Fic: Helper
Title: Helper
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Murray/Dave, mentions of Bret/Jemaine
Rating: R
Summary: Dave helps Murray.
Word Count: 4,954
Warnings: Language!...kind of a given with Dave…
Disclaimer: I do not owns the ‘Flight of the Conchords’ or anything connected with them.
Notes: The second of my drabble memes, this one was requested by piratehatter! Again, not a drabble, actually a fic…damn, damn, damn my inability to write something short. Also, some links within the fic! Interactive! Ooo!
In a way, it was totally his mother’s fault.
Or maybe Oprah’s.
Or, really, actually, it was both of them.
Oprah for giving the idea and his mother for having the stones to execute it.
Mrs. Mohumbhai spent most of her time watching television and, a good chunk of that television, was Oprah. Oprah always had something new and exciting to offer on her show, whether it was from recipes to life advice.
Currently, Oprah was really big on how you should ‘give back to the community’ and ‘how good deeds enhanced your karma and chi’ and so on. With that in mind, Mrs. Mohumbhai was also now big on these very same philosophies. And, as such, she was eager to influence (or, more accurately, force) these views on her husband and son.
“You should help someone, Devjeet!” she scolded one night as she mixed some unknown, cake-batter-like-substance in a silver bowl, “You’ll see, it will be good for you! Oprah, she tell me-”
“Mom, Oprah could tell you it would be a good idea to drink drain cleaner to cleanse your system and you’d do it.” Dave said pointedly then cried out as her hand came out lightning quick to hit him upside the back of his head.
She pointed a finger at him, eyes narrowed, “Don’t you talk to me like that!”
Dave sighed and bobbed his head apologetically, eyes downcast, “Sorry,” he rubbed at the back of his head which still stung, wincing, “Jesus…”
She nodded sagely, “Wouldn’t have happened if you had done something nice for someone today. Oprah says, you do nice things, nice things will happen to you. It balances your spirit, your mind…surely you know of someone you could help…”
“Mom, I help people in the Pawn Shop all day! Not to mention Bret and Jemaine-”
“Who?”
“Bret and Jemaine…you know…those guys from Ireland?”
“You mean the weedy little one with the beard and his burly boyfriend with the glasses?”
“Yeah. Them.”
“Devjeet! You help them all the time too! Like the customers! No…you need to help someone new! Someone you never help before! It be good for you…trust me. Trust Oprah!”
Dave took in a loud breath in through his nose and rolled his eyes. Surely his mother would forget about it in a few days. She’d move on to the next big thing Oprah was into and she’d forget all about how she wanted Dave to ‘perform good deeds’.
At least, that was what he had thought at the time.
Unfortunately, it turned out that Oprah was really big on this particular issue and she mentioned it at the end of every show for over a week, thus drawing out his mother’s fascination with it. His father had all ready caved, helping out various neighbors with minor maintenance quirks and the like, thus saving him from his mother’s nightly tongue lashing of ‘who did you help today?’
It had gotten to the point where, unless Dave did something to help someone, he was looking forward to the very real and distinct possibility of not having his mother do his laundry, make his meals and so forth.
“You help somebody, Devjeet! You help them or else!”
‘Or else’ was always the worst threat his mother could give him because god only knew what ‘or else’ she would come up with. He was pretty sure it was just the loss of completed, pesky, domestic chores but it could be worse.
She could try (yet again) to set him up with one of her friend’s daughters…just the thought of that made his skin crawl. He could easily remember the last one. Christ, he had nightmares about It (not her, ‘It’) for weeks.
No, better just to follow his Dad’s lead and crack, find someone to help, do some stupid, menial task to give them a hand and then move on. But who to help? The answer came in the unexpected form of one of his least favorite people.
88888888888
“David!”
Dave groaned and raised his eyes to the heavens in a request for deliverance. Once concluding that such a saving would be denied, he lowered his head and looked at the man who had just spoken.
Murray stood there, all warm smiles, hands in the pockets of his zipped up jacket, his legs basically bare as he wore shorts, and, Christ, why the hell was he wearing those shorts?!
It was something like fifty degrees outside. Maybe this was considered to be hot weather in where-ever-the-hell he was from…Who-ville or New Queenland or some shit like that.
Then again, Dave highly doubted that there was a lot going on in that head of his. Murray’s head looked like it was mostly composed of hair. Seriously, Murray’s hair was more coifed (a word Dave’s Mom had recently used in their weekly Scrabble game…double word score! Dave still didn’t understand how that wasn’t fuckin’ cheating…swear to Christ…) than any bitch he had ever met, and that was saying something.
Still, better to get everything out of the way as quickly as possible, the sooner he rushed the little ginger fruit along, the sooner he would be gone. Dave crossed his arms, eyes narrowed as he asked dryly, “Yes?”
“David…good to see you,” Murray said amicably, his voice sort of shaky and Dave wondered if it was because he was cold because his dumbass was wearing shorts. He hoped that was why the man’s voice was trembling, because any other possible reasons could be…frightening…
“David…I was wondering if…well…maybe I could-could ask you a favor.”
Okay. Yes. The reason Murray’s voice was trembling was, indeed, frightening.
Dave steeled himself for what the New Zealander might say, not giving him an inch to encourage him to continue speaking. Maybe Murray would take the hint, get intimidated out of the store…
“David, you see, the thing is…”
No such luck.
“…the thing is I’m…well…as you may or may not know I’m…separated. Have been for, for over a year now and…well…I-I haven’t had much luck with the ladies…shocking I know!”
Dave didn’t even try to disguise his chuckle, instead scratching at the back of his head a moment before folding his arms again, but, it was obvious now, from both actions and from what Murray had just said, that his posture relaxed just that bit, enough to give Murray the courage to continue.
“…anyway, Bret and Jemaine have…always spoken highly of you and your…lady advice…advice for getting the ladies and I was - I was wondering if…perhaps you’d-you’d help me out.”
Dave raised an eyebrow, one hand waving between them as he said haltingly, “You. Want me. To help you, out?”
“I…yes…well…yes.” Murray said nervously, copper head bobbing up and down like a red apple floating in a pool of water.
Dave sighed and weighed his options. On one hand, Murray was certainly someone he had never helped before and, if he did this, it would certainly square away the problem with his mother. On the other, if he did this, he had to spend time with Murray.
And Murray was…
Well, he was…
Dave couldn’t quite describe it.
