Infinity Smashed: Thanksgiving Dinner
Dec. 8th, 2020 12:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lb_leeThanksgiving Dinner
Series: Infinity Smashed
Summary: What it sounds like
Word Count: 1200
Notes: Freebie.
Bob’s apartment complex is only two stories high, shiny and new, and seems to be mostly inhabited by the younger techies of Silicon Alley. There are only two locks on his door.
It is, however, noticeably smaller. Bob has too much stuff for it, a lot still in boxes.
“Shoes off,” Bob says, taking off his own. “Pardon the mess; I wasn’t expecting company.”
Grey bends to unlace her sneakers, taking the moment to glance around. Fancy electronics she doesn’t recognize, in various stages of being taken apart or put back together. An expensive looking desk with a fancy chair and a computer. Lots of shelves, crammed with paperbacks and magazines, lots of photographs on the wall.
Grey knows nothing about electronics, isn’t much of a reader, and small talk fills her with dread. She’s relieved to shove her shoes on the rack next to Bob’s and busy herself with peeling potatoes.
“I have enough food, you know,” Bob says as he pulls flatbread and some sort of hearty lentil yogurt soup from the fridge. “You don’t have to do that.”
Yes, she does. It’s that or find something to talk about and what do they have in common, besides the job that’s trying to push Bob out? But the silence is getting oppressive, especially once they finish the dinner prep—which takes hardly any time. The rice cooker is already done, and the flatbread, soup (which turns out to be called bhatia kadhi), and stuffed vegetable kebabs (shaak, Bob calls them) just need microwaving. They all smell delicious. When he finishes putting together the salad, he gets to work chopping what she’s peeled and melting the butter to go with the milk. Once the potatoes are boiling, they sit there, tense and awkward, until Bob asks, “So… how long have you been with the PIN?”
“Twenty-five years.”
His eyebrows go up. “You’re kidding.”
“Week before you transferred in.” They gave her a plastic pin and a cake.
Bob doesn’t seem to know what to say to that; after a moment, he shakes himself and says, “That explains your StanG.”
Grey shrugs. “Better with SGSL.”
“Would you be willing to teach me some? Because that whole time, I felt like Apur was snowing me, and I hated being too ignorant to catch it.”
“Shouldn’t have had to,” Grey says. “Williamson’s job.” Then she realizes she didn’t answer Bob’s question. “Yes.”
“Thanks.” The timer goes off, and Grey gets up to mash the potatoes. He watches her mash a little, then seemingly can’t contain himself. “Come on, you’re my guest. Hand it over.”
Grey hesitates, then obeys. At least the cooking’s given her a conversation topic.
“The nut fudge was good. Thank you.”
“Oh, the kaju katli? No problem. I liked the peppermint bark.”
That’s nice of him to say, seeing as Grey burned it. Cooking has never been her strength.
The silence descends again. Grey starts stretching and rolling her shoulder, even though it’s no stiffer than usual, just so she isn’t standing there empty-handed.
“So… you’re a fellow Barbarian Barbara fan?”
Grey halts in mid-stretch. “You watch?”
“Oh yeah, I modded a forum for it in the nineties. I might still have a couple fanzines for it somewhere…”
Grey has no idea what any of that means, so settles on, “I watch the reruns after work. I like it.”
Bob is giving her a searching look, which makes her nervous. “What got you into it?”
She can’t tell him the real answer—that she likes to pretend to be Barbara, who gets to save the day and kiss handsome men. But she can honestly say, “The actress is good. You?”
“I like the mythology world.” Bob gives her an arch look. “And I like women who can break me in half.”
Grey’s cheeks flame, even though Bob surely can’t understand why. She nods and does her best to hide it. “She’s pretty.”
Then she busies herself with setting the table, even though it requires searching through cabinets, just so she has something to do. Bob lets her. Maybe he thinks she’s attracted to Barbara and embarrassed about it.
When they sit down to eat, Bob offers Grey wine, and she says yes; even a lightweight like her can manage a glass. Everything is delicious, and Bob smiles when she says so. They talk a bit about Barbarian Barbara—favorite moments, favorite characters—and it’s nice. Sitting here with Bob, having dinner and wine with him… she likes it, and the wine helps her feel less guilty about it.
Then Bob says, “can I ask you a personal question?”
Grey stiffens but nods.
“That day I snapped at you, after I got the news I’d be working the holidays, you clearly had an appointment with that ass after me. What’d he want to see you for?”
She relaxes. That’s no big deal. “Future duties.”
“Uh huh.” Bob gives her a chiding look over his wineglass. “And what does that mean?”
Grey sighs. “They want me out of the field.”
Bob almost slams his glass down. “What? Why?”
Grey pops her shoulder. “Getting old.” Then, because she’s had some wine and can’t help herself, “Thought you wanted a transfer.”
“Yeah, until all the trigger-happy young fellows started flooding Ops. At least you don’t think I’m a terrorist.” Still nervous, Bob takes another sip. “What’d you tell them?”
