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By the time his statement and report of the night’s events were finished–“Hakuba, get goddamn home before your father finds you and makes me feel guilty for keeping you out so late!” Detective Nakamori bellowed – Hakuba was bleary-eyed and strung-out.
The rest of the officers were much the same, even Nakamori’s order having an underdrag of exhaustion. This night just didn’t seem to end, police headquarters hushed with activity and whispers of a detective’s death. The news played on in the background, detailing Jack Connery’s many successes, talking of his love for his only child and his affiliation with Japan.
The child hadn’t stopped crying. Even when they’d tried to take him away from the body. He’d just held on and wailed. Finally someone had taken him but Hakuba hadn’t been there for it, hadn’t wanted to stay for it.
Aoko had stayed, tender-hearted girl that she was, though the possibility of her own father’s death had obviously brought up fears. She was sleeping in Superintendent Shintaro Chaki’s office now on his couch, a pillow under her head and blanket over shoulders.
Her father hadn’t tried very hard to get her to go home, obviously wanting to stay with his daughter and no one else had suggested her leaving.
This wasn’t what a Kid Heist was supposed to be. Nobody was meant to die.
He wasn’t meant to see another child crying over a dead parent though Hakuba had heard that the paramedics had finally sedated Kenta and that Nightmare –no, Jack Connery’s body had been taken to a morgue.
Nakamori and the rest of Division 2, (a.k.a Kid Task Force, as they were now referred to by most of the other police divisions, something which Nakamori took a possessive pride in) had met the news with a somber but hard-heartened air. Some people seemed to forget - in all the shenanigans that Kid forcibly participated them in - Organised Crime didn’t always have a happy ending. Some things couldn’t be given back and every man and woman in this building had seen a dead body, had worked with Division 1 (and an inquisitive child-sized detective) in order to uncover a criminal in a murder.
They all had a lot of paperwork to fill in tonight but Hakuba wasn’t a police officer and he was being sent home.
Superintendent Chaki, a stern man who preferred not to have ‘children’ involved in police work but who at least let Hakuba participate on the merit of his own skills (and his father’s ‘please’), patted him on the back as he left.
Supposedly there was a taxi was waiting for him.
Baaya, having used her finely-tuned skills, must have realised he would be in for the long-haul and gone ahead. He hated keeping her up late anyway and she knew he liked having someone in the house to come home to.
It reminded him of the warmth of his mother waiting by the fireplace in England, a sore comfort he missed right now.
He would fly back to England soon for a visit. Though he loved his father, and he loved the break from senseless deaths (excusing tonight), Japan lacked the familiarity of his birthplace.
His hair wasn’t black, his legs too long and his eyes too wide. In England he was one of the crowd, but in Japan he stuck out no matter how many times people saw him. You would think the constant stream of tourists visiting would have desensitised the native population to foreigners but at this rate it would need anotherhundred more years or so.
The taxi stopped in the driveway of his house – not a mansion, though he suspected his classmates at school would be surprised – and was told the fare had already been paid. Must have gone under the police transport fund then.
He trudged his way to the door, inputting the pin number and kicking off his shoes as he closed the door quietly behind him. The house was warm, and Hakuba took a moment to lean against the wall and shut his eyes.
He started to nod off but Baaya would be disappointed if he passed out in the entranceway (a feat that had been achieved after a particularly troublesome 3-day heist by Kid) so he rubbed his eyes, yawning as he did so and left the entranceway.
The lounge room connected to the kitchen and he could see the dim edges of a light. Baaya must have kept the dining table lamp on for him.
He went in, socks silent on the wooden floors, taking his phone and student card out of his pocket to put on the table. The house was bigger than most family homes, with the kitchen in another room and his Baaya’s room further back towards the garden. The library was on the right of the entrance and where Hakuba spent majority of his time. Watson enjoyed sleeping down there and he was probably down there right now, having had a long day out while Hakuba prepared for today’s heist.