Murray was just one of those people.
One of those people that Dave didn’t really want to have anything to do with.
He couldn’t explain exactly why - nothing came to mind past the fact that he was just Murray. Just the sight of him, just talking to him…it was indescribable. It was like being caught in a bear trap - you’d do anything to get out, even gnaw through your own leg.
Still, if anyone needed help, it was, indeed, Murray.
Sighing, Dave held up the index finger of one hand and picked up the phone with the other, “Give me a sec.”
Murray, nodded and, amazingly (and much to Dave’s relief), kept his mouth shut. Dave spoke in his native language into the phone, the conversation clipped. He hung up the phone and then stared at Murray, his entire demeanor aloof. Murray fidgeted from foot to foot, waiting for more, but, once it seemed unforthcoming, he opened his mouth, “I-”
“Just wait, man.” Dave said sharply.
Several more minutes passed before the bell to the Pawn Shop dinged and an attractive, older woman entered. She eyed Murray suspiciously then went behind the counter to stand next to Dave and started talking to him. Murray frowned, because he didn’t know what they were saying to one another and she kept pointing at him, her face incredulous.
Looking at her, Murray couldn’t help but think she actually looked a little like Dave, which was weird. Then, much to his puzzlement, she laughed and shook her head, clapping her hands a few minutes before throwing her arms around Dave’s neck and giving him a hard hug.
She released him, then went up to Murray, patted him on the cheek and, with sparkling eyes, said, “He help you!”
She then exited the shop.
88888888888
“Wow, this is great! Isn’t it, David!”
Dave all ready regretted his decision.
“…two bachelors just tearing up the town…”
Dave rolled his eyes, wishing, yet again that he was dead.
“…yeah, the world’s our oyster and we’re just…going to…you know, eat it…”
Maybe a tractor trailer would come crashing through the bar any minute.
“…or-or maybe find some pearls in it. In the oyster?”
Maybe a plane would fall out of the sky and crush him.
“…wouldn’t that be something?! Pearls! We could retire!”
Maybe something, anything, would happen and he would be delivered from this hell-hole of a situation!
Dave sighed and grabbed his beer, taking a healthy swig and trying to remind himself, yet again, why he agreed to this.
They had been at the bar for twenty minutes and not seen hide nor hair of a chick - any chick, and at this point, Dave was willing to take any chick. Fat chick, bald chick…just some chick to get him away from Murray, or, better, some chick to thrust Murray upon.
That last thought made him smile bitterly. Chick to thrust Murray upon. Right. More like the other way around.
Dave considered himself something of a miracle worker, but getting a woman for Murray was going to be like turning water to wine, and he was no Jesus, though he certainly should be considered for sainthood or Christ-like status considering what he was having to put up with.
Murray just kept talking.
And yes, Dave knew he himself could talk quite a bit, but he had the decency to know when to shut up…at least he felt he did.
Murray just was non-stop. Everything from his dead parrot to his cup of soup for lunch at the consulate. And a lot of the time he’d start off with itemizing it or saying something about how he had to ‘make a note’ of it.
Pencil-pushing ginger dick.
Dave pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to push away another headache. Murray was still speaking, “…David? David?”
“Dude!” Dave nearly shouted, “How many times I gotta tell you, man, it’s Dave, Dave! What? Do I have to spell it?!”
“No, no, I just…do I really have to wear this shirt?”
Dave sighed and looked at Murray. Before agreeing to take him bar hopping, Dave had insisted on a wardrobe change for Murray. They had gone by Dave’s favorite thrift store for shirts and Dave had found the most appropriate one.
It was a yellow shirt with a logo on it that looked like a Discover Card, but instead of saying ‘Discover Card’ on it, it said ‘Pity Sex’ and then, beneath that were the words ‘Gladly Accepted’.
Dave shook his head, “Better than the other one.”
The other shirt Dave had almost gotten Murray was purple and was printed with big words announcing, ‘used to be hot’. Dave had decided that that point was debatable. Had Murray ever been hot? Unlikely.
Murray’s lips screwed up to one side for a moment, then settled as he nodded his head, “Well, I suppose, I mean…you are the expert in these matters.”
Dave couldn’t deny that he liked hearing that. And, while Murray was annoying (and he was, really, really annoying), Dave would be lying if he said he didn’t somewhat enjoy the hero worshiping glances that Murray occasionally sent his way.
Bitch was like a six year old who got the chance to hang out with Superman. And who couldn’t blame him? As far as Dave was concerned, he was pretty fucking sweet.
“I am the expert,” Dave said sagely, “And, as an expert, we got to go over some ground rules.”
“Oh! This sounds important! Can I-”
“Bitch, seriously, you draw out that little notepad again and I’m going to slap you!” Dave warned, then continued, “Murray, you don’t…see, your problem is you think too much…or, you know, you try to think too much. You need to relax.”
Murray’s right eye twitched a bit and Dave knew, just knew, it was, indeed, an internal struggle for Murray to not draw out his notepad now and write this ‘important’ information down. Still, he managed and Dave continued, “You need to relax and not be…try not to look so…it’s like, you’re a douche.”
“A douche?”
“Yeah, man, a douche, a dickhead, a pencil pusher, a little bitch, a ginger nut-”
“Yes, yes, Davi-Dave! I get the picture!” Murray snapped waspishly.
“Right, well, you look like that. So, stop it.”
“How do I-”
“Well, take me for instance,” Dave said, arms opening to sort of wave over the display of his awesome, “Here I am, leaned against the bar, all casual, beer in my hand. I don’t give a shit that anyone’s here. In fact, everyone in here but me can just go to hell and I’m cool with it. See? Cool with it. I’m the man. I’m the shit. And everyone else can just eat it.”
“…the…why would I want to be shit?”
Dave groaned and took another deep draft of his beer before continuing, “Murray, again, thinking too much. Look, just get a beer, drink, relax…you want women to come to you, not the other way around.”
“Yes, but…I mean…they never come to me. None have come so far tonight-”
“Yeah, they haven’t come ‘cause you’re all on edge. You know that saying, ‘if you watch a pot of water it won’t boil’ or some shit like that?”
“…not really.”
“Really? No saying like that in England?”
“New Zealand. And…I mean…we having a saying.”
“And that is?”
“’Respect your sheep, and he’ll respect you’.”
Dave’s eyes narrowed and he reared his head, “Goddamn, man. What the hell is wrong with the place you come from?”
