Bitter (Team Schmoop)
Title: Bitter Suite
Author: Jelsemium
Pairing/Characters: Charlie Eppes/Amita Ramanujan, Alan Eppes
Rating/Category: (T/Het)
Word Count: 3,642
Spoilers: None
Summary: What's a math goddess to do when she's not getting enough lovin'?
Notes: This was inspired by a prompt over at choc_fic. Specifically: "Numb3rs, Het or Femslash-Amita/?: Charlie forgets about Amita one too many times, who does she turn to? - "If you were mine, I would treat you like the sex goddess you are."
Acknowledgements: Elysium1996 - Goddess of Beta Reading and Peeps.
Please rate this story on its adherence to the prompt, its general schmoopiness and how much you enjoyed it here:
Amita stared at her reflection and bitterly wondered what was wrong with her.
She smoothed her hair down, sure she curled her hair, but that was a fashion choice, not because her hair was disgusting. She ran her hands down her chest. She didn't have a large bust, but her "girls" were nicely formed. Sure her suits didn't exactly display them to their best advantage, but she had a professional image to maintain.
She touched her cheekbones. Her coloring was dark by nature and a judicious amount of sun. She squinted, maybe green contact lens? Green eyes contrasted with her cinnamon skin would add more exoticism. Thank heavens her acne had cleared up by the time she got to college… Wait! Was that…?
She leaned into the mirror. #Damn, it was a pimple.# Probably nerves. Even in college, every time finals rolled around, her face would break out.
She resisted the urge to try to pop it. A little medication, a little make up and Charlie would never notice. She sighed.
Not that he'd been noticing her much lately.
She sighed again and told herself to stop being a cry-baby. "You've known Charlie for years," she told herself. "You knew what you were getting into."
That didn't mean that she had to enjoy being ignored.
Worse, there wasn't anybody that she could whine to about it. Her mother was lukewarm on the idea of a non-Indian son-in-law. If Amita complained about being neglected, her mother would take the opportunity to push her to accept her former fiancé, or another India-born suitor.
She didn't want to involve Megan or Larry in this fight… not that she and Charlie had actually fought.
Amita almost wished that she and Charlie had fought. A little drama would get the blood stirring. Anything was better than this slow slide in and out of twilight.
"Pull yourself together, woman," Amita instructed herself aloud. "If you don't like the situation, then change it."
#Change it how?# "Herself" answered. #What exactly do you want from Charlie? From yourself?#
Her mind was only half on her surroundings as she ran her errands. #Do you want to break up with Charlie? Do you want more attention from him? Do you want a more attentive, if less intelligent, lover?#
There was one of her problems. She'd never be happy with a man who was significantly less intelligent than she was. Another problem was that Charlie was genuinely trying his best… when he was trying.
Suddenly Amita realized that her suit was no longer with her. Frantically, she whirled around as if her navy skirt and blazer had somehow run off. She must have dropped it off at the cleaners, right?
She ducked into the nearest store so she could dig through her purse. She sighed with relief when she found her claim ticket from the cleaners. Then she had to laugh at herself for being as absent-minded as Charlie.
A deep, calming breath settled her nerves and slowed her pulse. It also brought the scent of flowers to her attention. It didn't take an astrophysicist to figure out that she was in a florist shop.
Amita smirked a little. Charlie had sent her a bouquet of red roses for Valentine's Day, and a bouquet of pink roses for her birthday. #He probably set up an account to automatically order the flowers,# her inner voice snarked.
"But that merely proves that he tries to compensate for his poor memory, right?" Amita murmured to herself. "Is there anything wrong with advance planning?"
#Well, no,# her snarky side admitted. #But it's not nearly as romantic as spontaneous flower giving for no reason other than it would make you happy.#
Amita made a wry face. She certainly was demanding, wasn't she? She wondered if she could gently hint about her desire for flowers for no reason.
#But didn't hinting kind of ruin the idea of spontaneous gift-giving? On the other hand, how was Charlie supposed to know these things?#
Of course, she could always send herself a bouquet.
She laughed to herself at the idea. "How pathetic is that?" she asked herself. She started out the door when a splash of color caught her eye… yellow flowers in a pitcher of lemonade.
She bent over to confirm her sighting. The graceful pitcher held slices of lemons suspended in a milky liquid. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of drinking the stuff, as it was probably as much mold as lemon.
She sniffed tentatively at the mouth of the pitcher, but could only pick up on the aroma of the flowers.
"Nice, aren't they?" the tattooed shop girl asked.
"Very," Amita agreed. She was pulling out her wallet before she realized that she had come to a decision. She almost hesitated when the image of her trying to juggle the bouquet, her purse, several large textbooks and a hefty stack of graded papers flashed through her mind.
