Kogorō doesn't think anything of it when Ran's a little late for dinner, even though she'd promised to be back in time to cook. He grumbles to himself of course, heads to the corner store for a convenience bento, comes back home with a couple cases of beer instead and flips the television on in the office, popping the top off one of the beer cans and taking a long swig.

She's out with that detective brat and it won't be the first time she's been out this late, not with him. Means Ran's not there to ride herd on him. He can do whatever he wants.

He doesn't let his mind linger on the slight feeling of hurt, or on the emptiness he feels when he's alone, but then he never lets himself linger on that Eri-shaped space. He fills it with the bread-bitter taste of beer, that nice floating buzz, the acrid burn of cigarettes. He drinks until sleep creeps up on him and he passes out at his desk in the Agency proper with empty cans cluttered all around him.

Kogorō wakes up late the next morning with the taste of ash in his mouth and a crick in his neck and a sharp ache in his back. He moves, and then a clatter-crash sound of aluminium cans has him jumping out of his seat in a judō pose, ready to throw down his attacker.

But it's just him.

Too old for sleeping at his desk. He blinks, then looks at the time and panics. Ran never lets him sleep this late, and usually she would have cleaned up his desk and scolded him by now, the very picture of her mother.

She looks a lot like Eri these days. Has the personality too, worse luck. But his face softens as he thinks of them, though he would deny it if anyone asked. He walks through their office, then climbs the stairs to their home, calling out Ran's name out.

There's no answer.

Unease creeps through Kogorō. It's not like Ran to just disappear like this. If they had been going camping or skiing, or somewhere else where the mobile reception was bad, Kogorō would understand, but they were supposed to be in the middle of Tokyo and she was supposed to be home last night.

He stalks back to his desk, sits down hard, grabs the landline, angrily punching in the numbers.

His first call is to the Kudō house, but he gets the machine. Typical these days. Not even the whatever guy that's staying there right now answers. Where is that damn boy?

His second call is to Suzuki Sonoko, but it doesn't take a minute talking to her to realize that she hasn't taken his daughter this time. Ran would have let him know right away anyway if something like that had happened. It was a reach.

Unease growing, his third call is to his erstwhile wife. She picks up immediately. "Kogorō. To what do I owe this pleasure?" her tone makes it clear that it isn't.

"Eri," he grumbles without preamble. "Is Ran with you?"

"No. I would have let you know. What's going on?" Eri says sharply.

"Ran didn't come home last night."

"Call the police," she demands, then hangs up on him.

Not there either, then. "I was going to, woman!" he snaps at the dial tone. Damn. Still so bossy. Like that wasn't going to be his next move. Still, Ran just wouldn't leave like this, not for this long without any word. A brick forms in his gut, but he does the best he can to ignore it.

He sighs, then dials Megure. "Megure," he says in lieu of a hello when he answers.

"Ah, Mōri. Is it another case?" the man asks, long-suffering in his voice.

"My daughter is missing," he says without preamble. He's being rude, but damn it all, it's his daughter.

"You know we're Criminal Investigation. You'd have better luck reporting it to Beika Ward Precinct," Megure says.

"Ran was out with Kudō Shinichi last night. She didn't come home."

"Are you sure it's not teenagers being teenagers?" Megure asks. But there's hesitation in his voice, the slightest curl of worry.

"...It's Ran," Kogorō says like it's an explanation.

"Good point," Megure says. "She's a responsible girl."

"It's not like her. She's been missing since last night, and I can't get in touch with either one of them. It might have something to do with a former client or someone I've helped arrest." It's fine if it's just directed towards him. But one unfortunate side effect of his fame has been the number of loonies who've tried to use his daughter as leverage. He doesn't show how much that fear curls around his stomach, pretending like it doesn't affect him at all.

"Can you think of anyone in particular?" Megure asks.

Kogorō shakes his head. "No one recent, but it can't be ruled out."

"The mention of Shinichi has me a little worried," Megure says.

"You're talking about how he's ditched school and my daughter and won't come around unless he needs something?" Kogorō says, picking at his ear with his little finger, then sniffing it. The bitter smell of earwax assaults his nostrils, and he wrinkles his nose.

"No. Don't you find it a little strange? The times I've met him lately, he's wanted to keep his name out of the papers and the police reports, almost like he was hiding," Megure says. "It is unusual for him to want discretion."

