Twenty Questions in a Laundry Mat (Fic)
Title: Twenty Questions in a Laundry Mat
Universe: Wavering Lights
Characters: C. Eppes, C. Edgerton, mentions of family members.
Word Count: 2, 181
Rating: PG
Summary: She arches an eyebrow. “You mean like the game twenty questions?”
Disclaimer: I own them. Ha!
Author's Notes: Follows Pavement and Wavering Lights
Feedback: Is really appreciated and feeds the Muse.
--------------------------
She’s in between reviewing notes on tracking methods and the next move her villain will make when a hand sneaks into her field of vision. Having not heard anyone approach her, she starts like an animal. Her pen falters and her words die.
Cordelia straightens her spine, lifting her head just in time to catch the owner of said sneaky hand as he grabs several of her candy orange slices. ‘The Glare’ comes out, the one that could snap her two brothers to attention, frighten her cousins into going along with her plans, and convince her friends to do as she said.
Apparently though, he is immune to ‘The Glare’ and has never had to deal with the anger of one Cordelia Margaret Eppes. That is the only conclusion she can make as to why he has not returned her candy.
Caleb Edgerton grins at her from across the aisle and cheekily pops one of her sugared sweets into his mouth. He chews slowly, finishes, inclines his head and then says without any introduction of any kind, “You’re kind of dressed up for a laundry mat. I thought the whole point of laundry day was because you had run out of clothes to wear. At least that’s what the rest of us use it for here.”
Blinking, she looks down at herself, forgetting what she had put on this morning. A pair of pants and a navy blouse was all she had bothered with.
Cordelia is confused and then she suddenly understands what he’s teasing her about.
She supposes that he does have a point but then again it’s the year 2032. One would think that a laundry mat would no longer exist and would have been replaced. But then again, this is the FBI Academy they are talking about here. Update with the latest military and such technology, yes. Laundry machines and other related items, no.
Cordelia lifts one shoulder in a shrug and points over at him with her pen. “And you don’t seem to have any clothes at all. Last time I checked that seemed to be the whole point behind a laundry mat.”
He only grins and inclines his head again. “Point well taken.”
They make for an odd sight, not just because they are the only people in the store.
With her writing essentials spread out around her, papers, notebooks, notes, pens, Cordelia has claimed her own space. Indian Style, she sits atop the washing machine that is currently cleaning her clothes. The bag of her favorite candy is beside her, just the right distance from her left hand so that she doesn’t have to pause in her writing.
Caleb, probably having noticed her in the window, is perched on the dryer across from her, palms braced on the white metal. His legs swing on the floor as that crooked grin remains on his face.
She waits for him to say something; after all he was the one who found her. He opts for eating the last orange slice he filched from her.
Two minutes pass with only the humming of the machine beneath her and Cordelia moves to return to her notebook. Let him sit there if he wants.
However, the federal agent sees that as the perfect time to begin talking again and her thoughts slam to a halt for the second time.
“So,” his foot bangs against the metal dryer with a clang. “What are you writing over there?”
He isn’t the first agent to ask her this and he undoubtedly will not be the last. “I am working on getting my villain to the next town and away from my hero.”
Caleb takes her satirical answer in check and replies with one of his own. “Ah. So a novel. That would make this writing a hobby of yours?”
Her eyes flicker upward and she instantly feels the need to correct him. “No. A hobby is something that one pursues outside one’s regular occupation. Dressage was a hobby of mine. Writing, on the other hand, is not, as you put it, a hobby. Writing is my career. At least it’s what I hope my career will be. Otherwise four years of Ivy League tuition has really been a waste.”
His face holds amusement in its lines. He latches onto one word from her tirade and turns it into his next question, fingers curling under his chin. “Dressage? You rode horses?”
Cordelia notes the way his gaze takes in her thighs and she fights the urge to roll her eyes. All men were the same. Although, she is impressed that he knows what dressage is. “Yes. My brothers played baseball and soccer. I decided to take a different route. I was quite good at it. You’re looking at a winner of several first place ribbons and even a few Best-In-Show,” she brags with an exaggerated wink.
Eyes shining, Caleb laughs for a few seconds; she finds herself pleased that she was the cause of that sound. She bites her lip a little bit and lifts an eyebrow when he goes on with another question.