"I'd like to have these delivered," she said. She pulled out her business card, mentally berating herself for not being able to remember CalSci's zip code. Ironic, considering that she could do combinatorics in her sleep.
"Certainly," the Goth looking shop clerk chirped. The Goth produced an order pad and Amita filled out her name, CalSci's address and her office number. She pushed the pad back.
"Hm," the Goth said. "Amita Ra-ma-nu-jan?"
Used to people mangling her last name, Amita merely nodded.
"No message? No signature?" she shop clerk asked.
Impulsively, Amita declined to inform the clerk that she was sending the flowers to herself. Instead, she reclaimed the pad and wrote… "If you were mine, I would treat you like the sex goddess that you are." She signed "A. Nonymous" with a flourish.
"Ooo… bold! I like that!" squeed the Goth.
Amita paused. The bouquet would take all the cash she had on her. However, using her credit card would ruin the shop clerk's day.
#Oh, well, it's not like you're going anyplace that doesn't take credit cards.# So she paid with crisp twenties, wilted ones and a handful of change from the bottom of her purse. She went on her way, laughing.
If Charlie was going to ignore her, then she was just going to have to rely on herself, wasn't she?
She put the bouquet out of mind until lunchtime.
Charlie dropped by her office, and Amita frowned at his appearance. Really, he looked like a scarecrow. Was she supposed to help him pick out his wardrobe? Was she a bad girlfriend if she didn't?
"Am I interrupting?" Charlie asked, obviously taking the frown to mean that she was unhappy with him.
"Oh, no," Amita said hastily. She looked at the chalkboard of equations for Larry.
"I am interrupting," Charlie said. He sighed. "I was hoping I could steal you away for lunch?" he added hopefully.
Amita was on a roll and didn't want to stop for fear of losing momentum. She hesitated, then told herself she was being silly. If there was anything Charlie understood, it was writing while the muse was hot. "I brought my lunch," she said, just as the deliveryman chose to walk up with her lemonade bouquet with its insinuating message.
Still, it wouldn't have been so bad if the resulting waltz that arose as the deliveryman made his way past Charlie and around the clutter in Amita's office hadn't included brushing up against one of Amita's bookcases. The clip that held the card to the bouquet broke and dropped the message literally at Charlie's feet.
Automatically, Charlie read the card before handing it to Amita.
"Um, well, okay," Charlie said. His cheeks turned pink and he shuffled out the door. "I'll just get out of your way, then." He scurried out of the office before Amita finished signing for the flowers.
"Showed him you were taken, huh?" the delivery driver observed.
"Hm?" Amita said. "Did I, now?" she tipped him with a few Sacagawea dollars that she had in her desk and frowned as he left. #Is that what I wanted to do? Make Charlie think that he has a rival?#
She debated telling Charlie that she had sent the flowers herself, but she felt a pang of bitterness because she had been forced to buy her own flowers. #Girls with boyfriends shouldn't have to behave like maiden aunts. If he has a problem, well, that's his problem!#
Amita was startled to realize that she was shaking. "Bah!" she said out loud. She took a deep breath to clear her head. #The ball's in his court… has been for weeks now. Let's see what he makes of this. #
She tucked the note into her desk drawer and arranged the flowers to catch the maximum amount of available light. She was determined to enjoy her bouquet for as long as it lasted.
The bouquet succeeded beyond expectations. Not only did it garner much admiration from students, faculty and Federal Agents (Larry going so far as to identify each of the yellow flowers for her.)
They also lasted quite well. Amita's impulse buy had been on a Wednesday. Friday afternoon (when she should have had a fresh bouquet from her boyfriend, not that she was bitter or anything) the flowers were still standing tall. #Who needs roses when you can have super bouquet?# she tried to convince herself.
She took the flowers home so she could enjoy them over the weekend. By Monday morning, she could see signs of age; particularly in the daffodils and what Larry had told her were mini pom-poms. ("Like what cheerleaders use," he had confirmed.)
She emptied out the water and sniffed. Yes, there was a definite air of mildew starting. She rinsed out the vase, put in fresh lemons (which didn't quite match the flowers as well as the ones that the florist had used).
She'd read that a small amount of bleach inhibited mold growth without hurting the flowers. As she had no intention of eating those lemons, she added a dash of Clorox to the fresh water.
As the week wore on, Amita expected that she would have to start discarding flowers. However, instead of wilting, they actually perked up. The flowers that she'd been sure were on their last legs - the daffodils and what she now identified as miniature carnations instead of pom-poms (well, Larry was an astrophysicist, not a botanist) - seemed to do especially well in her office window.
Watching the play of sunlight on her yellow flowers brightened her office and her mood all week.
