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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Have you ever…

"Have you ever regretted a choice you've made?" Kudo asks as the clock strikes a quarter to five and the bells of the Azabu Church in the distance chime. We both know he has to leave, but, as obstinate as he is, he refuses to go before tying me down with a satisfactory answer to his (job, friendship, relationship?) proposal.

I cast my mind back to the overnighters I pulled at Infinity just to excel at anything I touched—to prove myself in front of Professor Tomoe and his prodigies and to impress Gin. The day I finally received my long-awaited cocktail code name; my almost-encounter with Seiya when I dragged my sister away from him instead of staying for a talk; my haphazard reaction when Gin cornered the seventh crow; the night I let Gin seduce me although I felt emotionally blackmailed by his proof of implicit trust; my short infatuation with Rye; my tragic miscalculation when I refused Tenoh-san's plan to steal Pandora's Box while Akemi-nee-san was still alive; the two thousand six hundred innocent mice I sacrificed for my revenge; the two bullets that missed their target at Pandora's Box; the white chrysanthemum at the Professor's grave, which I didn't bring…

Well, that was nice. Thanks a lot for last night and the lovely morning. But since I'm not cut out to deal with all the concessions one has to make in a steady relationship, I fear that's it. Please don't call, don't write, and don't stalk me since I don't want this to turn into a case of fatal attraction.

It's hard to say what I regret most—to choose the one thing which could have been different and which I would change if I could turn back time. In retrospect, if I look at the outcomes of my endeavours, I have too many regrets to count, I tell Kudo. But if time rewound and I had to face the old situations again without the knowledge and the experience I have now, I wouldn't be able to change anything. Hence I'm certain that I don't have any regrets, not when it comes to the choices I've made.

That's admirable, Kudo smiles. Few people can say with conviction that they don't regret anything.

Yet regrets aren't the only things which sting on a day like today, when the past catches up with the present and I'm faced with questions I can't answer. I've honestly tried to believe in Kudo's notion of justice, as hard as it is for me to cling to something which clashes so much with my own experiences that I might as well believe in a fairy tale.

Ironically, the moment my humane side won over my vengeful side at Pandora's Box was also the moment I lost. When I sensed Gin's aura and heard the rustle behind Kudo and me, I instinctively turned and shot. But at the same time—here is proof positive that love never really dies—the autumn nights in Kyoto stole into my mind. Once again, the scent of sweet osmanthus and orange blossoms in my memory mingled with the real, authentic aroma of the present—the musty, dank smell of the ship and the distinctive odour of gunpowder and smoke. The slight tremor which shook my hand was enough to ruin my plans. And after Kudo had left, when I faced my arrogantly smirking enemy on the floor, who had become too weak to defend himself but was still too strong to die, I knew that in order to protect Tenoh-san, Kudo, Hattori, and me, I'd have to silence the last witness—the scapegoat I was going to pin my crimes on—and improvise.

In my daydreams, I had often fantasized about our final reunion, which would end with his or my death. Since leaving the world together with Gin didn't belong to my secret desires and the thought of dying in front of his sneering eyes charmed me even less, I often saw myself—uninjured, as eerily beautiful and threatening as a vengeful angel—hovering over his bloody, crushed figure with a smirk on my lips. Shoving his overlong bangs aside with the tip of my shoe, wrinkling my nose in distaste, I'd gaze hard into his eyes and ask him how it felt to be bested by his former protégé, whose astonishing accuracy and fast reactions were once a source of his pride. "Traitor!" he would helplessly hiss as he was trying hard to breathe, fighting for his last seconds on earth like a desperate rat trying to escape from a sinking ship. And I would raise my perfectly arched brow in genuine amazement, asking him why he was calling me traitor when it was him, who had betrayed me.

In my dreams, I'd informed Gin about how much being in a relationship with him sucked—how my love for him had turned into resentment and anger and then indifference and disgust because we were both always stressed but I had to do all our household chores alone. He was always too busy, too depressed, or simply too arrogant and drunk to care how the apartment looked. Or he did notice but was the opinion that his little girlfriend should do all the work so that he could sulk in his armchair with an ashtray and a bottle of sherry.

I'd even told the imaginary Gin in my fantasy that his never-ending complaints, his well-meant but ill-timed caresses, and his brutish, awkward, plain-boring lovemaking repelled me, especially when I was exhausted and frustrated from the long day and just wanted to be left alone. Before Akemi-nee-san's death and before the abuse he hurled at me, he failed me by dumping on me all his past and present problems along with the mundane tasks of our daily life. His grand speeches of equality and justice for all were useless when he, like many men, couldn't even grasp the simple notion of sharing the housework with the woman he called his "wife".

