39: The Day After

He felt like it was ungrateful to admit it, but Conan was bored. Besides the recent KID heist nothing had happened and there was nobody to talk to in order to pass the time. Ran was out with Sonoko, the Detective Boys were all on vacation with their families, even Haibara and Agasa had left for some science convention. Which is why the shrunken detective found himself sitting in the park people watching.

It was because he was people watching that Conan noticed the odd man stumbling like a drunk to sit at the bus stop. He was odd because while the day was cool it was still comfortable t-shirt weather, yet this man was wearing a jacket and a hat pulled low over his ears.

His face and hands also weren't the same color.

The man's face looked healthy, but his hands and wrists were pale and shaky.

"Are you okay, mister?" Conan asked, walking up behind the man.

"Not now, tantei-kun." Wheezed the man familiarly.

Conan's eyebrows lifted and he sat down on the bench next to the man, who was now so obviously Kaitou KID.

KID sighed and slouched more securely against the bus-stop sign.

"Darkening your skin with cosmetics doesn't work if your hands are bare", the detective remarked.

The moonlight magician hummed noncommittally. "Just leave me alone…." He pleaded weakly, still not making eye contact.

Conan reached out with a thoughtful look and his fingers brushed KID's face before the thief's reflexes set in and his wrist was grabbed.

"Leave me alone." KID repeated and released Conan's arm as the bus pulled up. He stood to board and had to grab the side of the automobile to remain upright. Even stepping into the bus he swayed with each unaided step.

Conan scowled and darted onboard before the doors hissed shut. "You're in no condition to travel alone", Conan informed the magician authoritatively. He crossed his arms, expecting an argument.

All that the detective received was an unfocused glare and a grimace before the thief dropped into one of two open seats. Conan frowned, but crawled up in the remaining chair.

Conan's frown deepened when KID closed his eyes and pressed his sweat-dampened forehead against the cool glass of the bus window. The thief's lack of alertness was concerning, especially in the presence of a detective. He obviously was in bad shape; either too exhaustion or pained to be entirely lucid. Both were likely culprits to the thief's current state. The laborious way in which KID swallowed also indicated nausea.

Exhaustion, paleness, nausea… KID had either come down with some fast-acting illness since the heist the night before, or he was suffering from a grievous wound.

"Is your brother… alright?" Asked the lady sitting across the aisle from them.

Conan turned to look at KID again, feeling even more worried at the lack of response. "He has the flu" Conan lied in a childish voice, "we're going to the doctor now."

The woman nodded with some sympathy and got off at the next stop.

The faux child sincerely hoped that his long-time rival had a plan to get help, otherwise, he asserted, I'll drag him to a clinic myself. A couple stops later Conan was tugged out of his musings by KID shifting position. The magician's eyes were open now, if only half way and he seemed to be muttering something under his breath.

KID's eyes abruptly cleared and he sat up straighter. "Here…" he muttered and got off the next time the bus stopped.

Conan scrambled to follow. Keeping up wasn't difficult with the way KID would list one way, then the other, as he walked. Tiring of zigzags, Conan stepped closer and grabbed the magician's hand. For a brief moment KID looked confused, then his eyes clouded again and he kept leading the small detective down the road.

"I really hope you know where you're going" Conan grumbled, but didn't complain as he helped the thief keep his balance as they continued on their odd walk. Several times he even had to tug KID away from obstructions or out of the paths of other pedestrians. Each time Conan would give an uncomfortable smile and let KID continue on his course.

KID's gait changed once as the magician pulled away and stopped to lean his head against a wall with his hands to either side. He coughed twice and brushed one trembling hand over his side.

Injury confirmed, Conan thought.

With a determined shake of his head, KID stood up again and walked slightly steadier, even without assistance.

Still set on following, Conan trailed behind and was surprised when KID turned the corner of the block and made a beeline for the front door of a residency.

The shrunken detective skipped up the steps while KID rang the bell and leaned wearily against the doorframe.

Eventually the door opened, revealing a man who was probably in is forties. His politely curious expression turned severe the moment he recognized KID, but his bespectacled brown eyes showed only single-minded concern.

"Hey doctor." KID rasped and the man ran a hand through his greying hair and huffed slightly as he glanced at Conan.

"Hey magician" he replied and promptly reached around KID in a steadying embrace. "I thought I told you after the last time-" he started chastising.

"It wasn't this bad last night" KID defended himself, leaning on the doctor.

The doctor grimaced disapprovingly, but waved for Conan to follow as he plunged back into the comfortable interior of his home. The shrunken detective closed the door and followed the two down a hall to a back room. On entering, he was surprised to see modern medical equipment and supplies.

"Who's the kid?" The doctor asked, pushing KID onto a gurney.

The magician's eyes flickered to Conan's, "the detective." He replied, confirming Conan's hunch that no names would be used here. "They start so young, don't they?" KID complained exaggeratedly.

The doctor scoffed, "I wish I couldn't say the same for some phantom thieves." He purposefully ignored the magician's glare as he dropped some tools on a tray.

With a start, Conan realized that the doctor had given away something KID hadn't wanted known.

"What's the pleasure today?" The doctor asked indulgently.

KID hesitated, then pulled of his jacket and shirt with a moan. His skin was pale and sweaty and his side was crudely bandaged. "Sniper got me."

Conan frowned, mind blanking for a second. Who could possibly want KID dead? At least this answered the question 'why isn't he going to an official medical establishment?' as the police were automatically informed of all patients with gunshot wounds; not exactly something a thief could let the cops know if he wanted to remain free.

