Author's note: Gosh, I'm sorry! I'm really, really late (looks down). But Christmas Day was, er – Christmas Day. I didn't get a peek at the computer in three days. Anyway, in order to bid forgiveness, here's the last shot of my Christmas series – Shinichi and Ran, of course. Yep – and then I'm done.

No ownie. Alas.

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Making Up For Lost Time

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The crowd being that night what it always is – dense and packed and Christmas-nervous – they could very easily have missed each other. They could have walked only two yards to the side and have never seen one another, due to the amount of grumbling, pushing people there would have been separating them. They could have walked past and never known what opportunity they would have missed, had they not been walking on the exact same line – like a thin red thread joining them, linking them in the distance.

They caught sight of each other a few steps apart, when there was no longer space enough to elude each other, and both immediately changed countenance – Shinichi turning pale, Ran turning red. The same memory flashed through their minds at the same moment – and then they were facing in the crowd, awkwardly entering into conversation.

Said conversation was very likely to plummet fast to almost complete nothingness. Embarrassment was already piercing through the usual asking after one's family and health, threatening every fragile question to lapse eventually into silence. How were you supposed to react when your last meeting dated back to – god, over a year already – and had been but a long, violent fight?

"Hm – I saw the famous trial," Shinichi said, with a clumsy smile – it was all that he could think of at the moment. "I recorded a transmission of it. You were… you were great. I never thought… your mother must have been very surprised."

"Yes, she was," Ran said, chuckling awkwardly. "I, hm… followed your latest case, the one of the drowned man… I thought the sister had done it. I was actually mad when you deduced it was the best friend," she laughed a little. The mere sight of that laugh surprised Shinichi – there was no likeliness between the Ran from last time, who sworn to loathe him forever, and tonight's Ran, embarrassed and shy.

The danger now was the silence. It was falling rapidly, isolating them within the crowd, amongst all the people pushing past them and grumbling about their immobility. They were all going to a merry familial Christmas Eve dinner, going to wrap gifts and send newsletters, to the glow of candles in the tree and the sweetness of candy – they had no business with two young people who kept in almost absolute silence and put an obstacle to their progressing mainstream. The had had a nice, joyful evening in perspective…

"… you doing something tonight?" Shinichi couldn't help asking. He saw her look up in surprise, and knew it was silly of him; of course she was doing something on Christmas Eve. How could he hope to draw her away from her family, probably her friends, only to stay with him?

"Hum… no."

Hope rocketed upwards, though he tried desperately to ignore it.

"That is, tomorrow morning I'll go eat at my parents' and Sonoko had to move her Christmas party to Christmas Day because there was some any people who couldn't make it on the 24th–" she hesitated, and stopped. She looked… a mixture of expectant and fearful, as though she wasn't quite sure what was to come.

"Well, then…" he scratched the back of his head, hoping that all the emotions that had agitated him all the time she'd spoken didn't show too openly on his face, "there is a nice ramen store just two streets away… I was going there. If you don't have anything planned tonight – would you like to–?" He waited breathlessly for her answer, hope swelling in a balloon way, all ready to… explode. She was hesitating, one hand clutching at the other arm.

"No one should be alone at Christmas," he added with a rapid smile that let nothing show through as to whether he referred to her or to himself.

She smiled, too, a much more genuine smile, the smile of the child she had been. "I should… very much like to come," she said, letting go of her arm. She was adorable, thought Shinichi, in a leaves-brown coat with her dark hair half inside if and half out, stray locks caressing her cold-rosied cheeks. Like every time he saw her since he was fifteen, he remembered why he was – still – in love with her.

They walked down the illuminated avenue, not speaking much, and, when they did, speaking softly. It wasn't easy – not knowing what to say, or rather not knowing how to formulate what they did want to say. Little by little, however, random anecdote after random anecdote, they did put up a conversation and sustained it all the way to the ramen store.

