Magic Kaitou: Drabbles
Aug. 5th, 2010 07:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
what_we_dreamMagic Kaitou Drabbles Part 1
Pairings: Occasional Kaito/Aoko
Ratings: Nothing above PG
Take Wing
In a lot of ways, Nakamori misses the old squad. Misses the men, misses the faith he could place in them, misses knowing which way they’ll jump at nearly any move on Kid’s part. But there’s something to be said for that uncertainty, and the fact that he doesn’t know what his men will do half the time when pressed means that neither does Kid, who knew the old ones equally well.
Of course, this also has the makings of a true blue disaster.
It’s the rainy season, rain pouring down from the sky so thick it feels like there must be an ocean up there above the clouds that’s leaking through. But weather’s never stopped the Kid before, and tonight’s no exception.
They’re standing on the roof, those without the uniform hat wiping water from their eyes every few seconds while trying to keep an eye on the white figure of the thief, balanced precariously on the edge of the roof.
They’ve got him surrounded in a complete semi-circle, and it might actually work this time because the combination of the wind and rain make the glider extremely dangerous to begin with, and even if Kid can keep in the sky he’ll have little control of where he lands, and Nakamori’s got two teams ready in cars.
The wind’s whipping around, drawing Kid’s cape out like a flag and then slamming it back into his body with a dull thwock that’s nearly lose under the stones-on-tin sound of the rain.
“Give it up, Kid,” shouts Nakamori, and he has to shout despite the fact that he’s only five metres from the thief. The men on the two ends of the ring, near the edge of the roof, shuffle in closer. “Come on in, and we can all get out of the rain!”
Kid is standing with his back to the empty sky, but he hasn’t stepped up onto the wide raised edge of the roof, yet, and Nakamori knows he must be just as aware as the Inspector of the dangers of using his glider, must be weighing his other options. Nakamori grins; Kid’s smoke won’t work in this rain, either. They’ve got him, this time. Almost certainly.
“I’m afraid, Inspector,” begins Kid, raising his head to stare Nakamori in the eyes. A waterfall of rain slices down from the brim of his hat over his back. He gets no further.
A quick flash of movement from Kid’s right draw his eyes, and Nakamori’s as well. Ohara, new even for the new squad, and right out on the left edge of the circle, has hopped up onto the roof’s edge and is charging Kid, hoping to force him forwards into the ring of cops. Kid dances backwards, eyes wide and face suddenly serious in the poor lighting.
Nakamori, with his heart in his throat, is already stepping forward and yelling at the man not to be a damn idiot, half the squad moving not towards Kid but Ohara.
And then the wind wheels around, and slams a sheet of rain like a pane of glass straight into them all from behind. Ohara, on the slick metallic paneling of the raised edge, skids. His eyes, wide and horrified, turn from Kid to his superior. And then he’s gone, dropping into the darkness 42 stories above the soaked Tokyo streets, night ringing with the simultaneous cries of 14 police officers.
An instant later, Kid dives after him.
Nakamori hits the edge at this point, along with the rest of the squad, all of them staring over the edge. Nakamori yanks his radio out, twists the dials in a panic and cuts off the scream of static with a curse.
“Teams two and three, Ohara just fell off the roof! Repeat, Ohara’s fallen off the roof, and Kid’s gone after him! Get your asses out there!”
Nakamori’s seen the thief do a lot of stupid things. He’s seen him light fireworks while holding them, seen him slice through the only rope holding him 8 storeys above ground, seen him dive straight off a bridge and into a white-water river. He’s not sure any of these things even compare to what he’s just done.
In the pounding rain, he can make out Kid’s white form slicing through the air like a hawk, held tight and aerodynamic as his cape flaps loose behind him. Ohara, in his dark uniform, is almost impossible to make out. But it’s clear when Kid reaches him, because the cape snaps out into the familiar almost-triangle and his decent slows dramatically. And then, as the wind and the rain hits, he flips sideways and spins straight into the side of the building.
Watching the glider fighting to stay in the air is the most terrifying thing Nakamori’s seen in years, and judging from the absolute silence on the roof except for the one tiny exclamation of “Holy shit,” from further down the line, he’s not alone in that. Kid’s an exceptional pilot, and for each air current he loses he manages to find another just as he’s in danger of having the glider’s nose forced down too far, but at each shuddering falter Nakamori feels his heart squeezing.
When it’s finally clear, after several torturous seconds, that Kid’s going to make it to the ground, Nakamori takes off for the stairs. He peels down one flight, squad trailing after him, and bolts into the elevator locked on the top floor. Oogawa, Sawada and a handful of others trip in before he pulls out the key holding the elevator on the 41st floor and slams 1.
The elevator takes half a minute to descend to ground floor, 30 seconds Nakamori passes by tapping his foot furiously, pulling out his carton of cigarettes and then slamming it back irritably into his pocket.
It’s the longest elevator-ride of his life.
On the ground, the police-cordon is relatively unattended due to the rain, even Kid’s fans having some limits. The two squad cars parked by the kerb are empty, and Yamamoto and Hoshino are in the street, stopping traffic.
This is because Ohara is sitting in the middle of the wet road, staring dazedly up at the sky, rain streaming down his face.
Kaitou Kid is nowhere to be seen.
Nakamori marches across the pavement to the man. Ohara blinks and turns to look at his superior and, spotting his expression, replaces his shell-shocked expression with one of mute apprehension.
Nakamori would like to ask him what the hell, the hell, he was thinking. And he will, later. Repeatedly. But for now there’s more important things.
“Ohara, where’s the Kid?”
The man glances around, as if expecting him to pop up behind him. “I don’t know, sir. He dropped me here, and took off.”
“Took off,” says Nakamori flatly. It’s less windy down here, but there’s no way Kid could get airborne once on the ground, regardless.
“I, uh… he maybe ran off, Inspector?”
Nakamori gives him a look that makes Ohara squirm. “And you didn’t try to stop him?”
There’s no answer to that, and Ohara doesn’t try. Just looks miserable, and wet, and alive.
“Right then. Back to the station. Don’t bother with the report, I’ll do it.”
