Warning: Some sensitivities may be offended in this fiction. Please read with an open mind.
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Detective Conan Franchise. Rights for the characters and the plot that connected them in the first place all belong to Aoyama Gosho. This story, however is mine. And so are the cameo original characters that will appear in here.
The Idea of the APAH capsule (and everything else you can notice) belongs to FS and her awesome fanfics "Ghost at Twilight" and "Encounter in Venice". But don't expect we share the same concept of the drug— particularly in its proposed side effects. I will make it clear however that this is not in any way an interpretation of her fic. A homage would have been more accurate, albeit that this is not really of the same universe as to what her fanfics are currently revolving.
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Title: The Cure
Author: holmesfreak1412
Fandom: Detective Conan/Case Closed
Pairing: Kudo Shinichi & Miyano Shiho
Genre: Angst, Drama
Rating: T (for minor sexual imagery)
Language: English
Summary: She's the cure… The cure that makes it worse
Author's Note: It's nice to be back! I have been quite busy in the past few months so I was unable to update my crackfic "The Ghost of an Intangible Love". But I will be deeply sorry to tell you that I will discontinue it as that had been a regretful failure. Meanwhile, I had embarked in this newest project: an angst Shinichi-Shiho that I guess none of you have read before. I have seven other oneshots finished and I promise I will post it as soon as I can. For now, I present to you this challenge fic, dared to me by my "little sister" (actually she's a cousin) who seemed to favor angst stories more than humorous ones.
…
The Cure
Date started: November 10, 2012
Date completed: November 12, 2012
Part 1
…
a.
Kudo Shinichi is frankly sick of it all—for what are the traffic police for if they never do something to this time-consuming traffic—, that stupid radio program advertising cheap skin treatments that are nothing but idle promises, the rush hour drive that has long been a gauntlet of inexorable annoyance—bad smell, screaming breaks, even inefficient designs. All of which grated on his nerves. More than usual. More than it used to.
What is wrong with me?, he thinks. On the front passenger seat sits all of his unfinished paperwork—all to be done tonight without fail, all because he has been too distracted all this time to even entertain a rational thought. To him, everything seems like Greek, each letter floating before his eyes in a huge unbearable blob of incomprehensibility. The work he used to so dearly love, so deeply ambitioned, just can no longer give him the pleasure he once marveled at and lived for. It is as if everything deserted him; his interests to just about everything and his sense of obligation to all he should cultivate. And Shinichi knows it is getting more noticeable by the minute. They are looking at him with pity, as if they are aware of what his whole soul is dwelling about, which he insists to himself they are not . He had been very careful; so as to protect her and he thinks nothing that had once transpired between them could have gotten beyond the walls of the cottage in Hiroyuki Street. She wouldn't talk, he knows. Neither would he. And trees would not have tales to tell without something to hear from their mouths. No one could have known.
But Ran must have, he concedes glumly. Or else, why does she look like that whenever he complains about his heavy work load when in the past she was the one yammering about the unfairness of it. Wouldn't she agree with him for once? That he indeed needs a day off? But then again, a day off will not do him much good either. Not without….. No! No! Not again. Ran. Yes Ran. She is busy with her new business and she is always out somewhere, no longer the obliging wife waiting by the doorstep for his coming for the past two years. To him, she is now a stranger, someone he shouldn't—couldn't care a damn about. Just like his work. Just like everything in this crap he calls his life.
Except her.
She started it—no, she's the cure, the cure that makes it worse. Pulling up on the driveway of his house, with the sun setting behind him—always her favorite time of the day, he yearns for a time when he can curl up on her bed someday and she can take everything with a down of the capsule and the touch of her hand….
Stop. Stop. STOP, he forces himself. She started it. He thought he had ended it already and yet true enough, old lovers do come back to haunt, a ghost of the past that he couldn't—doesn't want to forget. Sliding from his seat with the stack of folders stucked in one encircled arm, he tries unsuccessfully to block the image of her—so beautiful in the aquamarine nightdress, straddling him, smelling of the strawberry scent he loves so much and craves for, her soprano voice intoxicating him, her touch giving him the ecstasy he never had in three years of strained marriage with the one he thought he loved. Because he just couldn't. He needs her. So much that the discrepancies of two years, two months, two weeks, two days, two hours is indiscernible to him. How long has it been since? Two years? Two months? Two weeks? Yes two weeks. Only two weeks. And yet it feels like eternity.
Geez, he grumbles in frustration. It isn't even dark yet.
Nighttime has always been their rendezvous after all, a time where they can be safely be hidden from the world in their forbidden romance, as is similar to every philanderer he used to abhor as they mistake pleasure for love. Or maybe that was just him. Hell, it was just him. His selfishness hurts Ran. His insensitivity wounded Shiho. His withdrawal kills him every second.
But she started it—no, of course not. It is ridiculous to blame her. Because he can't attribute any negligence in her part. She had warned him. He had disregarded it, turning a deaf ear to what she said in precaution, wanting only above all for him to be allowed to kiss her already. He had wanted to prove her wrong. But she was right. He was no better than any jerk he despised. He failed to be the person he deemed to deserve her.
Grunting, he puts his load on the cabinet top and calls for an absent wife that is not likely to greet him back when she is off to somewhere confiding to a girlfriend about how she thinks her husband is having an affair. How wrong can she be? It should be in past tense, he thinks with resolve. Like everything he used to have with Shiho. Like everything that used to be his life. Nothing more than just a distant, pleasant memory he always treads on but never can touch. Again.
