There wasn't much of a doubt in his mind as to where to look. They'd had their little spats before—she'd never actually hit him hard enough to cause bruising, that was a new development—and every time she would retreat to the same place. Looking back on it, it was a very obvious place, stereotypical if you will. It was used over and over in anime and manga as a make-up spot after a fight, especially in a school setting. In fact, he was almost positive that she'd gotten the idea from some anime. Not that he was complaining, it was rather out of the way and despite his attention seeking attitude, he'd rather not have an audience.

Kaito took a breath before pushing open the door leading to the school's roof. It was never locked, a bunch of kids used it as a lunch spot and falling wasn't really an issue with the large chain-link fence that ran along the edge. He shielded his eyes from the sudden onslaught of sunlight; the afternoon sun was shifting closer to the horizon, angling the light almost directly through the open door.

Through squinted eyes he could see her as a black splotch against the fence, just as he always did. Head bowed, forehead resting against the cold chain link, Aoko didn't move when the door closed behind Kaito, settling with a soft thump and click into its frame. The thief cleared his throat awkwardly, a hand rising to scratch his head nervously. For the first time in a while, words failed him. Normally he was good at smoothing over these bumps, a distracting trick, and a few simple apologies and promises would charm Aoko into a euphoria that would last for days. But, that only worked when he understood why she was upset. Kaito was running blind, and even his witty charm had failed him.

"…We have detention."

A lame start, he hadn't even been thinking when they slipped out, like a f…f—those things—through a loose net. It caught her attention though, the dark-head shifting a little, and a strangely hollow voice answered, "Oh?"

"Yeah, Friday." Kaito took a breath, weighing what he was going to say now that he had her attention, "Listen Aoko—"

"We never were anything?" Aoko interrupted him as if he'd never been speaking. Her fingers threaded into the fence's links, closing around the metal wires. After a long pause, she was waiting for him to answer and he was trying to figure out what she was talking about, she laughed a little and looked over her shoulder. Still wet tears glistened in the corners of her eyes, and the long black strands of her hair seemed even wilder than usual, "Right?"

"Eh?" Kaito never was good with understanding girl language, or even teenage language. It was one of the reasons he used his own style, and did most of the talking. Eventually he did pull out a meaning from her words, but something nagged at him, as if it wasn't right, "No! We're friends, stupid."

Aoko seemed to consider it, before her face turned a little red, quickly turning back to the fence and away from Kaito's slightly confused expression, "That's not—I mean—"

"Look, Aoko." Kaito decided to quit trying to puzzle over the unfathomable workings of a girl's mind—even a tomboy like he considered his friend at times—and try to fix things before he ended up saying something to make her pull out the f…those things. He'd often learned that her temper shorter and she was quicker to take offense a second time, "Whatever I said, I'm sorry for it. But it does not mean I'm not your friend!"

He strode purposefully up to her, throwing his arm over her shoulder in what he considered a companionable gesture, and what most would call a one armed hug, "I'll take you to Tropical Land to make up for it."

When she answered, he almost had to strain his ears to hear. He really didn't see why she was acting so weird—was it that time of the month? He knew women—or tomboys in this case—were supposed to act weird during that window of time. "As friends?"

"Of course!" He slapped on an easy grin, tightening his grip on her shoulder and pulling her away from the fence and back toward the door, "Now let's go back to class before we get detention on Monday too."

Aoko gave up, lifting an arm and wiping away the tearstains, accepting the inevitable that her heart really wished was nothing but a bad dream, "Okay."

--

"Officer…" The formal, monotone greeting buzzed over the phone line, "You have someone here to see you."

"Eeeh?" He cradled the phone in the crook between his shoulder and his neck, somehow managing to keep the cordless appliance from tumbling from the ground as he dug through the mess of his desk drawer, searching for the day planner that was currently lost within the pandemonium of messiness. His desk was unlike the majority of the department, in fact the top could be considered immaculate. Everything was neat and orderly, but the customary police messiness had to migrate somewhere, and that somewhere was currently impeding his search. "Who is it?"

His fingers curled around a small square object, leathery beneath his fingertips, and tried to fish it out, failing upon realizing that it was caught on something. He tried to shift around the surrounding junk as the secretary inquired about the visitor, but it was quite difficult since he was trying to keep the phone balanced on his shoulder—a feat that skewed his position quite a bit. He had just about worked it free when the monotone voice came over the line again—he couldn't believe it, she'd only been on the job a few days and she had the emotionless voice down perfectly—and her announcement made him forget his search momentarily.

"Ah, it's a kid named Edogawa Conan."

"Conan-kun?" The officer repeated, straightening up a little as he wondered what the kid wanted. He'd just been by earlier, and he knew that gathering information took time. Indeed, Conan seemed to know a lot more than what he let on, Officer Takagi knew that better than anyone on the force. Witnessing a primary school student disarm a completely real and utterly dangerous bomb without help (oh, he knew that the kid hadn't needed directions at all, he had worked far enough ahead of the bomb squad AND kept his cool while waiting for the final second's clue) tended to color one's perception of that individual even to the point that physical age was downgraded to a secondary factor. He still remembered Conan's answer to his question of "Who are you?", and hoped he'd get an answer before they met in the afterlife—he had no desire to die just to obtain an answer to an irrelevant (if extremely infuriating) question. "Send him up."

