Ever since I wrote the 'Detective Bones' story I've wanted to do a Forensic Genetic. I thoroughly enjoy studying it and I wanted to take a go at it.

Special thanks to Taliya for doing an amazing job Betaing. Without her it would have been horrible.

Written for Poirot's 6-8k Writing Competition #2. Shared second place with Boogum *proud* If you haven't read her stories, I suggest you check her out on . The cover picture is drawn by Ichtyophobia and was rewarded to me as a wining badge. It's amazing. Originally the story was over 500 words too long and was cut out before published as an entry on the forum. Here is the full version.

All forensic science/data in the story is copied from a DVI file, however blotched up and incoherent so it cannot be used to trace back to anything. I was going to use data from the Romanov-cases, as they are public available but changed my mind because you cannot trace it back regardless with the incomplete data I've put up – and scrambled.

CODIS stands for 'Combined DNA Index System'and belong to the FBI, NDIS stands for 'National DNA Index System' and belong to the UK, NDNAD - 'National DNA Database' is a more general one covering most of the world.

Number the Stars

The corridor was dark and silent. The lights overhead flickered on reluctantly, flooding the area with brightness that reflected off the white walls. The only sound was the echo of her heels as she passed through.

Sato sighed in misery. It was four in the morning, and all she wanted was to go home and curl up in bed. But new evidence on a ten-year-old murder case had appeared and work had to be done. They all knew who the murderer was, now all they needed was evidence. The tissue samples recovered ten years prior had been corrupted. In order to figure out whether or not the samples fit, the data had to be re-examined by hand. As the computer data had been inconclusive. The chief of the forensics division, Harada Yataro, had cursed viciously at being tasked with this particular case several hours ago. Hopefully he was now done and they could all get a good night's sleep knowing the true culprit had finally been caught.

The corridor curved left twice before she reached her destination. The door was the typical white with a square window that allowed a peek into the laboratory. Several notifications were attached to the door: 'Authorized Personnel Only', 'Silence – Work in progress', 'No Cell Phones Allowed', and a 'Geniuses Only – Idiots Not Allowed'.

Sato scrunched her nose slightly up and pushed the door open, peering in. At first glance the cluttered room appeared empty. The adjacent wall was filled with a collection of computers and strange electronic devices. On her left stood a tall shelf filled with reports and documents ready to be picked up. A large blackboard took up space on her right – intricate equations covered most of it. Covering most of the floor was several benches filled with all kinds of scientific equipment. A large, rectangular window stretched across the innermost wall, showing a room bathed in blue light. It was too darky to see from her current locale, however she knew that the room was used to store organic materials and samples.

She was alone

Sato sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. A headache throbbed behind the spot. Where did that blasted man go? Coffee break? Perhaps if she waited a few minutes he might be back. She stepped into the room.

The beeping of machines and a low murmur filled the otherwise still silence. She crossed her arms across her chest and leaned against the wall, her eyes fluttering closed, mentally reviewing the case file as she waited. The soft utterance of seemingly incoherent strings of numbers and letters lulled her into a light doze.

"– BS116126C16294T16296T12304CBS2CRSBS3CRSBS416126C16294T16296T12304C –"

Her eyes popped open in surprise. That was definitely not the sound of machinery.

Someone was whispering.

She straightened and glanced around the room once more. Where was the voice emanating from? She strode deeper into the room, eventually noticing movement at a desk beyond the shelf's end. Someone – a man – sat, crouched over several files of paper. Each sheet was arranged in a precise grid of perfect right angles. Though the thicknesses of the documents varied, there were exactly three centimetres between each stack.

Sato lifted an eyebrow fractionally. A clear sign of obsessive behaviour, she thought, observing the male for a moment. A pen flew across a sheet of paper without hesitation. At length she cleared her throat.

Almost immediately the hand stilled. The previous murmur disappeared, and the silence descended rather suddenly upon them. The man slowly unfurled from his position as though he had been crouching in the same spot for hours.

Sato was surprised to see a young face, probably in his late teens, peeking out from the fringes of hair. Dark circles framed his eyes. A young man, she thought curiously as she took in the azure eyes paired with dark brown hair curling into an impressive cowlick and a distinctive tuft in the back. The face flashed familiarly in her mind. However, she could not quite place a name with the face. Something short beginning with K. – Kuba? Kuro?

The azure eyes stared at her chest area before wandering off her a second later – not once had be looked directly at her face. He returned to his work.

Sato cleared her voice again, feeling quite unnerved by the man. Her voice did not convey her insecurity, however, as she spoke louder than was strictly necessary just to fill the room with some noise. "Do you know where Harada Yataro is?"

Kiba (?) took no notice of her as the pen in his hand began moving once more. Several moments of silence went by before a soft voice mumbled in reply. "Not here."

Sato groaned in frustration, the throb behind her forehead intensifying. "You wouldn't happen to know when he'll be back, would you?"

This time the response came back quicker, but still in that soft, monotonous timbre that had her leaning slightly forward to catch. "Tomorrow."

She straightened and scowled. Aggravation colouring her tone. "Tomorrow? What do you mean tomorrow? We need that file he was working on in a few hours. He can't just have gone home." She practically hissed the last word, anger and annoyance bubbling in her gut. She wanted to leave and get some rest too, but instead had dutifully waited for that blasted report.

The hand not occupied by writing moved up to tap a seemingly random rhythm on his forehead. "20160229T015936."

Sato blinked. "Excuse me?"

Kono(?) did not elaborate. His lips moved quietly as strings of numbers and letters once more filled the silence.

