A/n: I had posted this story under a different pen name, but I decided to finish posting what I had started a looong time ago.

Disclaimer: All characters--er, most of them--and basic idea and basic everything belongs to the ever-so-awesome Gosho Aoyama.

thoughts --I still can't figure out how to italicize things.

+Late Night Matters of the Heart+

"I'm home!" Her voice rang through the room, shattering the silence that had held its place in the detective agency for awhile now. Obviously, she was home, but she was the only one. She sank into couch with a sigh and stared out of the window, at the people passing by, all of them strangers. Not who she was looking for. Ran sighed again, but this time instead of relief, it was filled with something--something she had long since grown familiar to ever since that night, but something she still could not put a name to. A mixture of sadness, of yearning, blended in with a touch of hope. She knew all three of those feelings, had felt more than her fair share of them, but when combined together, what did they make? She didn't know, but she did know that they were special, so special only one person could bestow them upon her, a bittersweetness that often brought tears to her eyes.

How long had it been? She couldn't tell. She remembered the moment as clearly as she remembered him, but the days, weeks, months that followed . . . they blended in with one another, as mixed together as her feelings, so that she sometimes felt she couldn't tell heads or tails of anything anymore. All because of him. Why? Why did he have to leave and make up such a feeble excuse, so that she would realize soon enough what was going on, that he had lied to her? Why did he lie to her? Why couldn't he have trusted her, just like he had always done before?

The slam of the door stirred her from her thoughts, and she didn't need to look up to see that it was Conan. She stood up, hoping he wouldn't see the tears that had been threatening to fall but had, as of yet, been contained with. Trying to shield her emotions, she stood up and glared at Conan.

"About time! It's seven, with no note, no phone call, no nothing. For all I knew, you could've been run over by a car, or lost, or kidnapped, or worse! Where were you?" She sat back down again after a glance at his shocked face, cringing a little. That anger had been a little too fake, she supposed. She shouldn't try so hard . . . but she knew how Conan would react if he ever saw her in tears. Such a caring child.

"Dr. Agasa's. And . . . I'm sorry. For everything." His eyes didn't leave the ground, and his tone suggested another meaning.

"Hm?"

Conan sighed and shook his head. "It's . . . it's nothing." After a moment's silence, Conan's eyes wandered around the room. "Where's Kogoro?"

"Dunno. He wasn't here when I came home."

"Oh." He grit his teeth, but after a moment's thought let it go. The chances of this case--if this was a case--being the one he had been waiting for were next to nothing, and he was tired . . . so tired of everything. Well, almost everything.

Conan was breezing through his homework hearing but unaware of the familiar kitchen sounds emitting from Ran's domain when the third member of the makeshift family stumbled his way from the door to his desk.

"And where've you been?" Ran asked, chopping the carrots with the ease of one who had been doing it for the majority of her life.

From the other side of the room the door to Conan's room opened slightly. Kogoro's only reply was a grumble before his face made contact with the steel of his desk and he was whisked off into slumber, drunk from too much beer as usual.

Conan could hear the exasperated sigh from the kitchen amid the sound of the knife cutting through the carrots and lent himself a smile in amusement. I guess it's safe to say that there wasn't any case.

He closed the door and ducked back to the last of his homework, Ran's talk of her father's spending most of his time with his beer than with his work lingering in his ears. This was better than before, when that shame of a detective spent all of his time either sleeping or drinking and none at his work. That he had work at all was thanks to Conan. That he was famous at all was thanks to Conan. But who knew that behind the at-most- times well- portrayed façade of a child was the mind of a high school detective, and a spanking good one at that? Certainly not Ran nor Kogoro, and he wanted to keep it that way. Most of the time. Other times, he longed to tell Ran who he really was, what had happened, why he was changed. He had wanted to, ever since she confided her feelings for him--or rather, for Shinichi-- after the incident. And he had wanted to, when he came through the door earlier to find her near tears. His--well, Shinichi's--best friend had become good at disguising her feelings, but he could see through them, even without the help of his calculating mind. After all, wasn't he, Kudo Shinichi forced into disguise, the one who had grown up with her?

But no, he told himself. Telling her would only put her in danger, and he couldn't bear to see her in danger. Telling her would only make her do drastic things, maybe - probably - get herself killed. And he couldn't bear to think that it was because of him. Telling her would only hurt her.

But not telling her, wouldn't it hurt her too? Yes, it did. That was an inevitable fact, and he couldn't chase it away from his mind, nor did he want to. He saw every side of her, had always seen every side of her, just as God did. Every way she was. Saw her anguish at his absence. Cherished her happiness, her love for life, her innocence, her faith in him, like a never-ebbing river that would flow forever, if need be. He put a hand into his pocket and smiled. It did need be, and she would, but it came the time that that river would smile again. And really smile, for the reason people did smile.

He had finished his homework and was about to go into the living room when the phone rang. He ducked back into his room, perplexing himself with his own actions. Why did his heart pound so much? All he knew was that a force too eloquent to be a voice admonished him to stay where he was.

"Dad, can you get that?" she called. "Dad?"

