ran_mouri82

Title: Last Goodbye
Author: ran_mouri82
Word Count: 2182
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not even Aoyama’s this sadistic. My deepest apologies.
Spoilers: Reference to Files 535-537
Pairing: Kudou Shin’ichi/Edogawa Conan and Mouri Ran
Notes: 30 Kisses: #17 – kHz (kilohertz); manycases1truth: #65 - Death

Last Goodbye

“Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing”- Sonnet 87, William Shakespeare

From his vantage point in a dim hotel room far above the twilit streets of Tokyo, Conan caught sight of a young bride dashing out of a neighboring wedding hall. He jumped to his window, startled, as the bride rounded a corner of the building and looked left and right, unsure where to go next. Her gown flowed from its empire waist to the sidewalk, overwhelmed by a wide, lace veil that covered her upswept hair and sank to the small of her back.

Though worry gripped Conan, he felt an old, familiar ache as he trained his glasses to zoom in on Ran. She was beautiful.

How many times had he imagined Ran would look like this on their wedding day? But there was no time to waste on daydreams. At the moment, Ran was less like a blushing bride and more like a pale widow. Clearing his throat, he kept to the edge of the window and said, through his bowtie into the prepaid cell phone he would only use once, “Ran-neechan, you still there?”

“Y-yes, Conan-kun,” Ran said, shifting to hide in an alleyway behind a small, potted tree. She clung to her cell phone with her bare hands, allowing her simply polished nails and wedding ring to glint in the streetlamp light. “I just decided to get some fresh air, that’s all.”

“Why’s that?” Conan asked, glancing away as he leaned against the window frame. It was hard to look at Ran, even in his glasses’ grainy night vision. After all these years, he could not show himself to her for one, simple reason: Kudou Shin’ichi should be 26, and Edogawa Conan, as those in Beika believed, should be 16, but the Conan who lived with his cousin, Ai, in Los Angeles was only six.

He glanced at the hand that held his phone. It was as small as ever, not that it had mattered since nine years ago, when Kudou Shin’ichi died.

Ran breathed into the phone as if gathering her thoughts for some excuse. The excuse never came. “I don’t know, Conan-kun,” she said, her voice quivering. “I think I—I’m having second thoughts.”

“What? But you just got married!” Conan said, pushing aside his pain to peer out the window in case Ran fled down the alleyway and out of sight.

“I know, I know!” Ran said, biting her lip and glancing around again. “Stupid, isn’t it? It makes no sense! I can’t even stay strong for my husband’s sake! Yamazaki Kenji is an excellent doctor, and a kind man, a-and….”

Conan forced himself to finish her sentence. “And he loves you.”

“Yes.” Ran sniffled, but then knocked her own head. “Oh, I’m such an idiot! I’m so sorry, Conan-kun. You called to wish me well on my wedding day, and now I’m troubling you with all this.”

“It’s alright, Ran-neechan. It’s my fault, anyway, for sounding too much like Shin’ichi-niichan.” Not that the voice is my own anymore, he thought, grimacing at the bowtie he kept between his mouth and the phone.

“Now don’t go blaming yourself,” Ran said, wistfulness seeping through her chiding words. “If anything, I’m proud that you’ve grown up. You sound like a mature young man.”

A lone lamp cast Conan’s silhouette on the wall behind him. If you only knew, Ran.

As much as Conan wanted to get off the subject of Ran’s marriage, it was for this purpose that—despite the great pains the FBI and CIA had taken to protect him—he had risked using his travel documents to fly to Tokyo at all. His parents had gratefully accepted the Mouris’ invitation to attend the ceremony and reception, hoping to satisfy their son with the knowledge that Ran would be in good hands, even if they were not his own. Still, Conan needed to catch a glimpse of Ran to be sure of that, and what he saw on the street below only ratcheted up his anxiety. “Dr. Yamazaki is a good person, right? He treats you well?”