"– BS1DYS39211DYS3851315DYS43916YGATAH411DYS53520BS2DYS38913 –"

Sato frowned at him. Was he being disrespectful or simply-slow witted? She shook her head. The numbers popped back into her head. Something familiar niggled in the back of her mind. She looked around, eyes wandering to the rack of manila folders in a corner. Maybe if she looked through the few dozens on the shelves she might find it.

She turned and walked over. Her hands fluttered of the ISO 8601 information reading across the files. With this filing system, her search would be easy – she only had to go through the ones finished yesterday evening or early today. She moved her fingers softly across the folders as she searched.

Sato's fingers froze as the ISO 8601 number 20160229T015936 flashed before her, stomach dropping in shock. He had given her the file number. She cast a curious look over her shoulder at the young analyst, who obliviously continued his scribbling, and retracted every malicious thought that had crossed her mind a few minutes earlier.

"Thank you!"

No response. Not that she had expected it.

Plucking the file from the shelf, she flipped it open. Sato flicked through the pages of mathematical graphs and equations – the complexity doing nothing to ease her headache – to the end of the file to read the statement.

"The genetic profiles for autosomal STRs, Y chromosome STRs and mitochondrial DNA of blood sample of BS2 and BS3 are identical. This result is 4.9284.9281x1012 times more likely if the DNA came from the same person than if the DNA came from a random unrelated person in the population."

Sato blinked, the words nothing but garbled jargon. "Hey. The LRs and the verbal scale is missing in the report." She meant the parts what were there in order for laymen to understand these scientific reports.

She swore the forensic scientist twitched marginally in irritation.

Sato's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. For some reason or another, she did not want to push the subject. Instead, she decided she should wake up Harada Yataro for clarification. Some revenge would be far more satisfying. With that last thought, she slipped out of the lab without a backward glance at her late-night-companion.

…

The cafeteria was filled with talking, laughing officers, employees, and guests. Lunch times were always the busiest around the police station cafeteria. They offered a large variety of food, stretching from traditional Japanese and other, so as not to offend foreign visitors. One on hand, the food could be mixed into something inedible. On the other, it never failed to be an amusement for the betting pool. Megure had won last month's 'stomach flu absences' estimate.

Mouri Ran eyed the room – a tray filled with questionable foodstuffs in her hands. She ducked under the arms of a tall officer and nodded a greeting to the few she knew. Her father was currently 'helping' with a case he had witnessed yesterday. A couple of hours spent in police headquarters had her stomach growling, and she had found her way here.

She spotted a mostly empty table. A lone figure sat at the end, fully absorbed with what she assumed was a case file. One of his hands had frozen halfway between the tray and his mouth for as long a she had been staring. He had probably forgotten all about the food. The unoccupied hand was held up towards his ear, about ten centimetres from touching, fingers flexing in a seemingly random rhythm.

Ran stepped towards the table and smiled down at him. "Mind if I join you?"

The young man dropped his hands, the tray of food jumping from the sudden impact as he jerked his head in her general direction. His unfocused eyes drifted somewhere near her chest.

Ran blinked in surprise. That had not been the reaction she was expecting. Her face softened as she overserved him closer – dark brown hair, handsome features, and pale skin. Most remarkable were his cerulean eyes. Though clear in colour, they seemed to hold knowledge of a world imperceptible to her.

Several moments passed, leaving Ran feeling nervous. Perhaps he had not understood her? Should she be presumptuous and take the seat? Give him time to respond? Leave? She licked her lips before opening her mouth to repeat the question. He spoke before she could start.

"Please."

The timbre whisper was barely audible above the clutter of the room. Ran's smile brightened in response and she sat down with a, "Thank you", across from him.

The young man's eyes did not track her movements, instead returning to his tray. His fingers twitched before slowly picking up the dropped utensils.

Ran's eyes dropped down to his tray in curiosity, wondering if he had perhaps picked the most edible options so she could pick apart the food on her own tray. Instead, she did a double-take at what she saw. Everything on his tray was white. White rice, white fish and a white sauce to accompany it – in addition to some rectangular blobs that could only be white root vegetables. Next to his tray was a cup of black coffee – the kind of black that indicated that neither milk nor sweetener had been added. A steel thermos sat on the bench next to him.

Curiosity blossomed within her. Who was he? What was with his meal tray? As these questions spun in her head, she vaguely noticed he had tensed at her inquisitive stare, and he had not yet taken a bite from his food. Guilt shot through her, and she lowered her eyes. In her peripheral vision she saw him slowly relax. A small smile twitched her lips.

"I'm Mouri Ran."

The hand not clutching the chopsticks began to drum fingers into the surface of the table, his gaze worlds away as he stared vacantly in the direction of her tray.

"Kudou Shinichi."

Ran's smile grew, pleased that he was not as unapproachable and cold as her first impression had insinuated. "It's a pleasure Kudou-san. You a visitor?" Her eyes fell on the manila folders piled next to him. She had not noticed before how neatly organized they were. She grabbed her chopsticks and began eating.

His mouth twitched. "No. I work here. I'm a forensic genetics analyst." His fingers continued tapping.

Ran cocked her head in interest. "Is that so? I've never seen you before."

"No. I don't suppose you would have. I transferred a few months ago." The hand holding the chopsticks jerked slightly, before scooping up a few bits of food up to his mouth. He chewed slowly.

Ran hummed in response, her own food forgotten as she watched him with burning curiosity. She placed her elbow on the table as she leaned her head against her open palm. He was far more articulate than she had originally thought – a real enigma.

"What's with the white food?" The question escaped her lips before she could stop herself. A blush crept up from her collar. "I'm sorry – I shouldn't have – you don't have to answer that."

