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lapacifidoraTitle: The Trouble with Omlettes (Or A Toothache, A Skirt and A Bad Egg) (2/?)
Author: lapacifidora
Spoilers: Minor spoilers for 3.01 and season 3, based on the TVLine interview. Assumes knowledge through ‘A Fistful of Paintballs’/ ‘For a Few Paintballs More’
Rating/ Warnings: PG-14 this chapter, for implied adult activities
Word Count: 2,275
Disclaimers: Not mine. Although I think Dan Harmon knows this friend of mine and based Troy on her…
Author’s note: You are all a bad influence. There was a time I was content with simply reading fic. I rather miss it. Also: The smutty bits will follow this part. It’s not as though I have much to work with; just what Beth remembered from her dream
***
The trouble with being unemployed, Jeff discovered, was not having money to do the basic things having a regular income made routine.
Since he’d started taking on consultant work from his old firm, he’d been able to pay to have the microphone in his cell phone fixed.
The leg on the kitchen table that he’d temporarily reattached with clear tape? Fixed now, with real screws. (And an industrial size pack of duct tape in his hall closet, for emergencies.)
The pain in his lower back from folding his frame into those tiny school desks for the better part of two years? Resolved, thanks to a trip to a chiropractor. (The print outs with stretches the doctor had given him to prevent the pain in the future? Hidden safely away from Chang’s prying eyes in an old copy of The Joy of Cooking his mom had given him when he ‘graduated’ from college.)
And the multiple failing systems in his car? Well, those were being repaired slowly, a few hours here and there over several weeks. (The fact that he could’ve dropped his Lexus off, picked up a loaner and avoided the cold that ebbed between him and Annie? Never occurred to him.)
The scheduled maintenance check had revealed worn-out timing belts, sediment built up in the oil pan, a problem with the alignment – minor issues that went on and on and weren’t life-and-death, but would definitely affect the value of the car if Jeff let them go.
But whatever had frayed and worn out between the two of them toward the end of sophomore year? Jeff wasn’t certain even a master mechanic could diagnose the problem.
He started small: The second time he brought his car in, he set a berry smoothie before her and asked if the air conditioning was working yet.
Annie glared at the smoothie, tugged her cardigan more closely around her and turned back to her computer.
Thus far, that time had been, by far, the most successful of his attempts to restore some normalcy between them. (The fact that he should’ve asked her directly why she stared at him as though she were imagining new and inventive ways for his head to explode? Never occurred to him. Not once.)
The last repair to the Lexus was the replacement of a crossbar on the undercarriage, and required Jeff to leave his car there overnight. Annie was unusually quiet as she handed him the usual paperwork, waited for him to read over the rental agreement for the loaner car and handed him the keys. He watched her from the corner of his eyes as he looked over the paperwork and signed it: There were the start of dark circles under her eyes, her skin was pale and she flinched and pressed her fingertips to her jaw when she took a sip of the iced Frappucinno he’d brought for her.
But she avoided his eyes and hoarsely informed him that his car would be ready by noon the following day.
The feeling that hovered bitterly in his throat, the way it had when someone had tried to teach them an underwhelming lesson or when Boobitron had roamed the halls without mercy, felt an awful lot like worry.
But that didn’t make sense: Annie would mention if she was sick. She would.
***
Jeff strolled into the reception area, a bag from a local bakery dangling from the fingers of one hand, a copy of the current TIME tucked under his arm and his sunglasses perched atop his head.
He stared down at the heels peeking from beneath the desk and smiled briefly before arranging his features into his customary smirk.
“Good morning, Annie’s Feet.”
“Not Annie’s feet, handsome.” A head of dark hair appeared, as Tricia crawled out and stood, shooting Jeff a sultry grin. “Well, well, Winger.” She tossed her hair over one shoulder and leaned forward, shoulders hunching together a little to draw attention to the cleavage her silky blouse revealed. “What brings you here?”
