Fic: M for Mustard
Alpha series letter F
Numb3rs fic based on the following quote:"Donny, what's the worst that can happen? I'll tell you. The relationship fails, right? So then what? Then you're back where you are right now. But the only difference is, instead of being afraid, you took a chance."
I spend another Friday evening doing laundry. I could go to my brother's and use his machine, but then I’d have to explain to my father why I’m doing laundry on a Friday night. So I schlep my stuff to the laundromat around the corner. It’s a relatively 'okay' place. Clean and quiet. Not that quiet is good... because when it gets too quiet, my head becomes a bad neighborhood. But the place has a couple of TVs, and they always have a ballgame on. So I usually just sit back and watch the game. Usually it isn’t too bad to have to hang out there.
But tonight is different. There's a young couple giggling and kissing each other as they do their laundry. Their affection for each other makes me think of my first date with Terry back at Quantico. I find myself missing her and wishing she was still here. I miss her friendship above all else. I watch the young couple and try to ignore them. I start to load my clothes into a machine, when I notice a woman on the other side doing the same. We both hear the couple start to giggle about their pet names for each other. The woman’s eyes flick towards the couple.
The woman notices me watching her watch the couple. Her eyes flick back to them and she rolls her eyes. She shakes her head, smiling. I find myself reciprocating her smile. She nods to me once and walks away. I watch her sit down. She takes out her MP3 player and a book and appears to become lost in her own thoughts. She looks up and sees me watching her. She subtly points her finger at the couple, now leaving, and we share one last smile at their over-the-top behavior. I take a chair a few away from her and settle back to watch the game and eat the sandwich I made.
2 weeks later.
Again, it’s another wonderful Friday evening and I am going to the laundromat. I sigh and think, even my father has a date tonight; this is pretty sad. But I banish the thought and step into the place. The usual Friday night crew is in attendance, minus the annoying couple. I start to sort my laundry, and come across my Dodgers jersey that Charlie gave me for my birthday. I wore it last weekend when my dad had a barbeque. Colby, David, and Megan had been invited, and we had a good time. Larry and Amita were also in attendance. Unfortunately, there is a large mustard stain on the shirt, from an experiment that Larry and Charlie decided to show everyone. I also remember that I wasn’t the only one who got mustard on them; Megan had also become a target. I thought she was going to kill Larry and Charlie, but she laughed it off for the accident it was. I sigh as I stare at the stain, and remember that mustard is really hard to get out. I love this shirt. Now it’s ruined. I feel someone's gaze on me. I look up and find myself staring at a pair of eyes. They are attached to the woman who was here the last time I did laundry. She's folding a floral bikini. Her eyes hold a question as she says, “Hello. You look like you have a problem.”
I nod, and say, “Yeah, mustard.” I hold up the shirt for her to see.
She replies, “Ah, standard yellow or spicy brown, it doesn’t matter, it all means trouble. Here, try this.” She hands me a toothbrush and a small container. “Take a small amount of the detergent and gently scrub at the stain. It should come out.”
“Hey, thanks.”
She smiles and says, “No problem.”
I watch her walk away and sit down. Like last time, she pulls out her MP3 player and a book, and relaxes. I go sit down, too, and stare at the TV, but I find myself watching her out of the corner of my eye. She’s taller then most women, about an inch or so shorter than me, with a trim, muscular build. Her hair is dark and pulled up loosely at the top of her head. Dark curls threaten to spill out from their binding. She is wearing low cut dark jeans, flip flops, and a red tank top. She has a small tattoo on her left shoulder. I notice that every time she smiles, it reaches her dark eyes. I find myself thinking that she has a nice figure, and wonder what it looks like in the bikini she was folding. I shake my head at my thoughts, but I can’t help still wondering.
An hour or so passes and I go and take my stuff out of the washer and check the shirt. To my relief the stain has come out, and I can wear my favorite jersey again. The woman is at the folding table, packing her stuff up. I pass her as I put my stuff in the dryer. I thank her for her stain remover and ask her what it was. She smiles and says, “No problem, Agent, but sorry, I can’t tell you--family secret.” Stunned, I look at her and wonder how she knows I’m an agent. She puts her basket of towels on her hip and starts to laugh at my expression. It’s a pleasant laugh, full of mirth. She points to my tee shirt and says, “The back of your shirt.” She bids me good night and leaves.
