The Fisher Lad

Conan lifted his mitten encased hands, and breathed onto the red material. His breath felt warm and damp against his fingers through the thick weave of the textile. Ran had made them for him as a present at the beginning of the season. Now, at the cusp of the changing year, he was glad for them. It was a cold year. His ears ached with the chill, and every bit of mucous in his nose felt like it had frozen. He sniffled faintly, then felt a small, warm, weight settle against his side. Ayumi's sharp little chin dug into his shoulder through the thick material of his down lined coat.

"You're not going to get sick again, are you Conan-kun?"

He stiffened faintly, and gently stepped out of the girl's hold in time for Mitsuhiko to push between them without Ayumi getting toppled. "He doesn't look sick," the freckled boy said shortly. Conan leaned back away from him as Mitsuhiko squinted at him.

"I'm not getting sick."

"Suuuure," Genta's voice interrupted, close to his other ear. Conan nearly jumped out of his skin, and turned his head to look at the large boy. With a triumphant smirk Genta straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest. "Why should we believe you? The last time someone said that it wasn't true!"

"The evidence is against you, Conan-kun!" Ayumi interjected sharply. She had a look on her face that said she was attempting to look severe.

"Ha ha..." How could he argue with that, really? "I really am fine, guys."

This was all Haibara's fault. She'd had the sniffles for a few days, had been assuring them that she was perfectly fine, only to become 'sick.' In reality she was just using the excuse so she could go to Okinawa with the professor and attend a conference about some new and obscure biological science. The professor had just wanted to visit warmer climates for a few days.

Conan glanced around in search of a distraction. The sight of the crossing light across the street going green was as good as any. "I think I'm going to go ahead and go home anyway."

"But, Conan-kun!" Ayumi's distressed voice followed him as he darted across the crosswalk alongside a small pack of adults. "We were supposed to go check on Ai-chan!"

Once he reached the other side of the road Conan paused, and sucked in a deep breath of the crisp air. "If you don't want me to get sick, I should probably stay away from her!" He waved at the pouting trio, and turned away to proceed down the sidewalk at a much more leisurely pace.

He wouldn't be seeing them tomorrow, which wasn't surprising. Ran had already recruited him to help her give the Agency a thorough cleaning. Conan couldn't say he minded too much. Sometimes it was nice just to spend time with Ran, even if he had to do it as Conan.

A faint smile appeared on his face at the sight of the Mouri Detective Agency, perched above Cafe Poirot just as it always was. That was one thing that didn't change at least. He picked up his pace again, and finished his trip in a light jog, then clambered up the stairs to the Agency's entrance. It was a stretch to reach the doorknob as usual, and he had to stand up on his toes to do it, but he managed to drag the door open and edged around it.

"Ran-neechan," he called. "I'm ho–" The words caught in his throat hard enough to make him sputter, and cough.

"Conan-kun!" Ran's worried voice hardly registered, nor did the sound of her footsteps. She kneeled down in front of him, and reached back to rest her hand on his back. Even as she soothed away his choking wheezes, he couldn't seem to get any air into his lungs. He stared, wide eyed, at the woman sitting on the couch, drinking from a cup of tea, as if this were perfectly normal. "Conan-kun? Are you alright? You're so pale!"

His pulse was fluttering in his veins with the rapid pace of a humming bird, while butterflies took up the space between his ears, and worms filled his stomach. Ran's hands began to undo the buttons of his coat, then tugged down the zipper with a sharp rasp before the girl fumbled it off. His mittens fell, ignored, to the floor.

"Is that better?" he heard her ask. Conan could only nod dumbly, his mouth still hanging open in shock. He barely noticed Ran's hands catch him under the arms, or how she picked him up, and carried him over to the couches. For once he didn't protest the way she held him like a child in her lap when she sat down. He simply craned his neck around to keep the woman sitting there in sight.

Across from him, red painted lips curled upward in a slight smile. "My, you were right," she murmured in a smooth voice. "He really is the spitting image of Yukiko-san's son, isn't he?"

Ran, who was still rubbing soothing circles on his back, smiled over his head. "Conan-kun, I'd like you to meet Chris Vineyard-san. She's the daughter of one of Yukiko-san's friends."

Except, she wasn't at all. But, Ran couldn't know that Chris Vineyard was really Sharon Vineyard, was Vermouth. He stared at her still, took in her long blond hair, and the fine red dress she wore. It didn't seem appropriate for the weather, but she didn't seem to mind. She looked like a woman who had just stepped out of an old movie. A wide brimmed red hat, that obviously belonged to her, rested on the table alongside her teacup.

Slowly, she lifted her teacup and took a sip. The way she looked at him told Conan that she knew neither of them were fooled, and the smug look on her face made him grit his teeth. Taking a deep, shuddering breath he forced himself to begin calming down. He wouldn't let her get the better of him.

Conan summoned a bright smile to his face, and said, "I'm Edogawa Conan. It's nice to meet you!"

"Are you feeling better now, Conan-kun?" Ran asked. The liberal amount of concern in her voice made him feel a bit guilty for his panic.

"Yeah, I'm fine! It must have just been the cold, dry air."

She glanced him over with concerned eyes, before she gave a nod and allowed him to scramble out of her lap. Once he was settled, perched on the edge of his seat like a fledgling bird about ready to spring into his first flight, Ran stood again and gathered his discarded coat. Conan didn't dare take his eyes off the reclining devil across from him. Vermouth merely seemed amused.

Ran reappeared in his field of vision, and leaned down in front of him with a small, perplexed smile on her face. "It's alright, Conan-kun. She isn't going to bite. Vineyard-san was hoping I could help her get into contact with Shinichi's parents since they were good friend's with her mother."

He wanted to yell and scream that she had no idea who, what, she had just let into her home, wanted to demand the real reason that Vermouth was there, but couldn't. He was effectively rendered mute in the face of Ran's presence, hindered by his own disguise and, once again, unable to protect her.

It was the most horrible, useless feeling he'd ever felt in his life.

"Do you want something to drink, Conan-kun? I got some stuff for hot chocolate if you'd like."

Conan caught onto this idea, and clutched it like a life line. If he could just get Ran out of the room she would be a little safer. "That sounds great, Ran-neechan!"

"Okay! Do you want anything else, Vineyard-san?"

"No, I'm fine. The tea is lovely."

From the corner of his eye, Conan watched Ran disappear to go make the hot chocolate, then turned a cold eyed stare on Vermouth. He wasted no time asking the only question he cared about, "Why. Are. You. Here?"