“Tric-” Jeff coughed as the former receptionist’s name stuck in his throat. “Uh. Hey.” He smiled weakly and cleared his throat. “I’m here to pick up the Lexus and turn in a loaner.”
“Okey dokey.” Tricia smiled brightly and sat down, typing quickly to bring up Jeff’s record and pressing a button that sent the printer at her elbow rattling to life. She glanced up at him as the paperwork printed. “So, how’s life treating you these days?”
“Can’t complain.” Jeff’s smile never wavered, even as he tilted his head a little to see into the back offices. “I heard about your accident. That must’ve been horrible.”
“A happy accident, Winger.” Tricia wagged a finger at him and then held up her hand, a large diamond ring glinting in the fluorescent lights overhead. “Nothing for anyone to be sorry about, far as I can see.” She handed him the paperwork to sign and stood to cross to the garage. “Now, I’ll just see about having Ramone bring around your precious baby.” She waggled her fingers in his direction. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Jeff smiled and nodded slowly. He turned to look down at the desk and lifted a few papers, looking for an appointment book or calendar.
“Mr. Winger!” Mr. Finnerty’s booming voice startled Jeff, who jerked, sending a few papers floating down to the floor.
“Mr. Finnerty. Good morning.” Jeff turned to shake the hand of the owner. He glanced over at the empty desk. “I see Tricia’s back working for you.”
“Ah, well.” Mr. Finnerty hummed noncommittally. “Just for a few days, while Annie’s home recuperating.”
“Recuperating?” Jeff asked, wincing a little when his question ended on a higher, pinched note than it started.
“Yes. Poor thing’s had a toothache for a few days now. I finally had to call my personal dentist yesterday and make her an appointment, then insist she go in today and take a few days off.” Mr. Finnerty shook his head and lowered his voice as Tricia’s voice sounded closer on the other side of the door. “Annie’s the best receptionist we’ve had in nearly a decade, but she’s no use to us if she can’t talk.” He nodded and smiled at Tricia as she re-entered the reception area and crossed to the desk. “Or flash those pearly whites.”
“She’s having work dental work done?” Jeff frowned. “She doesn’t have a roommate.” He shrugged when Mr. Finnerty looked at him suspiciously. “She’s a classmate. From college. Where we’re both students.”
“Well, she said she’d take care of it, and I doubt she’d do anything foolish.” Mr. Finnerty shook his head before clapping Jeff on the back. “And I know Dr. DeSoto wouldn’t let her go off on her own if she wasn’t in good shape. You take care of your best customers.” He turned to Tricia. “Speaking of, Tricia, you make sure Mr. Winger here doesn’t need anything, understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Finnerty.” Tricia purred as she settled back into her seat. She turned to look at Jeff, who had pulled out his phone and was tapping away at the screen. She cleared her throat and tilted her chin so her hair fell in an appealing way across her shoulder when Jeff glanced up at her. “Anything else I can do for you, Mr. Winger?”
“Um.” Jeff shook his head as though dazed and gave Tricia a blinding grin. “Nope. But you’ve been helpful as ever, Trish the Dish.” He twitched when she giggled and set the bakery bag down in front of her, then handed her the copy of TIME. “And here’s a little something to say ‘thanks.’”
“Oh, Jeff.” Tricia peeked inside the bag, mentally calculating what meal she would skip for whatever it contained. “You shouldn’t have.” She set his keys down for a moment as she picked up the magazine, frowning at the cover photo of a barren African dessert, but brightened when she saw a cover line about an interview with Rob Lowe. “You’re such a sweetheart, Wing-” She stopped abruptly when she looked up and caught sight of Jeff’s Lexus pulling out of the lot. She shrugged and flipped to the interview. “Whatever.”
***
“I don’t know if we should let you take her.”
The voices drifting down the hall to the examination room Annie had been moved to for recovery came in and out of focus. Somewhere behind her, a door opened and a light from the hall cast two shadows – one average and soft around the edges, the other tall and solid – on the wall in front of her. She craned her head a little but couldn’t move it enough to look behind her to see who was looking in on her.
