Case Closed Fan Fiction ❯ Perfect Imperfection ❯ Perfect Imperfection ( One-Shot )

Title: Perfect Imperfection

By: Valerie Chow

Standard disclaimers apply.

Summary: One-shot Shinichi POV ficlet. On his way home after a case one night, Shinichi turns introspective. Miscellaneous ramblings and whatnots result.

Author's notes: Just to clarify, this isn't a sequel to Ai no Tameni Kazuha. Nor a prequel. It is set in an entirely different universe. And some of my friends, who have read it, thought that it sounded a bit weird. *sweat drops* I tried to amend it some and hope it works now. At least to the extent that people can understand it. *sweat drops* Comments and review would be dearly appreciated. ^_^

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It was late when I finally reached the police headquarters. Very late. The police car turned itself neatly into the parking lot and pulled up near the entrance. I got out and said good-bye to the officer that had given me a lift back. He was perspiring from nerves and excitement having been given the task of sending the, how did Hattori put it...oh yes, 'the great Kudo Shinichi who had defeated the notorious Black Organization' (snort). The thanks I had given to my admiring driver just finished the job. He nearly fainted. I'm going to slowly torture Hattori for that stupid nickname he came up with and spread to the whole of the police force. Starting with Osaka. Sorry Kazuha-san. I know how much you love your husband, but he's not getting away this time.

The officer was now looking relevantly at the hand I just shook; I snorted. Great. I would have thought that stupid business would have died down a few years ago; that was one of the reasons I had gone overseas after all. He must be a newbie. Note to self: must ask Megure-kebu to assign me someone older and less aware of my so-called 'magnificent achievements' the next time. She will be in stitches when I tell her about this. Sigh. Maybe Satou-san would do it, or rather, Takagi-san...mustn't forget she's married now. Oh right. She can't, she just went maternity leave. And her husband isn't likely to be very coherent while she is still carrying the baby. Damn. I looked down my watch, a present from my mother on my last birthday. Four A.M. in the morning. I winced. Shit. She's going to be furious with me. I walked quickly over to my car - a lovely blue Honda Civic Hybrid, only a year old. Not an especially expensive car, but it captured my fancy the moment it came out. Then she saw it and proceeded to decorate it within an inch of herself. Now my car is a mixture of her and myself. Exactly as she had intended.

I am so whipped. Sighing, I started the engine and drove out of the parking lot. My procrastinations had taken me nearly fifteen minutes. She is going to blow her top.

Not that that is anything new. She's always angry when I stay up late all night to solve a case, especially when I come home injured. Like I am now. It is usually nothing serious, but then she would worry so, and I would feel guilty about it. Not before I get angry with her for staying up waiting for me though. We get angry at each other for worrying more often than not. I smirk. Secretly, I love it when she fusses over me, even when I act all irritated and pissed off. Sometimes I just like to be babied a little okay? Buzz off! Not that I ever let her know it; that would take the fun out of everything. After glaring at each other for some time, she will then break out the ever-ready medical kit kept in the living room for just emergencies and start to 'fuss' over me, her mouth spewing angry reclamations while I glower at her in turn for not waiting up for me. Sometimes we will end up shouting with each other. Other times we will end up cuddling in front of the fire, 'negotiating' for what I should do to make up for her worry, and what she should do to minimize mine. It is almost down to a ritual between us now, except that I always mean it when I am sorry, and her worry for me is genuine. Sounds strange?

I wouldn't change that for the world.

Of course, we hadn't always started out that way.

What? You think that after I kept such a big secret (everyone should know what that secret is right? If not, where the hell have you been?) from her, a secret that took me away from her for huge amount of time, not to mention nearly endangering all those around me, that I could just grovel nicely before her when she found out and then she would be angry for a while but in the end still forgive me? That we would kiss and make up and all that lovey-dovey stuff and then all live happily ever after?

Give me a break.

It wasn't that simple, nor is it so easy. But then, nothing ever is.