Vermouth laughed delicately, but he wasn't anymore fooled by her he was by a seemingly placid cobra. "No need to be so hostile, Cool Guy. I just wanted to have a word."

"Stay away from Ran," he half snarled, half hissed the words through his teeth. His frustration was mounting, and Conan well knew that he was in no state of mind to play her games. He wouldn't have it, wouldn't have her near Ran like this.

"I have no intentions to harm the Angel."

Conan wanted to demand answers again, but he fought back the urge and waited. His jaw was clenched so hard it hurt, and his every breath seemed to force its way out. He could just hear Ran's humming drifting out to them. It was only then that he realized that Kogorou wasn't there. It would just figure. He wanted to hate him for it, for being absent when Ran was in the most danger, wanted to hate himself for that too.

Vermouth reached for her tea cup again, and Conan leaned forward. He was stretched thin, and the wire snapped again. The cup rattled on its saucer as he slammed his hand down on the table. "Why. Are you. Here?"

"Conan-kun, is everything alright?"

As soon as he heard Ran's voice he transformed from fiery protector to little boy again. He grinned at her as she peeked back into the room. "Yes, Ran-neechan, I just slipped and caught myself on the table."

"Well, be more careful, silly!" Shaking her head, the girl left again.

When he looked back at Vermouth, she was smiling an adder's smile. "I have an offer for you, Cool Guy."

His insides felt knotted, and Conan dug his fingernails into his palms. "Why should I make any deals with people like you?" he spat.

From beneath her hooded lids, Vermouth's eyes glittered knowingly. "I can offer you everything you desire, Cool guy. Everything." He must have glanced toward the doorway where Ran had been moments before, because she added, "Yes... even that."

"And how could you do that?" he asked acerbically. He wasn't actually considering her offer, of course. Really. He wasn't that desperate yet... was he?

"That's a secret, Cool Guy," Vermouth purred. "And you know what they say."

The reminder of her catchphrase made him grind his teeth together. "I don't see how you expect to give me an offer, without any incentive."

She laughed again, that delicate, dangerous laugh, and stood up. Vermouth leaned over to him, her mouth hovering just beside his ear, then she whispered, "If you do something for me, it will all be over...like nothing more than a bad dream."

Conan didn't want to admit that, as she sat back, his heart was thudding in his chest at a rate that couldn't be healthy. What she offered sounded too good to be true, and he was pretty sure it was, but... did he dare not take the offer, not try? What other options did he have? Nothing but a continued fight he wasn't sure he could ever win.

He looked down at his small, childish, fingers where they curled into the fabric of his pants.

Across from him, Vermouth drained her tea cup. "You don't have to decide now. I will return for your answer tomorrow at this time, but, this is your only chance. I don't think I'll be able to offer you this again."

Conan remained silent, his stomach twisting until he was sure he would throw up. Vermouth stood, just as Ran reentered the room. "Ah, are you leaving already Vineyard-san?"

"I'm afraid so, but it was lovely talking to you, Mouri-chan."

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you find Shinichi's parents."

"Not at all, they're notoriously hard to get a hold of."

The words seemed to go right through him, never really registering. He felt cold, and hot, and a mixture of a million, billion things as indecision settled heavily into his stomach.

–

Ran was humming somewhere to his left. It was a tune he didn't recognize right off, but, instead, felt like he ought to know it. It sounded like a lullaby from his childhood, or maybe something that meant a lot. He couldn't quite place his finger on it right now, and wanted to blame the tiredness. He hadn't slept at all last nice. Instead he'd spent the time staring at the ceiling, and letting the hours pass as he chased his thoughts in circles.

If he said yes it could be a trap, but if he said no he could be stuck like this forever, but if he said yes it could be a trap...

For the first time in this mess he actually wished Ai were around for his dealings with the Organization. It would have been nice to listen to her fears and hisses, if only to push him further in one direction or another. No matter how hard he had thought, no solution seemed to present itself. Every turn seemed just as bad as the other.

Conan clenched his hand, the sponge he was wielding squished between his fingers. Soapy water slid down the bright yellow gloves Ran had put on him: They were too big for him, and he figured he probably looked like a drowned rat. It didn't matter how hard he tried, he seemed to get soaked.

With another slow breath, he forced himself to focus on the task at hand: Scrubbing the doors and shelves of the lower cabinets. Ran had taken and emptied them of everything so that they could clean every surface. He was just glad that her temper had cooled off again. When Ran had woken up to find her father had disappeared to who knows where she hadn't been very pleased, even if she had been expecting it.

He sent another look toward Ran, and watched her for a moment as she busily wiped down the higher surfaces with a smile on her face. She'd been happy lately, since he'd called her on Christmas Eve as Shinichi, and managed to make plenty of time to talk to her.

"Is something the matter, Conan-kun?" Ran asked, seriously. He must have been staring too long, because the girl was suddenly in front of him, with her wet, rubber gloved hands braced on her knees, and a curious look on her face.

With a yelp Conan jerked back. The movement made him over balance and he shot his hand out in an attempt to catch himself. The entire time he was giving vent to a nervous chuckle in an effort to stall and find a good enough excuse for his preoccupation. As usual, though, his luck held through, and his hand jammed down on the edge of the bucket full of dirty, soapy, water. There was a great crash as he fell backwards, and the bucket over turned onto his head sending a wash of the tepid liquid all over him.

"I'm so sorry!" he heard Ran gasp. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's okay," he muttered, his voice muffled by the bucket laying over his face, though it had a peculiar echo to his ears. "I should have been more careful."

The edge of the bucket lifted as Ran peered under it at him. It was obvious that, though her face wore an expression of concern, she was barely holding back laughter. Ran bit her lip, and the corners of her mouth trembled a second before she lost control and began to laugh. The bucket rolled across the floor in an arc that spread the soapy water a little further.

Conan sat up, and fought back the burn of mortification creeping through him as he huddled there, dripping.

Ran tried to speak, but all she managed was an "Oh, Conan-kun..." before she fell back into her amusement.

He sat there, and took it, a smile starting to crack through at her honest hilarity. He was embarrassed, but it wasn't really that bad. Conan had no idea when he started to laugh too, but he did.

"Okay," Ran exhaled in a rush while she wiped away beading tears from her eyes. "Why don't you go get dried off and change, and I'll go ahead and mop the floor. Once your done we can take a break. I'll see if I can figure out where Tousan went."

"Ha ha..." He wished her luck, because he hadn't a clue. As far as he knew there hadn't been any cases lately.