Absently, she wondered if this was how the victims in a horror movie felt and irrationally felt like giggling – or reaching for the metal tray to one side and bashing someone over the head.
“She actually left me a message last night asking me to come pick her up, which, of course, I didn’t get till this morning.” A pause and the sound of footsteps. “That’s what I get for having AT&T, I guess.”
“But you’re not listed on her paperwork as her emergency contact.”
“I know.” Something about the voice was familiar, but Annie couldn’t place it. She tried to giggle as she lifted a finger and let if drop, thinking she couldn’t place much of anything at the moment. “Everything is still, well, a bit too new. We haven’t even told our friends we’re together, so she probably didn’t even think about listing me.” Annie blinked slowly, her eyelids heavily, and peered blearily up at the shapes hovering over her. One of the shapes – the one with the familiar voice – was something she recognized. She opened her mouth, but she wasn’t sure if words came out. She tried to frown when her chin felt damp, and she realized drool had come out, instead.
But the feeling of arms lifting her from the dental chair distracted her, and she shut her eyes against the bright lights in the hall. She turns her head in one direction, but vertigo kicks in as her head begins to roll off a bicep, and she jerks it back up. Turning it in the opposite direction means her nose is smushed against a crisply starched shirt – Who the hell do I know takes the time to starch his shirts? – but she feels more secure and the shirt itself smells mostly OK, like laundry detergent and starch and something warm. Like the voice, it’s familiar, and Annie knows placing a name with this scent matters.
For a moment, she’s set down in another chair, upright this time, though she’s leaning forward a little, her forehead resting against the shirt. She forces one eye open and stares down two legs, wrapped in denim, ending in a pair of sneakers. She closes the eye, hoping it will be a blink, but forces the other open when the first remains firmly shut. She looks up a little and can just make out a belt buckle and something dark and jacket-ish at the edge of her vision. The feeling of something soft (she vaguely remembers pulling on what Abed had called her ‘little red riding hoodie’ this morning when she left home) slipping over her arms before she’s lifted once more.
Absently, she hopes whoever is carrying her has her purse and didn’t go through it.
It’s brighter outside, although the sky is overcast, and Annie groans, fumbling to pull her hood up and turning her head further into the shirt of the guy carrying her. (Mentally, she realizes it’s not fair to assume another woman couldn’t carry her, but, thanks to her Red Cross certification classes, she knows she’d be in a fireman’s carry if it was another woman.) The arms shift, lifting her higher, and her nose is pressed against skin now, skin she knows. The scent is stronger and, with a start, Annie knows that’s Jeff’s arm behind her back and his fingers splayed against her thigh, one arm tucked under her knees.
If her mouth wasn’t already dry from the sedative, she knows it would be now, and she wants desperately to lick her lips, pull her voice up from wherever it’s retreated to in her lungs and ask Jeff just what the hell he thinks he’s doing, showing up at a dental surgeon’s office, claiming he was her emergency contact and carrying her out like she’s some doped up Debra Winger. (And, dammit, she needs to start asking Abed for movie recommendations that are more recent.)
But her tongue feels like a lumpy thing barely attached to her – Oh, god, did they do something to her tongue while she was under? Will she have tongue paralysis? Can she still talk? What kind of sedative did they give her? Is she always this paranoid? – and her voice might as well be on vacation, for all the noise she manages is a weird squeaky grunt, like a dog toy run over with a car.
And then Jeff’s settling her into a seat, something smooth and soft, before he leans over her and she realizes he must be buckling the seatbelt in his car. Just as quickly, his warmth is gone, a rush of cooler, slightly moist air cooling the flush on her cheeks.
She feels something settle on her lap, and with the fingers of one hand, strokes the fabric of her purse. Silently, she thanks the nurse who remembered to hand it to him, and hopes he didn’t look through it.
