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.
FS
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Ghost at Twilight
(edited version)
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Like a red herring…
Like a red herring in a mystery novel, Kakyuu has diverted my attention away from the main problem. Unlike a red herring, however, she has eventually led me to it. I had been so busy agonizing about Seiya's reaction if he should discover the truth about the role I played in Kakyuu's accident (a very unlikely scenario) and the disastrous impact my secret was going to have on our relationship (a more likely development!) that I completely overlooked the obvious clue to the impossible obstacle between us—a clue which has literally been hanging in front of my nose all along…
Perhaps it was "stranger-san" as well—Seiya, whose sheer limitless reservoirs of smiles have been so distracting that my mind refused to acknowledge the possibility that he might not have been a former ally but an old adversary instead. In my eyes, he was—and may forever be—a living compilation of all the men I've loved, possessing everything I liked about each of them and, endearingly, even a few of their annoying quirks and faults. For all his worrisome impetuousness, recklessness, stubbornness, excessiveness, flirtatiousness, and arrogance, I could find in him Kudo's integrity, charisma, and brilliance, Kaito's wit, humour, and charm, Gin's secrecy, sensuality, and elegance, Rye's determination, protectiveness, stoicism… There was also an elusive quality that belonged only to himself, an unknown ingredient I had never found in anyone else before him. Idealizing our love in my fantasy, I've deluded myself into believing that all my previous failed attempts at love were a preparation for our perfect fairytale romance—that in reality, my subconscious had always been searching for him alone.
"I take everything back," Kudo, who has just returned from the bar, wryly remarks with an inclination of his head in the direction of Furuhata Motoki-san and his adventurous Nishimura Reika. "If they can maintain a long-distance relationship for ten years, you two are able to do it as well."
Despite his words, we both know that he has deduced the truth, having witnessed my reaction at the announcement of Seiya's comeback and imminent departure for LA. Nonetheless he seems only staggered and almost saddened by the knowledge. If Kudo is relieved that Seiya and I have already broken up something he considers to be a classic case of blind love, he is considerate (or rather compassionate?) enough not to let me know.
The moderator on the radio, who has been interviewing hordes of hysterical fans in the meantime, is announcing the song with which Three Lights made their debut eight years ago. Its name shakes me out of my apathy, as it brings back my recollection of a remark Seiya made last night, and my irritation at his harmless lie—another of his silly pranks—demands its verbal expression.
"'Search for your love'," I murmur in disbelief. "I should have known it…"
The look Kudo gives me implies that I should elaborate on it, as even his deductions skills are limited.
"'Search for your love'! He told me it was the name of his fragrance," I try to explain to Kudo before I give up, realizing how insignificant the detail must sound in his ears. "Whatever. I can't believe I've fallen for it although it's only the name of his debut song." Like Kakyuu, who lied to me about her non-existent boyfriend, Seiya must have lied to me about the name of their perfume just for fun.
"You've been deceived in more than a way, so it seems," Kudo coolly says, taking my cardigan from the hook. This time, I let him help me into it without putting up a fight, feeling too exhausted and indifferent to bicker with him about unimportant things when there are more important issues to disagree on.
He has got it all wrong, I tell him as the background music and Yaten and Taiki Kou's muted voices in the intro are slowly leading into the familiar melody I heard that summer afternoon when I met Kakyuu. "I've… only put it on hold because I didn't feel ready for it." But Seiya didn't deceive me, I insist, trying to convince not only Kudo but also myself, for insecurity and mistrust—my old enemies—have crept up on me after our separation. "I think he was really serious about me." Otherwise he would never have brought me to his private apartment.
Pulling at Kudo's arm, I flee from the song after returning Furuhata-san's disappointed "goodbye". Apparently, today is the day of farewells—something I've never been good at, preferring to take leave without formalities and decorum. Downstairs, the melody is following me into the Crown game centre and out of it into the street, continuing in my head even when it's no longer audible.
Perhaps Seiya didn't lie, for all the things he said didn't necessarily exclude the truth although he often omitted certain details. In this case, Three Lights could have taken the name of their family's fragrance for their debut song as an in-joke or even a hidden message—a firm promise to Kakyuu, who was forced to stay behind, to languish at her parents' place and wait for her rescue like a helpless princess in a tower after her three foster brothers had left home.
"Search for your love"—that's how they always called it when they were small, Seiya claimed. His parents—as tolerant as they were (or at least that was the impression I received when he talked about them)—simply accepted it and never referred to the fragrance by another name. At that time, I didn't know that he had just revealed to me why a relationship between him and me would never work. In retrospect, I wonder whether I would have listened to the voice of common sense even if I had grasped the significance of his disclosure.
