Work Text:
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.