"It's true he's an arrogant and dramatic little brat. That is unlike him." Kogorō says.

"You're one to talk," Megure mutters.

"What did you say?" Kogorō asks.

"Nothing, nothing," Megure says. "I'm worried he's in something over his head."

"Eh, you know how kids his age are," Kogorō says flippantly, but it's only to hide his growing uneasiness. It has been several months since that brat had really spent any length of time around him. Around the time the little moocher came into their lives, come to think of it. And he has been weird, too. Acting all shifty and weird, elusive like a ghost and showing up at the strangest of times.

"Give me the details and I'll have my officers keep an eye out," Megure says.

Kogorō gives him the time and date to the best of his knowledge, as well as the name of the restaurant they were supposed to go to.

Megure whistles. "That one? Kudō sure has rich taste for teenager. When I was courting Midori as a young policeman, we considered fast food expensive!"

"What?" Kogorō says.

"Come to think of it, when I met him on that CEO murder case, Shinichi and Ms. Ran were eating out at a fancy restaurant then, too."

Kogorō clenches his fist. "If he thinks he can seduce my daughter into eloping by enticing her with expensive meals—"

"Hold it, Mōri! I don't think Shinichi would really do that!" Megure says with a placating tone. "Come to think of it, Ms. Ran also has a tendency to get stuck on cases like you. Perhaps that's the case. I'll inform my men to keep an eye out on patrol, and I'll even have Detective Takagi search the area."

"Thanks, Megure. I'll be heading out there myself in a moment."

"Then I'll have Detective Takagi meet you there. Keep me updated, Mōri."

"Yeah. I'll call again if I find out anything new," Kogorō says, putting the phone back into its cradle. His hand reaches up to stroke his chin. It is true Ran has a tendency to get dragged into cases like him, but even then, she usually manages to find a way to call or something.

Argh, this is hurting his head. He looks at his clothes: shirt, beer stained tie, rumpled and creased trousers. Eh, they'll do. He throws on his coat, grabs his wallet and keys, and heads out the door.

He arrives the restaurant in a short amount of time, and Megure had been right. It was pretty fancy. He whistles. It shares space with a few offices and a hotel, but it is located on the ground floor.

A quick showing of his daughter's picture to the front desk showed she and that brat had arrived and eaten there.

"Do you know the time she left?"

The woman taps her chin. "About five or so? Yeah, I think it was five."

"Do you know which way she went?"

She shakes her head. "No, I'm sorry."

Kogorō fights to keep his temper down. "All right, thank you."

He walks out of the business with less of an idea than he had in the first place. Still, if there was anything detective work and being a former policeman had taught him, it was to examine all the clues, and the restaurant was his best lead. He knew Ran had been here. Therefore, some clue must be left showing where she went.

Surveillance would be a bust, Kogorō thinks, eyeing the cameras. It was a busy street, and experience had taught him many of the cameras were low quality. They could have literally gone anywhere. He takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and slides one out, lighting it up with a flick of his lighter. He breathes deeply, waiting for the nicotine buzz.

He can't rush this. He glances up at the building, then back down. Standing by the entrance is a young doorman or a porter; Kogorō can't really tell from here.

If there is any chance he was working yesterday…

"Hey you," he says, shoving Ran's picture in his face. "Have you seen this girl?"

The porter goes cross-eyed for a moment. "Oh yeah. I remember her. Hard to forget someone like that. She had a nice—" his hands come down in front of his chest. Kogorō glares. "—smile. A very nice smile," the man says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Kogorō's glare intensifies. "I'm her father. When was it? Did you see which way she went?"

The porter swallows. "She was arguing with a boy, and they headed off that way?" he pointed to the right. "Towards that alley there."

"Are you sure?" Kogorō asks, narrowing his eyes.

"I remember clearly 'cause I was," he jerks at his collar, sweating as Kogorō looms. "Watching her go?" he squeaks.

"Is there anything else you can tell me?" Kogorō says.

"Uh, no…?"

"Good," Kogorō says, breathing a cloud of smoke in his face, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble.

He leaves the little man behind, heading to the alley beside the restaurant.

A step inside shows nothing unusual.

Kogorō puts his hands in his pockets, walking down the street, casing the place. Nothing. It had probably been too long. The rubbish has already been taken. He walks another meter in.