Murray opened his mouth but Dave cut him off, “Look, never mind, the point I’m trying to make is, is that if you would just take the stick…or hell, the sheep, if you will…out of your ass and relax, girls might actually start to flow in here and come over.”
Murray sighed and, with a slight tilt of his head, got a little closer to the bar. He tried signaling the bartender over and, naturally, was ignored, until Dave put his fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply, causing the bartender to look up. Dave pointed to himself and the man came over.
Dave gestured openly to Murray and, though it took him a minute to understand, Murray eventually caught on and he turned his attention to the signaled bartender, asking for a beer.
The bartender looked at Murray and then looked at Dave. Dave shrugged apologetically and the bartender gave him a look that somehow managed to say ‘my condolences’, before grabbing a beer bottle, snapping off the cap and handing it over to Murray.
Murray sipped at the beer tentatively, then, despite wincing, licked his lips and tried to look pleased, “Yeah! Yum! This is…I’m a cool guy now!”
“You’re with a cool guy now, big dif,” Dave said pointedly, shaking his head and sort of smirking as he took another swig of his own drink.
It took several minutes but, once he was through his first beer and on to his second, Murray started to relax.
In fact, he was probably a little too relaxed.
Dave found himself occasionally having to push Murray back on to his stool and he sighed, crossed between being amused and being annoyed, as it just figured that the little Icelandic ginger couldn’t hold his liquor.
Still, the alcohol seemed to do the trick in distracting them both and Dave was pleasantly surprised to see some women finally start to filter into the bar. He grabbed the attention of a few and, being the good Samaritan he was, he ushered several of them along to Murray.
Murray was slightly inebriated and doing a pretty good job of striking out every time. However, Dave mused, the times between each strikeout was extending. Maybe if they stayed all throughout the night and into the next day, Murray would at least get a phone number.
Dave himself would have offered advice, but he was doing pretty nice with a hot, redheaded honey he had kept for himself. She had said her name at some point, Raquel or Rachel or maybe it was Amanda, something, it didn’t really matter . All that mattered were the healthy C-cup breasts that were practically spilling out over the top of her tank.
Unfortunately for Dave, his eyes were there just a bit too long and she noticed, letting out a little huff, nose in the air as she turned on her heels and left him. She made some sharp remark about how if that was all he was going to look at, then he could look elsewhere. He responded that that was pretty much impossible, as her breasts were elsewhere as they were pretty much everywhere.
She turned around and slapped him.
Rubbing his stinging face, he scowled. Jesus, if she didn’t want people looking at them she shouldn’t practically put them on a dinner plate.
Dave looked over to see Murray receive a similar slap and, instead of feeling amusement, as he imagined he normally would, he couldn’t help but feel a bit of compassion.
Yeah, know where you’re coming from, buddy.
Dave shook his head and wondered whether or not he should just call the evening quits when ‘It’ walked in. Dave swallowed, terrified. It was the same ‘It’ his mother had fixed him up with months ago. Whose daughter was she? Mrs.
Lahori's? Mrs. Karahi’s? And what was Its’ name? Sherri? Ali?
Did it really matter?
All that mattered was that It was coming over here and if It looked up It would see him and recognize him and oh god, oh god…have to get away before…
“Dave?!”
Dave groaned and buried his head in his hands.
Too late.
It lumbered over, face still as terrifying as he remembered, “Devjeet Mohumbhai, it is good to see you!”
“Good to see you too…you,” Dave added lamely, still unable to recall Its' name.
It looked at him lustfully, “It’s been a while, Dave, you look good. Real good.”
“Yeah, you look…” Dave just trailed off, not wanting to continue. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do. If this was anyone else, anyone else, he could just tell them to ‘fuck off’ but this was the daughter of one of his Mom’s friends which meant he had to be nice unless he wanted his dick nailed to the cement floor of the Pawn Shop by his ever loving mother.
It ran a hand through Its’ hair, cooing, “You know, I’ve thought a lot about you since the last time I saw you.”
“Oh…yeah?”
“Yeah. Our date was so great but it felt…you know…incomplete,” a disproportionately large, man-like hand found Dave’s face and stroked it. He tried his best not to shudder in revolution.
He scrabbled his brains, desperate for some kind of out, there had to be some way, some salvation from this nightmare. He couldn’t take It hitting on him so vehemently. No way in hell would he tap that. The only thing that could possibly tap that surface was an honest to god jackhammer and it would probably break the moment it hit Its’…
And Dave did shudder this time as the idea of Its’ privates floated unnecessarily into his mind.
Dave suddenly saw Murray over one shoulder and a thought came to mind. A strange, truly fucked up thought.
Fuck.
He couldn’t do that.
He was desperate, but he couldn’t do that.
Had to be some other way, had to be…
No way.
It spoke again, “You know, my parents are out of town, I have the whole place to myself-”
Oh god. Please. Don’t.
“If you wanted to come over, maybe we could…you know…have a bottle of wine…watch a movie…”
He couldn’t possibly…
But no other ideas were coming to mind...
Time was running out...
Desperate times…desperate measures…
“…but, I mean, just so you know, the heat is broken and it’s still cold outside so…we might have to huddle up for…you know, body warmth.” Another stroke of that hand along his face.
“Can’t! Here with somebody!” Dave squeaked, heart pounding, blood in his ears. Oh god. What was he doing?
The hand, however, thankfully disappeared and It frowned sulkily, “Oh?”
“Yeah, yeah…here with…someone.”
“Who?” It snapped petulantly, “Who is she? I’d like to meet her!”
“…’s…over…” Dave waved in Murray’s direction and It looked confused, then smirking, said silkily, “Dave, sweetie, that’s a man.”
“Yeeeah.” Dave drew out and seriously, seriously, wished he would just drop dead. Right there. Right this instant. There was no way, no way, he had even made the slightest suggestion, the slightest hint, said in the slightest breath that he was, in any way, any shape, or any form gay.
Accept he had.
It threw Its’ head back and laughed, the sound like charcoal being dumped from the back of a truck, “Devjeet! You’re teasing me!”
Dave’s lips pressed together hard enough to injure himself. In for a penny, in for a pound. He nodded roughly. It stopped laughing, “Seriously?”
Dave breathed out a tiny ‘yes’, because that was all he could manage. His lungs felt like they were going to burst.
“…he’s…you can’t…I mean…look at him.”
Yes. Just look at him, Dave thought, glancing at Murray.