It was almost empty, but for a man sitting at the far end of the row of seats, who was toying with a glass of sherry and gazing thoughtfully into space. They wind swished past them as they settled, making the red veils behind their heads flap and tangle up lightly.

"Ah, Shinichi-kun, nice to see you," an old man with a crouched back and a wry smile said, coming up. He was the splitting image of how a ramen storeowner should be, Ran thought; he was even drying a glass on a white towel, which he thereupon flung over his arm. "I didn't think I'd see you tonight." His eyes slid swiftly to Ran and back again. "What will it be?"

"Same as always for me," Shinichi said rapidly. "As for Ran…" he let the sentence trail off and was glad that she immediately took up,

"Oh, don't bother about me, please. I'll take the same as Shinichi."

The owner bestowed her one of his wrinkled smiles and hobbled away. He hadn't asked ac single question. That was the best thing about that man: his discretion. It probably was necessary in his job. Besides, Shinichi had eaten at the place long enough to be certain he wouldn't enquire after something beyond his own business.

"… you come here many times?" Ran was asking.

"What? Oh yeah," Shinichi emerged, "yes, I've been eating here at least once a week for the past last months. It's a nice place. A bit chilly," (he'd remarked she was shivering), "but that'll pass on when you eat. And they're making the best ramen I've ever tasted – apart," he added without thinking, "from yours."

Ran froze for a fraction of second. Shinichi could have kicked himself – because, of course, the only times when he'd witnessed her cooking such things as ramen was as Conan.

"Hum – so how's your latest case going?" she asked suddenly, in too fast and too high-pitched a voice to be true. She didn't want to talk about that. Very well. That was fine with him. He plunged with passion into the retaliation of the murder case he was investigating, and had gone as far as the description of suspects when the owner placed two large bowls on the desk before them.

"Gin, Shinichi-kun? What's yours, miss?"

"Ah – water, please," said Ran, who'd started. She waited until they'd been served and he was out of hearing to mouth, "Gin?"

"Hmm." Shinichi was looking onto the counter as he took a sip. "Curiously, I've taken a fancy into that drink. It's not bad stuff." he tilted the glass to the side and frowned at the golden liquid swaying to and fro. "I do wonder what that guy'd think about it, though…"

A pause. Then, "You really don't want to forget, do you?" The voice was so angry and so low he almost didn't hear her out, but when he looked up she was already back to herself, absently turning one of her chopsticks in her ramen bowl.

"Hey, it's good!" she exclaimed, a smile lighting up her face. She expertedly swirled noodles around her and lifted them to her mouth; Shinichi imitated her, disconcerted.

"What I don't get about your case," she added when he'd laid the whole matter before her, with its flaws and holes, "is that even if that servant person did it, as the police says, then why did she took away the proofs? Not only they didn't accuse her, but it would have been simple to put the blame on somebody else instead. She had the keys to enter all the bedrooms, didn't she? And even if she wasn't that smart, she would never have forgotten to put on gloves – you see that precaution everywhere in books and movies."

"So you'd think," Shinichi murmured, picking up a piece of surimi.

"You think she's done the murder, then?" Ran's tone was accusative.

"I said nothing of the kind."

Ran eyed him suspiciously. "There still is something you haven't told me, isn't there?" and Shinichi began to laugh. It was incredible being able to talk to her again, argue with her, see her pout at him with those half-moon eyes like she was giving him right now.

"No, I told you everything I know. I'm just looking into the matter under another perspective. Listen, there's only one of the suspects who could have done it and hidden the proofs away and made up an alibi. You just have to eliminate everything that's impossible, just like you did during that case at the convenience store…"

Shit. It was his first chance in months, maybe the only one he'd ever get, to make up with her, and he was screwing it up. But – he thought bitterly – it was silly to have hoped that, somehow, they could pretend nothing had happened, to have hoped that they could make up for lost time, to have hoped that the phantom of Conan-kun would not rise between them.

