Title: Distant Dreams
Author: Runaway Soul
Fandom: Detective Conan
Characters: Kudo Shinichi/Mouri Ran
Genre: Angst/Romance
Prompt: From Table 2: #2- Passion
Word Count: 3,959
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Mild profanity; slightlysuggestive themes
Disclaimer: I do not own Detective Conan. I only play god with them when Aoyama's not looking.
Summary: It was her specialty to feign happiness.
-
She could never forget what transpired that fateful night, even after all these years. A lot of time had already elapsed then, from either before that or after. She lived her life and he lived his—alone, apart. She never clarified actually giving up on him, but presumably she had. Everything was just such a daze.
He came back, only to find that things were staggeringly different. That she did not greet him with open arms—though, perhaps, she had every reason not to. Nobody could wait for him forever—not when he himself was unsure of his return.
Time, especially, could not just sit and wait.
Strange—he looked more seventeen than thirty-odd. More where it all began than where it all started to end.
To crash and burn.
And yet she was old. Thirty-ish. Prim, demure, but relatively old nonetheless. With graying sacs under her eyes—like crescent moons; skin that somewhat started to sag; creases on her forehead; and stretch marks from painful childbirth concealed under layers of clothing.
Yet he recognized her at a moment's glance, a woman amidst the crowds. It was her. It was her at last.
"…Ran…?"
She did not call him back. Just stood there, stiff as a pole, stiff as his tomb, and wondered why fate reunited them now. Just now. Just a little bit too late.
When she pushed him away she would then end up wondering, many times afterward, whether what she did was the right thing. Or whether it wasn't. And guilt and regret would consume her each and every single time.
And really, was it? Was it her fault that this happened? Was it wrong?
Was it wrong that when he came and shook her world, she pushed him away from her and called him a parasite? Unwanted? Shouted loudly, as if to whole of Tokyo, that she was married? And with a child?
Maybe it was. Because then this wouldn't have happened. They could be together now, at this moment, perhaps—happy and free. Not in the past, and not in the far-flung future with all its ambiguity. And when they tried to be it would have been success.
It would have been wrong, but she would have been happy.
She only shielded herself from sinning. Because when they met that dark Saturday night, amidst the people pacing the city streets and underneath a starlit nighttime sky, she could feel deep inside that she wanted him close to her. But what he felt she didn't exactly know.
She wanted him close. Close to her hair. Close to her chest. Close to her heart. Close to her and to everything that was her life. Close enough to feel her tears of joy and sadness. Her tears that wanted to pour because he was there—he was back, after all that goddamn waiting. Her tears that wanted to pour because he arrived just a little bit too late.
Close enough to feel her wedding ring—two thin golden bands on her right ring finger. Studded with tiny diamonds, twinkling and expensive. Like stars shimmering on the nighttime sky.
Just close.
But things were different now, (commitments made, priorities altered) and so she pushed him away against her will. Into the crowd. Into the looming darkness. Into a swirling, twirling, dizzying abyss. Into god-knows-what-and-where.
Away from her and from everything else that formed her life.
And she ran away from him. Away from everything that she could ever ask for, everything that she ever wanted—him. Shielded herself from sinning and inflicted pain unto herself as she did. Unto both of them.
Only to prove that love was their Achilles' Heel.
And before the silhouette disappeared into the darkness, amidst the cars and people in the hustle and bustle of Tokyo, he asked why.
Why. A simple word that meant so many things.
Why let go. Why leave. Why push everything we had away.
She stopped in her tracks in thought. Why? What had she to answer to such a vague question? And anyway, why did she have to answer it anyway? As if she lost her voice—her voice with which she shouted at him many, many years ago during childhood—all she ever got to say was, ever softly as he approached her, "Because this isn't right, Shinichi."
Deep inside her other questions shrieked for answers, just as deep inside him they screamed. Loud and taunting. Almost scary.
Why now, for instance. Just now. Only now, when she was tied up and committed—when her ring was too tight to remove. Why only when they couldn't be. Why.
This isn't right.
And then she ran and he wouldn't—couldn't—run after her. His heart aching with pain and with grief.
