from skybluescramble:

well.. i come with another idea & imagination.

WARNING: this. is. an. AU. fiction.

not to mention a bit cheesy-weezy.

there, i've told you. bear with me. honestly, this is not a very original plot, but i'll try to do my best because when i tried to picture it in my head… this story seems quite fun to write.

enjoy the fic.

it's gonna be a two-shot, i guess.

and… oh, some reviews will help me to know what you think (:

DISCLAIMER:

Detective Conan/名探偵コナン

Gosho Aoyama©1994

:: Lost & Found ::

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- Recto -

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NAME: Kudo Shinichi.

Male. twenty nine years old. Strikingly handsome. Naturally cool. Smart, multi-talented, charismatic, and well-paid. Quite rich, you can say. Popular amongst women. Single. Well, I choose to be single. Don't you want to know why? Because once they know you're hot but (unfortunately) already taken, all the good girls will automatically back off. The ones who remain are usually those bitches who like to steal other people's boyfriend and admit it shamelessly. That was how things are. As a result, my popularity rate will go down.

Like I'd let that happen…

Occupation? No, definitely not a host. I am a detective. Being a host may suit all the good looks but… no. Besides, I have been a detective since my high school days and I always wanted to be one since kindergarten. My father, Kudo Yusaku, is a famous writer. His specialty is mystery-thriller, detective kind of novels. Back then, I loved reading his drafts and tried to figure out his riddles. If I succeeded to know who the culprit was, he would pat my head and said, "Good job, Shin."

I'm not being sentimental.

That was just… reminiscing old moments.

There is a fine line between them. Just so you know.

I live in a big, Western-style manor—inheritance from my father, yeah—at Block 2, Beika City. Actually the house is too big for me alone, but I cannot complain. Sometimes, when I feel too lazy to make my own bed, I'd prefer to sleep in a different bedroom for the next day and tidy up the entire house in my leisure time. Living by yourself isn't bad at all, was it?

Or that is what I thought… before this year's winter come.

I grin, baring two neat horizontal lines of teeth to check them carefully. Clean. My hand swipe along my jaw line. Smooth. It is perfectly shaved. Necktie, check. Shirt, check. My next target is the hair. Expertly I do it in the usual way and after taking a final glance at the mirror I wear my jacket, grab my coat and take leave.

It is pretty freezing outside. Today's weather forecast say that the temperature will be going around two or three degree of Celsius. I breathe onto both palms, enjoying the ticklish sensation of the brief warmth. Then, I hear my cell-phone rang.

Inspector Megure.

"I'm on my way now," I tell him. "Officer Takagi sent me the address yesterday via mail. I've read all the files, don't worry. Yes, please. Alright. I will be there as soon as possible."

Snapping the phone shut, I begin to quicken my pace. True, I do have my own car in the garage, but I like using public transportation better. Firstly, it save some energy (I'm trying to be environmental-friendly here, global climate change is indeed creepy). Secondly, it is good for my own health. Thirdly, being able to look at the open sky above while walking is fun.

Having a job as one of MPD's (Metropolitan Police Department, if you wonder) official private detectives affects my personal life, less much. No holiday. No proper sleeping time. No normal schedule. No time to be involved in a lovey-dovey relationship. No rest, because cases seem to tail me wherever I go. As if I am a god of Death.

Eww.

That thought disgusts me.

So, I immediately brush it off of my head.

I turn left at the next junction; this way is a lot shorter than the usual path people take. The street is dark, narrow and a little stinky. It has a gloomy atmosphere going around. Not my favorite type of route, but it will definitely spare me some extra minutes. There is a garbage disposal point at the right side of the street, which is full of big-sized plastic bags and cardboards. I sneer as I walked pass it. Urgh. The smell is horrible. And the biggest cardboard has a leg protruding from it.

By the next second I stopped dead on my track.

A leg?

Turning around, I blinked several times to clear up my vision. I do not feel confident about being mistaken though, since my vision is 20:20. It is just maybe—give emphasis at 'maybe'—, I am incredibly tired that my eyes were beginning to see something which in reality doesn't even exist. So I blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

And I loudly swore.

