Disclaimer: still fail to own anything but the plot.

I blame you for this, Fyliwion. Though Great Detective contributed, and YumeTakato didn't help.

The timing is ibogal's fault, though. I wasn't planning to get this done for a while yet.

Conan was thankful for the mask he had developed over the previous months and hated himself for it. He had put on a cheerful act for Ran, complimenting her on dinner, thanking her for letting him "play" at the professor's, and wishing her luck studying for her exam. He was feeling a bit tired, he had said with wide, innocent eyes, so he was going to go to bed so that he could go to school in the morning. Ran had smiled at how sweet he was being, hugged him, and sent him off.

Lying on his bed but wide awake, Conan hated that he had said things that were perfectly true without meaning them. He would have liked to give Ran sincere compliments, not just statements of fact. He had wanted to give her his best encouragement to do well on the test, he wanted to express his heartfelt thanks for the time she had allowed him without pressing or asking why, even if she didn't and couldn't know why it was so important to him. Instead, unable to concentrate on those emotions, he had heard himself giving a performance while feeling nothing inside except a confused turmoil inside over issues that had nothing to do with what he was saying.

Or, rather, too much, depending on how you looked at it.

Conan did not know how long he lay, staring at the ceiling, before his thoughts resolved from their disorganized circling into some form of order. His earlier numbness had given way to a confused jumble of nerves, frustration, anger, worry, despair, and uncertainty.

Gradually, his thoughts and impressions of the events of the previous two days settled enough for him to begin trying to make sense of them.

First of all, there was Ai. Oddly, the foremost of the issues was also the easiest to resolve.

Ai had left. Why? Had she betrayed him?

Conan made himself consider it and instantly knew it wasn't true. She was too genuinely terrified of the Black Organization to go back. Contacting them, even to attempt to cut a deal, was at least as much a death sentence for her as for him. Not to mention that it simply wasn't her character. She was even more cautious than he was, and impulsive or irrational decisions were not in her nature.

If she had been taken against her will, she would have left some clue or trace. The note gave no sign of that. Why would she warn him against letting Them finding the chemical if they had her and it already? The wording was pure genuine cryptic Ai, not that of a subtle hint or clue. There was no sign in the writing of duress or distress, merely tension, which was to be expected given the circumstances.

The only logical conclusion was that it had something to do with that new temporary antidote she had left him. He couldn't think what it would be, but he supposed that was hardly relevant. She must have a good reason for her actions. Wherever she was, he would trust her judgment.

The thought of the temporary cure provoked a wistful sigh from Conan. There were so many possibilities opened by the existence of a reliable temporary cure that didn't make him risk heart failure, let alone one that allowed him to choose the duration of the change. Being able to change forms at will would have allowed him far greater access during cases while still keeping him mostly safe. And to see Ran again, as himself.

If only his larger self could remember what he was supposed to do.

Conan groaned quietly in frustration and buried his face in his pillow.

So close…!

Conan sobered suddenly. His larger self didn't remember the danger of the Black Organization, either. He wrinkled his nose at the memory of what he had thought before passing out.

'Are my parents behind this,' indeed. Was I really that clueless?

'Is this really serious?' Yes, you idiot, what do you think?

Conan sighed, adjusting his position on the bed.

Of course, I know better now. It's a bit hard not to, considering the circumstances. But if the version of me that doesn't know about it is going to get himself – me – killed if he keeps this up. That's the root of the entire problem, really.

He gave an ironic chuckle as another thought occurred to him.

Of course, it's a perfect cover. I can hardly give away my secret if I don't remember. Ai would have loved it, since she was always so worried I would do something stupid either by accident or on purpose to let someone else know.

Conan blinked in sudden realization.

Ai…she must have known it would have this effect, if she didn't design it on purpose.

His mind flew back to the note she had left. "I believe this is the only safe way," it had said. He had assumed she meant just the physical effects, but what if she was referring to more than that?

Not just the formula itself. She was here to help find me a cure and to keep me from giving myself away. This would do both, at least temporarily. Without her here and without my "other self" remembering, there would be no way for me to give myself away, except by accident. Well, about the shrinking, at least, which is the bigger secret. Giving away that I'm still alive is a risk with any cure, period.

Ai must have counted on my being smart enough to figure it out and take steps to prevent accidents. It's certainly the kind of thing she would do.

Remembering his personality before his time as Conan, the detective winced. He had the sinking certainty that if told about how he had survived, his other – former – self would either not believe the truth and probably blab where he shouldn't, or go charging off headlong after the Black Organization, either of which could have deadly results.

I'm still keeping after Them now, of course, but it's not the same. I'm much better at keeping a low profile, if only from all the practice.

Which meant that his "alter ego" had better remain ignorant of his existence among the ranks of grade schoolers, for safety reasons if nothing else. Remembering his near-disaster with the note, Conan sighed in relief. He'd never thought he'd actually be glad for the odd and unpredictable discrepancies between his remembered skills and current muscle development. That minor difference between his old, adult handwriting and the slightly more erratic version he had now were most likely all that had saved him from Shinichi instantly recognizing it as his own.

And trying to keep track of which version of myself I'm talking about is giving me a headache.

He continued to lie there, fragments of thoughts still swirling idly, but a gentler eddying than the pained tangle that there had been before.

If the memory loss had gone both ways – for that matter, even if it had just been reversed and he had been unable to remember what he had done as Shinichi – he would have panicked and stopped using the antidote entirely.

As it was…he could keep track of what he did, so he could still use his larger form as a tool. It would just have to be directed.

A plan began to take shape in his mind.

Maybe he'd been on the right track with the note after all. He would have to be more careful, of course, and setup would be more complicated, but it could work.

Right before he dozed off, a thought occurred to him that tugged a corner of his mouth up into a faint grin.

Looks like it's time to bring Shinichi up to speed.