“You said you had brothers? There are more of you?” He asks with a mock gasp.
‘How many questions is he going to ask, she wonders, and why is she just answering them?’
Again Cordelia finds herself compelled to answer, giving no thought to the fact that she is pouring out secrets to a stranger, albeit a handsome stranger. It is as if something in the universe has bent her will to this. And she’s not sure whether she likes or not, but her mind is slowly leaning towards the latter.
Nodding, the pen taps against her thigh. “Yes. I’m the middle child. Donovan is the oldest and Edward is the youngest.”
When Caleb opens his mouth, she quickly makes a move of her own, intent on changing whatever is going on in this empty laundry mat.
She jabs her pen at his chest and rearranges her legs, shifting to get comfortable. “Why do they call you Bingo?
He hops down and before she can do anything snags another few orange slices.
She swears that if he tries to take another, then she will have to stab him with her pen.
Swallowing one, he shakes his head and states with a firm tone, “No. You don’t get to ask questions. My turn after your questioning the other night.”
Cordelia splutters and her voice is downright indignant. “That’s not fair. I only asked you three questions the other night and you’ve already asked me that many. And stolen my candy. That’s not fair at all.”
He mockingly pretends to think about her statement, amusement dancing in his eyes, cocking his head to the right. “Hmmm… I suppose you have a point. How about this then? I ask a question, you give me an answer, and then you get to ask me a question. And we go back and forth.”
She arches an eyebrow. “You mean like the game twenty questions?”
Caleb shrugs and nods. “Does anyone still even call it that? But, sure. I’ll even let you go first.”
They settle back into their opposite poses across the aisle and she repeats her earlier question about his intriguing nickname.
His face slips into a grimace, replacing the pleasant expression from before; Cordelia almost feels bad but settles for grinning in triumph. “Jack and I were tracking a former mob connection in the Michigan area. Let’s just say he had some information on his former associates that the Bureau wanted to know about. Anyway, when Jack and I found him, he was in this recreation center, playing, as you can guess, bingo. Long story short, I went in, played bingo undercover, and ended up winning. And now I can’t live the name down.”
Frozen in disbelief, Cordelia stares at him, blinking rapidly. Then, she finds herself dissolving into an embarrassing fit of laughter that she is powerless to stop. Clamping a hand over her giggling mouth, Cordelia manages to stop at Caleb’s stony expression. “I’m sorry. Really I am. It’s just… the image of hardened and serious federal agents playing bingo is quite amusing.”
He groans and shakes his head. Huffing, it’s his turn now. “Had enough laughs, ‘Delia? How old are you?”
Since she asked personal questions the last time they were together, she concedes that it’s fair for him to ask some. “Twenty two in October. Any you?”
“Twenty five. Where do you go to school?”
She proudly states, “Harvard.”
He whistles and settles back on his elbows against the dryer. “Well, I’ll be. The Academy must be honored by the presence of Miss Ivy-League-‘Delia. Sure beats my James Madison degree.”
Cordelia rolls her eyes and lobs a perfectly good orange slice at him. It hits him in the chest and falls to his lap.
After that they fall into a regular pattern of her asking, him answering, him asking, her answering, and repeat. It’s easy and minutes tick by, noticeable only by the moving dial on the washer beneath her.
Cordelia learns that his favorite color is green, he can play the guitar after being taught by his step-father, his biological father showed him how to shoot a sniper rifle, he’s a dog person, enjoys reading Hemingway and Wilde while on the road, and can actually cook.
In turn Caleb learns from her answers that her favorite color is indeed crimson red, her father taught her how to throw a softball at the age of three, she had decided to become a writer after reading Faulkner in the eleventh grade, has a large scar on her knee from climbing trees, and is firmly addicted to coffee.
He laughs at her when she reveals her caffeine secret. When the laughs die away, he looks out the window for a moment, out into the street, and then directly at her face. “Come out with me Friday.”
Cordelia stills and blinks heavily. Quietly, she asks, “Is that a question?”
Brown eyes, hopeful and serious all at the same time, never waver in their gaze. “It can be if you want. But I am serious. Jack and Fiona will probably be there too, but I want you to.”
