FIC: Last Act (1/1) (G)
Title: Last Act
Author: Saitaina
Word Count: 518
Rating: G? (It's been so long since I've written one...)
Disclaimer: Not mine
Spoilers: Most of MK
Characters/Pairings: Mika/Toichi
Notes: Mika = Kaito's Mum (because she needed a name)
Mika watched as the last of the policemen got into their cars before drawing the drapes around the house, dimming the light and blocking the world from view. She glanced at the stairs for a moment, almost as if she could see her son in his bedroom, asleep with the aid of too much grief and a handy tranquilizer.
She wished she could join him in that sweet oblivion, but there wasn't yet time for her to break down, there were last details she had to finish. First, she canceled the rest of Toichi's engagements, though most of the event planners had already heard from his manager. Next, she called Jii and informed the older man of what had happened. They agreed it was best for Jii to visit his aging aunt in America for a few weeks.
Next, next was on of the harder parts. The one task Mika hoped she would never have to perform as Toichi's assistant.
Steeling herself, she grabbed the feather duster from where she had dropped it, moving silently through the portrait of her husband, unable to look at him for fear she would collapse. Staring at the rooms beyond however, tore at her heart.
Carefully, she moved through the space, picking up items and packing away costumes, putting things back where they belonged, trying to ignore how she clutched at the clothing, inhaling deeply for a sent of him. She finished placing the top hats on the rack and carefully slid the monocles into their drawers before turning to a work table, absently brushing away a dust stained tear as she reached for a handful of rubber bands, rolling up plans for magic tricks and sliding them in their cubbies before raising the blue prints of a house to the light, studying the layout.
Kaitou Kid's last, unfinished heist.
"Guess you lucked out, Koizumi-san," She said softly to the blue and white paper before carefully rolling it and stacking it away with others of it's kind, giving the cubby a gentle pat before turning and surveying her work.
Satisfied, she slipped a cassette tape from her apron and fitted it into the tape player left on the work bench, carrying it over to the door and fitting a weight above the play button. She then strung a wire from the weight to the door, and then from the door to the clock Toichi had recently installed and modified.
Here she paused, her thoughts returning once more to the young boy asleep upstairs. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, tears trying to escape. She had already lost her husband and now...
Opening her eyes, her lips firm with determination, Mika reached up and spun the dials of the hands until they pointed at the number eight. Then she fitted the last wire into the clock, and shut off the light, moving back through the portrait, listening to it lock behind her.
"Seventeen should be old enough," She whispered to the painting, before climbing up the stairs, to curl up in her husband's shirt, clutching his pillow, and giving in to grief.
Author: Saitaina
Word Count: 518
Rating: G? (It's been so long since I've written one...)
Disclaimer: Not mine
Spoilers: Most of MK
Characters/Pairings: Mika/Toichi
Notes: Mika = Kaito's Mum (because she needed a name)
Mika watched as the last of the policemen got into their cars before drawing the drapes around the house, dimming the light and blocking the world from view. She glanced at the stairs for a moment, almost as if she could see her son in his bedroom, asleep with the aid of too much grief and a handy tranquilizer.
She wished she could join him in that sweet oblivion, but there wasn't yet time for her to break down, there were last details she had to finish. First, she canceled the rest of Toichi's engagements, though most of the event planners had already heard from his manager. Next, she called Jii and informed the older man of what had happened. They agreed it was best for Jii to visit his aging aunt in America for a few weeks.
Next, next was on of the harder parts. The one task Mika hoped she would never have to perform as Toichi's assistant.
Steeling herself, she grabbed the feather duster from where she had dropped it, moving silently through the portrait of her husband, unable to look at him for fear she would collapse. Staring at the rooms beyond however, tore at her heart.
Carefully, she moved through the space, picking up items and packing away costumes, putting things back where they belonged, trying to ignore how she clutched at the clothing, inhaling deeply for a sent of him. She finished placing the top hats on the rack and carefully slid the monocles into their drawers before turning to a work table, absently brushing away a dust stained tear as she reached for a handful of rubber bands, rolling up plans for magic tricks and sliding them in their cubbies before raising the blue prints of a house to the light, studying the layout.
Kaitou Kid's last, unfinished heist.
"Guess you lucked out, Koizumi-san," She said softly to the blue and white paper before carefully rolling it and stacking it away with others of it's kind, giving the cubby a gentle pat before turning and surveying her work.
Satisfied, she slipped a cassette tape from her apron and fitted it into the tape player left on the work bench, carrying it over to the door and fitting a weight above the play button. She then strung a wire from the weight to the door, and then from the door to the clock Toichi had recently installed and modified.
Here she paused, her thoughts returning once more to the young boy asleep upstairs. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, tears trying to escape. She had already lost her husband and now...
Opening her eyes, her lips firm with determination, Mika reached up and spun the dials of the hands until they pointed at the number eight. Then she fitted the last wire into the clock, and shut off the light, moving back through the portrait, listening to it lock behind her.
"Seventeen should be old enough," She whispered to the painting, before climbing up the stairs, to curl up in her husband's shirt, clutching his pillow, and giving in to grief.