Hakuba saw that Baaya’s door was closed and knew she must be asleep. Still, after what had happened tonight he couldn’t ignore the urge to open the door a whisper and see his beloved housekeeper was still breathing.
Her face, lined with age (from educating an extremely inquisitive child, he was told) was relaxed in slumber and Hakuba counted the seconds of each of her breaths.
With his wristwatch he worked it at 8 seconds in, 9 seconds out. Good, her normal time.
She really was like a grandmother to him, a constant fixture in his life since birth.
Hakuba left her to her sleep, turning off the dining room lamp and making his way up the stairs. His father’s (and mother’s, when she cared to visit) room was down the hall, the music and study rooms on the right separating them, the guest rooms on the left.
A house too big for only three people.
He popped into the bathroom, took a sip of water from the tap that was decidedly not the habit of a well-mannered gentleman but a tired teen, and finally made his way down to his room.
The moonlight streamed in through the windows, nearing full. Kid always had his heists on nights centred around the visibility of the moon though he was not entirely sure of the reasoning to it yet. It lit his path and a beam of it shone directly into the centre of his room as he entered.
He enjoyed having the large centrepiece window, a possible danger but it was bulletproof and he needed it for Watson. Too many closed room cases had made him all the more claustrophobic; a fact noticeably shared by other detectives he’d met throughout his life.
Hakuba closed the door behind him, sighing as he unbuttoned his shirt and threw his jacket over his desk chair.
A gust blew and the window smacked against its panes, the force of wind only strong enough to move it that bit. Hakuba froze, fingers still unbuttoning and hand pulling his shirt from his pants.
He hadn’t left the window open.
It was the reflection of the monocle that let him pinpoint the intruder; he was sitting in the darkness of the corner, in the armchair Hakuba enjoyed lazing on when Watson and he practiced commands.
His fingers twitched for his phone, the one he had left downstairs.
Kid is in my house.
Why is he in my house?
Hakuba waited, tense, knowing some teasing line was about to be delivered. He could call for Baaya, shout for her to contact the police but Kid would be gone as soon as the words left his mouth and he didn’t want to frighten the old woman.
She may drive like Death was chasing her but they all knew it would catch up sooner or later. Death always did and Hakuba didn’t want to be the cause of a heart-attack that sent her early. She had plenty of time left if nature had its way and she was stubborn enough to go only when she had decided to.
Useless musings, since he knew Kid wouldn’t hurt her. Kid’s actions tonight had already solidified the certainty he’d had of the criminal’s possible violent inclinations. Kid had tried to save his would-be murderer. Not many people would have done the same in his position.
At least that was the logical conclusion Hakuba had come to over time of seeing - first-hand he might add - the nastier side of humanity.
He wanted to check the time, pinpoint the exact moment this was happening but his wrist was hidden by the material of his dress-shirt and Hakuba couldn’t seem to move.
The outline of Kid slowly materialised from the dark but he wasn’t sitting in a showy manner, not even in a relaxed one.
His knees were together, forearms pressed down on the arms of the chair and top hat turned down over the bridge of his nose. But Hakuba could see the fine tremors that came in pulses, the atmosphere tight around Kid like he would flee into the shadows if Hakuba made the wrong move.
He thought to say something but Kid’s whole manner made the words shrivel up in his throat.
It might have been the fact that tonight someone had died.
Or it might have been the fact that Kid’s glider/cape was half undone and on the floor, a vulnerability that could prevent Kid from leaving smoothly if Hakuba rushed him.
Or it might be the fact that he wasn’t saying anything.
Hakuba slowly and carefully put his hands by either side, fingers flexed apart to show he was weaponless.
“Hello Kid.”
Kid didn’t say anything, his lips together.
Hakuba took a deep breath and let it out.
“Kuroba.”
Kid didn’t move. “Have we not already clarified that I am not your classmate?” His skill with ventriloquism never ceased to amaze.
But Kid hadn’t said ‘talented,’ ‘amazing’ or any other words that would flatter Kuroba.
