Disclaimer: "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama, and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

This is an alternative story to my other fanfic "Encounter in Venice" and one of the possibilities of what could have happened if Ai had taken the antidote before Shinichi brought down the Organization.

Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00) and SN1987a and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal, without whom I would never have started this fic.

This chapter has been betaed by aritzen (SN1987a), who hasn't only kept me motivated for years but is even betaing the long fic now that it has ended. I can't thank her enough!

FS

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Ghost at Twilight

(edited version)

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The scene slowly fades out...

The scene slowly fades out as the pitter-patter of raindrops retreats into the realm of the past, chased away by the gradual advance of other sounds... the rustle of trees, the splash of water, the rhythm of regular steps, and a steady heartbeat, which has a strangely soothing effect on you. Something similar to smooth leather and a metallic round object (a button?) are patting against your cheek to the rhythm of the steps while a blustering wind is ruffling your hair. The air is damp and cold, causing you to shiver despite the warm arms carrying you, shaking you slightly in the fast but steady rhythm in which you two are moving towards an unknown destination.

Yawning and shifting your position to make yourself comfortable in his arms, you wonder for a moment where Gin is carrying you when you realize that the person you are leaning against feels and smells different. The fragrant base of his scent, while of the same lavishness, also possesses a freshness uncharacteristic of Gin's. Its luminous finish is softened by something your nose can't make out; and the combination of kinmokusei and orange blossoms is not blatantly seductive but teasingly piquant, its languid sweetness gently blended with a warm, velvety natural scent that is curiously provocative and inviting.

With a start, you force your eyes open and find yourself staring at the present in the form of a chin and a head which, for a fleeting moment and from the angle you are looking at it, reminds you slightly of Kaito's in the dim light. But in contrast to Kaito's, his ruffled hair is soft, slightly curly, and of a deep black, adorned by a light blue satin band wrapped around its bottom layer in the nape of his neck, hiding a ponytail whose existence you can only guess but not see.

"Well slept?" The stranger chuckles, putting you back on your feet with a sigh of relief while supporting your waist and your arm until you, having regained your balance, free yourself from him.

"How long have you been carrying me?" you ask in surprise, startled by the familiar sight of the weeping willows, the flat boulder, and the fountain with the harp-playing Gemini. Through the sweeping branches of a weeping willow, you can see the stairs to the main entrance of Dr Mizuno's hospital, at which you spotted Kudo three years ago when you hurried out of the taxi. The Professor's condition had worsened, Ami-san had told you on the phone. And the fact that Kudo had been waiting for you in front of the door despite your bitter quarrel, which—at that time—had not been patched up yet, was sufficient to fill you with a grim sense of foreboding.

"Only for a few minutes," the stranger replies, stretching his limbs with a languorous smile. "You simply fell into my arms and I couldn't wake you up no matter how I tried. So I decided to carry you to the nearest hospital since it's not too far away."

"I'm perfectly fine," you lie, wondering whether APAH has begun to reveal its side effects to both Kudo and you. "Just a dizzy spell, which is over now."

"You don't look like the type that easily faints," he observes and grins. "I didn't expect that my shampoo would have such an effect on you."

"Don't get your hopes up! Though I must say I do like the fragrance. What is it called?"

"'Search for your love.'"

"You're kidding me!"

But that's how they always called it when they were small, he insists. His parents simply accepted it and never referred to the fragrance by another name.

"Maybe they didn't give it a name at all," he muses while a roguish smile curves his lips. "I think we should have given it three names or more because I have the feeling we all made mistakes while memorizing the formula and ended up with three different scents. It's a shame since they were so proud of it. My poor parents..."

"So you have two brothers?"

Two foster brothers, who are only a few months older than him, he tells you. Most probably they are really related in some way, as they have similar features. It wouldn't surprise him since the three of them had been abandoned at the same shrine on the same day.

"Had you been in an orphanage before you were adopted by your foster parents?"