Kudou had frozen at her words, but relaxed as she spluttered out her apology. Something akin to amusement curled his lips.

"No need." He placed his chopsticks carefully on the tray. "I simply find it easier to consume white food. The colours tend to play havoc on my palate."

Ran blinked in confusion. "You can taste colours?"

"In a way."

Ran leaned forwards, interested, his answer only sparking more questions. Would it be impolite to query? Would he leave if she was too nosy? She did not want to scare him off. From their brief conversation she could tell he was a smart, articulate man – someone she could imagine befriending.

"May I ask? – Only if you want to tell of course. No pressure."

As she watched, his eyes seemed to focus slightly as they travelled up her body. Their eyes met, but only for a fraction of a second. The cerulean colour of his eyes made her breath hitch. They drew her in for the brief moment they were connected. The world spun around them, something moved in her periphery – something unseen, incomprehensible. Then the connection was gone and a haze fell across his eyes as they fluttered to stare at something above her shoulder.

Ran swallowed thickly, her head still slightly spinning. What had just happened?

"#E6E6FA," he said, interrupting her musing with a voice more confident than before.

Ran blinked. "Sorry?"

"Your eyes. They look #E6E6FA to me. Better known in layman's terms as lavender."

She jolted back in surprise, her eyes growing wide as she gauged his expression, and waited for a clue that she was teasing her. Nothing showed, and somehow, she doubted it would. For reasons beyond her, she believed his explanation. That somehow he saw the world in a series of numbers.

"How?" she gasped, her voice a little hoarse.

Kudou was silent for a long time after her question. The lines around his mouth tightened as though he was afraid she would leave if he spoke. His fingers had never stopped moving and his eyes did not waver from where they gazed beyond her shoulder.

"It's called grapheme," his voice once again barely audible in the racket of the room. "Colour synaesthesia. Numbers are colours and colours are numbers to me."

Ran eyes' widened and she glanced around, trying to see what he perceived. Nothing jumped out. Was that what she had seen in that moment they eyes had met? "So you are seeing numbers right now?"

She barely caught the nod of his head. He seemed to carefully measure her reaction without actually looking at her. It was somehow disconcerting and exhilarating at the same time. "Is that why your eyes are so –" She trailed off. Realizing her blunder she slapped a hand over her mouth. A flush crept from her neck, tainting her face a deep red.

"Oh, I'm sorry. That was rude of me."

Instead of looking displeased, Kudou seemed openly amused for the first time since she sat down. That open expression made her heart flutter slightly.

"That's okay. I've heard worse things thrown in my direction." He waved the hand that was not occupied by tapping. "Yes. I have problems focusing my eyes in a room with too much colour. Faces in particular are difficult – too much to take in and analyse. I hope it's not freaking you out." The last was said in a softer voice – subdued. His eyes dropped back to his plate.

"No, no!" Ran hurried to say. "Not at all. I just have never met anyone with," she cringed, "Graham-synthesia."

"Grapheme-synaesthesia," he corrected her smoothly. "Synaesthesia in general is not as uncommon as people would like to think. One simply does not notice you are seeing or experiencing something anyone else isn't before it's pointed out to you. To you, it's as natural as breathing."

Ran flushed. "Oh, I see." She hummed thoughtfully.

Kudou picked up his mug of coffee.

Her eyes widened as she zeroed in on it. "Coffee isn't white."

He snorted. "Coffee is an exception. Without it humanity would have keeled over years ago."

…

Hattori Heiji fumed with annoyance as he stalked down the alleyway, a manila folder clutched under his left arm. The folder contained a report on two samples taken from a crime scene and one from their suspect's mother I order to see if there was a biological match. The suspect was currently AWOL and they required a search warrant in order to cross over to other police districts. There had already been a murder in Osaka and Tokyo each – it could not be allowed to spread any further.

Swearing to himself, Heiji pushed the brim of his cap down. He had received the report, but there had to be a mistake. The DNA mapping was a biological match with the mother – however, the forensic analyst in charge insisted that their main-suspect, Umeda Koshiro, could not possibly be the murderer. At least that was what Heiji had understood from the numbers and equations in the report. What kind of idiot did not attach an LRs and the verbal scale?

He had been forced to look through it on his own and noticed that yes, there was a match. The sample they had used as a cross-reference from Umeda Nanasa showed that she was, in fact, the biological mother. There was a mistake in the report, and so he had gone down to the labs to track down the analyst – whom he vaguely knew as Kudou Shinichi from a previous collaboration between the Osaka and Tokyo police – a peculiar fellow who did not speak much or look anyone in the eye.

Unfortunately for the detective, Kudou had been forced out to lunch, leaving Heiji to track him down. Hence the reason he was here, stalking down a mostly abandoned street – fuming.

"Why don't you look at me when I'm speaking to you, freak?"

Heiji tensed. The words had been spoked with such revulsion that it could only mean trouble to the recipient. The detective spun around, eyes darting across the street to locate the speaker. There, by a fence and some bikes, five young adults in their early twenties crowded around a sixth. Several more obscure words were thrown in the person's direction.

Heiji clenched his teeth, his gait lengthening. Bastards. Picking on people who were different – there was nothing he hated more than people trying to be cool by making fun of others. From what he could see, the person never responded to any of their taunts, neither did his gaze move away from where his head was bowed forward. Fingers tapped in a seemingly random rhythm against his clavicle.

The tallest of the aggressors growled. "You deaf or something? Give me your wallet, you broken piece of shit." He swung his fist.

The man – Heiji recognized with a start as Kudou Shinichi – stepped to the side.