Ohara nods frantically, scrambles to his feet and takes off. Just as well. The idiot’s got no experience in making up excuses for the stupid messes Kid gets himself into.
Kid/Aoko,horrible, horrible sap involuntary haircut
“Your hair’s getting long,” points out Kaito right after Math, having spent most of the free work time running his pencil tip through the ends trying to get a rise out of Aoko.
“It does that,” she snaps without turning, terse from spending the free work time refusing to rise to the pencil running through the ends of her hair.
“You could get it cut,” says Kaito, undeterred. Snips his scissors.
She wheels around at this, hair whipping after her. “One centimetre closer,” she hisses, glaring, “And I will convince your mother to make you mind my fish. In your room. For a month.”
Kaito stares back at her lazily, but drops the scissors. “You don’t have any fish,” he says sullenly.
“I would get some.” She spins around again, and opens her language book ready for next period. Kaito scowls at her back.
--
The moonlit thief Kaitou Kid stands in front of the brand new Roppongi Museum, a museum focusing nearly exclusively on precious stones, with a brilliant ruby in one hand and a set of silver ornamental scissors in the other. The mayor is staring aghast at the red ribbon fluttering in the breeze, two ends created by one handy snip. Nakamori, who long ago learned to trim down the time he spends aghast, is leaping after Kid. Aoko, standing off to the side of the main doors, slips in a smaller side entrance.
Kid, surrounded on the outside by police both in uniforms and plain clothes and with a wind too strong to allow him to use his trademark smoke bombs, has nowhere to go but in. Aoko’s waiting for him on the stairs, expecting him to head up for an aerial escape. Consequently she’s shocked when he pelts straight through the building towards the back exit. She vaults over the banister and tears after him, running at full tilt and shooting out from the back door which is slamming ahead of her.
She shoots through it, twisting her shoulders to just barely make it as it crashes closed. And is yanked backwards with a red-hot pain by the back of her head. She yelps, tears rushing to her eyes, and stumbles back into the doorway. Turns, and finds she can’t quite twist all the way. Her hair is caught in the heavy air-lock security door. She scrambles at the handle to no avail; it’s locked.
Aoko turns back to see Kid standing in a shaft of moonlight. The silver scissors sparkle in his white glove; the ruby is gone. His eyes, as often, are shadowed by the brim of his hat.
“Well?” she says, trying to blink away the tears and not quite managing. “Are you going to drop them there, just out of my reach?”
His lips are not shadowed, and she grits her teeth against his smile. “That would be cruel, Nakamori-san,” he intones lightly. And, sirens blaring, alarms sounding, cops shouting on the other side of the building, he steps forward with the scissors. So close she could wrap her arms around him, could knock off his hat and monocle, could throttle him. So close she can smell him, smoke and tin and something almost feminine – face powder. Then his hands are in her hair and she closes her eyes and – she’s free.
She opens her eyes, blinking, and turns to see the ends of her hair, still caught in the door. Reaches up and feels the new length settling around her shoulders, a few inches shorter than her usual.
“How lovely,” says Kid, smiling widely in an idiot grin. Aoko’s shock turns to anger and she bunches to leap and there’s a flash of light right in front of her. There’s a click behind her, but when she reaches out no one is there.
When her retinas stop tingling, Kid is gone. Before her, on the ground, the ruby is weighing down a scrap of paper fluttering in the breeze. She reaches down to pick it up even as the Squad streams around the building, her father bellowing at the sprinting men.
You can have this; I’ve taken my treasure
Kaitou Kid
Aoko knows, even before turning, that the ends of her hair won’t be caught in the door anymore. Flushing, she crumples the note into a ball and turns to return the ruby to her father.
She doesn’t throw out the note, though.
Kizudarake no Tsubasa Violinst of Hameln
The wind blowing up from the edge of the building is fierce. Beside him, Aoko’s latched onto his sleeve and is staring down at the flashing lights four storeys below. Behind them, flames crackle like firecrackers.
“Just use the glider already,” she hisses, twisting her fingers in the lightweight silk of his summer suit. The wind has kept the smoke away from them this far, but it’s starting to shift and he can already smell it, hot and acrid.
“Unfortunately, I was unable to bring it today,” he answers, keen eyes focused on the firemen spread in a wide circle below.
“What?” she shrieks, twisting to look in horror at the flames licking closer behind them.
“Oh, don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll be fine.”
She turns wide eyes on him, shining in the red light. But she doesn’t manage to protest, before he pushes her off the roof to the jump net waiting below.
(I subsequently looked up jump nets which apparently fail at life and aren't used anymore, BUT WHATEVER, I had 3 minutes. XD)
Wanted Dead or Alive Bon Jovi
“Stop right there, Kid!” bellows Nakamori, revolver in hand. The thief turns with the easy grace of a cat, standing on the ramparts of the Imperial Palace garden. He grins in the spotlights, monocle flashing and making Nakamori squint.
“Or you’ll shoot, Inspector? I don’t recall warrants having been issued for me ‘dead or alive.’”
“You keep this up and it’s only a matter of time,” replies Nakamori.
“Thanks for the warning, Inspector. I’ll have to purchase a bullet-proof vest.”
“And what will you wear on your head?” Nakamori snarls, aware that five of his men are trying to climb the ramparts on either side of the thief, and that none of them are having much success
“I’m sure I’ll think of something. Perhaps a reinforced hat.” Kid takes his off to wave jauntily. “It’s been nice talking to you, Inspector, but I must be going.” He steps backwards, arms raised to either side.
“Wait – Kid!”
But the thief is already falling backwards off the ramparts.
Kaito/Aoko (Magic Kaitou) – Order Made (Rad Wimps) for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ningen_demonai
The first memory Kaito has of crying is kindergarten. He’s walking home with Aoko, the two of them holding hands as they’re taught to, yellow hats bright in the afternoon sun. He’s trying to get her to hurry up, skipping around her and tugging at her arm. He’s just turning around when he trips on an uneven slab of concrete and falls, hand slipping from Aoko’s. He lands hard on his knees and scrapes the skin right off them, the pain like alcohol in an open wound. Kaito immediately tears up, full of shock and pain and embarrassment. Above him, Aoko looks down in surprise for a minute, and then gives a strong little smile. “Boys shouldn’t cry,” she says, and holds out her hand. Kaito rubs hard at his eyes, glaring at her, and jumps up to his feet without her help.