While Ran moved over to grab the mop from the tall, thin cupboard it was kept in, Conan shoved himself to his feet and squished off to change. It was when he was on his way back, his head bent as he cleaned the lenses of his glasses off, that Conan heard the knock. It didn't make sense that anyone would be here today.

Conan cast a glance toward the kitchen, and, when it was obvious that Ran hadn't heard, made his way over to the door. When he peeked out, he found no one there. Like a wave of frigid ocean water, it hit him. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten, but, then, who could blame him? Nervousness settled in his stomach, and he wavered. Somehow, he knew she was waiting for him out there; waiting for him to come and give his answer.

He retreated to fetch his coat and shoes, and paused to peer around the kitchen's door frame. Ran was busy, humming as she spread the spilled water over the floor with the mop, a wistful smile on her face. It made his heart clench. Was she, even now, day dreaming that her New Year's prayers would be answered, and she would wake up in the new year to find that Shinichi had returned home?

His eyes closed as he pulled himself away and tugged on his coat. Fingers crooked into the heels of his shoes, he crept back to the door and slid out. Conan paused a moment to tug his shoes on, then nudged the door closed, and tripped down the stares in a rush. The cold air stung his lungs, and he saw her first as a black ink stain on the canvas of the gray day.

Vermouth looked even stranger than she had the day before: A small, black, 1930's American style hat was perched upon her coiffured blond hair. The mesh of the small veil hung down before her eyes. She was dressed more like a rich woman than a criminal, with a heavy black coat, the collar of which was lined in dark brown mink fur, and black heels. What he could see of the dress she wore was black as well. She looked like a woman in mourning.

Behind her stood a sleek black car, the windows tinted against the outside world.

Conan descended the last few steps with a slow, wary pace. His eyes regarded Vermouth from behind the fake lenses of his glasses in the same manner a deer watched a wolf. He was well aware of who the predator was here, and it made him feel smaller than ever.

Smoke curled from the cigarette she had set to her lips. The tip glowed bright, the ashes flaring as she took a pull, and when she pulled it away he caught sight of her smile through the rush of smoke she exhaled. It had a hint of teeth in it that made him shiver. "Well, Cool Guy," she said, her voice deceptively affable. "Have you made your decision yet?"

Another shiver ghosted up his spine, and, no matter how hard he tried, Conan couldn't convince himself that it was merely caused by the cool breeze trickling down the back of his neck. "I have," he whispered. He didn't dare say it louder, almost as if it would make everything real, make what he was about to do more concrete. He wound his fingers in his coat, and hugged the thick fabric closer to himself.

Damned if he did, damned if he didn't.

"And?" she prompted, relentless as a shark, and possibly just as hungry.

Conan half turned to look back up at the detective agency, and tried to convince himself that he had no real choice. His breath fogged in the cold winter air. Closing his eyes, he steeled himself, then turned back to Vermouth, and, when he opened them again, there was a hardness in his eyes, a determination, that hadn't been there before. In his mind he could see Ran's happiness and hope. "I'll do it."

Vermouth's smile widened, showing a little more of her teeth between her red painted lips. "Good, good. Do you want me to wait a moment, or will you come now?"

He darted a quick glance back again, and considered the options. He could go back, could tell Ran that he was going to go out for a bit, or he could just leave. Either option resulted in the same ends, but the first gave him time to change his mind. Maybe, it would just be best if he mysteriously disappeared, just like Shinichi had, in case everything went wrong. Conan looked back at Vermouth, and shook his head firmly. "Let's go."

The woman smiled again, that predatory, confident smile that made his skin crawl, then reached back to open the door behind her. Conan darted across the intervening space, then edged around her to scramble into the back seat. He quickly scooted across to the far side, and hunched against the door. He kept his eyes locked on the woman as Vermouth dropped her cigarette to the concrete, and put it out with the toe of her shoe, then ducked down to slide into the car beside him.

When the door slammed closed, a claustrophobic feeling settled on him. He felt like he couldn't breathe. It was almost palpable, like water closing in over his head. He was sinking, drowning, his life being slowly snuffed out. Conan hunched his shoulders, and tucked his hands beneath his arms. On the seat beside him, Vermouth crossed her legs, knee over knee, and smoothed her black dress across her thighs.

The driver started the car, which purred to life with a smooth rumble, and pulled out into traffic without a word. Silence encompassed them, and with it the suffocating feeling grew. His lungs felt like they couldn't quite expand enough.

"Don't worry," Vermouth spoke up smoothly. "If we killed you, you wouldn't be of any use."

"Comforting," he snarled through gritted teeth. "How do I know you won't turn around and kill Ran and her father?"

"No harm will come to the one who saved my life," she replied easily, as if this were the truest fact in life. "I will make sure of that."

Something told Conan that Vermouth would keep her word.

–

As Ran wrung the dirty liquid from her mop, she realized that Conan should have been back by now. It was exceptionally odd that he wasn't, because he, unlike her deadbeat father, wasn't the kind of person to just up and leave all the work to her. Well, he wasn't always helpful, but if she asked him to help he generally pitched in. Curious as to where her young charge had gotten to, she left the mop leaning up against the kitchen counter, and headed out. A quick check of the bedrooms, and bathroom, produced no results.

"Conan-kun?" Ran called, worried despite herself. He always got into so much trouble, that she couldn't help but worry for him. She pulled her gloves off as she walked into the main office, a frown fully in place, and ready to scold him if he was slacking off in there. The room was just as empty and silent as the rest.

"Where is he?" she mused aloud to herself. Absently she checked the room over, gave a slight sigh at all the cleaning yet to do, then turned away again. That was when she realized that Conan's coat and shoes were missing. "Apparently he's run off too."

A small flicker of annoyance ignited in her chest, and, with a huff, Ran tossed her gloves on the coffee table and stalked over to grab her coat. She balanced on one foot as she tugged her shoe on, then the other, before she exited and locked the door behind her. If her dad had forgotten his keys he could just sit outside and wait for her to come home. He should have been cleaning his own office! Maybe if she was lucky she'd find him lurking on some nearby street corner, and could drag him back too.

She half hoped that her small charge had merely stepped out for a bit, and, perhaps, was simply lingering on the stairs, or maybe on the sidewalk. As she tripped lightly down the stairs, Ran glanced up and down the street. "Conan-kun? Are you out here?"

No answer, not that she was surprised... Maybe if she tried to think like a detective? The thought made her laugh a little, and Ran brought her hand to her chin in a mockery of Shinichi's favorite thinking pose. Did she need to pace too, or could she just stand here and stare down at the cement?

