

"My debts are all paid up," the mobster spoke up. "Don't see how your business should be messing up mine."

"This isn't business, dumbass. I needed to hit something and you stole my punching bag."

The man faltered, manipulations failing him as he realized there was no depth to his opponent's intentions that he could exploit. Shizuo didn't have enough patience to allow the man to recover – so unfair – and curled his fingers around the traffic sign like a baseball bat.

"Nice try," Izaya said with the utmost sincerity as Shizuo swung and sent the man through the bricks – and maybe the wall of the neighboring building. "And we were just getting to know each other. Shame."

Shizuo had let the traffic sign go with the mobster into the rubble of the building walls, leaving his hands free to finally strangle the last bit of life out of Izaya. He was sure that was his plan as he stalked over to him and, although Izaya was in no shape to run, he had one good arm and a couple knives still hidden up his sleeves. Being pummeled to death would have been better than what the debt collector decided to do to him instead. The big blond bastard stopped to stand over him and instead of reaching his hands down to wring his neck, he shuffled them through his pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

"I really hate you, Shizu-chan," he said through a tight-lipped smile as the man lit up right in front of him.

"Not as much as I hate you, ya damn flea."

Adding insult to Izaya's injury – he didn't know Shizuo had the brains in him to come up with that. The planets must be coming into alignment or something.

"And here I was, about to compliment you for finally finding your capacity for mercy."

"Mercy's got nothing to do with it," Shizuo snarled at him, taking a drag out of his cigarette and blowing smoke down at Izaya.

"I might've figured," he countered, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the scent of the smoke. "Do enlighten me on what it is, then. Is my birthday coming up and this is your gift to me? Aw, Shizu-chan, you shouldn't have."

"I didn't do this for you," Shizuo scoffed, pulling the cigarette from his lips. "This was all for me. Nothing makes me happier than seeing you get what you deserve."

Shizuo's smile was crooked with eager violence in the cracked light. He crouched down to Izaya's level, eyes burning like the orange tip of his cigarette.

"The rest of the city can beat you down as much as they want to. I don't mind sharing that privilege but, I'm the only one that gets to kill you, Flea."

"Now's your chance then, Shizu-chan," Izaya baited, voice pitched low and hand clasping the hilt of an unseen knife. "Not gonna get much easier than this."

Oh, he was tempted. Izaya could see the desire, unfiltered upon his face. The fact that he was so close to a weakened Izaya, and that a twitch of the wrist would be all it would take to snap his neck and finish him off, was scorching away at his insides. Go ahead and try. See how far I'll let you get.

Izaya didn't know if he wanted to call the reaction in his gut surprise when Shizuo snorted and folded upright. The mob boss surprised him – and he loved surprises; Shizu-chan repulsed him too much to ever give him the satisfaction of surprise.

"Like I already said, I'm not about to show you mercy, and a quick death right now would be a mercy you don't deserve. No, if you think I'm gonna let you die easy, you got another thing coming."

"I'm flattered, truly," Izaya replied, resting his hand over his heart. "I think my death is the most thought you've put into anything in your entire life."

Shadows collected in a taut line around a vein in Shizuo's neck as he clamped his jaw down on his cigarette – it didn't take much to provoke him. Instead of stomping his face down into the asphalt, Shizuo settled for knocking his foot against Izaya's bruised leg. The informant's body betrayed him with a convulsive twitch against the spiral of pain that ran up to his hip. Fingers digging into his coat and eyes clenching shut in a defensive reflex, he managed to pass the pained gesture off in a breathy laugh, like Shizuo's restraint from killing him was so funny it hurt. It almost was.

"Half of the fun is kicking your shit in myself anyway. When I kill you, it's gonna be on my own terms."

"You'd really pass up this golden opportunity, just for that?" Izaya tried persuading him, itching to sink his knife into his chest.

"These losers were good enough to hold me over," he replied, turning to survey the damage left behind from his wrath. "At least until you're back in commission. I'll give you a week to pull yourself together, Flea. Whether you're ready or not, come the weekend, I'm finally killing you."

"Sounds like a date."

Shizuo snorted smoke from his nose like an angry cartoon bull about to charge. True to his word though, he walked himself away before he broke the grace period he'd allowed Izaya. Finally, the alley was empty – save for a few moaning bodies – and Izaya grinned up at the cloudy night sky. Humans he understood. Even when they caught him off guard, he still understood each and every one of their intentions. Surprise unraveled into comprehension and that was the greatest gift his lovely little humans could give him.

He hated Shizuo because he was the least human man he'd ever had the displeasure of meeting. He was a beast in human skin with a single-minded objective that eclipsed any possibility of depth. So unevolved. He'd never learn anything form Shizu-chan. He'd never find joy in understanding the simplicity of his mind but, it was still fun to mess around with him. He did that for himself, and the fact that couldn't understand why was what pissed him off the most about Shizuo Heiwajima.

A/N: Story time! I haven't written for DRRR! in a while. I was flipping through some of my notebooks the other day, looking for something to lure my muse back into business, and I happened across this lil shit, sitting there half-finished since 2011, and that did the trick. Got some banter going in my mind, cleaned up the old stuff a little bit, and voila! Quicky oneshot.

Like I said, it's been a while since I last watched DRRR! or written for it so, if my characterization's a little off, I apologize. However, some things you never forget and it's pretty hard to forget the Shizuo/Izaya dynamic. It was fun to give them another go to try and freshen up my brain for the other, angstier projects I'm working on and definitely made me want to re-watch the show again. Also, really excited about the Season 2 announcement so, guess this is a delayed celebration for that!

Constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated in reviews if you've got the time! Hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading. =)