Fight A Good Fight, Finish The Race
Notes: Completely unrelated to this story but releases for 'Behind The Scenes' will be sporadic from now onwards and I may not be able to adhere to the one chapter every two days thing. The reason for this is that I will simultaneously be writing another story at the same time and the first chapter will be up… later today.
Summary: They had their good moments and bad but in the end, it would all be worth it, if not for them then for everyone else's happiness. Written for Poirot Cafe's Themed Writing Contest #18 - Happiness. Sucky Summary .
He's standing atop the glass-domed ceiling of a forty-three story tall skyscraper overlooking the multicoloured city landscape with neon signs and headlights illuminating the streets. The only thing keeping him from plummeting to his doom is a single gloved hand clutching with a white knuckled grip onto the lightning rod perched on top of the building and he relishes in the danger, the thrill. Maybe one day after it is all over he'll go on a month long thrill tour across the world. Lord knows he has more than enough to fund his endeavours stored inside his bank account.
For now, however, he'll just have to contend with this. It's at a far too crucial time for him to suddenly up and leave for an adventure, no matter how much he sorely wants to after all the drama that has occurred. If he leaves, he'll be putting his family and friends in danger by redirecting the spotlight to them - it may be more accurate to say bullet line but - and that simply won't do.
'No one gets hurt.' Well, no one except for him. He doesn't matter, having already steeled himself for the possibility of death but he simply cannot allow innocents to die for him when they had no part in this. His conscience would not allow it.
The jewel - valuable, desirable but oh so uninteresting - glimmers coldly in his grasp, the lack of a second gem within and the bright green glow mocking him for his efforts, his efforts of finding something that might very well not exist. Something impossible to find.
But well, magicians do the impossible every day, it's practically in the job description so he'll leave that little detail aside.
Ah, do you hear that? His pursuers are coming and by the sounds of it, they're the bad ones. The ones toting guns and tacky black overcoats growling out menacing threats and, people would say most importantly, coming for his life.
Just as the trap door flips open and the men dressed in black scramble up through the narrow opening, he's off and away, plummeting toward the ground.
Kaitou KID is falling, then he's flying. White wings burst out behind him, crafted of silk and metal poles and happy memories. Filled with the hard work of his predecessor and then himself to work to improve and modify it. You could call it his best reminder of his father, barring the monocle but the story behind that was way too long for such a short fall.
Kaitou KID grins at Snake, grins at the police swarming the streets, a smile of mischief and glee, usually foretelling humiliation on their parts but always utterly fake. This fake smile wears at him, clawing at his sanity and his mind.
How long has it been since he truly smiled with joy?
He wants to give up, has entertained the thought many times. KID is just a bit too slow in avoiding the bullet and it pierces a vital organ, sending the phantom thief falling out of the sky, never to be seen again. It's a story that won't stir up much discussion from the general public and nobody will expose themselves to danger by digging deeper than they should. Kuroba Kaito will disappear a few weeks earlier, supposedly going overseas on a scholarship and lose contact with the people around him. Nobody will ever know he was gone. It would be so easy.
Then he shakes himself from that morbid fantasy, brutally berating himself, reminding himself for what reason he continues to bitterly struggle and wipes out his smile. It is all to ensure that Aoko's and his mother's and possibly to an extent Hakuba's smile remain; to ensure that nobody gets hurt except for himself. He is willing to sacrifice his happiness for theirs and maybe one day, he will finally smile genuinely again.
One day when he has fought a good fight and finished the race.
One day when he has fought a good fight and finished the race, he'll treat himself to a hot cup of coffee, pat himself on the back and maybe open his heart again.
One day when his life and the lives of those around him are not in peril, maybe he'll go up to Ran and tell her everything, of Conan, of the Black Organisation and let her beat him up a couple times. Then, he'll try to repair their relationship and hopefully stand a chance to regain the best friend status again. After that, he'll call Hattori and ask if he would like to come along with him, Ran and Sonoko for a day out. He can bring Kazuha of course, and they'll have a day - hopefully - free of murders at the new theme park that opened (not Tropical Land, never again) and act their age for once, be a group of teenagers just having fun.
But now is not the time.
Not when he's sitting in the hospital in his seven-year old body while a nurse is bandaging the bullet wound on his arm and Vermouth watching him under the guise of some patient or staff in the hospital and Ran sobbing in relief when she's told he won't be paralyzed or otherwise permanently affected by the shooting.
This scene is familiar, has happened before somewhere deep inside his memories and he drags up a scene from ten years ago when he was actually seven and not a teenager in a faux body. It's nothing as serious as being targeted by a worldwide underground organisation that codenames their high-ranked members with the names of alcohols.
He's sitting on a hospital bed with the screen drawn and Ran clinging onto him while sobbing. His father is talking to the doctor who's staring disapprovingly at him while writing something down on the clipboard in his hands in near illegible handwriting. It takes a moment longer for him to remember that it is because he just got slashed at by a murderer who was trying to escape and was lucky to walk away with a shallow cut and a few scrapes from where he had hit the floor while ducking the crazed man's swings. His father is there as a consultant to the police and quickly takes control of the situation despite Megure-keibu being the one with authority around a crime scene.
Both times, he made Ran cry, made her worry and as her best friend who suddenly upped and disappeared months ago, he is internally beating himself up over it. On the surface, he smiles sheepishly, reassures her that he's feeling fine and that he won't do it again in the most innocent little-boy voice he can muster and watches her sigh, giving up in resignation. A pang hits him when he remembers that he's not Conan, too caught up in this masquerade, all the while knowing that Ran is hurting more and more every day.
He would like to just reveal everything, just to see the pain fade away from the depths of her eyes but he cannot afford to put her in danger, possibly getting her killed when doing that. If he was to be hated and cursed at like he knows she does after every single time he calls from listening in the other room then so be it. It is infinitely better to be hated than to have her dead; dead and gone from his life, everybody's life forever.
One day, he swears from where he is perched on the windowsill staring out at the moon. One day, he'll bring them down, get the antidote and finally restart his life again.
Now however, he'll have to be content with watching from the sidelines as everybody moves onwards. Holding them as a beacon for a promise of a better tomorrow.
A/N: Err… what is this? You decide. I'm just going to go off now and leave this here. Bye~
Please review, favourite and vote for me in the contest if you liked this story. Thanks!
Have a nice day!
Edit: Nobody knows -hopefully - but fifteen minutes after posting the story, I realised that I had used the document for Countdown From Zero instead of this so, overlook that little blunder... Hahaha...