"No, we hadn't. My foster parents were friends of the priest and immediately took the three of us in, depriving us of the pleasure of seeing an orphanage from the inside."

"You didn't miss anything," you remark, startled by your compelling need to talk with him about your private life.

"So you were in one?" he asks as he settles himself on the boulder next to the fountain and gestures for you to sit down next to him.

"Only for a few years," you reply, ignoring his invitation to share the boulder with him. "But it was long enough for me not to like it." Angry at yourself because now he will certainly think that you're trying to pester him with the sob story of your life, you consult your watch and announce with an air of authority, "It's late! Let's go now! We don't want to waste time, do we? Which is the quickest way to Two Lights' from here?"

For a moment, he only fixes you with a curious gaze in which—much to your relief—you can't detect any sign of pity.

"My bike isn't far away from here," he says without showing the slightest inclination to get up. "We only need to cross the intersection behind the hospital and walk a few steps to the motorcycle bay where I parked it. But are you sure you're okay?"

"I didn't expect that we would go by bike!" You frown at him in dismay, pointing out your dress to him. "How am I going to ride a bike dressed like this?" Stealing a glance at the lean figure, whose legs are now comfortably stretched out on the gravel path, you wonder what sort of person would ride a bike with a long and wide jacket like the one he is wearing. But then again, he seems rather eccentric with his red and black silk shirt, his satin band, and his white gold earrings, somehow managing to look oddly stylish despite dressing like a harlequin.

"What's wrong with your dress?" he gazes at you uncomprehendingly, eyeing your legs and the hem of your dress with unabashed curiosity. "It's not like you're wearing a mini skirt! I've seen women on bikes in skirts and dresses much shorter than yours."

"Why did you park so far away?" you ask him in resignation, frowning at the mental picture of yourself on a bike with the wind tearing at your thin dress and blowing it up while you're fighting with both hands to keep it down during the whole ride. "Do you even have a helmet for me? I'm not going to ride a bike with you without a helmet!"

He didn't want to wake up the whole neighbourhood when he brought "Odango" home, he replies as a matter of fact. And of course he has helmets for both of you unless somebody has stolen them, which wouldn't really surprise him, as he simply left them on the seat tonight. However, he wonders whether you're feeling well enough to go to Two Lights' since you just fainted.

"It looks to me like you're too sick to go out. If you want, I can bring you home now," he adds with a tinge of regret in his voice.

"No, I'm fine!" you refuse, irked by the fact that your voice sounds awkwardly desperate. Fearing that he might get the impression that you're desperate for his company, you sigh and admit, "I don't want to go home because Kudo is sleeping on my sofa right now."

The stranger stares at you, wide-eyed with surprise, whereupon you feel yourself blushing under his startled and inquiring gaze.

"Since he was so exhausted, he simply fell asleep on my sofa while I was printing out a document for him," you elaborate, realizing how your defensive tone only makes matters worse. Noticing a slow smile spreading over his face, you glare at him. "Get your mind out of the gutter since all we did together was have tea—"

He bursts into laughter, a sound so exhilarating and infectious that you can't help but smile at him.

"Look who's talking!" The stranger flashes you an amused smile with a hint of curiosity. "I swear the only thing I'd been thinking was: If he is there, why is she here with me?"

Just an innocent question which was inevitable given the circumstances. And yet it disturbs you because the reason which seemed obvious to you less than an hour ago is now suddenly just as obscure and elusive as the sunset during which you met him on the bench you had expected to find Kudo.