She is a master of words, having devoted the last three years of her life to dictionaries and thesauruses and the English language.
And so she sits and stares at his near black gaze and applies words to Special Agent Caleb Edgerton, as if he was a character in her novel.
Starting with the physical first, it would be naive to say that he is not good looking. Caleb is in fact extremely handsome, in a dark and somewhat mysterious way. A tall frame gives way to lean legs and shaped shoulders. Hair that is thick and seems to be made for fingers to run through. A strong jaw and face that can harden and soften in seconds.
Emotional wise, Cordelia has picked up that he is firmly dedicated to his oath as an agent. He laughs hard and broods quickly. He’s easy around people, judging by his interaction with her, but is reserved too.
He is a man that Donovan, her older brother, would love to be friends with and hate him to have any attraction to his baby sister.
Her father, the Assistant Director, would note the fine agent he is.
Her mother would shake her head and tell Cordelia that it would be a mistake; after all she had fallen in love her father years ago and knows how hard it is with an agent.
Aurélie and Lauren, her closest girlfriends, would giggle and remark that Cordelia had better get on board fast.
Cordelia sits atop her washing clothes and knows that she can say no and get rid of him. Sure, he will persist and follow for a little while longer, but he will eventually give up. It wouldn’t be the first time she has dissuaded a man from her.
But…
She finds that she doesn’t want to say no.
She doesn’t care what her brother or parents or friends would say. It’s what she wants.
And she wants this, whatever this is between the two of them.
Cordelia smiles and bites her bottom lip. “Okay. Besides, I don’t think I have anything better to do,” she teases.
Smacking his hands on his thighs, Caleb hops down. “Excellent. Now, I have to be going. Federal agent business. I leave you to return to your villain. Thank you for the game and the candy.”
She watches as he winks and winds his way to the door. “And what exactly are we doing Friday night?”
Door open, letting in the late August breeze, he hollers back, “It’s a surprise.”
Then, he’s gone, the bell above the door signaling his leaving.
“I look forward to it.” Cordelia says to no one in the empty laundry mat and picks up her pen and notebook, trying to resume her writing.
A smile plays on her lips and her pen moves.
Universe: Wavering Lights
Characters: C. Eppes, C. Edgerton, mentions of family members.
Word Count: 2, 181
Rating: PG
Summary: She arches an eyebrow. “You mean like the game twenty questions?”
Disclaimer: I own them. Ha!
Author's Notes: Follows Pavement and Wavering Lights
Feedback: Is really appreciated and feeds the Muse.
--------------------------
She’s in between reviewing notes on tracking methods and the next move her villain will make when a hand sneaks into her field of vision. Having not heard anyone approach her, she starts like an animal. Her pen falters and her words die.
Cordelia straightens her spine, lifting her head just in time to catch the owner of said sneaky hand as he grabs several of her candy orange slices. ‘The Glare’ comes out, the one that could snap her two brothers to attention, frighten her cousins into going along with her plans, and convince her friends to do as she said.
Apparently though, he is immune to ‘The Glare’ and has never had to deal with the anger of one Cordelia Margaret Eppes. That is the only conclusion she can make as to why he has not returned her candy.
Caleb Edgerton grins at her from across the aisle and cheekily pops one of her sugared sweets into his mouth. He chews slowly, finishes, inclines his head and then says without any introduction of any kind, “You’re kind of dressed up for a laundry mat. I thought the whole point of laundry day was because you had run out of clothes to wear. At least that’s what the rest of us use it for here.”
Blinking, she looks down at herself, forgetting what she had put on this morning. A pair of pants and a navy blouse was all she had bothered with.
Cordelia is confused and then she suddenly understands what he’s teasing her about.
She supposes that he does have a point but then again it’s the year 2032. One would think that a laundry mat would no longer exist and would have been replaced. But then again, this is the FBI Academy they are talking about here. Update with the latest military and such technology, yes. Laundry machines and other related items, no.
Cordelia lifts one shoulder in a shrug and points over at him with her pen. “And you don’t seem to have any clothes at all. Last time I checked that seemed to be the whole point behind a laundry mat.”
He only grins and inclines his head again. “Point well taken.”