This isn't right.
Morality was something he fought for. And yes, it wasn't right.
-
She tried to love him with all her might, and, for the most part, she succeeded. With all the strength that she could muster, she tried—but that was all. She couldn't. She just couldn't love the man, and she figured he might have known already. Maybe that's why everything is such a complete wreck—absolutely everything.
She needed him and he needed her. It was a possessive, obsessive want. A thirst she couldn't quench. As she worked on one task or another, he'd hug her from behind and nuzzle her ear aggressively, taking in the addictively tantalizing scent of a woman in bloom; and she'd push his hands away, asking him—no, demanding him—to stop. The same cycle, the same rut—all resorting to violence.
Black eyes and discontent. Threatening shadows of unease. A traumatized child, wailing.
"Mommy? Daddy?"
And dark, empty nights spent in silence.
They lay on the same bed but kept their distance, a pillow her only comfort. She'd stay awake for what seemed like an eternity, staring up at the ceiling. At the tiny dots that seemed to form as she strained her eyes—like tiny, tiny stars. And she'd close her eyes and think.
About this. About everything. This roller-coaster of a life.
She wondered how she could've fallen for him. Or if she did at all. She wondered why she let him inside her life. Why she said yes, when she might have easily said no. Just as she did to him.
No.
Only it would have been the other way around.
And she'd close her eyes, dreaming that he was him instead. The him that she loved, not the him with which she shared only false desire. The him that she regretted leaving on that dark Saturday night, not the him that she wished she never shared vows with in the first place, an over-jeweled June Bride—hair curled and face bronzed, all made up for doom.
Because then they can't be together.
She would shut her eyes, lie gently down, and clutch her heart. Feel it throbbing, beating fast. Deeply resonating with unsaid affections. She'd grasp her skin tight, and wish, and she'd feel as if her heart would pop—explode, a mad volcano erupting after being so silent. And red hot lava would gush forth and flood the expanse with thoughts that were unsaid.
But it wouldn't. And she would lie there, helpless, and wait for the day when all these finally unraveled themselves freely. A day she would probably have to wait for forever. Or, at least, until this lifetime resides and she is brought to the next—whatever it truly was and whether it existed at all.
Whoever believed in fairytales-on-earth should snap back to reality. Take a reality check.
Whoever said marriage meant happily-ever-after should be damned, she thought.
And she couldn't believe she fell for it.
-
A mellow love song blended smoothly into the background, to which they kept cadence as they danced leisurely under the nighttime sky. Her hands were clasped behind his neck in an endearing embrace. His hands were on her waist. Overhead, the full moon was huge and round and bright. It resembled, in some ways, a father looking over his little children.
Huge. Round. Mysterious.
Fat and drunk.
There was a three-layer wedding cake, on top of which, a little girl in a white gown was being carried by an equally little boy in a tuxedo—a Lilliputian bride and groom, grinning. White roses were everywhere—and guests. Guests with happy, unquestioning faces. Her parents, reunited if only in that one moment.
Cheering on history to repeat itself.
Or at least, not realizing that it could.
She could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. His loving eyes tracing the contours of her body. His manly scent. The strength on his broad, muscular shoulders. His firm and wanting grasp on her waist. The fine black cloth of his tux. All full of promise and a better tomorrow.
She couldn't remember how it all pieced together and came to be. Maybe she had had enough champagne, maybe not. Either way, what happened before this was just a quick and blurred and dim memory. All she seemed to recall was that they met one fated day at work…dated…got engaged…then married. With roses and cake and happy faces. Her approving parents. Lovely music. An expensive diamond ring that shimmered like stars on the nighttime sky. A decent man for a husband, who could dance with her in a way that he never could.
The particulars were blurred because all she could really think about was him. And perhaps in all her god forsaken daydreaming she had made such a terrible mistake, and absentmindedly agreed to commitment. Dreaming that he was asking her.
"…Will you marry me?"
Once he remarked about how she seemed to be looking far off into the distance, all the time.
"…Uhh-uhmm…of course!"
Maybe she saw him, maybe not.