Nothing. It was a bust. Growing frustrated, he kicks a glass bottle at a bin, only for something black to come flying at him, screaming like a demon. Kogorō yells, stumbling back as a black cat with big yellow eyes leaps away, showing his teeth and hissing before darting past a gutter, knocking a bit of old newspaper away.

There's something caught in the edge, something dark and hard to see against an open storm drain.

He takes his handkerchief out of his pocket and slowly approaches, kneeling down to get a better look.

It's a gun, caught on the edge of the grate, hidden. Just lying there. He furrows his brow. This shouldn't be here. Not in the same alley where Ran was last seen. His stomach curls, and he leaves it there for the time being, standing, wincing as his knees pop. Kogorō cases the alley again, looking at it in a new light.

There, on the left where the concrete of the wall was weak. A fist-shaped indent, crack spreading up. He recognizes his daughter's handiwork. His eyes flicker back down to the gun.

A gun, a fist-shaped crack in the wall, and….

He leans closer. Dark spots. Dark spots on the ground blending in, leading to the opposite end of the alley before veering left and abruptly vanishing. Not as many as there should be, and it blends in with oil stains. Kogorō is no blood spatter analyst, but even he remembers that these dark firework splash patterns mean blood dripping from someone who was standing, and then they angle, as if the person was picked up and carried to a waiting vehicle. He follows the angles.

A gun, a fist-shaped crack in the wall, and….a bullet hole in the opposite wall, barely perceptible as it had gone through an old Dorcus poster. It's telling.

It hits him as strong as a punch to the gut. This was the last place Ran was seen. He clenches his fists so tightly his nails dig into his skin and his knuckles turn white. His little girl might be dead.

Overcome with anger, he swings his fist at the wall, but it does nothing but scrape his knuckles raw and bloody. His eyes burn, but he can't lose it. Not yet.

Not until he has a lead on whoever hurt his little girl.

Not until he makes them pay.

Later, Kogorō's pacing as he smokes. It's been hours. It's taking them too long to go over the scene, and they haven't been able to tell him anything he didn't already know. He hasn't been able to come up with anything they don't already know. They'd already asked the building staff about suspicious characters but it had been so long no one had any solid ideas on the people present that day, which means if she's not dead, she was probably abducted. Detective Chiba is looking at footage, but they're not hopeful.

But there's no body yet. It doesn't matter that the odds of a successful recovery fall sharply after the first twenty-four hours. There's no body yet. It's a cold comfort, but it's the only one he has right now.

"Mr. Mōri?"

He raises his head. "Eh, Takagi?"

"The gun is a nine millimeter Beretta."

"Yeah, I knew that already," Kogorō says, chewing the butt of his cigarette in his agitation.

"No, there's no serial number. It's custom made. It hasn't been filed off. It doesn't exist. Just a small engraving on the pistol butt. It looks like a little like a bottle, as a matter of fact. Inspector Megure wanted to know if that meant anything to you."

Kogorō shakes his head. He wishes it did.

"It also doesn't match ballistics. The caliber does, but the evidence points to two guns."

Two guns. Two perps for two people.

He runs his fingers through his hair, messing it up. It's at this moment he desperately wishes for a sign from his other self.

He wasted so much time. If he had just called Ran earlier, or if he had trailed her to her 'date' with that detective boy like he wanted to...

"Mr. Mōri?" Takagi asks him.

"What?" Kogorō snaps, looking up at him blearily.

"I've been trying to get your attention. You look terrible. You should probably go home," but his face is pitying, and Kogorō hates it.

"I can't go home," he says hoarsely. "Not until I find my daughter."

He paces around the crime scene again like a tiger, looking for anything, any desperate clue he might have missed earlier, much to the protest of the forensics team.

Still nothing.

Nightfall shows no lead. Kogorō stays at the crime scene until he's forcefully removed and escorted home by a couple of officers, much to his loud protests.

Kogorō wrinkles his nose, heads down into the office and parks himself at his desk by the phone.

An hour later, someone rings him.

"Mōri Detective Agency?" he says gruffly. "Any word?"

"Hey, old man! Why ain't the missy answerin' her phone?" a strident voice says. "Kazuha's gettin' pretty worried."

It's the Osaka detective brat. That gives him an idea. "Have you been able to get the other detective brat?" Kogorō asks, hope in his voice. Ran always fussed about it. Even when she didn't have the boy's number, this kid did.

"What d'ya mean?" Hattori asks. "What does that have to do with Missy...oh man, you ain't serious, are ya?"