Surprisingly, it seemed to work, because, just then, an idea struck her. "Maybe..." she whispered, breath fogging on the air. Ran turned and began to walk quickly down the sidewalk in the direction of Nichoume street. Maybe, just maybe, Conan had gone to visit little Haibara Ai. He had said that she was sick, and Conan could be such a sweet little boy sometimes. So, there was the possibility that he'd gone to visit his friend to cheer her up, right?

Then, why did her heart feel like it had the night Shinichi disappeared? Why did it feel like she might never see Conan again?

She didn't even notice when she sped up into a run. The cold air stung at her skin and her lungs, but she barely paid it any mind. Cheeks flushed, she darted passed startled pedestrians, her every focus on the path ahead of her. She paid no mind to the people she passed, or the world around her unless she had to stop at the crosswalks, where she stood impatiently waiting. The taller buildings of apartments and stores slid easily into the walled off neat rows of more residential housing, and the obvious signs of the upper scale neighborhood closed in around her.

Relief flooded her when the curved lines of Agasa's home came into view. She darted up to his front gate without stopping, and shoved it open. In her haste the gate clanged against the wall, unchecked. Ran, panting slightly with anxiety, stumbled up to the professor's front door and rapped sharply. While she waited, she stood catching her breath with her hand pressed over her heart.

It felt like a stone had lodged itself beneath her breast bone, and something was stuck in her throat. Growing restless, Ran knocked again. "Agasa-hakase!" she called. "Are you home?"

Ran spent a few more minutes pounding on the door while she called for the old professor, but no one answered. With each moment, and with each lack of response, her anxiety was grew and dread filled her.

"Excuse me," a polite voice spoke up behind her. Ran whirled around to see the strange man, Okiya, who had been staying in Shinichi's home lately. "The people who live here are on vacation in Okinawa."

"O-oh," Ran stammered. "I didn't know."

Why had Conan lied to her? Or maybe he hadn't known either and had just assumed Ai was sick? Ran bit her lip while she fidgeted with the sleeve of her coat until Okiya's voice interrupted her again, "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Ah!" jogging down to the gate, she stepped out of it again, and closed it beside her. She gave the man a hopeful up look and asked, "You haven't seen Conan-kun lately have you?"

Okiya frowned, and regarded her from behind his glasses. "No, I haven't. I'm sorry."

This couldn't be happening. Ran turned away, and began to head back toward home before she remembered herself, "I... Thank you, if you see him could you tell him to come home right away?"

Without waiting for an answer, she whirled away again and took off at a run own the sidewalk. She had to find her dad, and maybe call the police. It just wasn't like Conan to go missing like this. He was like her own little shadow, following her where ever she went, even when most little kids wouldn't want to go there. It just didn't make any sense for him to go missing like this unless something was wrong. The thought made her run faster.

–

The car rolled to a stop outside of a hangar that belonged to a small, privately owned airport on the southern limits of Beika-cho. It mostly played host to the ultralights that belonged to private owners, or the helicopters of corporate offices. From where the car stopped Conan could see a sleek helicopter waiting on the tarmac. It was completely black, from nose to tail, the numbers done in a dark gray that barely broke up the darkness of its coloring. His mind faintly recognized it as a B206L LongRanger class helicopter. The rotors were already spinning, the loud whirr of the blades audible even in the quiet interior of the car.

Their driver ducked out of the car and stepped around to open Vermouth's door. The woman unfolded from her seat like a black widow uncurling its legs in the corner of its web to go after the latest catch. She stood there for a moment, breathing in the cold air, and adjusted the furred collar of her coat. Conan watched her through hooded eyes from where he remained, huddled against the far door.

"Come on, Cool Guy," her amused voice called back, though she didn't turn to look at him. "We still have a way to go."

Conan glanced out the dark window beside him at the empty tarmac spreading away to a chain link fence bordered by several feet of sparse snowy ground beyond. He could see little tufts of grass stuck up through the thin covering of snow. The fact that he could make a run for it, right now, wasn't lost on him in the least. If he could make it to that fence, and maybe climb over it, or possibly make it around the hangars, he could get away, and forget this had ever happened.

He took a steadying breath, and forced his arms to unfold. Slowly he opened the door, then turned, and, with hands braced on the seat, slid out of the car to land lightly on his feet. The clack of Vermouth's heels on the pavement indicated her approach. Conan looked up to watch the woman walk around the front of the idling car.

Vermouth slanted a look at him, small and stark, then asked, "You can still back out, Cool Guy, but this is your final chance."

The finality of those words made Conan shudder, even as he tipped his head back to acknowledge the challenge. He would see this through, and if it lead to his death well... he'd known for awhile now that his damnable curiosity would always bring him trouble. Now it was just a matter of seeing if this was trouble, or salvation.

Without a word, Conan strode toward the helicopter. The wind created from the rotors lashed against him, and made his hair fly about wildly. The sound was nearly overwhelming. The cold air made him squint, even behind the protection of this glasses lenses. A glance to his right showed Vermouth walking leisurely beside him, one gloved hand grasping her hat to keep it in place.

Their driver darted around of them to pull the door into the cabin of the helicopter open. Conan absolutely refused to let anyone help him in, and, upon reaching the side of the helicopter, he used the runners to clamber up into the cabin, then hauled himself onto one of the seats. He grabbed the seat belt in his small hands and tugged it across to lock into place. The entire time he watched Vermouth as the woman climbed regally into the cabin, and settled herself across from him. Her back was to the co-pilot, and, for a moment, Conan wondered if she were trying to block his view on purpose. He dismissed the idea: He'd gotten a glimpse of them through the windows as he walked to the helicopter.

Both pilot and co-pilot had been men in their late twenties or early thirties dressed in stiff black suits and sun glasses, with their headsets firmly on their heads.

Once Vermouth was settled, and had strapped herself in, the doors slammed closed, and with them went, what Conan knew, was his last chance to back out. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't terror that was making his heart flutter like the wings of a butterfly caught in a spider's web. Conan curled his fingers into his pants, then tightened his grip further on the fabric. Vermouth's unnerving gaze was boring into him, and he fought to return her stare no matter how rude it was, or how badly he wanted to waver.

The whirr of the rotors increased in pitch until it was more like a whine, and the helicopter gave a slight lurch as it lifted slowly off the tarmac. For a moment it hovered, turning slowly in place before it began to go forward and gain altitude. The windows were accessible to even someone of his small stature, and Conan found himself peering out despite his staring contest with the devil woman. The city slowly fell away as they rose, showing him glimpses of cement and glass as well as brief flashes of empty spaces he recognized as small parks. Once they were high enough and coasting quickly over the city, he thought he could see occasional dazzling flashes that splintered from the distant Tokyo Bay, but maybe that was just his mind playing tricks on him, being fanciful, as light hit distant skyscrapers.