She closed her eyes, thinking—whether in hope or disillusion—that she could feel bliss. Bliss. That surreal, angelic swoop that women always anticipated. It will come, it will come. It will! Sooner or later. But when?
He stooped in to kiss her.
Maybe now.
She halfheartedly kissed him back.
It was perfect, she forcibly thought. Absolute perfection. What is wrong with you? You're married—it's what every girl has ever dreamed of! And to a great man, nonetheless! You should be happy, you should be happy!
But she wasn't.
"…Ran, you okay?"
She nodded thoughtlessly, stammering as she spoke. "…W-Why wouldn't I be, hon'?" When she gazed at his sapphire eyes she saw quite definitely someone else in them.
Dreamy eyes, like the sea. Like his.
She had to shut her eyes and block it all out. This is wrong. This is wrong. It's not him. It's not him and it will never be! Her heart filled with remorse as she tricked herself into thinking that she didn't make him suffer.
That she didn't make herself suffer this joke. A grand magic trick in the show that is Life.
-
After a few drinks she'd get drunk and they would make love together, and even as he satisfied his manly needs he had to wonder. She always seemed to be looking far off into the distance, as if she could see right through his naked body and to the glittering diamond stars. And as their bodies brushed together he saw in her eyes not the remotest bit of passion….
But emptiness.
Whenever she'd wake up in the morning and realize what she did, in a way she couldn't believe herself—how she easily slipped and offered her soul to a man she wasn't looking for, though they were there for each other's ecstasy. Everything slipped away too quickly for her to notice, and when she had she had gone much too far to turn back. Much too far.
Soon she gave birth to a bouncy baby boy and had to give up her work in the office, if only until he was bigger. He reminded her a lot of Conan, with his big blue eyes and tufts of black hair, and the way he smiled and giggled.
In a way, they were both like Conan's oniisan, she thought with a smile. Like Shinichi—with his eyes and his hair, and the way he smirked and laughed. Only this little child hadn't known him.
To be more precise, only this little child wasn't him. Not that she knew.
Where were they, anyway?
-
It was almost unbelievable that they would meet again, usual as the unusual was. For days on end his appearance bothered her, but in a way filled her with a strange sense of hope—until she realized what she'd done. How she'd pushed him away to the void that was her Past in an attempt to forget. How she dismissed the idea of explaining himself.
How she let go of her only chance to be happy. His chance, too.
After all, he never said he loved her. He never asked for romance. He never asked to intrude on her married life, a third party, and make her sin—never ever. Right? What if—if friendship was all he ever wanted from her?—plain, simple, sinless friendship.
What if?
She'd never be able to live with herself, then.
Sighing, she looked out the windowpane, at the crisp, somber leaves that plummeted down the yellow autumn sky. At the seasons that came and went. She thought about her dilemma and reviewed it back and forth in her mind.
How could she have been so…presumptuous? All the time he hadn't been there, she'd waited and waited, but now….
I let him go. I let him go. What now…? God, I am such a fool. I hate this….I hate this….
Maybe he still lives at—
The answering machine bleeped, and a familiar voice came through.
-
"Hello?"
"Uhm, hi. This is Ran. You called? Who am I speaking to?" she asked politely, barely moving from her spot beside the windowpane. The autumn leaves (red, brown, and yellow they were) waltzed downward with beautiful rhythm. She thought of herself as a leaf, freefalling slowly into the ground.
Light, but falling all the same.
"Well, this is—this is Shinichi's mother. Yukiko-san?"
No wonder the voice seemed familiar. She was surprised."Mm? How did you—" She could have sworn that none of the Kudos knew her number, much less where she lived. "But I didn't give you my number, did I?"
"No, you didn't. But that doesn't matter. Listen, Ran, I have something important to tell you. You see…"
There was a considerably lengthy pause, as if she was trying to find the right words to say. What was so important? Ran had to wonder. Surely there wasn't anything to say—for some reason, her contact with the Kudos long been severed. No explanations were needed, it just happened. So what had she to say, after all that?
She left her spot near the window and paced the room intently, phone on ear.