"BLOODY HELL!"

That cardboard with a leg is quietly there, as if challenging me to make the next decision. I inhale deeply, torn between contacting Inspector Megure right away or checking the situation myself first. The possibility that whoever—or whatever—inside that box is a corpse is high. A murder, my brain automatically deducts. I give a quick sweep around the street before finally pulling out a pair of vinyl gloves from my pocket.

I take a step closer.

That protruding leg is bare and slender. The milky white skin is smooth, delicate, and even though several small cuts and bruises ruin its perfection, I can tell that this body received a good care from the owner. I hold my breath when both my hands grip the end of each lid and yank them open with a strong pull.

I swear for the second time.

"Shit!"

Inside that damn cardboard I see a girl.

A young one.

18? 20? I didn't know for sure. I am simply too dumbstruck seeing what is before my eyes. Clad only in a dirty-looking camisole and black knickers, she curls up helplessly in the thin box. Her body is full with ugly bruises and long scratches; the dry blood around her wounds only makes them look worse. Her mussed hair mattes with dirt, her face is so pale, and those small lips of hers turn blue because of the cold. With thumping heart, I peel off my gloves to touch her skin.

Gods. Her body is ice-cold.

Nonetheless, I don't know she is dead or not.

I carefully squat down beside her to move my palm upwards. I pull up her eyelids gently, then try to check her pulse. My eyes widen in shock when I feet it, weak and almost undetected, pulsing under her freezing skin.

She is still alive.

Barely.

I examine the cardboard one more time. Nothing else. It's just her. No wallet, ID card, driving license, passport, none. There is no way I can know her identity right now. She is, despite of the fact that she is indeed a human, thrown out like a used property.

I ruffle my perfectly-styled hair in frustration.

Think, Kudo. Think!

Having an acute hypothermia, she can die anytime. I rummage my brain for a quick decision. I have to do something at a time like this. Fast. There are some options popping out in my head, yet none of them seems to be an easy choice.

First: call Inspector Megure, tell him the truth and let him bring the police here to take care of everything. It will only take a few minutes then poof! Things will be settled as though nothing happens. But... by the time they arrive here, this poor girl may have been dead already. I sigh.

Option one, crossed.

Second: take her to the nearest hospital. This sounds more logical than the first choice, if only I don't remember her beaten-and-almost-naked state. That may cause questions from the staffs, and this girl needs a quick treatment than anything else. Also, I can't help but feel some kind of pity when I imagine her being alone in a silent ward without any relatives or family members taking care of her.

Option two, crossed.

That left with only the last option. Straightening up my posture, I pocket the vinyl gloves, carefully put her protruding leg into the box, close the lids shut and pick up the box with an intention of bringing it home.

I must be crazy.

I, the smart young man named Kudo Shinichi whose intelligence often becomes a great help for the Japanese Police Department, just did a stupid action by rashly taking a stranger home. And that stranger is a wounded, dying girl because of the winter cold.

Not to mention she is clad only in her undergarments.

I can never be any dumber.

"SORRY, Inspector! But I'm having a sudden diarrhea right now... I'm afraid I won't manage to come there."

I roll my eyes hearing the lame excuse. What on earth am I doing? I must be out of my mind. Inspector Megure, the one whom I always respect, is told a lie that shouldn't be made.

Yet, it's in Inspector's nature to believe whatever I say.

Blind faith, if I may give any personal comment.

"Ah, how unfortunate. It's alright, Kudo-kun. Get well soon!"

"Thanks, Inspector." I say, swallowing down my guilt. The conversation ends and I drag my feet to the living room.

I stare blankly at the big cardboard near my sofa. Okay… time to deal with the main problem.

In a hypothermia case, we need to provide warmth to the one suffering it as quickly as possible to return the body heat. Meaning, hot water, towels, blankets, and clothes are necessary. I cut open the box with big scissors and move her onto the sofa to have a better examination on her condition. She is trembling. Her teeth are chattering so loudly it is almost heartbreaking. I wrap a thick blanket around her body, yet she is still shaking.

Then, I remember something.

Bath.

