Static
words: 280
She was there, laying on her side amongst the dust and debris of the building. Still, silent, gagged, arms bound behind her back, and her ankles tied firmly together.
"Ran!" Conan ran toward the girl, heedless of any danger waiting in the shadows of the room. Dropping to his knees beside her he ignored the rough feeling of the concrete floor beneath him and set one hand on Ran's shoulder, the other he touched her cheek with before checking for a pulse.
She was fine, and just appeared to be unconscious. Still, staring at his small child's hands where they rested on her, he felt a surge of rage and hatred at his predicament.
Why couldn't he ever seem to manage to be there for her when she needed him?
Sure, he was there was Conan, but never as Shinichi anymore. That's what had lead to the start of this, wasn't it?
One phone call....
Still, he knew as surely as the sun rose that things had changed too much already. The feelings that had been there had already started to fade and disperse into soft remnants. That didn't mean he couldn't hate himself for not being there for her as a friend.
A sound interrupted the almost static condition that had fallen over him, and Conan jerked his head up toward the person still lurking in the doorway. They stepped forward, a hunting smirk curving their lips in predatory delight. A tug brought the cape off, and a sweep of blond hair fell free in a silken tumble. Another hand came up and pulled away the mask making Vermouth's face look less feminine.
"Vermouth!" Conan hissed acidly.