Disclaimer: The author does not own any of the trademarks used or referenced in this story.

Author's Note: I tried so hard to turn this into a much lighter, maybe flirtier story, and in trying so, my portrayal of these characters may have suffered. In the end, I couldn't do it. Not to say that it is impossible to write a story where they are just plain happy because I'm sure someone with a greater imagination and a brighter outlook can do it. Not to say I'll never attempt to revisit that flirty story sometime in the future when the interest is there and the right ideas come around.

What kept me from taking it to that direction right now was that, while I was accruing inspiration for it, I realized how hard it is completely divorce either of these characters from the tragedies they've suffered through. It's pretty much the nexus that makes their dynamic work (frankly, a lot of characters I resonate with are that way too). But perhaps that's not necessarily a bad thing...

Still set in the future/post-canon like 'Dinner with Cassette Man', except this happens a little further along that tangent.

Purses, Promises

How the hell did she talk me into this…?

Shuichi really didn't need a complete account of the circumstances that led him to the predicament he's in. Only one salient point mattered in the grand scheme of things: he promised to make a certain woman happy and keep her safe. After breaking as many promises as he had hearts in his lifetime, he really intended to keep this one at all costs. It just so happen that she wanted to go to Roppongi of all places one listless weekend in the middle of July, and the stars aligned and paved the way for him to accommodate it.

Still, Roppongi in high noon wasn't a place to lower one's guard in, especially when in the company of a young woman. The federal agent rolled his eyes from side to side, like a restless hunter looking out for predators lurking in every corner of this lurid jungle. He was particularly on the lookout for two breeds: the first being the pitiful ilk who ogled at the enchanting lady he was shadowing while they navigated through the noontime bustle. Ignorant to the things that truly defined her beauty, they could only turn their furtive gazes at the silhouette produced by the dangerously tight black high-waist shorts she decided to pair with her light-colored blouse for this tryst (which supposedly complemented his own monochrome attire). Luckily, the few that dared to look her the wrong way were easily discouraged by the twin daggers he brandished.

What of the second breed? Well, Shiho was more than willing to inspect them closely and touch the surface of their hides.

Fusae. Burberry. Hermès. Louis Vuitton.

These names didn't evoke grim memories like a list of spirits does these days, but Shuichi couldn't help but look at them with a tincture of dread. The last time he was surrounded by such bloodhounds, all he had to worry about were the burdens sustained from accompanying a celebrity who effectively made a living doll out of him, going so far as to build him an entire wardrobe out of her own pocket. 'Not only are we making the perfect cover for you, we're helping out my husband in getting an image for his new character too,' Yukiko Kudou justified at the time. Of course, he couldn't resist - the dead had no rights, after all. But to say that she went overboard would be something of an understatement.

Today, a Fusae purse already threatened to rend him asunder. If Shiho hadn't ultimately passed on the item, it would've run him up as much as five figures on the spot. A lot less than the damage caused by the Kudou matriarch's previous excess, but still...

...Five figures for a two-tone brown purse with a ginkgo leaf pattern...?

Right then, a part of him began to rethink the actual costs his promise entailed.

"That's the price of an established name and quality for you," Shiho said, telegraphing the question that, she surmised, has baffled him the whole time he watched her battle against her own fancy back at the Fusae Brand store. "It wouldn't have been a bad investment either, provided I suffer through buyer's remorse."

"How much does it appreciate?" Shuichi asked.

"Nothing compared to the unholy trinity of luxury bags, but it will still at least double given how limited Fusae-san's premium collection runs are." Shiho smiled wryly, amused by her escort's attempts in trying to be polite despite the disdain persisting in his face. "I didn't know you were privy to this sort of thing. I bet Yukiko-san told you some things."

"Yeah... Just enough to strike up conversations with sales people," he answered concisely. He didn't want to go into detail regarding the fashion crash course he had while the Kudous were developing the role he was supposed to take for his "reanimation." It was a detection skill in itself, trying to keep up with all the brands, important tells, and design quirks. He would've had to commit into truly adopting Sherlock Holmes' compulsion for the most minute details if they'd settled on having him pose as someone who trades in such goods.

"In that case, would you have gotten it for me if I said I wanted it earlier?" she prodded.

"...I would've considered it."

"Well then, shall we go back and make that salesgirl's day?"

Shuichi's expression loured, just like said salesgirl's when she realized they weren't walking away with the wallet. Seeing it happen before her very eyes, Shiho couldn't resist snickering.

"You should see the look on your face right now," Shiho said in between her subdued giggles. "You look like you'd rather spend his entire week off watching Humpty Dumpty roll down the hill than put up with a high-maintenance girl's whims."

"...I don't remember calling you high-maintenance," he contested.

Shiho tilted her head in askance. "Hmmm... Maybe not. But you've probably thought of it at some point."

"Who knows," Shuichi shrugged. "I've thought about you in a lot of ways..." His response swiftly put a damper on the fill of laughter his companion was having at his expense.