At last the voice spoke, faint and a little wobbly. "…He passed away."
"…I'm sorry?"
"Shinichi—he passed away. This morning." She herself had a hard time accepting what she had said.
"…What?" Ran couldn't believe what she just heard—was she deaf? Maybe she was dreaming. Or, better yet, maybe this was just some stupid prank call from some copycat nincompoop. Yes, a prank call. And whoever was speaking could mimic Yukiko's voice very well. "You're lying, aren't you? Whoever you are, you're lying. Stop it."
"No, Ran—"
"Stop it!"
"Ran, I know you don't believe me and even I have a hard time believing myself, but please listen. I just had to call you and…clear things—" Ran heard the voice frantically explain, and she was fuelled by a sudden indignation—a great contrast from her former sorry self.
"Clear what?! All of a sudden he disappears on me and then he comes back like some weird psycho on the loose, and then you tell me that he's dead?! This is insane. Borderline insanity. Don't expect me to believe…any of this junk!" She waved her free arm in gesture. "I shouldn't even have bothered."
"Listen, Ran, just listen. Please. I just wanted to let you know that—"
"That what? That Shinichi and Conan are the same and he's been lying to me all along? What?!" Her voice was expectant.
Silence.
"No. Well, yes," came the trembling echo of defeat. "Yes, actually. They—they are."
This can't be right. Tell me you aren't serious!
"…That's a lie. That's a complete and stupid lie! Your family's a bunch of conniving liars! This can't be—this can't be…." This time her voice wavered and lacked conviction. He lied to her? But…
"Ran, hear me out. Please. I know it sounds like total bull, but that's the truth. Shinichi, Conan—they're the same. Believe me. I know it's hard…but please."
"No. No. No. It can't be. But—he lied to me? No. It can't be. But Conan's mother—"
"…Is me," she admitted, then added apologetically, "I-I'm sorry."
"But he lied to me? He lied to me all along? No way. He couldn't."
There was a long sigh. "Ran…he lied. Yes he did. But he lied to protect you. Don't you see? He lied to protect you. All he wanted was for you to be happy and—"
"…Do you think that makes me happy? Huh?" It was more a statement than a question, but it was said so feebly that Yukiko barely took notice.
"He—he tried his best and he did what he could to keep you from danger and…god, it's hard to explain. And then there was this antidote that got his real body back but left his heart weaker and…and, well…he saw you. Married. And seeing you married, well—he couldn't be…happier…."
Silence.
"Then a stroke did him in."
She could tell by the sound of her voice that Yukiko wasn't happy. Not only because he passed away—to be sad about that was natural enough—but because Yukiko always coupled Shin-chan and Ran-chan together ever since they were young, and it was hard to imagine her with anybody else.
Worse yet, he was alone.
"…It can't be. It just can't." Ran's voice quivered noticeably.
"Actually—"
"No. No. No."
Denial.
Acceptance.
The onslaught of tears.
Yukiko bid her farewell with a slight sniffle. "I have to go," she said. "I'll talk to you soon…Ran-chan."
"Wait!—"
…But there was no answer. Yukiko was gone. She didn't bother calling her back anymore, just sunk down and screamed her heart out.
And the world crashed down before her.
-
Shinichi,
I'm sorry. For this. For everything. For lacking patience to wait and for being sooo stupid. Please forgive me.
We're still friends, aren't we?
Ran
P.S. I missed you a ton, you idiot! I bet my kid would love to see you. He's going to be the new soccer hero of his generation!
-
The seasons shifted fast and soon most of the world was filled with white. It was winter—Christmas Eve, to be precise. Immaculate white snow fell leisurely down, frosty teardrops on a foggy December morning.
She made her way across the snowy street, clasping an envelope, and then stopped at the sight of a large estate. It looked, on the most part, abandoned. The tall iron-wrought gate (which served as a boundary between his world and his) was layered with red-brown rust, the trees bitten by frost.
She nearly couldn't believe that she was here. Again. After all these years.