They make for an odd sight, not just because they are the only people in the store.
With her writing essentials spread out around her, papers, notebooks, notes, pens, Cordelia has claimed her own space. Indian Style, she sits atop the washing machine that is currently cleaning her clothes. The bag of her favorite candy is beside her, just the right distance from her left hand so that she doesn’t have to pause in her writing.
Caleb, probably having noticed her in the window, is perched on the dryer across from her, palms braced on the white metal. His legs swing on the floor as that crooked grin remains on his face.
She waits for him to say something; after all he was the one who found her. He opts for eating the last orange slice he filched from her.
Two minutes pass with only the humming of the machine beneath her and Cordelia moves to return to her notebook. Let him sit there if he wants.
However, the federal agent sees that as the perfect time to begin talking again and her thoughts slam to a halt for the second time.
“So,” his foot bangs against the metal dryer with a clang. “What are you writing over there?”
He isn’t the first agent to ask her this and he undoubtedly will not be the last. “I am working on getting my villain to the next town and away from my hero.”
Caleb takes her satirical answer in check and replies with one of his own. “Ah. So a novel. That would make this writing a hobby of yours?”
Her eyes flicker upward and she instantly feels the need to correct him. “No. A hobby is something that one pursues outside one’s regular occupation. Dressage was a hobby of mine. Writing, on the other hand, is not, as you put it, a hobby. Writing is my career. At least it’s what I hope my career will be. Otherwise four years of Ivy League tuition has really been a waste.”
His face holds amusement in its lines. He latches onto one word from her tirade and turns it into his next question, fingers curling under his chin. “Dressage? You rode horses?”
Cordelia notes the way his gaze takes in her thighs and she fights the urge to roll her eyes. All men were the same. Although, she is impressed that he knows what dressage is. “Yes. My brothers played baseball and soccer. I decided to take a different route. I was quite good at it. You’re looking at a winner of several first place ribbons and even a few Best-In-Show,” she brags with an exaggerated wink.
Eyes shining, Caleb laughs for a few seconds; she finds herself pleased that she was the cause of that sound. She bites her lip a little bit and lifts an eyebrow when he goes on with another question.
“You said you had brothers? There are more of you?” He asks with a mock gasp.
‘How many questions is he going to ask, she wonders, and why is she just answering them?’
Again Cordelia finds herself compelled to answer, giving no thought to the fact that she is pouring out secrets to a stranger, albeit a handsome stranger. It is as if something in the universe has bent her will to this. And she’s not sure whether she likes or not, but her mind is slowly leaning towards the latter.
Nodding, the pen taps against her thigh. “Yes. I’m the middle child. Donovan is the oldest and Edward is the youngest.”
When Caleb opens his mouth, she quickly makes a move of her own, intent on changing whatever is going on in this empty laundry mat.
She jabs her pen at his chest and rearranges her legs, shifting to get comfortable. “Why do they call you Bingo?
He hops down and before she can do anything snags another few orange slices.
She swears that if he tries to take another, then she will have to stab him with her pen.
Swallowing one, he shakes his head and states with a firm tone, “No. You don’t get to ask questions. My turn after your questioning the other night.”
Cordelia splutters and her voice is downright indignant. “That’s not fair. I only asked you three questions the other night and you’ve already asked me that many. And stolen my candy. That’s not fair at all.”
He mockingly pretends to think about her statement, amusement dancing in his eyes, cocking his head to the right. “Hmmm… I suppose you have a point. How about this then? I ask a question, you give me an answer, and then you get to ask me a question. And we go back and forth.”
She arches an eyebrow. “You mean like the game twenty questions?”
Caleb shrugs and nods. “Does anyone still even call it that? But, sure. I’ll even let you go first.”
They settle back into their opposite poses across the aisle and she repeats her earlier question about his intriguing nickname.
His face slips into a grimace, replacing the pleasant expression from before; Cordelia almost feels bad but settles for grinning in triumph. “Jack and I were tracking a former mob connection in the Michigan area. Let’s just say he had some information on his former associates that the Bureau wanted to know about. Anyway, when Jack and I found him, he was in this recreation center, playing, as you can guess, bingo. Long story short, I went in, played bingo undercover, and ended up winning. And now I can’t live the name down.”
