When Takagi first gets the phone call he doesn't believe what he is hearing.

Conan-kun has been shot.

This is not what leaves him disbelieving. Conan has been shot at before – for seeing too much, for being in the wrong place at the wrong time – and, he acknowledges grimly, Conan will probably be shot at again.

What gets him is that this is no in-progress case, no midway crime that Conan, with his infinitely terrible luck, has stumbled upon. No, this is something else altogether. A hit. A shot in broad daylight from a sniper rifle three stories up from where Conan was shopping with his friends.

This is someone targeting Conan.

The automatic questions tumble out one on top of the other. Is Conan okay? What happened? Have they caught the shooter? Where is the investigation so far?

And yes, Conan is alive. But his shoulder is smashed into smithereens. Even if the doctors manage to reconstruct it – unlikely in general, impossible at his age with a still growing body – Conan has lost the use of it, and with it, the use of his right arm. The kids and Conan's usual entourage – namely Professor Agasa, Ran and Mouri the elder – are at the hospital with him. The kids are being treated for shock.

Apparently Conan noticed something – what they won't know until he wakes up – and moved at the last second. Their shooter most likely abandoned their post immediately after that to avoid getting caught. The investigation is ongoing but hasn't turned up anything useful as of yet. They are posting a guard at his room because if someone tried to shoot him with a sniper rifle who knows what else they might try.

By the time Takagi gets to the hospital Conan is awake. Awake, but apparently not talking.

The doctors try to tell them it's the shock, but anyone who knows Conan laughs at the notion. Takagi, taking in how utterly dwarfed Conan is by his bed, along with the indefinable expression on the child's face, keeps his thoughts to himself.

Conan says nothing as the adults pepper him with increasingly impatient questions. His still says nothing as they eventually leave him be to have a discussion literally over his head.

Ran sits at Conan's side, holding the boy's hand – the one attached via his arm to his good shoulder – like a lifeline. She grips it as if she can hold on tight enough to keep the world, and Conan's would-be killer, at bay. Conan stares at the ceiling while Mouri and Inspector Megure engage in a shouting match.

Satou is here, along with Chiba and Shiratori, because Conan is theirs and if they feel anything like Takagi does it's almost like having a fellow officer shot.

"Chiba, Takagi," Megure orders. "Go take another look at the scene. See if you notice anything the initial team missed."

Takagi nods but doesn't have the chance to leave before Conan speaks.

"They won't find anything."

Takagi swallows in an attempt to ward off the sureness of those words.

Conan is once again pounced upon but offers nothing more than an enigmatic smile and a look that has Takagi shivering.

"Be careful, Takagi-keiji," Conan says before Takagi finally takes his leave.

"Unh... of course."

They are the last words Takagi speaks to Conan that day.

The last he speaks to him ever.

Takagi is still at the scene of the crime – finding just as little as Conan predicted – when the second call comes through.

Conan is dead. No immediately discernable cause.

And Takagi is left with the sinking feeling that they will find nothing. That they will be left with nothing more than a cold case and their memories.

He shivers and clutches his phone just a bit tighter.

God help us.