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“I have a condition,” Furuya said and set down his teacup. They were sitting around the couch table with Yukiko and Yūsaku in the Kudous’ living room, drinking tea as if he and Furuya hadn’t held guns to each other’s heads mere minutes ago.
Well, maybe that’s just our dynamic, Shūichi thought.
“I’m going to listen to your proposal. But first,”―he turned to look right at Shūichi―“you’re going to tell me what happened to Scotch that night,” Furuya demanded.
“You already made your deductions,” he replied. “You know what happened. What else is there to say?”
“I don’t know the details and you don’t know my deduction. Let’s compare notes,” he hissed, his voice razor-sharp.
“Let’s see,” Shūichi said. “If I tell you exactly what you thought happened, me saying it out loud will get us nowhere. If what I tell you differs from what you thought, you’ll just think I’m lying. So tell me, what’s the point?”
Furuya’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll decide if you’re lying based on the believability of your story.”
“If that’s Amuro-san’s condition, maybe you should consider it,” Yūsaku said hesitantly.
Shūichi nodded slowly. “Yukiko-san, Yūsaku-san, would you mind letting us talk in private for a moment?” he asked.
“Of course not,” Yukiko replied and Yūsaku said, “We’ll be in the study.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t want your civilian allies to hear the next part?” Furuya said as the Kudous left the room. There was a cold glint in his eyes. “Are you scared they’re going to ditch you if they know?”
“No,” Shūichi said. “I do regret what happened that day. But I’m not ashamed of my actions.”
Furuya gritted his teeth. “Let’s hear it then.”
Shūichi held his gaze for a moment, then sighed. “If you insist.” Then he told him everything. How he’d met Scotch on that rooftop, how Scotch had gotten hold of his gun. Furuya’s eyes widened a bit. Apparently Shūichi was already deviating from his expectations. Though that was no surprise, he supposed.
I’m not going to beg for my life, but before you shoot me, would you listen to what I have to say?
He told him what Scotch had attempted and how Shūichi had held the cylinder in place to stop him. Furuya’s eyes narrowed.
Give it up, Scotch.
“I told him my name,” Shūichi said, “and that I’m with the FBI. I said that I could help him get away.” He paused. “He accepted.” They sat in silence for a moment.
“What a nice story,” Furuya spat. “But we both know that’s not how it really ended.”
“No,” Shūichi said quietly. “It’s not.” After a moment, he went on. “I let go. He pulled the trigger.”
“Just like that?” Furuya said, clearly not believing a word.
“No, not just like that,” Shūichi replied. “I do think he wanted to take me up on my offer.” The only reason he hesitated was because he didn’t know how to get around the next part without lying. “There was a sound, we were startled for a moment. He must have panicked.”
“A sound?” Furuya hissed incredulously.
Shūichi averted his gaze and kept silent. He’d already said too much. He could neither backtrack from here nor could he think of a different explanation.
When he eventually looked up again, Furuya was staring at him with wide eyes, his hands shaking. “A sound,” he repeated. Shūichi knew there was no way back now. Furuya had already connected the dots. “Of footsteps approaching, running up the metal staircase…” he whispered. “My footsteps.”
Shūichi looked away. To give him some privacy, but also because there was nothing he could say. Even if he now claimed it was all a lie, Furuya would always doubt it. And after serving him this kind of story, it would make Shūichi an even bigger asshole.
Furuya got up and took a few steps away, possibly just to turn his back on him. “Why not tell me?” he finally said. “In the moment, you couldn’t trust me and you needed to claim the kill to keep your cover and advance with your mission, I get that. I still hate it, but I get it. But what about later?” He turned back around. “You knew that I blamed you for Scotch’s death, knew how much I hated you for it, why didn’t you just explain what happened?” He walked towards him until he stood next to the armchair he’d been sitting in earlier. “Even tonight, even though I asked you, you weren’t going to tell me. Why?”
Shūichi paused for just a moment before he replied, “I didn’t think it was necessary.”
“You what?!” Furuya said and slammed his hand down on the table, leaning over it. “What, you didn’t think I’d like to know how my best friend died?!”
He held his gaze. “I meant, I didn’t think it was necessary for you to blame yourself. That doesn’t bring Scotch back.”
“And you wanted me to blame you instead?” Furuya asked.
Shūichi shrugged. “You never liked me to begin with. What difference does it make?”
“What diff―!” he gritted his teeth and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “It makes all the difference!”
Shūichi was honestly surprised. He’d known Furuya would be upset if he learned the truth, and that he’d still be angry with him, but he wouldn’t have thought that Shūichi not telling him would be an important factor. What was that look in Furuya’s eyes? He was upset, maybe even betrayed? Why betrayed?
He let go of his shirt and Shūichi thought that was it, he’d decided against physical violence after all, when suddenly, Furuya’s palm struck him right in the face.
“You slapped me,” Shūichi stated, more baffled than anything else. Looking back at Furuya, he realized another thing―he looked hurt.
“You deserve it.”
“I’m not arguing that,” Shūichi said, “I just didn’t think you’d―”
“Don’t do it again,” Furuya interrupted. Huh? “Don’t do anything like that ever again.” And with that, he sat back down, looking somewhat composed.
“I won’t,” Shūichi promised, still stumped.
“Are you calling the others back here already?” Furuya said, annoyed, any emotions that had been there a moment ago hidden carefully behind his mask. “Let’s get on with it, I don’t have all night.”
Shūichi nodded and left the room, finding Yukiko, and a bit behind her Yūsaku, in the hallway to the study.
“We heard loud noises, so we thought we should maybe come and check up on you two,” Yukiko explained flustered. “Is everything alright?” Shūichi was almost certain that she had been eavesdropping for at least the last few minutes, but he didn’t comment on it.
With everyone gathered in the living room again, the Kudous made their case to Furuya, explaining how their son had been forced to go underground after barely surviving the attempt on his life―leaving out the part about him being shrunk into the form of first-grader Edogawa Conan, of course―and that he was secretly building a case against Them. Furuya didn’t say anything, he just listened. When they were finished, he nodded.
“Understood,” he said and stood up. “I’ll contact you once I’ve made my decision. Until then, at least, I won’t take action.” He added, “thanks for the tea,” and left.
When they heard the front door fall shut, Yūsaku said, “What do you think, Akai-kun?” Shūichi knew they had both noticed the flaming red on his cheek.
“I believe our chances are good,” he replied with a smile.
It had been almost two weeks, and today, the Organization and them had clashed once again, this time costing more than ten agents’ lives, while the only thing they got out of it was a vague hint about Rum’s identity. One could only hope that the whole affair had at least kept Rum busy for a while and bought them some time.
While the remaining FBI agents were gathering around Camel and made fun of his freshly shorn head―another of today’s sacrifices, Yūsaku turned to Shūichi and said, “We haven’t received a reply to our late-night tea party, yet, either.”
“No,” he agreed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the boy casting them a curious look, but for the time being, this wasn’t for him to concern himself with.
Despite the time that had passed, Shūichi remained optimistic―After all, the fact that Furuya hadn’t contacted them yet also meant that he hadn’t taken action or decided to work against them so far, either. And there was something about their last encounter that made Shūichi think they wouldn’t have to worry about that. He smiled at the thought.