Author's note: A random idea that started with the sorta prologue down there, and then began kicking me in the ribs when I was trying to concentrate on something else (class, mostly). It got larger. And then BIG. So there. Blame the muse.

Disclaimer: I don't own… -cries stupidly because everybody out there knew it really-

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In The Interval

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Even now it is difficult to be quite certain as to when started the beginning of the end. The whole process was gradual, unnoticeable, unidentifiable until, once noticed and identified, it was already too late to turn around, and take back to when it had all begun to crumple down. Falling apart was, beyond all expectation, neither painful nor really sad, and the spiral which they were caught into, hurling them both in the depths of their indifference, was almost insignificant.

Maybe the origins for this extended to much farther in the past, but the first cause worth notice was Heiji's being admitted in Tokyo University along with Kudo and Neechan, and Kazuha's staying behind, keeping in Osaka. She had not wanted to leave her beloved town, and though she was pained to see Heiji go away, she didn't regret her choice a second.

They did keep in touch, at least for the first two or three years. Pone calls and visits either to Tokyo or to Osaka were not uncommon. Still, slowly, those calls and visits began to space out, and the implicit complicity that used to be their usual relationship, faded away with the distance. Piece after piece, their lost contact with each other's presence; before they knew it, their meetings and conversations had reduced to formal, cordial politeness. Rapidly, when they happened to think of each other, it was with a shake of the head and that 'I really ought to call him/her' thought that is the best proof you've lost touch with one another; and so on from best friends they turned to common friends, from common friends to mere acquaintance, from mere acquaintance to total strangers.

Sometimes they would wonder where and when exactly it had all begun, what ha been the trigger, what had caused them to slip on to that indifference. They meant so much more than brother and sister not so long ago – now nothing. But the source of the Nile lay far away in the past, and they had forgotten all about it.

No one would have imagined such a simple end to their thundering relationship. No one would have figured that their long worn-out quarrels, Ahous ringing out from all parts, would one day trail off into oblivion, that their voices would stop echoing and finally die away, and the memory of those teenage times would eventually fade away in the darkness.

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Six years later…

Kazuha liked her kitchen, however small it as pronounced to be. She liked the atmosphere of it in the evening, the warm glow of the ceiling lamp casting her shadow on the warm-coloured wall, the way the voice of the speaker on television came out from the other room, the sharp noise of her knife on the cutting-board.

'Nice weather for autumn tomorrow on the south of the country…'

She would have to buy salmon next time she went shopping; she was using what little she had left right now. And tofu – her fridge sadly lacked tofu recently. What about hayashi rice for lunch tomorrow? She could invite Minami-chan and they would have a nice little chat over it – funny how they always met in college buildings but they never had time enough to stop and share a coffee…

'–temperatures in Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka should be mild in the afternoon all week–'

Yes, autumn had been lovely this year – no wonder after what rotten summer they'd had. There had rained only a little since the beginning of the month, and the fallen and about-to-fall leaves were a radiant red and gold. They swirled in the wind on her way to college, caressing the sidewalk with their copper-coloured flight.

The ads were on TV now – smarten your life with such and such! use such and such to make your house gleam bright! – rapidly followed by the evening news. Kazuha paid little attention to either, concentrating on the quick chopping of the salmon.

'Blood-tainted trace of series murders leads to the arrest of the two criminals–'

Always the same refrain, Kazuha thought, chopping on. Her father had to deal with them eight days a week. Herself had been the witness of many a crime scene – the corpse, stiff in death, the blood stains on the body and/or the murderer, the alibis, the suspects, the famous dying message… it was always the same thing.

'–happily solved by famous detectives Kudo Shinichi and Hattori Heiji–'

The knife held still. The journalists went on with his indifferent voice, reeling off monotonously the facts – how the murder had been committed, where the body had been found, how the two young men had conducted their investigations, the way the murderer had disguised the evidence – until, reaching the end of his text, he switched to another topic.

'British Prime Minister in visit to Japan in order to "tighten the bonds existing"–'

Kazuha let out her breath and resumed her salmon-cutting. The swift chopping noises resounded once again, dropping the speaker's voice to a whisper, and, in the small, warm, stuffy kitchen of her still flat, the peaceful routine one moment interrupted settled in back again.

-

During the following week, several things happened.

On Tuesday morning, she received among her mail an invitation to Suzuki Sonoko's twenty-fifth birthday party, Kazuha sat for quite a long moment at the living-room table, simply staring at it. She had not had any news from Sonoko-chan since they were around nineteen or twenty, but of course her twenty-fifth birthday was an occasion important enough for the Suzuki's heir to send invitations beyond her merest acquaintance. There would probably be more than five hundred guests… she laid the paper aside and stopped bothering about it.

On Wednesday morning, Kazuha bought tofu and more salmon, then, for some reason, found that she had been staring at the milk shelves for the best part of the last half hour. She shook herself out of her torpor and resumed her shopping. She attended a nice party among friends in the evening, but her head was mostly in the clouds.

On Thursday morning, she set to work at her end-of-semester thesis and did not stop working for all day, but for food and a shower. She didn't pause until nine o' clock, fixed herself a rapid supper, and went off to bed without more ado.

On Friday evening, she broke up with her current date. He was a nice guy and he really fancied her, but it didn't really mean much. Both parties separated good friends, and if maybe Kazuha felt the urge to weep over her wretched state, she didn't show a thing of it.

On Saturday afternoon, Kazuha had her hair cut – only a little higher than shoulder-length. She had had this in mind for months now, and everybody who saw her agreed that it suited her very well.