He stares ruefully at his monstrous homework. He really should get a day off. A vacation in the Carribean perhaps, with her…. No, Stop, Stop, STOP. Maybe work can distract him long enough…. or what if it would not? Geez, his job sucks big deal.
Now.
b.
But one year ago, everything had been different. While not the heaven any connoisseur of crime dreams of, his job suited him just fine. His career as a police detective, soon-to-be-promoted Inspector was as eventful as Sherlock Holmes would wish. His friends and family were safe and sound, the threat of the Organization eradicated and finally, buried into the pit where justice was master. And Ran was well…. a good wife., at least better than anyone else's. He was, all these things considered, contented.
That was but an illusion.
For in life, one could never be contented. Maybe it was not exactly human nature, like bacon and egg for breakfast isn't an imagined inevitability we took in excuse as human nature. But it is what drives us to live, the fantasy that we can be someday be satisfied, so that forever we will work to try to fulfill ourselves. There is always something missing. Or someone. It might be a friend, a partner or even a lover. In his case, it had been a full package. But he didn't know that yet.
After taking the antidote and giving him directions on how to prepare the formula for their post antidote migraine painkiller, Miyano Shiho, formerly Haibara Ai, his partner, his bestfriend and unknowingly, in retrospect now, his lover just took off without a word. For five years she was never there, unreachable as the stars in the night sky. And just as deluding. But he never did forget her. and that had been a mistake.
For one night in this year, they met again. And there was no turning back.
Scarcely had he vented on Ran his pent-up frustrations and this was coincidentally one of those times. Over coffee they had argued—again—; she with the remonstrance and accusations about his duty as a husband being neglected, all because he has cases, cases and cases in his head. Hell, she even got around in implying that he was at fault as to their worrisome inability to conceive a child. He spat out his bitterness as to how she could just never understand. Unlike her, and that fleeting thought made him angrier still. Why wasn't she here when he needed her most? He had stormed out of the house that morning, left his wife in near tears and immersed to as much absorption as possible. By the end of the day, he still had not called her. accursed pride told him not to do it any sooner. Let her realize! Cases were his nature, not a folly—why couldn't she understand that? Why couldn't she be just like…. And so in his apprehension as more thoughts of that woman came forth and regrets started pouring in, Shinichi decided he could use a drink, if only to momentarily calm his grated nerves and enter a world a few shots of alcohol was reputed to conjure. In a bar far, far away from Beika where no one was likely to recognize him. Or maybe to get closer to having some intimacy with some girl willing for one-night-stand arrangements, one who would never haunt him back in his philandering antics long enough for anyone else to hear it. Not Mouri Kogoro. Not Sonoko. And ye Gods, not Ran.
But then he decided against that. He had a degree a respect for Ran not to give himself with some nameless woman when she believed he was hers and hers alone.
But that was wrong. He was not hers and hers alone. And any respect for her would be nothing if faced with the real ordeal. That was, when not exactly a nameless girl, would be a girl that he didn't know how to address now that it was five years since they had seen each other.
Out from work at nine, he went to the imperative. He called his friend Idesaki Ryoma, definitely the logical choice to be drinking pals, a disbarred attorney who far from the careless, drunkard he impressed everyone to be, was actually a first-rate agent for Shinichi. In other words, his one-man Baker Street Irregular, his very own Wiggins, who had been his partner and friend when times got rough and he just missed having one confidante whose judgment he could trust. But then he still missed her and nobody could replace her.
He only wishes now, that someone did. If only Ran…
Idesaki took him into a jazz joint; somber enough as if he sensed that the last thing Shinichi needed right now was mingling in a noisy bar with temptation of all sorts around. In here, contemporary jazz was being played and even despite being situated in the less fashionable streets of Haido City, was surprisingly frequented by respectable-enough-looking people, all of whom wearing casual tee shirts that made his suit-and-tie out of place. Idesaki greeted each patron by first name and introduced him just as easily that Shinichi quickly deduced he must have been a regular here. With tacit nods, he was welcomed and he observed that these people seemed to be here for the music's sake which was just what he preferred. Although not a music lover himself, he was glad to be with such zealous people. He could not wish for anyplace better. And the acoustic band performing was quite good. They ordered their drinks—gin martini—and it reminded him of the ordeal. But nothing should distract him, he said to himself. He acknowledged his gratitude to Idesaki's unerring foresight who nonchalantly shrugged him off.
"Oh it's nothing." He said. They were seated on the side of the booth that was nearest to the stage and Shinichi wondered whether there was anything deliberate with that. Meanwhile, Idesaki smoked incessantly and drummed his fingers with occasional impatient glances to the stage. Shinichi figured it was no wonder after all. Idesaki Ryoma was definitely waiting for something.
Noticing the detective's look, Idesaki grinned. "I'm waiting for the late-night gig." he said
Shinichi fractionally raised an inquiring brow. "Why? What's special with it?" He couldn't help but ask.
There was no hesitation as the lawyer answered: "I have a crush with the lead vocals. Quite a sight really." Then he frowned and looked him over curiously. "So what brings you here with me for the night? Problems with Ran-san?"
Of course, he lied. Not yet. He couldn't bring to tell any other soul about his doubt about his current matrimony. Even Idesaki. He told him some cock-and-bull story about a baffling case and even gave him an assignment —which Idesaki joked that would not be free, as if he ever was a pain-in–the-ass with his rates—if only to assuage whatever doubts that forming in the former lawyer's head. His friend, knowing better than to decline, acquiesced and for the rest of the hour waiting for this late-night gig, he managed to enjoy silence. And relax. Shinichi felt for the first time that for once, he was free.
And that was when he heard her voice.
(TBC)