Two men in business suits settled some seats away, ordering drinks and discussing work. Them, as well as the man from before, had probably no lit home to go back to, no family to welcome them with good dinner and Christmas presents. And themselves, Shinichi thought, would have known the same dull evening, had they not collided once more. And now, he understood, now that he had a small, tiny chance of warmth, he dreaded to return to the coldness of his deserted house. After the glow of Ran's smile and laughter, the loss would be doubly felt…

"–at the convenience store," he said firmly. If she wanted to take that chance as much as he did, she would have to do it and accept the load it represented. They couldn't very well pretend nothing had happened, not when they had gone as far as to build such an emotional tension between. Like a wall of glass ready to crack.

Ran made no comment. She ate on, and talked on, and accepted that he should walk her back home. "It's not far. A couple of blocks away."

Shinichi was feeling a bit dizzy. He had not drunk much, but Ran's presence beside him was enough to intoxicate him, despite all his inner protests that he should not permit himself to feel so. She was walking by his side, not too close but not too far either, and he could hear the vibrations of her voice in the chilling air, see the glow the cold brought up to her cheeks and her long wave of brown hair swaying on her shoulders, scent her perfume when a stray step drew her closer to him. All his senses were in acute and almost painful perception of everything that was her, everything he'd missed so much.

When he realised they had walked up the two or three blocks and a couple of staircases, and were standing on her doorstep, facing each other, and looked at Ran fidgeting on her threshold, nervous twiddling her keys, he thought maybe it was best to leave it there. On a good memory. "Well," he said with a quiet smile, "it was a nice evening." He marked a pause for her to answer, but she barely looked up at him and mouthed her approbation in a few unintelligible words. "Okay, then…" He wanted to hug her, kiss her, wrap her up– "I'll leave you there. Bye."

He turned on his heels, towards the stairs, feeling that, yes, it was the best way, that, at least, they would have a nice last evening to remember them by, instead of all last time's shouts – until Ran's voice stopped him in mid-track.

"Shinichi?"

He turned slowly back to her, trying to keep hope from making saltos in his stomach. "Yes?"

She refused to meet his gaze. "Would you like to… I mean… if you don't have anything else to do tonight," she was talking precipitately, her eyes glued to his chest. "I was wondering whether you'd like to… dunno, come up and have a drink?" She looked herself ashamed of her own proposition.

Shinichi drew in a deep breath, trying to cool down. "Are you sure–"

Ran seemed to regain some assurance at seeing him hesitate. She gave him one of her truly hearty smiles, bittersweet but genuine, and added, "No one should be alone at Christmas." As well, leaving the doubt upon whether she was talking about him or her – or both. Shinichi finally broke into a smile as well.

"I'd love to."

For a moment, Ran looked as though she was about to fling her arms around his neck. Recovering herself, however, she pushed the door open and let him in.

"I'm afraid it isn't very large," she excused herself, seeing that he looked around with interest. "But it's nice, you know – home."

No, it wasn't a very large flat, Shinichi thought – they were in the living-room, and this door must lead to a bedroom, plus a kitchen and shower place – just enough for one person to live at ease. But the walls were covered with warm colours, and, when the lights were on, even partly, it conferred to the place an atmosphere of cosiness and warmth which felt exactly like Ran.

"What do you want to drink?" Ran asked, coming up after she'd put their cloaks away. "I'm afraid I don't have alcohol, but tea, coffee…?"

""Tea would be nice," Shinichi agreed, and with a 'Put yourself at ease,' she disappeared into the kitchen.

Ran evidently spent a great deal of time within these walls. Her scent was all over the place. Items and pieces of furniture all talked about her – of her habits, her leisure, the small events of her wakened life. She had chosen them as the companions of her solitude, she use them on a daily basis, making them, in a way, part of her. They didn't only speak of her, but felt like her, were her.

An open book laying on the kotatsu caught his eye. He picked it up. It was a photo album. Photos that had been taken during that 'Dark Knight and Princess Heart' play – some of those, he remembered, had been taken by Jodie-sensei – or by Vermouth, aka Araide. He went on forward, to the latest pages, the latest pictures. –Her parents. Sonoko and her. A bunch of friends he didn't know, probably from college.

