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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Sunset and moonrise…
Sunset and moonrise can occur at the same time, a fact I know in theory but haven't yet observed in life. The bus is chugging along while the clouds are moving fast, away from the bus as if they were fleeing from us.
Both Odango and Kudo smile like little children when the last layer of cloud breaks and the full moon appears, sharing the same glowing sky with the dying sun…
The face of the woman next to me suddenly intrigues me more than the early sunset. Has she really betrayed Seiya in a worse manner than I betrayed Kudo? If my fears are true and the blue-clad biker has used Kakyuu like Rye used Akemi-nee-san to get information on my research, Odango, who was part of Tenoh-san's vigilante group, might have known about it.
Seiya's attraction towards Odango went according to plan. Odango's feelings for him, however, were unexpected.
Was theirs a love that should never have happened, an attraction between enemies who, in essence, are the same? According to Seiya, Odango is a dazzling, free and easy character: laid-back, generous, charming, heedless of danger—very much like him.
During another, more radiant but moonless sunset, the trees cast long shadows on the road—intricate patterns in colourful shades of green, brown, and grey. The first autumn leaves in late summer flew past the window as Gin sped up, following the midnight-blue car, which was trying to hit the bike in front of us.
Are you two trying to kill them? What does a "red card" actually mean?
Hush, I need to focus! The little rat is even much faster than I've thought!
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The midnight-blue car has slowed down when Gin overtook it and is now staying behind, keeping a distance between the bike and Gin's Porsche. Oscillating between horror and fascination, you stare out of the window at the girl you can't help but like. The biker gracefully evades Gin whenever Gin draws nearer, and you realize in relief that, as fast as Gin is, the biker is faster.
"Damn le zajong motaar!" Gin curses under his breath.
"What did you say?" you ask, wondering whether he has just spoken French and said "les agents motards".
He only clenches his jaw, speeds up, and doesn't answer.
You can't see much of the man on the bike, even though you can tell that he has a rather attractive figure. Distractedly—paying more attention to his girlfriend and her bouquet of flowers—you register his comfortable blue leather suit with yellow stripes, his narrow waist, his slender fingers in blue leather gloves, and his unusually relaxed back and shoulders, which don't even tense when the red-haired girl loses her balance, causing the bike to sway dangerously to the side before he regains control.
"That bike is one of the fastest motorcycles in the world. It can reach five hundred and sixty kilometres per hour at top speed." Gin smirks. "The rat is a natural, that's certain. But I wonder how long his little girlfriend can keep up with it!"
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…She is a Pre-Raphaelite painting of a lady in red, who looks ridiculously anachronistic on a motorcycle. Pressing the bouquet of roses to her chest and tightening her grip on her boyfriend's waist, the red-haired girl is staring at the black Porsche with horror-filled, misty eyes, unable to comprehend why the cars are cornering them, before her gaze falls on you…
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"How did it go?"
The meeting was scheduled at nine a.m., as the crows and Anokata—like most normal people—need a decent breakfast before work. The trial has lasted for about seven hours, unusually long for "the usual paperwork".
"Well enough."
Overwhelmed by guilt, you run a finger along Gin's high cheekbone and gingerly push his bangs aside. Judging from Gin's ashen face and bloodshot eyes, he must be shattered.
"Get out of here and have a snack!" He fumbles for his lighter and a new packet of cigarettes. "I need to be alone for a few hours. I'm going to join you later."
You spend the whole evening alone on the hotel's roof terrace, sipping sherry and scribbling into your notebook (you get the best ideas for APTX4869 at the most inappropriate time) until you feel pleasantly drunk. The scent of kinmokusei outside, a faint warm fragrance only a few days ago, is now overwhelming, almost nauseating. Gin didn't tell you anything but you can guess that he has received a red card from the six other crows. You know a second will mean his death by their hands—a special execution for a special member.
Since he doesn't join you, you fetch him at nine o'clock, deciding that even though he is death nearer than before, he shouldn't miss dinner. You find him in bed with the full ashtray, staring at the haze of smoke. His long silver-blonde hair, usually smooth and glossy, is greasy, dishevelled, damp with sweat. On the bedside table, next to the roses, is an empty bottle you first mistake for poison before you recognize the familiar evergreen shrub on the elaborate, hand-drawn label.
