AN: Reviews are the only reason authors write faster. :)
Summary: "I can't believe I'm having this conversation in my pajamas." He laughs, then pulls her closer. "Well, no one ever said walking with thieves had to make sense." When memories don't seem to be enough, Aoko starts revisiting what she's lost-and Kid finds it all too hard to keep Kaito away. That is, if he doesn't fall for her first. [Chapter 1: He's holding, almost cradling, her hands in his, white silk fascinatingly smooth and the heat from his body intoxicatingly real.]
oOo
Without a Word
Chapter 1
If you can make a woman laugh, you can make her do anything.
-Marilyn Monroe
oOo
It starts when she sends them. Letters and postcards and chocolate and keychains, cards and cards and cards. Happy Birthday. Merry Christmas. Happy New Year! Those are the easy ones-the ones that she writes and smiles and thinks to herself, yes, yes, this is normal, this is good, this is what's wanted.
Then there are more. Happy Hat Day. Happy Two-and-a-half Years Since the Aquarium Field Trip. Happy Step in a Puddle and Splash Your Friends Day While Running Up the Flagpole to See If Anyone Salutes (this one-Made me think of you! she writes. And it does. He has no idea.)
There is something in the physical act of writing a letter, in the seal of the envelope, in the cardboard boxes that leave nicks and slashes along her hands-something that demands a response.
And so there is none. (Or does that count, too?)
In the daylight, there are only blue blue eyes and a smile and warm words and she closes her eyes and it has to be done. Accordingly, she continues.
It's settling into a familiar pain when, nearly two years later, she sees blue eyes and black hair and laughter in a bar. She swallows as the world spins and then grows still. Oh God.
It's not supposed to hurt.
Yamazaki-kun, the Task Force rookie Dad told her to pick up, shoots her an inebriated smile as she passes him. "They're at the station?! I thought we agreed on Ginza...eh, I had a couple," he slurs, cheeks pinking. But Aoko doesn't hear him, not when all senses are on pause and then pulse, not when she's opening her mouth and the tears fall like cold silvered rain.
It's him. It's him. It's him, her nerves scream. Recognition slams into her and all she can think is I know you-I know you-who are you?
"Waiter? Another drink for the lady, hmm?"
And he's not stuttering. God, no-this man is suave, eyes dark blue and seductive, smile and tie just crooked enough to scream bad. The girl latches onto his arm, eyes dark and beautiful, crossing one rail-thin leg over the other.
She spends that night on the park bench outside in the swings, eyes (un)focused, oddly detached.
After all, there is nothing to hold onto anymore.
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She spends her days and nights talking to ghosts.
Aoko, wait up!
Heh, bet you can't!
Ew, GET THAT AWAY FROM ME!
On the fifth day, she screams and punches her fists into the drywall, watching the blood run, knowing she'll have to pay for it. It doesn't hurt, really, and with a morbid fascination she stares at the crimson-in small amounts, a sign of life; in large amounts, the loss of it.
She's nearly lost all her friends from high school, with only Keiko calling every once in a while, but it still hurts when she finds herself on a Saturday with an empty house-an empty house that's at once pleasing and all too full.
This is not what I signed up for, she thinks bitterly-then puts on her coat and goes straight out into the snow, wind whipping her face and broken hands, piercing and stinging and finally there is something she can control. She stays at the park, at the clock tower, at dong dong dong and whoosh and excuse me just passing through.
Her cell phone buzzes, and for a moment she's alive again, pulse drumming rapidly as shaking fingers type in the password, press on the 'messages' icon-You have used more than 75% of your data. Start of this cycle: 11/01. Your next cycle-"
She puts it back roughly, zippered pocket ripping across her hand, and lies down in the snow. Hypothermia, she thinks-well, but she's never hated the hospital anyway.
(Un)fortunately, her neighbor has chosen to walk by with a bag of groceries and promptly pulls her out of the snow and my poor dear and you really must eat more and Aoko laughs and says no she was just too tired, of course she'll take better care of herself, then goes home and breaks out the sleeping pills.
It's too cold.
oOo
This is, she thinks-no, breathes-days later, why she and Kid are pressed against the cold marble of the museum wall, why she can't seem to look away.
He's holding, almost cradling, her hands in his, white silk fascinatingly smooth and the heat from his body intoxicatingly real.
