The Bet
Character(s): Reid/OFC (friendship)
Prompt: #57 Lunch
Rating: FRT
Summary: in my story “Endgame,” Jackson bet Reid he couldn’t guess her degrees; he won (sneakily, I might add), so she has to buy him lunch every day for a week
Author’s Notes: Reading “Endgame” might be fun, but not necessary. Standard disclaimers apply: I own nothing; suing would be pointless and cruel.
Day 1
“Fries?” he asked, bewildered. “You’re just getting fries?”
“Yeah. I mean, large fries.” She smiled at the guy working the register and paid, and the two agents found a table in the small, crowded restaurant to wait for their order.
He split open a peanut with careful concentration and chewed the legume as he pondered. “You must be hungry; their large fries are huge.”
She watched him with luminous glass-green eyes and took a sip of her Diet Coke. At last she sighed, knowing he wouldn’t let it go. “I’m a vegetarian, Spencer.”
He blinked, thunderstruck. “But - why didn’t you tell me? I took a vegetarian to a burger place?!” he wailed. “They don’t even have salads!”
He sounded utterly embarrassed, so she grinned with bright reassurance. “It’s ok,” she said, munching a peanut. “They have really awesome fries.”
Day 2
“Why isn’t there a word that rhymes with orange?” he asked her, apropos of nothing.
She frowned; took a bite of sandwich. “Is this what you think about in your spare time?”
“Sometimes. Either that or…hey, have I ever shown you my physics magic?” His finely-made face was open, eager, and she couldn’t help but smile.
“I haven’t had the pleasure yet, no.”
“I’ll have to show you sometime. Remind me.” She rolled her eyes at the idea of him forgetting something and nearly missed the hopeful expression that suddenly brightened his normally pensive eyes.
“Hey,” he said again, gesturing toward the last few chips on her plate, “are you going to eat those?”
Day 3
“Do you know how many parasites and organisms and diseases could be lurking in uncooked fish?” he demanded in a tight, horror-stricken voice. He had stopped in front of the sushi restaurant she had selected and wouldn’t take another step; she stood between him and the door with her arms crossed in amused frustration.
“They have cooked sushi. Look, you asked me to pick today, and this was my choice. You didn’t have to agree.”
He fidgeted. “It’s not all raw?” He sounded both incredulous and hopeful, and she had to fight a smile.
“No. Would I lie to you? Now come on; I’m starving.”
Reluctantly he followed her inside, looking like a man being led to his death.
Day 4
“So how is a raven like a writing desk?” he mused aloud across his bowl of curry.
“I don’t think there’s really supposed to be an answer, Spencer.” She tore off a chunk of naan and dipped it into the spicy, savory sauce; chewed with relish.
“Well, yeah, Carroll doesn’t supply us with the answer, but surely there is one,” he protested.
She raised a brow at him. “I don’t think so. The Hatter is, after all, mad, and everything in Wonderland is backwards and topsy-turvy. I don’t think there’s an answer at all; it’s just a riddle for the sake of being riddling.”
Her theory seemed to disappoint him. “Oh.”
“Cheer up, kiddo. There’s always ye olde chicken-or-egg conundrum to keep you busy.”
He brightened immediately. “Actually, I think I might’ve solved that one…”
Day 5
“If there were only one type of cookie left in the world, and that’s the only type of cookie you could have forever, what cookie would you want it to be?”
She blinked at him over her bowl of tom yum soup. “Why would there be only one type of cookie? Was there a cookie plague? A cookie blight? The Cookie Monster went on a rampage? How could that even happen?”
“It’s a hypothetical situation, Jack. Just go with it.” He dipped a bite of chicken satay into peanut sauce and chewed happily; waited for her answer.
She set down her spoon; sighed. “Cookies are no joking matter, Spencer. The scenario you propose is almost as horrifying as a zombie apocalypse.”
He snorted. “Nothing’s as bad as a zombie apocalypse,” he disagreed almost scornfully.
“Imagine a life without Oreos,” she challenged.
He frowned. “Well that could be your cookie. You know, your one cookie.”
“Ok, then imagine a life without chocolate chip.”