He hung up the phone after the secretary's confirmation, freeing up both hands to extract his notebook. He made short work of the vice that captured the bound book, fishing it out with a triumphant 'hah!'. The victory was short lived, as a single knock brought his mind back to his unexpected visitor, "Come on in!"

He straightened up from his previous slouching position, trying to look stern and professional as one in his postion was supposed to. He highly doubted it worked—he'd been practicing, but it didn't seem like his unassuming and boyish looks suited the image very well. Miyako had just laughed at the attempt, resulting in many embarrassing blushes—since the only reaction he got from the arrival was a quick eye-roll. He took that as a dismissal and in turn dropped the ridiculous air, "What do you need Conan-kun?"

The boy leaned his skateboard against the wall—often the police staff had tried to get him to leave it at the front desk, but to date there had been no luck—giving a light cough and he let the thin veil of childish-ness drop. It hadn't taken long for Takagi to notice that he didn't put as much effort into hiding his precociousness when it was just the two of them—perhaps it was because Conan knew that Takagi understood that there was more to him than the nosy brat who tagged along with Mouri Kogorou.

Conan pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, tilting his head up so he could look at the officer's much taller frame, "I need you to look into something."

Ah, he knew why the kid was here now. Takagi let out an exasperated mental sigh, he really should had guessed it would have to do with Mouri Ran's disappearance. Conan had often been in his office, asking him to call in favors in other departments to try and discover her whereabouts. He had, partially because he was worried about the girl and partially to placate the distressed boy, but there wasn't much he could do at this point. "I'm sorry Conan-kun, I've done pretty much all I can do about Ran-san. I can't put any more of our resources into this case."

Conan was quiet for a moment, before shaking his small head, "I just want to suggest one more thing…If nothing comes up, I'll stop bothering you."

The air in the office was heavy, and Takagi wished he could do more. However, they were the homicide unit, missing persons was generally not their jurisdiction unless foul play was suspected. He'd already exhausted most of his usable connections in this private investigation, and he couldn't use the rest of them because it wasn't official police business. But under the near-pleading, but mostly frustrated gaze, he felt his resolve crumbling. "Alright…What is it?"

--

Conan was lost in thought as he rode his skateboard down the sidewalk, only his reflexes—honed by years of experience in soccer and dodging trigger-happy criminals—keeping him from sending some poor unfortunate soul tumbling to the pavement. Takagi had agreed to look into it, but any and all results would take a while to get back to him. On one hand, Conan understood that Takagi could get in trouble if the investigation began to compromise his attention to his normal work. On the other, he really needed reassurance and wanted the thrice be damned nervousness and fear to go away.

He snapped out of autopilot a few miles from the police station, having been stopped by a red-crossing light. One foot was resting on the ground, waiting and ready for the light to change color so that he could be on his way. He saw his surroundings for the first time since leaving the police station—what was he doing in the Ekota district?

He didn't kick his board into motion at the green walk light, remaining stationary as the sparse afternoon pedestrians milled around him and continued on their way—lost in their own worlds. Though the police station was near the edge of Baika district, he hadn't meant to completely cross the border and head into Ekota. It's not like it really mattered, he wasn't lost. He just couldn't believe he lost touch with his surroundings so much.

"Oi, kid!"

The gruff, commanding tone immediately caught his attention, since he was most likely the kid in question. He didn't know anyone from the Ekota district—not very well anyway—but there wasn't likely to be any other children out during school hours. He'd been in such a rush to get to the police station he hadn't considered the problems the time could cause him. As Conan turned around, he didn't know quite what to expect. The voice was male, and held the feel of someone used to giving orders and having them followed. It was also vaguely familiar, like a voice he had once heard fairly often but not recently. The reasoning behind the feeling was explained when he saw the tall, scruffy haired figure that made its way through the afternoon crowds. Everything about the man was familiar, from his short, untidy mustache to the lit cigarette held lightly in between his fingers. All in all, the image of Inspector Nakamori brought back memories, memories of the not-so distant past that included the various annoying, but entertaining contests held between thief and police. It was really starting to irritate him as to how everything kept leading back to a certain persistent white clothed thief. He hadn't seen the inspector since his last Kid heist—which has been well over a few months ago.

"Turning into a little ruffian are you?" To tell the truth, Nakamori's words surprised him. Conan had expected a demand as to why he was not in school, why he was so far from home, or something of a similar nature. What he received was a gruff, but teasing comment, and an invitation to join the rough-around the edges Inspector on his lunch break. After a moment of deliberation—along with some not-so-silent prodding from his stomach—Conan agreed to the request. In his hurry he'd forgotten to grab something to eat and he only had enough money for a snack, not a full meal, so in truth the encounter was welcomed with little resistance.