She laughs then, a bitter sound resonating from the high ceilings, at his silence. Figures she'd corner him only after she's lost all energy to charge, after life has gone and turned and left her shaking, soaked and desolate as a shuttered cabin in the woods.
He only looks at her, eyes measured and even, taking in what she knows to be her shell. Seems to want to ask, to probe-then remembers that he's not a detective, only a thief that has kept her father away back when she thought something could have been done.
She smiles coyly, wanting to drag up some of Kaito and his last betrayal, wanting to shatter Kid's mirrors as well. "Like what you see?" she drags out, lips twisting, feeling adrenaline make her alive again for this one second.
He stiffens like a plant in a sudden frost, more masks slamming down before she can blink, then, accusingly-"This was self-inflicted." Tightens his hands around the bandages, blue ice boring into her, and she does not know why she backs away at his sudden laughter. "Why, do you want me to ask you why?"
I don't even have the luxury of saying I've been jilted is the first thought on her mind, then, "You're an insolent bastard."
"Taking it out on me, then?" A pause, then a careful bow, the ghost of a smile curving his lips. "Go ahead."
From anyone else it would have made her scream, made her glare-she doesn't want pity. But the mere fact that Kid-Kid, her sworn enemy, the man she had cursed and hated with a vengeance ever since his existence-has cared, that he has cared, that while she thought she knew she doesn't really know at all.
She looks up at him again, the first of the tears from that day finally coming, blurring his image, aghast and self-deprecating and body, what are you doing-
-and then suddenly Kid's the wild one, hands gripping her shoulders painfully, lips crashing on hers, teeth knocking and fighting and it's as if he's trying to prove a point or kill them both; she's not sure which.
He leans back suddenly, leaving her reeling from the loss of warmth, from solidness, and all but snarls, "Hit me." Shakes her roughly, eyes blazing and masks gone with the wind, and-
-this, from Kid, from the thief who's never been anything but elegance and propriety and charisma-
-and she yanks him forward by his tie, foreheads colliding with a bang, and kisses him again. This Aoko has nothing to lose, nothing at all-this Aoko is bold and daring and feminine-this Aoko feels a fire start within her, the emptiness clearing way for primal desire and exhilaration-and after all, shouldn't she be entitled to stage a betrayal as well?
It's fast and furious and incredibly good: Kid puts up a good fight, but Aoko knows she has won by the look on his face as they break apart. Lips half-parted, eyes still lidded with unfocused lust, he stumbles backward as she looks at him, not trying to not think but not thinking anyway. "Well?"
He stares at her, chest heaving, for once the one full of questions. "Why-"
"Because I hate you."
"What?"
She gives him a smile, then turns to walk away. "Is it really that much of a surprise? Didn't you get a kick out of the Inspector's daughter, too?"
Kid continues staring, then suddenly goes limp, eyes frosting over. "You wanted to degrade yourself." It's not phrased as a question.
It hurts that he can see through her just that well. "So I did."
Silence. Then-
"Screw him," Kid bites out murderously, hands clenching. "It was him, wasn't it? It was-how could you let yourself-you're not even legal. Hell, you're barely out of high school-you-"
"And why would you care?"
"I-" A flash of blue, then the hat brim is pulled low. "Naka-Aoko. You don't need him. You think you do, but you don't-I've seen you, you're strong, stronger than so many-"
"What the hell? Since when have you been-been stalking me?! And all I ever wanted was for you to be gone for good!" She feels hysteria set in-there's not enough air in the room-and now she's crying onto his shoulder, voice hoarse and dry. "All I-dammit, you-I-"
She hears the thundering footsteps of the Task Force far too late, hears her father start to growl curses at the thief and then stop, abruptly, at the sight of his daughter cradled in the thief's arms, struggling to breathe.
His hand moves from her shoulder to her hair, stroking it gently, and this is ridiculous-being comforted by a wanted international criminal, for God's sakes-and for what seems like forever there is nothing but the hand and the comforting rise and fall of Kid's chest and silence.
Then, reality sets in, and as she pushes him away to pelt down the hallway she sees not Dad finally giving the order to chase him, not the men casting her worried looks and reaching out to stabilize her, but Kid's eyes, sorrowful and haunted, locking onto hers all the way home.