I stopped at a traffic light and tapped at the steering wheel. I wanted badly to have a cigarette, but then she would smell it on my breath when I got home. She had been hounding me mercilessly to get rid of the habit. I have tried to stop, but an addiction is not that easy to shake, or it won't be called an addiction now, would it? I wish the traffic light would turn green soon. I've never been known for my patience in ordinary, everyday life.

Anyway, back to the story.

She did forgive me eventually. After sufficient groveling on my part and temper tantrums on hers. But the damage to our relationship was already done. After what I had done, she could never really trust me fully again. And because I was feeling guilty for all the things I put her through, I gave in to her every whim and fancy and in the long run, it did more harm to our relationship than anything. And I would hardly need to point out to you that keeping such a big secret from her in the first place just demonstrated how much trust I had in her. Oh yes, there were a lot of those noble sentiments about keeping it from her for her own sake, for her safety, yada-yada-yada et cetera mixed in behind the decision not to tell her the secret. But now that I am older (and wiser I hope), I could clearly see that underlying all those 'noble sentiments' it was simply because I didn't trust her. Not enough.

Now, I know what you are going to say. Why wouldn't I trust her? She was my dearest childhood friend, and at the time the whole mess started, a potential love interest. But you must understand. For me, trust doesn't come easily. After seeing so many crimes and deaths and associated whatnots, it is hard for me to trust humanity at all, let alone specific people in general. The fact that my parents had left me alone in a country while they were off gravitating around the world, escaping publishers and editors did nothing much to help either.

The light turn green and I huffed out my breath, releasing the brake.

By the way, I'm not blaming my parents for my lack of trust in people in general. I'm just saying that what my parents did didn't help my situation any. No, I'm not bitter about this at all. Well, I was, when I was younger, but after the few years I had spent with them in the States, I had made my peace with them. Most of that which has caused the problems in my relationships with people, I blame it on my twisted psyche and myself. What, is it much of a shock for you to find out that Kudo Shinichi, famed high school detective isn't really as confident and all-knowing as he seems? (Though I left my high school years behind me ages ago, the name still stuck, to my everlasting disgust. People who have a case for me expect a high school kid, and their shock and surprise when they get me is very irritating. Not to mention the number of empty-headed high school girls that send for me just because 'their school bathroom is haunted with the ghost of a dead classmate! But we're SURE you can find the culprit and then she can pass on happily to the next life and won't haunt our bathrooms anymore!' All the while batting their eye lashes as fast as they can go. My darling wife finds it hilariously amusing and always manages to somehow tape down my reactions to said female willies and shares them with people I would rather not have witnessed it. I however find it extremely annoying. Kazuha-san says the twitching thing I do with my cheek is…cute. Shudders. I didn't wait to hear what Hattori thought about the whole thing.) I'm not saying that I'm crazy or anything. I like to think that I have my head screwed on pretty straight and I'm just as likely to become committed to the loony bin as the next average guy. Which, I hope, is never. What I am saying is that a lot of things contributed to the break down of our relationship and nothing can be pointed out to be The One Reason for it.

Anyway, back to the story. The thing is, I'm a very sorry individual with many problems. One of those weird psychologist people might even say that I was escaping from all of the frustrations and problems that I have had by immersing myself in all those cases that came my way. They might even be right, but that's beside the point.

Hell, you can even call me rabidly paranoid after the whole Black Organization mess. This lack of trust however, became glaringly obvious to her after the whole mess died down and she began to reflect back on the whole business and saw for herself just what I had really meant by not telling her anything before. (When she first found out, things were moving too quickly for anyone to breathe, let alone think about what implications each action has on anything.) To say that she was hurt was like saying the universe is big. Or that the sunset is pretty. An understatement. We had a big row about it; all sorts of ugly, hurtful things were said on both sides and blame was thrown about arbitrarily. We ended up not talking to each other for one whole month after that.