The second memory Kaito has of crying is his father’s funeral. He’s nine years old, and wearing a black suit for the first time. He sits in the front row staring blankly at his father’s black-framed photograph while the tears run down his face without his noticing. Aoko sits on his right, so close he can feel the heat of her arm through his sleeve. She says nothing, but pulls a handkerchief out and lays it out on her knee for when he wants it. Eventually, he picks it up and tries to blot out the tears.
The third memory Kaito has of crying is graduation from junior high. They’re not real tears, just a slight stinging in his eyes at the realisation, as he stands on the front steps watching dozens of kids in familiar uniforms leave for the last time, that he’ll probably never see most of the people here again. Aoko, smiling through her own tears, gives him a good pinch in the arm. He chases her out the gates and down the street.
He’s crying now, throat tight and slow tears slipping down to stain his shirt as he sits on the ground, back bent and elbow on his knee, the palm of his hand pressed hard against his forehead and gloved fingers twisted in his hair. On the ground behind him his hat lies where it fell; on the ground beside him his lies monocle where Aoko slapped it to. His cheek still stings. He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting here. It doesn’t matter. The secret he had to keep at all costs is out, and Aoko will despise him twice-over: the friend who stole her father from her knowing how much she hated his absence, and the friend who hid everything from her. He lets out a gasping snarl, fingers tangling in his hair and tearing painfully at it.
There are soft steps on the concrete of the patio behind him; he stiffens but doesn’t turn. Behind him, Aoko kneels down and rests her forehead against the back of his head, arms gently wrapping around his shoulders so close he can feel her heart beating against his. “Did you really think I wouldn’t come back?” she whispers, and pulls his face around towards hers. With a soft thumb, she wipes away his tears.
Heavy Silences-verse OC Birthday
Aoko is woken on Sunday morning by the phone ringing. The one day of the week she doesn’t have to get up early. She rolls over to glare at the clock: 7:56. Her father, she knows from long experience, won’t get up to answer it. She contemplates doing the same and letting the machine pick up, but no one calls on Sunday morning if it’s not important. Groaning, she gets out of bed and stumbles out into the hall to pick up the upstairs extension. Her leg hardly bothers her at all now, just a slight twinge when she puts her full weight on it.
“Hello?” She doesn’t bother to open her eyes further than a sliver; with luck she’ll be able to get rid of whoever it is and go back to sleep.
“Oh, Aoko-chan, is the Inspector there?” It’s Sawara, sounding as if he’s just caught Kid singlehanded or, sadly more likely, won the lottery.
“Just a minute,” she mumbles, and takes the wireless phone with her into her father’s room. “Dad, Sawara-san’s on the phone.”
There’s a moan from the lump of blankets on the bed, and a hand appears from the depths. She hands over the phone and goes back to her own still-warm bed. Falls asleep in minutes.
It’s only later when she’s cooking breakfast that her rumpled-looking father appears, already dressed. She raises her eyebrows at him as he pats his hair down.
“The kid was born this morning – a boy. I’ll have to pick up a noshibukuro. Sawara’ll take tomorrow off, so we’ll be able to round up everyone’s contribution.”
Aoko nods, smiling, and scoops rice into a bowl to hand to her father. “How is Reina-san?”
“Fine, fine. And the kid’s got all the fingers and toes and everything. Sawara sounded like he was on Novocain,” he says gruffly, taking the rice and beginning to shovel it hastily down. Aoko manages not to roll her eyes, and serves herself some. Brings it and the miso soup over to the table.
“I wonder what they’ll name the baby. Maybe I should get a little present for him; Reina-san was really – is a wonderful woman,” she stammers, managing not to bring up the kidnapping incident at the last minute. Her father gets cold and stony-faced whenever anything which even vaguely touches on it comes up.
He doesn’t look up from his rice. “Who knows what they’ll call him. After Sawara, maybe. Don’t get anything ridiculous, I’m sure the rest of her friends can manage that on their own.”
Aoko sighs and starts in on her soup.
----------------------------------------
They go to the department store together in the afternoon and promptly split up, her father heading to the stationary department and she to the children’s clothing. She’s on the escalator heading to the men’s clothing when she spots a familiar face over the display of ties, and hops off.
“Kaito!”
Kaito starts, dropping the tie he was inspecting and looking up with round eyes.
“Aoko! What the – what’re you doing here?”
She gives him a look – really, the men she has in her life. “Shopping,” she says. And then when he shows no immediate signs of filling the gap, expands, “Sawara-san’s wife just had a son this morning; I’m getting something for him. What are you doing? They don’t sell our school ties here.”
Kaito gives her an irritated look back. “I know that. I was looking for one for – for …” he trails off, glancing down at the bright rainbow of ties as if for inspiration – really, who does he think wears bright scarlet ties?
“Kaito!” she says, as illumination strikes. “Were you getting a present for my father?”
Kaito’s head whips up and he stares, stammering again as his face moves through shock to confusion. “I – uh – what?”
“Well, you know. He went through a lot what with … everything, and –” a new idea sparks off that one, and she feels herself beginning to flush. “Are you thanking him for rescuing me?”
Kaito’s eyes widen even further and his mouth flaps, like a fish out of water.
“You really don’t need to – it’s his job, and he’s my father, and you don’t need to be thanking people for me; it’s not like you’ve got any stake in the matter!” she finishes, almost triumphantly. Kaito is by now a nice shade of puce.
“I don’t know what – that’s just ridiculous! Of course I’m not buying a tie for your father!”
“Good!”
“Good!”
Aoko turns to the escalator, and then seeing as Kaito hasn’t shown any sign of leaving, turns back to him. “He doesn’t like red, anyway. Reminds him of Kid. You’d do better with a quiet blue,” she says, indicating some.