"...I'm not going to dignify your perverse remarks with a response," Shiho said, looking away all flustered after having forgotten how good he was at turning the corner on her. "It's way too early for that."

While the chemist busied herself trying to redress her confident facade, a memory wrought itself into Shuichi's mind. Not a vivid one, but revealing enough to clue him in on the event she was referencing.

The night wasn't all that different from the other nights he came over to check in on the young woman who used to be called Sherry. It wasn't an uncommon sight to see her flipping through catalogs in between the theses and charts that embellished her nightly routine, but that night marked the first time he'd seen her in possession of a purse that had been ordered from one of them. The exact image of the purse was rather vague in this recovered mental footage, while the exact words she used to describe it were muted. Perhaps it was due to him not thinking much of her predilection to fashion. Sherry was, after all, still a normal young woman, and liking things other girls did shouldn't be considered a foible or anything unusual. His unenlightened mouth might have poked fun at her lavish tastes right then, but it appeared to have done nothing to dim the glimmer in her face as she opened the packaging and unveiled her purchase before him. For once, she was genuinely pleased to have been able to indulge in something with nobody breathing down her neck over it. Truly an awe-inspiring sight, if he'd ever seen one...

That, however, was an indulgence of the past. The purse Sherry gingerly fondled that night was probably reduced to cinders together with the research facility she was in charge of. Given everything that's happened up to the time he moved to Beika, it brought him a granule of comfort when he happened on Professor Agasa putting heaps of magazines out for recycling one morning. Trivial as the encounter was, it let him know she was doing fine the entire time he was out of her life. Granted, a first grader was in no position to splurge on anything advertised in those glossy pages, but that didn't stop Ai Haibara from keeping up with the latest trends and releases like her former self used to.

Now that Shiho's managed to regain most of the things she'd lost, it dawned on the federal agent how fitting it would be to replace that one object as well. Nothing like the cheap cloth pouch and mass-produce wallet she wound up using in its place, but something capable of setting her ablaze with as much joy as that previous purchase did, if not more.

Five figures for a two-tone brown purse with a gingko leaf pattern? He may not be raking in substantial royalties like an award-winning novelist, but it wasn't as though he couldn't afford it comfortably. A few hundred dollars was a small price to pay for the glee it would possibly bring.

"Well," Shuichi began after clearing his throat, "we should probably go back now before someone else grabs it." Looking to rectify that disparity, he pivoted back to the direction of the Fusae brand store.

A couple of steps in however, Shuichi felt a negatory tug on the sleeve of his black polo shirt. "I don't need it, silly," Shiho uttered.

They stood at an impasse for the next few seconds, allowing the Roppongi crowd to pass by them as though they did not exist in the same plane. In that isolated moment, Shiho's eyes refused to leave his. The very same eyes that, just now, had found humor in the least likely of faces. Eyes that, not too long ago, viewed him with grave animosity and apprehension after being let down and betrayed so many times. Eyes he never thought would be able to look at him with heartfelt compassion again, not after the things he'd done...

Overcompensating was a fool's errand. He knew that all along, and yet, for a man notorious for always staying two steps ahead of everyone and coming up with a few aces whenever the cards are stacked against him, it was all he could think of doing to try to atone for everything...

"Are you sure? You might miss out on an exquisite piece if you walk away from it now," Shuichi asked again, as if trying to egg her on into thinking her life decisions through.

"I've already walked away from it, haven't I? I won't go back." Shiho's expression teemed with sternness as she stated every word, letting him know that she no longer wished to hesitate nor be deterred. "I'm perfectly happy with what I have right now... I may have to patch it up every now and then, but I'm sure it'll last as long as I need it too."

Shuichi wanted to respond quickly and coolly like he normally would, but the first thing to come out after that was a hapless scoff. "That's a tall order...," he said after a brief pause. He didn't want to keep her chin up with any more false promises than he already has. At the same time, he didn't want to end the exchange on an ominous note. "Alright. I understand," he added, trying his best to reciprocate the candor she invoked.

To his comfort, a small smile creased Shiho's lips, confirming it was all she needed to hear. "Good to know we're on the same page." Suddenly realizing that she hadn't let go of his sleeve the entire time, not to mention the fact that they'd conspicuously stayed rooted in that one spot for too long, Shiho hastily retracted her hand and turned her back on him. "...But just so we're totally clear, I was talking about the wallet," she muttered before walking ahead.

Before Shiho completely disappeared into the crowd, Shuichi, as if charged a renewed sense of purpose, went after her trail. As soon as he'd managed to catch up, instead of drafting behind her like before, he slipped to her side and reached for her hand. The same hand that, just now, kept him from going back to the Fusae store. The hand that fondled the since-incinerated purse while decompressing from her nightly toils at the lab. The hand he never imagined would shed his mask away and allay his battered soul...

"W-wha are you-!"

"I can't let a high-maintenance girl walk around Roppongi empty-handed, now can I?" Shuichi cut a startled Shiho off before she could finish yelping.