“Mm hmm,” Ran said, sniffling again. She shrank behind the foliage to hide from passing cars and pedestrians. “He’s wonderful, Conan-kun. He’s everything a woman could want in a husband. It’s j-just—oh, how can I say such a terrible thing?”

“Sorry, Ran-neechan,” Conan said, in a near whisper, “but do you mean that he’s not Shin’ichi-niichan?”

Ran blushed with shame. “Yes.”

“But Ran—Ran-neechan, Shin’ichi-niichan’s—”

“I know!” Ran yelled, stepping forward, her bottled anger bursting into the phone. “I know he’s dead!” Then, she gasped at her own outburst and shrank further from the wedding hall’s brick façade. “I’m so very sorry, Conan-kun.”

“No, don’t be. Please, don’t.” That was his fault, after all. If his inability to age were not bad enough, nine years ago the ordeal with the Black Organization had reached a tipping point. Ran had come much too close to stumbling onto secrets that would have killed her. And when his last hope of salvaging a sample of APTX 4869 was lost, all that had been left to Conan was to fake the death of Kudou Shin’ichi.

Ran had waited for him, but he had failed her.

Uncle wasn’t much better, Conan thought bitterly, remembering that it was Kogorou’s failing health and disintegrating Agency that drove Ran to something as idiotic as accepting a marriage proposal from his doctor. According to Yukiko, Eri had tried her best to dissuade Ran, but Ran refused, insisting she had to put aside her selfish grief for the sake of her family’s future. But that’s the way Ran’s always been, taking the pain of others as her own.

There was only one thing Conan could do for Ran now. It would not make up for any of the pain he had caused her. That was impossible. “If it still hurts, Ran-neechan, then I think there’s something I should tell you. Something Shin’ichi-niichan told me a long time ago.”

Ran froze. “What?”

“It was back during the case that happened with the Tokyo MPD in that wedding hall. Remember it?”

Hiccupping, Ran said, “You mean, the case where the bridegroom was a serial thief murderer, right?”

“Yeah.” Granted, it was not the most pleasant way to bring it up, but it gave the needed context. “Back then, I emailed Shin’ichi-niichan about how Officer Satou had traded places with the bride and how you stopped the murderer with karate. He replied that, with no offense to the police officer, he knew someone he would rather see in a wedding dress. Not long before he died, he told me he had meant you. I think he knew what might happen to him. When I found out that he was gone, I saved the email, but since he wanted it kept secret, and I was worried that it might upset you more—sorry, I never showed you. May I send it?”

“…Yes, please,” Ran whispered, looking into the night sky. Within seconds, a backdated message appeared on her phone. She hesitated, but then opened it, as Conan read it aloud.

“Hey, kid, remember that I wrote a certain girl should be in a wedding dress? Guess I’m in a spot right now where that’s not going to happen for me, but one way or another, I hope Ran gets to wear that dress. Keep this a secret for now, okay?”

Ran let out a whimper and crushed her tears with her fists.

“I think—no, I know—he can see you now, Ran-neechan.” Conan wished he could swallow the stubborn lump in his throat as he watched Ran cry over him again. It had been too many times to count. “He’s glad you’re trying your best.”

“You know what, Conan-kun?” Ran laughed softly into the receiver, and it was the first warmth Conan had heard in her voice in a long time. “If Shin’ichi had asked me to marry him, I would’ve said yes.”

Conan trembled, fighting the urge to scream that he was Shin’ichi, that he was alive, that he was right there, several floors overhead, right across the street, and that he loved her so much—

Suddenly, a breathless man emerged from the chapel and almost dashed past Ran, but he spotted her and halted at the last minute. Through Conan’s lens, he appeared to be in his mid-thirties with unkempt hair, though he carried himself in a manner more consistent with his well-pressed tuxedo. “There you are.”

