(no subject)
After the 17th movie, Ran takes the chance to have a quiet cup of tea downstairs in the coffee shop.
The bell chimed above Ran's head as she pushed into Cafe Poirot on a rainy afternoon, several days after being released from the hospital. A few drips of chilly water traced over her wrist as she folded up her umbrella and set it in the rack near the door, and she shivered.
Hours half-conscious and fighting to stay afloat in the icy coastal waters... she wasn't going to appreciate anything cooler than a steaming bath anytime soon.
Poirot was rather empty for a Saturday afternoon, the rain having chased most people indoors to larger venues -- movie theaters and such -- but there was still a scattering of customers in the little shop, most alone and listening to headphones. In a corner booth, though, a couple of tourists sat across from each other, cups at hand and a map open between them.
The woman was young and stunning, curly hair only a couple of shades redder than the man's receding brown, and some instinct for aethestic propriety drove Ran to sit facing away from her, in the booth behind the man.
"Tea, please, Enomoto-san," she told the waitress. It arrived quickly, fresh and steaming too hot to drink immediately, and Ran cupped her hands around thick ceramic to warm chilled fingers.
"Report," the man behind her murmured.
Ran lifted her cup, inhaled the sweet scent of the tea, and began to murmur against the cup's rim. The Naval vessel. Her forgotten watch. Conan's impossible behavior. The child. Agent X.
The sea.
"Mm," came the reply, a pause while Enomoto passed by and refilled the stunning woman's beverage. Then, twin thank-yous in cheerful, barely-intelligible Japanese that put paid to the idea that either tourist could actually say more than half a dozen words of it. After Enomoto moved on, though, the man calmly said,
"We gave you that panic button for a reason, Agent Mouri."
Ran stifled a cringe.
"Smallville went three hours unsupervised, uncovered, in the middle of an investigation." A pause. "And we almost lost you. Neither outcome is acceptable." Another pause, the tiniest sound of slurping coffee. "How could you have done better? Assuming you'd still neglected to wear your panic button."
Now that you have the time to think instead of react.
"I..." Ran swallowed. "I should've grabbed the boy and run. My mission is not..." my country, my people, "... not to engage the enemy."
"Stay within the mission parameters when you can, Agent Mouri." The map rustled, paper slapping shut. "We don't expect you to counter hostile agents. Your concern is Smallville."
Shin'ichi.
Ran hung her head, pretending to look out the window at the spray of budding flowers in Poirot's planter box. "Yes sir."
"That said, you survived." Ran blinked. "Keep up the good work."
And with that, Agent Coulson and the woman left.
The bell chimed above Ran's head as she pushed into Cafe Poirot on a rainy afternoon, several days after being released from the hospital. A few drips of chilly water traced over her wrist as she folded up her umbrella and set it in the rack near the door, and she shivered.
Hours half-conscious and fighting to stay afloat in the icy coastal waters... she wasn't going to appreciate anything cooler than a steaming bath anytime soon.
Poirot was rather empty for a Saturday afternoon, the rain having chased most people indoors to larger venues -- movie theaters and such -- but there was still a scattering of customers in the little shop, most alone and listening to headphones. In a corner booth, though, a couple of tourists sat across from each other, cups at hand and a map open between them.
The woman was young and stunning, curly hair only a couple of shades redder than the man's receding brown, and some instinct for aethestic propriety drove Ran to sit facing away from her, in the booth behind the man.
"Tea, please, Enomoto-san," she told the waitress. It arrived quickly, fresh and steaming too hot to drink immediately, and Ran cupped her hands around thick ceramic to warm chilled fingers.
"Report," the man behind her murmured.
Ran lifted her cup, inhaled the sweet scent of the tea, and began to murmur against the cup's rim. The Naval vessel. Her forgotten watch. Conan's impossible behavior. The child. Agent X.
The sea.
"Mm," came the reply, a pause while Enomoto passed by and refilled the stunning woman's beverage. Then, twin thank-yous in cheerful, barely-intelligible Japanese that put paid to the idea that either tourist could actually say more than half a dozen words of it. After Enomoto moved on, though, the man calmly said,
"We gave you that panic button for a reason, Agent Mouri."
Ran stifled a cringe.
"Smallville went three hours unsupervised, uncovered, in the middle of an investigation." A pause. "And we almost lost you. Neither outcome is acceptable." Another pause, the tiniest sound of slurping coffee. "How could you have done better? Assuming you'd still neglected to wear your panic button."
Now that you have the time to think instead of react.
"I..." Ran swallowed. "I should've grabbed the boy and run. My mission is not..." my country, my people, "... not to engage the enemy."
"Stay within the mission parameters when you can, Agent Mouri." The map rustled, paper slapping shut. "We don't expect you to counter hostile agents. Your concern is Smallville."
Shin'ichi.
Ran hung her head, pretending to look out the window at the spray of budding flowers in Poirot's planter box. "Yes sir."
"That said, you survived." Ran blinked. "Keep up the good work."
And with that, Agent Coulson and the woman left.