Seeing his suspiciously swollen eyes and the bin under the desk, which is filled to the brim with crumpled tissues, you deduce in astonishment that Gin—cold and tough Gin!—must have cried. Maybe out of anger or humiliation—you try to convince yourself—but certainly not out of grief and guilt.
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"Gosh, you can really see the shadow of a rabbit on the moon!" Odango cries.
Blushing deeply, she looks about herself in embarrassment when her eyes meet mine and she brightens up, giving me a smile so warm and sweet that it's impossible for me to believe that she might have deliberately distracted Seiya.
In contrast to Odango, Kakyuu was withdrawn and self-conscious, burdened by her parents' great expectations and overwhelmed by her foster brothers' fame. Having to face a rival like "Odango atama" when she was frustrated with Three Lights' grueling schedule and Seiya's exasperating reticence, she was an easy prey for a devious opponent…
All of a sudden, I'm overcome by utter disgust—revolted by people with grand visions, people with hero syndromes like Anokata, Gin, M Jean Black, Rye, and even Tenoh-san. Kudo, despite his impossible dreams, is the one exception I can stand. All he wanted was helping the victims of the Organization without realizing that he was about to become a victim himself—minor "collateral damage" like Kakyuu and Akemi-nee-san.
"Let's get out of here!" I leap from my seat.
"But there are still two stations left!"
"It doesn't matter. The weather is great!"
A light rain is going to fall on the way to the park, Kudo remarks. One can tell from the direction the clouds are moving. We should get out at the right station and then take shelter in a café until the rain stops. "The drizzle won't last long since the weather is very much like it was yesterday—sunny with sudden spells of rain."
"You can treat me to tea in the tea pavilion on the way to Ichinohashi Park if you're too frail to suffer a few raindrops." I storm out of the bus. "Are you coming with me now or not?"
"Really, Ai… Today you're a piece of work!"
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When the doors of the bus close, I'm once again overcome by a strange sense of déjà vu. Odango has just leaned her honey-blonde head against the window again and closed her eyes, falling asleep instantly, to all appearances, for her head repeatedly (and comically) knocks against the window when the bus chugs away. An elderly couple has come to the station and is now waiting for the next bus. It's the same couple that had been feeding the ducks at Shinobazu-no-ike.
The brown eyes of the old lady, framed by deep laughter lines, meet mine but show no sign of recognition, much to my relief. A furtive glance at her husband tells me that he was one of the people who stared at me when I walked with Seiya. Apparently it was Seiya, who drew his attention in Ueno-koen, as the man only smiles at me politely, without recognition in his eyes. Perhaps he only stared at us because he had recognized Seiya's face, which he knew from the media, in spite of Seiya's disguise.
"They're probably on the way to Shinobazu-no-ike to feed the ducks," Kudo tells me on the way to the tea pavilion while a mist of rain begins to fall, droplets of colourful diamonds in the glorious sunset. "You can see tiny dried bread crumbs on the woman's tote bag, and this bus stops at Ueno-koen."
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The mist of rain…
The mist of rain is glistening in the last light of twilight, and when Kudo approaches you, you wonder why he and you always seem to miss the sunset in some way. Your face is still frozen in a polite half-smile—has been frozen for days. You two are the last people left at the grave, as you've known in advance that you will be a terrible hostess during the funeral.
You've sent everyone home, telling them to come on the next day. There would be a small dinner with entertainment—just as the Professor wanted. In his testament, he insisted on an unconventional, cheerful party, brightened by magic tricks and bawdy jokes. Sad funerals are a waste of time—he claimed—and time is a truly limited resource.