His face scrunched as he considered. “I see your point,” he finally admitted. “Ok, so what if you could have two types of cookies…”
Prompt: #57 Lunch
Rating: FRT
Summary: in my story “Endgame,” Jackson bet Reid he couldn’t guess her degrees; he won (sneakily, I might add), so she has to buy him lunch every day for a week
Author’s Notes: Reading “Endgame” might be fun, but not necessary. Standard disclaimers apply: I own nothing; suing would be pointless and cruel.
Day 1
“Fries?” he asked, bewildered. “You’re just getting fries?”
“Yeah. I mean, large fries.” She smiled at the guy working the register and paid, and the two agents found a table in the small, crowded restaurant to wait for their order.
He split open a peanut with careful concentration and chewed the legume as he pondered. “You must be hungry; their large fries are huge.”
She watched him with luminous glass-green eyes and took a sip of her Diet Coke. At last she sighed, knowing he wouldn’t let it go. “I’m a vegetarian, Spencer.”
He blinked, thunderstruck. “But - why didn’t you tell me? I took a vegetarian to a burger place?!” he wailed. “They don’t even have salads!”
He sounded utterly embarrassed, so she grinned with bright reassurance. “It’s ok,” she said, munching a peanut. “They have really awesome fries.”
Day 2
“Why isn’t there a word that rhymes with orange?” he asked her, apropos of nothing.
She frowned; took a bite of sandwich. “Is this what you think about in your spare time?”
“Sometimes. Either that or…hey, have I ever shown you my physics magic?” His finely-made face was open, eager, and she couldn’t help but smile.
“I haven’t had the pleasure yet, no.”
“I’ll have to show you sometime. Remind me.” She rolled her eyes at the idea of him forgetting something and nearly missed the hopeful expression that suddenly brightened his normally pensive eyes.
“Hey,” he said again, gesturing toward the last few chips on her plate, “are you going to eat those?”
Day 3
“Do you know how many parasites and organisms and diseases could be lurking in uncooked fish?” he demanded in a tight, horror-stricken voice. He had stopped in front of the sushi restaurant she had selected and wouldn’t take another step; she stood between him and the door with her arms crossed in amused frustration.
“They have cooked sushi. Look, you asked me to pick today, and this was my choice. You didn’t have to agree.”
He fidgeted. “It’s not all raw?” He sounded both incredulous and hopeful, and she had to fight a smile.
“No. Would I lie to you? Now come on; I’m starving.”
Reluctantly he followed her inside, looking like a man being led to his death.
Day 4
“So how is a raven like a writing desk?” he mused aloud across his bowl of curry.
“I don’t think there’s really supposed to be an answer, Spencer.” She tore off a chunk of naan and dipped it into the spicy, savory sauce; chewed with relish.
“Well, yeah, Carroll doesn’t supply us with the answer, but surely there is one,” he protested.
She raised a brow at him. “I don’t think so. The Hatter is, after all, mad, and everything in Wonderland is backwards and topsy-turvy. I don’t think there’s an answer at all; it’s just a riddle for the sake of being riddling.”
Her theory seemed to disappoint him. “Oh.”
“Cheer up, kiddo. There’s always ye olde chicken-or-egg conundrum to keep you busy.”
He brightened immediately. “Actually, I think I might’ve solved that one…”
Day 5
“If there were only one type of cookie left in the world, and that’s the only type of cookie you could have forever, what cookie would you want it to be?”
She blinked at him over her bowl of tom yum soup. “Why would there be only one type of cookie? Was there a cookie plague? A cookie blight? The Cookie Monster went on a rampage? How could that even happen?”
“It’s a hypothetical situation, Jack. Just go with it.” He dipped a bite of chicken satay into peanut sauce and chewed happily; waited for her answer.
She set down her spoon; sighed. “Cookies are no joking matter, Spencer. The scenario you propose is almost as horrifying as a zombie apocalypse.”
He snorted. “Nothing’s as bad as a zombie apocalypse,” he disagreed almost scornfully.
“Imagine a life without Oreos,” she challenged.
He frowned. “Well that could be your cookie. You know, your one cookie.”
“Ok, then imagine a life without chocolate chip.”
His face scrunched as he considered. “I see your point,” he finally admitted. “Ok, so what if you could have two types of cookies…”