Conan squinted toward the location of the sun, distant though it was with the tilt of the earth at this time of year, and a little hazy through thin cloud cover, and quickly estimated their direction of travel. It seemed like they were heading south if was right. He sat back, and crossed his arms casually over his chest, even if he knew the move probably made him seem defensive. "Where are we going?"

"You could say I'm taking you to meet the person who inspired all of this."

A rush of coldness crawled across his skin from head to toe that caused goosebumps to break out everywhere. Conan swore he could feel ever hair on his body standing on end. The slow coil of nausea settled into his stomach, and he had to gasp to fight down the urge to throw up. There was only one person she could mean.

Vermouth was taking him to meet the leader of the Black Organization.

–

Even though Ran held a handkerchief in her hands, she was dry eyed. She wasn't to the point where she would begin crying yet, though her fingers were busy tying knots in the small square of white fabric. The apartment was no longer as quiet as it had been, now it was filled with the quiet murmurs of people. Across from her Satou-keiji sat on the other couch, a pair of gloves on her hands, as carefully sifted through Conan's possessions. She felt a little bad, like she was allowing an invasion of the quiet, secretive little boy's privacy (Which she was, but it was a needed one.) to let them go through his things.

Still, Ran felt like she'd learned more about Edogawa Conan in the past handful of minutes than she ever had before. She'd always known he was bright, but she hadn't realized he'd been thieving her old homework papers and copying them to do the work himself.

Satou-keiji picked up another thin book and opened it. Her eyes skimmed over the neatly penned kanji that filled the pages with the ease of a seasoned professional. Ran could only make out snippets from her position, but it looked like it was notations on some of the cases that her father had in the last few months.

The thought made Ran look for her father, and she found him standing near the row of windows at the front of the office. He had his back to the rest of the room, and his hands in his pockets. The reflection of his face in the glass looked serious, and, for once, he wasn't in the middle of things, vying for the spotlight. She could only remember a few times when he'd been like this.

The sound of someone clearing their throat nearly startled her right out of her skin, and Ran turned to look up at Takagi-keiji. "S-sorry, Mouri-chan, uhm, I was wondering... Has there been anything strange about Conan-kun lately?"

Ran frowned, not at all surprised by the question, but she was still glad when her father moved in closer to them. "Not that I can remember, he seemed the same as always."

"And the two of you were cleaning the apartment together when he disappeared?"

"Yes," Ran replied, then, more vehemently she added, "I'd been putting it off in the hopes that someone would decide to help!"

Kogorou shrunk away from his daughter's furious glare. His hands came up automatically to both placate, and ward her off. "Now, Ran... Don't you think there are more important things to worry about right now?"

With a slump, Ran subsided. No matter how much she wanted to take out her upset on her father, the important thing was that Conan was missing. Besides that, she wasn't sure what to think of Satou and Takagi showing up. Weren't they homicide detectives? Did they think Conan might be... dead... or had they merely forced their way into the case because they were so close to Conan?

She hoped it was the latter.

Just then one of the uniformed officers came up, cheeks flushed from being outside and stopped near Takagi-keiji. "I asked around to see if anyone had seen the boy, and found a witness. She said she saw him outside, talking to a blond, foreign-looking woman dressed all in black. They spoke for awhile, and the boy seemed agitated before he got into the woman's car, willingly. There wasn't a struggle."

Ran's eyes flickered uneasily over the scattering of belongings on the table; meanwhile, her thoughts were racing. The only people who fit that description were Jodie-sensei and Chris Vineyard, and Conan had only met Chris Vineyard the day before as far as she knew. He had no reason to go anywhere with her, and he'd always been a suspicious child.

"Mouri-chan, do you know anyone that fits this description?"

"What? Oh, yes... but I don't know why Conan-kun would go anywhere..."

Her confusion must have been obvious because Takagi gave her a reassuring smile, and said, "Just tell us who. We'll find him, Mouri-chan, don't worry."

"Right, uhm... Well, there's Jodie-sensei," By the obvious recognition she knew that she didn't need to say anything more. "and then yesterday a woman named Chris Vineyard stopped by."

"What? When was this?!" her father yelped.

"Chris Vineyard?"

"Yes, she said she was trying to get in contact with Shinichi's, Kudou Shinichi's, parents. She's the daughter of an old friend of Kudou Yukiko's."

"Do you have any contact information for her?"

It only occurred, as she heard the question, that she didn't, which she found extremely odd. She could have sworn the woman had given her something... "Let me look..." Moving to her father's desk where she'd left the notepad she had jotted the woman's number on, Ran found that the page had been neatly torn out. Nothing was there.

A cold, wintry feeling settled in her chest as she handed the pad of paper to the officers, and Ran wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to ward off the chill.

"Mouri-chan?" Takagi asked softly. "Do you know how we can contact Conan-kun's parents?"

Ran shook her head numbly. "No. I've only met his mother once, and that was months ago. They usually just send money..."

And wasn't that something odd as well? It seemed like all those strange little things about Edogawa Conan that she had brushed aside as unimportant were beginning to pile up, like snow. Once everyone had turned away from her for a moment, Ran stepped back, and walked over to the windows. Her gaze fell to the street below, her mind's eye absently placing Conan-kun there along with the woman from the day before, only dressed all in black. Lifting one hand she touched her fingers lightly against the cool glass.

How had the scene played out? Had he been scared? Why hadn't he come and got her? And, more importantly, why had Conan gone out there in the first place?

"Shinichi..." she whispered, her hand clenched into a fist at her side. If Shinichi were here he would be able to figure out what happened, no doubt.

The thought sent her fishing her phone from her pocket where she'd absently placed it earlier, and Ran flipped it open. In a few seconds she was staring at Shinichi's name on the screen. It would be so easy to call him, or send him a text message, something. Maybe he would even come home. He seemed to be quite close to Conan, after all, but something made her shy away. Maybe she was just afraid that, somehow, old doubts and worries would be proven right, or maybe she just didn't know how to break the news that his little protege may have disappeared just as surely as he seemed to have. Or, maybe she was scared that it would turn out that Shinichi was part of this, and that Conan was with him now...

...and he hadn't told her. Again.

Whatever it was, Ran selected a number a few names above Shinichi's, then set the phone to her ear. She didn't have to wait long before the call was picked up. "Hey 'Neechan!" the Osakan accent cheerfully barked in her ear. "How're ya and the brat doin'?"