Sitting so close to him on the narrow boulder that your arms are touching, with your legs crossed and stretched out in front of you, you watch his feet play with the dead twigs and petals on the gravel path while you're filling him in on the happenings since Kudo's arrival. Despite skipping all the details like your conversations with Kudo, Kaito's card, APAH, and Pandora's Box—things he doesn't need to know about—you tell him in detail about all the things which really bother you: Kudo's outrageous lateness even though he wasn't caught up in a case this time (something that almost never happens because Kudo is a punctual and reliable person as long as he doesn't stumble over a case and forget the date), Kudo's melancholic mood, which you noticed although he had been trying to hide it from you, Ran's resolve to take over the karate dojo in Osaka, and Kudo's decision to leave Tokyo with her even though he obviously doesn't want to...

"That's why I don't want to be in my apartment tonight," you conclude. "It would seem to me as if we were betraying her. Also, going clubbing sounds much more attractive to me than sitting there and watching him snore. Hence I decided to go out and come back in the morning when he has already woken up."

"You mean you simply locked him up alone in your apartment like that?" He raises a brow at you in a half-amused, half-incredulous expression.

"Why not? It's not like he is a helpless little kid. He can climb out of the balcony and leave whenever he wants to. There are few people in the world who are as independent and self-reliant as he is. Even if I handcuffed him to my sofa, he would find a way to free himself, I can assure you!"

"So that's why you don't want to stay in your apartment... but I can't see what the problem is between you two," the stranger muses, balancing a twig on his shoe. "He doesn't want to leave. You don't want him to go. Why can't you two just be happy together in Tokyo? His girlfriend will suffer, I know. But it's better for her, too, if he leaves her now instead of seven years later, isn't it? I wouldn't like it if I found out that my girlfriend had been in love with another guy all the time and only forced herself to stay with me out of sympathy."

"No, that's not it!" you sigh. "Even if he were in love with me instead of her—which is certainly not the case!—it would never work out between us. They've grown up together and she is the loveliest thing alive, warm and caring and extremely tough in her own way. I bet she has been pampering him like a baby for the past three years, and he is the type of man who likes motherly women like her. I, on the other hand, have always misplaced and lost the things I liked, starting with my toys and stuffed animals since I was small. Maybe that's why I'm so angry about losing my handbag yesterday because I did it again!"

You break off, inwardly cursing the fact that he won't be able to understand your dilemma unless you tell him about Pandora's Box and what really happened between Kudo and you. As it is, you can only tell him a distorted version of the truth and hope that it sounds convincing enough for him to swallow it. With an impatient flick of your wrist, you wave away the memory of the last sentences Kudo threw at you during your quarrel and add truthfully, "Let's just say that he and I don't match at all!"

"You won't know it until you try. It would be nasty of you if they were happy together and you were trying to break them up. But it doesn't seem like that to me after hearing your story. You should at least tell him that you would like him to stay since he obviously doesn't get it. Aren't you only afraid of the mess and analyzing your relationship with him to death so that you won't have to deal with it?"

"No, it's not like that," you sigh in frustration, "although I admit that being able to analyze things to death does come in handy sometimes."

"In my situation, probably, if I wanted to forget her." He turns his face to you with a wry smile. "One can overanalyze everything to death if one really wants to. But in your case it's different. You're trying to ruin something which could work out, aren't you?"

There is an underlying sadness in his voice and his gaze which disappears almost immediately when you meet his eyes, making you wonder whether you've only imagined it. Mystified by your own muddled feelings and the troubled expression you spotted in his eyes, you shift your gaze away from him towards the blanket of dark clouds in the sky. The wind has just chased them away from the full moon, whose light is now reflected in the ruffled water of the small fountain to your left—the distorted, ever-changing shape of its reflection strangely evocative of Cinderella's pumpkin carriage during its transformation.

"I don't think he would have suggested that you two watch cherry blossoms together during a sunset if he weren't in love with you," your fairy godfather continues in a voice which could easily enchant the evil stepmother and stepsisters and steal Cinderella away from the prince. "He even told you he'd rather stay in Tokyo than go with her. How many signs do you need to know that the one he wants is you? Just hurry up and make something out of it before you miss the chance and either of you really falls in love with someone else. Right now he is in your apartment, waiting for you."

