Disclaimer: Magic Kaito is the propety of Gosho Aoyama, it does not belong to me.

The Phantom Lady

The Phantom Lady stared at the men in front of her. Her prisoners, as she thought of them, although most of them were not bond… yet. They cowered before her, horror written on their faces. They had not expected her to be so… macabre and… barbaric. She had after all never done something quite like this before. There was blood everywhere. Fake of course – no one gets hurt - but they did not know and she was not about to tell them. Several of them laid fainted on the ground, although their companions seemed to think them dead. Everything was just as she wanted it. Or almost everything…

Among her captives there was but one man that did not show any signs of fear. She knew him, although they had never met. Others had described him to her, although there had been no need. She had never been able to forget his face since she had first seen it from a distance on that fated day so many years ago. A small smile pursed her lips, she had become what she was to hunt this man down and finally he had considered her enough of a treat to come after her himself.

Slowly she walked up to him. He met her gaze with one just as steady, not wavering at all. It frustrated her; she wanted him to be afraid of her.

'Phantom Lady,' he said in a calm voice.

'Snake,' she spoke the name with all the venom she could muster and lifted her arm, pointing her gun at his temple.

'We meet at last,' his voice still did not falter, yet his eyes betrayed him as he cast a nervous glance at the barrel. She allowed herself a bit of glee at that.

'This is for Kaito.' Her voice was devoid of emotion, scaring even her. This was not what she had planned, not at all. Too late she realized she had lost control. A part of her did not care.

A shot rang trough the night, before the world drowned in a silence louder than any sound. Something shattered within her.

…

'S-sorry...'

'Don't speak...'

'Aoko...'

'Shhh...' she whispered, placing a finger before her mouth. She immediately regretted the action as she felt a thick liquid on her lips. In reflex she ran her tongue over them. She regretted that too. The metallic flavor of blood - his blood - spread in her mouth. It made her want to be sick. It almost broke her, but she could not let it. He needed her. If she broke now, if she let him see her despair... He would blame himself. She would not let him do that.

'Aoko...' he tried again, just as a fit caught him. Blood sputtered from his mouth, spreading over his already stained suit. She had a hard time remembering that the jacket fabric had once been a pure white and the shirt a beautiful light blue. It landed on her cheeks, her chin; she could feel it on her chest. The blues she had bought just yesterday was ruined. She did not care. Not now. Now it was only him.

She placed a finger on his mouth, looking him deep in the eyes. She bent forward, while slowly removing her finger again. Her lips met his in a deep affectionate kiss. Their first and - as she knew all too well - their last. It hurt. Knowing she could only get this one. At the same time, that knowledge also made it so very special. She only had this one kiss, this one chance, to convey her feelings. Feelings she had hidden in her heart for so long. It had to be enough.

'I... love... you...' she breathed between gulps for air as their lips parted. He had surprised her, returning the kiss with such ferocity. She had not thought he still had the strength. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a cough and blood. It sputtered over her face, her hair. It did not matter. Again she gently laid a finger over his mouth, smiling at him. Silently conveying that she understood. That which he had been unable to speak. She could see it in his eyes. His answer. It made her world complete. She was beyond words. There was nothing that could describe how she felt at that moment.

A tear fell from her eye as everything crashed down around her and she was overtaken by grief. Soon her world would become more incomplete than it had ever been. Why had she not confessed before? Why had she thought herself content with only being friends? She had been afraid. Afraid of rejection. Afraid of ruining their friendship of twelve years. She had been a fool. She now understood that there was something much worse than being rejected by the one you loved. Losing him before ever knowing his feelings. She did not believe she would have been able to handle that.

He lifted his arm - again surprising her with his strength - to wipe away her tear, smiling sadly at her as his hand only smeared her already bloodstained cheek with more of the red liquid. Goosebumps formed on her back. His hand was so cold. She lifted her own hand and held it over his. Trying to give him some of her body heat. It was no use, she knew. But at least she was trying. She returned his smile with one of her own, just as sad. At the same time she carefully lifted his upper torso, snuck her knees underneath him, resting his head in her lap, and then they just looked each other in the eyes. Drowning in each other's eyes. She wanted to tell him how beautiful they were, those violet eyes of his, but the words stuck in her throat.

He coughed a few more times, his gaze never wandering from hers. His breath slowed down, slowly but mercilessly, until it was gone and he went still. His chest no longer rising, his eyes became glassy, his heart had stopped pounding.

For a long time she just sat there, stroking her hands trough his hair, her eyes never leaving his too still, beautiful face.

...

Everything became fuzzy after that. She faintly remembers taking out a fish patterned handkerchief – her trademark – and dropping it. Knocking out the rest of the men with sleeping gas, tying them up and calling the police before leaving.

She had not gone far. She had snuck up on the roof of a nearby building. Watching with a pair of binoculars as the police arrived, listening to their conversations trough bugs she did not remember placing. They had found twenty men, nineteen fainted, one dead with a bullet through his head, all infamous criminals. They soon found her handkerchief; it was in plain sight on the dead man's chest. They seemed a bit hesitant to believe it at first, that she was behind this, but it was there, the secret mark. The mark only she and the police knew off. Sewn into the handkerchief, a picture. A picture of a white clad figure, a figure she had once hated more than everything - she still could not bring herself to forgive him, but at the same time she was no longer able to hate him. That stupid thief.

Slowly she took something out of a pocket, a gem, and held it up to the full moon. It was a white moonstone, but as the moonlight hit, it began to give off a faint red light. Its core turned crimson. She stared at the stone in her hand. She hated it. It was the ugliest stone – no longer worthy of being called a gem - she had ever stolen. It was drenched in blood. So many had died, been killed, for this stone. For this stupid stone.

Because of this stone she had become something she resented. A thief. Just like he who had stolen away her father's time when she was young. His goal had been the same, this stone. That made her hate it even more. It was the reason behind his crimes, behind his murder, behind the crimes of his son - the love of her life - and behind his murder again. Because of this stone she had herself become a murderer.

It was time to end this. End this evil circle of crime, murder and revenge.

She dropped the stone. Watched it fall toward the earth so far below. Slowly she raised the arm still holding the gun; the blood had yet to dry completely on the barrel. She aimed and for the second time that night the sound of a gunshot echoed through the air. The bullet hit. Driving into the stone. Increasing its momentum. She lifted her binoculars to her face as the stone got too far away to see clearly. It hit the ground, shattering into a million pieces. Just like her soul had done not too long ago.

Lowering her binoculars, she smiled. It was done. Finally. Pandora had been destroyed.

It had come with a price though, as with everything else. But this time the price had been too high, too costly, and she had broken.

Slowly the expression on her face molded to something bordering to madness and a low cackle escaped her mouth. Her revenge had been taken hand of, but the Phantom Lady had just begun.

Hope you enjoyed the story. Please review^^

This little story was suposed to be a one-shot, but I've gotten some inspiration so maybe I'll make a new chapter at a later time if you guys want one.

Also thanks to Yemi Hikari for beta-reading.