Detective Conan

Good Enough For You

By LuckyLadybug

Notes: The characters are not mine, and the story is! The title is from the song Good Enough on Evanescence's album The Open Door, as said song always reminds me of the pairing in this story. This is in answer to Theme #7: First Sunlight After the Darkness, in the community 30 Nights at Livejournal. It draws heavily from a long story that I want to someday write, and many of Shiho's musings are directly from or based on the plot of this story, so if there's confusion, that's why. This is a way for me to test out the ideas and see how I like them once they are written down. And this is blatant Gin/Sherry, as a warning to those who do not like or are disturbed by the pairing.

It seemed strange, not to mention surreal, to be in her position.

She was laying beside a man whom she had hated and feared, as well as loved.

She had grown up with him. They had been close friends, and then lovers. But it had not seemed as though their paths were destined to stay together. As one of the highest-ranked members of the Black Organization, and an assassin, his assignments included getting rid of those who were no longer useful to the syndicate. He had killed her sister, a traitor, and she had not thought that she could ever forgive him for it. Then he had repeatedly tried to kill her for being a traitor as well, and she had ran from him for ages.

She had believed that she wanted him dead. She had planned it out in her mind, how she would shoot him in cold blood, as he had shot Akemi. Then he would fall, his eyes wide in shock, and in satisfaction she would watch him die. She would relish watching every bit of life drain from his wounded body. And then he would be dead and she would be free of him. She would never be tormented by him again, and she would never have to think about how she had lost the man she had loved to madness---even though she knew that deep down, she still would have thought about it, perhaps more than ever, if she had eliminated him.

The time had actually come when she could have ended his life. She had possessed the gun and the advantage, and she had brought the weapon up to his forehead, fully intending to be rid of him. But she had looked into those eyes, those cold, emerald eyes, and she had seen a flicker of something beyond the ice. She had not been certain of what it was, and she still did not know. It had not been fear or concern for his welfare. But whatever it was, it had brought her back to her senses. And with tears in her eyes she had shakily lowered the gun, unable to pull the trigger.

Of course, he had not killed her, either. He had been given the perfect opportunity before that, when he had accidentally struck her with his car during the snowstorm, but for some reason he had not completed the job. She could still vaguely see in her mind's eye the strange look that had gone through his green eyes when he had seen whom he had hit. She had been certain then that her life was over, but he had lifted her into his strong arms and had taken her back to the Porsche. She had only been semi-conscious from the blow she had taken, and him laying her on the backseat was the last thing she remembered before she had passed out.

The organization that had held their chains tightly was dissolved now. Most of the members were dead or in prison. As it was, she, the man beside her, and his partner had faked their own deaths in order to escape together during the last, climatic battle. As far as she knew, they were the only ones who had gotten away, though she wondered sometimes if one other member had been assisted in escape, by the green-eyed man. Nothing had been said, but she sensed it.

She smiled wryly. She liked to think that she did not run away from things, but in the end, she had done exactly that. She had ran for many reasons---among them, to escape the life she had once lived as Ai Haibara, to which she could never return now. The antidote for the apoptoxin had restored her to her true form as Shiho Miyano. Though she knew it was not just her physical body that prevented her from staying in her old life. It had been time to move on. She knew that she was no longer needed there. She would have felt uncomfortable and out of place, had she remained.

My hands are stained with blood, too, she thought to herself as she raised up on one elbow, absently pulling up a falling strap on her nightgown. In the end . . . I know that I've committed crimes every bit as terrible as you, Gin. . . . Crimes for my own survival, and Akemi's . . . when she was alive. What will happen to us in the end . . . if there is anything else? . . . Will we all be condemned?

It was cliché, she supposed, but she had also ran in order to be with him. He was the first man she had loved, though not the last. She had come to love Shinichi as well, despite knowing that she could not have him. But after spending the time with Gin that she had, after the accident with the car, she had come to fully realize many things---mainly, that her love for him was not dead, and that somewhere, buried deeply beneath the twisted person he had become, he still had good within his soul and he was still the one who had protected her during her childhood, and who had loved her. He loved her still. He had loved her even as he had hated her, the same as it had been for her with him. They had eventually come to the realization that neither actually wanted the other dead, and . . . here they were.

As for her sister's death, it was strange how she had come to realize the full truth of Gin's feelings over what he had done. When she had first heard of the killing, she had believed it to be the final proof that the man she had known was dead, lost to the darkness that the Black Organization had enveloped him in. And he had not offered an explanation to the contrary when she had confronted him. Perhaps . . . perhaps he had thought she would understand, that she would know how he had tried to rationalize it, and when she had not, he had decided that it was not worth telling her.

It had only been during their later encounters, when she had been recovering from the car accident, that she had completely understood. Gin had made comments to her, bitterly, about death being the only way out for people like them. She had seen a darker version of the boy with whom she had walked to and from school, who had told her that people such as they did not have a place in the world. And as she had thought about his words, it had occured to her that perhaps he had tried to think that he was giving Akemi a release. It did not take away the fact that she was gone, nor that Gin had killed her, but as the idea had dawned on her that perhaps Gin had not been completely heartless, it had started to ease her hatred towards him.

Gently she reached out, brushing several stray locks of his long blonde hair over his shoulder. He grunted in his sleep, but did not awaken. He was turned away from her, facing the wall, and was gripping the pillow. The moonlight came through the window, lighting upon his hair, what she could see of his face, and his left hand, which was laying on the mattress.

The hand was bare, though he could have placed a band on it if he had wished. They were married, and had been since shortly after their departure from Tokyo. It had been a quick, no-nonsense ceremony, with only they as well as Gin's partner Vodka being present, other than the one who had performed the service. She had commented with a wry smile that Vodka could be the best man, to which he had blushed and Gin had grunted. There had not been any time to bother with rings, and neither she or Gin possessed one at the moment.