When Friday rolled around again, she decided enough was enough. This was the twenty-first century. If she could send herself flowers, then she could do something about the lack of attention from Charlie.
#No point in moping about him ignoring you when all you have to do is trot your ass over to his office and invite him to lunch. You're sleeping with the man, for God sakes! This is hardly a bold move!#
She picked up her purse and marched out of her office, carefully locking it behind her. Considering how many spare keys there were floating around, locking the door seemed pointless. However, she seriously doubted that Millie or the janitor would steal her flowers.
And if Charlie were inclined to raid her office, then she wouldn't be in her current dilemma, would she?
When she got to Charlie's office, the door was locked. She hesitated, and then decided to leave a note on his chalkboard. His email box and voice mail were both jammed with messages; the chalkboard was the only thing she could be certain that he would look at.
She let herself in and was half-way across the room before she noticed that Charlie was, indeed present.
At least physically. He was seated at his desk, head tilted back and only the rise and fall of his chest halted Amita's instinct to dial 9-1-1.
She looked at him more closely than she had last week. There were dark circles under his eyes and his stubble failed to hide the gauntness of his cheeks. She felt a jolt of nausea when she realized the ill-fitting clothes weren't a fashion statement, but a testament to the amount of weight he had lost over the past month or so.
#What right you have to complain of being neglected when you never noticed how much strain your boyfriend was under?# she reproached herself bitterly. #Have you no eyes? It's obvious that whatever he's been working on obviously went beyond a "nasty case."#
She debated waking him and decided that he needed to sleep in a less awkward position. He didn't need a strained neck on top of everything else.
She moved towards him, then froze.
If whatever Charlie was working on was top-secret, then she shouldn't be here.
She retreated from his office, resisting the urge to even peek at his chalkboard. She returned to her office and picked up her phone.
"Wha…?" Charlie mumbled.
"Oh, Charlie, are you all right?" she blurted, her sincere worry overriding anything else in her voice.
"Um, yeah, must have fallen asleep," he muttered.
"Are you all right?" Amita repeated. "I can buy you lunch… Bring it to your office if you're in the middle of something."
"Hm? Ah, no thanks," Charlie said. "I actually finished…" Amita pictured him looking at his watch. "An hour ago. Yeah, they came by to pick up their report just before… Damn! I slept through my Baby Stats class!"
Amita chuckled.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm not the only one who's slept through Statistics 101. Millie's still gonna kill me."
"Have your dad write you a note," Amita suggested.
"Funny girl," Charlie said.
"So, dinner tonight?" Amita suggested.
*Pause*
"Unless you're not feeling up to it?"
"Um, actually, can I take a rain check?" Charlie asked. "I think I'd just better go home."
"Okay," Amita said, striving for cheerfulness. She hung up and sat back to admire her bouquet. #Damn! Maybe he thinks I'm going to dump him for my 'secret admirer.'#
She picked up her phone, but set it back down again. Charlie needed to sleep, not debate. She'd confess the next time she saw him.
Her vague guilt over the bouquet caused her to leave it in her office when she left Friday afternoon.
Besides, they seemed to do better in her office. She hadn't noticed any signs of mold in the lemons. Nor had she noticed any aging in the flowers, other than the roses becoming a darker yellow… probably getting ready to drop their petals.
Saturday morning, Amita decided to bake a pie for Charlie to help him put some weight back on. She was no master chef, but she could download and follow a recipe as well as anyone. Besides, she had gotten an 'A' in every chemistry class she'd ever taken.
She made Charlie's favorite of course, lemon meringue.
This put her 'abandoned' lemon bouquet to mind. She considered dropping by CalSci after she delivered her pie to Charlie. #Charlie's house being conveniently close to CalSci and all.#
She put that decision on hold.
When she reached the Craftsman, she rang the doorbell, excusing the action to herself that her hands were full and she didn't want to risk dropping the lemon meringue pie while she mined her purse for the long unused key.
"Amita!" Alan looked happy to see her. "Come in! Oh, that smells good," he said nodding to the pie.
"Made it myself," Amita said with a touch of pride. "Where's Charlie?"
Alan dragged his attention from the pie. "Hm? Oh, he went up to school… Said he had a project to finish." He looked at her anxiously. "Have you two been fighting?"
Amita shook her head, causing her freshly curled hair to bounce over her shoulders. "Not each other," she elaborated. "More like a continuing battle against our schedules."
Alan lead the way to the kitchen where he cleared a place in the refrigerator. "You're sure? I mean, I know Charlie isn't the most romantic of men… He hasn't been neglecting you, has he?"
Amita hesitated. "Neglect seems to indicate deliberate intent on his part."
"Meaning you haven't seen enough of him, but you're going to let him slide?" Alan asked.