Before my inner eye, I can still see him at the fountain with the harp-playing Gemini, his lips curved in the roguish smile which had begun to capture my imagination and drawn my attention away from the hard facts. The reflection of the moon in the water and the rustling weeping willows have also made a splendid backdrop to his mesmerizing voice and the wind in the top layers of his hair, whose soft, short curls—so I imagined—were wonderfully evocative of spirits dancing in the night. He was the ideal blend of thrill and security, familiarity and outlandishness. I loved everything about him, his air of mystery, his hidden ponytail, his voice, his scent, even his long, worn leather jacket…
I think we should have given it three different names or more because I have the feeling we all made mistakes while memorizing the formula and ended up with three different scents, he said, impulsively telling me a long guarded family secret, for he must have instinctively trusted me and been as oblivious to my past as I was to his. It's a shame since they were so proud of it. My poor parents…
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Kudo and I have returned…
Kudo and I have returned to my place in complete silence, as I'm too devastated by the news of Seiya's departure and Kudo too confused and despondent about the development, which he can't make sense of, to say anything. In contrast to our bleak mood, the midday sun is still blazing down on the blooming world, playing on the iridescent fabrics of the curtains behind the windows and catching the subtle auburn shade in Kudo's dark hair. Unsurprisingly, my landlady waylays us on the stairs when we enter the house. With a triumphant grin, which stretches from one ear to the next, she informs us that she has just found out that Kudo is a good friend of "Heiji-kun".
Hattori's mother and she studied with the same kendo teacher when they were both beginners, she told us. Since she liked the peculiar poise of the kendo champion so much, she made sure to stay in touch with her afterwards and to meet up with her whenever she went to Osaka. Hattori's mother (whom my landlady must have called to rave about the handsome detective who has solved her "case") has just told her on the phone that Kudo Shinichi wasn't only Heiji-kun's friend but also the one who has found them such a "nice, quiet tenant". Thanking Kudo effusively for bringing her a manageable tenant like me, she dotingly pats me on my shoulder and rubs my back, petting me as if I were a pedigree cat.
"She also told me that your girlfriend's karate is deadly!" She beams at Kudo. "But I'd never have thought that she could be a karate champion." Turning to me, she looks me up and down, nodding to herself as if she is extremely impressed. "You're not short but still rather petite, I must say! I'd have expected someone who is, how should I put it, less dainty and more athletic."
Easily satisfied with idle gossip, she has mixed up everything and leapt to the wrong conclusion due to her lack of information and her poor research. But perhaps I shouldn't mock her when, at Seiya's place, I almost did the same. Telling her the truth that I was suffering from a migraine—"Thank you, but I already have very strong painkillers at home"—I drag Kudo with me into my apartment, fighting the urge to go to bed with a hot bottle (my usual remedy for depression) when the door has finally fallen shut behind us and we are alone again.
It wasn't only the lack of information which thwarted my attempt at playing detective. My memory of the accident, incomplete and perhaps even inaccurate, presented me with difficulties I couldn't overcome. After eight years, I'm no longer sure about what Kakyuu really said. Did she claim that she was waiting for her "boyfriend"—or was it me, who put the word into her mouth just because I was waiting for my boyfriend-to-be as well? In front of the flower-shop, the seventh crow had pulled Kakyuu by her hand to the bike—a gesture which left an impression on me because Gin never held my hand at that early stage of our relationship—and Gin's remark that she was the typical good girl falling for the stereotypical bad boy further strengthened my mistaken assumption.
In addition, my emotions have interfered with my honest desire to find out the truth. I was unreasonably jealous of her—the girl I believed to be Seiya's reason to run away from home. Apart from the irregular surges of pity and horror which swept through me whenever I thought of her cruel fate, I secretly resented Kakyuu for ruining our relationship by putting on me the intolerable burden of guilt. The lingering uncertainty and the fear that I would never find out the truth about whether or not I was the culprit of that case was also torturing me.
Was I really responsible for Kakyuu's accident? Or did the accident happen due to Gin's miscalculation when he threatened the seventh crow? Unless Tenoh-san opens up tomorrow and tells me the whole story from her point of view when we meet up at Tsukino-san's, I will never know.
To the best of my recollection, it appears to me now as if Kakyuu had only asked me whether I had seen a blonde man in a blue suit—a man who was agile and organized although he was always in a hurry. A man who was rude enough to honk instead of entering the café to fetch his date. Perhaps Kakyuu did want to give me the impression that they were going out with each other—perhaps she didn't. It was only one of the many unimportant little details which were distracting but didn't matter.
Tomorrow… Just the thought of it fills me with frustration, as if I didn't have the motivation and energy to last for another night. After the ups and downs I went through since yesterday's twilight, I feel so indescribably exhausted that I would rather die!
"I think you should take a nap," Kudo suggests. "You look like you need it. If you want, I can wake you up in an hour."
No thanks since I don't want to oversleep my life, I decline, startling both Kudo and myself with the vehemence of my answer. The thought of waking up all alone because he has abandoned me for a new case once again is enough to make my stomach clench in knots. As pathetic as it is, today I can't bear to sit in my apartment by myself even though I used to enjoy solitude.
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"The rumours about Three Lights' comeback have always been unreliable," Kudo tries to console me as we return to my sofa, which has become our favourite place to relax. The last time he heard about it, Two Lights was supposed to make their comeback in July instead of December while Seiya was supposed to have retired—and now they say that Three Lights is returning in July instead of December as planned. "There is no point in brooding about it. If you two have put it off because of his career and you can't bear to see him leave, I think you should at least give him a call."