"Hattori-kun..." Ran paused, gathered herself, then went on, "That's why I'm calling you. You haven't heard from Conan-kun lately have you?"

"No? Did he do somethin' stupid again?" The note of confusion in Heiji's voice made the worry in her grow.

"I... He's disappeared, Hattori-kun," she half whispered. "Someone said they saw him leave with a blond, foreign-looking woman dressed all in black."

Hattori's pause right then, seemed to last forever, and that, more than anything else, terrified her. What did he know that she didn't? "I'll be there as soon as I can. Hopefully the holiday traffic won't be too bad."

He hung up before she had a chance to protest.

–

The helicopter set down in an empty field surrounded by thick trees and uneven terrain. The field was obviously well taken care of for just this purpose: The trees were trimmed back, kept in obviously man made lines, and the fall colored grass kept short. And, there was a car waiting several feet away on the end of a rough grass and dirt track. The man standing beside it ran forward as soon as the helicopter's rotors spun to a halt, and opened the door for them. Conan waited as Vermouth slid elegantly to the ground before he unbuckled himself, then carefully climbed down.

The climate was nice: Cool, but not cold, and the trees still in various shades of autumnal dress and more green colors. The flight hadn't been too long, no more than a half an hour, perhaps a little more, and with the capabilities of that sort of helicopter that meant that they hadn't gone too far. The B206L LongRanger could easily travel around two hundred kilometers an hour.

He was also pretty sure that the large body of water that they'd passed was Sagami Bay, and Conan thought he'd seen a mountain range as they were landing that might have been the Amagi Mountains. If that were true, and judging by the mild climate, he had a feeling that they were somewhere on the east coast of the Izu Peninsula.

Without a word, he followed Vermouth over to the car, and inside of it for another tense, silent ride. At least the anxiety had reached such a point where he felt more numb to it than anything. It was like a steady throb at the back of his skull. Instead, Conan stared out the tinted windows, and watched the tree lined roadway as they weaved through the thick forest that seemed to be mostly untouched by the hands of man, but for the few obvious signs. Every now and then he thought he could catch a glimpse of the ocean glittering in the gaps between foliage and trunks.

Conan's first glimpse of their destination came sooner than he had hoped: It was a sprawling manor house, that looked to be an eclectic mixture of styles, all geared toward a much older style of architecture while keeping up with modern lines. A stone wall, topped with dark, sloping tiles surrounded the property. In the middle of it stood a gate, wide enough to allow the car through, its large wooden doors open. Within the walls plum trees clustered at the corners that he could see, still in full bloom. The darkly toned building itself was an array of tall windows and balconies, topped off with a slopping, darkly tiled roof.

The driver eased the car through the gate, and onto the property, revealing a well tended garden filled with naturally blooming flowers from the area. When they came to a stop, and Conan exited, the first thing he noticed was the scent of the local flora, tinged by a background of salty sea breeze.

Conan turned at the sound of a door opening to see a man, late twenties he'd guess, dressed crisply in what must be the servants uniform. When he reached Vermouth he bowed respectfully, "Welcome home, Mistress."

"My guest and I will be going to see him directly," Vermouth replied, motioning toward Conan with half wave of her hand.

The man sent him a confused look, before dismissing him and turning back to Vermouth. "Is that wise? You know the Master's condition is very delicate..."

With his curiosity getting the better of him, Conan edged a little nearer, and looked up at Vermouth's face. Behind the mesh of her veil, her red painted lips curved upward in a smile that seemed more sad than anything. "I am well aware, Kuroki-kun, but what needs to be done will be done."

Kuroki bowed again, then lead them in and took Vermouth's coat from her, then retrieved Conan's as well. Conan rather wished he hadn't, if only because the lack of it made him feel even smaller and more vulnerable. When he had to remove his shoes, and set them aside in favor of a pair of slippers, the feeling only increased.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting as he followed Vermouth through the home, but it hadn't been anything like this: The walls were all painted in soft, soothing colors that reminded him of the sand and sea. There were no stern faced, black dressed guards standing alongside the sliding doors which all stood open as if to invite the passer-by in. Through them he caught glimpses of softly colored, comfortable looking rooms decorated with wall scrolls and paintings depicting various scenes of the sea, and mythologies based around the ocean from a multitude of cultures. Beneath his feet the pale colored hardwood showed signs of age, but was well taken care of. It shown with polish.

Vermouth lead him up through the house to the top floor, then down a hallway that was hung with scenes of fishermen, mermaids, and sea creatures to a set of sliding doors. There, she paused and turned back toward him. "This is it, no turning back now, Cool Guy," she said, her voice soft and lilting in the warm shadows of the house. "Are you ready to face the promise of everything?"

Conan inhaled deeply, and let it out as a rush before he stepped forward quickly, so as not to give himself a chance to second guess what he was doing. For all he knew he could open this door and be stepping into a trap, but... Conan slid the door open warily, and peered into the room. What greeted him was nothing he like had expected in all of his wildest nightmares.

It was a bedroom with walls the color of sea foam. Heavy plum blossom colored curtains covered the entire length of the far wall. By the telltale gleam of thin shafts of waning sunlight that edged through them, he could guess that the wall was nothing but windows. And, if his memory served correctly, they would be facing out to the sea.

In the center of the room was a bed, its headboard against the left wall. Directly across from it was a recessed area in which hung a long, beautifully done wall scroll of a sea dragon, ocean fish, and sea turtles beneath which was a small, humble shrine. Book shelves stood on either side of the shrine, lined heavily with a multitude of tomes and old scrolls.

However, what really drew his attention was the fact that the area around the bed looked more like a hospital room than someone's bedroom. A heart monitor beeped slowly as it kept track of the bed's occupant's vitals. An IV stand stood there as well, the thin tubes trailing down to the needles that allowed the fluid, drugs or just saline he wasn't sure, to enter the person's body. Another machine indicated that this person wasn't breathing on their own either.

Slowly, his footsteps muffled against the sand colored carpet, Conan crept over to the bed. He stood up on his tip toes to rest his forearms against the thin, pale green blanket and stared at the boy who lay there. He didn't look more than ten years old, his hair, black and neat, though a little wilder than Conan's own, fell around a thin, pale face that held more freckles than Mitsuhiko's. The boy's eyes were closed, and the lower half of his face obscured by the tape keeping the breathing tube still.