Amita grinned. "Meaning, I want more of his time, but I don't want to be the clingy girlfriend who needs attention 24/7."
"You have the right to his time and attention," Alan said.
"Thanks," Amita said. "We're working on this, really we are." She handed over the pie. "In fact, I'm going to go over to CalSci to see if I can help with his project."
Alan slid the pie into the refrigerator. When he straightened up, he shot a worried look at Amita.
"He told me that he was finished with his latest top-secret project," Amita assured him.
"Ah, good, well, why don't I whip up something nice to go with that pie… vegetarian lasagna work for you?"
When Amita nodded, Alan grinned. "Good, it will be in the oven when you get back. Just turn it on to 350 degrees for thirty-five minutes. Me, I'm going to Palm Springs for a bit of golfing. Millie and I will see you on Monday."
Amita felt her face break out into a broad smile. "I can take a hint," she said.
"Good, I hope Charlie can take one, too."
Again, Charlie's office was locked. However, this time when she unlocked the door, she found no sign of him inside. She puffed out her cheeks and blew a sigh. He could be almost anywhere on campus, assuming she hadn't passed him somewhere between here and the Craftsman.
She tried his cell phone, but only got his voice mail. "Hi, Charlie," she said cheerfully. "I baked you a pie! If I don't see you before I leave campus, I'll be waiting for you at your place. Don't let me get too lonely with your Dad off to Palm Springs and all."
She flipped her cell shut and headed for her own office. No point in leaving the bouquet. She'd take it to Charlie's place and confess about buying it for herself.
Amita smelled the lemons from her bouquet clear down the hall. When she got to her office the reason for the sharpness of the odor became apparent. Her door was open.
She froze.
She knew damn well that she'd locked her door yesterday. Yet, here it was, sitting open. If the janitor had been working, his cart would be parked in the hall, as it was too big for her office. Besides, the janitorial staff didn't work over the weekend.
Security worked weekends, though. She'd started to punch in their number when she heard the humming.
She shut the cell and frowned, wondering what Charlie was doing in her office. Surely he hadn't run out of space on his chalkboard!
Feeling a trifle resentful over the perceived hi-jacking of her chalkboard space, she silently slunk into her office to catch Charlie red-handed… as he dropped a wilted day lily into a box and replace it with a fresh one.
She felt like kicking herself. She should have realized that roses didn't change colors when they got old, they lost their petals. And yes, Larry-the-polymath probably did know the difference between miniature carnations and mini pom-poms. Obviously, Charlie did not.
"Charlie!" she exclaimed.
He jumped and whirled, guilt written all over his face. On her desk she spied a cardboard box with a bouquet of yellow flowers and a jar of sliced lemons.
"Why are you refreshing my bouquet?" Amita asked curiously.
"Um," Charlie said. "You, well, you obviously liked it." He ran his hand through his curls. "It would never have occurred to me to just buy you flowers, but since they were here and you liked them…" he trailed off.
"You decided to endow the bouquet with immortality."
Charlie grinned sheepishly. "Seemed like a good idea at the time," he said.
Amita kissed him. "It was a wonderful idea, thank you."
"So, you're not mad?" Charlie asked. "Even if I am the world's worst boyfriend?"
Amita chuckled. "You're not that bad," she said. "Even if you are a bit neglectful." There, she said it with out a trace of bitterness, just some regret.
Charlie rubbed the back of his neck. At least his blue Pi t-shirt didn't hang as loosely as his dress shirts. "I'm sorry, I promise…"
Amita cut him off with another kiss. "Don't make promises that you can't keep," she said.
Charlie blinked. "Okay, I promise that I will do my best to make you happy," he said.
"Fair enough," Amita said.
"But you have to tell me if you're not happy," Charlie said. "I'm bad at reading people."
"You mean, sending myself flowers wasn't enough of a hint?" she teased.
"They're from you?" Charlie looked relieved.
"Yes."
"So, you think that you should be treated like a sex goddess?" Charlie teased.
Oh, lord, she'd forgotten about that stupid note.
#When in doubt, bluff it out.# She tilted her chin up and looked him straight in the eye. "Hell, yes."
Charlie's smile widened. "Then, who am I to argue? As soon as I can get you alone…"
"Your Dad said he was going to put lasagna in the oven, and then head off for Palm Springs."
Charlie laughed and Amita felt herself blushing.
"Guess we'd better get back before the lasagna burns," he said.
Amita rapped him on the shoulder. "He's not going to leave the oven on," she said. "We'll have to do the cooking when we get there."
"Ah," Charlie said.
"That'll give us plenty of time for you to show me how a sex goddess should be treated."
Charlie's eyes sparkled. "Your wish is my command, oh Venus of mine."