The culprit staggered as the swing missed. He bared his teeth in anger and nodded to his friend behind Kudou's back. A grin with too many teeth stretched across his face, visible even from a distance.

Heiji cursed and broke into a run. The guy behind Kudou had picked up a steel pole. Shit. The weapon struck Kudou in the head, and the analyst collapsed. Like hungry wolves the five men pounced – hitting and kicking everything that resembled human flesh.

"Hey!" Heiji called, anger bubbling thick in his throat.

The five men froze, eyes darting towards Heiji. The moment they recognized his uniform, they swore and scattered – jumping on their bikes and were long gone by the time Heiji got there.

The detective growled, his hands clenching in anger. He should have realized something had been amiss earlier.

Kudou stirred from his spot on the ground. He did not look good with dishevelled clothes, a large footprint on his cheek, and blood trickling down his forehead and from his nose.

Heiji swore again and crouched. This was why he had become a police officer – so that innocent people would not get harmed. He reached out his arms to help. "Shit. Are you okay?"

Kudou recoiled, almost physically skittering away. Unfocused eyes darted to his hands as a breath left his lungs. "Don't touch me," he whispered hoarsely.

The detective dropped his arms and took a careful step back. He held a palm up reassuringly. A crease appeared between his eyebrows. Concern churned in his stomach. Those unfocused eyes worried him. Had the analyst suffered a concussion?

Kudou stood slowly from his position on the ground, the motion far more elegant than Heiji would have guessed for a recently beaten man. His legs trembled, but other than that he seemed fine.

Heiji sighed in relief. At least Kudou was not hurt too badly. He returned to glare in the direction the malefactors had fled. "Those bastards. Assaulting a police officer in broad daylight," he growled darkly under his breath.

The detective's head snapped in Kudou's direction in surprise as he hummed noncommittally. The dishevelled man did not look angry or upset – just sad.

"Why are you so apathetic? They just attacked you," Heiji hissed. Maybe he had been mistaken and Kudou had suffered a brain lesion.

Kudou shook his head, eyes avoiding Heiji. "Don't worry about, Hattori. It was not the first time, and it certainly won't be the last."

The Osakan gawked. How could he possibly be alright with assault? What if he got seriously injured next time? He opened his mouth to demand an explanation, when Kudou cut him off.

"What do you want anyway, Hattori?"

Heiji camped his mouth shut to scowl. "That doesn't matter now –"

The scientist's eyes wandered to the manila folder in Heiji's hands. He continued as if Heiji had not spoken. "Is this about the Umeda case?"

The Osakan twitched in annoyance. However, he could tell Kudou would not answer his queries. Growling, he opened the folder. "You made a mistake. Look at the autosomal STRs. The samples are a match."

Kudou sighed looking as though he had a painfully throbbing headache. "I didn't make a mistake. You can't just take the data from one test. Look, the sample provided from the last murder scene does not have a Y-chromosome."

"Because it was corrupted. You said it yourself Kudou –"

"Yes," he hissed through clenched teeth. "But the sample provided for cross examination was given by the suspect's mother, yes?"

Heiji hesitated. "Yeah. So?"

"There was an inclusion in the mtDNA haplotype." He paused, waiting for realization to click in.

There were several seconds of silence before Heiji stuttered out. "A what?"

Kudou blinked. "There was an inclusion in the mtDNA haplotype," he repeated slowly as though he was talking to a being of lesser intelligence.

"What the hell does inclusion mean?"

Kudou's eyes darted in the direction of the detective. "Seriously? You work in law enforcement and you don't know a thing about forensics?"

He got a growl in response. "That's what I got you for."

The analyst snorted, though whether it was in exasperation or in amusement he could not tell. "A positive match."

Heiji fell silent. Adrenaline pumped through him as comprehension sunk in. When he finally spoke, astonishment laced his voice. "Wait, hang on. Are you telling me –?"

Emotion drained from Kudou's face, leaving him pale and tired-looking. "Yes."

Heiji sucked in a breath, eyes widening. "It was the sister. The culprit is his sister." He closed the folder and hung his head forward. Damn. Why had he not seen that earlier? The peeked at Kudou from under the shadow of his cap. The bloodied man was staring with unfocused eyes at his hand.

"If you had written it down in the first place, I wouldn't have needed to chase you down."

Kudou flinched. A displeased frown curled his lips. "I did."

Heiji scowled. "No, you didn't. This entire report is filled with gibberish equations."

The forensics analyst abruptly spun around, and Heiji blinked in surprise – somehow feeling he had said the wrong thing.

When Kudou finally spoke, his voice were subdued and tired. "Numbers don't lie. People do." He left after that, leaving Heiji to blink owlishly after him.

Is this guy for real?

…

"'Exclusion'? What do you mean there's an 'exclusion'? The two samples belong to the same suspect. I'm certain of it."

Hakuba Saguru stared with incredulous eyes at the manila folder in his hands, the red words screaming at him. The results had blindsided him. "There must be a mistake. Did you double-check it – triple-check it?"

Kudou looked up to regard his companion. He lay crouched over his never-ending stacks of documents, though, he was not currently writing. Instead he occupied his hands by tapping his fingers against the surface of the desk. It had taken Saguru months to realize that the tapping was, in fact, not random. It was the same rhythm, over and over again. Thirty-one taps per cycle.

It was puzzling – the odd rhythm did not belong to any music that he knew of. But then what else was that sequence supposed to convey? His musing was cut short as Kudou responded.

"There was no need."

Saguru frowned. No need? There was always need to double-check all data done by hand just to make sure one did not include human error in the equations. He knew Kudou, knew he was meticulous in his work. It was why he had gone to him personally for help in this matter. He had acquired a hair from Kuroba Kaito and desired to match it with his previous evidence from Kaitou KID. He might not be able to prove to a jury that there was an inclusion, but at least he would know he was right.