"Ran and him went out yesterday," Kogorō says. "They didn't come home."

"What? That ain't good."

"There's more."

"Tell me everythin,'" the kid demands.

So Kogorō fills him in about the crime scene, all the details that he knows. He leaves nothing out. Normally, it would make him irritated, but he grudgingly admits the kid is actually pretty good, and if it helps him find his daughter, well.

There's pretty much nothing he won't do to get her back.

He is interrupted by frequent swearing, worse the further into the story Kogorō gets.

"I'm coming down in the mornin' on the earliest train," Hattori says when Kogorō finishes. "Kudō ain't answerin' either. Kazuha's been tryin' him."

"No," he surprises himself by saying.

"What? Why not?"

"I need someone there," Kogorō says. "Eyes."

"Ya know, for once old man, you got a pretty good idea. As a matter of fact, why don't cha call everybody you know, have 'em look too. Clients too. Between us, I think we got enough contacts to cover most of Japan, yeah?"

That's...actually a pretty good idea. Even better, people like Ms. Yōko knew a lot of people too, newscasters, actors. And the Suzukis. But... "Won't it panic the kidnappers and make them do something drastic?"

"Believe me, if they ain't dead already, then havin' as many people lookin' as possible can only help," Hattori says grimly.

"What?" Kogorō asks. "You know something you're not telling me, kid."

There's a long silence. "Maybe," the kid hedges. "Anyway, that ain't what's important right now. I'll do what I can from here and keep you posted."

Then he hangs up on him. Of all the...!

Kogorō rings the first number he thinks of, fuming.

"Mōri? This is a surprise. I didn't think you still had my number. It's been a while."

"Have you heard from your son recently, Kudō?" he asks rather rudely.

"No...what's going on?"

"Your son went out to a restaurant with my daughter and they both disappeared. I think they were kidnapped."

A sharp intake of breath. Very telling. "You saw him. You saw my son?" Kudō asks.

"Yeah," Kogorō says, a little taken aback by his forcefulness.

"In person?" Kudō presses.

"Yeah," Kogorō says, ire growing.

"Are you sure it was him?" His voice is tense, intent.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

That seems to make Kudō pause. "...Right. I'll be on the next flight out," he says, and he hangs up on him, too.

Both the kid's best friend, and the kid's father. Both of them had reacted strangely. What the hell's going on?

Kogorō knows they know something.

Over the next few days, he spends his days looking, tracking down every little lead, no matter how pointless, even going so far as to post a 5 million yen reward, gathering the money with the help of Eri.

Nothing.

He spends his nights calling, makes what must be thousands of calls. He stops at a reasonable time of night, but as soon as it's barely polite, he calls again and again and again, going through old client files, begging in a way he'd never thought he ever would.

Eri helps. Sure, they're still staying at one another's throats, but she has her mobile and she's helping him. Kudō shows up at the Agency that next morning while he's there, talks with Kogorō for a brief moment.

"I've been to the crime scene," is what he says.

"Do you have any idea who did it?" Kogorō asks.

The novelist is silent, holding his gaze, and it doesn't take a great detective to realize that it's not that he can't answer. It's that he won't.

"You bastard," he says, his fists shaking he's so angry. "You and that detective brat and the Osaka boy. What aren't you telling me?"

Kudō remains silent. "What aren't you telling me, Kudō!" Kogorō shouts, grabbing the other man by his lapels and slamming Kudō into the wall where his head hits it hard. "Where's my DAUGHTER?" he shouts, spittle flying in his face.

Kudō just looks at him. Kogorō can't stand his weighted, sad look, so he rears back and punches him in the face.

More infuriatingly, Kudō just takes it. He moves with the punch to lessen the impact, but he just takes it.

"I don't begrudge you your anger," Kudō says quietly. "But you have to remember I have lost my son as well."

Abruptly all the anger leaves Kogorō, and he feels shaky, numb. He lets go and sags against the wall.

Now that he looks, Kudō's face is grave, pinched, heavy with lines.

"They're still alive," he says. "If they killed them, if they were dead, we'd know," Kudō says. "They would let us know in the worst way possible."

"Who are they?" Kogorō asks quietly.

"We've been working against them for months," Kudō says.

"Why won't you—" Kogorō begins, and then he stops, sliding slowly to the floor, putting his forehead in his hands and grasping at his hair.