My eyes snap open. I gulp nervously, looking down to her figure. Is it okay for me to do this?

You're a male, a voice echoes inside my head. She's a female. This situation can lead to something you'll deeply regret later…

Don't be stupid, Kudo Shinichi! Another voice snarls to me.

What? I am not stupid!

Are you just going to root there and watch her die? You aren't a hormonal high school kid anymore. Help her! Save her!

Oh, you know you cannot back off once you make a further action, Detective Kudo… the first voice makes a sing-song tone that annoys me so. I'm having an internal war with my logic and my heart, but whichever side that voices come from, they didn't help at all.

Save her!

"To hell with it."

I groan in frustration as I put my arms behind her neck and knees for support before lifting her up, taking her cold body to the bathroom. I have to press the heating button using my toe and kick bottles of shampoo and body soap down the counter since my hands are busy. I wait for the water to warm up for about two minutes, and as a matter of fact, it feels like the longest two minutes I have ever experienced. Blame her ice-cold skin. Holding that woman for thirty seconds is enough to make my arms go numb.

She hisses a little when I put her down into the tub. I do it slowly, not letting go of one hand propping her neck, making sure every part of her body is underwater. My ears catch her weak whimper; probably it's because the bruises all over her body sting at the same time. Tilting her head backwards a bit, my other hand works to clean the dirt off of her hair. The water in my tub turn brownish quickly. I grab a bottle of shampoo, flick the lid open and slather a huge amount of its content onto her wet locks.

Then my eyes fall upon something I do not recognize is there. A thin chain is around her neck and both ends are connected with a small plate like a tag. My pupils narrow as my soap-covered hand brings the plate a few centimeters closer to read the letters carved onto it.

SHIHO.

Nothing much. Nothing less.

Is it her name?

No?

Or yes?

I flip over the plate but none is written on the backside. I can feel my forehead frown in disappointment. Believe it or not, this lack of information makes me feel as though I just brought home a stray cat.

An injured, dying stray cat.

"Oh. Whatever," I murmur indifferently as my hand fetch the shower to rinse the shampoo off of her hair. Now after it is cleaned well, I see that girl is blessed with beautiful strawberry-blonde locks.

Done with her hair, I prepare myself to work on the next part.

The hard part of this task.

Washing the body.

You know it isn't only because she has so many ugly scar and bruises so I have to be extremely careful.

I'm afraid of losing composure.

You cannot blame me. I am a male, after all.

Plus, a straight one.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and mutter a quick prayer. Then, I grab the soap I use every day, starting to clean her pale skin with gentle rubs and massages without wasting more time.

Just so you know, I do not dare to peel the clothes off. Instead, I slip my hand under the garments when I cleanse her body. Not much difference, I know. But at least I feel that I still respect her privacy by not looking at her nude form. As I finish bathing her, I make a mental note to wear sunglasses if I am going to change her rags later (I don't mean to sound harsh, but her clothing indeed looked like ones, with that level of dirt and rips).

TINY bubbles pop on the surface of the porridge I am making. I pick up a wooden spatula from the counter, stir it a little to check if it had been well-cooked or not. Nodding in approval, I switch off the stove before covering the pot to keep the porridge warm. My eyes dart to the guest room which door is left open—that girl is sleeping there—as I wash my hands clean.

I cannot help but wonder what had actually occurred to her.

"I can ask her directly. Maybe later," I mumble to myself while picking up a smaller bowl, two spoons, and a glass of water. Right now I only have to take care of her until she becomes conscious enough for a conversation.

I heave a sigh and carry the tray with food into the guest chamber where she lie there, under three layers of thick blankets and is clothed in my old sweater and sweat pants. Her breathing has calmed down, which relieves me, and although I know that she isn't actually sleeping, she looks as peaceful as one.

Spooning a smaller portion of the porridge into another bowl I brought, I drag a chair, pulling it closer to the bed. I gently touch the tip of the spoon to her lower lip, which parts slightly in response. She must have been starving, I note mentally.

"Eat." I said although she won't give me any answer. "Your body needs it."