Curiously, Conan turned to look back at Vermouth. The woman was leaning against the doorway, her eyes hooded as she gazed fondly at the boy on the bed. Unable to take the stillness, the silence aside from the constant sounds of the machinery any longer, Conan asked, "Who is he?"

Vermouth moved away from the door, and walked around the foot of the bed to the other side. Gently she sat down, then smoothed the boy's bangs back from his face. When she leaned down to press a soft kiss to his temple, the boy's eyes fluttered open a mere few millimeters. Conan caught a glimpse of dark, soft brown eyes before they closed again.

When Vermouth straightened she turned her gaze on him again, and asked, "Have you heard the story of Urashima Taro?"

Conan frowned. How in the world did such a thing have any bearing on this at all? Still, he obliged, "The story of a boy who saved a turtle, and was invited to the palace of the Dragon King where it was revealed that the turtle had been the King's daughter. He stayed for three days, and upon his return to his home found that three hundred years had passed. The princess had given him a box that made all his years return to him."

"Yes, that is what they say isn't it? But stories are always colored by time, and morals, and what people what to believe. What people have forgotten, is that Otohime loved him so much that she returned to land with him so that they could live out their days together. She did not just give him the box, but herself. He was sad at the loss of his parents, but together they lived happily on the sea side, until Urashima Taro began to grow old and Otohime did not."

As she spoke, her eyes remained on the face of the boy in the bed, the fingers of one hand smoothing slowly over his brow while she clutched his hand in the other. "Otohime was a selfish creature, though her beloved didn't know it, and in her greed she found a way to make him younger again. He never knew, over the hundreds of years they enjoyed together, that she was stealing years to keep him with her. The kindhearted fisher lad only thought it a fluke from his stay in the palace beneath the waves."

He didn't know why it occurred to him, it was impossible, but the more she said the more the idea lodged itself in his brain. Conan went still, eyes wide behind his glasses, and heard himself ask, "Otohime?" Vermouth smiled at him then, and he knew, no matter how fantastic the idea, he was right. Conan's fingers curled into the bed, and knotted the fabric of the blanket into his fists. He felt faintly dizzy as the implications sunk in. "The Apotoxin..."

Vermouth, Otohime, whoever she was, smiled sweetly at him. "One way of many that have been used over the years. There were too many years stolen this time, and he has suffered for it."

Feeling faintly ill at the thought, Conan turned to look at the face of the boy on the bed: A living legend, Urashima Taro. The entire room felt like it was lurching, spinning out of control, and it took everything he had not to hyperventilate and faint. "It can't be fixed, can it?"

A fine boned hand cupped his cheek, and Conan found himself looking up at Vermouth, who had leaned over the bed to reach him."I promised I would give you everything you desire, and that includes returning your years." Her hand fell away again. She waved lazily at the recessed part of the wall. "There lies your salvation, all you need do is do what I ask of you."

Conan gazed, wide eyed, at the unassuming little box that sat there: It looked only to be about six inches long and three inches deep, and made of a dark lacquered wood, like teak. Brass ends cupped each corner, and it was tied closed with a dark red, silk ribbon. He could feel his pulse quickening, because here was the solution to all of his problems. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to think it was a trap. Conan wet his lips, took a shuddering breath, and forced himself to ask, in a voice that came out a strained croak, "What about Ai?"

"I'm afraid I saved only your years."

His head snapped back around to look at her. Conan was sure his confusion was plain as day. "Why?"

There were so many things in that single word question: Why mine? Why me? And, perhaps, a thousand more that even Conan didn't know he was asking about.

Vermouth's answer was simple: "You have an Angel by your side."

She seemed to think that that answered everything, and, perhaps, it did. After all, Otohime looked kindly on those who spared her life.

"What do you want me to do?"

The woman turned back to gaze wistfully at the bedridden boy's face. Conan watched her trace her fingers lightly over the dips and angles of his cheek bones and eye sockets. "He's tired, and I've been so foolish... I think it's time we both said goodbye to this world, don't you think? I know it's what he wants, but I... I am not strong enough."

She needed him to make the decision for her. A thousand lives that she could go on to put to ruin could be spared by sacrificing this one life that had lived far, far too long. Conan hated the idea of loosing even one more person, even one so far out of his time, to these machinations, but he knew his choice was already made. It was a little selfish, and a little altruistic, but there was no real choice.

"It's time to end this," he whispered firmly.

Vermouth smiled a sad smile. "Could you give us a moment? I'll send Kuroki for you when it's time." Conan didn't say a word, merely backed away from the bed before darting out the door. As he slid it closed he heard her voice, heavy with sorrow, float to him, "Are you awake, love? We're going to see the ocean one more time..."

He fled, and tried to fight now the burn of bile in the back of his throat.

–

Heiji settled an extra blanket he'd retrieved over Ran's sleeping form. The girl lay on the sofa, her head resting on Kazuha's thighs. He probably should have felt bad for slipping a little something extra into her tea, but she'd just been worrying herself sick. Kazuha sent him a dry eyed, helpless look. He couldn't summon his usual cocky grin, but he did give her a sharp nod. Lightly squeezing Ran's shoulder he muttered, "Don't worry 'Neechan, I'll find'em for ya."

Whatever might happen, Heiji knew that so long as Kudou still had his promise to fulfill he wouldn't die. He had to come back to Ran, and that was final. He edged out of sight of the two girl's and pulled out his cellphone: The one Kudou used for Conan had been taken by the police as evidence, but he hoped that the idiot had the other on him.

He waited, the phone to his ear, but no answer came.

Heiji wandered back into the main office, then made his way to the windows and stared out at last day of the year as it died. "Where the hell are ya, Kudou?" he whispered harshly to himself.

Behind Heiji, Ran dreamed.

She dreamed that she was laying in the warm sun on a secluded beach. The sky was as blue as she'd ever seen it above her. A dark shape dipped into the edge of her field of view, and Ran turned her head just a little to see it. A kite was flying above her, fierce and shaped like a hawk; it dipped and swerved and road the air currents with ease. Ran followed it's tethers down toward the ground to see a little boy, Conan, had control of it. He stood a stretch of pale gold, almost white, sand away from her, at the very edge of the surf. With every incoming wave the water washed around his ankles.

"Conan-kun?" she called softly, and squinted at him in the bright sunlight. He was dressed in a soft white shirt and khaki shorts. It hurt a little to look at him. Ran couldn't help but think it was far too bright.

"Don't worry about it," an amused voice said from her other side. "He's fine."

Ran wanted to whip her head around, her heart in her throat, but instead she looked slowly to find Shinichi sitting beside her, grinning down at her.