He needed to tread cautiously. To be Kid there had to be some sort of break in Kuroba’s mind, a crack that let him do the insane stunts that Kid was so fond of.
He worried. What had caused Kuroba to become the Kid? And what would this do to the already fractured parts of him?
Kid was predictable in his un-predictableness. He teased and mocked and ‘borrowed’ gems but he didn’t hurt anyone.
He didn’t break into Hakuba’s house. And he didn’t speak with a tone as flat as the world was once believed to be.
“Then should I just say Kaito?” Hakuba asked, taking a step forward.
The top hat tilted as Kid stared him down.
“Kaitou would be the correct term wouldn’t it?”
Hakuba felt the sting of his reprimand. He felt the sting of his own shame for trying to get that out of Kuroba when he knew the other was off his game. It had been a weak attempt in any case.
This was why he spoke politely and tried to follow the rules of socially appropriate manners. He was less likely to overstep that way.
He knew it was Kaito Kuroba behind the façade of Kid, and though he usually separated them into two when dressed in white, Kid would never have come here.
Kuroba was still watching him, body coiled with tense suspicion and ready to flee. Though he was nimble as one, Hakuba had never equated him to a cat. But cats curled up in a corner when hurt and their claws would come out if they were in danger.
“Why are you here?” Hakuba asked, wondering where his sense of reason had gone. Where both of their senses had gone.
“ . . . How is the boy?”
Hakuba hesitated over what to say, but in the end gave the straight, clear facts.
“Kenta has been sedated and is with his family’s personal driver who has been with them for some years it seems.”
Kuroba flinched perceptibly at Kenta’s name, Hakuba belatedly realising he probably should’ve kept to distant terms like ‘boy,’ and ‘he’.
He looked for signs of shock, but the darkness hid most of it. Perhaps Kuroba was sitting down because he didn’t have the strength to stand? Maybe he’d come here only because he hadn’t been able to make the journey home.
He wasn’t inconsolable, but he was obviously distraught by Connery’s death. What coping method would Kuroba use for his first dead body?
At least Hakuba assumed this was his first dead body.
There was a reason he so preferred Division 2 to the old hunting ground of Kudou Shinichi. Edogawa Conan seemed to be taking over the absent teen-detective’s spot quite nicely anyway so he’s skills weren’t quite as needed.
“How long have you been here?” Hakuba decided to question. His brief glance at his watch on the way in had told him it was nearing 1am, the taxi having to take a detour because of a bike accident and adding a chunk of time to his usually short trip home.
“How long has it been since the heist ended?”
Goodness, Kuroba had been here for nearing on 5 hours.
Hakuba raised his wrist and checked his watch – his pocket watch currently at a watchmaker’s shop getting its yearly time adjustment – and said, “It has been 4 hours, 53 minutes and 2.5 seconds since Kaitou Kid was officially last seen and the heist ended.”
“Huh,” Kuroba faced the window, a cut of light slicing diagonally from monocle to chin. “That long.”
It wasn’t a question. “Yes, it is quite early in the morning,” he spoke anyway, stressing the time. Afterwards he realised it may come across as wanting to get rid of the thief whereas his intent had been to push Kuroba into standing so he could judge his well-being.
They lapsed into silence and Hakuba dithered.
He wished it was someone else here, someone who could make this alright.
Because Hakuba didn’t know what to say. He could deduce that Kuroba was upset (even the ‘great’ Detective of the West would be remiss more than usual to miss it), and that there was a 94.3% chance he felt guilty for Jack Connery’s death.
But he did not know where to go from that deduction.
Telling Kuroba he was grieving for a man who tried to kill him was merely pointing out what Kuroba already knew. Telling Kuroba that he’d expected it to go horribly wrong would be even worse.
How did he know that Kuroba had expected this? Simple.
Because Kuroba had tried to keep him away. He’d never done that before, always sure that he was the quicker, smarter, and more versatile of them both. Hakuba saw it as arrogance, but he wouldn’t deny that the score sheet was stacked in Kid’s favour.