She swallows her food instinctively. I continue feeding her until the bowl is clean and fix her blanket, giving her some time to have a proper rest. After cleaning up the dishes, I move to my study to check MPD's database. Perhaps I can find something related to this girl-with-name-tag in the list of missing person.

Or in the list of uncaught criminal.

The last thought gives shiver up and down my spine.

What if… I brought home a criminal?

But really? This innocent-looking woman?

A criminal?

"Okay, Kudo. Focus, focus!" I slapped my own face to shoo away unnecessary thoughts. "Never conclude anything when you have no basis for it."

Maybe it sounds stupid talking to yourself, but trust me, it can keep you sane if you often work under pressure. And before you start questioning, I will explain that it's not that I dislike my job as a detective. How could I? I've been dreaming of becoming one since long time ago. Nonetheless, facing dead bodies, competing with time and criminals (who sometimes attach bomb or send letter of threat) to prevent more victim is quite a huge pressure.

Even a pro like me is still prone to stress.

I drag my finger along the back of the thick maps lined neatly in the shelf and the pulled one out. True, everything I need to look up was already in my laptop, but I'd rather do stuff like this in an orthodox way. Looking at the monitor for hours makes me tired easily. Ineffective, you know.

I've done checking the third map—the last one—, deciding that there's nothing to help me finding out her identity.

Perhaps for now I can call her Shiho.

Actually, I feel bad for treating a human like a stray animal, but… considering her condition when I found her, doesn't she resemble one?

Putting back the map into the line, I let my other hand comb my hair backwards. For years, I've been dealing with murders, threats, accidents, various kinds of crime and have never found any significant difficulties in settling them down. But it would be impossible for me to handle this kind of matter… alone.

I have to tell someone.

By the next second I already grabbed the phone.

"Hattori? It's me."

"YOU can't be serious." Hattori Heiji shakes his head in disbelief, looking at the sleeping bundle on the bed, completely dumbfounded. I called him around four hours ago and suddenly he pops out at my doorway, confessing that he just can't believe my story no matter what if he doesn't see it with his very own eyes. Frankly speaking, I always wonder how this tan-skinned bollocks could fly all the way from Osaka to Tokyo as though he commutes using Yamanote Line train.

He has been like that since his high-school days, you know.

Just how rich his family could be?

"I'm dead serious." I reply.

"That chick is hot, Kudo!" Heiji says again. "Very pretty. And all for yourself! God, life is indeed, unfair."

"Kazuha would have killed you if she heard you speak like that." I mention the name of his fiancée, Toyama Kazuha, the only daughter of an elite policeman who is as well Heiji's childhood friend. She is strong-willed, quite short-tempered, and good at judo—although 'good' is a total understatement—which makes her almost as dangerous as a mad criminal.

In a flash his face gets drains from all color. Heiji cringes. "You'll never tell her."

"Because you'll end up as a dead pile?"

"Probably even worse."

Heiji clears his throat, recomposing his detective instinct and beginning to examine the girl. From the way his eyes move, I can tell that he gives the treated wounds and bruises special attention. He stops his examination after a few minutes. "Kudo, can you tell me again how you found her?"

So I repeat the complicated story for him.

"Her name isn't in the database?" Heiji sounds surprised. "But then, who the hell in this earth would throw away a living person like some trash? If she isn't one of the missing people, then there's only one answer."

"She's the victim of a new case."

Heiji agrees with me. "Yeah. A murder attempt?"

"It could be a human rights abuse case. She's beaten, isn't she?"

"Let's wait for her to wake up. After that we can start questioning." Heiji says, taking off his leather jacket and hanging it behind the door. I see he had left his trademark baseball cap behind since he was accepted to work in Kansai Police Department as a member of the investigation team. Not bad, I think, but still… it feels a little weird seeing him without the cap.

Although it has been years.

We spend another two hours exchanging experiences in handling murder cases or solving tricky tricks used in them. It seems the two of us would never lack of topic for conversations. We are nearly drowned in the atmosphere, had it not been for a soft gasp coming from our backs.

I turn around.

And I see her.