He doesn't let himself hope. Doesn't linger on the inadequacy he feels, either. Had he been a better father, he might have seen this coming. He might have been able to prevent this. How Eri was right in leaving him, how he hadn't done enough for Ran, and now he never could.

He doesn't cry. He definitely doesn't cry from frustration, or fear.

Doesn't remember how small she looked the first time he held her, how she could fit in one hand and a bit of arm, how tiny and red and angry she looked, all of her fingers unable to fit around one of his as she squeezed with one tiny fist.

She had such a strong grip for such a little one. The way she blinked up at him, gave him a smile. The thought he may never see her again—

A hand descends on his shoulder. "We'll get them back," Kudō says, kneeling down next to him.

Kogorō stands up, shrugs his shoulder to get Kudō's damned hand off. He doesn't need his pity. "Whatever. I'm going for a smoke," he says, heading outside to the stairwell even though he smokes inside all of the time. The cool breeze does nothing for him, but he leans against the door and just breathes.

Kudō comes out some time later, hands in his pockets. "I swept the Agency for bugs," he says.

Kogorō just grunts, chewing on an unlit cigarette. Kudō pulls his hand out of his pocket, opening his fist.

The cigarette falls out of his mouth. There's at least a half a dozen small pieces of electronics. "Shouldn't be any out here, though I'd check your personal rooms as well," Kudō says noncommittally. "I wore a jammer, just in case."

Kogorō still doesn't speak as Kudō puts them back in his pocket.

"The reason I dropped by was to give you this," Kudō says, handing something to Kogorō.

It's a mobile phone.

"If she calls, press this button here," he says, tapping the back of it," Kudō says. "It will let me know, and emit a signal that should disable or scramble any new ones."

"'Them?'" Kogorō says. He hates the things, but he pockets it anyway.

"If I know my son, and I'd like to think I do, he wouldn't leave her side unless he was forced to." Kudō says. Then he walks past Kogorō down the stairs.

"Hey Kudō," Kogorō calls out.

"Yes?" he half-turns.

"Thanks," Kogorō says. "And good luck."

Kudō nods. "You too. We'll need it."

The days start blurring together. Kogorō loses track of time, then starts losing hope.

This is a routine he never wanted. Phone calls, police visits, tips that lead nowhere. He keeps doggedly at it, pushing himself beyond all proper functioning. The apartment above the Agency stands empty and cold; without Ran to fill it, it feels like nothing. There's no point. Evidence she lived (lives?) there is overwhelming.

He stays at the Agency, desk clustered with notes of sightings and beer cans and a thousand cigarette butts, ashtrays full and piled high.

Kogorō can't even muster anger. He just feels empty—like a hollow, vast cavern inside him. Numb. Gone.

Each day he falls further into that pit. He can't sleep. Food tastes like ash.

The days blur until he can no longer tell them apart, phone calls dropping off as people lose interest.

Even Kudō in all his glory has been able to come up with nothing.

The shift between day and night becomes meaningless as insomnia keeps him awake at night, as he catches fitful sleep in catnaps during the day.

The ringing of the phone wakes Kogorō from an uneasy sleep. His neck hurts from a week of sleeping at his desk "Hello?"

"Dad?" A thin weak voice warbles back at him. He would know that voice anywhere. "Ran?!" It sounds small, but that's her. She's alive. His eyes burn. Tears start to well up. She's alive. Ran's alive.

For a long moment, there is nothing but silence. And then—

"Ran? Are you all right? Are you safe? Where are you?" Kogorō asks in a frenzy, tripping over his words in his haste to get them out.

"I'm safe," Ran says, but Kogorō hears a thundercrack loud enough to make him wince, the sound of shattering glass, and the sound of whistling wind.

Kogorō knows that sound. It's a goddamn gunshot.

His heart leaps in his throat. His baby girl isn't out of danger yet. There's the sound of a honking horn and then some squealing tires. Just what the hell is happening? Kogorō's mind races. If he loses her now—

"Was that gunfire? You don't sound safe," Kogorō says, frantic. "I'm coming to get you!" He haphazardly throws his jacket on, grabs his wallet. "Where are you?" He presses the button on the device that Kudō gave him.

"Where are we?" he hears her say away from the phone.

"Shizuoka," he hears a young male voice say faintly, and it sounds like the detective brat.

"Shizuoka. We're in Shizuoka Prefecture, not sure where, heading for the closest hospital."

