Title: A Damsel in Office Supply Distress
Author: RanMouri82
Word Count: 392
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Detective Conan's owned by Aoyama Gosho, but I just call him A-dawg.
Pairing: Satou and Takagi
Notes: Takagi's helping hand had its limitations. For Candyland, prompt of "A photocopy machine".
A Damsel in Office Supply Distress
"Ohhhh, dammit!"
Despite the many efficient office supplies owned by the Tokyo Metropolitan Police, there existed a photocopier known affectionately by the resident officers as Mr. Demon. As Officer Satou's Friday shift neared its end, however, Mr. Demon found itself the subject of her not-so-affectionate expletives.
Satou shoved her fingers into the copier's gaping jaws as far as they could go, which was little more than a centimeter. "C'mon, you idiot, spit it out!"
"Er, can I help you with that?"
Craning her neck beneath her armpit, Satou contorted enough to spy her nervously grinning partner watching her and scratching his cheek. "Sure, Takagi, thanks!" Then, standing akimbo, she growled and whirled on the photocopier with a kick from her polished pumps. "Someone here is holding up my weekend."
"Ah!" Takagi cried, suddenly. Crouching in front of the copier, he opened the broad, plastic door in its side. Glancing up at Satou, he said, "This is the best way to fix jams."
"Oh, really?" Satou asked, kneeling beside him and watching with genuine amazement as he reached for the inner tray and tugged, then tugged again.
Pulling his hands away, Takagi offered her a sheepish grin. "Sorry . . . it's stuck. Give me a minute and I'll—"
But Satou had already grasped the tray and started tugging, straining with all her might against the electronically grunting machine. "Oh, no you don't, Mr. Demon-spawn! Don't you dare think you're getting away with this!"
Takagi's mouth dropped open as he threw his arms wide. "C-careful, Satou, you might—"In a flash, the tray flew out, smashing into both Satou and Takagi's foreheads and knocking them to the floor. "GAH!"
Takagi sat up first and shook away the specks of light that seemed to swim into his vision. Sheets of paper, with and without carbon dust, now littered the floor and spread over his and Satou's precariously entangled legs. Blushing, Takagi leapt upright and offered the far more dazed Satou a hand.
"What the . . . ?" Satou murmured, as the first thing she saw was a hand floating toward her; after she blinked and felt the nice bump forming on her forehead, however, she noticed to whom the proffered hand belonged . . . and the smiling face.
Satou grinned, not surprised in the least.
"Takagi," she said, with a ragged chuckle, as she placed her hand in his, "Thanks for trying."