At this moment, Murray was sliding forward, almost falling off his stool yet again. Chin close to hitting the bar. He caught himself, just barely, and gripped the wood of the stool as if it was a lifeline, as he dragged himself upright, a ridiculous smile on his face.
Dave wanted to kill himself.
“Devjeet, maybe you are…just confused? I mean he’s…I don’t think he’s your type.”
Dave almost wanted to burst into hysterical laughter at that but knew if he did he wouldn’t stop and he’d end up in a straight jacket. Instead he just took in the world’s deep, largest, and longest breath, voice high as he said, “Yeah, well, he is! He’s my…you know…my bitch.”
It looked highly skeptical, crossing Its' bony arms, “Yeah, I just…I don’t see it.”
Dave licked his dry lips with a dry tongue, remarking curtly, “Well…you…will.”
Dave walked like a man going to the gallows as he drew away from It and went towards Murray.
His feet felt weighted and once he got there he wanted to sink into the floor.
The bar was littered with glasses, bottles; he could just break one and slit his wrists…
“Dave! There you are! ‘Ve miss’d you!” Murray slurred, face overly happy.
Dave looked over his shoulder and saw It watching him with great scrutiny.
Dave closed his eyes tight and prayed to every deity he knew of.
Then he opened his eyes and looked at Murray steely. He could do this. He wasn’t a pussy. He was a man. He was Devjeet Mohumbhai. He was Dave. He could do anything.
“Murray, I’m going to do something, and I just need you to go with it, all right?”
Murray, not fully comprehending, managed a stupid, “Huh?”
“’S life or death, man, okay?” And, in a way, it was. Dave was going to die just a little bit so he could avoid a life of dealing with It. This had better send It away and packing for the rest of his life because if it didn’t…
He couldn’t think of that now.
His mind was made up.
He just had to make this quick.
Like ripping off a band-aid.
Like robbing a bank - in and out and gone and forgotten about forever and ever.
Murray, still hopelessly clueless, just shrugged, “Yeah. ‘K…sure, mate…wh’ever you need…”
Dave sighed deeply. He was killing himself. Right now. Right here. Death. Real death. Death to everything he was, everything he knew…
He looked at Murray’s pale, freckled face, his ginger beard and ridiculous, coifed ginger hair.
He looked back at It again.
Between the two…
Dave let out another breath, this one of steeling determination and, before he could get cold feet, he cupped Murray’s face and kissed him.
Murray let out a surprised squeal. A literal squeal. He, again, almost fell off the stool and Dave held tight, almost bruising him in the process.
Dave tried to make the kiss look as good as possible without opening his mouth, because, Christ he was not going to open his fucking mouth, but it had to look convincing, had to look like something It would fucking buy and if It ever told anyone about this he’d say It was a goddamn liar.
He opened his eyes and saw It was gone, most likely having stormed off in a huff and he released Murray. He gagged and spit and rubbed at his mouth with both hands. He drank the rest of his beer and all of Murray’s and Murray just sat there, stunned.
“…David…was-was that some kind of…initiation?”
Dave didn’t answer, his head in his hands.
“…like a…hazing or…maybe…maybe a cultural acceptance rite of your culture-”
“Christ! Murray! NO! All right?! It was something I did to get a crazy, scary bitch off my back.”
“…I don’t see anything on your back.”
Dave slumped on to the bar.
“Hey, hey there…” Murray said soothingly and he patted Dave’s arm, “It was…I mean…it wasn’t a bad kiss. You know…for a kiss I…got from a man…”
Dave raised his head and glared at Murray. He pointed a finger in his face; voice deadly, “Murray, you tell anybody, anybody, about this…and I’ll kill you.”
“David…”
“I’m not joking, Murray! They won’t be able to find all the pieces to put your Humpety-Dumptey ass back together again if you so much as breathe a word-”
“David,” Murray said, voice clear and more serious than Dave had ever heard it, “I won’t tell anyone.”
Dave took in a breath through his nose and then nodded, a little comforted.
Murray just licked his lips and chuckled, “Still…not a bad kiss though.”
Dave opened his mouth to, god, he didn’t know what, when suddenly an attractive woman with black hair sauntered over. She had nothing but eyes for Murray, cutting between the two of them, and she eased close him, “Hello there.”
“Why…um…yes…hello there,” Murray offered uneasily.
“My name’s Sienna…what’s yours?”
“I’m…it’s…Murray. Murray Hewitt.”
“Mm, nice name, Murray,” she purred, a hand coming up to brush at his chest, “I just saw you and…your friend’s little…interaction.”
“Oh, yes, well that was-”
“You two been together long?”
Murray frowned, confused, “No. Well, I mean…we came here about an hour ago…”
Sienna laughed, “Oh my, you are just…so adorable.”
“Oh…well…thank you?”
“So…you and him…a permanent thing?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You guys dating or…you just experimenting…”
“Ex-experimenting?”
“Yeah…I mean, you know, maybe you just haven’t met the right girl…”
Murray looked at a loss and Dave looked at the woman with amazement. She was actually…turned on by them kissing? Two men? Two men kissing? Some women…liked that?! No way…
“Right…girl?” Murray managed at last.
“Here,” she whispered, drawing out a stool next to him and taking a seat, “How’s about I buy us a shot of tequila…and you tell me if…maybe…I’m the right girl…”
She looked at Dave, giving him a sultry wink, “I can get your friend one too.”
Dave pointed to himself, “Me?”
“Yeah…maybe…I mean…if you two are into experimenting, nothing wrong with a third…experimenter…right?”
Dave swallowed, a bit bowelled over. This woman was something. Hell, she might be too rich for even his blood. Certainly was for Murray’s. Still…
Dave suddenly felt himself grinning and shaking his head, “Nah…you know…I’m good, but, my friend, Murray here…I bet he would love a drink.”
Sienna looked back at Murray, “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah…in fact, I mean, you know…I got some places to be…think he’ll be safe in your…capable hands.”
“Oh yeah. You bet your ass, he will be.” Sienna purred.
Murray looked a bit overwhelmed, “Um, David…”
“You’ll be all right, Mur…just go for it…” Dave turned and left, sort of chuckling to himself. Damn. He was the most awesome, most helpful guy on the planet.
Take that Oprah.
His Mom would be delighted at how helpful he’d been.
Now if he could only get the taste of cinnamon (not ginger…much to his surprise...but cinnamon) out of his mouth.