“It’s not for him, idiot!” he says, and does turn away now. But she sees him slip a subdued navy tie with dark silver diamond pattern from the table as he goes. Shaking her head, she heads for the escalator.
----------------------------------------
Kaito emerges from the department store with a bag containing four new ties – three for himself and one for Nakamori, and how the hell is he supposed to give it to the Inspector? – and a little pendant for Aoko since he can’t very well give a present to her father for rescuing her from kidnapping without giving her something as the victim. Cursing the girl for her crazy ideas and himself for doing his shopping without a disguise, he makes his way home. It’s only when he’s walking back from the subway station that he remembers the part of Aoko’s conversation that didn’t lock him into idiocy. Sawara-san’s just had a son.
So Sawara’s wife has had the child, then, only three days after the kidnapping. Not surprising, but he hopes the boy’s healthy. She certainly seemed far enough along that there shouldn’t be concern of underdevelopment. He can call and find out later, as an outlying aunt, perhaps. He hasn’t used his female range in a while.
But more immediately, there’s the matter of his letter to Nakamori. He’s been waiting for the kid to be born to submit it – he needs to append that date.
His mother, as usual, isn’t home when he gets back. He fishes Nakamori and Aoko’s gifts out of the bag and leaves them on his bed, and then steps through to his workshop. To Kid’s workshop.
The ties go in the drawer, the bag in the trash. And then he steps over to the small desk he keeps separate from the main work table. The one he uses to write his correspondence at.
The letter’s already composed in careful calligraphy quite unlike his usual writing. He’s written it, as he writes all the Kid notes, holding the pen between his second and third fingers with his wrist at a painful angle to disguise his hand further. It reads so far:
Inspector Nakamori,
I told you I could not provide anything more than the necessary documents – at least, nothing more that I believed you would accept – in recompense. However, I find that I cannot do nothing for those who were harmed by this incident. As such, I give you my most sincere word that I will never commit any felony or cause any event requiring the presence of the Kaitou 1412 Task Force on the following dates:
He adds in the dates from the list he’s prepared, putting in the Sawara boy at the appropriate point, and signing the missive Kaitou Kid rather than his usual doodle. It’s the first time he’s ever signed the name. He hopes it will be the last.
----------------------------------------
Kaito calls the hospital after dinner and finds that both mother and child were discharged in the late afternoon – the kid must be healthy, then. He puts on a false face and baseball cap, and slips his wallet and the letter into his pockets. After a second of thought, he slips a further item into his pocket.
The evening streets are still mildly warm – summer will be here soon. He strolls once past the Nakamoris’ house, checking that no one’s in the garden and that the front windows are shut, and then makes a loop around the block and passes it again, this time depositing the letter in the slot. Then he walks on. Catches a bus, and sits watching the other evening commuters on their way home with an easy-going gaze.
Once off he stops in at a flourist’s shop and purchases a large bouquet of flowers, writes the card with his left hand – just a simple Congratulations. He had thought of other gifts, of all the things within a kaitou’s power to give. Money, precious stones, expensive clothes or toys. But even the simplest of presents would come down to the same thing: stolen money. No one on the Squad would accept that. Sawara, as old Squad, might even resent it. He can give no more than he has already, his word to Nakamori. And his own personal congratulations.
The Sawaras live in a small apartment in a high-rise building. There’s no guard at the bottom, and the keypad is child’s play. He passes in and takes the elevator up, cap over his eyes. Stops momentarily outside the door, to fumble in his pocket, and then looks down to ring the bell.
The door is opened by Sawara; Kaito keeps his head low, the brim of his hat covering his eyes. “Flowers for your wife, sir,” he says, mumbling and shuffling his feet, and hands them over.
“Ah, thank you. Thanks very much.”
“Just wanted to say congratulations, sir,” he says, and bows slightly
“Uh, thanks. Thank you,” Sawara repeats, clearly trying to keep the puzzlement from his voice at being given flowers by an apparent stranger.
Kid straightens from the bow and looks up, the bright light from inside the apartment catching on his monocle. Sawara’s eyes widen. Kid winks. “My good wishes to your wife and son,” he says, with sincerity. Then he turns and walks away in measured paces.
There’s a second’s pause behind him, and then the apartment door closes. Kaito smiles, pockets the monocle, and goes home.
Day by day forningen_demonai
For the first decade of their friendship, Aoko sees Kaito as slapdash. The kind of guy who takes things day by day, who doesn’t plan his life in advance but instead jumps hurdles as they come – admittedly with all the skill of an Olympic athlete. The kind of guy who inevitably pulls out his work completed on time, but always seems just a little surprised he managed it. The kind of guy who never writes anything in his planner, who relies on memory alone to guide him through the maze of high school assignments and social commitments.
In their second year of high school, she stops by his house unexpectedly one day with some notes for him to read over about the upcoming cultural festival. Kaito isn’t home, but his mother suggests she drop them off on his desk.
She’s been in Kaito’s room dozens of times; there’s nothing unfamiliar about it. Except that today his desk isn’t clear as usual. A big white binder is sitting open on it, full of transparent sleeves to hold un-punched papers. Aoko puts the notes down beside it without much thought, and then the title of the open page catches her eye. It’s their math homework for next week, fully complete. She hasn’t even started hers yet.
Frowning, she flips the page and finds their language assignment for Friday. The next page holds physics for next week. Then chemistry. English. Biology. She flips through in increasing shock, staring at the neat writing filling the pages. Kaito’s nearly a month ahead of their curriculum in all subjects, and there are incomplete notes for work even further ahead. She flips back to the beginning of the binder, and finds a detailed printed schedule. He’s worked out time not only for school, but also his student council responsibilities and even a few social events. Her birthday, she notices with a flush, is highlighted.
Kaito’s not flying by the seat of his pants. He’s planned so far ahead that he’s already forgotten he’s filled in the steps in between.
Aoko flips the binder back to the page it was on, and goes out with her notes. She tells Kaito’s mother she made a mistake – the wrong notes. Hopefully she won’t tell Kaito she was in his room.
