Vineyard [Detective Conan fanfic, Vermouth x Gin]

Chapter 40

Author's note: New batch of updates from chapters 36-40 as of 25/12/2022.

Visit me on Tumblr for artworks and interesting tidbits: wormwoodwine

Chapter 40

Kate melted into her high chair, rubbing her round belly, holding on to what was left of a drumstick. She averted her gaze from the feast in front of her. She couldn't eat even one more bite of the slow-cooked lamb shoulder, the honey-baked ham, the stuffing, the fried chicken, or the potato salad. Perhaps, this was what protein overdose felt like.

"How are you feeling, baby? We can skip dessert." Vermouth leaned in, seemingly concerned.

Upon hearing, Kate bounced back, instantly revived. "I can eat."

Gin dimmed the lighting and was about to light up the pot of warm brandy when Kate chirped. "Can I light Christmas pud?"

After a subtle nod, he let Kate hold the tip of the candle lighter's handle as he set the brandy alight and poured the liquid over the Christmas pudding. The mesmerizing beautiful blue flame quickly engulfed the entire dish.

Kate didn't even care for the food anymore. She simply wanted to see things burn. "Do it again!"

"We only have one pudding, sweetie." Vermouth chuckled.

"But we can burn more brandy." Kate pouted and made a valid argument.

Only that brandy was 150 years old, and Vermouth's heart sank at the thought.

"You can use bourbon," he said.

"Really?"

His smirk was directed at the frowning actress. "You can burn all the bourbon in the world."

Vermouth rolled her eyes at the ridiculous dig. "We worked together. Nothing more."

"So you say."

***

Vermouth first noticed a sign of trouble when Gin poured a tin of gin (her souvenir from Cotswold) into the Grinch-sculpted mug—both of which he hated with all the fiery fury of hell.

Then, she was putting away the leftover when he hugged her from behind, nuzzling against her neck. And he kept pushing her hands off the containers. She chuckled softly, amused by his childlike actions. "What are you doing?"

"Clean up later." He murmured.

That was coming from the same man who couldn't bear looking at one green needle on the tree skirt. There could only be one logical conclusion.

She scanned his face with a deep frown. "Gin, are you ... drunk?"

He muttered into her neck. "No ..."

Very convincing. Vermouth pecked his cheek, a faint smile plastering on her face.

She had never seen him drunk. Ever. Being drunk in their line of business was a death sentence. Too much risk to overindulge. It was a fun way to say she didn't know what to expect or how to handle a drunk Gin.

But the handling principles revolve around four points: First, remove the alcoholic element. If you were unable to, replace it with a cup of tea. Be creative. Second, never contradict a drunk or argue with him because it would only bring you pain. Third, approach a drunk slowly and calmly like a skittish pitbull. Keep in mind that biting is never off the table. Fourth, keep the drunk away from sharp/dangerous objects and dangerous activities.

She glanced over at her sweet daughter, who sprawled on the couch to sleep off the food-induced coma. "Why don't you go sit with Katie? Make sure she doesn't fall off. Can you do that for me?"