Kogorō closes his eyes. Hospital. So it's bad enough someone, maybe her, is injured. The wind is still whistling loudly, making it hard to hear.

"What do you mean, 'we?'" he asks, hoping to ascertain who's injured and how badly. Ran sounds awake and coherent, but that could just be adrenaline.

He hears Ran take a breath over the phone. "Um," she says after a long moment. "The people that rescued me, and—" she stops.

"I think you did a fair amount of rescuing on your own, little Miss Ran, " the young man that sounds like the detective brat says with a laugh. Kogorō scowls. He doesn't sound so injured. So it's probably Ran, then.

"Is that upstart detective brat with you?" he grumbles, worried but hiding it. If he overhears Kogorō sounding concerned, he might get ideas.

"Yes, he is," Ran says firmly.

"Ran, why—" he begins, not sure what he wants to ask. Why were you taken? Why won't you tell me where you are, really? Why have you been gone for so long? Why does your voice sound so high and light and brittle like you're about to break? Why are you still getting shot at?

Ran actually cuts him off. "He's not doing very well," she says, chiding him. "He's been shot. And they doped him up on something."

Something in his heart eases just a bit. She's not the one gravely injured. He hears worry in her voice. She's always worried over that boy in some shape or the other. But still, they're not out of danger yet, and more than anything, he just wants her here. "What happened?" he asks, hoping to get a straight answer. "Ran, where have you been?" he pleads softly. His baby girl. One of the few lights left in his life. No true father ever wants pain for his daughter, and Kogorō would give anything to take her place, to spare her from the deep pain he hears in her voice. "Why can I hear gunshots?"

Ran takes a deep, rattling breath. "We were kidnapped. They want us back." Kogorō has deduced that much. He wonders why he asked. Maybe some desperate hope that it wasn't as bad as it sounds.

"There was no ransom. I haven't heard anything. You and him just vanished." And that was the hardest part. The not-knowing following by worst-case-scenario thoughts. The cleanliness of the abduction. The complete lack of any clues. The fact that even Kudō with his fancy mansion and supposedly great detective skills couldn't find any trace of them.

Times like this, a man has to look deep inside himself and face up to his flaws, and Kogorō is not enough. He knows he's not on Kudō's level, and it burns. Maybe if he had been a better father, a better detective, he could have found her sooner, spared her this.

"There wouldn't have been." Ran says it so matter-of-factly that Kogorō's heart lurches. She says it just like the Osaka brat. Just like Kudō. Who are these people that took her? "I don't know how much you know, but Shinichi was working on a big case—"

"And he dragged you right into it!" Kogorō says, unable to stop the words from exploding out of his mouth.

"He did what he could to protect me," Ran says, and her voice is noticeably chilly. "He's always done that." Ran says, like it's a reminder, and Kogorō has to concede her point. "And I've been involved since the beginning." The beginning? The beginning of what? Just how long has this been going on? He opens his mouth to ask, but Ran continues.

"Everyone back there needs to be careful, they're all danger. Look, I'll explain—Kyaaa!" Ran squeals, and Kogorō's heart lurches, dropping to the pit of his stomach.

He has no idea what is going on, why the line goes quiet but not dead. He strains to hear anything, anything at all that will tell him whether or not Ran's okay, but all he can hear is the whistling of the wind, then a loud horn and the sound of a screaming engine.

"Ran! Ran! Tell me what's going on!" Kogorō screams into the receiver. No, he can't do anything, sitting on the line, useless, Ran in danger, and Kogorō has never felt so alone, so helpless.

"Ran!" Then he hears someone breathe, but it's quick and forceful. "Ran! Ran! Are you all right?" Let her be okay. Please, let her be okay.

"I'm fine, Dad," Ran says, and then she laughs, the wild kind, the type one gets from the sheer relief of being alive. "We were in a spot of trouble, but we're making it all right now."

She must have escaped whoever was shooting at her. Kogorō closes his eyes as Ran gives him the name of the hospital. "I'll let everyone know to be careful and meet you there."

"Ran, I know I haven't—" and then he stops, unable to finish. Been a good father to you. But he tries, and that is what counts, isn't it? Been there for you when you needed it most. That much is true.

"Um, Dad. Before you get here, there's ah, something you should know," Ran says, and her voice sounds smaller than usual. Hesitant.