She turned off the fire to the pan and walked to the desk, picking up the phone beside her father who kept on snoring, in no way perturbed with the insistent ringing.

"Hello? Mouri Kogoro Detective Agency."

There was a pause as she listened to the speaker at the other end. Her voice lost its warmness, and she was at once distant, alert, suspicious. She swore she had heard this voice somewhere, and remembered all too well that it had proved to arrive packaged with ill omens.

"Who is this?" A quick intake of breath that came short of a gasp. "Shinichi?" A pause, and the coldness became edged with plea, with a reckless rush to find out more. "What do you know about him?"

A longer pause that filled the whole atmosphere with tension, and then a final "Okay" as the phone receiver left her ear, and slowly back to its cradle.

"Shinichi." she whispered.

She stood near the desk for a moment, gazing at the street below, the street where he would wait for her before school. The street where he waited for her before going to the amusement park . . . the amusement park where he had disappeared. Sometimes she had tried to forget him, and move on with her life, but by now, she had known she couldn't. He was too good, too real, too true a person to her to forget, and, whether they both liked it or not, he was the one who held her life at a standstill.

••••

"Ran?"

She stared at the table, at her hands, seeing neither.

"Ran?"

"Huh? What?"

"What's going on? You haven't eaten anything," said Kogoro. His eyes wandered from his daughter to the child she had taken custody for. "And neither have you, Conan."

"I'm not that hungry." she mumbled, glancing at Conan from the corner of her eye.

"Yeah, me neither."

"Huh, really. Lucky for you I'm not the kind of parent who won't let you eat after dinner," he said. His remark was greeted by a silence only he felt. The retort he had been looking for was "Lucky for you I can cook," but the person he expected it from was again barricaded within her own thoughts. The rest of the meal was finished in a hurried silence, a silence that stretched far into the evening, a silence that had none of the homey familiarity of the silence of that afternoon.

••••

Footsteps echoed through the streets as her mind raced with them, well aware that she seemed to be the only one to take these streets at this hour. She walked in waves of light and dark. Whenever she stepped within the shine of a streetlamp or an open shop, it was plain to see the sixteen to seventeen-year-old girl, dressed in shorts and a black sleeveless top. Her brown hair cascaded down her back, and, if one was able to get close enough, one would see that her beautiful, blue-purple eyes held an unnamed sorrow about them, a sorrow she usually kept hidden, but when caught unawares, that sorrow would work its way right into someone's heart.

And then in the dark, and she was yet another mystery waiting to be discovered, and then uncovered, not by a detective, but by someone who knew her well enough to tell her every emotion better than she did, who could tell it just by the sound of her voice on the phone. By someone who held such a place in her heart that she knew with the utmost conviction, that she would never forget him, never want to, will love him until the sands of Time parted for the world to see, until all of the mysteries within Eternity to be discovered only to find more mysteries, until the greatest secret of Life itself would be uncovered, by no deductions of a detective, but by the sheer will of thousands. Thousands fueled by One. But the secret hid itself well, extremely well. And perhaps, after all that had happened, perhaps she would still love him. As long as there was nothingness, and nothingness could never be vanquished. After all, hadn't she loved him before she had even met him? Hadn't their destinies been interwoven from the beginning, by a force just as great, if not greater, than Time, into a single red string?

She grinned to herself. Wouldn't he laugh if she ever told him her idle musings! But then, she would have to tell him her feelings first, and she would never, ever do that.

She could make out the top of the roller coaster they had rode on together, magnified and glorified by the white of the full moon. The roller coaster where she had touched his hand, where she had been about to confess her feelings before her courage failed her. She longed so much to confess her feelings now, but now was not possible. Now was when he became too involved in "cases", too driven away by his ambition, to save any place in his mind for her. A phone call once a week or so, a rare visit, and that was it. Ever since she had known him, he had wanted to become a detective. She had admired--still admired--his steadfast determination, but now, more and more, it frustrated her. She didn't want to fight with something she admired--his mind--for his heart. But sometimes . . . sometimes the feelings within her soul wielded no identification with anything she tried to tell herself.

She stopped her reverie to wonder at herself. Why was she thinking like this? It was something she would never do usually, but maybe it was just that the night and the feel of the whole situation got to her – she was, after all, back where it had all started.

Before she knew it, she was at the entrance to the amusement park. No one was there yet, and she had broken her watch while helping her dad on a case two days ago. All she could do was lean against the wall, watch the moon wrapped up in all its grandeur of stars, and wait.

The stars were bright that night, even among the far dimmer, artificial stars of Tokyo. She thought of all the stars she had seen, of all the times she had seen them, thinking. Perhaps that was something she had to thank for his absence. Realization of him. Even before . . . before then, she, Mouri Ran, had realized that she loved him. But how much? Back then she didn't know, and now, she wasn't sure either. When she had him, she never appreciated him for his full worth. He had always been there, to offer support whether she needed it or not, and even now, with him wrapped up in whatever case he indulged himself in, he was still there, somehow, to offer comfort. She had liked him back then, yes, developed a crush on him, but did she love him back then?