"Please elaborate." He pinched the bridge of his nose, striving to sound patient and not desperate.

Kudou stirred from his position and sat up slowly. He turned his head, and for a second their eyes met. But only for a fraction of a second before the analyst's eyes wandered to stare at a spot just above the half-Brit. It was always slightly unnerving how he would never look directly at Saguru.

"#DEB887."

Saguru lifted an eyebrow at the whisper. Pondering the reaction

Kudou's expression glossed over, reminding the detective slightly of Kuroba's poker-face.

"Pardon?"

Instead of replying, Kudou responded to his previous statement. "The second sample you gave me was that of a Capricornis crispus, a Japanese Serow."

Hakuba chocked, the folder falling from his fingers. Paper scattered across the floor.

"A goat?" he squeaked, his voice rising an octave or two. Of course, he thought hysterically. Why not. Kuroba is a goat! That would explain everything.

Kudou twitched, not sure how to respond to the half-panicking, half-hysterical detective standing in his laboratory – aside from watching in amusement.

…

Saying, "'This had not gone according to plan,'" would have been a severe understatement. Nothing had gone as planned. Nothing. Not only had Kuroba Kaito been shot, but his gilder had been too – the supportive struts shattering from the bullet impact. He had barely been able to hold on as he found a place to crash-land – which was incidentally in someone's garden. At least he was hidden from the streets by a thick, stone wall. Thank god for paranoid, wealthy people.

He leaned back against a tree, breathing with short, pained huffs. He pressed his hand on his wounded shoulder and grimaced. Jii-chan would arrive in twenty minutes. He could lay low until then. It was not a fatal injury, he could tell that much at least – though there would be some dizziness from blood loss in the immediate future along with a few weeks recovery, but nothing serious than that. That was, as long as he discounted infection.

Kaito closed his eyes, feeling his adrenaline high slowly fade as he dozed to the sounds of the city in the distance. Damn Snake and his merry band of assassins. They were getting bolder. It was by pure luck that he had noticed the sniper before he had been hit. Next time he might not be so lucky. Oh, who was he kidding? Lady Luck had always been on his side.

There was a short tug on his cape.

Kaito's eyes shot open in surprise. His body reflexively bolted before he remembered his wound. Pain laced through him and he yelped as he fell back, his blood coated hand coming up once more to cover it. He turned his head around, trying to see whoever it was behind him. His unoccupied hand twitched as he debated grabbing for his card gun. Could he fire a steady shot with an injured arm?

"Who's there?"

A soft voice answered him. "I'm disappointed."

Kaito blinked into the darkness, trying to turn his head around enough for the infrared capability of the monocle to better peer into the shadows. "Huh?" he answered intelligently.

"I've always heard Kaitou KID was clad in white," the stranger continued, amusement clear in his voice. "But you are #F8F8FF at best."

The wheels in the phantom thief's mind screeched to a halt. #F8F8FF? Oh, he realized a second later. His midnight companion was referring to a hexadecimal colour-code. If #FFFFFF was the code for white, #F8F8FF had to be almost white but off by a shade. He licked his lips to buy him an extra second to think.

"Ghost white? Sounds almost ominous. I wanted my fans to venerate me, not fear me." He strained his neck. What kind of person talked about colours in hexadecimals? His curiosity had been piqued. "Though, being compared to a ghost makes me seem even more magical, don't you think?"

There came no response from the darkness.

He licked his lips again. They felt dry. A wave of dizziness raked through him. Maybe he had lost more blood than he had anticipated – at least the pain had not gone numb yet. Please hurry, Jii-chan.

"Will you not show yourself, ghost charmer?"

The sounds of rustling cloth brought a grin across his face. So, he was to meet his midnight companion after all. What would he be like? He pondered. Someone well versed in the use of hexadecimals had to be intimately familiar with computers. Overweight, perhaps, from hours of sitting before a computer, working in software or computer programming?

Kaito blinked slightly, frowning. Wait, why would anyone be lurking in a garden this time of night? He knew why he was, but someone else might not necessarily harbour noble intent.

Kaito sent a nervous look back. Could it be that he had accidently stumbled over someone stalking the owner of the large house the garden belonged to? Or was he a thief? Or – his mind shuddered with the thought – a murderer?

The young man that stepped elegantly into his periphery was the absolute last person he had expected: mid-twenties, handsome, wearing clothes most likely worth his entire wardrobe combined, and bearing a face very much like his own.

Kaito barely refrained from gaping. That definitely crossed out stalker. If he had people stalking him – well, that was another thing all together.

Kaito could not see the man's eyes in the dim light, but somehow he felt like he was being watched – an accurate assumption given the gruesome imagine he made bloodied up and all.

"#DC143C."

The thief blinked owlishly. "Maroon," he mumbled absentmindedly in reply, then added with a stronger voice as he deciphered the hidden inquiry. "Yes."

His midnight companion's left hand twitched slightly. "Well," he started. "You better come in then. I'll not have you bleed all over my lawn. Washing up would be a chore."

Before Kaito had time to retort how utterly ridiculous the statement was – all the while thanking Lady Luck that his companion-turned-saviour was the owner of the house and not a creep – another wave of dizziness swept through him. His vision hazed out in a mixture of black, blue and red as he fainted. By the time he was once again fully cognizant, he was already draped across a sofa.