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Murray/Dave, mentions of Bret/Jemaine
Rating: R
Summary: Dave helps Murray.
Word Count: 4,954
Warnings: Language!...kind of a given with Dave…
Disclaimer: I do not owns the ‘Flight of the Conchords’ or anything connected with them.
Notes: The second of my drabble memes, this one was requested by piratehatter! Again, not a drabble, actually a fic…damn, damn, damn my inability to write something short. Also, some links within the fic! Interactive! Ooo!
In a way, it was totally his mother’s fault.
Or maybe Oprah’s.
Or, really, actually, it was both of them.
Oprah for giving the idea and his mother for having the stones to execute it.
Mrs. Mohumbhai spent most of her time watching television and, a good chunk of that television, was Oprah. Oprah always had something new and exciting to offer on her show, whether it was from recipes to life advice.
Currently, Oprah was really big on how you should ‘give back to the community’ and ‘how good deeds enhanced your karma and chi’ and so on. With that in mind, Mrs. Mohumbhai was also now big on these very same philosophies. And, as such, she was eager to influence (or, more accurately, force) these views on her husband and son.
“You should help someone, Devjeet!” she scolded one night as she mixed some unknown, cake-batter-like-substance in a silver bowl, “You’ll see, it will be good for you! Oprah, she tell me-”
“Mom, Oprah could tell you it would be a good idea to drink drain cleaner to cleanse your system and you’d do it.” Dave said pointedly then cried out as her hand came out lightning quick to hit him upside the back of his head.
She pointed a finger at him, eyes narrowed, “Don’t you talk to me like that!”
Dave sighed and bobbed his head apologetically, eyes downcast, “Sorry,” he rubbed at the back of his head which still stung, wincing, “Jesus…”
She nodded sagely, “Wouldn’t have happened if you had done something nice for someone today. Oprah says, you do nice things, nice things will happen to you. It balances your spirit, your mind…surely you know of someone you could help…”
“Mom, I help people in the Pawn Shop all day! Not to mention Bret and Jemaine-”
“Who?”
“Bret and Jemaine…you know…those guys from Ireland?”
“You mean the weedy little one with the beard and his burly boyfriend with the glasses?”
“Yeah. Them.”
“Devjeet! You help them all the time too! Like the customers! No…you need to help someone new! Someone you never help before! It be good for you…trust me. Trust Oprah!”
Dave took in a loud breath in through his nose and rolled his eyes. Surely his mother would forget about it in a few days. She’d move on to the next big thing Oprah was into and she’d forget all about how she wanted Dave to ‘perform good deeds’.
At least, that was what he had thought at the time.
Unfortunately, it turned out that Oprah was really big on this particular issue and she mentioned it at the end of every show for over a week, thus drawing out his mother’s fascination with it. His father had all ready caved, helping out various neighbors with minor maintenance quirks and the like, thus saving him from his mother’s nightly tongue lashing of ‘who did you help today?’
It had gotten to the point where, unless Dave did something to help someone, he was looking forward to the very real and distinct possibility of not having his mother do his laundry, make his meals and so forth.
“You help somebody, Devjeet! You help them or else!”
‘Or else’ was always the worst threat his mother could give him because god only knew what ‘or else’ she would come up with. He was pretty sure it was just the loss of completed, pesky, domestic chores but it could be worse.
She could try (yet again) to set him up with one of her friend’s daughters…just the thought of that made his skin crawl. He could easily remember the last one. Christ, he had nightmares about It (not her, ‘It’) for weeks.
No, better just to follow his Dad’s lead and crack, find someone to help, do some stupid, menial task to give them a hand and then move on. But who to help? The answer came in the unexpected form of one of his least favorite people.
88888888888
“David!”
Dave groaned and raised his eyes to the heavens in a request for deliverance. Once concluding that such a saving would be denied, he lowered his head and looked at the man who had just spoken.
Murray stood there, all warm smiles, hands in the pockets of his zipped up jacket, his legs basically bare as he wore shorts, and, Christ, why the hell was he wearing those shorts?!
It was something like fifty degrees outside. Maybe this was considered to be hot weather in where-ever-the-hell he was from…Who-ville or New Queenland or some shit like that.
Then again, Dave highly doubted that there was a lot going on in that head of his. Murray’s head looked like it was mostly composed of hair. Seriously, Murray’s hair was more coifed (a word Dave’s Mom had recently used in their weekly Scrabble game…double word score! Dave still didn’t understand how that wasn’t fuckin’ cheating…swear to Christ…) than any bitch he had ever met, and that was saying something.
Still, better to get everything out of the way as quickly as possible, the sooner he rushed the little ginger fruit along, the sooner he would be gone. Dave crossed his arms, eyes narrowed as he asked dryly, “Yes?”
“David…good to see you,” Murray said amicably, his voice sort of shaky and Dave wondered if it was because he was cold because his dumbass was wearing shorts. He hoped that was why the man’s voice was trembling, because any other possible reasons could be…frightening…
“David…I was wondering if…well…maybe I could-could ask you a favor.”
Okay. Yes. The reason Murray’s voice was trembling was, indeed, frightening.
Dave steeled himself for what the New Zealander might say, not giving him an inch to encourage him to continue speaking. Maybe Murray would take the hint, get intimidated out of the store…
“David, you see, the thing is…”
No such luck.
“…the thing is I’m…well…as you may or may not know I’m…separated. Have been for, for over a year now and…well…I-I haven’t had much luck with the ladies…shocking I know!”
Dave didn’t even try to disguise his chuckle, instead scratching at the back of his head a moment before folding his arms again, but, it was obvious now, from both actions and from what Murray had just said, that his posture relaxed just that bit, enough to give Murray the courage to continue.
“…anyway, Bret and Jemaine have…always spoken highly of you and your…lady advice…advice for getting the ladies and I was - I was wondering if…perhaps you’d-you’d help me out.”
Dave raised an eyebrow, one hand waving between them as he said haltingly, “You. Want me. To help you, out?”
“I…yes…well…yes.” Murray said nervously, copper head bobbing up and down like a red apple floating in a pool of water.
Dave sighed and weighed his options. On one hand, Murray was certainly someone he had never helped before and, if he did this, it would certainly square away the problem with his mother. On the other, if he did this, he had to spend time with Murray.
And Murray was…
Well, he was…
Dave couldn’t quite describe it.
Murray was just one of those people.