Author: Jelsemium
Pairing/Characters: Charlie Eppes/Amita Ramanujan, Alan Eppes
Rating/Category: (T/Het)
Word Count: 3,642
Spoilers: None
Summary: What's a math goddess to do when she's not getting enough lovin'?
Notes: This was inspired by a prompt over at choc_fic. Specifically: "Numb3rs, Het or Femslash-Amita/?: Charlie forgets about Amita one too many times, who does she turn to? - "If you were mine, I would treat you like the sex goddess you are."
Acknowledgements: Elysium1996 - Goddess of Beta Reading and Peeps.
Please rate this story on its adherence to the prompt, its general schmoopiness and how much you enjoyed it here:
Amita stared at her reflection and bitterly wondered what was wrong with her.
She smoothed her hair down, sure she curled her hair, but that was a fashion choice, not because her hair was disgusting. She ran her hands down her chest. She didn't have a large bust, but her "girls" were nicely formed. Sure her suits didn't exactly display them to their best advantage, but she had a professional image to maintain.
She touched her cheekbones. Her coloring was dark by nature and a judicious amount of sun. She squinted, maybe green contact lens? Green eyes contrasted with her cinnamon skin would add more exoticism. Thank heavens her acne had cleared up by the time she got to college… Wait! Was that…?
She leaned into the mirror. #Damn, it was a pimple.# Probably nerves. Even in college, every time finals rolled around, her face would break out.
She resisted the urge to try to pop it. A little medication, a little make up and Charlie would never notice. She sighed.
Not that he'd been noticing her much lately.
She sighed again and told herself to stop being a cry-baby. "You've known Charlie for years," she told herself. "You knew what you were getting into."
That didn't mean that she had to enjoy being ignored.
Worse, there wasn't anybody that she could whine to about it. Her mother was lukewarm on the idea of a non-Indian son-in-law. If Amita complained about being neglected, her mother would take the opportunity to push her to accept her former fiancé, or another India-born suitor.
She didn't want to involve Megan or Larry in this fight… not that she and Charlie had actually fought.
Amita almost wished that she and Charlie had fought. A little drama would get the blood stirring. Anything was better than this slow slide in and out of twilight.
"Pull yourself together, woman," Amita instructed herself aloud. "If you don't like the situation, then change it."
#Change it how?# "Herself" answered. #What exactly do you want from Charlie? From yourself?#
Her mind was only half on her surroundings as she ran her errands. #Do you want to break up with Charlie? Do you want more attention from him? Do you want a more attentive, if less intelligent, lover?#
There was one of her problems. She'd never be happy with a man who was significantly less intelligent than she was. Another problem was that Charlie was genuinely trying his best… when he was trying.
Suddenly Amita realized that her suit was no longer with her. Frantically, she whirled around as if her navy skirt and blazer had somehow run off. She must have dropped it off at the cleaners, right?
She ducked into the nearest store so she could dig through her purse. She sighed with relief when she found her claim ticket from the cleaners. Then she had to laugh at herself for being as absent-minded as Charlie.
A deep, calming breath settled her nerves and slowed her pulse. It also brought the scent of flowers to her attention. It didn't take an astrophysicist to figure out that she was in a florist shop.
Amita smirked a little. Charlie had sent her a bouquet of red roses for Valentine's Day, and a bouquet of pink roses for her birthday. #He probably set up an account to automatically order the flowers,# her inner voice snarked.
"But that merely proves that he tries to compensate for his poor memory, right?" Amita murmured to herself. "Is there anything wrong with advance planning?"
#Well, no,# her snarky side admitted. #But it's not nearly as romantic as spontaneous flower giving for no reason other than it would make you happy.#
Amita made a wry face. She certainly was demanding, wasn't she? She wondered if she could gently hint about her desire for flowers for no reason.
#But didn't hinting kind of ruin the idea of spontaneous gift-giving? On the other hand, how was Charlie supposed to know these things?#
Of course, she could always send herself a bouquet.
She laughed to herself at the idea. "How pathetic is that?" she asked herself. She started out the door when a splash of color caught her eye… yellow flowers in a pitcher of lemonade.
She bent over to confirm her sighting. The graceful pitcher held slices of lemons suspended in a milky liquid. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of drinking the stuff, as it was probably as much mold as lemon.
She sniffed tentatively at the mouth of the pitcher, but could only pick up on the aroma of the flowers.
"Nice, aren't they?" the tattooed shop girl asked.
"Very," Amita agreed. She was pulling out her wallet before she realized that she had come to a decision. She almost hesitated when the image of her trying to juggle the bouquet, her purse, several large textbooks and a hefty stack of graded papers flashed through her mind.