Oh god. What if she's pregnant? She's been alone with a boy for who knows how long, and who knows how she passed the time. He trusts her, but that brat can be persuasive. He's too young to be a granddad! "That detective brat hasn't touched you, has he?" Kogorō demands.

"Of course not! Geez, Dad! But um," Ran says, quiet and bashful. "You may be a little surprised when you see me," she says.

"What do you mean?" he asks because he has no idea what that could even mean. At all. What if she's injured? What if they beat her?

"You'll see when you get here. Just don't freak out, all right?" she says. "And Mom?"

"She's out looking. I'll call her. We'll both meet you there with the police. Look, Ran, be safe."

"You too, Dad. I'm okay," Ran says. "I'll see you soon. Stay safe," she says, "Keep on the move."

"Yeah," he says, but there's no connection. She's hung up on him.

If what she says is true, there's no time.

He presses the button on the receiver cradle to clear the line and is halfway to dialing Eri's number when he gets a call.

"You found them?" Kudō Yuusaku says. The room behind him sounds loud, busy, lots of voices, noises.

"Ran called me," he says.

"Are you sure it was her?" Kudō asks.

"Yeah. Your boy was with her," he says. "He's alive," Kogorō trails off, unsure how to tell him he's hurt.

A rattling intake of breath. "His mobile phone searched for service just long enough for a nearby base station to register the location. I was going to call you to update you, but I wanted to let our people there know first—"

"I understand," Kogorō says, cutting him off. Kudō's rambling, offering excuses. It's not like him, especially when they're to Kogorō. "They were shooting at them while Ran was on the phone with me. Good thing you did."

"Shooting at them?" he says, voice tense.

"Yeah. Ran says...Ran says he was shot." Then Kogorō gives him all the information he gained from Ran, which admittedly isn't much. "Are you going to meet us there?" he asks.

A long silence on the line. "There's a few things I have to take care of first," Kudō says, and Kogorō wonders what could be more important than his own son. "I'm trusting you to take care of him," Kudō continues, and Kogorō wonders what he means by that.

Nevertheless, he says murmurs his assent, and hangs up on him, reaching to call his wife and give her the news.

Sometimes, Kogorō wishes things could be like they used to.

He and Eri are seated in the waiting room of the hospital, and Kogorō can feel the cold distance between them. She's sitting tall, posture perfect. She wouldn't slump, no, not his Eri. Not even as tired, as stressed as she is. Not in front of him. That would show weakness.

He knows he hasn't been the best father, or the best husband. But he does miss her all the time for all he doesn't want to let her know.

There was a time when he'd have his arm around her, when she'd let him have his arm around her.

That time has long since passed.

They'd arrived together in the dead of night and they wouldn't let them see Ran no matter how much Kogorō raged, no matter how much Eri reasoned with them.

It's been hours. Kogorō is at the end of his rope. They won't tell them anything. That coral-headed inspector has already been in twice.

Assistant Inspector Satō and Detective Takagi are here and in quiet conversation together. Kudō's doing, no doubt. He always was good friends with Chief Inspector Megure, and Kogorō supposes they're a good alternative since he can't be here himself.

He bounces his foot. Why aren't they letting him see her? They've been moved from the critical care ward but they're still being guarded by police officers, and no one is telling him anything. A few minutes pass. Yokomizo walks in again.

That's it. He's not waiting anymore.

He barges in the room, muscling past the officers, calling for his daughter, Eri following shortly behind.

It's not that he doesn't recognize the figures on the bed. It's that he does. Immediately. He knows both of them better than he knows himself. How could he not recognize instantly the daughter he raised, even through the bruises? What kind of father would he be if he didn't?

And because he recognizes his daughter, he recognizes the boy in the bed, just as battered and bruised.

Kudō Shinichi.

His first reaction is not anger, it's shock, and a little bit of hurt that he felt he couldn't tell him about whatever this is. So even as Eri's voice sounds past him, even as his knees threaten to buckle under him, he just stares. Blood rushes through his ears.

The boy is hanging his head, and Kogorō recognizes that as the rare picture of Conan being contrite. But his mind races through Ran's childhood, races through the last half a year, and it matches all too well. Then he thinks back to all the time his daughter has cuddled the boy to her chest, the fact that he was living under their roof, the fact he felt he had to be dishonest towards them, the cryptic words of his blasted father , the fact that her injuries are more than likely Conan's fault, and then the anger comes.