Eventually though, we did make up, but it was never the same again. Still, after seeing someone you know being shrunk to the size of a seven-year-old and going through assorted difficulties in stopping the 'Evil Organization' that caused the change in the first place, what could still be the same? We could never, at the risk of sounding incredibly sappy, go back again to the naïve and carefree days of yesterday and we knew it. We had changed, both of us. All of us in fact. How we related to each other had changed too. It was hard for us to just pick up from where we had left off before I 'disappeared' and it showed.

It was ironic in a way. Both of us tried so desperately to make things work. We wanted so desperately for things to work, but ultimately, it was ourselves who were the cause of the breakdown of our relationship. It just came to a point where it wasn't working after all.

Oh we tried to deny it. We told each other every time we quarreled that it would be the last, that we would not say hurtful things to each other anymore. That worked for a while until we found out that we were harming each other more by not saying what was in our hearts. It made us even more suspicious of each other's intentions and more vulnerable to being hurt; we grew paranoid. Everyone we knew tried to help us. No one was against our relationship after what we had gone through. Of course, I still remember the 'talk' I had with her parents once things had settled down a bit. Not without a bit of fear about just what they would do to me if I ever let her down. (If I ever have children, the first advice I would give them is never to fall in love with someone who has an over-protective ex-policeman as a father and an accomplished lawyer as a mother.) They knew how much we wanted this to work though, so after setting a few ground rules, we were allowed to be together. Heck, every time we had a fight, one of them would be there to try and calm us down, talk us through, push us to reconcile with each other. Unfortunately, it still wasn't enough.

When does love hurts so much that you just want to say 'stop! I can't take this anymore!' and wish to give up? When did love change so much that you feel more likely to want to hurt, rather than love? The correct answer is never. Not if you truly love, and are in love. If you are in love, you would try anything and everything in your power to make things right. Because you would want that person to be happy, not sad, because of you. Because seeing how much the one you love hurts, because of you, is something that would hurt much more than you can bear and you just want to make everything all right again.

Because you just want for the person you love, to be happy.

I'm getting a little sappy here, bear with me. It'll be over soon. Promise.

But I didn't know that then, and neither did she. All we knew was that we were hurting too much. Both of us were lost in the aftermath of trying to find our place in the overall scheme of things and adding in a relationship that needed a lot of work was too much for us to cope with. We were too young then to be able to look beyond our noses and see what harm we were doing to each other. All that was obvious to us was that we were hurting so badly and the joy we once had together had disappeared. It had become hard for us to try to go on.

So after many months of trying to make it work, we broke up. Well, not really. We never said anything that resembled 'Let's break up' or 'We're through'. Neither was there a huge row that ended with one of us shouting 'I don't love you anymore!' I wasn't even sure if we were truly in love with each other in the beginning. We loved each other yes, dearly, but we weren't in love per se, with each other. And that, it seems, turned out to be the one thing that made it bearable for the both of us. I think that we were just too tired and weary to even feel hurt by any of it. We needed a break from each other. It was a sort of release, I think for the both of us, when we just sat down, and I told her that I would be going with my parents back to America. There was a moment of awkwardness as the both of us tried to think of what to say. I could clearly see the relief in her eyes when I told her, despite her attempts to conceal it. I must confess, I myself was feeling guiltily happy about the whole prospect and I think she must have noticed it too, because the next thing I knew, she was quirking a grin at me and we ended up laughing with each other for the first time in months.

Ironic, is it not, that the only happiness we could feel around each other was when one of us was leaving. It just further seemed to underscore the fact that we were better off not being together. We parted amicably and it was with a light-hearted feeling that I set off to the land of freedom and opportunity with my parents.

In case you were wondering, yes, she did see me off at the airport, along with her parents.

I turned the car round the corner. I'm almost home now. I wonder if I should buy something for her. She would appreciate that. There was a nice little shop near the end of our street.