If Kaito wants to pretend to be haphazard, that’s his business. His secret, for whatever reason. And she’ll keep it.
Pairings: Occasional Kaito/Aoko
Ratings: Nothing above PG
Take Wing
In a lot of ways, Nakamori misses the old squad. Misses the men, misses the faith he could place in them, misses knowing which way they’ll jump at nearly any move on Kid’s part. But there’s something to be said for that uncertainty, and the fact that he doesn’t know what his men will do half the time when pressed means that neither does Kid, who knew the old ones equally well.
Of course, this also has the makings of a true blue disaster.
It’s the rainy season, rain pouring down from the sky so thick it feels like there must be an ocean up there above the clouds that’s leaking through. But weather’s never stopped the Kid before, and tonight’s no exception.
They’re standing on the roof, those without the uniform hat wiping water from their eyes every few seconds while trying to keep an eye on the white figure of the thief, balanced precariously on the edge of the roof.
They’ve got him surrounded in a complete semi-circle, and it might actually work this time because the combination of the wind and rain make the glider extremely dangerous to begin with, and even if Kid can keep in the sky he’ll have little control of where he lands, and Nakamori’s got two teams ready in cars.
The wind’s whipping around, drawing Kid’s cape out like a flag and then slamming it back into his body with a dull thwock that’s nearly lose under the stones-on-tin sound of the rain.
“Give it up, Kid,” shouts Nakamori, and he has to shout despite the fact that he’s only five metres from the thief. The men on the two ends of the ring, near the edge of the roof, shuffle in closer. “Come on in, and we can all get out of the rain!”
Kid is standing with his back to the empty sky, but he hasn’t stepped up onto the wide raised edge of the roof, yet, and Nakamori knows he must be just as aware as the Inspector of the dangers of using his glider, must be weighing his other options. Nakamori grins; Kid’s smoke won’t work in this rain, either. They’ve got him, this time. Almost certainly.
“I’m afraid, Inspector,” begins Kid, raising his head to stare Nakamori in the eyes. A waterfall of rain slices down from the brim of his hat over his back. He gets no further.
A quick flash of movement from Kid’s right draw his eyes, and Nakamori’s as well. Ohara, new even for the new squad, and right out on the left edge of the circle, has hopped up onto the roof’s edge and is charging Kid, hoping to force him forwards into the ring of cops. Kid dances backwards, eyes wide and face suddenly serious in the poor lighting.
Nakamori, with his heart in his throat, is already stepping forward and yelling at the man not to be a damn idiot, half the squad moving not towards Kid but Ohara.
And then the wind wheels around, and slams a sheet of rain like a pane of glass straight into them all from behind. Ohara, on the slick metallic paneling of the raised edge, skids. His eyes, wide and horrified, turn from Kid to his superior. And then he’s gone, dropping into the darkness 42 stories above the soaked Tokyo streets, night ringing with the simultaneous cries of 14 police officers.
An instant later, Kid dives after him.
Nakamori hits the edge at this point, along with the rest of the squad, all of them staring over the edge. Nakamori yanks his radio out, twists the dials in a panic and cuts off the scream of static with a curse.
“Teams two and three, Ohara just fell off the roof! Repeat, Ohara’s fallen off the roof, and Kid’s gone after him! Get your asses out there!”
Nakamori’s seen the thief do a lot of stupid things. He’s seen him light fireworks while holding them, seen him slice through the only rope holding him 8 storeys above ground, seen him dive straight off a bridge and into a white-water river. He’s not sure any of these things even compare to what he’s just done.
In the pounding rain, he can make out Kid’s white form slicing through the air like a hawk, held tight and aerodynamic as his cape flaps loose behind him. Ohara, in his dark uniform, is almost impossible to make out. But it’s clear when Kid reaches him, because the cape snaps out into the familiar almost-triangle and his decent slows dramatically. And then, as the wind and the rain hits, he flips sideways and spins straight into the side of the building.
Watching the glider fighting to stay in the air is the most terrifying thing Nakamori’s seen in years, and judging from the absolute silence on the roof except for the one tiny exclamation of “Holy shit,” from further down the line, he’s not alone in that. Kid’s an exceptional pilot, and for each air current he loses he manages to find another just as he’s in danger of having the glider’s nose forced down too far, but at each shuddering falter Nakamori feels his heart squeezing.
When it’s finally clear, after several torturous seconds, that Kid’s going to make it to the ground, Nakamori takes off for the stairs. He peels down one flight, squad trailing after him, and bolts into the elevator locked on the top floor. Oogawa, Sawada and a handful of others trip in before he pulls out the key holding the elevator on the 41st floor and slams 1.
The elevator takes half a minute to descend to ground floor, 30 seconds Nakamori passes by tapping his foot furiously, pulling out his carton of cigarettes and then slamming it back irritably into his pocket.
It’s the longest elevator-ride of his life.
On the ground, the police-cordon is relatively unattended due to the rain, even Kid’s fans having some limits. The two squad cars parked by the kerb are empty, and Yamamoto and Hoshino are in the street, stopping traffic.
This is because Ohara is sitting in the middle of the wet road, staring dazedly up at the sky, rain streaming down his face.
Kaitou Kid is nowhere to be seen.
Nakamori marches across the pavement to the man. Ohara blinks and turns to look at his superior and, spotting his expression, replaces his shell-shocked expression with one of mute apprehension.
Nakamori would like to ask him what the hell, the hell, he was thinking. And he will, later. Repeatedly. But for now there’s more important things.
“Ohara, where’s the Kid?”
The man glances around, as if expecting him to pop up behind him. “I don’t know, sir. He dropped me here, and took off.”
“Took off,” says Nakamori flatly. It’s less windy down here, but there’s no way Kid could get airborne once on the ground, regardless.
“I, uh… he maybe ran off, Inspector?”
Nakamori gives him a look that makes Ohara squirm. “And you didn’t try to stop him?”
There’s no answer to that, and Ohara doesn’t try. Just looks miserable, and wet, and alive.
“Right then. Back to the station. Don’t bother with the report, I’ll do it.”
