Dedication: To the Aicoholics; may we be a happily addicted family forever.
File 1
"We have a problem, Ai," he said when she picked up the phone.
"I see," she answered in lieu of dropping it.
Conan's voice hadn't been that high in years. Not since he'd rediscovered puberty, reconquered it, and set off to undo all of the misdirection he had woven around Ran, a cocoon of lies meant to keep her safe.
Ai had never discovered a magical, miracle drug that undid her mistakes, but at least there had been some comfort in watching him rebuild the life she'd fractured.
And there had been some revenge in growing up outside the long shadow of the ever-reaching Organization. It was broken now into tiny pieces that proper law enforcement was – theoretically – cleaning up. Uncharacteristically, neither she nor Conan had been curious about the remains at all. After the triumphant, desperate victory, everyone involved had simply drifted apart, as if with the core of the monster gone, there was no reason to scrutinize the disappearing remains.
But it would seem some things had no intention of disappearing. APTX, her old shadow from the land of shadows, back to haunt her again.
"How long do I have?"
"Assuming all of the dates are correct, approximately a week."
"I'll need another name, I suppose," she murmured absently, and was startled to hear his startled laugh.
"You could be your own cousin, or younger sister," Conan jabbed lightheartedly, "and use the other kanji of your name."
"You could be 'Doyle'," Ai slung back.
They shared a quiet chuckle before lapsing into a long silence. She scoured her memory for any hint of this side-effect she should have caught long ago, any hope that might remain of undoing it. He contemplated his short but tumultuous life, its current peace, its impending ruin.
"I'll need to run some tests," she sighed at last, unable to stop a small part of herself from happily anticipating the challenge. The rest was sensibly terrified of returning to the years of failure.
"You still live at Agasa's right?" At her confirming murmur, he promised, "I'll be there soon."
She lifted a brow at her clock, not that it responded to her expression the way Conan would have. He had hung up already, anyway. "I don't suppose you can go on the date with Ran I'm sure you set up for this fine Saturday night, anyway," she told it. "Not when none of your clothes fit you, again."
Her clock stared silently at her in blue.
"Come in," said the young woman to the oddly-dressed boy. The world held its breath for a punchline.
Conan simply nodded, adjusted his glasses, and concentrated on not tripping.
Ai closed the door, turned to offer coffee, tea, soda, anything. The look on his face told her that caffeine was not the drug he needed now.
"Lab," she motioned instead, and he shuffled after her with no further prompting.
She took a number of samples from both of them, set up a few experiments, pulled up data she had fervently hoped never to need again.
Conan, determined as always to do something useful while waiting, carried out and dusted off boxes of old clothes Agasa had kept from years ago. After changing into something more fitting, he thoughtfully brought out hers as well as his. If his hunch was right, she would need them soon.
"No wonder I never saw it," she said at length, pulling his attention from his work. He stuck his head back into the lab, noting immediately the slump of her shoulders, so familiar from another terrible day of terrible news. "I gave up so thoroughly back then that I never thought to continue monitoring us. The compound builds up over the years and reactivates."
"So..."
"So." Ai laughed bitterly. "There's still nothing I can do about it. An incurable elixir hidden inside an incurable poison. The secret to immortality, and all you have to do is not die once. Good thing they went down before anyone realized."
They both froze in place as the words of this blunt assessment sank in. She, starting to curl into herself in her chair, he, half in and half out of the lab.
"Come up," said Conan at last. "Let's talk."
They settled themselves in the living room, facing each other over cups of caffeine (the best she could do).
"I can't hate you, you know." He sounded as if he had tried. "I thought I should put that out there."
"What do you feel, then, if not hate?"
What could you possibly feel for me, if not hate?
He was silent for a long moment, face pensive. His next words came slowly, individually, each one a stand-in for others he could not quite say.
"We could be partners."
You are not Ran and never will be, but I admire your strengths and compensate for your weaknesses as you do mine, and perhaps some good might come of this mess yet.
"Perhaps we might accomplish something, since we seem to have all the time in the world," he finished, not without sarcasm.
She inclined her head to the side slightly, acknowledging his theft of her usual acid. Her response was, then, bereft of it.
"Perhaps."
He nodded, taking her answer for the agreement it was. They shook hands – how cute, adults would think, two children making promises of forever.
Agasa-hakase, snoring convincingly down the hall, did not think it cute. In fact, he was terrified, as only a father faced with losing two of his children at once could be. He could handle – barely – the possibility of losing them to the world. As long as they were equipped with their considerable smarts, and his incredibly useful (and fun!) gadgets, there was at least a good chance that they would make it home every night.
He could even handle losing them to themselves. Shinichi had been in situations and under stress that would have made grown men cry, and yet somehow managed to keep himself together. Shiho had slowly pieced herself back together from the edge. Agasa liked to think that a warm, welcoming home filled with light, purpose, and an endless supply of terrible jokes had helped them both.
But this. How do you contemplate losing your children to eternity?
You do not, Agasa thought grimly. You simply do your best to leave something eternal behind for them.
He smiled a lot, those last years. If Conan and Ai suspected that any of his cheer was bravado, they said nothing. They were smiling too, in all of the many pictures.