Living in America with my parents, getting to know them over again helped me regain my focus after being run ragged for the past two years. I needed that desperately. What with trying to find out more about the Black Organization while keeping them from finding out about me, and then working with various people, powerful or not to end the threat was exhausting. Add in the emotional and mental pressure I had to endure each day, it shouldn't be hard to imagine that it was a bit difficult for me to get settled down again to ordinary civilian life and even harder to make myself believe that there wasn't a need for me to save the day regularly anymore. I was feeling rather adrift, and aimless those first few days in the new country. Strange isn't it? I was so desperate to end my ordeal when I was still stuck in my young body, but now that I had recovered, I had lost my goal. The strive for the antidote and a permanent solution to my predicament had consumed so much of my life these past two years that now that it had ended, I didn't know what I should do with myself. My parents helped a lot, and it was during those trying few days that I finally managed to get through my resentment over them abandoning me when I was still young. I know that wasn't what they had intended, but it was how I saw it at that time. I was young then okay? Give me a break.

Exploring this new place that my parents had lived in for so many years helped. Even though I had flown over periodically over the years they had been in America for holidays, I hadn't had the chance, or the inclination to fully experience this place my parents now called home. I didn't want to. In my mind, this was the place that my parents had abandoned me for, and I disliked it. I won't call it hate; that would be too strong, but I still didn't like it much. I went where they dragged me to, be it plays or shooting ranges or whatnots, but I didn't really get to know it personally. This time round, I took the chance offered and found, to my surprise, that I liked America. Not as much as Japan, but still, it was a nice place.

I went to university and got my degree in criminal psychology. It was interesting and offered me another perspective that has always puzzled me: why do criminals commit crimes? It was something that had always intrigued me and to this day, I still do not have a ready answer. Doesn't stop me trying to find out though.

When I graduated ahead of time, my parents were the happiest people on our street. Well, my mother was at least. She was beaming all the time and telling all the neighbors all about it over and over again all about it until they threatened to take legal action after the fortieth or so time. My father? Well, he just kept on having his all-knowing and 'absolutely-pleased-with-myself-god-aren't-I-clever-to-produce-such-a-brill iant-son?' kind of smirk on his face. All the time. Twenty-four hours a day. Seven days a week. So yeah, I suppose you could say he was pleased.

I joined the police force soon after graduation, and worked for them as a sort of…expert on crime, if it can be called that. Something like what my father did for them, only on a more permanent basis. It was quite interesting work, and quite challenging at times. Crime rate in America is sometimes almost higher than that in Japan. That gave me a lot of scope for my talents.

Then fate threw me another curve ball when I was least expecting it.

I expect you would know what happened. It always happens this way for some reason. I was half hoping that it wouldn't have, but that was wishing for too much I guess. I just seemed doomed to live out my life like a television drama program, complete with all the clichés and usual twists and turns. It was almost…mortifying.

A case required me to fly over to Japan, and it was then, during the trip back to my old homeland, that I met her again.

Isn't that just wonderfully cliché? I still wince every time I remember. Wince. Almost every drama program that I have seen in my life that my mother made me watch with her had one of its actors leaving the other and had them meet up again this way. Snort. I was almost expecting it when I went back, and to my utmost disappointment, it didn't disappoint me. Sounds weird when I say it this way, doesn't it? Instead of believing that television drama resembles real life, I'm more inclined to think that fate has a very twisted sense of humor. Either that or she had suddenly ran out of ideas while crafting up my life and after watching some television or something, decided to just use this stupid idea to throw the both of us together again. If I ever get the chance to meet fate, she and I need to have a nice long talk.

We had kept in contact after I went to America. We tried that is. Still, the both of us were never that great letter writers, even with the Internet, and gradually, the letters changed from one every other week to one every other month, then to one a year to nothing. The last time I heard from her was on my twenty-fifth birthday I think. That was four years ago. So you can imagine my surprise, (well, maybe not that much of a surprise, I was somewhat expecting it.) and not a bit of disappointment in the scriptwriter that plots out my life, when I ran across her when I was doing some research on the case.