Ohara nods frantically, scrambles to his feet and takes off. Just as well. The idiot’s got no experience in making up excuses for the stupid messes Kid gets himself into.
Kid/Aoko,
“Your hair’s getting long,” points out Kaito right after Math, having spent most of the free work time running his pencil tip through the ends trying to get a rise out of Aoko.
“It does that,” she snaps without turning, terse from spending the free work time refusing to rise to the pencil running through the ends of her hair.
“You could get it cut,” says Kaito, undeterred. Snips his scissors.
She wheels around at this, hair whipping after her. “One centimetre closer,” she hisses, glaring, “And I will convince your mother to make you mind my fish. In your room. For a month.”
Kaito stares back at her lazily, but drops the scissors. “You don’t have any fish,” he says sullenly.
“I would get some.” She spins around again, and opens her language book ready for next period. Kaito scowls at her back.
--
The moonlit thief Kaitou Kid stands in front of the brand new Roppongi Museum, a museum focusing nearly exclusively on precious stones, with a brilliant ruby in one hand and a set of silver ornamental scissors in the other. The mayor is staring aghast at the red ribbon fluttering in the breeze, two ends created by one handy snip. Nakamori, who long ago learned to trim down the time he spends aghast, is leaping after Kid. Aoko, standing off to the side of the main doors, slips in a smaller side entrance.
Kid, surrounded on the outside by police both in uniforms and plain clothes and with a wind too strong to allow him to use his trademark smoke bombs, has nowhere to go but in. Aoko’s waiting for him on the stairs, expecting him to head up for an aerial escape. Consequently she’s shocked when he pelts straight through the building towards the back exit. She vaults over the banister and tears after him, running at full tilt and shooting out from the back door which is slamming ahead of her.
She shoots through it, twisting her shoulders to just barely make it as it crashes closed. And is yanked backwards with a red-hot pain by the back of her head. She yelps, tears rushing to her eyes, and stumbles back into the doorway. Turns, and finds she can’t quite twist all the way. Her hair is caught in the heavy air-lock security door. She scrambles at the handle to no avail; it’s locked.
Aoko turns back to see Kid standing in a shaft of moonlight. The silver scissors sparkle in his white glove; the ruby is gone. His eyes, as often, are shadowed by the brim of his hat.
“Well?” she says, trying to blink away the tears and not quite managing. “Are you going to drop them there, just out of my reach?”
His lips are not shadowed, and she grits her teeth against his smile. “That would be cruel, Nakamori-san,” he intones lightly. And, sirens blaring, alarms sounding, cops shouting on the other side of the building, he steps forward with the scissors. So close she could wrap her arms around him, could knock off his hat and monocle, could throttle him. So close she can smell him, smoke and tin and something almost feminine – face powder. Then his hands are in her hair and she closes her eyes and – she’s free.
She opens her eyes, blinking, and turns to see the ends of her hair, still caught in the door. Reaches up and feels the new length settling around her shoulders, a few inches shorter than her usual.
“How lovely,” says Kid, smiling widely in an idiot grin. Aoko’s shock turns to anger and she bunches to leap and there’s a flash of light right in front of her. There’s a click behind her, but when she reaches out no one is there.
When her retinas stop tingling, Kid is gone. Before her, on the ground, the ruby is weighing down a scrap of paper fluttering in the breeze. She reaches down to pick it up even as the Squad streams around the building, her father bellowing at the sprinting men.
You can have this; I’ve taken my treasure
Kaitou Kid
Aoko knows, even before turning, that the ends of her hair won’t be caught in the door anymore. Flushing, she crumples the note into a ball and turns to return the ruby to her father.
She doesn’t throw out the note, though.
Kizudarake no Tsubasa Violinst of Hameln
The wind blowing up from the edge of the building is fierce. Beside him, Aoko’s latched onto his sleeve and is staring down at the flashing lights four storeys below. Behind them, flames crackle like firecrackers.
“Just use the glider already,” she hisses, twisting her fingers in the lightweight silk of his summer suit. The wind has kept the smoke away from them this far, but it’s starting to shift and he can already smell it, hot and acrid.
“Unfortunately, I was unable to bring it today,” he answers, keen eyes focused on the firemen spread in a wide circle below.
“What?” she shrieks, twisting to look in horror at the flames licking closer behind them.
“Oh, don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll be fine.”
She turns wide eyes on him, shining in the red light. But she doesn’t manage to protest, before he pushes her off the roof to the jump net waiting below.
(I subsequently looked up jump nets which apparently fail at life and aren't used anymore, BUT WHATEVER, I had 3 minutes. XD)
Wanted Dead or Alive Bon Jovi
“Stop right there, Kid!” bellows Nakamori, revolver in hand. The thief turns with the easy grace of a cat, standing on the ramparts of the Imperial Palace garden. He grins in the spotlights, monocle flashing and making Nakamori squint.
“Or you’ll shoot, Inspector? I don’t recall warrants having been issued for me ‘dead or alive.’”
“You keep this up and it’s only a matter of time,” replies Nakamori.
“Thanks for the warning, Inspector. I’ll have to purchase a bullet-proof vest.”
“And what will you wear on your head?” Nakamori snarls, aware that five of his men are trying to climb the ramparts on either side of the thief, and that none of them are having much success
“I’m sure I’ll think of something. Perhaps a reinforced hat.” Kid takes his off to wave jauntily. “It’s been nice talking to you, Inspector, but I must be going.” He steps backwards, arms raised to either side.
“Wait – Kid!”
But the thief is already falling backwards off the ramparts.
Kaito/Aoko (Magic Kaitou) – Order Made (Rad Wimps) for
ningen_demonaiThe first memory Kaito has of crying is kindergarten. He’s walking home with Aoko, the two of them holding hands as they’re taught to, yellow hats bright in the afternoon sun. He’s trying to get her to hurry up, skipping around her and tugging at her arm. He’s just turning around when he trips on an uneven slab of concrete and falls, hand slipping from Aoko’s. He lands hard on his knees and scrapes the skin right off them, the pain like alcohol in an open wound. Kaito immediately tears up, full of shock and pain and embarrassment. Above him, Aoko looks down in surprise for a minute, and then gives a strong little smile. “Boys shouldn’t cry,” she says, and holds out her hand. Kaito rubs hard at his eyes, glaring at her, and jumps up to his feet without her help.