"S-Shinichi..."

"Don't worry," he said again. "Tomorrow it'll all seem like a dream."

Motion caught her attention again, and Ran gazed back at the kite. It dipped suddenly and plummeted toward the ocean. When it hit she sat up, and turned to look for Conan, but he wasn't there. Only the sound of the waves hitting the shore met her ears.

Then everything faded softly to deep black, and the dream broke away as many do.

–

It could have been hours, or minutes, or days, and Conan wouldn't have noticed. He sat there, with a cup of tea gone cold, and the untouched food he'd been offered, and waited. Eventually, a throat cleared behind him, and it was only because he felt too numb to react that Conan didn't jump out of his skin.

He turned slowly to find the man, Kuroki, who stood in the door. "The mistress is ready for you."

Conan nodded numbly, then stood and let Kuroki lead him back to the bedroom he'd departed earlier. Vermouth was right where he'd left her. He took a deep breath for fortitude, then stepped into the room.

"You're dismissed for the night, Kuroki-kun," Vermouth purred gently. "Tell the driver to have the car ready, we'll be down to see him shortly."

Kuroki bowed, then departed with a murmur of assent.

He couldn't help but wonder why he wasn't panicking, but perhaps it was the numb feeling had settled into him so deep he didn't know if he would ever get it out. Conan closed his eyes for a moment, let his fingers worry the cuffs of his sleeves, then steeled his resolve and climbed up onto the bed. He crawled forward, then paused, and looked down into the boy's face. He couldn't bring himself to acknowledge who this was. It was hard enough knowing he was a living human being.

With shaking hands he gently removed the IV line, then went to work on removing the boy's breathing tube. Behind him, he could hear Vermouth moving around before silence fell over them. Conan slowly peeled away wires, and devices, until the heart monitor fell into a steady single tone as it was detached from the life it was regulating. When he was finished, Conan sat back on his heels. "I don't know if he'll make it to–"

"He will," Vermouth said simply. "The ocean is where his heart has always lain."

Conan turned to regard her, and Vermouth merely smiled an enigmatic smile. Into his hands she pressed a bundle of fabric, upon which sat the lacquered box. He found he didn't have anything to say at all, and mutely he watched her step back around the bed. Vermouth flipped aside the blanket to reveal the boy's body, clad in a soft white yukata. "Ready to go, my love?"

The boy's eyes fluttered open again as Vermouth slid her arms under his knees and shoulders, then lifted him gently up. The smile on his face was soft and quiet, and, as Vermouth stepped around the bed he reached out to catch hold of Conan's sleeve. Conan looked up at him, and, in those dark brown eyes, he thought he saw thankfulness, like a dog who knows that it's being put down to end it's suffering.

He stared after them for several seconds that felt like a lifetime. It felt as if his trachea had closed itself, or that he was going to be sick all over himself. No matter what anyone said, this might be merciful, this might be what they both wanted, but he would never like it. Finally, he forced himself to slide off the bed and follow them.

Outside he was greeted with a world bathed in orange and waning sunlight. The driver stood beside the car, one of the doors to the back seat open to allow Vermouth to slip in. If he thought this at all odd, he didn't say anything about it. At Conan's approach the man merely closed the door, and stepped around to the other side to open it for him. Conan shied away from him for a moment before setting the clothes, and box on the seat and clambering into the vehicle.

The ride was a silent one, that Conan spent trying to ignore the fact that Vermouth cradled a dying human being in her lap. The corners of the box that rested on his thighs dug into his palms almost viciously, but Conan couldn't seem to relax his grip. They drove down through the forests, along a disused track toward the ocean, and, eventually, emerged on a desolate beach covered in fine grained sand and large, volcanic black boulders.

When the driver offered her help, Vermouth waved him away and stood with the fisher lad in her arms, facing the ocean. The shadows were dark, the sun setting slowly behind them. Vermouth looked back at Conan then, and asked, "Will you see us off?"

He couldn't say no, couldn't say anything at all. Silently, he walked over to one of the rocks littering the shore line, and set the clothes and box atop it before he climbed onto it. Conan sat down, facing the ocean, on the edge of the rock, despite the feel of it's sharp points and ridges digging into his thighs and rear. Vermouth smiled thankfully at him then, and without a word she began to walk toward the water.

Her pace was slow and even, unhurried and steady as if she were not walking toward death. Her face was serene, and where the boy's head rested on the upper swell of her chest, against her shoulder, he smiled as if he had never been happier. Light seemed to glitter off of her as she took her first step into the water. Between one twinkling and the next the dark black of her modern cloths were gone, replaced by the long flowing lines of a royal kimono in shades of red, white, and green. Pink sea shells, that glittered like tiny stars, hung here and there. Her hair, still just as fair and golden, was done like a king's daughters ought to be in eras long passed.

In that moment, she was beautiful in the unearthly manner of all things unreal, and Conan could understand how, all those years ago, a poor fisherman had fallen in love with her.

For a long, endless moment she stood there, the waves lapping at her ankles, and stared out into the ocean. Conan could not see her face as her back was toward him, but fathomed that the look on her face must speak multitudes as much as as it was fathomless. The salty breeze off the sea played with her trailing kimono and wisps of her hair. Then a pale, shaking hand lifted, and the boy she cradled touched her cheek. As if this had given her strength to continue she stepped forward into the water without further hesitation.

Vermouth, Otohime, didn't stop as the waves got deeper: Not when it washed against her caves, and not when it swirled around her knees and made the trailing edges of her finery float in the surging tide. The deeper she waded the more she seemed to fall apart, her fine clothing turned slowly into sea foam. The water reached her waist, and she kept on walking. He watched her fade away with every passing moment as if the water were dissolving her.

Then they were gone, and nothing remained but sea foam on the wave tops, and a shimmering patch of water, like the foot print of a whale.

For many long moments, Conan remained still. He stared out at the water where, just moments ago, two people had been. He paid no heed to the massive sea turtle that pulled itself down the beach, and disappeared into the water mere feet away from him. Instead he just sat there feeling tired, and cold, and more than a little lonely.

Then, absently his hands found the box and plucked it up. He set it on his lap, untied the deep red silk ribbon keep it closed, then his fingers griped the lid and pulled it away. White smoke hissed from within the box, and spread upward and outward. It surrounded him, and Conan breathed in deep and let it fill him.

With the first sunrise of the new year, Kudou Shinichi would go home at last.

Happy New Years

End Note: I'm sure I got some stuff horrifically wrong in there, but geh, I tried. My research is probably faulty, forgive me. orz