Disclaimers: Mag 7 and Detective Conan aren't mine; ATF Mag 7 was first imagined by MOG; and peppymint woke the blasted bunnies out of dormancy and they wouldn't go AWAY... Thanks to Ellen for betaing and encouragement.

This is Comparing Notes II, folks. Read the first story for additional context.

Comparing Notes II: Ezra

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
~T.S. Eliot, The Hollow Men

"...You poor, brave, young fool."

No one replied; Ezra Standish lived alone and rarely entertained people at his apartment, not even his ATF teammates. He was grateful for that fact, tonight. It meant he didn't have to explain why he was sitting on his couch with a glass of malt whiskey at midnight, talking at the TV while watching the news channel's after-the-fact coverage of the first international Kaitou Kid heist in almost nine years.

"Police have still declined to comment, but camera crews managed to catch what may turn out to be the final flight of world-renowned Phantom thief 1412, colloquially known as the Kaitou Kid."

The television screen showed a flash of white on black, Kid's trademark glider so easily trackable against the night sky as it soared away from one of Denver's many skyscrapers, just low enough to be out of range of the police helicopters' downdrafts. The sound didn't show up in the recording, not in the background noise present on the ground between coordinating police and the mob of American and international Kid fanatics. But the image...

Oh, the image.

The soaring triangle of white cloth suddenly convulsed, and then began to tilt dangerously, diving down towards the crowd below. The camera zoomed in, trying to bring the thief beneath the glider into focus as he stabilized, swooping just above the heads of the crowd—and a spreading patch of red on white flashed for the television viewer just as a chorus of voices cried out that Kid had been shot. The gathering devolved into a panicked mob; all policemen present were forced to focus on keeping the mass of people under control, any thought of chasing phantoms forgotten.

"While Phantom Thief 1412 did not land or crash near the scene of the crime, police are continuing to search for his whereabouts. The observed severity of his injury suggests that without professional medical help, 1412 may not make it through the night—and professional help is something that this particular thief cannot afford to seek. Tonight's heist may become the first time 1412 has failed to return an object of value since his mysterious reappearance almost a year ago after an eight year hiatus."

"It's Kid, you simpletons," he muttered under his breath.

The television switched to interviews of several individuals who had been a part of the crowd and seen the spreading blood on the suit, as well as the wealthy Denver socialite whose penthouse Kid had invaded with the same ease that Ezra dealt cards from the bottom of a deck.

"...Damn sharks with microphones." Ezra turned the TV to mute and raised his glass. "You had better survive this, Kid-kun. Whatever drives you, your quest isn't over yet, and I abhor losing friends I only met yesterday."

He took a drink.

The thief had to have been in Denver only for the heist, Ezra knew. The bar that he'd met 'Ken Himitsu' at was one frequented by law enforcement, making it an excellent source of information—and poker winnings, which was why Ezra had been there rather than ATF Team Seven's typical haven, the Saloon. Apparently a poker game made an irresistible target for a player of his skills; Ezra had won only slightly more often than he lost, and the overall profit from the table ended split slightly in the thief's favor.

They'd eventually become the sole players left at the table, surrounded only by the empty bottles their previous opponents had left behind. Somehow the conversation had turned to work, including a few stories about Vin and Chris (names removed to protect the guilty), and then their exchange about disguises... Ezra really had no idea why Kid had talked so much about the elements of his work that he had shared, even though Ezra had quite obviously not believed that the unassuming Asian-American-looking man could have been the notorious phantom thief that he'd first heard of the week before, when the Kid note had made the front page.

Not believed, that is, until the man had vanished from the bar in a puff of smoke, leaving a second note with a recognizable-but-original doodle behind.

"Vincerò! Vince~rò!"

Ezra nearly dropped his drink as Pavarotti's triumphant voice pierced the silence of the apartment. While his cell phone was excellent at making Buck twitch whenever it went off in the bullpen, and piercing the blanket of sleep to wake him for work emergencies, he was not in the mood to appreciate good opera tonight.

Setting the glass down, he picked up his phone from the end table and nearly growled at the number that neither his phone nor his memory recognized. He almost let it ring through, but decided that a wrong number would be a welcome, if temporary, distraction from his current ruminations.

Keying the button to answer the call, he snapped into the phone, "It's the middle of the night; this had better be important."

For a long moment there was silence. Then an unexpectedly familiar voice, strained but with a hint of amusement, murmured, "Your balcony must give you a wonderful view, Agent-san."

Ezra froze, heart in his throat, before he practically teleported across his living room to the glass slider, whipping the dark curtain aside with one hand.

A spot of white broke the darkness, Kid leaning against the third-floor balcony's retaining wall with his cape bunched against the red-black patch covering his left side. The thief attempted to grin at him from beneath the shadows of his hat brim, but the manic expression was pale and edged with pain in comparison to the one he'd given Ezra at the bar.

"...My God." Ezra ended the call and pocketed his phone, disarming the door's alarm—the level of his security combined with the thief's injury explained why Kid hadn't greeted him from inside his apartment—and stepped outside into the chill night air.

"My apologies... for interrupting your evening, Agent-san." Japanese. The concentration necessary for English was apparently buried beneath the pain.

"You're a welcome distraction from your news coverage, Kid-kun." Ezra closed the gap between them with slow, smooth movements. "How badly are you injured?"

Beyond the obvious of 'Badly enough to risk being arrested in order to get help.'

Kid straightened, taking his weight away from the wall, breathing slowly and shallowly as Ezra stopped in front him. "Wasn't fast enough... this time. ...Hit my ribs... no exit. Think... they're cracked."

"...Hell." Ezra had experienced similar on a bust gone bad, once upon a time; the fact that Kid had managed to concentrate well enough to reach Ezra's apartment without crashing was highly impressive. Stubborn will or not, however, Kid looked almost as pale as his suit. Ezra carefully moved to take on his weight, noting that the thief stiffened at the contact, but didn't pull away. "Come inside. We'll get you patched up, and then we can compare notes on what's important enough to risk dying for."

Another grin, wavering. "Have to... take a rain check... on..."

Shock, adrenaline, and pain proved too much. Kid's dead weight slumped sideways, nearly slipping out of Ezra's grip. Luckily, Kid was smaller than even JD, Team Seven's scrawny young computer geek, and Ezra quickly readjusted by picking the slightly-built thief up off the balcony altogether.

He carefully carried Kid into the spacious, tile-floored master bathroom, the only luxury of his entire apartment, and sighed. "...It's midnight. Nathan is going to kill me."

Ezra's phone ring is the end of Nessum Dorma, which rather fittingly translates into "None shall sleep tonight".

...So. Shall I continue further? Review if you want more, please.

Oci

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