She wore the mittens he had given her several Christmases ago at this same house. It was worn and stretched from overuse. Colored a rather bright red, like desire. She remembered putting the gorgeous new pair against her chest and feeling its wooly texture, as well as the note he had scribbled for her. As she recalled them they felt like nothing more than distant dreams.
She knelt down and stayed still for some time as she grasped the bars of the iron-wrought gate, thinking. With the wind freely blowing her chestnut hair. As she exhaled a soulless puff of air would escape from her lips and disperse into the cold she so embraced.
Distant dreams, they were. Or nightmares.
She slid her hands in between the iron-wrought bars and placed the envelope on the snow-trodden ground of his world. The letter inside it was written on white paper with a black ballpoint pen, and a snippet of the date was smudged and bluish.
Just the thought of how it came to be threatened to make her cry.
Apparently, she had shed a tear on it in the middle of writing, letting out an uncontrollable sniffle. She put down her pen at the sound of approaching feet, and a pair of arms wrapped her from behind in an embrace.
From the silence, a tiny, loving voice emerged: "Mommy, are you crying?" She sniffled again, shaking her head. "Don't cry."
"I'm not crying, baby," she turned to him and cupped his face with her hands. "Mommy just caught a cold, that's all."
He smiled at her, relieved.
"Go play with your papa now and be a good boy, alright?" As she ruffled his hair a smile crept up her face.
She watched the boy nod vigorously and skip away, his voice loud and clear: "Papaaaa! Snow fight!" She could hear papa's laughter as he gave the boy a piggyback ride—his voice seemed unfamiliar now.
It always was.
As it were, the thought threatened and succeeded. She hugged her knees and buried her face in a river of tears, paying no attention to the frigid cold—it was always there, anyway. It was always freezing, her life.
She hated lying, but what choice did she have? It was her specialty to pretend that everything was a-okay, all the time. And she couldn't tell her child, especially. She couldn't tell him that she didn't love papa as much as she should. That the one she truly loved had died.
She had no other choice, really.
She closed her eyes and let her mind wander away from herself, even for a moment, crossing the boundaries. Leaving her world and entering his for a little bit of joy. Just a little.
In his world they hugged and kissed and loved and cared. In his world they smiled endless smiles. In his world memories never faded. In his world they were together—they were free.
In her world she had to return.
So is this the end, Shinichi?
Maybe it was.
-
Eventually she stood up, tiny bits of snow clinging to her coat which she would brush off gently soon after. She didn't know how long she'd been there—it might have been a minute, it might have been an hour or eternity.
With a sigh she trudged back home—to the real world. To her child and his sloppy little snowman. They'd agreed to a nifty little snowball fight at her arrival.
She could've sworn seeing him back there, smiling at her and her red mittens in spite of it all. But of course it couldn't be—could it? And yet she just had to smile back, her eyes teary and fogged with illusion. Soon enough, she was just a brownish speck in a snow globe; he an inoffensive puff of air, perhaps.
As the letter was drifted off by a timely breeze (and the tiny speck disappeared into the horizon), the wind carried with it whispers of what she really meant to say up above. At the foggy blue sky; at a diamond on a velvety black night. Her star.
I love you.
-
A/N: Here is a case of Shinichi dying of a broken heart—literally! (Laughs maniacally) Just kidding! This is actually the hugely (and I mean hugely) revised version of a much shorter fanfic, and it took me ages of blood, sweat, and tears to write this. That being said, I hope all the hard work was worth it, although I must admit that the phone call was extremely cheesy. Take note that the prompt "passion" is more blatantly presented in the first, and if you think the theme isn't present here at all (or is quite hidden, in the very least), then I apologize. I actually think every ShinRan relationship (any loving relationship, for that matter), always has a hint of passion!
Special thanks to: the LJ theme community 10 Fics (which I write this series for); Ran-dezvous (for her continual support, day in day out); and RanMouri82 (for pointing out where my original needed fixing). Here's hoping I do not disappoint! This isn't teenage drama…is it? :(
Constructive criticism is much appreciated. You could check out the original at my fic-journal. (Compare and contrast would be lovely!) See you guys in the next fic—but be prepared to wait.