He leafed back through, listening to the soft noises coming out from the kitchen and to Ran's light humming, and was in for a shock. It was his face beaming up at him from that picture, his face which he wholly and painfully recognised – childish features, eyes very blue and frowning behind thick-mounted glasses. And those were everywhere on the neighbouring pages.

The Conan days. He stared, astonished, at all the pictures tracing them out, those months and months of hiding and disguising reunited in his hands right now. The very ones he'd thought she'd wanted to forget most of all, he found in an album she was evidently consulting often… he flipped backward and forward in time, staring at cases he didn't even remember what had all been about, and faces – Nemuri no Kogoro and Hattori and Kaito Kid and Megure-keibu and the Shounein Tantei and police inspectors and himself as Conan… and Ran, almost everywhere, always smiling, always strong and compassionate. Always sisterly. Always lied to.

He slowly laid back the album onto the kotatsu.

When Ran came back from the kitchen, a tray in her hands with cups, a jug of milk, and a kettle, she found him standing by her desk, holding and considering a picture. Drying her hands on a towel, she joined him. It was the usual framed picture of the two of them at Tropical Land, grinning at the camera and looking as young and joyful as the two teenagers thy were supposed to be;

"Good old times, ne?" she said, and her voice seemed to startle him. He turned his head to her, sharply, stiffening, then immediately relaxed. His fingers trailed one second on the frame's glass then put it firmly back down.

"Yes," he said. "Good old times."

It was on that day, he thought, glancing back at the photo as he settled in one of her armchairs, that their lives had been thrown over. It was on that day that he'd been turned into Conan, on that day that had begun the whole years-lasting masquerade of lies and disguises. It was the last truly happy moment they'd spent together. During the Conan times, Ran had cherished that picture as a way to remember him by, while he was much closer than she imagined – but he ha never thought she'd have preserved it afterwards.

Ran had always been an excellent cook, and her tea was well-known in the neighbourhood, among the family's friends and acquaintances. She served it not only to them, but to her father's costumers, and chiefly all had grandly appreciated its depth and richness. It was bitter in taste, soft in texture, a light green-brown in shade as the sugar bits slowly dissolved into the liquid, mixing, melting with it. For a moment after the first sip, Shinichi simply held his mug in his hands, enjoying its warmth, while the familiar drink ran down his throat, bringing up shards of memory and then disappearing with them.

"Still as delicious as ever," he commented with a small smile at Ran, who flushed a very pretty shade of pink.

"… thank you." She drank in silence. It was incredible, he reflected, how yesterday still he had given up all hopes from that part, and was concentrating all his life on his job, solving cases and murders and thefts and enigmas until he got drunken with it – and now he was sitting in all the comfort and the peace of a warm sitting room and armchair, and Ran – Ran – was smiling at him over her cup of tea.

"So tell me," he settled more comfortably against the cushion, "how are things going since the Trial?" He somehow managed to say it with a capital T, since this was how he thought about it now. "What did your mom say about your intervention?"

"She was mad," Ran admitted. "Said a trainee should never have interrupted the procurer because they didn't agree with him."

"But you were right," Shinichi protested. "That old beast was half potty anyway. He was going to send an innocent to the gallows, and if you hadn't stood up none of those who backed you up would have done it instead of you. It was obvious the lead was wrong – simply by listening at the evidence I could see the flaws in his reasoning.

"But you are a great detective," Ran reminded him softly. She went on, without appearing to remark that two of his brainwaves were currently colliding en suite of what she had just said, "so I guess I'll have to go on college for a few more years. Then I can work at my mom's for a while, and then…" she shrugged, "I'll see. Nothing's definite yet."

"Did Kisaki-san help you out for that flat?" Shinichi asked, nodding at the walls. "How long have you been living here?"