Another light finally goes on in my head, illuminating a few cryptic remarks I overheard but didn't understand—remarks which seemed so unimportant that I wouldn't have paid attention to them if Seiya and his brothers hadn't been strangely agitated when the topic was brought up.
Shizuka-san told the reporters last night that our comeback will be in December, not in July as planned. The suppressed fury in Taiki-san's voice struck me as odd even though I wasn't interested enough in the date to pay attention.
Why in December, Seiya asked, frowning.
Christmas season, perfect for fluffy romantic ballades. Yaten-san violently kicked against a large china vase on the floor (one of the last that were still intact), which promptly earned him a well-aimed hit from Seiya's mop. That is, if you don't join us and add some of your darker stuff to the album.
I'd prefer it to be in July. Seiya continued to mop the floor, his frown deepening. It was new to me to see him angry, as I had only seen his gentle, good-humoured side. Nevertheless, I was so taken with him that I liked his angry face as much as his humorous one. Unlike Gin, even his darker emotions weren't threatening in their intensity, as his aggression seemed devoid of brutal violence. I was almost certain that Seiya couldn't have been the seventh crow for many reasons: He was too amiable, too spontaneous and kind; he seemed truthful when he insisted that he had never belonged to any group apart from Three Lights; I couldn't imagine him to honk at Kakyuu, as he didn't use the horn at all when we were on his bike; and I was sure that, if he had been the seventh crow, he would have spotted me—a girl he had already met—through the open window of Gin's Porsche...
So you've finally decided? beamed Shortie, who, kneeing on the bank with his feet gracefully tucked away on one side, unintentionally gave a hilarious parody of a mermaid on the shore.
Not yet. I have to talk it over with Shiho first. But I've made it clear to Shizuka-san that I don't want our comeback to be in December of all months. Seiya's voice sounded colder than usual, hard and distant like his unapproachable, cool public image. It's not fair of her to force it.
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After pouring us water into our glasses and dropping another handful of APAH capsules into my palm, Kudo strides into my bathroom and returns with two boxes of tissues, which he nonchalantly places in front of me. Irked by his assumption that I was about to misuse his shirt again, I shoot him an irritated look. Even if I had enough tears left to weep, his gesture would have effectively killed the urge.
"Don't you want to tell me now why you've 'put it on hold'?" He lets himself drop into my armchair with the air of someone who has just bought it and is now enjoying his excellent purchase. "If he was so serious about you as you claimed, the breakup doesn't make sense. It's hard to believe that you've done it only because you didn't feel ready for it or because of his career." His piercing greyish blue eyes are boring into me, luring me into confessing with the unusual tenderness of their calm, steady gaze. Fortunately, I'm not easily swayed by other people's compassion for me, having been taught by Gin to resist the alluring magic of pity.
"It's Hollywood—we're talking about the main role in a huge franchise, maybe even in two—versus unemployment and the freedom of a starving classical musician and actor who will have to pay more for his travels than he earns. He will be broke by the end of this year at the latest if he continues to hide from the public and live on his savings, so Shortie and Stick told me." I swallow my capsules of APAH with the stoicism of a woman who is learning to cope with a terminal illness. "I think it's better for him to forget about me and focus on his acting for the next years. I must also admit I'm not the right woman to be waiting for him in the wings or on the set either."
Shaking his head at my obstinate refusal to tell him the truth, Kudo hands me my water glass without a comment.
"I'm not dying," I remind him, emptying my glass in one gulp. "No need to pamper me."
But this isn't living either, Kudo forcefully asserts. I'm only a shadow of myself, suffering as if my world were ending because of someone I don't even know! His eyes roam the living room for a moment before resting menacingly on my lavender rose on the bar counter.
"I swear I'll feed you two pills of APTX and turn you into a toddler or an infant if you harm my flower!" I warn him in my darkest voice—imitating the tone in which Gin always used to threaten me when I was small—before he can act on his impulse. Reminded of the tests whose results I haven't yet checked, I push myself up from the sofa, hurry over to the cupboard where I keep my blood culture bottles and medicine chest, and gaze hard at the blood samples, which—standing neatly in a row—look perfectly identical to the images in my medicine books in their absolute perfection.
"You'll be perfectly all right, you drug-abusing hypochondriac!" I smirk as relief is flooding through me, giving me the same sensation of lightheadedness I got whenever I had drunk too much sherry with Gin or stayed too long in the sun on Tenoh-san's beach. It's ridiculous, this tremendous relief at something so banal as the test results I've already guessed—but I feel so incredibly light, as if one of my mosts important tasks in life had been completed and a heavy burden had been lifted from my shoulders. "You only need to maintain your health—ergo: rest, sleep, and eat regularly. Cases or no cases, you need your daily dosage of eight hours of sleep and three substantial meals!" Noticing in dismay that I sound less like the doctor I'm trying to mimic and more like a caring wife, I darkly add, "I'm going to tell your Ran-nee-chan to use her karate on you if you don't comply with my regulations. And now I'll teach you to mix APAH all by yourself so that you won't forever depend on me!"
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