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Title: The Grey Agency, chapter three: Funeral for a Felon
Author: Icka! M. Chif
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 1,626
Author's Note: Well this certainly turned out stranger than anticipated. Momento Mori - Remember that you must die.
Summary: It felt strange, Kaito reflected, to be carving his own headstone.

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It felt strange, Kaito reflected, to be carving his own headstone.

The headstone wasn’t anything fancy, just a broken slab of white marble from the one of the sites he’d been working on, a bathroom counter had been badly broken in transit and it was too costly to ship back. The rest of the white marble was being used in the garden of the house, but he’d managed to scrounge the largest piece, an arm’s length long and half as wide.

Headstones were traditionally carved from granite, which was harder and weathered age well, but the marble suited him fine. He wasn’t the best at carving, but the marble was relatively forgiving. Not that he’d done anything intricate. The smiling Kaitou Kid caricature at the top, with the words ‘怪盗1412 Kaitou 1412’ written below it, in both Japanese and English. Then in smaller text below that, the date of Oyaji’s first appearance as the Kaitou Kid in Paris, and the last time Oyaji had appeared before his death. He’d written the dates in nengō, with the year of the emperor, and the European Gregorian calendar as well.

Below that, was the words ‘怪盗キッド Kaitou Kid’, once again in Japanese and English and the dual dates below that. The first night he’d taken up the cloak and met Jiichan, and the date he had met with Saguru’s Grandmother, agreeing that the Kid must die. The night that someone had crashed into the ocean, dressed as the Kaitou Kid, ending this chapter in his life for good.

Then at the bottom, a triangle with a four-leave clover in it, the charm at the end of the monocle, for luck. ‘Momento Mori’, Latin for ‘Remember you must die’ was carved in the middle. He’d debated about that for a while, almost putting ‘RIP’, ‘Requiescat In Pace’ or ‘Rest in Peace’, but deciding against it. Kid’s life hadn’t been peaceful, why should his death be? Besides, the reference to Kudo’s girlfriend had been too amusing to pass up. Next to that, a neatly carved depression, just deep enough to hold the monocle, chain and charm that was resting in it. Kaito was currently waiting for the epoxy holding the monocle in place to dry.

Thirteen years, Oyaji had run around on the rooftops, Nakamori-keibu chasing him. An eight year gap, then his few years as the Moonlight Magician. He reached forward and brushed the numbers 1412 with his fingertips. Internationally Wanted Criminal Number 1412. Nakamori-keibu used to bellow for people to call him the ‘Kid’, because it was too confusing to call him ‘1412’. Kaito privately thought it was because Nakamori-keibu was a lot more observant than he let on and didn’t want to get Kaito confused with Oyaji.

Just under twenty-five years. Barely long enough for a normal human lifetime, but a decently long legacy, for an uncaptured criminal.

He sighed and glanced around the secret room that was Oyaji’s lair. He’d always felt the closest to Oyaji in here, it’d never really felt like the room belonged to Kaito. It was Oyaji’s hands that had built it, Oyaji’s touch and presence everywhere he looked. Although he still didn’t know what insanity had driven Oyaji to dress in white and run along the rooftops at night in the first place. It wasn’t exactly an occupation for the sane.

It almost looked the same as it had when he’d opened the door for the first time, his own little rabbit hole to Wonderland. He’d only changed it a bit, removing a few things that were outdated and he couldn’t use, adding some modern variations on other things. Everything was clean now, free of dust and he’d removed all the stuff he used on a regular basis, and a few small things he still wasn’t done playing with. He wasn’t exactly rich and being a jewel thief was an expensive hobby, especially to one who didn’t keep their thefts.

Not that he was exactly rolling in dough now. He still had some of the money he and Hirokini had shuffled out of the Black Organisation’s coffers stashed away, but it didn’t feel like the right time to use it. It’d be cheaper for him to live here, with ‘Kaasan. She’d be ecstatic to still have him here, but after a year abroad it felt too… strange. He wasn’t the same person he’d been when he’d left and it didn’t feel right to stay.