Since dreams seldom bear a semblance to reality, I only sighed, gave Gin (the bloody, crushed, but still sneering figure under me) a listless look, put down the pan Kudo had given me, and opened my locket to take out a small, inconspicuous pill.

You have two options, I began in my most neutral low voice, letting the pill fall into his right hand, which was lying limply on the floor in front of his face, without touching him. You can swallow this and enjoy a painless, pleasant eternal sleep—I can assure you that it won't hurt in the least since I've designed it for myself and the hundred mice I fed it to all died peacefully. Or you can refuse and I swear that the aftermath will hurt! Even if you made it into a witness protection programme, which you won't, no one could help you escape the aftermath. All your trusted allies—Anokata, the crows, and their secretaries and spouses—are dead, courtesy of the first-class education they gave me. Pandora's Box will be gone by tomorrow. And since you're the last person left who knows the secrets, all the blackmailed big names and terrorists will hunt you down, torture you, and use you for their little games. I grimly raised the Browning in my hand. You must feel like the last unicorn now, Gin, but I'm not going to let you suffer such a fate. I'm going to give you a messy death by my hand if you don't choose the pill. I will cry rivers of tears for you, claim that I had to shoot you in self-defense, and get away with this. I have great faith in my acting skills—everyone will believe me!

Much to my surprise, Gin only laughed, laughing tears as if my speech had genuinely amused him. When he moved his left hand, which had been hidden under his wide coat until then, I could see he was holding a small black device resembling a mobile phone, which he must have dug out of a small hole under the oven. Devious as he was, he must have managed to type something into it while I was fumbling for the pill. Snatching the device out of his hand, I realized that it was not a phone or a voice recording device but only a small phone-like remote control—the remote control for Pandora's Box. His name and particulars, which would be sent to all the blackmailed people on the list once I started to backup the files for Tenoh-san, was something Gin couldn't change, as he had swallowed my bait and opened the door to the cabin. But he had attached an explanatory note to the message—a single name, which forced me to change my plans again.

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Sometimes I had more luck than I deserved—I tell Kudo—when I survived APTX, found allies in the most unexpected places, and escaped unscathed from situations that should have ended in death. At other times, a run of undeserved bad luck would tail me wherever I go, ruining the people close to me as though I were a harbinger of doom.

"Some people live a perfectly boring life in which nothing happens. You happen to receive all the ups and downs," Kudo thinks aloud. "But as selfish as it sounds… I'm glad because if your life had been different, we two wouldn't be sitting here with each other now."

I calmly behold his figure against the ending sunset, whose gemlike radiance is reflected in the tinted glass of the skyscrapers and the splashing water of the fountain.

"You know, Kudo… You're like a painting that should never have learned to speak. If someone could just cut out the sound, I'd really enjoy being here with you."

"Thanks a lot for the backhanded compliment." He smirks. "Coming from your critical mouth, it weighs a ton."

Smiling, we both watch the white and grey pigeons around us in silence, enjoying the peaceful, mellow light of the setting sun. In my mind, I can still see Infinity around us; the marble stairs, which have been removed after Professor Tomoe sold the land; the high stone walls, which were overhung by an interwoven net of red, pink, lavender, purple, violet, blue, and yellow Morning Glories, which are now gone forever. The few surviving trees, even the large weeping willows, have been moved. All the flower beds in the school garden have been burned. Even the large veranda, where Hotaru-chan, Professor Tomoe's reclusive daughter, often sat when all the students were on the track to watch Tenoh-san's races, is no longer there.

Tomoe's laboratories, parts of which have survived the fire, are now gone as well although the adoring nurses have moved whatever remained in the labs to the private mental hospital, where the mad professor is now staying. Although everything but the fountain is gone, I can still see Tenoh-san's picturesque silhouette on the bench in the courtyard, her shadow touching Kaioh-san, who used to play the violin under the moonlight in warm summer nights. Gin used to drop me at the iron gate after our dates before he raced away in his black Porsche, and Tenoh-san would always wink at me when I passed the garden and strode towards the dorms although her eyes would immediately—reassuringly—return to her then secret lover, who, immersed in her music, would only look through me with faraway eyes.

Many loves alternate between care and abuse—which usually happens between couples like Gin and me, who don't match, but also between couples like Tenoh-san and Kaioh-san, whose personalities and quirks seem to have been custom-made for each other. Sometimes lovers are thrown together by circumstances, fused together by surmountable obstacles, and chained together by what some people would call the red thread of destiny. But there are also temptations which are too great to resist, leading to situations which will only end in tears.