One of those people that Dave didn’t really want to have anything to do with.
He couldn’t explain exactly why - nothing came to mind past the fact that he was just Murray. Just the sight of him, just talking to him…it was indescribable. It was like being caught in a bear trap - you’d do anything to get out, even gnaw through your own leg.
Still, if anyone needed help, it was, indeed, Murray.
Sighing, Dave held up the index finger of one hand and picked up the phone with the other, “Give me a sec.”
Murray, nodded and, amazingly (and much to Dave’s relief), kept his mouth shut. Dave spoke in his native language into the phone, the conversation clipped. He hung up the phone and then stared at Murray, his entire demeanor aloof. Murray fidgeted from foot to foot, waiting for more, but, once it seemed unforthcoming, he opened his mouth, “I-”
“Just wait, man.” Dave said sharply.
Several more minutes passed before the bell to the Pawn Shop dinged and an attractive, older woman entered. She eyed Murray suspiciously then went behind the counter to stand next to Dave and started talking to him. Murray frowned, because he didn’t know what they were saying to one another and she kept pointing at him, her face incredulous.
Looking at her, Murray couldn’t help but think she actually looked a little like Dave, which was weird. Then, much to his puzzlement, she laughed and shook her head, clapping her hands a few minutes before throwing her arms around Dave’s neck and giving him a hard hug.
She released him, then went up to Murray, patted him on the cheek and, with sparkling eyes, said, “He help you!”
She then exited the shop.
88888888888
“Wow, this is great! Isn’t it, David!”
Dave all ready regretted his decision.
“…two bachelors just tearing up the town…”
Dave rolled his eyes, wishing, yet again that he was dead.
“…yeah, the world’s our oyster and we’re just…going to…you know, eat it…”
Maybe a tractor trailer would come crashing through the bar any minute.
“…or-or maybe find some pearls in it. In the oyster?”
Maybe a plane would fall out of the sky and crush him.
“…wouldn’t that be something?! Pearls! We could retire!”
Maybe something, anything, would happen and he would be delivered from this hell-hole of a situation!
Dave sighed and grabbed his beer, taking a healthy swig and trying to remind himself, yet again, why he agreed to this.
They had been at the bar for twenty minutes and not seen hide nor hair of a chick - any chick, and at this point, Dave was willing to take any chick. Fat chick, bald chick…just some chick to get him away from Murray, or, better, some chick to thrust Murray upon.
That last thought made him smile bitterly. Chick to thrust Murray upon. Right. More like the other way around.
Dave considered himself something of a miracle worker, but getting a woman for Murray was going to be like turning water to wine, and he was no Jesus, though he certainly should be considered for sainthood or Christ-like status considering what he was having to put up with.
Murray just kept talking.
And yes, Dave knew he himself could talk quite a bit, but he had the decency to know when to shut up…at least he felt he did.
Murray just was non-stop. Everything from his dead parrot to his cup of soup for lunch at the consulate. And a lot of the time he’d start off with itemizing it or saying something about how he had to ‘make a note’ of it.
Pencil-pushing ginger dick.
Dave pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to push away another headache. Murray was still speaking, “…David? David?”
“Dude!” Dave nearly shouted, “How many times I gotta tell you, man, it’s Dave, Dave! What? Do I have to spell it?!”
“No, no, I just…do I really have to wear this shirt?”
Dave sighed and looked at Murray. Before agreeing to take him bar hopping, Dave had insisted on a wardrobe change for Murray. They had gone by Dave’s favorite thrift store for shirts and Dave had found the most appropriate one.
It was a yellow shirt with a logo on it that looked like a Discover Card, but instead of saying ‘Discover Card’ on it, it said ‘Pity Sex’ and then, beneath that were the words ‘Gladly Accepted’.
Dave shook his head, “Better than the other one.”
The other shirt Dave had almost gotten Murray was purple and was printed with big words announcing, ‘used to be hot’. Dave had decided that that point was debatable. Had Murray ever been hot? Unlikely.
Murray’s lips screwed up to one side for a moment, then settled as he nodded his head, “Well, I suppose, I mean…you are the expert in these matters.”
Dave couldn’t deny that he liked hearing that. And, while Murray was annoying (and he was, really, really annoying), Dave would be lying if he said he didn’t somewhat enjoy the hero worshiping glances that Murray occasionally sent his way.
Bitch was like a six year old who got the chance to hang out with Superman. And who couldn’t blame him? As far as Dave was concerned, he was pretty fucking sweet.
“I am the expert,” Dave said sagely, “And, as an expert, we got to go over some ground rules.”
“Oh! This sounds important! Can I-”
“Bitch, seriously, you draw out that little notepad again and I’m going to slap you!” Dave warned, then continued, “Murray, you don’t…see, your problem is you think too much…or, you know, you try to think too much. You need to relax.”
Murray’s right eye twitched a bit and Dave knew, just knew, it was, indeed, an internal struggle for Murray to not draw out his notepad now and write this ‘important’ information down. Still, he managed and Dave continued, “You need to relax and not be…try not to look so…it’s like, you’re a douche.”
“A douche?”
“Yeah, man, a douche, a dickhead, a pencil pusher, a little bitch, a ginger nut-”
“Yes, yes, Davi-Dave! I get the picture!” Murray snapped waspishly.
“Right, well, you look like that. So, stop it.”
“How do I-”
“Well, take me for instance,” Dave said, arms opening to sort of wave over the display of his awesome, “Here I am, leaned against the bar, all casual, beer in my hand. I don’t give a shit that anyone’s here. In fact, everyone in here but me can just go to hell and I’m cool with it. See? Cool with it. I’m the man. I’m the shit. And everyone else can just eat it.”
“…the…why would I want to be shit?”
Dave groaned and took another deep draft of his beer before continuing, “Murray, again, thinking too much. Look, just get a beer, drink, relax…you want women to come to you, not the other way around.”
“Yes, but…I mean…they never come to me. None have come so far tonight-”
“Yeah, they haven’t come ‘cause you’re all on edge. You know that saying, ‘if you watch a pot of water it won’t boil’ or some shit like that?”
“…not really.”
“Really? No saying like that in England?”
“New Zealand. And…I mean…we having a saying.”
“And that is?”
“’Respect your sheep, and he’ll respect you’.”
Dave’s eyes narrowed and he reared his head, “Goddamn, man. What the hell is wrong with the place you come from?”