"True..." You smile at the memory of Kudo's silhouette against the twilight, furiously blinking it away before the ghost of your transient love at Pandora's Box can return to haunt you. "And this evening he is going to fetch his girlfriend from the train station and we won't see each other for months. That's the extent of his love for me. It's definitely not strong enough for a serious relationship, if you ask me. And he probably slept so well in my presence because I'm not a threat to him in any way. He is infuriatingly clueless! I could even undress in front of him and he'd only worry about my health."

"I'd worry about your mental health, too, if you suddenly did that." The stranger chuckles. "Well, he probably doesn't know what he wants, sending out mixed messages. But don't you think that you're doing the same to him?"

"Sending out mixed messages?"

"If his presence really bothered you so much and you didn't want to tell him about your feelings, you could have asked him to leave your apartment, couldn't you?"

"It was difficult to kick him out," you claim in a wretched attempt to defend yourself. "We had been talking about a lot of things. I simply forgot the time." Giving in to the overwhelming urge to tell the stranger about your feelings for Kudo, you add, "I did have a weakness for him once, but it seems so far away now that I don't know if it's real anymore. Maybe I'm only affected by it because I'm in a strange mood tonight. I'll have forgotten everything by tomorrow..."

The stranger gives you a skeptical look before he silently shakes his head and turns his face away from you to gaze into the distance. His clear-cut profile, calm and serene, stand in marked contrast to the short loose locks of his bangs and the top layers of his hair, which seem to be dancing impishly in the wind, a contrast whose parallel with his character you find most intriguing.

"It really doesn't look like that to me," he says simply, silently beholding the curtains of sweeping branches to your right, which are now flapping in the gusty wind, waving their ghostly veil towards the two of you, until he shrugs and begins to tap a rhythm on the gravel path, humming a catchy melody with a faraway smile.

Even his humming is a joy to listen to, you think, marveling at the beauty of his voice, his acute sense of pitch and rhythm, and his exquisite sense of timing, which is apparent even when he is only walking through the streets, tapping his foot, or talking to you. Slowing down or accelerating the tempo according to the phrases with the confidence and boldness of a natural talent, he continues to hum the melody to himself with a smile on his lips, lost in thought until he suddenly turns and fixes his expressive, startlingly dark blue eyes on you.

With a feeling of utter bewilderment, you abandon yourself to the impossible dream of staying here with him forever, leaving your past behind and listening to the sound of his voice until the end of time, before you belatedly recognize the melody. In a way, it's a miracle that you still remember it although you've heard it only once—a song you would have forgotten if it hadn't been the only time in your life that you fell in love with the voice of a man whose face you never saw. You're now fifteen-year-old Sherry again, naive and fatally confident, waiting for your first date with Gin in your favourite café while listening to a song about an unrequited love, smitten by the beautiful voice you discovered on the same day you met the red-haired woman...

The memory of her has been stalking you all night, you realize. The accident which resembled the one Gin caused when the car crashed into the bike... the sunset during which Gin and the midnight blue car cornered her boyfriend and her... the Queen of Spades on Kaito's card... the scent of sweet osmanthus and the voice of the stranger, which—though less husky and even more refined—resembles the lead singer's voice you heard through the speakers of the café where you saw her for the first time... Like a vengeful spirit, her presence haunts you in your dreams and even outside your dreams in the night. And now that you can remember her face, you also remember clearly the expression in her eyes when she saw you through the window of the car, her horror, her disbelief and—something you have tried to banish from your mind but can never forget—her sense of betrayal.

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A/N: Thanks a lot to Ritz, who betaed this despite cancelling another piano lesson because she felt so dead she had to go to bed early. (Last week there was no update since she cancelled the last piano lesson, too.) I've been really tired as well, just like everyone I know. Maybe it's the weather or the moon, whatever...

In other news, I am working on Becoming Conan and Encounter in Venice, albeit very slowly.