But tonight he’d rung Baaya, purposely lied and there were only 3 possible reasons that Hakuba could see.
- His late arrival hadn’t been planned for and Kid (who always revelled in the challenge) hadn’t been prepared to deal with his inclusion.
- He was being particularly difficult for some perceived error Hakuba had made and was retaliating by forcing him to miss the heist (not out of character but Hakuba hadn’t been in the country for a month so really)
- He had no control of Nightmare or what he was doing and feared that Hakuba would figure out Jack Connery’s true identity and put himself in the line of fire.
- A yet unnamed reason – therefore Hakuba dismissed it and cut the reasons down to 3
Kaitou Kid did not have a history of being particularly violent and if Nakamori’s obsession was any indication, Kid had an inclination to enjoying police officers company. It was not unexpected that he would want to protect them (no one gets hurt at a Kid heist.)
But Kuroba didn’t have a history of that with Hakuba and so he felt unsteady in how to react. What did this mean? What did this night change?
If that sharp-minded little child were here, he would throw out an innocent line that could shed light on this situation, that would lead Hakuba into saying the right words himself to make Kuroba pick up his glider and fly away knowing it wasn’t his fault.
Even Hattori Heiji would be a help: the Osakan -no matter how Hakuba deplored his methods - able to brusquely and honestly say what needed to be said so everyone could move on.
But Conan and Hattori weren’t here. It was just bumbling and trying to cover it Hakuba, socially inept as usual. Sherlock Holmes had said, ‘There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.’ And facts were what he knew.
“You tried to save him.”
Kuroba’s fingers curled into the arm chair.
Hakuba walked his way closer to the window, body facing it but head angled to his unexpected guest. He stopped a couple of steps from the window and arm chair and folded his arms behind his back.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Nobody gets hurt at a Kid Heist,” Kuroba whispered, voice low but not quiet enough to hide the broken quality of it. It was so strange, Hakuba had never seen anything from Kid other than playful viciousness, and Kuroba was always a wilful and rebellious prankster. Both versions always kept Hakuba at arms left and that in itself had always confirmed his suspicions. For what need would a normal teenage boy have to be so wary of a detective unless he was the Kaitou Kid?
“You do, sometimes.”
Hakuba wasn’t an idiot and he remembered everything. Things didn’t always add up, and though he may not have been there for all of Kid’s heists, he certainly read the reports on them.
Noises too much like a gun-shot, broken glass where Kid hadn’t been and suspicious figures on opposite buildings. They’d been reported by the Task Force in off-hand remarks that had been explained away as ‘overreaction’, ‘nearby incident’ etcetera. But it was mentioned enough that Hakuba became suspicious. And then Hakuba had gone down to the bowels of the Police Headquarters and noticed something alarming. The Crystal Mother Case had a 10 page statement transcribed from Prince Phillip’s interview. Hakuba had read it before, but only 3 days later when he’d gone to look at the other case files and thought to re-read that case too, he’d noticed 2 pages were missing.
The description of Prince Phillip’s special ‘friend’ had gone missing. Hakuba had asked the record keeper to help him look but she’d sent him away with a foul frown when the computer told her that there was only supposed to be 8 pages.
An immediate suspicion, a tingle of alarm and he’d set out to subtly discover what was going on. But Nakamori waved him away with an irritated growl and the detective who interviewed Prince Phillip seemed to no longer be in this city.
He was still searching (furtively, in the background) for where that detective had gone but the leads were going cold and Hakuba had been growing more and more uneasy.
The facts: A mysterious group and/or person were gunning for Kaitou Kid. Kaitou Kid seemed to be aware of it (you can’t ignore snipers) but still held his public heists. Hakuba didn’t know what Kid or the mysterious others aim was and he didn’t know why this was happening. But he certainly needed more proof before he brought it up with Nakamori.
“That’s different,” it was a sharp change to the maturity of Kid. The monocle catching he moonlight and pinpointing Kid’s anger at him.