Murray opened his mouth but Dave cut him off, “Look, never mind, the point I’m trying to make is, is that if you would just take the stick…or hell, the sheep, if you will…out of your ass and relax, girls might actually start to flow in here and come over.”
Murray sighed and, with a slight tilt of his head, got a little closer to the bar. He tried signaling the bartender over and, naturally, was ignored, until Dave put his fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply, causing the bartender to look up. Dave pointed to himself and the man came over.
Dave gestured openly to Murray and, though it took him a minute to understand, Murray eventually caught on and he turned his attention to the signaled bartender, asking for a beer.
The bartender looked at Murray and then looked at Dave. Dave shrugged apologetically and the bartender gave him a look that somehow managed to say ‘my condolences’, before grabbing a beer bottle, snapping off the cap and handing it over to Murray.
Murray sipped at the beer tentatively, then, despite wincing, licked his lips and tried to look pleased, “Yeah! Yum! This is…I’m a cool guy now!”
“You’re with a cool guy now, big dif,” Dave said pointedly, shaking his head and sort of smirking as he took another swig of his own drink.
It took several minutes but, once he was through his first beer and on to his second, Murray started to relax.
In fact, he was probably a little too relaxed.
Dave found himself occasionally having to push Murray back on to his stool and he sighed, crossed between being amused and being annoyed, as it just figured that the little Icelandic ginger couldn’t hold his liquor.
Still, the alcohol seemed to do the trick in distracting them both and Dave was pleasantly surprised to see some women finally start to filter into the bar. He grabbed the attention of a few and, being the good Samaritan he was, he ushered several of them along to Murray.
Murray was slightly inebriated and doing a pretty good job of striking out every time. However, Dave mused, the times between each strikeout was extending. Maybe if they stayed all throughout the night and into the next day, Murray would at least get a phone number.
Dave himself would have offered advice, but he was doing pretty nice with a hot, redheaded honey he had kept for himself. She had said her name at some point, Raquel or Rachel or maybe it was Amanda, something, it didn’t really matter . All that mattered were the healthy C-cup breasts that were practically spilling out over the top of her tank.
Unfortunately for Dave, his eyes were there just a bit too long and she noticed, letting out a little huff, nose in the air as she turned on her heels and left him. She made some sharp remark about how if that was all he was going to look at, then he could look elsewhere. He responded that that was pretty much impossible, as her breasts were elsewhere as they were pretty much everywhere.
She turned around and slapped him.
Rubbing his stinging face, he scowled. Jesus, if she didn’t want people looking at them she shouldn’t practically put them on a dinner plate.
Dave looked over to see Murray receive a similar slap and, instead of feeling amusement, as he imagined he normally would, he couldn’t help but feel a bit of compassion.
Yeah, know where you’re coming from, buddy.
Dave shook his head and wondered whether or not he should just call the evening quits when ‘It’ walked in. Dave swallowed, terrified. It was the same ‘It’ his mother had fixed him up with months ago. Whose daughter was she? Mrs.
Lahori's? Mrs. Karahi’s? And what was Its’ name? Sherri? Ali?
Did it really matter?
All that mattered was that It was coming over here and if It looked up It would see him and recognize him and oh god, oh god…have to get away before…
“Dave?!”
Dave groaned and buried his head in his hands.
Too late.
It lumbered over, face still as terrifying as he remembered, “Devjeet Mohumbhai, it is good to see you!”
“Good to see you too…you,” Dave added lamely, still unable to recall Its' name.
It looked at him lustfully, “It’s been a while, Dave, you look good. Real good.”
“Yeah, you look…” Dave just trailed off, not wanting to continue. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do. If this was anyone else, anyone else, he could just tell them to ‘fuck off’ but this was the daughter of one of his Mom’s friends which meant he had to be nice unless he wanted his dick nailed to the cement floor of the Pawn Shop by his ever loving mother.
It ran a hand through Its’ hair, cooing, “You know, I’ve thought a lot about you since the last time I saw you.”
“Oh…yeah?”
“Yeah. Our date was so great but it felt…you know…incomplete,” a disproportionately large, man-like hand found Dave’s face and stroked it. He tried his best not to shudder in revolution.
He scrabbled his brains, desperate for some kind of out, there had to be some way, some salvation from this nightmare. He couldn’t take It hitting on him so vehemently. No way in hell would he tap that. The only thing that could possibly tap that surface was an honest to god jackhammer and it would probably break the moment it hit Its’…
And Dave did shudder this time as the idea of Its’ privates floated unnecessarily into his mind.
Dave suddenly saw Murray over one shoulder and a thought came to mind. A strange, truly fucked up thought.
Fuck.
He couldn’t do that.
He was desperate, but he couldn’t do that.
Had to be some other way, had to be…
No way.
It spoke again, “You know, my parents are out of town, I have the whole place to myself-”
Oh god. Please. Don’t.
“If you wanted to come over, maybe we could…you know…have a bottle of wine…watch a movie…”
He couldn’t possibly…
But no other ideas were coming to mind...
Time was running out...
Desperate times…desperate measures…
“…but, I mean, just so you know, the heat is broken and it’s still cold outside so…we might have to huddle up for…you know, body warmth.” Another stroke of that hand along his face.
“Can’t! Here with somebody!” Dave squeaked, heart pounding, blood in his ears. Oh god. What was he doing?
The hand, however, thankfully disappeared and It frowned sulkily, “Oh?”
“Yeah, yeah…here with…someone.”
“Who?” It snapped petulantly, “Who is she? I’d like to meet her!”
“…’s…over…” Dave waved in Murray’s direction and It looked confused, then smirking, said silkily, “Dave, sweetie, that’s a man.”
“Yeeeah.” Dave drew out and seriously, seriously, wished he would just drop dead. Right there. Right this instant. There was no way, no way, he had even made the slightest suggestion, the slightest hint, said in the slightest breath that he was, in any way, any shape, or any form gay.
Accept he had.
It threw Its’ head back and laughed, the sound like charcoal being dumped from the back of a truck, “Devjeet! You’re teasing me!”
Dave’s lips pressed together hard enough to injure himself. In for a penny, in for a pound. He nodded roughly. It stopped laughing, “Seriously?”
Dave breathed out a tiny ‘yes’, because that was all he could manage. His lungs felt like they were going to burst.
“…he’s…you can’t…I mean…look at him.”
Yes. Just look at him, Dave thought, glancing at Murray.