Kaito opened his eyes slowly. The pain in his shoulder had lessened to a dull throb. He moved his hand slowly to feel at his wound. It was covered in bandages. The next thing he did was checking his disguise. Monocle in place, top hat squeezing my head. Check and check. He blinked in confusion. He had been at the mercy of a stranger, and they had not taken the opportunity to unmask him? Why? Not that he was not grateful, but who wouldn't take the once-in-a-life-time chance to see the man behind the monocle?

The sound of fingers tapping against glass finally registered in his ears. It had been there all along in the background, however he had not noticed it before. He turned his head slightly to regard his companion.

His saviour sat on a chair a few meters away, feet tucked underneath him and a glass of water between his hands. His fingers tapped absentmindedly against the surface – creating a soft chime every time they met.

Kaito got a better look at him this time. Though their faces were similar, there were some obvious differences. This man's lips were thinner, his nose a little sharper. But it was the eyes that marked the largest difference between them. Slightly curved and cerulean blue eyes – they stared unseeingly into the room. Not once did they flicker in his direction.

The tapping filled his ears. Kaito stared, almost hypnotised by the elegant fingers that did not drum out random patterns. This man, he could tell, could not conceive of something so simply as to have as a habit. The longer he listened to the tapping, the more he believed he could pick up on it. Thirty one taps. Then it started all over again.

A man obsessed with the hexadecimal colour code. Could that be a clue? Was he tapping out his favourite colour? Kaito pondered through the idea for another two circle, but in the end, he had to abandon it.

What then? Could it be as simply as a phrase of music? He listened, trying to match the rhythm with a known piece. Several pieces of music played in his head, but none seemed to fit. He closed his eyes, counting the micro-seconds like a crazed Hakuba as he measured the pauses between the taps. Some were a few seconds apart, while others came in quick succession after each other. The drumming never hesitated. It was a rhythm he had possibly been doing since his childhood. What could a child be attached to that merited such an obsession?

Kaito's eyes snapped open as comprehension dawned. It couldn't be binary code – could it? Every tap indicated a one, every stop a zero. There was a noticeable small gap every eight seconds. That meant eight groups of numbers.

Eight letters. Then…

If we counted from the beginning to end, the rhythm would be 01010011-01101000-01101001-01101110-01101001-01100011-01101000-01101001. If we translated this to letters –

He turned his head towards his companion. "Shinichi."

The finger tapping ceased.

Kaito grinned, a sharp predator's grin filled with excitement. "That's your name, isn't it?" His tone conveyed his admiration: 'Oh, you're brilliant!'

What sort of man was Shinichi if he had been absentmindedly tapping his own name in binary code?

Someone extraordinary.

Someone who could easily match the phantom thief's own eccentricities – or as some annoying-detective-who-was-not-going-to-be-mentioned-by-name would call it, madness.

Shinichi hummed in amusement. "Interesting. You are the first one I've met who's noticed." His head turned slightly in Kaito's direction. Though his face conveyed pleasure, Shinichi's eyes were unfocused and distant. His gaze slid off him, never once wandering towards Kaito's face.

The magician frowned slightly. He wriggled on the sofa to sit up. Pain laced through him a second before he found a better position.

"Why did you never check under my disguise? Not that I'm ungrateful or anything, but I don't know a single person who wouldn't."

His peculiar companion's lips quirked upwards. "Even if I had seen it by accident, I wouldn't have remembered it. I'm bad with faces. They are all numbers to me," he downed his drink. "Unfortunately, there does not exist a reliable computer yet that can turn my numbers into data that is comprehensible to anyone else."

Excitement thrummed in Kaito's veins. Could he really? Did he really see the world in numbers? How was that possible? What would it be like to perceive the world as such? Extraordinary. "So you are gifted with grapheme?"

That elicited a strangled but amused snort, from his companion. "Gifted? Someone would have said cursed or broken."

The magician shook his head, a scowl retched across his features. "Why would it be a curse to perceive the world differently? It's still the same place. You just see something more than us – something unique. You are not broken."

Shinichi did not respond. A deep crinkle furrowed his brows, as a look of puzzlement and slight astonishment expressed itself on his face at the magician's words.

Kaito's expression morphed into a sharp grin. "I supposed I haven't introduced myself yet –"

"No need," the man said, waving a hand.

"I'm Kuroba Kaito, magician extraordinary," he continued as though the interruption had not occurred.

Shinichi choked, his body jolting in surprise. Eyes widened as they gazed into Kaito's face for the first time that evening.

For a moment, the thief could swear he could see spinning numbers in the periphery of his vision as their eyes met. The cerulean orbs flickered away a second later.

"I could call the police on you, you know."

Kaito blinked the daze away and smirked. "I think you would have already done so while I was out cold. Besides," he continued amicably. "I like you."

Shinichi shook his head, feeling rather bewildered and exasperated by the entire situation.

…

It started with a phone call with a seemingly innocent ring tone. Hakuba Saguru absently flipped it open – his eyes never wavering from the commonplace sight of Nakamori Aoko chasing Kuroba Kaito around with a mop. Before he could murmur a greeting, the caller spoke.

He stilled, eyes leaving his two friends to stare at the phone in his hand. His mouth felt dry as dread settled in his gut. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that'?"

The voice on the other end did as requested. The words failed to morph into a comprehensive string of sentences the second time around.

Saguru swallowed thickly.

The person growled something at him. The familiar, thick accent of Kansai-ben invaded his ears. Getting insulted by the Osakan detective was what – if anything – pushed him out of his stupor. Saguru scowled into the phone.

"I heard you perfectly the first time, I'm not deaf. I was under the assumptions that even someone as slow-witted as you could comprehend the need for a second to swallow such news."