"I'd like to have these delivered," she said. She pulled out her business card, mentally berating herself for not being able to remember CalSci's zip code. Ironic, considering that she could do combinatorics in her sleep.
"Certainly," the Goth looking shop clerk chirped. The Goth produced an order pad and Amita filled out her name, CalSci's address and her office number. She pushed the pad back.
"Hm," the Goth said. "Amita Ra-ma-nu-jan?"
Used to people mangling her last name, Amita merely nodded.
"No message? No signature?" she shop clerk asked.
Impulsively, Amita declined to inform the clerk that she was sending the flowers to herself. Instead, she reclaimed the pad and wrote… "If you were mine, I would treat you like the sex goddess that you are." She signed "A. Nonymous" with a flourish.
"Ooo… bold! I like that!" squeed the Goth.
Amita paused. The bouquet would take all the cash she had on her. However, using her credit card would ruin the shop clerk's day.
#Oh, well, it's not like you're going anyplace that doesn't take credit cards.# So she paid with crisp twenties, wilted ones and a handful of change from the bottom of her purse. She went on her way, laughing.
If Charlie was going to ignore her, then she was just going to have to rely on herself, wasn't she?
She put the bouquet out of mind until lunchtime.
Charlie dropped by her office, and Amita frowned at his appearance. Really, he looked like a scarecrow. Was she supposed to help him pick out his wardrobe? Was she a bad girlfriend if she didn't?
"Am I interrupting?" Charlie asked, obviously taking the frown to mean that she was unhappy with him.
"Oh, no," Amita said hastily. She looked at the chalkboard of equations for Larry.
"I am interrupting," Charlie said. He sighed. "I was hoping I could steal you away for lunch?" he added hopefully.
Amita was on a roll and didn't want to stop for fear of losing momentum. She hesitated, then told herself she was being silly. If there was anything Charlie understood, it was writing while the muse was hot. "I brought my lunch," she said, just as the deliveryman chose to walk up with her lemonade bouquet with its insinuating message.
Still, it wouldn't have been so bad if the resulting waltz that arose as the deliveryman made his way past Charlie and around the clutter in Amita's office hadn't included brushing up against one of Amita's bookcases. The clip that held the card to the bouquet broke and dropped the message literally at Charlie's feet.
Automatically, Charlie read the card before handing it to Amita.
"Um, well, okay," Charlie said. His cheeks turned pink and he shuffled out the door. "I'll just get out of your way, then." He scurried out of the office before Amita finished signing for the flowers.
"Showed him you were taken, huh?" the delivery driver observed.
"Hm?" Amita said. "Did I, now?" she tipped him with a few Sacagawea dollars that she had in her desk and frowned as he left. #Is that what I wanted to do? Make Charlie think that he has a rival?#
She debated telling Charlie that she had sent the flowers herself, but she felt a pang of bitterness because she had been forced to buy her own flowers. #Girls with boyfriends shouldn't have to behave like maiden aunts. If he has a problem, well, that's his problem!#
Amita was startled to realize that she was shaking. "Bah!" she said out loud. She took a deep breath to clear her head. #The ball's in his court… has been for weeks now. Let's see what he makes of this. #
She tucked the note into her desk drawer and arranged the flowers to catch the maximum amount of available light. She was determined to enjoy her bouquet for as long as it lasted.
The bouquet succeeded beyond expectations. Not only did it garner much admiration from students, faculty and Federal Agents (Larry going so far as to identify each of the yellow flowers for her.)
They also lasted quite well. Amita's impulse buy had been on a Wednesday. Friday afternoon (when she should have had a fresh bouquet from her boyfriend, not that she was bitter or anything) the flowers were still standing tall. #Who needs roses when you can have super bouquet?# she tried to convince herself.
She took the flowers home so she could enjoy them over the weekend. By Monday morning, she could see signs of age; particularly in the daffodils and what Larry had told her were mini pom-poms. ("Like what cheerleaders use," he had confirmed.)
She emptied out the water and sniffed. Yes, there was a definite air of mildew starting. She rinsed out the vase, put in fresh lemons (which didn't quite match the flowers as well as the ones that the florist had used).
She'd read that a small amount of bleach inhibited mold growth without hurting the flowers. As she had no intention of eating those lemons, she added a dash of Clorox to the fresh water.
As the week wore on, Amita expected that she would have to start discarding flowers. However, instead of wilting, they actually perked up. The flowers that she'd been sure were on their last legs - the daffodils and what she now identified as miniature carnations instead of pom-poms (well, Larry was an astrophysicist, not a botanist) - seemed to do especially well in her office window.
Watching the play of sunlight on her yellow flowers brightened her office and her mood all week.