She couldn't remember. She couldn't remember if she even knew. Probably because she had never thought about it. Even if she did, why did she love him? Why did she think she loved him back then? Maybe for the same reason that most girls went wild for him - for his looks, his cleverness, his popularity. But now, she knew. Knew why she had really loved him. And she had really loved him. She knew he had something other than that, deep inside, something not many people could see. She loved him for him, to the purest sense of the word.

His stubbornness, his immaturity, his arrogance that, even if being what it was, could never hold him back from the sight of the truth. His sense of justice that spread to her, his determination, fueled by her encouragement, but fueled more so by his own sense of duty as someone with a dream. He was someone who would make whatever he wished come true, by his actions, his attitude, his will. His ability to somehow always make her world right again, because he was him. She loved everything he was, every way he were. She had his absence to thank for the realization of that, along with the stars he had given her.

It was hard to live without him once she had known him, but she had braved it, all of it. All of the memories, all of the calls that had ended too soon, but were long and frequent in comparison to his visits. Over the course of weeks, of months, of months and weeks enough to have passed the year-point, she had learned, far more than anyone else ever had, the true meaning of the phrase, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." Her heart did grow fonder, but its longing for him in turn hurt itself and its owner beyond agony.

When she gazed out of her window at night, she often wondered when the pain, the anguish, would stop. And then she realized it would never stop. Not now, not ever, and even Time could not ease her tears. Time was useless when it met love. Because after all, which was the older of the two? The pain would never stop, unless he was returned to her eyes, to her words, her smile, her life. Tragedy was a necessary wickedness, but sometimes, the best things were begotten out of tragedy. Thoughts, hopes, dreams, feelings. Everyday wonders in the guises of cocky mystery fanatics.

She raised her head at the sound of footsteps upon pavement. She shouldn't have looked at the stars, given way to her thoughts and emotions. The stars had always made her ponder, just like music did. Both were intoxicating, although she wasn't sure if that was altogether a bad thing. The figures were closer to her than she had thought at first, and she could make out-- black. The taller of the two appeared to be carrying some sort of small case. With a shock that she choked down from breaking the surface of her new cold, expressionless countenance, she realized who they were. The two men who had ridden the roller coaster with Shinichi and herself, were suspects in the same murder case, whom (now she knew) later her friend had pursued out of her life, but certainly not out of her mind, nor her heart, nor her dreams.

"Good evening, Mouri-san. I trust you're feeling well?" began the blonde one, talking as if they had nothing to worry about except for the weather.

She could recognize them anywhere. The two men who had been involved in a murder case with Shinichi and herself. Their get-up had seemed strange, but she had excused it once the bigger issues presented themselves that day. Namely, the murder and Shinichi's ever-so-touching exit. "Never better," she muttered, skipping right ahead to the subject. "What do you know about him?"

"Who? Kudo Shinichi? For awhile, Vodka and I just assumed he was dead."

Her eyes darted back and forth between the blonde one and the other one-- Vodka, the first one called him. She didn't say anything, but from the grin that festered upon the blonde one's mouth, she knew that something had given her away, whether it was her hands that clenched and unclenched or the flash of anger within her eyes or both. He knew he had her attention, and he knew that whatever information about Shinichi he wanted, she would the one to give it to him if she wasn't careful. Whatever happened to Shinichi, I know you've got a part in it. You were the ones he ran after before he got mixed up in his so-called case, she thought, but didn't say out loud.

The blonde one's quick eyes darted across the surroundings, and he began, in the same manner as before, "Why don't we take this elsewhere? Out here in the open, even if it is night, someone might suspect we were up to something illegal." His grin flashed again, arrogance accompanied by a spark of malice, an arrogance she began to loathe, even if it was only the second time she saw it.

They didn't wait for her to answer, but turned in the direction they had come and, with a gesture from the blonde one, Ran fell into step behind them. She bowed her head, her eyes pasted on the sidewalk, which glittered a dull silver from the moonlight. Nothing was spoken between them, but a million words raced through her mind. I might find out what's really going on . . . what really happened . . . She had suspected for a long time that Shinichi was hiding something from her, something she deserved to know. Something that may have eased her pain by the thousandfold whenever they hung up, or whenever he left. Maybe now, she would find out. Yes. Her hands clenched into fists again. Definitely now.

They stopped in an alley, away from the lights of the street, except for the one emitted from the moon. The blonde one turned to face her, not smiling now. She didn't know whether to be thankful for it or dread what was to come.

"Mouri-san. I'm someone who likes to get my work done, fast and simple. And I'm sure you won't take kindly to having your precious time wasted on formalities. So let's cut to the chase. I've heard talk that you don't think Kudo Shinichi is dead? That you claim he's been calling you, that you've actually even seen him in a few rare occasions? Explain."

She bit her lip. It was futile to feign ignorance against any of these charges. They were all true. Her interrogator knew it, his companion, Vodka, knew it, and she knew it. But what to say? She heard something click on the inside of the blonde one's jacket.

"Or perhaps you would like a little persuading?"

Looked up, and saw him raise a gun, pointed, unwavering, at her.