A/N: Set after Episode 418 in the anime. WARNING: Spoilers for the anime. I had the opportunity to explore Kudo Yukiko's character in my previous story, "A Mother's Words". This is a slightly different take on her character. The fascinating and well-loved characters of Detective Conan do not belong to me, but to their esteemed creator.
Info:
Kudou Shinichi - Jimmy Kudo
Kudou Yukiko - Vivian Kudo
Kudou Yuusaku - Booker Kudo
[1] This is a line loosely translated and taken from Episode 418 of the anime.
[2] This is a line loosely translated and taken from Episode 43 of the anime.
[3] "Tadaima." Loosely translated to, "I'm home."
With that said, ENJOY!
Not All That Different
The Kudou family was no ordinary family, and she was no ordinary woman.
Or so most people believed.
She was Kudou Yukiko, renowned actress in her own right, wife of the respected and famous - or infamous, if one were to believe the words of his editors - best-selling mystery author, Kudou Yuusaku.
She was also the mother of one of Japan's most reputable and well-known high school detectives, Kudou Shinichi.
And, she knew her son.
The Kudou family members were used to being incommunicado: Yukiko and Yuusaku travelling the world while Shinichi stayed in Japan. The vast and various time zones that spanned between them combined with their hectic, erratic schedules, and Yuusaku's penchant for disappearing before his datelines, only made it harder to keep in touch regularly despite technology. Not that it mattered to them because all three, even the youngest in the family, were highly independent individuals, who trusted the others to keep themselves safe and well. And, it certainly did not change the fact that if one person in their precious trio was in dire need of help, the others, no matter how far or how seemingly out-of-touch they were, the others would drop everything they had on their hands and reach out in aid.
Most people would call them uncaring as parents, but this was just the way things were in their lives. As a result of Yukiko and Yuusaku's seemingly careless actions, most people thought that Shinichi, no matter how mature, reliable or brilliant he might be for a young man his age, would suffer from feelings of insecurity, of loneliness, of being abandoned, of being unloved.
Most people, however, were wrong. Just because they did not live like ordinary families - together in a house, sitting at the breakfast table each morning, welcoming each other back from work or school every evening - it did not mean that they were irreparably dysfunctional. Sure, Shinichi might have certainly felt loneliness, even a sense of loss, from their separation, but so did Yukiko. Whenever she saw babies being cradled in the arms of their mothers, toddlers playing catch in the park, middle school children all muddied from playing soccer in the rain and teenage couples just happy to be in love, she would immediately feel the tug in her heart to return to Japan, to go back to brilliant blue eyes and dimpled smiles, to gentle, and very mature, concern and worry hidden under deadpanned snark and teenage rebellion. Sure, sometimes Yukiko wondered if Shinichi had ever resented his parents for giving him such a life, for not being there the way ordinary parents would. She wondered if she had made sound decisions, the right choices for her son. Sometimes, when the parties were over and all that was left was the glow of the bedside lamp in yet another luxurious hotel room, Yukiko wondered if her life, their lives, could have been different.
But, there was one thing she never questioned, one thing she never doubted. It was the one thing her son demonstrated whenever they did come into contact, whenever they crossed paths.
Shinichi loved her. No matter how their lives had turned out, how his life had turned out because of his parents' decisions, he still loved them, fully and wholeheartedly, the way any ordinary son would love his parents.
And, in that same way, she made sure that he knew she loved him, that despite their choices that took his parents away from him, Yukiko and Yuusaku had never truly left Shinichi behind. Rather, it was Shinichi who was their home, their hope, their dreams; the pride they held in everything they had, everything they strove to achieve, it all paled in comparison to the pride they had in Shinichi's dreams and achievements. They had never left him behind; rather, they had left a part of themselves with him, in him. To Yukiko, all the trophies and accolades in the world were worth nothing in the presence of her greatest living, breathing treasure; no role, no matter how meaty or satisfying, how complex or groundbreaking, none would ever compare to the satisfaction and utter joy that came from her role as a mother.
And, he knew this, she made sure he did. Shinichi knew that she loved him, wholeheartedly and unconditionally, the way any ordinary mother would love her son.
Which was why Yukiko worried, though she never showed it, about Shinichi's safety, his anxieties, his happiness, his life.
Because Shinichi was her son, and she knew him.
The way he would rather suffer in silence rather than inflict more pain on the people around him; the way he would mask his own distress with careless cheerfulness if it would help ease their burdens.
The way he would risk his life, recklessly and heedless to his own safety, if he knew that he was the only person, the only shield between others and danger, the only sword who stood a chance in the face of another's blade seeking to end a life.
The way he would pursue the line of investigation, no matter where it took him, for the sake of justice, for the sake of truth because he could speak in the stead of those whose voices had been unmercifully and cruelly silenced.
The way he would stay even when it was safer for him to flee simply because someone he loved had asked him to stay, because he would always do his best to meet the needs of his loved ones before even considering his own wants and desires.
Yukiko knew her son.
And, that's why, she had let him go.
In her mind's eye, she could still see his eyes flashing in desperation and determination, his stance firm and his small body overflowing with overwhelming strength, even as he fought to remain in Japan despite her, and her husband's, expressed wishes that he return to America with them. They had disguised themselves, testing his resourcefulness, his resolve, in hopes of convincing him to go with them.
Instead, Shinichi had convinced them to let him stay.
And, Yukiko had convinced herself to let him go.