The next few minutes found them seated in a nice little coffee shop just a block down from the police station, Nakamori enjoying a nice warm cup of coffee and a bento box (hand packed by his daughter, Aoko of course. The man was not allowed in the kitchen since an incident that nearly ended up burning down the house), while Conan nearly devoured the sandwich the older man had bought for him—as with the ice cream incident, there were perks to looking like a child.

They ate in relative silence, the first few attempts at small talk failing under Conan's rather depressive mood. At long length Nakamori sighed, set down his coffee cup, and folded his hands in front of his chin, much in the way a father would do before he imparted some age old wisdom on his kids. Conan recognized the posture right away; he remained munching on his sandwich, but watched the Inspector warily, waiting for the lecture he was sure was coming.

Instead, all he got was a stern look, and four even words, "He worries, you know."

Conan blinked, swallowing the chunk of bread, ham, and cheese that he had previously been chewing. He slowly lowered the sandwich to the table, tilting his head in what he considered a childish questioning.

Apparently it was convincing enough—or obvious enough—because Nakamori continued, "That Mouri may be drunk more often than not, nowadays (Not that he ever was much better—but at least that daughter of his kept him in check!), but when you just up and disappear on him, it sends him for a loop." The rough Inspector lost his parental air, leaning his forehead against a fist and half turning his head to look out the window in an obvious display of irritation, "He's constantly calling me in a drunken stupor, ranting about how Ran would kill him if something happened to you, and how I needed to run a full missing person hunt for you…"

Conan's mind sorta drifted off as Nakamori detailed the at length one of Mouri's drunken rants. While he was somewhat touched and disturbed that his 'guardian' gave his safety half a mind (he couldn't credit him with anymore, since he was drunk when it happened) he couldn't help the anger that began to simmer in the pit of his stomach. Why was Mouri getting himself drunk out of his mind and demanding a missing person's hunt for him and not for his own daughter? Conan was the only one worried about Ran—or so it seemed to his mind, Takagi was the only officer who had been willing to help him and Mouri had shown his concern by getting drunk every couple hours.

Of course, it could always be that Ran wasn't a minor and he was—in physical looks, truthfully he was just as old as her, 18 years old. But, that didn't warrant complete indifference! No one really knew the danger she could be in, no one besides himself and Haibara—perhaps Agasa too.

For once, logic couldn't seem to mollify the ever present anger, but it remained reined tightly behind Conan's mask. When Nakamori finished his rant, the boy made sure to look properly sheepish, and to reassure the thief-obsessed inspector that he wouldn't run off without telling the drunkard beforehand (not in such words, but that was the gist of the statement.) Secretly he didn't think it would matter much, Mouri most likely wouldn't remember the notification, and would end up calling up Nakamori AGAIN to demand a search and rescue team.

Nakamori attempted to smile, but even his most gentle expression wound up looking harsh with his rugged and heavy set features; he was so used to scowling and frowning, face contorted with frustration at every failed heist. "You're a good kid, Edogawa. I just don't want something to happen to you, running around Tokyo on your own without telling anyone."

He stood up and ruffled Conan's hair affectionately, nudging the chair back underneath the table with his foot, "Now I guess it's time for me to get back to work. Do ya need a quick ride back home?"

Needless to say, Conan was quite tired of the Inspector's patronizing actions and quickly declined the invitation, sliding out of his seat and making a beeline for the coffee-shop door. Upon reaching the road he glanced both ways down the street before taking off back towards the Baika district, and to the park that he had been at the day before. He had a headache he needed to work off, what better way than to find a nice, secluded spot and kick around a soccer ball. It was one of a few things that still managed to calm him, and the only one he could reach before he would have to resist the urge to bang his head against the wall.

After living for so long for her safety, nearly 2 years as Conan to keep the Black Org away from his family and friends, losing that reason—his anchor—was really screwing with his head. If it kept up…he had no doubt it would drive him at least slightly insane—if not worse.

A/N: Hi! This chapter was hard, but it's long! Over 3k! Be happy e.e This chapter is mainly setting up the next one, what with Tropical Land, and Nakamori is gonna have some impact, but you'll have to wait and see what n—n

Plot bunnies are biting again, the story wants to deviate from my plan --; Again. We'll see if I decide to go with it, but I happen to like the idea…meh, we'll see.

If anyone is clamoring for fluff and more KaixConan, I say just be patient x.x I have other characters to develop too! Need to get Kai to figure out what's wrong and a way to fix it, and need to get the idea of possible boyfriend/girlfriend out of Aoko's head. Then I need to get Conan out of his funk…wah x.x I never realized it would spiral out so much from my original idea (not much Aoko, or Nakamori, Mouri didn't have much mention at all—basically no supporting cast)

Anyway, hope you liked it, and drop a review to keep me motivated n---n It really works!