She did not care especially, she mused silently as she ran her fingers through Gin's hip-length hair. A ring would be nice, and a signal to those they might meet that they were married, but it was still a material possession, and she found herself not caring much for material things any more. The main thing that was important to her was that they were, indeed, married. It did not need to be shouted to the world. She wanted to just be quietly happy.

Outside their bedroom, she could hear a door slowly opening, followed by footsteps that faded into the small kitchen. After a few moments, the sound came back in the other direction, and the door shut again. Vodka had probably gone to get a drink of water.

Her opinion of Vodka had certainly changed, she thought to herself as she laid back down again. She had often found him intolerable and irritating, and she had not known how Gin could put up with him. The only reason she had done so in the past was because she knew Gin cared about him, and she suspected the same from Vodka, that he had not liked her but that he had tried to get along with her because he had known how much Gin cared about her. It had been an unspoken agreement between the two of them.

It had only been recently that she had seen more of why Gin and Vodka got along so well, and why Gin was so at ease with Vodka as his partner. They understood each other amazingly, even though Vodka often seemed to suffer from a lack of self-confidence and to believe that he did not know much about the blonde. They also respected each other, not getting in each other's way and allowing privacy.

During the incident when Gin had been wounded and separated from her and Vodka, she had seen Vodka take charge of the situation in ways of which she would not have imagined him capable. He had obviously grown a lot, mentally, since she had seen him ages before, and she had been impressed. He had come to understand her better as well, and though she did not think that they would ever be especially close, she was relieved that they no longer just barely tolerated each other. That would be an awkward situation to be in, especially since Vodka was permanently living with them.

She watched as Gin's hair slipped down from where it had been covering his shoulder. The upper part of his body was bare, and she could see on his back the white remnants of the scars he still bore from a harsh whip. When she had first seen them, on their wedding night, she had been stunned. She had asked him how he had received them, but he had not been willing to tell her. All she knew was that it must have involved something horrible. Gin was such a strong, fierce man, not easily defeated. For someone to actually have overpowered him enough to whip him in such a cruel way. . . . She trailed off. It was in the past, as she had decided before. She wanted to know what had happened, but she would not pry, nor would she ask Vodka to tell her. If Gin wanted to, he would talk about it.

Though she doubted that he ever would. He rarely talked about himself, and never on a purely voluntary basis. He would only say something if he was asked, and then if he was in the right mood, he would answer with something more than a grunt or a cold "I don't want to talk about it."

She smiled wryly. While she was not as unsocialable as the blonde, she was very aloof and quiet. There were only several people in her entire life to whom she had been close enough to feel safe revealing any of her inner feelings. And even at that, she had kept many things from them.

For ages, she had not told Shinichi about her past with Gin. She had purposely led him to believe that she and Gin had never had any connection beyond serving in the Black Organization together. The memories of their times together had been too painful, and she had not wanted to share them with Shinichi, especially after she had began to realize that she held deep feelings for him, as well.

Still . . . he had guessed at the main truth, anyway. She could not forget how, on one particular night when they had been searching for Ayumi, he had quietly asked her if she had loved Gin. She had been too stunned to actually reply at first, and once she had fully processed the question, she had not wanted to talk about it with him. She had simply walked away. She had not told him anything about her past with Gin until much later, when the Black Organization had been crumbling, and though she had only told the basics, he had also guessed at the truth that she still loved Gin, despite everything. She had confirmed it then.

She had to ponder over what Shinichi was doing now, and if he had married Ran yet. She had left a letter with him, right before she had departed with Gin and Vodka, and had said within it for him not to worry about her, no matter what happened, and that she was fine and would be thinking of him, as he was and always would be someone very dear to her. She had also requested for him not to look for her, and had added that she believed under the circumstances, he would do what she wished. At the end she had told him to completely destroy the letter when he read it, so that it would not get into the wrong hands.

She could imagine his initial shock at reading her words, followed by confusion, perhaps a bit of anger, and finally, a resignation that she would do what she wanted, as she had always done. And then he would burn the letter, page by page, in his fireplace. She could see it clearly in her mind.

She rose up slightly again, leaning over to gaze at Gin's face. He seemed calm and at ease, and as though he was in a deep sleep. She doubted that he was dreaming. Most of his dreams were not pleasant. Not that hers often were.

She wondered how long this period of time in their lives would last. It almost seemed like a dream, actually, so vivid and yet so unreal. Sometimes she felt as if she was only a spectator, observing from outside her body. She wanted this to last. She wanted to be happy with the man she loved, and for him to be happy as well, at least as much so as he could be.

They would have to stay hidden if they wanted to stay alive. There was no telling who might be looking for them, if suspicions arose as to whether or not they had truly been killed in that violent explosion. She wanted to believe that their problems were over, but she knew that was not realistic. Her pessimistic side would not allow an overly idealistic train of thought on the matter.

And yet . . . was she not actually very idealistic? To believe that this would, and could, work was not a pessimistic or realistic idea in the least. There was not any guarantee that things would be the same in a year . . . a month . . . a day. But . . . if there was one thing she had learned from Shinichi and from the Detective Boys, it was that she had to take chances. She had to reach out, to try to trust and to have hope. Perhaps . . . she would not be burned every time. At least, that was what she wanted to believe. And Akemi had always said that believing was the first step. She had always been the more optimistic of the two sisters, or at least, that was how Shiho saw her.

Once more she laid down, closer to Gin this time, and rested her head against his shoulder blades as she draped an arm around his waist in a half-hug. He grunted in his sleep, as if he knew she was doing this, but still did not make a move to awaken. After a moment, however, she felt his strong hand come to rest over hers, and she smiled softly in the darkness.