When Friday rolled around again, she decided enough was enough. This was the twenty-first century. If she could send herself flowers, then she could do something about the lack of attention from Charlie.
#No point in moping about him ignoring you when all you have to do is trot your ass over to his office and invite him to lunch. You're sleeping with the man, for God sakes! This is hardly a bold move!#
She picked up her purse and marched out of her office, carefully locking it behind her. Considering how many spare keys there were floating around, locking the door seemed pointless. However, she seriously doubted that Millie or the janitor would steal her flowers.
And if Charlie were inclined to raid her office, then she wouldn't be in her current dilemma, would she?
When she got to Charlie's office, the door was locked. She hesitated, and then decided to leave a note on his chalkboard. His email box and voice mail were both jammed with messages; the chalkboard was the only thing she could be certain that he would look at.
She let herself in and was half-way across the room before she noticed that Charlie was, indeed present.
At least physically. He was seated at his desk, head tilted back and only the rise and fall of his chest halted Amita's instinct to dial 9-1-1.
She looked at him more closely than she had last week. There were dark circles under his eyes and his stubble failed to hide the gauntness of his cheeks. She felt a jolt of nausea when she realized the ill-fitting clothes weren't a fashion statement, but a testament to the amount of weight he had lost over the past month or so.
#What right you have to complain of being neglected when you never noticed how much strain your boyfriend was under?# she reproached herself bitterly. #Have you no eyes? It's obvious that whatever he's been working on obviously went beyond a "nasty case."#
She debated waking him and decided that he needed to sleep in a less awkward position. He didn't need a strained neck on top of everything else.
She moved towards him, then froze.
If whatever Charlie was working on was top-secret, then she shouldn't be here.
She retreated from his office, resisting the urge to even peek at his chalkboard. She returned to her office and picked up her phone.
"Wha…?" Charlie mumbled.
"Oh, Charlie, are you all right?" she blurted, her sincere worry overriding anything else in her voice.
"Um, yeah, must have fallen asleep," he muttered.
"Are you all right?" Amita repeated. "I can buy you lunch… Bring it to your office if you're in the middle of something."
"Hm? Ah, no thanks," Charlie said. "I actually finished…" Amita pictured him looking at his watch. "An hour ago. Yeah, they came by to pick up their report just before… Damn! I slept through my Baby Stats class!"
Amita chuckled.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm not the only one who's slept through Statistics 101. Millie's still gonna kill me."
"Have your dad write you a note," Amita suggested.
"Funny girl," Charlie said.
"So, dinner tonight?" Amita suggested.
*Pause*
"Unless you're not feeling up to it?"
"Um, actually, can I take a rain check?" Charlie asked. "I think I'd just better go home."
"Okay," Amita said, striving for cheerfulness. She hung up and sat back to admire her bouquet. #Damn! Maybe he thinks I'm going to dump him for my 'secret admirer.'#
She picked up her phone, but set it back down again. Charlie needed to sleep, not debate. She'd confess the next time she saw him.
Her vague guilt over the bouquet caused her to leave it in her office when she left Friday afternoon.
Besides, they seemed to do better in her office. She hadn't noticed any signs of mold in the lemons. Nor had she noticed any aging in the flowers, other than the roses becoming a darker yellow… probably getting ready to drop their petals.
Saturday morning, Amita decided to bake a pie for Charlie to help him put some weight back on. She was no master chef, but she could download and follow a recipe as well as anyone. Besides, she had gotten an 'A' in every chemistry class she'd ever taken.
She made Charlie's favorite of course, lemon meringue.
This put her 'abandoned' lemon bouquet to mind. She considered dropping by CalSci after she delivered her pie to Charlie. #Charlie's house being conveniently close to CalSci and all.#
She put that decision on hold.
When she reached the Craftsman, she rang the doorbell, excusing the action to herself that her hands were full and she didn't want to risk dropping the lemon meringue pie while she mined her purse for the long unused key.
"Amita!" Alan looked happy to see her. "Come in! Oh, that smells good," he said nodding to the pie.
"Made it myself," Amita said with a touch of pride. "Where's Charlie?"
Alan dragged his attention from the pie. "Hm? Oh, he went up to school… Said he had a project to finish." He looked at her anxiously. "Have you two been fighting?"
Amita shook her head, causing her freshly curled hair to bounce over her shoulders. "Not each other," she elaborated. "More like a continuing battle against our schedules."
Alan lead the way to the kitchen where he cleared a place in the refrigerator. "You're sure? I mean, I know Charlie isn't the most romantic of men… He hasn't been neglecting you, has he?"
Amita hesitated. "Neglect seems to indicate deliberate intent on his part."
"Meaning you haven't seen enough of him, but you're going to let him slide?" Alan asked.