The fairytale happily-ever-after ending of true love may be a lie—one of the greatest, most elaborate deceptions people practice on each other and themselves. But the evanescent quality of love doesn't necessary mean that the fleeting moments of perfection weren't real. Recalling those moments with the men I've cared about in my life, I wonder whether I've loved all of them at one point or another. Even though it was eventually destroyed by their shortcomings or my own shortcomings or just plain bad luck, it would be a lie to pretend that it never existed.

I could tell Kudo about Misa but I don't want him to reopen the case, as I believe that Misa has already been punished enough with the burden of her guilt. As weird as it sounds, I take pity on her. Even though I would never murder a rival, I've tasted both unrequited love and jealousy.

I can remember the fury I felt when I saw Kudo and Ran holding hands on the way to Tropical Land, the feeling of nausea which kept me in bed for a whole day when I caught her sneaking through the gate of his mansion at night only weeks after his laughable decision to "turn back time". I well recall the conviction that it was me and me alone, who had ignited and fueled the fire in Paris and at Pandora's Box while she—the innocent, clueless, bland fool!—was the one who received all the fruits of his pent-up passion!

Sitting in the vast house, which had become as silent as a tomb after the Professor's death, loneliness was easier to endure than his close proximity, their compassion, and her encouraging smiles. As Kudo's good friend and the Professor's much-pitied orphan, I had to continue eating all the soups, cakes, and cookies she brought me (often in the presence of the Detective Boys) whenever she was bored because he was away. For Kudo's sake, I put on a passably agreeable face although I was simmering with anger.

Ran's resemblance to my late sister only added to the frustration, reminding me of the time I was tired of Gin and smitten with Rye, who spent way too much time talking to me although he was Akemi-nee-san's boyfriend. If only Ran died, Kudo would eventually belong to me—the thought invariably stole into my mind at night when I was about to fall asleep, when my defense was crumbling away and I allowed myself to weave the fantasy that, some day, the whole story of Pandora's Box would be forgotten so that Kudo and I could start anew…

Fusae-san, like a guardian angel Agasa-hakase sent, saved me when she called me and bought the house. It was only possible for me to let go and recover from my loss after moving to Azabu Juuban. But Misa, the sophisticated, sickly girl who read Shakespeare sonnets, didn't have anyone.

Now that Kakyuu-san's beauty had long faded and she was only a pale shadow of herself, doomed to lead a life of confinement and dependency within her damaged body, her three foster brothers were still orbiting around her just as they did when she was still alive. And it dawned on Misa that, as long as his princess was alive, Taiki-sama would never be free. He and Yaten-sama would continue to worship her from a distance, wasting their youth while she would always stay with her favourite foster brother. If Kakyuu-san survived, she would destroy at least three lives while suffering a fate Misa wouldn't even wish on a rival.

I wish I could find out the truth behind that case since I don't want to shield a psychopath out of misplaced sympathy. Even though I don't want to believe it, there is a possibility that Kakyuu was totally insignificant in Misa's eyes, and Misa ruthlessly ended her patient's life just to take revenge on Taiki-sama for rejecting her.

How clichéd and cynical! But clichés are clichés because they are so typical. And beneath the outer shell of love, there are more spiteful feelings than most people want to admit to themselves. Love is never just "love", this overwhelming desire to make the other person yours, this willingness to make the greatest sacrifices for the beloved person. Under the filigree of selfish desire and selfless sacrifice, there are always other, darker feelings burning in secret—the whole assortment of resentment, humiliation, fear, and even hate—especially against the love interest, who has barged into your life uninvited and enslaved you in such a tyrannical way.

If Misa is one of the few angels on earth, she might even have pulled the plug out of compassion.

Having watched Taiki-sama for so long, Misa knew how much he suffered to see his beloved foster sister and love interest in a half-dead state. How much more would it hurt him to see the woman he loved spending the rest of her life as a mentally and physically challenged, who wouldn't be able to do the most elementary things on her own? There would be no discussions of poetry, no movie analysis sessions, no flower gazing or singing or dancing, or anything of the sort. Instead, Taiki-sama would have to face the empty shell of Kakyuu-san staring up at him in silence, pulling grotesque grimaces at him, which were cruelly reminiscent of her old smiles, which were once so endearing and kind.

Even if he would never admit it to himself, Misa could see that Taiki-sama would be relieved if Kakyuu-san died. To claim he would be happy about Kakyuu-san's death would be a lie. But he would be relieved if Kakyuu-san would never wake up to rob him of the memories of the beautiful girl she once was…

Am I in denial of Seiya's role in Kakyuu's death just because I'm biased? For me, it's impossible to picture Seiya as Kakyuu's murderer. Visiting Kakyuu for the third time, he must have used his handkerchief to remove the fingerprints on the life support machine out of the mistaken assumption that one of his gloomy brothers had pulled the plug. It would explain why he appeared so distressed and refused to give a statement despite implicating himself with his silence.