She was just as surprised as I was. Probably more so since I didn't tell her, or any body for that matter that I was coming back. I was hoping to minimize…coincidences. Now, I am not saying that I'm not glad to see her again after all these years. Far from it. She was one of my dearest friends. Still is. At that time, I would have loved to have a chance to see her again, even if it was just a 'Hi, how have you been? Nice to see you again, bye!' In fact, I was toying with the idea of looking her up after my business here was done. I was just…irritated with the way I came to meet her again.

Right. It was one of those stupid clichés again. We knocked each other over round a corner and I spill coffee over her blouse.

You see what I mean about these stupid things? It made me swear off drinking coffee ever again. I changed to tea. Nice traditional green tea.

We ended up having lunch together. My treat. Yes, I know that's another cliché. Shut up already.

Did that mean that we just sort of clicked together again after so many years apart, and went straight on to the huggly-smuggly part of the deal? The happily-ever after part?

Of course not. I would like to ask you just what is it with you and 'happily-ever-after's? Didn't you hear me earlier when I told you it didn't exist?

Never mind.

No, we didn't get together straight away after that 'fortuitous encounter'. The years that separated us had changed us in ways we didn't notice until we met up again. The problems that had broken us up before still existed between us. They didn't get magically solved the years we had been apart. What, you think that time is really the antidote to any and every thing?

Still, the encounter had fulfilled its purpose I suppose. We met up again two more times after that, while I finished up the case. I learnt that she was now an OL, working at one of the larger companies in downtown. She still practices karate on weekends, only now, she teaches as well as practices.

Two meetings stretched out to three. Then four. Then five. By this time, I had put off my leaving for one week, and basically, everyone I ever knew in Tokyo knew I was back.

That put off my leaving for another week. Do you have any idea how much my friends and miscellaneous acquaintance like to give dinner or lunch treats? I was remembering my earlier resolve to not let anyone know I was back. No wonder my parents don't inform anyone before hand whenever they come back to Japan. It wasn't that I wasn't grateful and touched by all of it. It's just that it gets a little tedious after a while.

During the extended one extra week, I met up with her again four more times.

Finally, I managed to extract myself from the numerous well-wishers and friends with the excuse that I really needed to get back. My work was going to suffer if I didn't. Somehow along the line, I found myself promising her that I would be back in a few months for her birthday. I never really found out how that happened.

The trip back for her birthday resulted in other flying trips to and fro America and Japan on both our parts. Finally, I just quit my job and migrated back to Japan. The airfares were getting too expensive, even for those as wealthy as my parents. And no, it wasn't because I couldn't bear to be apart from her ever again and all that shit. We hadn't progressed that far yet, no matter what Hattori would have you believe.

Come to think of it, all this dilly-dallying on our parts must have seemed frustrating to our relatives and friends. They claimed to see how deeply in love we were with each other and just what the hell was wrong with the both of us? Why wouldn't we just get on with it? But hey, they weren't us, and after that last time, neither of us was willing to go so fast again and ruin things beyond repair. Besides, we hadn't progressed that far yet. Anything else was all in their imagination. Really.

So I was back in Japan. I got another job of sorts with the police and we spent the rest of the time getting to know each other again and dodging well meaning but misguided attempts to 'nudge us further down the line'. Hey, ten years is a very long time.

Things seemed to work out better between us this time round. We somehow managed to get through some of the more difficult problems in our relationship that had stumped us the last time. Maybe it was age. Whatever it was, we were content to take one step at a time, and found that it worked well for us, despite what everyone else said. Not to say everything was fine and dandy; we still have fights and arguments, but somehow, we managed to work things out without bloodshed. And I mean this figuratively. Come to think of it, maybe I had meant that literally too.

One year later, I proposed. She accepted. We've been married for nearly two years now. The house that I am driving up to now was bought just a year ago. It took us that long to decide on a house we both liked enough to live in.