The second memory Kaito has of crying is his father’s funeral. He’s nine years old, and wearing a black suit for the first time. He sits in the front row staring blankly at his father’s black-framed photograph while the tears run down his face without his noticing. Aoko sits on his right, so close he can feel the heat of her arm through his sleeve. She says nothing, but pulls a handkerchief out and lays it out on her knee for when he wants it. Eventually, he picks it up and tries to blot out the tears.
The third memory Kaito has of crying is graduation from junior high. They’re not real tears, just a slight stinging in his eyes at the realisation, as he stands on the front steps watching dozens of kids in familiar uniforms leave for the last time, that he’ll probably never see most of the people here again. Aoko, smiling through her own tears, gives him a good pinch in the arm. He chases her out the gates and down the street.
He’s crying now, throat tight and slow tears slipping down to stain his shirt as he sits on the ground, back bent and elbow on his knee, the palm of his hand pressed hard against his forehead and gloved fingers twisted in his hair. On the ground behind him his hat lies where it fell; on the ground beside him his lies monocle where Aoko slapped it to. His cheek still stings. He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting here. It doesn’t matter. The secret he had to keep at all costs is out, and Aoko will despise him twice-over: the friend who stole her father from her knowing how much she hated his absence, and the friend who hid everything from her. He lets out a gasping snarl, fingers tangling in his hair and tearing painfully at it.
There are soft steps on the concrete of the patio behind him; he stiffens but doesn’t turn. Behind him, Aoko kneels down and rests her forehead against the back of his head, arms gently wrapping around his shoulders so close he can feel her heart beating against his. “Did you really think I wouldn’t come back?” she whispers, and pulls his face around towards hers. With a soft thumb, she wipes away his tears.
Heavy Silences-verse OC Birthday
Aoko is woken on Sunday morning by the phone ringing. The one day of the week she doesn’t have to get up early. She rolls over to glare at the clock: 7:56. Her father, she knows from long experience, won’t get up to answer it. She contemplates doing the same and letting the machine pick up, but no one calls on Sunday morning if it’s not important. Groaning, she gets out of bed and stumbles out into the hall to pick up the upstairs extension. Her leg hardly bothers her at all now, just a slight twinge when she puts her full weight on it.
“Hello?” She doesn’t bother to open her eyes further than a sliver; with luck she’ll be able to get rid of whoever it is and go back to sleep.
“Oh, Aoko-chan, is the Inspector there?” It’s Sawara, sounding as if he’s just caught Kid singlehanded or, sadly more likely, won the lottery.
“Just a minute,” she mumbles, and takes the wireless phone with her into her father’s room. “Dad, Sawara-san’s on the phone.”
There’s a moan from the lump of blankets on the bed, and a hand appears from the depths. She hands over the phone and goes back to her own still-warm bed. Falls asleep in minutes.
It’s only later when she’s cooking breakfast that her rumpled-looking father appears, already dressed. She raises her eyebrows at him as he pats his hair down.
“The kid was born this morning – a boy. I’ll have to pick up a noshibukuro. Sawara’ll take tomorrow off, so we’ll be able to round up everyone’s contribution.”
Aoko nods, smiling, and scoops rice into a bowl to hand to her father. “How is Reina-san?”
“Fine, fine. And the kid’s got all the fingers and toes and everything. Sawara sounded like he was on Novocain,” he says gruffly, taking the rice and beginning to shovel it hastily down. Aoko manages not to roll her eyes, and serves herself some. Brings it and the miso soup over to the table.
“I wonder what they’ll name the baby. Maybe I should get a little present for him; Reina-san was really – is a wonderful woman,” she stammers, managing not to bring up the kidnapping incident at the last minute. Her father gets cold and stony-faced whenever anything which even vaguely touches on it comes up.
He doesn’t look up from his rice. “Who knows what they’ll call him. After Sawara, maybe. Don’t get anything ridiculous, I’m sure the rest of her friends can manage that on their own.”
Aoko sighs and starts in on her soup.
----------------------------------------
They go to the department store together in the afternoon and promptly split up, her father heading to the stationary department and she to the children’s clothing. She’s on the escalator heading to the men’s clothing when she spots a familiar face over the display of ties, and hops off.
“Kaito!”
Kaito starts, dropping the tie he was inspecting and looking up with round eyes.
“Aoko! What the – what’re you doing here?”
She gives him a look – really, the men she has in her life. “Shopping,” she says. And then when he shows no immediate signs of filling the gap, expands, “Sawara-san’s wife just had a son this morning; I’m getting something for him. What are you doing? They don’t sell our school ties here.”
Kaito gives her an irritated look back. “I know that. I was looking for one for – for …” he trails off, glancing down at the bright rainbow of ties as if for inspiration – really, who does he think wears bright scarlet ties?
“Kaito!” she says, as illumination strikes. “Were you getting a present for my father?”
Kaito’s head whips up and he stares, stammering again as his face moves through shock to confusion. “I – uh – what?”
“Well, you know. He went through a lot what with … everything, and –” a new idea sparks off that one, and she feels herself beginning to flush. “Are you thanking him for rescuing me?”
Kaito’s eyes widen even further and his mouth flaps, like a fish out of water.
“You really don’t need to – it’s his job, and he’s my father, and you don’t need to be thanking people for me; it’s not like you’ve got any stake in the matter!” she finishes, almost triumphantly. Kaito is by now a nice shade of puce.
“I don’t know what – that’s just ridiculous! Of course I’m not buying a tie for your father!”
“Good!”
“Good!”
Aoko turns to the escalator, and then seeing as Kaito hasn’t shown any sign of leaving, turns back to him. “He doesn’t like red, anyway. Reminds him of Kid. You’d do better with a quiet blue,” she says, indicating some.
“It’s not for him, idiot!” he says, and does turn away now. But she sees him slip a subdued navy tie with dark silver diamond pattern from the table as he goes. Shaking her head, she heads for the escalator.