For the first time, I can understand the mystery freak beside me. Knowing the truth makes it easier to let go of the past. I was less curious about Seiya's motivations and thoughts when I was sure that we had all the time in the world to explore each other.

"We should go to the bus station now since you still have to fetch Ran from the train," I remind Kudo. Watching the sunset with him has been enough. For obscure reasons, I don't want him to linger here any longer now that the sun has begun to fade from the horizon.

Kudo pushes himself from the rim of the fountain and wipes the tiny pink sakura petals, which are sticking on the fountain and on our clothes after the light rain, from his jeans. For a moment, he seems to debate with himself whether he should put on his jacket. But since the weather is still warm, he only hooks a finger through the label inside and throws the jacket over his shoulder instead.

"I know tonight is too early, especially since you must want to be alone to cry about Seiya's departure and I really owe Ran a proper explanation when we break it up… But if you don't have plans for tomorrow night, can we meet up for the dinner I missed last night?"

He simply can't drop what he has started, and I should really mix something into his drink the next time he visits me to teach him the tiniest bit of humility.

"All right," I tell him in a non-committal but cheery voice although I'm thrown by his behaviour, which still seems suspect to me. "Just give me a call before you come. And don't be late again."

Lingering at the fountain by my side, he gives me a long, thoughtful gaze, whose deep sadness and determination almost hurt me physically. Strangely enough, it has always been easier for me to deal with my own sorrow than with his. If he doesn't say something soon, I will have to rack my brains to come up with a joke to lighten the mood.

"Seiya's brothers are hiding at Hikawa Shrine at the moment," he tells me with an air of resignation. "Aino Minako always wears a special pair of red pumps when she appears in the news with Two Lights. She's wearing the same pair today. She also wore the smile of a woman who is looking forward to meeting someone she is intensely infatuated with. There are footprints from two different pairs of shoes in the courtyard, which probably belong to the leather sneakers Two Lights always wear. We can ask them about Seiya's whereabouts if you want. I still have fifteen minutes. I'm going to help you find him if you want to say goodbye to him before he goes away."

"You're getting obnoxious, Kudo." I glide from the rim of the fountain and slip into my cardigan. "Just stay out of this since it doesn't concern you."

But it does, he claims, surprising me with his intensity as he rushes after me. It does concern him since it's impossible to get over a relationship which has ended in such an abrupt way. "The mind tends to remember all the good things. If you two had stayed with each other and got thoroughly sick of each other's quirks after a few months, it would have been easier for me."

Although he still hasn't spelled it out, it's impossible to misread what he wants to say. And while we're walking back in tense, brooding silence, trying to deal with the change in situation, which overwhelms me, my mind returns to the moment in Seiya's apartment when he sang the song by Styx and joked that my wild card had found me.

"Last night, Kaito told me that I only found life boring because I thought it always followed a set pattern—like a card game in which one could see the faces of all the cards. But he thought that we didn't really know the cards because we could never guess all the traits of the people around us… He also said that—as low as the probability was—some day I might draw a 'wild card', which changed the whole game."

Kudo, who has patiently listened to my confession, accepts the obscure explanation with more grace than I expected from him.

"I suppose he is your wild card, which changed everything?"

"A wild card, yes," I give him a wan smile. "But I'm not sure whether he has ever been my wild card to begin with."

Like a wild card in an opponent's hand, Seiya has barged into my life at the worst possible moment, leaving behind a gaping wound, which will never heal, and placing on me the burden of an impossible love just when the one I'd always wanted was finally within my grasp. For all that, I can't bring myself to regret those seven hours—when loving another person was as natural and easy as breathing. Infatuations usually come and go, and short-time affairs breeze in and out of one's life without having a significant impact on one's mental make-up. But I know with certainty that Ueno-koen will never be the same, that Azabu Juuban will always be haunted. I will never be able to sit on a bench or on a boulder again without seeing his ghost, just as I will never be able to take a walk, listen to music, drink coffee, shower, or dry my hair again without being reminded of that string of flawlessly perfect moments, when the universe suddenly made sense. Regretting it would be a form of betrayal or even a homicide of the cruelest sort, as if I would try to murder love itself, which I can't resent despite the sorrow it has brought me.

Although our time with each other is over, there is a puzzle I still haven't solved: I still don't know how to label him. An ally or an adversary, my guardian angel or the devil in disguise, my highest trump card, or an excuse that cannot win—my stranger has been both a helpful and a harmful card, bringing Kudo back to me while keeping us apart.

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