Amita grinned. "Meaning, I want more of his time, but I don't want to be the clingy girlfriend who needs attention 24/7."
"You have the right to his time and attention," Alan said.
"Thanks," Amita said. "We're working on this, really we are." She handed over the pie. "In fact, I'm going to go over to CalSci to see if I can help with his project."
Alan slid the pie into the refrigerator. When he straightened up, he shot a worried look at Amita.
"He told me that he was finished with his latest top-secret project," Amita assured him.
"Ah, good, well, why don't I whip up something nice to go with that pie… vegetarian lasagna work for you?"
When Amita nodded, Alan grinned. "Good, it will be in the oven when you get back. Just turn it on to 350 degrees for thirty-five minutes. Me, I'm going to Palm Springs for a bit of golfing. Millie and I will see you on Monday."
Amita felt her face break out into a broad smile. "I can take a hint," she said.
"Good, I hope Charlie can take one, too."
Again, Charlie's office was locked. However, this time when she unlocked the door, she found no sign of him inside. She puffed out her cheeks and blew a sigh. He could be almost anywhere on campus, assuming she hadn't passed him somewhere between here and the Craftsman.
She tried his cell phone, but only got his voice mail. "Hi, Charlie," she said cheerfully. "I baked you a pie! If I don't see you before I leave campus, I'll be waiting for you at your place. Don't let me get too lonely with your Dad off to Palm Springs and all."
She flipped her cell shut and headed for her own office. No point in leaving the bouquet. She'd take it to Charlie's place and confess about buying it for herself.
Amita smelled the lemons from her bouquet clear down the hall. When she got to her office the reason for the sharpness of the odor became apparent. Her door was open.
She froze.
She knew damn well that she'd locked her door yesterday. Yet, here it was, sitting open. If the janitor had been working, his cart would be parked in the hall, as it was too big for her office. Besides, the janitorial staff didn't work over the weekend.
Security worked weekends, though. She'd started to punch in their number when she heard the humming.
She shut the cell and frowned, wondering what Charlie was doing in her office. Surely he hadn't run out of space on his chalkboard!
Feeling a trifle resentful over the perceived hi-jacking of her chalkboard space, she silently slunk into her office to catch Charlie red-handed… as he dropped a wilted day lily into a box and replace it with a fresh one.
She felt like kicking herself. She should have realized that roses didn't change colors when they got old, they lost their petals. And yes, Larry-the-polymath probably did know the difference between miniature carnations and mini pom-poms. Obviously, Charlie did not.
"Charlie!" she exclaimed.
He jumped and whirled, guilt written all over his face. On her desk she spied a cardboard box with a bouquet of yellow flowers and a jar of sliced lemons.
"Why are you refreshing my bouquet?" Amita asked curiously.
"Um," Charlie said. "You, well, you obviously liked it." He ran his hand through his curls. "It would never have occurred to me to just buy you flowers, but since they were here and you liked them…" he trailed off.
"You decided to endow the bouquet with immortality."
Charlie grinned sheepishly. "Seemed like a good idea at the time," he said.
Amita kissed him. "It was a wonderful idea, thank you."
"So, you're not mad?" Charlie asked. "Even if I am the world's worst boyfriend?"
Amita chuckled. "You're not that bad," she said. "Even if you are a bit neglectful." There, she said it with out a trace of bitterness, just some regret.
Charlie rubbed the back of his neck. At least his blue Pi t-shirt didn't hang as loosely as his dress shirts. "I'm sorry, I promise…"
Amita cut him off with another kiss. "Don't make promises that you can't keep," she said.
Charlie blinked. "Okay, I promise that I will do my best to make you happy," he said.
"Fair enough," Amita said.
"But you have to tell me if you're not happy," Charlie said. "I'm bad at reading people."
"You mean, sending myself flowers wasn't enough of a hint?" she teased.
"They're from you?" Charlie looked relieved.
"Yes."
"So, you think that you should be treated like a sex goddess?" Charlie teased.
Oh, lord, she'd forgotten about that stupid note.
#When in doubt, bluff it out.# She tilted her chin up and looked him straight in the eye. "Hell, yes."
Charlie's smile widened. "Then, who am I to argue? As soon as I can get you alone…"
"Your Dad said he was going to put lasagna in the oven, and then head off for Palm Springs."
Charlie laughed and Amita felt herself blushing.
"Guess we'd better get back before the lasagna burns," he said.
Amita rapped him on the shoulder. "He's not going to leave the oven on," she said. "We'll have to do the cooking when we get there."
"Ah," Charlie said.
"That'll give us plenty of time for you to show me how a sex goddess should be treated."
Charlie's eyes sparkled. "Your wish is my command, oh Venus of mine."