Frozen in disbelief, Cordelia stares at him, blinking rapidly. Then, she finds herself dissolving into an embarrassing fit of laughter that she is powerless to stop. Clamping a hand over her giggling mouth, Cordelia manages to stop at Caleb’s stony expression. “I’m sorry. Really I am. It’s just… the image of hardened and serious federal agents playing bingo is quite amusing.”
He groans and shakes his head. Huffing, it’s his turn now. “Had enough laughs, ‘Delia? How old are you?”
Since she asked personal questions the last time they were together, she concedes that it’s fair for him to ask some. “Twenty two in October. Any you?”
“Twenty five. Where do you go to school?”
She proudly states, “Harvard.”
He whistles and settles back on his elbows against the dryer. “Well, I’ll be. The Academy must be honored by the presence of Miss Ivy-League-‘Delia. Sure beats my James Madison degree.”
Cordelia rolls her eyes and lobs a perfectly good orange slice at him. It hits him in the chest and falls to his lap.
After that they fall into a regular pattern of her asking, him answering, him asking, her answering, and repeat. It’s easy and minutes tick by, noticeable only by the moving dial on the washer beneath her.
Cordelia learns that his favorite color is green, he can play the guitar after being taught by his step-father, his biological father showed him how to shoot a sniper rifle, he’s a dog person, enjoys reading Hemingway and Wilde while on the road, and can actually cook.
In turn Caleb learns from her answers that her favorite color is indeed crimson red, her father taught her how to throw a softball at the age of three, she had decided to become a writer after reading Faulkner in the eleventh grade, has a large scar on her knee from climbing trees, and is firmly addicted to coffee.
He laughs at her when she reveals her caffeine secret. When the laughs die away, he looks out the window for a moment, out into the street, and then directly at her face. “Come out with me Friday.”
Cordelia stills and blinks heavily. Quietly, she asks, “Is that a question?”
Brown eyes, hopeful and serious all at the same time, never waver in their gaze. “It can be if you want. But I am serious. Jack and Fiona will probably be there too, but I want you to.”
She is a master of words, having devoted the last three years of her life to dictionaries and thesauruses and the English language.
And so she sits and stares at his near black gaze and applies words to Special Agent Caleb Edgerton, as if he was a character in her novel.
Starting with the physical first, it would be naive to say that he is not good looking. Caleb is in fact extremely handsome, in a dark and somewhat mysterious way. A tall frame gives way to lean legs and shaped shoulders. Hair that is thick and seems to be made for fingers to run through. A strong jaw and face that can harden and soften in seconds.
Emotional wise, Cordelia has picked up that he is firmly dedicated to his oath as an agent. He laughs hard and broods quickly. He’s easy around people, judging by his interaction with her, but is reserved too.
He is a man that Donovan, her older brother, would love to be friends with and hate him to have any attraction to his baby sister.
Her father, the Assistant Director, would note the fine agent he is.
Her mother would shake her head and tell Cordelia that it would be a mistake; after all she had fallen in love her father years ago and knows how hard it is with an agent.
Aurélie and Lauren, her closest girlfriends, would giggle and remark that Cordelia had better get on board fast.
Cordelia sits atop her washing clothes and knows that she can say no and get rid of him. Sure, he will persist and follow for a little while longer, but he will eventually give up. It wouldn’t be the first time she has dissuaded a man from her.
But…
She finds that she doesn’t want to say no.
She doesn’t care what her brother or parents or friends would say. It’s what she wants.
And she wants this, whatever this is between the two of them.
Cordelia smiles and bites her bottom lip. “Okay. Besides, I don’t think I have anything better to do,” she teases.
Smacking his hands on his thighs, Caleb hops down. “Excellent. Now, I have to be going. Federal agent business. I leave you to return to your villain. Thank you for the game and the candy.”
She watches as he winks and winds his way to the door. “And what exactly are we doing Friday night?”
Door open, letting in the late August breeze, he hollers back, “It’s a surprise.”
Then, he’s gone, the bell above the door signaling his leaving.
“I look forward to it.” Cordelia says to no one in the empty laundry mat and picks up her pen and notebook, trying to resume her writing.
A smile plays on her lips and her pen moves.