That would just be rude.
***
Author: lapacifidora
Spoilers: Minor spoilers for 3.01 and season 3, based on the TVLine interview. Assumes knowledge through ‘A Fistful of Paintballs’/ ‘For a Few Paintballs More’
Rating/ Warnings: PG-14 this chapter, for implied adult activities
Word Count: 2,275
Disclaimers: Not mine. Although I think Dan Harmon knows this friend of mine and based Troy on her…
Author’s note: You are all a bad influence. There was a time I was content with simply reading fic. I rather miss it. Also: The smutty bits will follow this part. It’s not as though I have much to work with; just what Beth remembered from her dream
***
The trouble with being unemployed, Jeff discovered, was not having money to do the basic things having a regular income made routine.
Since he’d started taking on consultant work from his old firm, he’d been able to pay to have the microphone in his cell phone fixed.
The leg on the kitchen table that he’d temporarily reattached with clear tape? Fixed now, with real screws. (And an industrial size pack of duct tape in his hall closet, for emergencies.)
The pain in his lower back from folding his frame into those tiny school desks for the better part of two years? Resolved, thanks to a trip to a chiropractor. (The print outs with stretches the doctor had given him to prevent the pain in the future? Hidden safely away from Chang’s prying eyes in an old copy of The Joy of Cooking his mom had given him when he ‘graduated’ from college.)
And the multiple failing systems in his car? Well, those were being repaired slowly, a few hours here and there over several weeks. (The fact that he could’ve dropped his Lexus off, picked up a loaner and avoided the cold that ebbed between him and Annie? Never occurred to him.)
The scheduled maintenance check had revealed worn-out timing belts, sediment built up in the oil pan, a problem with the alignment – minor issues that went on and on and weren’t life-and-death, but would definitely affect the value of the car if Jeff let them go.
But whatever had frayed and worn out between the two of them toward the end of sophomore year? Jeff wasn’t certain even a master mechanic could diagnose the problem.
He started small: The second time he brought his car in, he set a berry smoothie before her and asked if the air conditioning was working yet.
Annie glared at the smoothie, tugged her cardigan more closely around her and turned back to her computer.
Thus far, that time had been, by far, the most successful of his attempts to restore some normalcy between them. (The fact that he should’ve asked her directly why she stared at him as though she were imagining new and inventive ways for his head to explode? Never occurred to him. Not once.)
The last repair to the Lexus was the replacement of a crossbar on the undercarriage, and required Jeff to leave his car there overnight. Annie was unusually quiet as she handed him the usual paperwork, waited for him to read over the rental agreement for the loaner car and handed him the keys. He watched her from the corner of his eyes as he looked over the paperwork and signed it: There were the start of dark circles under her eyes, her skin was pale and she flinched and pressed her fingertips to her jaw when she took a sip of the iced Frappucinno he’d brought for her.
But she avoided his eyes and hoarsely informed him that his car would be ready by noon the following day.
The feeling that hovered bitterly in his throat, the way it had when someone had tried to teach them an underwhelming lesson or when Boobitron had roamed the halls without mercy, felt an awful lot like worry.
But that didn’t make sense: Annie would mention if she was sick. She would.
***
Jeff strolled into the reception area, a bag from a local bakery dangling from the fingers of one hand, a copy of the current TIME tucked under his arm and his sunglasses perched atop his head.
He stared down at the heels peeking from beneath the desk and smiled briefly before arranging his features into his customary smirk.
“Good morning, Annie’s Feet.”
“Not Annie’s feet, handsome.” A head of dark hair appeared, as Tricia crawled out and stood, shooting Jeff a sultry grin. “Well, well, Winger.” She tossed her hair over one shoulder and leaned forward, shoulders hunching together a little to draw attention to the cleavage her silky blouse revealed. “What brings you here?”
“Tric-” Jeff coughed as the former receptionist’s name stuck in his throat. “Uh. Hey.” He smiled weakly and cleared his throat. “I’m here to pick up the Lexus and turn in a loaner.”