“Ah, I’m just speaking to Edogawa Conan,” Ran said, stretching her lips into a perky smile. “You remember, right? The boy who used to live—”

“Then I hope he’ll forgive me for interrupting your conversation. Please listen,” he said, making Conan frown. Yamazaki might as well have been talking to his clinic director. “I know you still have feelings for your childhood friend. I never meant for you to think that I was forcing you to accept my proposal. It’s just that as we met more often, your dedication to your father struck me, and I…but if this isn’t what you want—”

“Shh, don’t be silly. I chose this, too, didn’t I?” Ran said, stopping his mouth with her fingertips. She stared at the ground and said, “The truth is I was being a coward, afraid to accept that Shin’ichi was really dead. Part of me expected him to run into the chapel and stop the ceremony. That’s crazy, isn’t it?”

“No, not at all.” Yamazaki took her hand, stiff and unsteady, as if uncomfortable with the gesture—or not used to it. “The truth is that you’re my first love, Ran. I don’t mind not being yours.”

A long silence fell then, but as crazy as it drove Conan to hear another man telling Ran such precious words, he waited. He would not hang up before she did.

“Thank you,” Ran said, her voice thick with emotion, “…Kenji.”

The man’s breath hitched.

Must be the first time she’s ever called him that.

“Conan-kun?” Ran said, though Conan saw she did not take her eyes off Yamazaki, “I’m sorry, but I think it’s time for me to go.”

Several seconds passed before Conan could calm his racing heart enough to say, “I understand.”

“Thank you, Conan-kun—for everything,” Ran said, clutching the phone. She moved as if to hang up.

“Ah, wait a minute!”

“Yes?”

“Just one thing,” he murmured. If nothing else, this needed to reach her. This was his kiss goodbye. “Be happy, Ran—Ran-neechan.”

“Mm hmm,” Ran said, shaking with a sob Conan could tell she fought with every fiber of her being. But when she spoke again, genuine cheer swelled from within. “I’m determined.”

Conan touched his thumb to the phone’s screen as Ran ended the call. This time, he knew in his bones that he would never hear her voice again. There was too much risk otherwise. He dropped the phone and bowtie. Not even her voice….

From now on, he would keep those sound waves, the unique pitch of Ran’s voice, in his memory. A pair of tears found their way to the rug below him; it took a moment to realize they had fallen from his face.

“Kudou-kun, are you alright?”

Conan started at hearing the name, but kept his back to Ai. “You’re calling me that now?” he said, with a dark laugh. “Kudou Shin’ichi’s long dead.”

“Yes, I am,” she said, maintaining a respectful distance. Conan did not need to look to know Agasa hovered at her side. “Because he’s the one in pain.”

You two came along just for that, huh? Conan thought, grinning.

“…Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” Conan said, discreetly wiping his eyes on his sleeve and slipping back on his glasses. “At least now I know Ran will be alright. Are Mom and Dad on their way?”

“They’ll be here in a minute, once Ran-kun’s left,” Agasa said. His worry had aged him more in the past few years than ever before, but it was clear that what overcame the inventor now was pity. “Our flight leaves first, but we still need to be careful.”

“Don’t worry,” Conan said, giving Agasa a sardonic glare while shoving his hands in his pockets. “I won’t try to chase down Ran on the way to her honeymoon. Besides, they’re going to Okinawa, not Los Angeles.”

“Is it really alright, though?” Ai said. She tugged the hood of her sweatshirt over her head and tucked in her hair. Soon enough, Yuusaku and Yukiko would burst through the door and shuttle them to a waiting car. “Things are still touch-and-go for us.”

Conan paused. As endless as the war with the syndicate seemed, there was only one thing that mattered now. Though his dreams, his future, and his identity had all died, though his last tie to the dearest person in his life was forever severed, from behind his glasses a new fire flared to life. If Ran could be that strong, he had no right to be any less.

“If it’s not alright, it will be,” he said, smirking. “I’m determined.”