"Dad," Ran says, jumping in front of the detective kid, her arms outspread like she has to protect Conan—no, Shinichi from his anger. "You promised not to freak out," she says, narrowing her eyes at him. She's always had her own mind, just like her mother, even when she was young (well, the first time, anyway) and it's been equal parts endearing and frustrating.

In the face of his daughter, he can do nothing but ask the one question that's no doubt ringing through everyone's mind. "How?" he asks her, and Ran runs to him, and he takes her in his arms, holding her tight, fighting back tears. She's so small like this, and she's painfully thin. Up close, he can see her injuries are worse than he thought, and she clings to him like she never wants to let go. He never wants to let her go again.

A father's duty is to provide and care for his daughter, to guard her from the world until she is ready to face it herself.

And he has failed. Miserably.

With his daughter in his arms and Eri pressed against him for the first time in a long time, Shinichi tells them exactly how.

Every last vivid gory detail.

Including the times that Kogorō himself was almost a casualty. It's not a pretty tale.

And he doesn't have to say it. Kogorō's not a bad detective.

His "other" self.

The blackouts. It HAD been him all along.

So many times it had been Cona—Shinichi succeeding in protecting Ran where Kogoro himself couldn't.

"I knew," Kogorō says. "That time at the television station wasn't a fluke. I knew it," he repeats. He turns, looking at Shinichi. "The cases. It was you all along, wasn't it?"

Shinichi nods. "It was," he admits, his head down, hands in his lap. Like this, it's hard to take him seriously, it's hard to think that this child is that arrogant brat of a teenager. Well, was that arrogant brat of a teenager.

Because he knows him, now. They've lived under the same roof, shared life together as a family. He's protected his daughter like her life is more important than his own, and more than once. They've gone on trips, laughed together, experienced victories and triumphs and defeats, and he's fond of the kid.

Well, maybe only a little bit.

And then something happens; Kogorō has a rare bit of self-awareness, and he thinks about the disparity between them, and he lets it go. There are more important things than his pride on the line now, so he heads over the the kid, who flinches away from him as he raises his hand. That hurts more than he'd care to admit, and he makes an oath not to roughhouse with the kid anymore.

But he claps his hand on his shoulder anyway, giving it a soft squeeze. "Thank you for taking care of my daughter," he says. He doesn't just mean just the abduction, but all the times before as well.

Shinichi shakes his head. "She took care of me," he replies, humble.

A day or so later, they're sitting on the sofa in the Professor's house as his daughter and Haibara Ai or whoever are talking about fashion. Kogorō isn't really paying attention, zoning out at the first mention of coordinating accessories. But Ran had wanted to make sure the other girl wasn't working herself to death, and Kogorō wasn't about to let her out of his sight. Or Conan. Either one of them, actually.

"...It was because of that Yōko incident, wasn't it?" Shinichi says. Or Conan. He's not really sure what to call him anymore. Detective Brat probably works just fine.

"Eh?" Kogorō.

"The one with Higo? That you didn't want Haibara to be the other one like us," Shinichi says. "You'd established a rapport with her, you felt. That's why you wanted it to be Ayumi."

Kogorō scratches his cheek, then tugs at his moustache, not wanting to admit that the kid is right.

He doesn't have to. One thing about the brat is he always knows. "You're still staying, right?" he asks to deflect him.

"What?" Shinichi blinks up at him through his glasses. Kogorō wonders why he still wears them since they know now.

"With us?" he elaborates. "After?"

"Oh. I mean, I don't know—"

"We've got that trip to Kanazawa with that client. You can still come. If you want. And I'm sure Ran would want you to stay with us until you got used to being yourself again."

"I don't know," the kid says, kicking his feet.

"Ran would like it," Kogorō repeats.

"Ran would like it?" he repeats, sounding a little confused. Then he looks up at Kogorō who is not waiting impatiently for his answer. "Oh! Okay, right, yeah. I'll go."

"And you'll still stay with us right?" Kogorō asks.

"Because Ran would want me to," he says slowly, tilting his head to look at Kogorō.

"Yeah."

"Well, I guess I don't want to disappoint her."

"Yeah. I'd never hear the end of it, otherwise," Kogorō says.

"Yeah."

A long awkward silence.

"I'm gonna go smoke," Kogorō says to break it, then he gets up before the kid can answer, pulls out a cigarette and heads outside, passing Agasa and Eri who are poring over some documents.

He lights up, leans against the side of the house, and breathes.