"Eight or nine months, I'd think," Ran said, frowning. "It's really a good place. It's not very large, it's no very practical either, but I've got a nice quarter, nice neighbours…"

"… nice view," Shinichi added, standing up and walking to the window, whereupon he stopped and contemplated the town in the Christmas decorated night. "You can perfectly see the avenues and Haido Park from here."

It was at that precise moment (lynch me for coincidences if you wish) that the clock tower began to ring midnight. Slowly, one by one, following the cadence, all the town's bells set in motion after those, striking each note with strength and volume, leaving each deep, profound sound to echo on through the still air and, finally, die away.

It was only when they all lapsed into silence that Shinichi realized that his Christmas Eve, which he had foreseen as dull and lonesome first at the ramen store than at his own cold house, had elapsed away before he only knew about it.

"Merry Christmas, Ran," he said, turning back to her with a smile.

"Merry Christmas," she said, and had there not been an imperceptible quiver in her voice he would have looked back at the window and would never have seen the tears now filling up her eyes, rolling down her cheeks, dropping, as fleeing as a silver-blue glint, onto her folded hands.

In half a second he shot through the room, was sitting on the couch beside her, and hesitantly wrapped his arm around her. "Ran – please, don't cry… don't cry like that…" His voice was soft and gently soothing, and soon afterwards he felt Ran relax sensibly against him. Her head bent down to the curve of his neck, sobbing rather violently; she was clutching at his shirt, he could feel her nails burying in the fabric. Her crying was so violent she was shaking, even after he slid an arm around her waist to cradle her against him.

One of his hands was in her neck, caressing her hair, and he felt her precipitate pulse under his fingers. In that position, he could sense the smallest of her moves – the changes of her breath when her lips quivered, the imperceptible shudder of her shoulders while she leant into him, the featherlike brush of her hair against his neck and jaw. She was sobbing out words now, grasping at him as though afraid he could slip away.

"I missed you… I missed you – so much…" she swallowed, "so much…"

"Shh," Shinichi hushed her softly. "It's okay… see? I'm here… It's okay, Ran… I'm not leaving again…" Her touched the top of her head with a butterfly kiss which she probably didn't feel, but after some time of sobbing and whimpering in his shirt she began to calm down. She was shaking less, and he suspected her tears had dried away by now, but she didn't let go… for a moment she let herself sink completely against him, breathing in rhythm with him.

How long exactly they remained in that awkward position was difficult to say. It could not have been more than a few minutes, and yet it felt like stretched hours to Shinichi when his brain cells started working again. Until then it had only been instinct, but now he could realise how warm and peaceful was their embrace, and how totally unexpected.

At last, Ran drew back, slowly disentangling herself from his arms. "God, I'm sorry…" she murmured rubbing her face, "I completely broke down, didn't I–" She stopped, and gazed up at him with her lips half-open and her cheeks slightly pinked. She hesitated a second, and then looked as though she was throwing herself forward– "Shinichi, would you kiss me?"

Shinichi was silent with stupefaction. She bit her lip and went on, her voice somehow more disconnected, "I mean… only to… make me feel better?"

Shinichi looked at her. The strength she had displayed all evening had not vanished – her eyes were holding the gaze defiantly, and there was determination in the curves of her mouth – but her little crying session had torn it in two, and through the flickering folds of the veil he imagined it to be, he saw pain and sadness and that wretchedness she had been attempting too hide.

"Sure," he murmured. Her shoulder fell for a second, as though she relaxed and tensed again. She looked like she could shatter down any moment, at any rushing gesture. Slowly, taking care never to hurt or frighten her, Shinichi brushed aside the locks that fell on her face, then let his hand fell in the curve of her neck, his fingers threading with her hair.

"Close your eyes," he whispered, just before their lips finally touched.

A first kiss is always clumsy. Both of them knew – more or less – what to do, but ignored how to do it; and at first they remained like that, bodies parted, barely touching. It felt much, much more awkward than they'd thought.