Koizumi’s offer of the Red House had been just what he needed. Yeah, he was scraping by on part-time jobs for the moment, but it was kind of thrilling as well. He had the time to find out who he was now that he couldn’t be… wasn’t the Kaitou Kid anymore. To discover who Kuroba Kaito was. He had a place to live, a goal and something to do with his hands while he figured things out.

He stretched. And a boyfriend to make out with in the meantime. Poor ‘Kaasan had just about had the shock of her life walking in on them that morning after they got back. And then having to explain to her that yes, he was reasonably certain that he was serious about his relationship with the blond, if following him across the globe, jumping in front of snipers, on top of bombs, in-between swords and bullets and whatever else have you meant anything.

She still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of their relationship, but she didn’t question him about it anymore at least.

A splashing noise distracted him from his thoughts and he quickly rose to his feet, pulling the hose out of a large basin atop the exit to the room and turning off the spray, marking off the last preparation as done.

One last trick for the deceased.

He tossed the hose outside the room and looked around. The place was a crazy chaotic barely organised mess to the untrained eye, but to him, everything was where it needed to be, where he could find it easily.

Everything, save for the white gravestone laying flat in the middle of the empty floor. It looked like a western grave, like there should be a coffin buried underneath it, but there was nothing save bare concrete and memories. Something to confuse whatever poor archaeologist stumbled upon it in the future.

Kaito stared at it, his mood sombre and reflective. He may have originally picked up the cape and hat to prove his worth as a magician, but it had become so much more. First becoming the Kaitou Kid to find who killed Oyaji, then to hunt down the mythical gem Pandora that Oyaji had been killed over and destroy it. And he’d done it. … Sort of. The first two anyway.

Seven years. He had seven years to think of something. Seven years before the Pandora Gem was returned back into his hands. Hopefully.

It didn’t seem nearly long enough and yet too far away. But seven was supposed to be some sort of talisman number, which is why he’d chosen it when he’d shipped Pandora out, disguised in an ugly Tiki statue when they had left Hawai’i.

Seven years was probably the soonest he’d see this room again, if ever. An ace in the hole, should he ever need it. He had tricks still saved up here that he’d never used, never needed to use and he hoped he’d never have to. But it never hurt.

But in the meantime, it was time to put things to bed.

”Rest in Peace.” He murmured, giving the room a mental farewell before turning and heading to the rotating door that was currently propped open. There were several things attached the door, strings and pipes, all set to go once the door was closed. He’d spent half a day setting up just this trick, closer to a week cleaning and making the room air-tight.

Boxes of dry ice were hidden all over the room, strings tied to the lids of their containers attached to the door. He stepped through the door, half-closing it and moving a large cardboard box lined with plastic from the side of the doorway to directly behind the door, then poured a few bags of quick-dry cement into the box. Above the door was a large plastic container filled with water, the plug also attached to the door.

All he had to do was close the door, which would open the boxes of dry ice into the sealed room, filling it with argon gas, which would preserve everything from both insects and hopefully most of the effects of aging, turning the workspace into a tomb for the dead. The plug would come out of the water container, falling into the box of quick-drying cement, turning it into a large rock that would keep the door from opening, even if someone undid the locks that Kaito had placed on this side.

The only way in, after he closed the door, was to tear down the walls. And those had been long re-enforced to make such a task highly difficult.

He peered through the doorway one last time, seeing what Oyaji had left for him, the legacy of an internationally wanted criminal who dressed in the brightest whites during the darkest nights. Adored by thousands, hated by a handful, the target of criminals and law enforcement alike. A life on the edge, highlighted by moments in the spotlight and ages watching his back. A world of shadows and searchlights and stark shades of grey.

Kaito shut the door behind him and walked away.

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