I watch her leave as I realize that I am wearing an FBI tee shirt and I have my badge and cell phone still clipped to my belt. I groan at my own forgetfulness and consider it's due to the fact that as usual, I haven't had a decent night's sleep in a while.
2 more weeks have passed.
I’m packing my stuff up to do laundry. Actually, truth be told, I’m scrounging around to find stuff to wash. After the conversation with my dad the other night about relationships, I found myself thinking about the woman from the laundromat. I don’t know her name or if she’s single, but I figured, hey, I could go and at least strike up a conversation and go from there. I think about what my father said that night...
"Donny, what's the worst that can happen? I'll tell you. The relationship fails, right? So then what? Then you're back where you are right now. But the only difference is, instead of being afraid, you took a chance."
Dad is right. What’s the worst that could happen? She could tell me she has a boyfriend and that she’s madly in love with him, or maybe that she doesn’t go out with FBI agents, but I won’t know till I at least formally introduce myself and talk to her.
I arrive at the laundromat and start to do my wash. It is 7:45 PM, and she isn’t here. I go and sit down. A little over an hour has passed and she still has not come. I sigh and think what an idiot I am, trying to meet a woman in a laundromat. I get up and go take my laundry out of the washer and start to put it in the dryer. I feel someone walk past me and hear a voice say, “Hello.” I turn around; it's 'Stain Fighter Woman'. I give a smile, and say, “Hey.”
I go and sit down and wait for my things to dry. I begin to think this is not the best idea. I watch her put her stuff into a machine and walk over to the chairs. She looks at the chairs that are available. I watch her decide on where to sit. There is a moment of indecision on her face, but she decides to take a seat one away from me.
She starts to pull out her book and a Ziploc baggie of strawberries. She sees me watching her. She offers the baggie to me and says, “Would you like one?”
I take one and thank her. She nods a welcome. We sit in silence for a while. I figure, well, it’s now or never.
I extend my hand to her and say, “Hi. I’m Don Eppes. Thanks for the help last time.”
Her dark eyes regard me for a moment. She replies, “You're welcome. I’m Verity Ferrera.”
“Please to meet you. That's an interesting name.”
She grins. “Yeah, well, my parents were hippies. It’s Latin for 'truth.'”
“My parents were too. They brought me to a few sit-ins when I was a toddler.”
“Really? They never took me but they did take my older brother.”
There is a pause in the conversation, and I decide to take the plunge. “You know I’m an FBI agent, but what do you do?”
She smiles back and says, “I'm a forensic tech. I work for the LAPD."
She is about to say something else, when the annoying couple from before comes in to do their laundry. Verity spies them at the same I do. She says, “I see the lovebirds are back.”
I roll my eyes and reply, “Wonderful.”
She smiles and says, “They’re a bit over the top. But I guess when you're in love, you don’t care.”
I return her smile and say, “You may be right.”
We spend the next hour or so talking about our respective jobs, and find we have at many things in common especially--a younger brother.
She gets up out of the chair and says, “Well, I gotta run. My towels should be dry now and I'm meeting my best friend for a midnight showing of 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show'. It was really nice talking to you."
“Yeah same here,” I reply. “See you in 2 weeks?” I ask her, trying to keep the hope out of my voice.
She gives me a small smile and says gently, “Oh, no. I actually finally had time to get a washer and dryer for my apartment. They're going to be delivering it next week."
“Oh, ok.” I try to hide the disappointment in my voice.
She says, “Well, take care.”
I watch her go and I feel a little frustrated but no worse for the wear. I decide I should grab my stuff and head on home. I start to grab my stuff out of the dryer to load into the basket, when I spy a business card.
I pick it up and read the back. It reads, “If you’d like to talk sometime, or need more stain fighting help, call me. Verity.”
I smile to myself as I tuck the card into my wallet. Dad was right--nothing ventured, nothing gained--but I don’t think I will tell him that.