Then Shinichi slid his arms around her again, and deepened the kiss by pulling her closer. Ran gasped in surprise, clutched at his shoulder, and he feared he'd gone too far, he'd hurt her too much… until she hooked her arms around his neck and began thoroughly kissing him back. Encouraged, he went further, caressing her mouth, exploring it, pulling her closer and closer still. He felt more than heard her moan softly against his lips, but she wasn't pushing him away – in fact, she was pulling him down with all her might.

It was nonetheless a very soft kiss and it didn't last long. And Ran, if possible, looked more desperate at the end of it than at the beginning. "Feeling better?" Shinichi asked softly.

He saw her shatter before his eyes.

"Yes," she said, turning away abruptly. "Thank you."

A rapid smile flew on Shinichi's lips as he caught her hand and pulled her back to him. She gave a little yelp of surprise and her nose crashed in his shirt, where, with his arms once more around her and his hands in her back, he kept her it so.

"Shinichi…" she looked up, puzzlement visible in her eyes. He smiled down at her – how any times had he dreamt to hold her so?

"My turn to ask now." He left her no time to express her incomprehension; he banged his forehead against hers and whispered, "Can I kiss you, Mouri Ran?" Her eyes widened and her mouth opened, silently. Shinichi brushed his lips against her temple then trailed down to her ear.

"Can I kiss you?"

He raised his head just in time to see her smile. "… yes."

-

Ran's first thought was to wonder why she was sleeping fully dressed. And on the couch, of all places. Since when – she hadn't opened her eyes yet, but she felt that somehow doing so would overwhelm every known mark in her life, so she wouldn't, for the moment – was the couch so warm, and its embrace so strong.

She drew in a deep breath and shifted to a more comfortable position, receiving a groan in answer. Her hand met something warm. Fingers. She squeezed them. They squeezed back. Ran smiled and snuggled against said couch, drifting off again in delicious slumber…

Wait. Stop. Backtrack.

She opened her eyes, hurriedly enough.

…

Okay, Shinichi made a good pillow. Nice to know that, a part of Ran's brain registered. Another part was presently yelling in shock. A third, paradoxically, was staring at him and thinking… god, he was good-looking… even fast asleep, even with that childish pout that said he was dreaming, he could make her heart skip one… no, quite a number of beats actually.

"Shinichi," she breathed. He didn't stir a hair. He must have been very tired. She stole a peck from his lips and uncurled her limbs from his, wincing when blood flooded in her long-still muscles.

Outside, the sky was a darkish grey. Winter dawn. She looked down onto the street, cold and deserted in this morning embryo. There was no remnant f yesterday evening's animation and festivity, the lights were still – or already – off, and yet…

"It's Christmas," she thought, and it was like a treat she hadn't expected, a present she hadn't dared dream about.

The phone rang – a light trilling tune, piercing through the morning air. Sonoko. Only Sonoko called her this early in the morning. She picked it up before it woke up half the building. Or Shinichi.

"Hello? Yes, Sonoko, Merry Christmas! … yes, of course I'll be there. Oh, and by the way, could I – hn. Yes, Sonoko – oh, come on…" (this muttered under her breath. In the corner of her eye, she saw Shinichi stir and sit up drowsily.) "Sonoko, I wanted to ask you… what? Kazuha-chan? no, I have no idea. Around for o' clock, I guess." She turned back to the window, sighing. This was going to take ages. "Hm… mm… what? why? … oh, I see… well, speaking of which." She marked a pause (but that was only because arms encircled her from behind and Shinichi's breath began to play in her hair), and surprisingly, Sonoko didn't fill in.

"Can I bring someone to the party?"

-

'Tis the end, ladies and gentlemen! A rather late end, but I hope you liked it anyway. I liked writing it – it made me forget that Christmas wasn't until another year. I hope it did you too!

To all those who reviewed, thank you. You're wonderful, and I hope I didn't disappoint you too much by being so late! Thank you very much! Bye!