Notes: I originally posted this fic under an old account between November 20, 2005 and March 8, 2006.

A. Prelude

-x-

"If, like Marie Antoinette, I transform into the dew on the guillotine..." Her voice trails off for she knows that this is enough to catch his attention.

Indeed, as she is speaking, his head tilts upwards in recognition of her voice, her tone, and her words. Everything sounds so familiar yet so foreign at the same time. Familiar, because the time passed has not been long enough for the things about her – voice, personality – to change drastically. Foreign, because the time passed has been long enough for him to forget those things about her.

How long has it been exactly? Three months? Three years? Three decades? Shinichi smiles bitterly at himself, lowers his head once more, and gazes into his reflection in the bobbing seawater. Three months only. And he doesn't find her; she finds him.

"Thank you," she resumes, seeing that the person before her isn't planning to reply soon. With her hands clasped behind her back, she stands, facing the setting sun but looking at his back, and smiles. "Thank you for bringing down the Organization."

"Where were you all this time?" he asks, still staring into the water and resting his folded arms on top of the railing against which he's been leaning. For someone who's been searching for a friend for several months, he doesn't feel the relief he thinks he should after finding out that she is well. Neither does he feel the anger he's expecting to after realizing that the situation they're in may be due to lies. He feels nothing. Sure, he may have been surprised at first, but that's only for a split second.

"Hawaii," she answers in a soft voice, keeping her eyes on his back but no longer smiling.

"Oh, that's nice," he remarks in a lazy tone. "Lots of sunshine. Lots more rain."

She doesn't frown at his scorn. Instead, she cocks her head to the side, trying to get a glimpse of his face, of the look on his face and in his eyes. She is on tiptoe, but he is too tall. "They told me you were looking for me."

"Hell yeah, I was. I freaked out when I found out the Organization didn't have you. I thought you died. I even begged the FBI to help look for you, but..." He spins around and regards the child standing in front of him. "Did they find you, or were you with them all along?"

Her gaze lifts a little so that she can look into the eyes of the person towering over her. In the stern expression that she sees, there is the same self-confidence that he's always had. However, this time, he is confident because he believes that she has done something wrong. Maybe, she says to herself. Maybe. Her eyes slide away and she looks toward the horizon. "The Organization had me. I died. The FBI found me. Then I was with them." She pauses and looks up again. Noticing his widened-eyes, she smiles and, as if shrugging off something, she adds, "You don't have to believe me."

The self-confidence in his eyes disappears as his gaze shifts to somewhere on the ground. Too many thoughts begin to rush through his mind and all of them end up being pushed out. Staring blankly at the ground, he withdraws so deeply into himself that he no longer feels her gaze resting on him or hears the water splashing up the wall. He sees only a pair of unreadable eyes partially hidden from view by strawberry blond hair and hears: Tomorrow. I'll give it to you tomorrow.