Standing shyly behind the threshold, gripping the end of her sweater so tight until her pale knuckles redden, she stands wordlessly with her round, turquoise eyes signaling confusion. I tap Heiji's shoulder. "Hattori. She's there."

"Whoa," he whirls around with a gasp. "God, Kudo, she's cute."

I try hard not to simply step on Hattori's feet. From the corner of my eye I see her—what's her name anyway? Oh yeah, Shiho—begins to back off, retreating to the bedroom. Without thinking, I call out.

"Wait! Wait up!"

She stops moving, fear flashes in her clear orbs. Her lips tremble but she doesn't say anything.

"Um…" I fumble for words before say lamely, "Do you want a second serving?"

She looks up at me with those big eyes but refuses to answer.

Heiji sighs. Feeling impatient, he snatches a bowl and a spoon, waving them in the air like a sign. "Food. Eat. You" He beckons her over. "Come here. We don't bite, if that's what you are concerning about."

"Are you stupid?" I hiss at him. "She won't listen to you. Not when you treat her like she's a dumb."

"Oh, she will." Heiji answers confidently, and my annoyance grows when Shiho, slowly and hesitantly, takes a small steps forward (Heiji whispers "yes!" under his breath; I swear I heard him). She glances around in alert, but she steadily approaches us anyway.

Quickly, I pour her a bowl of miso soup. That's the only thing I can get her for now. Heiji really caught me off guard by mentioning food. Really, I hate that fellow as much as I like him.

"Be careful. Don't burn your tongue." I say, putting the bowl in front of her. She inhales long and deep, taking in the aroma of the soup before her fingers fumble to pick the chopsticks.

Heiji takes several steps closer to me as she eats.

"Didn't you see her eyes?"

Perplexed, I blink idiotically. "What?"

"Her eyes," Heiji repeats. "It seems exactly like someone who's having a big shock after an incident. In some cases it can also cause memory loss and disability of speaking."

I gasp. "Are you saying that…"

"She might be a victim of something, yes. We may need to look it up. I reckon that for the mean time, she stays with you, Kudo. You live alone. No parents. No relatives. No girlfriend, so there will be no fuss about it."

I almost fell down my seat.

Almost.

"Excuse me?!"

"Are you saying you're going to abandon her?" Heiji gives me an innocent look even though his words exasperate me to the very end. I hate it that he can pretend to be innocent when all he does are the exact opposite. I don't have such a blessing, just so you know. "Kudo, since when did you become so heartless?"

That's exactly what I'm talking about.

APPARENTLY that Shiho girl cannot speak. Or probably she doesn't want to speak. It has been almost twenty hours since I brought her home from the street and she hasn't utter a word yet. Even a syllable. To be precise, she doesn't do anything at all. After finishing the miso soup I gave her this afternoon, she just sat on the sofa with eyes fixed on me. I felt her looking, of course, but I tried to simply brush it off because she looked as though she would cry if I tell her to not stare. So I collected her bowl and put it in the dishwasher and began cleaning up, and the moment I went back to the living room she was asleep again.

Eat.

Sleep.

Eat.

Sleep.

I notice she won't eat unless it is something I prepare for her. I try to tempt her by placing a plate filled with warm scones on the dining table but she doesn't touch them. I pour a glass of fresh milk and purposefully leave it within her arms reach yet she doesn't seem to care. Only when I say, "You can drink it!" she shifts closer to the glass and empties its content in a flash.

Weird.

I manage to show her the toilet before she pees on my carpet or somewhere else. Knowing her unwillingness to talk, that isn't possible to happen.

"Shiho." After giving her share of dinner, I sit across the girl, watching her munch eagerly on mashed potato. "That's your name, isn't it? It'd better be, otherwise I won't know how to call you."

She stops eating and raises her face, boring both turquoise orbs at me. I take it as an affirmation.

"Do you have a family?"

To my disappointment, Shiho drops her gaze and continues to eat. I straighten my back and am going to heave a sigh when I see her shake head. A no. A grin begins to form across my face. She clearly understands what other people are saying. Well, this new knowledge helps a lot. So I know that it isn't necessary to use sign language—something which two hours ago or so crossed my mind.

