So, not dead. But now I need an actually physically here proofreader, and I'm pretty sure that some things aren't getting quite fixed right, and I can't really do my own proofing with a screenreader, so. Sorry for mistakes. My lovely friend who is truly doing her best is not an English major, so may be excused for any minor misses - if any are noticed, feel free to point them out in reviews. Maybe we can manage to clean things up somehow.

Chapter 15

Hattori was an interesting field—not that it hadn't been expected, really. There was a reason that Shinichi had put off telling him, even though he'd known it would get found out eventually.

He loved Hattori like a brother, but the guy had no brain-to-mouth filter and tended to call Conan by the wrong name all too often.

Hakuba wasn't sure what to make of any of it, and Kaito was just glad that the antidote hadn't been compromised. They had a bit of time.

That said, Hattori was still in town and Conan's propensity to trip over murders really did somehow get even worse in that guy's presence, and having Hakuba and Hattori on the same case might not be as annoying with Hakuba being significantly more relaxed than the last time around, but those two still grated on each other.

Not as annoying didn't mean 'not annoying'. Go figure.

Conan pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled hard, then raised his head to pin the bickering detectives with a baleful glare. "If you two don't cut it out, I'm going to have you play Kaito's version of dodgeball," he promised in English.

There was a pause, and the two exchanged a wary glance before each taking exactly one step that took them further away from both Conan and each other.

"Heh," Hattori, scratched the back of his head, "Ya wouldn' really, would ya?" he asked nervously.

Well, no. He'd go easier on them than Kaito, since he doubted they'd actually manage to dodge. But he would definitely peg both of them with soccer balls if they didn't stop being idiots. That in mind, he increased the intensity of his glare. "A person is dead. You're both detectives, and rather than bickering you should be working together to find the truth." Which he already knew, because it was yet another 'repeat', and he really wished he could catch one early enough to prevent. "That said, I'd suggest looking under the left-hand corner of the windowsill in the kitchen, in the kitchen wastebasket, and at the legs of the couch in the sitting room. I'm going to go glare at someone."

And if they couldn't figure it out from that, Conan would be pressuring a confession with illusions. He was not in the mood for this to drag out.

(It turned out that he didn't need to. The glare alone had the culprit begin to sweat, and when Sato eyed him carefully and asked if he was all right, he started babbling an apology of a confession. Hattori seemed baffled as he poked his head out of the kitchen to watch, and Hakuba stepped back into the room with an expression of vindicated understanding. Conan was just glad to get to go home.)

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Heiji was confused. No, Heiji was very confused. Kudo wasn't quite a meter tall and looked like a kindergartner, and yet somehow his glare was scary enough to get a confession from a man who hadn't even been accused.

Hakuba offered him a wry sort of smile, "Conan-kun can be quite terrifying," he informed. "I admit that I'm curious as to what might happen if anyone ever tried to use him as a hostage."

"I'm not," came a dry interjection and Heiji jerked around with a curse as Hakuba jumped.

Kuroba blinked back at him, looking mildly concerned, "Are you all right?"

"Wha' the hell, Kuroba," Heiji managed, pressing a hand over his racing heart as he tried to convince his system that the reaction was a false alarm. "Would it kill ya ta make noise when ya walk?"

"Possibly," he stated, equal parts blithe and serious, "but I'd really rather not test it and find out."

"Gah," Heiji shuddered, recalling the recent rundown on existent threats, and conceded the point by not making an issue of it. "Jeez, Hakuba, how come ya ain't half outta yer skin?"

"Acclimation," Hakuba replied, perfectly serious. "Kuroba has been in my class for over a year."

Yeah, that would do it. "Huh," Heiji considered for a moment, "Gotta say, I don' envy ya tha'."

"Still standing here," Kuroba pointed out.

Hakuba made a sound that was probably a choked-off snicker as Heiji flinched at the reminder, "Yeah, and even tha's hard on the nerves." He paused, glanced around, and noted a distinct lack of anyone under a meter in height. "An' where's mini-Kudo?"

"Plotting out ways to permanently disassociate himself with Kudo Shinichi in your mind," Kuroba said cheerfully. "I'm thinking there will be lots of mental trauma in your near future."

Hakuba straightened his jacket and nodded to Kuroba, "On that note, I'm leaving."

"Good idea," Kuroba agreed. "Go home, have some tea. Avoid the fallout. Can I come?"