----------------------------------------
Kaito emerges from the department store with a bag containing four new ties – three for himself and one for Nakamori, and how the hell is he supposed to give it to the Inspector? – and a little pendant for Aoko since he can’t very well give a present to her father for rescuing her from kidnapping without giving her something as the victim. Cursing the girl for her crazy ideas and himself for doing his shopping without a disguise, he makes his way home. It’s only when he’s walking back from the subway station that he remembers the part of Aoko’s conversation that didn’t lock him into idiocy. Sawara-san’s just had a son.
So Sawara’s wife has had the child, then, only three days after the kidnapping. Not surprising, but he hopes the boy’s healthy. She certainly seemed far enough along that there shouldn’t be concern of underdevelopment. He can call and find out later, as an outlying aunt, perhaps. He hasn’t used his female range in a while.
But more immediately, there’s the matter of his letter to Nakamori. He’s been waiting for the kid to be born to submit it – he needs to append that date.
His mother, as usual, isn’t home when he gets back. He fishes Nakamori and Aoko’s gifts out of the bag and leaves them on his bed, and then steps through to his workshop. To Kid’s workshop.
The ties go in the drawer, the bag in the trash. And then he steps over to the small desk he keeps separate from the main work table. The one he uses to write his correspondence at.
The letter’s already composed in careful calligraphy quite unlike his usual writing. He’s written it, as he writes all the Kid notes, holding the pen between his second and third fingers with his wrist at a painful angle to disguise his hand further. It reads so far:
Inspector Nakamori,
I told you I could not provide anything more than the necessary documents – at least, nothing more that I believed you would accept – in recompense. However, I find that I cannot do nothing for those who were harmed by this incident. As such, I give you my most sincere word that I will never commit any felony or cause any event requiring the presence of the Kaitou 1412 Task Force on the following dates:
He adds in the dates from the list he’s prepared, putting in the Sawara boy at the appropriate point, and signing the missive Kaitou Kid rather than his usual doodle. It’s the first time he’s ever signed the name. He hopes it will be the last.
----------------------------------------
Kaito calls the hospital after dinner and finds that both mother and child were discharged in the late afternoon – the kid must be healthy, then. He puts on a false face and baseball cap, and slips his wallet and the letter into his pockets. After a second of thought, he slips a further item into his pocket.
The evening streets are still mildly warm – summer will be here soon. He strolls once past the Nakamoris’ house, checking that no one’s in the garden and that the front windows are shut, and then makes a loop around the block and passes it again, this time depositing the letter in the slot. Then he walks on. Catches a bus, and sits watching the other evening commuters on their way home with an easy-going gaze.
Once off he stops in at a flourist’s shop and purchases a large bouquet of flowers, writes the card with his left hand – just a simple Congratulations. He had thought of other gifts, of all the things within a kaitou’s power to give. Money, precious stones, expensive clothes or toys. But even the simplest of presents would come down to the same thing: stolen money. No one on the Squad would accept that. Sawara, as old Squad, might even resent it. He can give no more than he has already, his word to Nakamori. And his own personal congratulations.
The Sawaras live in a small apartment in a high-rise building. There’s no guard at the bottom, and the keypad is child’s play. He passes in and takes the elevator up, cap over his eyes. Stops momentarily outside the door, to fumble in his pocket, and then looks down to ring the bell.
The door is opened by Sawara; Kaito keeps his head low, the brim of his hat covering his eyes. “Flowers for your wife, sir,” he says, mumbling and shuffling his feet, and hands them over.
“Ah, thank you. Thanks very much.”
“Just wanted to say congratulations, sir,” he says, and bows slightly
“Uh, thanks. Thank you,” Sawara repeats, clearly trying to keep the puzzlement from his voice at being given flowers by an apparent stranger.
Kid straightens from the bow and looks up, the bright light from inside the apartment catching on his monocle. Sawara’s eyes widen. Kid winks. “My good wishes to your wife and son,” he says, with sincerity. Then he turns and walks away in measured paces.
There’s a second’s pause behind him, and then the apartment door closes. Kaito smiles, pockets the monocle, and goes home.
Day by day for
ningen_demonaiFor the first decade of their friendship, Aoko sees Kaito as slapdash. The kind of guy who takes things day by day, who doesn’t plan his life in advance but instead jumps hurdles as they come – admittedly with all the skill of an Olympic athlete. The kind of guy who inevitably pulls out his work completed on time, but always seems just a little surprised he managed it. The kind of guy who never writes anything in his planner, who relies on memory alone to guide him through the maze of high school assignments and social commitments.
In their second year of high school, she stops by his house unexpectedly one day with some notes for him to read over about the upcoming cultural festival. Kaito isn’t home, but his mother suggests she drop them off on his desk.
She’s been in Kaito’s room dozens of times; there’s nothing unfamiliar about it. Except that today his desk isn’t clear as usual. A big white binder is sitting open on it, full of transparent sleeves to hold un-punched papers. Aoko puts the notes down beside it without much thought, and then the title of the open page catches her eye. It’s their math homework for next week, fully complete. She hasn’t even started hers yet.
Frowning, she flips the page and finds their language assignment for Friday. The next page holds physics for next week. Then chemistry. English. Biology. She flips through in increasing shock, staring at the neat writing filling the pages. Kaito’s nearly a month ahead of their curriculum in all subjects, and there are incomplete notes for work even further ahead. She flips back to the beginning of the binder, and finds a detailed printed schedule. He’s worked out time not only for school, but also his student council responsibilities and even a few social events. Her birthday, she notices with a flush, is highlighted.
Kaito’s not flying by the seat of his pants. He’s planned so far ahead that he’s already forgotten he’s filled in the steps in between.
Aoko flips the binder back to the page it was on, and goes out with her notes. She tells Kaito’s mother she made a mistake – the wrong notes. Hopefully she won’t tell Kaito she was in his room.
If Kaito wants to pretend to be haphazard, that’s his business. His secret, for whatever reason. And she’ll keep it.
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Date: 2010-08-06 06:37 am (UTC)