"Do you live around here?"

No.

"Do you remember who you are?"

She ignores the question. I smooth back my bangs; this is far more difficult than what I imagine it would be. But I'm not being called a genius detective for nothing. And patience is one of my good points which make me who I am.

"Alright, here's the thing." Bending forward slightly, I try to get her attention again. "If you're going stay with me for God only knows how long, then I have my conditions."

Still chewing, Shiho steals a glance at me.

Okay, at least she is listening.

"First, everyday I'm working until five in the afternoon—formally. There are also times when I can't get any holiday at all, and I need you to behave when I'm out. No mess, no thrash, don't spill anything, don't touch anything, don't go anywhere as you please, just stay put and be a good girl."

Really, I want to scream in frustration. I can't help but feel like an idiot, speaking aloud to someone who refuses to answer it normally.

But then, as she hands in the empty plate with hopeful look for another serving, I catch a small nod from her.

Without thinking I burst out. "Are you always like that? Taking so bloody long time just to nod or shake your head?"

Of course that girl won't say a thing.

I'm stupid for expecting any.

Sighing heavily, I stand to my feet and walk to the kitchenette. As I fill her plate with more mashed potato and casserole, I make a mental wish that tonight will not become any chaotic than it already is.

My wish isn't granted.

Trouble starts when I realize Shiho, just like common people, has to care about her hygiene. So I show her where the bathroom is and carefully explain in what time I usually take bath. She listens to me attentively, though not giving me verbal responses, and after I'm sure she gets the rub of my speech I open the drawer behind the washstand's mirror, taking out a new toothbrush.

"Do you know how to use this?" I ask her.

Shiho pulls the toothbrush out of my hand and calmly imitates teeth-brushing. Very well. So I don't need to demonstrate it. Less work to be done is better; I feel as though my body aged a decade in one day.

"You can use everything here." I said, opening the door which separates the changing area and the bathing area. "Shampoo, body wash, toothpaste. But don't touch this one, it's face wash for men. I'll buy something else for you tomorrow. Got it?"

A small nod is her feedback.

"Go take a bath first. I still have something to do."

So I leave her there to strip down and enjoy the luxury of a hot tub while I'm preparing some paperwork in my study to be read later. My recent case is quite tricky, there are so many things I haven't figured out. I reach for a file map and begin re-read the document inside.

Time flies.

I'm pulled back into reality by a sneezing sound. The noise reminds me that I am no longer living alone. Stepping outside my study, I look around my apartment with alert. "Shiho?" I call her. "What's wrong?"

Another sneeze is heard from behind my back. Turning ninety degrees on my feet, I'm face to face with the girl and almost experiencing a heart attack because of what comes into view.

Trembling slightly from cold, she stands before me, several drops of water dripping down from her temples, hair, chin, even fingertips.

Stark naked.

Shit, I cursed mentally. I can't avert my eyes!

In panic I try to rake my brain. Those idiotic male hormones make thinking four times more difficult. Vaguely I feel blood rushing to a particular part of my anatomy, yet I do my best to ignore it and focus. What did I do wrong? What did I miss? Why is she appearing like this? Why isn't she wearing at least a towel, or…

Then it hits me.

Towel.

I forgot to lend her a fcking towel. And it's obvious if she doesn't know where I keep it.

She sneezes again. If I don't do something quick, she'll definitely catch a cold. Clearing my throat to shoo away one or two perverted thoughts flashing across my mind, I snatch any cloth within arm reach (it's a small blanket I usually use to warm my legs while reading or watching TV) and swiftly step forward to cover her exposed body.

She lets out her third sneeze. Guilt creeps into me.

"Sorry," whisper me, honest and sincere. "I'm at fault here. Come on, I'll give you something warm to wear."

As she puts on my old jumper and sweatpants, I make her a big mug of hot chocolate—an attempt to atone my sin.

Taking care of someone is not as easy as I thought it would be. Whatever happened today are actual proofs. Unfortunately, that is only the beginning of it all. I'm going to live with this mysterious Shiho girl from today onwards until I find her actual home.

Until that day, I must survive.

.

to be continued.