Hakuba skilfully ignored it. “You should have come to the police. Before this.”
“Before I let him get killed you mean?”
“No, before Nightmare threatened you, before those mysterious people I know are aiming for you got involved. You should have gone to the police when this all started.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
Kid slammed his fist down on the arm of the chair, the dull thump startling Hakuba more than he expected.
“The police have already failed me once!”
It was anguished and Kid’s body seemed to droop forward. Had his blood pressured dropped? Was Hakuba about to have an unconscious Kid in his room?
“Kuroba -”
Kid was on him in a flash, grabbing at the collar of his shirt.
“I am not Kuroba,” the thief gritted out. Hakuba felt his adrenaline surge, his heart throb, his hands already circled around Kid’s wrists in an instinctive reaction to a perceived threat.
The poker face was cracking.
Hakuba licked his lips. He was so close, so close to the elusive Kid. He had handcuffs in his pants pocket, a special pair designed for this thief.
Too bad he couldn’t do it. The thought of doing it so much as not occurring to him as it was dismissed immediately.
“Jack Connery’s actions were his own.”
His fingers slipped over the delicate skin of Kid’s wrist, the frantic pulse confirming Kid’s lack of control.
Kuroba’s face was under Kid’s, and blood was easing through the cracks.
An imaginative, if not morbid metaphor that he would not usually ponder, but this man brought out something in him that wasn’t usual.
“Are you saying he deserved it?” Kuroba’s knuckles brushed his Adam’s apple and his teeth were a fierce and threatening white. White was usually safety, black danger. Funny how everything always got mixed up when this thief was involved.
“I take no joy in death,” Hakuba tightened his own hold on Kuroba. Looking down at him Hakuba could see the outline of Kuroba’s face, the blue of his eyes, the mess of brown fringe.
He shouldn’t have been surprised by the sight of a tear sliding its way from Kuroba’s un-monocled eye.
And yet, he was.
“I take no joy in it either,” Kid said with Kuroba’s face. Kid could say it was a lie, another’s face used as a mask to hide his true identity.
But they both knew what Hakuba could see in this moment. Just as they both knew that Hakuba would not accuse Kaito Kuroba of being Kid, not in public, not to Aoko.
Funny, when had that stopped? He’d even called Kuroba to warn him about Chat Noir in some weird expression of honour.
At least he’d told himself that, the next excuse being that he wanted to catch Kaitou Kid himself.
How long had it been that he’d wanted to protect Kuroba? How long had he been lying to himself?
Hakuba was still rubbing Kuroba’s wrists.
Kuroba dropped the tip of his nose into the hollow of Hakuba’s neck, his top hat falling to the ground and they stayed there, in the warmth of the night and the warmth of each others’ presence. Their bodies just barely grazed each other from the chest down but it was enough for Hakuba to feel as the pulsing tremors finally took over.
Wet drops of what he knew to be tears, soaked into his shirt and skin and when the tumultuous waves of tremors finally receded, Kuroba released a shuddering breath.
Cold lips were touching his collarbone, the monocle a fellow chill on his skin and Hakuba rested his cheek on Kuroba’s hair.
He smelt of this room, of what Hakuba might smell like to others. Made sense that a phantom thief would have no scent.
Hakuba could swear Kuroba’s lips pursued in a parody of kiss and then he slipped out of Hakuba’s hands, the way he’d been doing since they met and surreptitiously wiped his cheeks clean of tears.
Hakuba felt his emotions clog up his airway, so he turned to face the window.
“Kenta . . .” he began, voice breaking the silence. “Aoko said he will be having his surgery next month.”
Kuroba picked up the hat and fixed it upon his head. “That’s, that’s good then.”
But he added nothing more and Hakuba still didn’t know how this situation had come to be.