Numb3rs fic based on the following quote:"Donny, what's the worst that can happen? I'll tell you. The relationship fails, right? So then what? Then you're back where you are right now. But the only difference is, instead of being afraid, you took a chance."
I spend another Friday evening doing laundry. I could go to my brother's and use his machine, but then I’d have to explain to my father why I’m doing laundry on a Friday night. So I schlep my stuff to the laundromat around the corner. It’s a relatively 'okay' place. Clean and quiet. Not that quiet is good... because when it gets too quiet, my head becomes a bad neighborhood. But the place has a couple of TVs, and they always have a ballgame on. So I usually just sit back and watch the game. Usually it isn’t too bad to have to hang out there.
But tonight is different. There's a young couple giggling and kissing each other as they do their laundry. Their affection for each other makes me think of my first date with Terry back at Quantico. I find myself missing her and wishing she was still here. I miss her friendship above all else. I watch the young couple and try to ignore them. I start to load my clothes into a machine, when I notice a woman on the other side doing the same. We both hear the couple start to giggle about their pet names for each other. The woman’s eyes flick towards the couple.
The woman notices me watching her watch the couple. Her eyes flick back to them and she rolls her eyes. She shakes her head, smiling. I find myself reciprocating her smile. She nods to me once and walks away. I watch her sit down. She takes out her MP3 player and a book and appears to become lost in her own thoughts. She looks up and sees me watching her. She subtly points her finger at the couple, now leaving, and we share one last smile at their over-the-top behavior. I take a chair a few away from her and settle back to watch the game and eat the sandwich I made.
2 weeks later.
Again, it’s another wonderful Friday evening and I am going to the laundromat. I sigh and think, even my father has a date tonight; this is pretty sad. But I banish the thought and step into the place. The usual Friday night crew is in attendance, minus the annoying couple. I start to sort my laundry, and come across my Dodgers jersey that Charlie gave me for my birthday. I wore it last weekend when my dad had a barbeque. Colby, David, and Megan had been invited, and we had a good time. Larry and Amita were also in attendance. Unfortunately, there is a large mustard stain on the shirt, from an experiment that Larry and Charlie decided to show everyone. I also remember that I wasn’t the only one who got mustard on them; Megan had also become a target. I thought she was going to kill Larry and Charlie, but she laughed it off for the accident it was. I sigh as I stare at the stain, and remember that mustard is really hard to get out. I love this shirt. Now it’s ruined. I feel someone's gaze on me. I look up and find myself staring at a pair of eyes. They are attached to the woman who was here the last time I did laundry. She's folding a floral bikini. Her eyes hold a question as she says, “Hello. You look like you have a problem.”
I nod, and say, “Yeah, mustard.” I hold up the shirt for her to see.
She replies, “Ah, standard yellow or spicy brown, it doesn’t matter, it all means trouble. Here, try this.” She hands me a toothbrush and a small container. “Take a small amount of the detergent and gently scrub at the stain. It should come out.”
“Hey, thanks.”
She smiles and says, “No problem.”
I watch her walk away and sit down. Like last time, she pulls out her MP3 player and a book, and relaxes. I go sit down, too, and stare at the TV, but I find myself watching her out of the corner of my eye. She’s taller then most women, about an inch or so shorter than me, with a trim, muscular build. Her hair is dark and pulled up loosely at the top of her head. Dark curls threaten to spill out from their binding. She is wearing low cut dark jeans, flip flops, and a red tank top. She has a small tattoo on her left shoulder. I notice that every time she smiles, it reaches her dark eyes. I find myself thinking that she has a nice figure, and wonder what it looks like in the bikini she was folding. I shake my head at my thoughts, but I can’t help still wondering.
An hour or so passes and I go and take my stuff out of the washer and check the shirt. To my relief the stain has come out, and I can wear my favorite jersey again. The woman is at the folding table, packing her stuff up. I pass her as I put my stuff in the dryer. I thank her for her stain remover and ask her what it was. She smiles and says, “No problem, Agent, but sorry, I can’t tell you--family secret.” Stunned, I look at her and wonder how she knows I’m an agent. She puts her basket of towels on her hip and starts to laugh at my expression. It’s a pleasant laugh, full of mirth. She points to my tee shirt and says, “The back of your shirt.” She bids me good night and leaves.