Under very strict conditions.
'But, in exchange, as soon as it becomes too dangerous, we're taking you overseas.' [2]
It was because her husband had tacked on that line that she had relented, even as her motherly instincts waged a savage war within her to just snatch her son away from harm's cruel claws.
Now, she wondered, what had changed? Shinichi had been threatened, had had more close calls than she could count. Yet, he was still there, in Japan, right where he was most vulnerable without his parents by his side.
When had she forgotten about those conditions? No, she had not forgotten them.
She had just decided that they were inconsequential in the face of Shinichi's earnest request, desperate desire.
To stay and protect the woman he loved even if he put himself at risk.
'I'm sorry. I was just really worried about your current life. You live so far from us, and when we ask you about it directly, you would, without a doubt, always say, "I'm fine". I...I just really wanted to know how things truly were.' [1]
The look in his eyes, the surprise, the worry, the guilt, as she had said that, as she had unconsciously, for a split second, given in to her own desperation and pain, that look pierced right through to her soul, a sharp reminder as to why she had made the decision to let him go in the first place.
Coming back to her senses, Yukiko had giggled then, played it off with something resembling her usual cheer, trying to convince herself as much as she tried to convince her son.
Because she loved him, and she refused to make him choose: between his family and his beloved.
Because she would rather have this, infrequent surprised visits and face-to-face meetings, than to trap her son with her own selfish need for constant, visual, physical, real confirmation of his safety.
Because Yukiko had no doubt that if she had insisted on taking him away, that if she had demonstrated just how big a toll the strain of separation was taking on her, especially when she had to fight against all instinct to keep him by her side, if Shinichi knew, he might have forced himself to make a choice he could never live with.
Because she knew her son, and she knew that in his mind, taking on more pain was a small price to pay if he could spare Yukiko.
After all, Shinichi would rather stretch himself to breaking point rather than be the one to break someone else.
But, she was his mother, and she would rather let herself shatter than be the one to break her son.
Especially, when this was the first time he had ask something of her, something he truly desired, something he felt was truly worth fighting for.
For the first time, he was putting his own needs above others.
And, there was no way Yukiko was going to take that away from him because of her own selfishness.
This time, she would give in to him and be there for him; she would protect him the way only a mother could.
With sacrificial, unconditional love.
Yukiko startled slightly as a warm hand landed on hers, strong fingers tenderly curled around hers, a loving thumb rubbing comforting circles on the back of her hand. Her eyes tore away from the aeroplane window, where the flickering lights of Japan had begun to blink out in the dark of the night, and she looked gratefully at her husband, whose eyes held her own gaze with confident reassurance.
'Shinichi will be fine.'
You know what he can do. You saw what he was willing to do; how much he had grown. I believe he can do this. We have to believe that he can do this.
Yukiko awarded her husband's efforts with a tiny smile, heartbreaking in its honesty, just this once unwilling to be the consummate actress, the strong, untouchable pillar of cheerful support.
'Of course, he'll be fine. He's our son.'
We've given him all we can; we've raised him the only way we know how. It's up to him now. We can only protect him from afar. I know this.
Yuusaku's eyes softened as she squeezed his hand in return, intertwining her fingers with his. And, the last of Yukiko's composure crumbled, quiet tears slipping past her defenses, tears that she had refused to shed in front of her son. Yuusaku pulled his distressed wife into his arms, his face buried in her hair even as her face was buried in the crook of his shoulder, drawing comfort as much as he gave it.
It was never easy to let a child go under any circumstance, and this, was the ultimate test, the ultimate torture.
Shinichi was their son, their only son, their little baby boy, and they might never see him alive again.
I know this. But, Yuu-chan, it is so hard. I want him here, on the plane, with us. I want my son.
Yukiko felt her husband's arms tightened around her as she too hung on to him like he was her only lifeline in the tumultuous sea of her emotions.
She knew that she would never be able to forgive herself if she had to one day return to Japan to stand over his grave. She would never blame Shinichi, her darling Shin-chan, for demanding such a thing of her, but she knew, for the rest of her life, she would never stop thinking of 'what ifs'.
The Kudou family was no ordinary family. Where ordinary parents would be the nest which baby birds, their children, could fly from and return to, it was Shinichi, their son, who was their nest, the place they called home, when Yukiko and Yuusaku returned from their flights of migration.
But, really, Yuusaku and Yukiko were no different from any other parent, especially when it came to their son.
Kudou Yukiko might not be an ordinary woman.
But, she was certainly no different from any other mother.
Like any mother waiting for a child to return home, Yukiko could only fret and worry as she waited for her son to come back to her.
Like any mother waiting for a child to return to her side, Yukiko could not relax, could not let go of the anxiety that thrummed through her veins and pounded in her heart.
Not until Shinichi stepped through the door, into the warm glow of safety and out of the cold night of danger.
Not until he put his bags, his burdens, away, secure in the knowledge that he was home.
Not until she heard the word, "Tadaima" [3], in his own voice, from his own lips.
And, not until she could wrap her arms around him, around her son, her baby boy, secure in the knowledge that he was home.
Maybe injured, but alive.
Weary, but triumphant.
Safe and sound.
Completely whole.
And, back where he belonged.
Until then, she would wait.
Because the Kudou family was no ordinary family, but they weren't all that different as people believed.
Like any other mother, Kudou Yukiko knew her son and loved him.
And, this was her way of showing it.