"By all means," Hakuba gestured towards the door and raised his voice, "Conan, I'm taking Kuroba with me!"

Heiji felt a little nonplussed by the whole thing, "Oi, guys—"

Kuroba gave him a bright smile, "You're hereby elected temporary for-appearance-only babysitter. Good luck, and try not to have a heart attack while I'm gone."

"Take good care of Kaito, Hakuba!" a bright child's voice piped in English from somewhere way too close beside him, somehow making the simple sentence sound like a threat.

Heiji jerked away from the source of the sound and—didn't see anyone. "All righ', where are ya?"

"I don't think I'll tell you that, Hattori-san," chirped childish, American-accented Japanese as the other two made their escape. "We need to have a little talk."

(Okay, so it turned out that the kid had a point. Calling him Kudo was excusable the first few times, but dumb. And with the total change in not only size but personality, plus the accent and word-choice differences—yeah, okay. Conan wasn't Kudo. Kudo was Conan, but Conan wasn't Kudo—which was a weird twist of logic, but kinda made sense. Still, he hadn't needed to illustrate with fireballs. Even if they hadn't been real.

At least, he dearly hoped they hadn't. If that kid could throw actual fire with his mind, Heiji did not want to know about it.)

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"I admit I feel somewhat guilty for leaving Hattori-san alone in Conan's sights," Hakuba admitted, offering his temporary guest a cup of tea.

Kuroba only grinned, "Conan won't do anything damaging," he informed with the air of one pointing out the obvious, "and having Hattori call him by the wrong name is one of those things that would really bug me if things were different. As it is, it's still a problem. Hattori's a kind of honest that... well. You saw."

He had, at that. A blunt and somewhat bumbling sort of honesty, which... yes. He could see how that might prove troublesome, and if Hakuba hadn't known the truth—well, it would have bothered him to hear anyone not Kudo called by that name were his semi-mentor missing in truth, instead of just official paperwork. He could only imagine how much worse it would be for Kuroba, with reminders of his husband all around him and then someone bumbling about calling a child under his care by his husband's name.

"Honesty as a problem remains a novel concept to me," he admitted. "Worse that I see your reasons and agree."

"Sometimes it's better if the truth isn't known," Kuroba sighed, "Especially when the majority wouldn't believe it, and the minority that would are the sort to kill to ensure that the truth is never confirmed. That said—regarding almost everything else, I find Hattori's inability to lie somewhat endearing."

Endearing. By which Kuroba was probably being polite and actually meant 'cute', in the 'bumblingly earnest puppy' sort of way. Which it would be, but Hattori. He was so unprofessional, even at a crime scene—and while Hakuba agreed that if it were remotely possible that a victim were alive to be helped, evidence should be sacrificed to the chance, he really should at least show some decorum, if only out of respect for the seriousness of such situations.

Hakuba sighed lightly, "Still."

Kuroba gave a half-shrug. "On an unrelated note, the chemistry project is going well."

Chemistry—ah. The antidote. A relief. "Oh?" he asked, hoping for more explanation than that.

"It's got stages. There's one more thing to do that might get a bit touchy, but aside from that... all we really need to do is wait."

"How long, then?"

Kuroba paused, calculating, "So long as I don't have to start over again, three and a half months."

Hakuba blinked. "That long?"

"Yeah. Theoretically it could be sped up with a catalyst, but the problem is that it's three different compounds being distilled out of the same solution, and I haven't found a catalyst that doesn't throw the whole thing off and leave me needing to start over. And I don't want to waste another two months starting over."

"I can see why," Hakuba admitted, grimacing. From what he'd been told, the longer Kudo was stuck in travel-size (Kuroba was a terrible influence on his phrasing), the more chance of whatever damage lingered being bad.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, for all its weight. Despite Kuroba's common tendency to warp the world in color and smoke, he was surprisingly capable of blending into the quiet.

He wondered if this was what his grandfather had felt like, settled in the sitting room with an old friend and a cup of tea.

Well, probably not. As companionable as the silence was, the preceding conversation had kind of precluded any kind of contentment, and Kuroba's version of idle thumb-twiddling involved three tiny balls of fire twirling in one hand like meditation balls.

He wouldn't say anything unless Kuroba lit something on fire, because it was easier to ignore that kind of madness than to try and wrap his mind around it. Still, tea and the company of a friend.

Baaya would be ecstatic.

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