Nakamori had been worried, scared for the Kid’s life with the threat of Nightmare hanging over him, but Hakuba hadn’t believed. Even if he caught Kid, Kuroba was a minor and this was Japan. Hakuba knew the law and the law would most likely let him off easily, especially since the crimes of 8 years ago were obviously not done by an 11-year-old child and the current Kid always returned the gems. This Kid had even led them to uncover worse crimes.
If he was arrested he would have to tell Hakuba the truth, and then they could use all the force of the police and Hakuba’s mind to solve this case.
That was how Hakuba thought it would go. With Kid’s ultimate capture, not with his death.
And he’d been right. Kaitou Kid hadn’t been killed by Nightmare. But what was left of his innocence had, his confidence had.
“Why did you come here?” Hakuba watched as Kuroba shrugged his shoulders.
“For absolution?” Hakuba continued. “I cannot give it when you did not kill him.”
“He was there because of my heist.”
“Then stop having heists.”
He would miss them, the joy of matching wits, the mystery of it all, but he would prefer that over a dead Kuroba.
“I can’t do that,” Kaitou said immediately.
“Why not?”
“I’ve said it before haven’t I?” Kuroba joked but it wasn’t a joke at all. “It’s your job to figure out why.”
“You are in over your head Kuroba! People have already tried to kill you. Why do you keep trying to draw them out?”
“You can lead a camel to water but you can’t make it drink.”
“Then explain it to me,” Hakuba yelled in frustration. “What did they do to you to make you like this?”
Kuroba’s poker face snapped itself into place and he stepped further away from Hakuba.
Ah, he probably shouldn’t have said that.
But he just wanted to understand! Kuroba, Kid, both versions of him played it off like this was all fun and games when they both knew there were teeth ready to bite down to the bone if he fell.
“I won’t apologise for that,” Hakuba said. He’d meant every word of it.
“And why do you care so much? I’m just another criminal, another puzzle for you to try and figure out to explain the human psyche.”
Ouch, that had been perfectly directed to shoot under any Kevlar-reinforced self-delusions. Unfortunately Kuroba didn’t realise Hakuba was well aware of his failings.
Kid, Kuroba: both personalities blended together, had come here in distress, he’d unbelievably sought some sort of emotional reassurance from Hakuba.
So Hakuba would say it.
“You are not just another criminal to me. And we both know you have people who would cry over your death.”
Kuroba played with the clover hanging from monocle and huffed a deprecating laugh.
“And would you be one of those people?”
Just say it, just say it Hakuba.
“I could be.”
Oddly enough, even with someone so opposite from him. The possibility was there.
How amusing. A phantom thief that always returned what he stole and a teenage detective that didn’t know how to be a teen, having the possibility of friendship.
His mother would delight in the juxtaposition of it, his father would be worried.
But it wouldn’t happen. Hakuba had to draw the line here. He couldn’t be friends with a criminal, that wasn’t following the rules.
And yet his actions undermined his thoughts.
Kuroba seemed taken aback but he was quick on the uptake and laughed. It was better than the broken one from before but Hakuba knew Kuroba wasn’t suddenly fixed. No matter what Kid could do, magic wasn’t real, not like that.
“Huh, well, I do like collecting my detectives.”
“Kuroba, there will be no collecting of any sorts.” Hakuba admonished, silently protesting to the idea of being lumped with Nakamori, no matter if he and the man now had a more cordial working relationship.
Kuroba’s cheek twitched.
“But I do like pretty things.”
Hakuba clicked his tongue, fighting the blush. “But you always put things back where you get them from.”
“Only if they ask,” Kuroba said lightly.
Hakuba couldn’t quite accept talking about his theoretical kidnapping but at least Kuroba wasn’t silently crying anymore.
His thoughts went back to Jack Connery and some of it must have shone through. The tear tracks were gone but with a single, almost-fond look, Kuroba’s poker face came down and whatever part of him that was a young boy, was swept under the control of Kid.
Hakuba reached out instinctively, trying to get him back but with a puff of smoke, the large window was open and Kid was standing on the ledge.
“It seems it is getting late and it is unseemly to keep my beloved detective up so late.”