“Okey dokey.” Tricia smiled brightly and sat down, typing quickly to bring up Jeff’s record and pressing a button that sent the printer at her elbow rattling to life. She glanced up at him as the paperwork printed. “So, how’s life treating you these days?”
“Can’t complain.” Jeff’s smile never wavered, even as he tilted his head a little to see into the back offices. “I heard about your accident. That must’ve been horrible.”
“A happy accident, Winger.” Tricia wagged a finger at him and then held up her hand, a large diamond ring glinting in the fluorescent lights overhead. “Nothing for anyone to be sorry about, far as I can see.” She handed him the paperwork to sign and stood to cross to the garage. “Now, I’ll just see about having Ramone bring around your precious baby.” She waggled her fingers in his direction. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Jeff smiled and nodded slowly. He turned to look down at the desk and lifted a few papers, looking for an appointment book or calendar.
“Mr. Winger!” Mr. Finnerty’s booming voice startled Jeff, who jerked, sending a few papers floating down to the floor.
“Mr. Finnerty. Good morning.” Jeff turned to shake the hand of the owner. He glanced over at the empty desk. “I see Tricia’s back working for you.”
“Ah, well.” Mr. Finnerty hummed noncommittally. “Just for a few days, while Annie’s home recuperating.”
“Recuperating?” Jeff asked, wincing a little when his question ended on a higher, pinched note than it started.
“Yes. Poor thing’s had a toothache for a few days now. I finally had to call my personal dentist yesterday and make her an appointment, then insist she go in today and take a few days off.” Mr. Finnerty shook his head and lowered his voice as Tricia’s voice sounded closer on the other side of the door. “Annie’s the best receptionist we’ve had in nearly a decade, but she’s no use to us if she can’t talk.” He nodded and smiled at Tricia as she re-entered the reception area and crossed to the desk. “Or flash those pearly whites.”
“She’s having work dental work done?” Jeff frowned. “She doesn’t have a roommate.” He shrugged when Mr. Finnerty looked at him suspiciously. “She’s a classmate. From college. Where we’re both students.”
“Well, she said she’d take care of it, and I doubt she’d do anything foolish.” Mr. Finnerty shook his head before clapping Jeff on the back. “And I know Dr. DeSoto wouldn’t let her go off on her own if she wasn’t in good shape. You take care of your best customers.” He turned to Tricia. “Speaking of, Tricia, you make sure Mr. Winger here doesn’t need anything, understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Finnerty.” Tricia purred as she settled back into her seat. She turned to look at Jeff, who had pulled out his phone and was tapping away at the screen. She cleared her throat and tilted her chin so her hair fell in an appealing way across her shoulder when Jeff glanced up at her. “Anything else I can do for you, Mr. Winger?”
“Um.” Jeff shook his head as though dazed and gave Tricia a blinding grin. “Nope. But you’ve been helpful as ever, Trish the Dish.” He twitched when she giggled and set the bakery bag down in front of her, then handed her the copy of TIME. “And here’s a little something to say ‘thanks.’”
“Oh, Jeff.” Tricia peeked inside the bag, mentally calculating what meal she would skip for whatever it contained. “You shouldn’t have.” She set his keys down for a moment as she picked up the magazine, frowning at the cover photo of a barren African dessert, but brightened when she saw a cover line about an interview with Rob Lowe. “You’re such a sweetheart, Wing-” She stopped abruptly when she looked up and caught sight of Jeff’s Lexus pulling out of the lot. She shrugged and flipped to the interview. “Whatever.”
***
“I don’t know if we should let you take her.”
The voices drifting down the hall to the examination room Annie had been moved to for recovery came in and out of focus. Somewhere behind her, a door opened and a light from the hall cast two shadows – one average and soft around the edges, the other tall and solid – on the wall in front of her. She craned her head a little but couldn’t move it enough to look behind her to see who was looking in on her.
