[Original: Drabble] "Forgotten Coffee Out of Order" [Zeke Jones, G]
Title: Forgotten Coffee Out of Order
Prompt: writerverse challenge #17 it’s all in a name (write a story based on a title)
Word Count: 495
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: Zeke could really use a cup of coffee about now.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Forgotten Coffee Out of Order
As soon as the precinct door closed behind me, I felt a little warmer without the biting wind, and I stopped in the lobby to let my fingers warm up. Someday, I thought, I would be the senior partner, and I could send somebody else to pick up files from the Auxiliary Police Archives two streets down on a freezing cold night.
When my fingers started to hurt from their warming-up, I peeled off my gloves and headed up the stairs. My scarf came off at the third floor, and by the fifth I’d unbuttoned my coat. Reaching the top floor and our shared office space, I took off my coat and draped it over the back of my chair. According to the clock over Howell’s desk, I was due for another cup of coffee.
My partner had been rationing my caffeine intake lately, trying to keep being from being too jittery, or too loud, or something. So far, it had just made both of us more cranky, and I was pretty sure he was going to give it up, soon. But it had been three hours since my last cup (most of that spent wandering around gathering files) and I could now get another without getting any grief for it.
Howell wasn’t at his desk- probably tracking down some more paperwork for me to do- so I wandered down the hall to the small kitchenette. I grabbed a cup that was probably clean, set it under the coffee machine and pushed the button.
Nothing happened.
The cold must have freeze-dried my brain, because after I had stared at the nonfunctioning machine for a moment, I remembered that Sergeant Womack had, in fact, broken the heating element that afternoon. He’d made a point of apologizing to Officer Chavez, Officer O’Rilley and me, the biggest coffee drinkers on our shift.
“Well, crap,” I muttered.
There was some instant in one of the cabinets, but any good coffee drinker would use that only as a last resort. So, my choices were not to have any coffee at all, or to go back outside into the cold (very, very cold) night and down the street to buy a cup.
“Crap,” I said again.
“Jones, you had better have brought back that file,” said Howell’s voice, coming from down the hall.
“It’s on your desk, sir!” I called, leaving the kitchen with a sigh.
Howell was standing at his desk, shrugging out of his coat. “And the autopsy reports?”
“They’re in the packet,” I told him. “And there’s-”
I stopped. There was a steaming mug of coffee sitting in the middle of the clean spot on my desk.
“Sir?” I asked.
Howell didn’t look up from arranging the files over his own desk. “I expect you to do your share of this, Hezekia,” he said. “Even if it means feeding your habit.”
I grinned and took a grateful sip. “It’s so nice to have someone who understands me.”
THE END
Current Mood:
peaceful
Prompt: writerverse challenge #17 it’s all in a name (write a story based on a title)
Word Count: 495
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: Zeke could really use a cup of coffee about now.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Forgotten Coffee Out of Order
As soon as the precinct door closed behind me, I felt a little warmer without the biting wind, and I stopped in the lobby to let my fingers warm up. Someday, I thought, I would be the senior partner, and I could send somebody else to pick up files from the Auxiliary Police Archives two streets down on a freezing cold night.
When my fingers started to hurt from their warming-up, I peeled off my gloves and headed up the stairs. My scarf came off at the third floor, and by the fifth I’d unbuttoned my coat. Reaching the top floor and our shared office space, I took off my coat and draped it over the back of my chair. According to the clock over Howell’s desk, I was due for another cup of coffee.
My partner had been rationing my caffeine intake lately, trying to keep being from being too jittery, or too loud, or something. So far, it had just made both of us more cranky, and I was pretty sure he was going to give it up, soon. But it had been three hours since my last cup (most of that spent wandering around gathering files) and I could now get another without getting any grief for it.
Howell wasn’t at his desk- probably tracking down some more paperwork for me to do- so I wandered down the hall to the small kitchenette. I grabbed a cup that was probably clean, set it under the coffee machine and pushed the button.
Nothing happened.
The cold must have freeze-dried my brain, because after I had stared at the nonfunctioning machine for a moment, I remembered that Sergeant Womack had, in fact, broken the heating element that afternoon. He’d made a point of apologizing to Officer Chavez, Officer O’Rilley and me, the biggest coffee drinkers on our shift.
“Well, crap,” I muttered.
There was some instant in one of the cabinets, but any good coffee drinker would use that only as a last resort. So, my choices were not to have any coffee at all, or to go back outside into the cold (very, very cold) night and down the street to buy a cup.
“Crap,” I said again.
“Jones, you had better have brought back that file,” said Howell’s voice, coming from down the hall.
“It’s on your desk, sir!” I called, leaving the kitchen with a sigh.
Howell was standing at his desk, shrugging out of his coat. “And the autopsy reports?”
“They’re in the packet,” I told him. “And there’s-”
I stopped. There was a steaming mug of coffee sitting in the middle of the clean spot on my desk.
“Sir?” I asked.
Howell didn’t look up from arranging the files over his own desk. “I expect you to do your share of this, Hezekia,” he said. “Even if it means feeding your habit.”
I grinned and took a grateful sip. “It’s so nice to have someone who understands me.”
THE END
Current Mood:
peaceful