He jerked the phone away from his ear as Hattori Heiji snarled something back. There went his hope that Hattori had picked up an instruction manual on eloquent speech since their last encounter. By now, he had acquired an audience. Aoko and Kuroba had stopped their unacknowledged mating ritual and peered at him with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

Saguru pressed the cell phone back against his ear. "Listen. This is no time for quarrelling. Time is of the essence. I'll be there shortly. Don't do anything rash. Kudou's life will depend on it."

He flipped the phone shut, abruptly ending the conversation. He turned towards his companions with an apology on his lips, as he had to attend to a rather urgent matter. The words died on his tongue as the terrified expression adorning Kuroba's face. It only lasted for a moment before his poker-face smoothed it over.

Saguru frowned. Had he missed something vital? What exactly would have merited such an expression from his rival? Was it possibly that Kuroba and Kudou were acquainted?

"What happened?"

The half-Brit's eyes flickered towards Aoko as she spoke. She looked worried. "A friend of mine has been kidnapped," he glanced towards Kuroba to gauge his reaction. Nothing. He returned his gaze to Aoko. "I'm terribly sorry, Nakamori-chan, but I must go."

With that, he took his leave. If he was surprised that Kaitou KID turned up in disguise by end of the day, he did not remark on it

…

The rain pelted down, soaking everything in sight. Despite the repellent nature of the exterior, the raincoat still clung damply to her body. Mouri Ran shivered as a chill raced down her spine. What was she doing here? She had no business being here, she knew. She did not belong with any police department or the SWAT team or even with the FBI. She glanced towards the group of people whispering among themselves – one of which was Jodie Starling, who had been her English teacher a few years prior. The news that she had actually been an undercover FBI agent came as a shock just a few days ago.

No one had told her any details of what had happened. However, she was more than grateful that so many people had gathered in order to track down and save her friend. She had, by accident, overheard a few murmurs that Shinichi had a rather important role in trying to take down some shadowy organisation.

Ran's heart fluttered in worry. Now, they had taken Shinichi. This band of assassins had kidnapped her friend – all because they wanted his personal access code to CODIS, NDIS and NDNAD and several others. They wanted access to DNA databases that covered the entire world. Within the databases resided information and samples regarding every crime, ever missing person case, every criminal on the planet.

Having those files in the hands of a shadowy organisation would cause chaos. Decades of work would be ruined.

Ran clutched her hands against her chest in worry. She was currently standing outside a run-down warehouse – as far away from the danger as they could force her to. No one had heart to keep her away from the investigation. Her father was a detective; she knew the procedures. She had watched as the SWAT team had entered earlier. Hakuba and Heiji – as well as a young man she did recognize – had reassured her they would retrieve him alive.

Her phone buzzed, and she picked up her phone slowly. Was Sonoko calling her again? She loved her dearly, but she was not in the mood to talk right now. She flipped the phone open and pressed it against her ear. "Moshi moshi?"

"We found him."

Ran nearly collapsed in relief, tears accumulating in her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered hoarsely, the phone shaking slightly in her hands.

"Don't thank me yet, 'Nee-chan. We need yah."

Ran frowned. What could she possibly do to help? Before she could ask, Heiji rattled off a string of instructions and directions and promptly hung up on her. She removed the phone from her ear and blinked at it owlishly. Her heart pounded. Had something befallen Shinichi? Worry constricted her throat. She would not lose her friend, not like this. He had caught her eye ever since they had met in the cafeteria a little over a year ago. He was clever and kind and sarcastic and extraordinary. The world would be a darker place without him.

Shaking the melancholy away she started towards the building. No one seemed to notice her as she slipped by – everyone was far too busy apprehending the criminals. She passed by a man with long silver hair being led out in handcuffs and climbed the stairs up to the second floor.

Fewer people were present on this floor. Officers and agents walked back and forward between several doors. Sato and Takagi hovered next to a closed door, faces ashen with worry.

Ran stomach dropped upon seeing their expressions. Had someone gotten hurt? The ominous thought flitted through her mind. Sato spotted her and beckoned for her to join them. Ran bit her lip. Her hand clutched the fabric of her sleeve in worry before approaching.

Takagi moved away from the door and opened it silently. Ran caught his eyes, but he only shook his head, indicating he could not tell her anything useful. She slipped through the door, and it closed behind her.

The room was dim. There were no windows and the lights flickered weakly overhead. The first thing to catch her attention was the putrid odour of sweat, dried blood, and urine. Someone had occupied the room for some rime.

Her eyes wandered to the middle of the room. A lone man sat on a chair. Ropes lay scattered by his feet. One end was frazzled, indicating that it had been cut by a knife recently. The amount of rope suggested that both his feet and arms had been tied. Ran's breath hitched when she recognized him.

It was Shinichi.

His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction. His eyes gazed somewhere on the floor. They were empty, not unfocused – hollow. His laboured breaths filled the otherwise silent room, lips fluttering as he murmured softly to himself.

Ran's heart broke. She stepped towards him, arms open and ready to embrace him. "Shinichi," she gasped, crestfallen.

Someone grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. Ran spun on the heel of her foot, ready to snap at whoever was keeping her from comforting her friend. She froze, however, at the serious but haggard expression on Heiji's face.

"I'm sorry Ran," he whispered, and her heart skipped a beat. Heiji only ever used her first-name when the situation was grave. "But you can't touch him. He panicked, thrashing when he removed the restraints."

Her stomach dropped again, worry and desperation spreading through her. Of course. Shinichi did not like being touched even in the best of situations. She finally noticed Hakuba and the unidentified man next to him. They stood with their backs against the wall, eyes not moving from the form seated on the chair – though they were careful to not look directly at him, instead focusing their gazes a few centimetres above Shinichi's head.