My life isn't perfect, oh no, far from it. There is no real 'happily ever after' and all that kind of stuff in real life you know. We quarrel, sometimes daily. We are after all two very different individuals, and we need different things. So it was hard going most of the time. She hates that I sometimes take up cases that seriously endangers my well-being or when I leave my dirty socks outside the hamper. I am pissed that her 'trusting' nature more often than not lands her in trouble with people that have less than noble intentions (it's one of things I love and dislike most about her) and the fact that she has this need to have a massive house-cleaning session every month. We live in a very big house. End of story.

She's angry that I sometimes keep things from her. She feels it's a sign that I still don't' trust her enough. She might even be right. I'm annoyed that sometimes she feels the need to tell everything. Even things I'm not sure I want to know. At a certain time every month, she gets snappish and moody. I've learnt to keep out of her way during that particular period. On some nights, I have insomnia and I like to get out of the house to walk. Just walk. The house is…suffocating at times, despite its size. She knows that I need that and is always ready with a hot mug of coffee when I get back. She is still trying to get her parents back together. I think their present arrangement suits both of them just fine. They meet regularly for meals or outings but are not together long enough to get onto each other's nerves. I still can't get her to see that, just as she can't get me to see her point of view.

I stop the car and turned off the engine. Opening the door, I got out. The garage was hot and stuffy, illuminated only by a dim light. The smell of paint stood out starkly, testimony of the paint job I had given it yesterday, after much of her nagging. I started back to the house.

It seems as if we are still back during the early days in the relationship, before we broke up, doesn't it? Only this time, we knew we had to make it work. Knew that we are not going to give up because we love and are in love, with each other and love takes a hell lot of effort and work. We have our problems to work out between us, things to learn about how to make a relationship work. There are good days, and then there are bad days. That's life. We just have to work towards the goal of making more good days then bad days. My life isn't perfect, not to others, but I like it just the way it is, imperfection and all. To me, imperfection is perfection, because it makes me work even harder to make things perfect. Perfection would be boring I think.

I walk into the house. There is still a light at the kitchen window, and a dim one in the living room. Entering the kitchen first, I spot a late dinner set out and a note beside it. The note simply says 'heat up the dinner and eat it'. I smile slightly and crumble the note in my hand. Dinner can wait. I want to see my wife first and have her fuss over me.

The living room is a little dark with only the side table lamp switched on. She is fast asleep on the couch with the television on in front of her. Her long hair is tied back with a ribbon, keeping it out of her face, as it is now most of the time. I miss the old days when she kept it free and flowing, but she argues that it gets in the way of her movements during the day.

I moved to the front of the couch and switched off the television. The slight sound rouses her and she blinks sleepily. "Shinichi? You're back. Did you have your dinner yet? How was the case? Did you get hurt?"

Amazing how this woman that shares my life can speak so coherently when she has just woken up. You can't get a full sentence out of me every morning until I have a cold shower to wake me up thoroughly. I shut her up the only way I know how.

After a while, she shifted away so that she could look into my eyes. "What was that for?" she asked with a smile.

"What, I can't kiss my wife when I like it?" I smirked.

She hesitated and her brows get this little crease between them that implies she is confused about something. Then she gives her head a slight shake and tilts it slightly to one side. "Have you eaten yet?"

"No, eat with me?" I hold out my hand to her. With a smile, she accepts.

Later on, much later on, when we were both lying on the bed, snuggled against each other, each immersed in our own thoughts, she suddenly spoke out of the blue. "Shinichi, are you happy right now?"

I muzzled her hair. "Very happy. Are you?"

"Absolutely." I could feel her head nodding against the hollow of my neck.

A comforting silence falls between us.

"Life's good, isn't it?"

I hugged her tighter in agreement. I was getting drowsy. It was a hard day and the orchid scent of her shampoo was making me feel very relaxed, as it always does. She had gotten it from some friend on her last birthday and had complained that it was a really dreadful pun but I had managed to err...convince her otherwise. Grin. My eyes begin to drift shut. I can only afford a few more hours of sleep before its time to get up again.

"So, if I tell you I'm going to have your baby, it'll get better?"

My eyes shot open.

"You're WHAT?"

Perfect imperfection.

~Owari~