On Sunday evening, she fell back on the invitation note. Speechless, she stared unconvincingly at the formal printed words, crammed together with cold politeness and presenting the usual message, 'Suzuki-san would feel glad if you honoured her twenty-fifth birthday with your presence, etc.' Beneath it Sonoko's carelessly scribbled signature. Kazuha went to bed that night with the resolution to call them in the morning and say she couldn't come.

On Monday morning, at awakening, she wrote back that she'd be delighted to come and wish Sonoko as happy as possible, and ran down to throw the letter in the mailbox, lest she should in the interim change her mind.

-

That was the chain of events that led her, three weeks later, to be standing in one of Tokyo's largest avenues and to wonder what she should do next. The only Tokyoite she still was in real friendly terms with was Ran-chan, and in all likelihood she was helping Sonoko-chan with the dealing of her party's arrangements. There was therefore no other alternative than staying in the hotel bedroom (not altogether a very happy perspective), or wandering through the town, looking for occupation.

She put the latter option into application, eating at the restaurant, shopping in downtown avenues, going to watch a movie and feeling all in all very idle and comfortable. Tokyo was wide enough to spare her places full of memories, thank God.

It was only by mid-afternoon that something came to break that peaceful schedule. Most people around were going berserk– 'he jumped right through, my dear, and they say it was murder–" "My dear! you don't say so?" "I do – and the police arrived fifteen minutes ago, they've been making investigations" quack quack quack. But Kazuha was too accustomed to murder scenes to feel more than mild curiosity.

Policemen were pushing onlookers out of the way and unrolling a long black-and-yellow plastic ribbon; she fancied she saw Megure-keibu's brown hat further into the building, and maybe Takagi-keiji running from one door to another, but she only saw his back and she couldn't be quite sure.

All of this had a relent of memory which felt rather weird, after years of abstinence. She felt interested, eager to follow the investigation like old times, but also vaguely disgusted. She consulted her watch, found that it was much later than she thought, shot a last glance at the white-covered body and rapidly pushed her way back through the pressing throng all around her.

What she didn't know was that inside the building was a dark-skinned young man who had arrived some ten minutes earlier and had immediately been greeted by a flustered Megure-keibu with these words, "Ah, Hattori-kun! Good to see you so soon! Has Takagi-kun explained all the particulars? Come, come – I'll show you the suspects."

Heiji had seen the suspects, interrogated the witnesses, inspected on location, and was now going down to take a look at the body when he caught a glimpse of green, just as he was stepping on the outside. Green eyes not even fixing themselves on him, already turning away – and before he caught glimpse at more than a retreating back and short hair swaying on blue-jacketed shoulders, the mass had already closed, howling questions at him.

Without even being quite sure why, he thought of Kazuha.

He had met with green eyes before, but none had had that same depth, that same green-ness that was so particular to Kazuha's eyes, that same intensity he had forgotten all about, and which had just pierced through his once again. But then Kazuha didn't wear her hair short, she never had, as far as he could recall – she had been born ponytailed.

He shrugged the matter away and set to work.

-

By nine o' clock the next evening, Kazuha felt for the umpteenth time that day that it had been a great mistake to have come at all. Accepting the invitation in itself had been silly, she'd known it the very night after she'd sent the letter back – she must have been very sleepy that morning, and had not much to think with.

So far, she thought, moving between groups and groups of rich industrials and spiteful heirs, the party had been pretty much what she'd expected it to be: full of pride, disdain, jealousy, not at all like a birthday party should be. Sonoko may be okay with that life but, in Kazuha's case, high heels and fancy dressing were not, had never been, and would never be her lot. She was wandering aimlessly, eating to stop worrying, watching and listening with rare interest and no enthusiasm, and getting very little amusement from all the pleasures the party was supposed to afford.

She'd expected to meet Ran-chan on her way sometime or other, but the throng was too dense. She'd been mistaken about the number of guests: she'd underestimated it very much. Looking for her friend would mean suicide – a chance meeting was all that she could hope for.

She wished she could get he hell away from here, but she really couldn't. Not before she'd congratulated Sonoko-chan for reaching twenty-five; it was a question of politeness and of personal pride. She'd come all the way down from Osaka to Tokyo only for this occasion, she would bear with it… until it wouldn't be considered too disrespectful to get away. 'Till then, she was condemned to her wandering through the crowd.

She fished a piece of sweet bread and a flute de champagne from the buffet, and decided to explore. She had no idea how large the Suzuki mansion could be, not how many room it contained, but the party extended to at least a dozen. She had not, however, been through a couple of them, when Suzuki Sonoko's peculiar voice, half-shrilling and half-husky, rang out from behind her, "Kazuha-chan!"

She hadn't changed much. She only wore her dyed brown hair longer. Her grin was the same as ever. She clasped her hands in hers as familiarly as though they had seen each other twice a month those last six or seven years and exclaimed, "I forgot you were to come! My, you look lovely – and how have you been? When did we last meet?" (giggles) "I MUST tell Ran-chan and Kudo-kun you're here – and Hattori-kun, too! They say it's been ages since the two of you met–" she let go of her hands and looked wildly about, ready to call the first of them who came into sight, "–so handsome he's grown–"

She turned back to Kazuha, beaming all the way up to her ears, and found she was gone.

-

End of part one (yes – it's Sunday, so I'm sadistic). There'll only be a part two, though. And regarding the sequel to 'Black clouds', I'm working on it – occasionally. It's turning out rather difficult for some reason. It'll turn up someday or other. I suppose.

Ja ne, minna-san! Review if you enjoyed the read!