DISCLAIMER: The entire Detective Conan series, including its characters, belong to Gosho Aoyama. This is a non-profit fan work.

Spanish lullaby

As much as she loves him, Sherry couldn't possibly forget that the man she sleeps with is the Organization's most dangerous assassin, nor that both their lives are in danger at any given time of the day.

She knows what he has just done.

His Beretta lies on the bedroom floor – it fell as they undressed each other in the savage frenzy. It was hidden beneath his clothes, in a pocket of his coat's, and she heard it hit the floor with a thud. A kiss, nearly a bite, on her neck brought her attention back to the main issue they were dealing with. Falling guns and the similar could wait for her soaking thirst to be satisfied – her thirst for him, for that very gun's owner. For the fair-haired man who moaned between her legs as she rode him, who let a louder cry with every movement of her hips.

The touch of his delicate fingers pressing violently against her back still lingers - pleasure still runs down her spine at the memory of how he pushed her body eagerly against his own, only harder and harder each time. Her lips keep the hint of an irony taste from biting them to repress the moan of pain that fought to come out when, reaching orgasm, the force of his final thrust was as great as she could not have foreseen.

He's strong, that's not the news - she knew it two days ago and she will still know it in two day's time. Neither is how he can occasionally be that rough in bed, even if he doesn't actually notice or realize. She even knows what the reasons for such behavior might be.

Tilting her head to one side she can catch a glimpse of the boy's bare chest moving up and down with the cadence of his slow-paced breath. His eyes are closed; however, she can tell he's not sleeping. Sherry can't help a smile at the calm look on his face. It's almost funny, isn't it? – the ruthless, dangerous assassin lying peacefully on his girlfriend's bed, his fit body barely covered by the snow-white sheets.

For she knows she loves him as much as she knows what he is, what he does – and what he has just done, why he carried his gun in his coat, why his hair smells like shampoo but also gunpowder. And there are times when she remembers something she shouldn't ignore: that it would be a piece of cake for him to kill her at any given time.

There are so many possible scenarios it is almost a miracle he hasn't felt tempted to try them out yet. Right now, for example, he could turn around and snap her neck. Or beat her to death. Or simply grab his Beretta and shoot her. He would probably get away with it, too. After all, doesn't he get away with the murders of a good handful of people every month? He's clever and skillful – and, what's more important, he's highly experienced.

'You could kill me.'

Gin opens his eyes at her soft whisper. He keeps perfectly quiet but gives her a half-surprised, half-questioning look.

'And you could get away with it.'

'You could kill me, too,' he points out. Hadn't the room been so quiet, she could not have heard such a low grunt. 'You could do it either as slowly or as fast as you wanted.'

'How?' she inquires. 'I am only a scientist. ..'

'Exactly,' he answers, closing his eyes back as if ready to sleep. 'You are no less than a chemist. Who says you haven't been poisoning my tea for over a month? And we're excluding cold weapons from these scenarios – as much as it is arguable that you couldn't beat me death, you must agree that stabbing me would surely be effective...'

'But you have excellent reflexes. '

'Not at all times. And what about taking my Beretta and shooting me? I taught you how to shoot a gun.'

'But what would I do with your corpse? And what about the blood?'

'Blood can be cleaned. And you could chop me off – that would make me easier to get rid of.'

Sherry sits up and rests her back against the wall. Her mind is strangely clear in spite of the violent scenarios that play against her eyelids, featuring Gin's corpse and her own's alternatively. There's blood in most of them.

'Or the Organization could kill us,' the boy suddenly adds. 'Either both at once or one first and then the other.'

'Or you could die during one of your missions,' she speaks – words come out of her lips in a quiet flow, not needing her to be actually aware of what she's saying. 'Or I could die in some accident in my laboratory.'

'That happens in movies all the time, doesn't it? Explosions, test subjects that unexpectedly rise against the scientists...'

'Do you imply that a mutant rat is going to kill me?'

'It may.'

'I don't think that's probable.'

'But it is possible. Isn't it?'

Sherry looks at her boyfriend once more. His eyes are now open, but the look on them is distant and almost sleepy. He isn't staring at anything in particular – he simply gazes at the ceiling, as if the answers to all his questions were about to float down through it. He's handsome and reckless, and maybe that's why she loves him. Her very fear only adds up to her love for him. They seem to be made for each other, don't they? An unscrupulous scientist and the Organization's greatest assassin ever. And as long as they're both still alive, it sounds like a good idea to try to enjoy their time together.

Until they part.

[Author's notes after the second chapter!]