Absently, she wondered if this was how the victims in a horror movie felt and irrationally felt like giggling – or reaching for the metal tray to one side and bashing someone over the head.
“She actually left me a message last night asking me to come pick her up, which, of course, I didn’t get till this morning.” A pause and the sound of footsteps. “That’s what I get for having AT&T, I guess.”
“But you’re not listed on her paperwork as her emergency contact.”
“I know.” Something about the voice was familiar, but Annie couldn’t place it. She tried to giggle as she lifted a finger and let if drop, thinking she couldn’t place much of anything at the moment. “Everything is still, well, a bit too new. We haven’t even told our friends we’re together, so she probably didn’t even think about listing me.” Annie blinked slowly, her eyelids heavily, and peered blearily up at the shapes hovering over her. One of the shapes – the one with the familiar voice – was something she recognized. She opened her mouth, but she wasn’t sure if words came out. She tried to frown when her chin felt damp, and she realized drool had come out, instead.
But the feeling of arms lifting her from the dental chair distracted her, and she shut her eyes against the bright lights in the hall. She turns her head in one direction, but vertigo kicks in as her head begins to roll off a bicep, and she jerks it back up. Turning it in the opposite direction means her nose is smushed against a crisply starched shirt – Who the hell do I know takes the time to starch his shirts? – but she feels more secure and the shirt itself smells mostly OK, like laundry detergent and starch and something warm. Like the voice, it’s familiar, and Annie knows placing a name with this scent matters.
For a moment, she’s set down in another chair, upright this time, though she’s leaning forward a little, her forehead resting against the shirt. She forces one eye open and stares down two legs, wrapped in denim, ending in a pair of sneakers. She closes the eye, hoping it will be a blink, but forces the other open when the first remains firmly shut. She looks up a little and can just make out a belt buckle and something dark and jacket-ish at the edge of her vision. The feeling of something soft (she vaguely remembers pulling on what Abed had called her ‘little red riding hoodie’ this morning when she left home) slipping over her arms before she’s lifted once more.
Absently, she hopes whoever is carrying her has her purse and didn’t go through it.
It’s brighter outside, although the sky is overcast, and Annie groans, fumbling to pull her hood up and turning her head further into the shirt of the guy carrying her. (Mentally, she realizes it’s not fair to assume another woman couldn’t carry her, but, thanks to her Red Cross certification classes, she knows she’d be in a fireman’s carry if it was another woman.) The arms shift, lifting her higher, and her nose is pressed against skin now, skin she knows. The scent is stronger and, with a start, Annie knows that’s Jeff’s arm behind her back and his fingers splayed against her thigh, one arm tucked under her knees.
If her mouth wasn’t already dry from the sedative, she knows it would be now, and she wants desperately to lick her lips, pull her voice up from wherever it’s retreated to in her lungs and ask Jeff just what the hell he thinks he’s doing, showing up at a dental surgeon’s office, claiming he was her emergency contact and carrying her out like she’s some doped up Debra Winger. (And, dammit, she needs to start asking Abed for movie recommendations that are more recent.)
But her tongue feels like a lumpy thing barely attached to her – Oh, god, did they do something to her tongue while she was under? Will she have tongue paralysis? Can she still talk? What kind of sedative did they give her? Is she always this paranoid? – and her voice might as well be on vacation, for all the noise she manages is a weird squeaky grunt, like a dog toy run over with a car.
And then Jeff’s settling her into a seat, something smooth and soft, before he leans over her and she realizes he must be buckling the seatbelt in his car. Just as quickly, his warmth is gone, a rush of cooler, slightly moist air cooling the flush on her cheeks.
She feels something settle on her lap, and with the fingers of one hand, strokes the fabric of her purse. Silently, she thanks the nurse who remembered to hand it to him, and hopes he didn’t look through it.
That would just be rude.
***
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Date: 2011-09-16 04:27 pm (UTC)