The doctor sighed, pulled on some gloves, and began unwinding the long cloth strip. "Details, details" the doctor urged.

KID winced as the bandage removal tugged at the wound. "I was flying, nearly out of sight of the hens, and my wings were growing tired. I let down my guard because the wind had carried me so far and wasn't expecting the crows to plan my path, a mistake that nearly…" he stopped, swallowing convulsively. "They missed their mark, but my wings were still clipped."

The doctor rolled his eyes at the 'code', "so bullet and crash wounds; you could have just said so in the first place."

"Who shot at you?" Conan asked… and was annoyed to be ignored.

Once the bandage was off, the doctor examined KID's side with a hiss, "and you didn't think this warranted visiting me!" he growled, flicking KID's forehead. "You are going to stay here under observation until I say you can go. No sneaking out this time or I will call Ch-Lady and have her shackle you down!"

KID ducked his head guiltily and Conan took the moment as opportunity to get closer.

The thief's side was inflamed and red around a surprisingly well-stitched hole. Twisting around the table, Conan was nauseated to see that there was no exit wound. If KID hadn't gone for professional help before, Conan was worried he had removed the bullet himself. "'This time'" Conan quoted drawing the two out of their argument, "when has this happened before? Why? Who did it?" He demanded.

The doctor opened his mouth, but KID beat him to it. "It is not something for you to be concerned about." He said forcefully, eyes dangerously bright. The malice in the magician's eyes abruptly disappeared and he paled and curled over.

The doctor pushed KID down flat on the gurney and started setting up an IV for hydration and antibiotics to fight the infection.

Conan growled in frustration, pulling himself onto a chair so he'd be able to see KID's face. "You've been shot! You've implied it's happened before! You can't force me to drop this, it's my job to help people! If I can help before… I'd prefer it not become my job to solve your murder!"

KID winced as the doctor attached the IV, but his expression was apologetic otherwise.

"The detective has a point" the doctor said, brushing KID's bangs out of his eyes and fixing his hat, "he could help, and then you wouldn't have to see me so often." The magician's headshake had the doctor sighing again and moving down to work on cleaning the bullet wound.

Conan sulked, glaring impertinently at the injured thief.

"I go through all the trouble of escorting you here safely" the detective ranted, "I am perfectly capable and willing to assist you, and as you lay here ill and incapacitated from an injury what do you tell me? To stay out of it! I don't know what kind of person you take me for, but I'm not so heartless as to wish death on anyone, even my enemy!"

KID stared resolutely at the ceiling, "why would a detective such as yourself care."

The statement was given as though reciting fact, but that just made it hurt even more. Conan's fists clenched and he grit his teeth, "fine! Continue your suicide mission if that's what you want!"

Dropping down from his chair, Conan stormed out the door. Yet as he entered the hallway he couldn't find it in himself to leave. Frowning sadly, Conan slipped down to sit on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest.

Half an hour later, the doctor walked out. He was drying his hands with a towel, but stopped at seeing the shrunken detective was still there.

"How's KID?" Conan asked gruffly, glowering at his sneakers.

The doctor smiled, "I put him to sleep, he wouldn't rest otherwise. He'll be fine, eventually, and then he'll probably be right back here with some other injury."

"It doesn't sound like you like him much" Conan muttered.

The doctor laughed, "are you kidding? I love him like a son. You'd be hard pressed to find someone kinder or more caring than him. He loves life in a way that few could comprehend and he feels it deeply if anyone gets hurt. He's empathic that way, but he's also dangerously altruistic to the point where I wish he'd be more egotistical just because he'd be safer if he thought about himself more."

Conan snorted, "what are you trying to say? As far as I've seen he's as vain and arrogant as jerks come."

The doctor shook his head, "then you haven't been paying close enough attention. I have to agree that his act is perfect; he makes you think there is nothing more behind the mask than a Narcissus. Just think."

The detective inhaled loudly. "He doesn't actually think I'd let him die, does he?"

"No." The doctor said.

"He just wanted me angry enough to say I wouldn't help."

"Yes."

Conan cursed, "he's been shot, hurt badly, and all he's interested in is keeping me out of the line of fire!"

The doctor smirked, "hmm… sounds like you've got him pegged."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Conan asked, "I'm just a seven-year old."

"No you're not", the doctor retorted smugly, "magician is paranoid and realistic enough to inform me of any possible medical emergencies he might encounter with his occupation. Seriously giving your name as a contact in the case of him returning to childhood makes it rather obvious who you are…. That idiot has walked in here to get more bullet wounds stitched than I'd like to admit, more bone injuries than any other kid his age, and with more determination than is healthy. If going behind his back to tell a skilled detective to keep an eye on him will reduce the necessity of me keeping from retirement, then I am damn well going to tell a detective to watch his back."

"But…" Conan muttered, "you probably won't tell me why he's risking himself like this, I doubt it's just for the adrenaline."

The doctor shrugged, "he's never told me the reason, so I couldn't tell you."

"You don't know why he's a criminal and you still help him out?" Conan exclaimed incredulously.

"I know what he's like", the doctor said, "I know he'd never steal if there weren't a reason worth his life and that's good enough for me. I'm trusting you to make sure it doesn't come to that if you can help it."

Conan shook his head, "I can't believe how much faith you have in him, but I guess I'll do what I can." The detective stood up, "for now… I think I'll make sure he'll be okay with my own eyes before I go. When he wakes up you had better tell him that if I see a heist notice before a month has passed there will be a soccer ball with his name on it waiting for him."