Ran and Sokono are going to bring food and candles. Hakuba Saguru is going to coordinate the event while Kuroba Kaito will be there to cheer up the Detective Boys as he did during the goodbye party following the downfall of the Organization. Kudo is going to present all of the Professor's gimmicks and inventions to the guests. And since the Professor knew that you would be traumatized and unable to speak, he insisted that Ai-kun should be allowed to stay away if she wanted as long as she didn't harm herself, for she had always been the type to grieve alone…
You listen to Kudo's voice without knowing what he is saying, as you can't focus on his words when the sound of his voice is already too much. With considerable effort, you can make out that he is offering you to resume the old friendship. He feels sorry for all the things he has said and done, for taking you to Pandora's Box, for the incident on the ship, which gave you both pneumonia, even for asking Agasa-hakase to come to the party in Osaka…
"We were all exhausted so we all made mistakes. The Professor got into the accident because he was so happy about the outcome that he chatted all night and played online games for too long. You know it's not your fault!" You try your best to listen to Kudo and to console him, but you also keep a safe, comfortable distance. He looks miserable and out of place in his smart dark suit, which either Ran or his mother must have bought, but he is sensible enough to agree with you for once.
"I know."
And yet, he has to admit, he can't help but try to piece together the fragments, believing that the picture he gets in the end is the right one. That's the problem with the human mind: one always tries to find a logical pattern behind everything…
"You should tell Ran about this," you suggest. "She has been your best friend since forever. She will know what to do about it."
The truth is, you no longer have the strength to deal with another person's grief—not when you are empty, drained, and feel like dying. You can feel him stiffen and wonder why he is coming to you with this. You two haven't exchanged a redundant word for weeks.
After exchanging pleasantries and even a few half-hearted jokes about how the Professor would love the party you were going to throw for him, Kudo and you are standing at the grave, beholding the flowers on it without saying anything. The real tragedy of love, you realize, is not the absence of the lover but the absence of love—its slow death when all hope is gone.
He has come to you to talk about Ran, Kudo says at last. And you know what he is going to tell you since you've already braced yourself for it after the goodbye party in Osaka.
Watching him leave in the lavender-grey light in his immaculate suit, you cast your mind back to Quai Montebello and Paris. After eating ice-cream in December and trying to dance without knowing the steps—all the silly things lovers-to-be make when they believe themselves to be unobserved—you tossed a coin and then took the small jewellery box with the twenty-five pills out of your suitcase. The last pill, the twenty-sixth, you kept in the locket of the necklace Kudo had given you—even though you had to throw out the figurine in it…
This is the decision you've chosen and the outcome you've accepted, but the Professor should have lived for another thirty years, you think, finally allowing the thoughts you've tried to push away in. Agasa should have grown old and weak until he had to be nursed. More than once you had envisioned yourself returning from Venice after ten to fifteen years with a suitcase of presents. And you thought you two would be travelling the world afterwards and affectionally mock Kudo's cozy bourgeois family life in Beika together.
Contrary to your expectations, the Professor, much more far-sighted than you thought, had even provided for you before his death. But you were the only person who didn't even think of bringing a flower.
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You can feel the last funeral guest behind you when she finally arrives—having recognized her sweet unisex perfume and her light footsteps, which sound perfectly regular. In her usual husky voice, she offers you her condolences. Her conduct amazes you, as you've expected her to shoot you or at least scream at you for scrapping your plans.
"It's almost like divine punishment, isn't it? Although that would mean that the Boss in heaven is just as cruel as Anokata." You grimly trace Agasa's name and the dates on the tombstone with your gaze, trying to make sense of what you see to find closure.
Tenoh-san doesn't reply but only contemplates you in silence. You can feel her gaze linger on your face even though you keep looking away.
"Out of all the people who had anything to do with this, I'd never expected him to die."
Wasn't this the justice in which you believed? A life in exchange for a life—an eye for an eye… This was only one life in exchange for twenty-six. Perhaps the Boss above thought that he was being kind.
"It's not divine punishment," she sharply says. "You know this is madness—"
"I didn't say it is." This is just life, unfair and random as you know it. Receiving a just punishment, you ponder, would have been a consolation.
She raises her hand as if she was about to stroke your head, but then she reconsiders it and lets her hand fall.
"You must stop blaming yourself for this, koneko-chan!"
You turn to her and take in her strange handsomeness with tired eyes. Today she is wearing a soft indigo suit and a yellow tie with black stripes, which bring out the colour of her fair hair and really suit her. Great natural beauty is a tremendous asset when it's comforting and inspiring—and you decide to surrender to her influence for now, to try to let go.