I watch her leave as I realize that I am wearing an FBI tee shirt and I have my badge and cell phone still clipped to my belt. I groan at my own forgetfulness and consider it's due to the fact that as usual, I haven't had a decent night's sleep in a while.
2 more weeks have passed.
I’m packing my stuff up to do laundry. Actually, truth be told, I’m scrounging around to find stuff to wash. After the conversation with my dad the other night about relationships, I found myself thinking about the woman from the laundromat. I don’t know her name or if she’s single, but I figured, hey, I could go and at least strike up a conversation and go from there. I think about what my father said that night...
"Donny, what's the worst that can happen? I'll tell you. The relationship fails, right? So then what? Then you're back where you are right now. But the only difference is, instead of being afraid, you took a chance."
Dad is right. What’s the worst that could happen? She could tell me she has a boyfriend and that she’s madly in love with him, or maybe that she doesn’t go out with FBI agents, but I won’t know till I at least formally introduce myself and talk to her.
I arrive at the laundromat and start to do my wash. It is 7:45 PM, and she isn’t here. I go and sit down. A little over an hour has passed and she still has not come. I sigh and think what an idiot I am, trying to meet a woman in a laundromat. I get up and go take my laundry out of the washer and start to put it in the dryer. I feel someone walk past me and hear a voice say, “Hello.” I turn around; it's 'Stain Fighter Woman'. I give a smile, and say, “Hey.”
I go and sit down and wait for my things to dry. I begin to think this is not the best idea. I watch her put her stuff into a machine and walk over to the chairs. She looks at the chairs that are available. I watch her decide on where to sit. There is a moment of indecision on her face, but she decides to take a seat one away from me.
She starts to pull out her book and a Ziploc baggie of strawberries. She sees me watching her. She offers the baggie to me and says, “Would you like one?”
I take one and thank her. She nods a welcome. We sit in silence for a while. I figure, well, it’s now or never.
I extend my hand to her and say, “Hi. I’m Don Eppes. Thanks for the help last time.”
Her dark eyes regard me for a moment. She replies, “You're welcome. I’m Verity Ferrera.”
“Please to meet you. That's an interesting name.”
She grins. “Yeah, well, my parents were hippies. It’s Latin for 'truth.'”
“My parents were too. They brought me to a few sit-ins when I was a toddler.”
“Really? They never took me but they did take my older brother.”
There is a pause in the conversation, and I decide to take the plunge. “You know I’m an FBI agent, but what do you do?”
She smiles back and says, “I'm a forensic tech. I work for the LAPD."
She is about to say something else, when the annoying couple from before comes in to do their laundry. Verity spies them at the same I do. She says, “I see the lovebirds are back.”
I roll my eyes and reply, “Wonderful.”
She smiles and says, “They’re a bit over the top. But I guess when you're in love, you don’t care.”
I return her smile and say, “You may be right.”
We spend the next hour or so talking about our respective jobs, and find we have at many things in common especially--a younger brother.
She gets up out of the chair and says, “Well, I gotta run. My towels should be dry now and I'm meeting my best friend for a midnight showing of 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show'. It was really nice talking to you."
“Yeah same here,” I reply. “See you in 2 weeks?” I ask her, trying to keep the hope out of my voice.
She gives me a small smile and says gently, “Oh, no. I actually finally had time to get a washer and dryer for my apartment. They're going to be delivering it next week."
“Oh, ok.” I try to hide the disappointment in my voice.
She says, “Well, take care.”
I watch her go and I feel a little frustrated but no worse for the wear. I decide I should grab my stuff and head on home. I start to grab my stuff out of the dryer to load into the basket, when I spy a business card.
I pick it up and read the back. It reads, “If you’d like to talk sometime, or need more stain fighting help, call me. Verity.”
I smile to myself as I tuck the card into my wallet. Dad was right--nothing ventured, nothing gained--but I don’t think I will tell him that.