Whining and Dining
Title: Whining and Dining
Author: flamingo_bandit
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Genre: General/friendship
Spoilers: “Beyond Our Control”
Ships: None.
Rating: PG
Warnings: A trifle silly, as is so often the case.
Summary: Brenda had seen a few IRS agents in her time, but Pete Lattimer was something else.
Shout-out: Thanks to physicslinguist for her help.
Whining and Dining
The IRS agents were always weird-Brenda had seen a few in her time here, since usually they didn’t last very long-but this kid was something else, wandering around like an attention-deficit thirteen-year-old, annoying the tall girl what’s-her-name, annoying the always-cranky Artie even further, and above all, annoying her at least weekly, if not more. Honestly, it would serve him right if someone smacked him right in the mouth, except his cute face was his one redeeming quality.
Hey, she didn’t have to like him to acknowledge that he was sort of cute, in a knockoff of David Boreanaz way. She watched a lot of TV and movies, and she’d always been attached to Angel. And a single girl can look at whatever she likes.
Of course, then there was right now, glaring him down in the grocery aisle, something like a stand-off, and his pretty face and over-gelled hair were not of interest to her.
“They restock tomorrow,” she told him. “It’s rural South Dakota; sometimes someone else gets the last one. Deal.”
“Please?” That was another problem with him; he whined, and in the grocery store it was especially prominent, echoing off the high ceilings. “Come on, there’s this Alfred Hitchcock marathon tonight-”
“Why do you think I want it? You can sit around and watch TV when you’re retired.” She grabbed the box in something like a football hold. He moved, like he was about to grab it, and she held it tighter under her arm. “I don’t think so, slick. I know the IRS has no problem stealing from old ladies, but-”
“First, I’m not stealing, and second, you’re not an old lady, and third, I love Alfred Hitchcock.” He dodged around to stand in her way again, trying for puppy dog eyes. “Please?”
She sniffed, ignoring them. “I’ve loved his work since before you were born. I get seniority.” She pushed past him. “Back off.”
For a moment he shifted, nervous maybe, then attempted a bright smile, cutting in front of her again. “Did I mention you look real pretty today?” he offered weakly.
There was yet another thing; he play-flirted with anyone or anything, like a high school kid. Her ex-husband had been like that. Well, actually he hadn’t flirted much, just screwed anything that moved. Still, it was the principle of the thing.
“Uh-huh,” she answered, and shoved past him again to the check-out.
Pete gave a vague, drawn-out groan, and collapsed against a shelf with a clang. She stopped and raised her eyebrows at him, awaiting some sort of tantrum. “What is with this town?” he demanded, to her or otherwise she wasn’t sure. “I’ve only ever been friendly to you guys. I’ve only ever been nice. To everyone. What did I do that’s so upsetting to everyone?”
That was true, she realized, and she had to give him credit for that. He was a good kid, really. “You whine,” she answered, because that was true, too.
“I do not. Oh, never mind. Listen.” He almost sounded like he was pleading, or maybe he was just frustrated. “Maybe we could split it. Is that fair?”
“Not a chance.” She continued on her way; he jogged to catch up with her. “My TV’s probably older than you are and barely comes in anyway. The popcorn’s the best part.” She reached the checkout and prepared to ignore him, reaching for her purse.
To her surprise-indignation-Pete dodged around her and thrust a crumpled bill at a startled cashier, not even looking at Brenda.
“It’s still mine,” she informed him as the girl counted out his change. “I’ll pay you back. Nice try.”
He stuffed the rest of the cash into what appeared to be a Spiderman wallet. “Tell you what, Brenda.” He returned it into his pocket and looked up to face her. “I have a new flat screen TV. Come over, watch the marathon with us.” She raised an eyebrow at him, ready to snort and shove him out of her way again, and then he grinned again, that obnoxious flirty grin. “I’ll make it worth your while.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
She laughed, much to her own annoyance, and his smile turned less flirtatious and more boyish, almost sweet. What the hell, she thought. “Fine,” she sighed, exasperated. “Anything to stop the whining.”
“I don’t whine,” he whined, but promptly forgot the slight. He scampered ahead, then paused to wait for her, like an overeager puppy.
She caught up quickly, still holding stubbornly to the box, and when he started to prattle about Hitchcock she let him, though it quickly led to an argument on the merits of the remake of Psycho. That was fine with her, even if Pete had no idea what he was talking about.
Fancy TV aside, he really was a nice kid, after all. And he tried awfully hard. And, well, she’d always had a soft spot for David Boreanaz.