"Stop calling me 'koneko-chan'!" You give her a nudge.
You've grown accustomed to the nickname Tenoh-san uses for all the girls she admires—perhaps because both of you believe that cats are independent masters of survival. Nevertheless, you no longer feel good enough to be addressed by the title.
"I've seen Kudo and you," Tenoh-san unexpectedly says. As harsh as she is, she has learned to recognize a real love ever since she met Michiru. "Your detective is suffering as much as you, I'm sure. You can't let him go back to his girlfriend like this! Don't misunderstand me—I don't propose that you tell him the truth since the law-abiding idiot would throw all of us in jail."
But perhaps you should tell him parts of the story since Kudo should know about what you would have done for him at Pandora's Box—she implores you—all the risks you've taken on yourself, all the sacrifices you would have made for him… It makes a huge difference to know whether one's love is being returned or not. This story will have a happy ending if you can forgive yourself and move on.
"To know or not to know—it wouldn't make a difference at all—" you shrug, "—at least not to Kudo, who would have given his life for anyone. On the contrary, I would only blurt out clues and endanger your group and you will have to eliminate him in the end. Keeping my mouth shut and buying pretty purses will be my main modus operandi for the future."
"I could help you if you want," she begins.
"Please don't!" you cut her off, suppressing the sudden, irrational urge to hit her. You can't bear to see her face or her hands, which are just as tainted as yours. Admittedly, a large portion of your bitterness stems from the knowledge that she will find solace in her music, her motorcycles, her cars, her friends, her happy little family, and the love of her life—whereas you will have to endure this alone.
Turning back into Haibara Ai is impossible now. You don't even feel like a member of the Detective Boys anymore.
"You've already done so much! I'd be thankful if you'd just return to Venice and let me deal with the aftermath."
To your relief, Tenoh-san doesn't put up a fight. She must have pondered this and guessed your answers before she came here. Nevertheless, you suddenly feel grateful, almost touched, about the fact that she has at least tried—and it hits you that Tenoh-san… Haruka-san… is the only person in the world who knows about your crimes but still accepts you as you are.
"I don't know if you can remember—but I told you beforehand that you don't have the nervous disposition for this."
Michiru is suffering, too, Tenoh-san tells you, even though Kaioh-san doesn't know all about the affair, as Tenoh-san has protected her by not telling her too much. Tenoh-san's lovely mermaid doesn't only have nightmares but is also trying to castigate herself—saying that she will let her hair grow forever.
"You know, Michiru always said that a woman should never have hair that goes past her waist… But as strong as her own hair is, I fear that they're going to reach her feet some day." Her fine lips curve into a lopsided smile. "At least that opens up completely new possibilities in bed… Ah, I'm only trying to cheer you up, koneko-chan! Don't look at me like that!"
You wonder whether not getting a haircut is really punishment enough. But it's all relative in life, and to people like Kaioh-san, who would die for their perfect looks, not cutting their hair must be a sacrifice of gargantuan proportions.
How cynical and spiteful you've become, you acknowledge, and it doesn't look like this will ever stop. How could you have predicted a bright future? If the Professor were still alive, the development would have broken his heart—but this thought, too, isn't enough of a consolation.
"Do you believe that this will ever pass… Haruka?"
You seldom call her or even think of her as "Haruka", only in your weakest moments, when the distance between you and her vanishes in an abyss of grief. Haruka gently touches you, and you can feel her warmth around your neck and smell her scent of wild roses in the cool breeze.
It's odd that she out of all people is the only person who can offer you a moment of peace. All at once the burden falls from your shoulders and you let go, lean your forehead against her chest, and weep without making a sound. She patiently rubs your back and hands you her silk handkerchief. Then she impulsively pulls your face towards her and gives you tender, chaste, soothing kisses.
"I don't know. It seems I'm the only one of us who is really cut out for this," she muses, looking almost saddened by the discovery. The wind and the last rays of sunlight are playing in her tousled blonde hair as she puts your hand on hers and places the white chrysanthemum she is holding on his grave. "Sometimes I almost envy Michiru and you for your sufferings and regrets—because I can still sleep well at night and don't feel anything."
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