He felt her hand tremble in his light grasp on reflex. Having held her hand several times before, he had its contours etched in every fiber of his body. And yet, only now did it occur to him how lithe and smooth it felt. Has it always been like this...? he wondered. The sensation pierced through his skin, shooting venom straight through his veins and contaminating his whole being, forcing him to concentrate solely on the shape and feeling he'd captured. It wore his willpower thin trying to keep himself from dragging her to the nearest restaurant or bench so he could relish in her intoxicating touch at length. Ultimately, his thumb began moving on its own accord, lightly caressing the writer's bump on her middle finger, trying to heal the only thing close to a blemish present in it.

"Huh... First, you purposely lag behind me like you were trying to cop a feel. Now, you're going for my hand," Shiho murmured, her cheeks ruddied not so much due to his gentle rubbing as the way he went about holding her. He wasn't dragging her along while he led the way, but rather, simply making sure their steps were parallel while providing a more relaxed protective presence compared to the one he was plying before. And the snugness of his grip was just right, keeping her from getting swept away by the ebbs and flows of the crowd while leaving room for her fingers to adjust.

"I've been out of touch for a long time, so to speak," Shuichi ruefully replied. "It's gonna take a few more runs to get the hang of it again."

"Are you suggesting you'd like to... go on more dates down the line?" she dared asking.

"...If you don't hate the idea, that is."

"I...I don't, but..."

Right then, Shiho's hand began quibbling about in Shuichi's grasp. A slight twitch on the left side of his lip alluded to his disappointment, as if her gesture severely compounded his doubts on whether he was doing right by her this time. Still, he offered no resistance at all and allowed her hand to slip free. Part of their pact was that he would never force her to do anything that contradicted her sensibilities, even if it was for her own good. He wasn't about to go back on it now.

To his surprise however, rather than extract herself from him completely, Shiho did the exact opposite and laced her fingers between his. "...This is better, don't you think? Serves your purpose without you looking like you're about to strangle someone," she said.

"...It is...," Shuichi replied, the regret creasing his lips barely a moment ago ironed out into a very subtle wry smile. No matter how much he bragged about being able to read through Shiho's every thought like a novel, she still managed to find ways to keep him on his toes. Even if she had to suppress her own nerves to do so.

Neither of them said anything to one another after that exchange. Passing by several brand stores under the ambient noontime light without feeling enticed to enter any of them, they eased into the warmth of each other's touch. They weren't breaking any new ground by holding hands and walking parallel, but the feeling still seethed with enough euphoria and comfort to quell the tension that welled up between them.

As the aura surrounding the two began to mellow back into a more casual level, it was Shuichi who took the initiative in breaking the ice anew. "So where do we go from here?" he asked as they strolled along the shops.

There was a hint of vagueness in the federal agent's tone, but Shiho wasn't about to fall into the same melancholy pit twice in a row. "Well, it seems we're a little late for lunch by now," she stated while referring to her wristwatch. "What are we having today? French? Italian? Indian? Did you happen to make any reservations we should be rushing to?"

"Actually, Camel sent me a laundry list of food trucks around Tokyo..." Shuichi pulled his phone out and showed her. "I was hoping to start knocking them down."

The chemist narrowed her eyes at the list. "Really? Your idea of a lunch date is to trawl around food trucks?"

"It should at least cover each type of cuisine you mentioned without having to commit to one place," he pointed out.

After considering the logic of his proposition for a bit, Shiho let out a conceding sigh. "I suppose that's true... And Camel-san does have a surprisingly good taste." Before Shuichi could settle on the plan though, she put forward her end of the compromise. "But we better go somewhere else next time. I'm about tired of Tokyo as it is."

"Somewhere else?"

With her free hand, Shiho cupped her chin in thought. "Hmmm... How about Izu?"

"...Izu?" Shuichi's eyes widened as though an unpinned grenade had been sprung on him. He found Izu far too specific to be a random place thrown out for spitballing. "Something tells me you've been brewing that one on the side for a while..."

"Of course. You've got to book these things in advance, after all. You don't want to do it at the last minute like the Professor or Mouri-san do," Shiho came clean, looking back at him as though she was disappointed he hadn't guessed a second sooner. "I was going to tell you when we get back home, but I was curious if you'd react to it as terribly as you did about the purse."

Shuichi grunted. He should've seen it coming after she passed on the luxury item. "You really are going out of your way in trying to turn me into one of your guinea pigs."

"Guinea pigs? Oh please... You're not cute enough," she derided, putting aside her earnest opinions of her partner's looks. "Besides, I've practically put everyone close to me under duress just to see what they'd do. It's a rite of passage at this point." She moved her hand from her chin and unto Shuichi's, compelling him to look at her for a moment and making sure he soaked in every bit of the deviousness he's committing himself to. "For you... I need to be more thorough."

"Looking forward to it," he replied, putting up a confident front.

"You better be." In the midst of their little ruse, Shiho consciously squeezed his hand tighter. If Shuichi was indeed asking where she wanted to go in a more solemn context, that should affirm her answer.

The End

written by tsukuy0mi47