Author: flamingo_bandit
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Genre: General/friendship
Spoilers: “Beyond Our Control”
Ships: None.
Rating: PG
Warnings: A trifle silly, as is so often the case.
Summary: Brenda had seen a few IRS agents in her time, but Pete Lattimer was something else.
Shout-out: Thanks to physicslinguist for her help.
Whining and Dining
The IRS agents were always weird-Brenda had seen a few in her time here, since usually they didn’t last very long-but this kid was something else, wandering around like an attention-deficit thirteen-year-old, annoying the tall girl what’s-her-name, annoying the always-cranky Artie even further, and above all, annoying her at least weekly, if not more. Honestly, it would serve him right if someone smacked him right in the mouth, except his cute face was his one redeeming quality.
Hey, she didn’t have to like him to acknowledge that he was sort of cute, in a knockoff of David Boreanaz way. She watched a lot of TV and movies, and she’d always been attached to Angel. And a single girl can look at whatever she likes.
Of course, then there was right now, glaring him down in the grocery aisle, something like a stand-off, and his pretty face and over-gelled hair were not of interest to her.
“They restock tomorrow,” she told him. “It’s rural South Dakota; sometimes someone else gets the last one. Deal.”
“Please?” That was another problem with him; he whined, and in the grocery store it was especially prominent, echoing off the high ceilings. “Come on, there’s this Alfred Hitchcock marathon tonight-”
“Why do you think I want it? You can sit around and watch TV when you’re retired.” She grabbed the box in something like a football hold. He moved, like he was about to grab it, and she held it tighter under her arm. “I don’t think so, slick. I know the IRS has no problem stealing from old ladies, but-”
“First, I’m not stealing, and second, you’re not an old lady, and third, I love Alfred Hitchcock.” He dodged around to stand in her way again, trying for puppy dog eyes. “Please?”
She sniffed, ignoring them. “I’ve loved his work since before you were born. I get seniority.” She pushed past him. “Back off.”
For a moment he shifted, nervous maybe, then attempted a bright smile, cutting in front of her again. “Did I mention you look real pretty today?” he offered weakly.
There was yet another thing; he play-flirted with anyone or anything, like a high school kid. Her ex-husband had been like that. Well, actually he hadn’t flirted much, just screwed anything that moved. Still, it was the principle of the thing.
“Uh-huh,” she answered, and shoved past him again to the check-out.
Pete gave a vague, drawn-out groan, and collapsed against a shelf with a clang. She stopped and raised her eyebrows at him, awaiting some sort of tantrum. “What is with this town?” he demanded, to her or otherwise she wasn’t sure. “I’ve only ever been friendly to you guys. I’ve only ever been nice. To everyone. What did I do that’s so upsetting to everyone?”
That was true, she realized, and she had to give him credit for that. He was a good kid, really. “You whine,” she answered, because that was true, too.
“I do not. Oh, never mind. Listen.” He almost sounded like he was pleading, or maybe he was just frustrated. “Maybe we could split it. Is that fair?”
“Not a chance.” She continued on her way; he jogged to catch up with her. “My TV’s probably older than you are and barely comes in anyway. The popcorn’s the best part.” She reached the checkout and prepared to ignore him, reaching for her purse.
To her surprise-indignation-Pete dodged around her and thrust a crumpled bill at a startled cashier, not even looking at Brenda.
“It’s still mine,” she informed him as the girl counted out his change. “I’ll pay you back. Nice try.”
He stuffed the rest of the cash into what appeared to be a Spiderman wallet. “Tell you what, Brenda.” He returned it into his pocket and looked up to face her. “I have a new flat screen TV. Come over, watch the marathon with us.” She raised an eyebrow at him, ready to snort and shove him out of her way again, and then he grinned again, that obnoxious flirty grin. “I’ll make it worth your while.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
She laughed, much to her own annoyance, and his smile turned less flirtatious and more boyish, almost sweet. What the hell, she thought. “Fine,” she sighed, exasperated. “Anything to stop the whining.”
“I don’t whine,” he whined, but promptly forgot the slight. He scampered ahead, then paused to wait for her, like an overeager puppy.
She caught up quickly, still holding stubbornly to the box, and when he started to prattle about Hitchcock she let him, though it quickly led to an argument on the merits of the remake of Psycho. That was fine with her, even if Pete had no idea what he was talking about.
Fancy TV aside, he really was a nice kid, after all. And he tried awfully hard. And, well, she’d always had a soft spot for David Boreanaz.