At this moment, Murray was sliding forward, almost falling off his stool yet again. Chin close to hitting the bar. He caught himself, just barely, and gripped the wood of the stool as if it was a lifeline, as he dragged himself upright, a ridiculous smile on his face.
Dave wanted to kill himself.
“Devjeet, maybe you are…just confused? I mean he’s…I don’t think he’s your type.”
Dave almost wanted to burst into hysterical laughter at that but knew if he did he wouldn’t stop and he’d end up in a straight jacket. Instead he just took in the world’s deep, largest, and longest breath, voice high as he said, “Yeah, well, he is! He’s my…you know…my bitch.”
It looked highly skeptical, crossing Its' bony arms, “Yeah, I just…I don’t see it.”
Dave licked his dry lips with a dry tongue, remarking curtly, “Well…you…will.”
Dave walked like a man going to the gallows as he drew away from It and went towards Murray.
His feet felt weighted and once he got there he wanted to sink into the floor.
The bar was littered with glasses, bottles; he could just break one and slit his wrists…
“Dave! There you are! ‘Ve miss’d you!” Murray slurred, face overly happy.
Dave looked over his shoulder and saw It watching him with great scrutiny.
Dave closed his eyes tight and prayed to every deity he knew of.
Then he opened his eyes and looked at Murray steely. He could do this. He wasn’t a pussy. He was a man. He was Devjeet Mohumbhai. He was Dave. He could do anything.
“Murray, I’m going to do something, and I just need you to go with it, all right?”
Murray, not fully comprehending, managed a stupid, “Huh?”
“’S life or death, man, okay?” And, in a way, it was. Dave was going to die just a little bit so he could avoid a life of dealing with It. This had better send It away and packing for the rest of his life because if it didn’t…
He couldn’t think of that now.
His mind was made up.
He just had to make this quick.
Like ripping off a band-aid.
Like robbing a bank - in and out and gone and forgotten about forever and ever.
Murray, still hopelessly clueless, just shrugged, “Yeah. ‘K…sure, mate…wh’ever you need…”
Dave sighed deeply. He was killing himself. Right now. Right here. Death. Real death. Death to everything he was, everything he knew…
He looked at Murray’s pale, freckled face, his ginger beard and ridiculous, coifed ginger hair.
He looked back at It again.
Between the two…
Dave let out another breath, this one of steeling determination and, before he could get cold feet, he cupped Murray’s face and kissed him.
Murray let out a surprised squeal. A literal squeal. He, again, almost fell off the stool and Dave held tight, almost bruising him in the process.
Dave tried to make the kiss look as good as possible without opening his mouth, because, Christ he was not going to open his fucking mouth, but it had to look convincing, had to look like something It would fucking buy and if It ever told anyone about this he’d say It was a goddamn liar.
He opened his eyes and saw It was gone, most likely having stormed off in a huff and he released Murray. He gagged and spit and rubbed at his mouth with both hands. He drank the rest of his beer and all of Murray’s and Murray just sat there, stunned.
“…David…was-was that some kind of…initiation?”
Dave didn’t answer, his head in his hands.
“…like a…hazing or…maybe…maybe a cultural acceptance rite of your culture-”
“Christ! Murray! NO! All right?! It was something I did to get a crazy, scary bitch off my back.”
“…I don’t see anything on your back.”
Dave slumped on to the bar.
“Hey, hey there…” Murray said soothingly and he patted Dave’s arm, “It was…I mean…it wasn’t a bad kiss. You know…for a kiss I…got from a man…”
Dave raised his head and glared at Murray. He pointed a finger in his face; voice deadly, “Murray, you tell anybody, anybody, about this…and I’ll kill you.”
“David…”
“I’m not joking, Murray! They won’t be able to find all the pieces to put your Humpety-Dumptey ass back together again if you so much as breathe a word-”
“David,” Murray said, voice clear and more serious than Dave had ever heard it, “I won’t tell anyone.”
Dave took in a breath through his nose and then nodded, a little comforted.
Murray just licked his lips and chuckled, “Still…not a bad kiss though.”
Dave opened his mouth to, god, he didn’t know what, when suddenly an attractive woman with black hair sauntered over. She had nothing but eyes for Murray, cutting between the two of them, and she eased close him, “Hello there.”
“Why…um…yes…hello there,” Murray offered uneasily.
“My name’s Sienna…what’s yours?”
“I’m…it’s…Murray. Murray Hewitt.”
“Mm, nice name, Murray,” she purred, a hand coming up to brush at his chest, “I just saw you and…your friend’s little…interaction.”
“Oh, yes, well that was-”
“You two been together long?”
Murray frowned, confused, “No. Well, I mean…we came here about an hour ago…”
Sienna laughed, “Oh my, you are just…so adorable.”
“Oh…well…thank you?”
“So…you and him…a permanent thing?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You guys dating or…you just experimenting…”
“Ex-experimenting?”
“Yeah…I mean, you know, maybe you just haven’t met the right girl…”
Murray looked at a loss and Dave looked at the woman with amazement. She was actually…turned on by them kissing? Two men? Two men kissing? Some women…liked that?! No way…
“Right…girl?” Murray managed at last.
“Here,” she whispered, drawing out a stool next to him and taking a seat, “How’s about I buy us a shot of tequila…and you tell me if…maybe…I’m the right girl…”
She looked at Dave, giving him a sultry wink, “I can get your friend one too.”
Dave pointed to himself, “Me?”
“Yeah…maybe…I mean…if you two are into experimenting, nothing wrong with a third…experimenter…right?”
Dave swallowed, a bit bowelled over. This woman was something. Hell, she might be too rich for even his blood. Certainly was for Murray’s. Still…
Dave suddenly felt himself grinning and shaking his head, “Nah…you know…I’m good, but, my friend, Murray here…I bet he would love a drink.”
Sienna looked back at Murray, “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah…in fact, I mean, you know…I got some places to be…think he’ll be safe in your…capable hands.”
“Oh yeah. You bet your ass, he will be.” Sienna purred.
Murray looked a bit overwhelmed, “Um, David…”
“You’ll be all right, Mur…just go for it…” Dave turned and left, sort of chuckling to himself. Damn. He was the most awesome, most helpful guy on the planet.
Take that Oprah.
His Mom would be delighted at how helpful he’d been.
Now if he could only get the taste of cinnamon (not ginger…much to his surprise...but cinnamon) out of his mouth.