Ran's own gaze softened marginally at that. They knew Shinichi well. She turned back to regard her friend. He did not look good. She felt powerless as the minutes passed. Why had she been summoned? What could she possibly do to be of assistance? Every single one of the occupants in the room looked ill at ease – desperate to do something but uncertain as to what they could do.

Shinichi continued to mumble to himself. The sounds echoed softly from the bare walls. She focused on her hearing to pick up the words. It was, unsurprisingly, a series of numbers and a single letter. Ran glanced at Heiji.

"What is he mumbling?" her voice came out barely as a whisper – quiet so as to not disturb him.

Heiji glanced at her and shrugged with one shoulder, indicating that he had no clue.

"His name."

Three pairs of eyes snapped in the direction of the voice. It was the man she did not know. His eyes were hidden beneath a cap. A finger tapped against his leg – a rhythm she vaguely recognized as the same one Shinichi usually tapped. She frowned. How did he know Shinichi so well? Why had she never heard of him?

"KID," Hakuba said warningly, though curiosity was clear in his face.

Ran blinked. Kaitou KID?

KID glanced at the detective. A half-hearted smirk curled his lips. "Haven't you noticed Tantei-san? He whispers the same numbers over and over again. 5368696E69636869. It's the hexadecimal code for Shinichi. He's always tapping the binary code."

Ran gasped and glanced towards the man seated in the chair. Had he always done that? Said his own name over and over again in a language that only he alone perceived? Her mind buzzed with realisation of how little she knew about him despite knowing him for over a year. He was always so aloof and isolated by his world of numbers. She wished he would just open up a little bit. Here were four people who cared about him deeply. He did not have to be alone anymore.

Ran turned towards KID and said in a clear voice. "Teach me the rhythm."

Three blank faces stared at her for a full minute, incomprehensive, then KID's face smoothed out as realization hit him. A sincere grin stretched across his face. "Of course."

Ran could not help but return the smile. If they could not reach Shinichi in the way they perceived the world – then maybe they could reach him in his.

The next quarter of an hour was spent memorising the rhythm and learning to do it in sync. They then sat down in a half circle around Shinichi. On a silent cue they began to tap. They went at it with unbridled fervour. Not once were they interrupted; Sato and Takagi had done a good job of keeping people away.

The sound of tapping filled the little room, echoing off the bare wall. Over the course of the next half an hour? – hour? Ran could not tell, for time seemed to have stopped. Their tapping continued, melding with Shinichi's mumbling. Then, the mumbling stopped. Shinichi marginally stirred, eyes flickering across the floor. Slowly, the hollowness disappeared from his eyes and an ember of life flickered and grew. He smacked his lips, which were dry after hours of mumbling to himself.

Shinichi slowly straightened from his seat. "Guys, what are you –?" He croaked, voice shaking. He shuddered and fell forward.

KID, being the quickest, shot up from his seat on the floor and grabbed Shinichi's shoulder before he could fall. "Whoa-ho. Careful. Don't try getting up just yet." He eased Shinichi back into the seat, curled his hand slightly, and with a puff of smoke he produced a water bottle. KID presented it to Shinichi.

Shinichi blinked but accepted the bottle a second later and took a long swig. By the time he was done, the rest had long since ceased their tapping and had risen from their positions.

Ran smiled – relieved that her feeble plan had actually worked. She took a step forward and twined a lock of her hair between her thumb and index finger. "How are you feeling Shinichi?"

Shinichi's eyes jerked slightly in her direction, his brows furrowing. "I – erh. Thirsty." He took another swig, then gave a small smile in gratitude. "Thanks for – for rescuing me."

Heiji grinned. "Of course mate. I'd have to find a new forensic analyst to annoy if you disappeared."

Shinichi scowled around another mouthful of water. "As if any other could stand spending time with you."

Hakuba snorted marginally and took a step away from the Osakan detective in case he took a verbal swing at him. "A fair assumption."

Heiji shot the half-Brit a dark look.

Shinichi licked his lips. "Did you – did you get them?"

The two detectives stopped their glaring contest and turned to regard their friend. They nodded.

"Aye. We got'em Kudou. Finally got a foothold in the case cause of your kidnapping. You should be glad." Heiji grinned.

Shinichi made a noncommittal noise in response to Heiji's bungled attempt of a joke. His eyes were fixated on something above their heads.

Ran took a step forward and knelt down next to him. Her hand fluttered slightly before brushing her fingertips against the skin of his hands. When he did not recoil, she let if cover his. "Shinichi? You know we are here for you right? We are your friends, we care about you deeply." A warm, soft smile lit her features.

Shinichi glanced down at her hand. His own shook slightly under hers. His expression was unreadable, making her frown in worry. Did he not believe her?

"Oy," KID snapped his fingers in front of the scientist's nose.

Shinichi jolted in surprise, eyes flickering back and forth.

"We don't care how weird you are. You are brilliant and kind. Don't give a crap about everyone who looks down on you just 'cause you are different. They are morons. Normalcy and sanity is overrated. Take it from me," KID's grin sharpened.

Shinichi looked away. Emotions of uncertainty flickered across his face.

Ran tightened her grip. "We are here to stay. There's not getting rid of us."

He glanced back at her in surprise. For the first time since he stirred he met her eyes with a puzzled expression. One after another he met each and every person's gaze in the room. His expression was open, full of uncertainty and puzzlement and wonder.

"Here to stay," he repeated softly.

"Just like your numbers," KID added with a sharp nod.

Shinichi's lips twitched in amusement, his eyes meeting KID's. "Not sure if that's a good thing."