The blush burned red though you would think he would be used to these jokes by now.
Kid bowed but Hakuba did not take his eyes off him. This interlude only expanded the mystery that was Kaito Kuroba but it did not change what he would do.
“I will catch you Kaitou Kid, and then you will tell me why you are doing this.”
“With or without us, my London Detective, the show will go on.”
And in heist fashion, Kid grinned, spread his arms wide and jumped out.
Hakuba ran to the window but Kid was already speeding away on his glider. He stayed at that window until cloud cover blanketed Kid’s form and the cool breeze started to chill his room.
Hakuba remembered the others, their names and faces and means of death stuck in his head. Jack Connery had been a murderer, had killed criminals in order to save his son. But he had been a man of the law, and he should’ve known that all life has value.
He’d become the very person he’d sort to catch.
But at least his death had been quick, his honour kept intact for his child.
Jack Connery went on the list in Hakuba’s head and he worried that one day Kid would be added on to it.
He wouldn’t let that happen.
Hakuba shut the window, undressed to his underwear and got into bed.
And though it took a while, exhaustion triumphed an active mind. As he drifted into sleep, he sighed and mumbled to himself, “I really, really hate that poker face of his.”
***
The next morning Baaya set a hot pot of tea by his breakfast. Hakuba, in a rare departure from his morning habit of newspaper-reading and internet checking, was half-propped up over his food.
Baaya gently nudged him awake, having heard the details of last night’s case from his father. At least, that’s what Hakuba assumed, since she wasn’t scolding him for his lack of appetite.
He needed tea. Yes, that would help.
And so, as he had done every morning since his mother had first taught him to pour his own cup, Hakuba put a teaspoon of honey in his cup and poured the tea into it.
Plop.
A curled white slip of something slid from the stout, hot tea chasing it out and covering the note. Hakuba jostled the pot in shock, spilling some tea on his wrist. It burnt and woke him up completely.
His startled noise had Baaya running back in but he was distracted by the slip of paper (water-proof obviously from the lack of disintegration) uncurled in the hot tea.
Quickly, with a sharp mind of her own, Baaya passed him the small sugar-prongs.
Hakuba took it out smoothly with no hesitation, any side-effects of his lack of sleep overwhelmed by adrenaline.
A familiar black caricature grinned at him and Hakuba accepted the glove that Baaya was already offering.
With a gloved finger holding the top, he uncurled the rest down with the prongs and read:
In lieu of a detectives death. No heist will be held for the next month.
Take your time to catch up on paperwork my beloved police.
I will come back on the evening of the newly born star. Red it is as the tempestuous love of a wanderer’s heart.
Kaitou Kid 
Damn that pesky thief.
Hakuba settled back into his chair, excitement having pulled him forward.
He didn’t know how to feel about this, wasn’t quite sure if he was upset, relieved or somewhere in between about Kuroba continuing on as Kid.
At least it would give him time to search the next gem. The newly born star was a red star, a red star was Mars and it shone brightest from the beginning of March at 12pm. So that part was simple, it was just the rest that hinted at the gem.
If keeping himself busy planning the next heist would help Kuroba then Hakuba would accept it. He wondered what precautions Kuroba would take this time.
He wondered about Kenta and promised himself he’d drop in on his own father this afternoon, see if he could help with any paperwork or encourage him to take a break from helping others and have a nice cup of tea with him.
Kuroba needed time, to acknowledge and accept what had happened. The first stages of grief weren’t always so distinct, and Hakuba knew he struggled himself to fully realise what others were feeling but he would do his best to support Kuroba as his classmate.
. . . As his possible friend.
“Young Master, should I called Detective Nakamori?”
Hakuba sighed and waved away Baaya’s concern with a ‘thank you,’ but ‘I will handled this.’
He would call this in and get it over to the police station, not having to rush since it wasn’t a school morning.
But for today, after such a harrowing, emotionally surprising night, he would have his cup of tea first.
He deserved it.