“No. I hate desk work.”
That makes him relax. “The boys upstairs let you say no to them?”
For now. But she doesn’t want to think about that. “Not always,” she says. “Still made you work on Diwali.”
“What do you mean?”
Grey hesitates, then decides there’s no reason not to tell him now. “Asked them to let you off.”
Bob pauses. “After I gave you all that shit?”
Grey shrugs. “Wasn’t about me.”
Bob squints at her. “But you know that I was still wrong to do it, right?”
Grey shrugs again, avoids his eyes, and stretches her shoulder. She’s big. She doesn’t talk. She makes people uncomfortable. When they get angry, sometimes they shout at her, and it doesn’t mean anything. It’s fine.
“I’m sorry,” Bob says.
Her discomfort increases. “It’s fine.”
“Well then, thank you. Why didn’t you say so before?”
Grey’s feeling the wine. “Didn’t want you to like me.”
Bob snorts, gives her that smile. “Too late now.”
Grey averts her eyes. This is getting dangerous. She’s liking this too much for the wrong reasons when as far as Bob’s concerned, this was just an impulsive invitation to a coworker. He isn’t supposed to like her.
Then again, he wasn’t supposed to suddenly be seen as a threat by half the PIN either. Grey’s personal issues take a back seat to Bob’s basic comfort at work. He’s new in town, new on the job, and needs a friend. Grey isn’t a very good one, but she can at least buffer him. It’ll be much harder to bother Bob if she sticks close. The new management can’t push her out (yet).
It’s the least she can do for the man who made her kaju katli and Thanksgiving dinner.
Series: Infinity Smashed
Summary: What it sounds like
Word Count: 1200
Notes: Freebie.
Bob’s apartment complex is only two stories high, shiny and new, and seems to be mostly inhabited by the younger techies of Silicon Alley. There are only two locks on his door.
It is, however, noticeably smaller. Bob has too much stuff for it, a lot still in boxes.
“Shoes off,” Bob says, taking off his own. “Pardon the mess; I wasn’t expecting company.”
Grey bends to unlace her sneakers, taking the moment to glance around. Fancy electronics she doesn’t recognize, in various stages of being taken apart or put back together. An expensive looking desk with a fancy chair and a computer. Lots of shelves, crammed with paperbacks and magazines, lots of photographs on the wall.
Grey knows nothing about electronics, isn’t much of a reader, and small talk fills her with dread. She’s relieved to shove her shoes on the rack next to Bob’s and busy herself with peeling potatoes.
“I have enough food, you know,” Bob says as he pulls flatbread and some sort of hearty lentil yogurt soup from the fridge. “You don’t have to do that.”
Yes, she does. It’s that or find something to talk about and what do they have in common, besides the job that’s trying to push Bob out? But the silence is getting oppressive, especially once they finish the dinner prep—which takes hardly any time. The rice cooker is already done, and the flatbread, soup (which turns out to be called bhatia kadhi), and stuffed vegetable kebabs (shaak, Bob calls them) just need microwaving. They all smell delicious. When he finishes putting together the salad, he gets to work chopping what she’s peeled and melting the butter to go with the milk. Once the potatoes are boiling, they sit there, tense and awkward, until Bob asks, “So… how long have you been with the PIN?”
“Twenty-five years.”
His eyebrows go up. “You’re kidding.”
“Week before you transferred in.” They gave her a plastic pin and a cake.
Bob doesn’t seem to know what to say to that; after a moment, he shakes himself and says, “That explains your StanG.”
Grey shrugs. “Better with SGSL.”
“Would you be willing to teach me some? Because that whole time, I felt like Apur was snowing me, and I hated being too ignorant to catch it.”
“Shouldn’t have had to,” Grey says. “Williamson’s job.” Then she realizes she didn’t answer Bob’s question. “Yes.”
“Thanks.” The timer goes off, and Grey gets up to mash the potatoes. He watches her mash a little, then seemingly can’t contain himself. “Come on, you’re my guest. Hand it over.”
Grey hesitates, then obeys. At least the cooking’s given her a conversation topic.
“The nut fudge was good. Thank you.”
“Oh, the kaju katli? No problem. I liked the peppermint bark.”
That’s nice of him to say, seeing as Grey burned it. Cooking has never been her strength.
The silence descends again. Grey starts stretching and rolling her shoulder, even though it’s no stiffer than usual, just so she isn’t standing there empty-handed.
“So… you’re a fellow Barbarian Barbara fan?”
Grey halts in mid-stretch. “You watch?”
“Oh yeah, I modded a forum for it in the nineties. I might still have a couple fanzines for it somewhere…”
Grey has no idea what any of that means, so settles on, “I watch the reruns after work. I like it.”
Bob is giving her a searching look, which makes her nervous. “What got you into it?”
She can’t tell him the real answer—that she likes to pretend to be Barbara, who gets to save the day and kiss handsome men. But she can honestly say, “The actress is good. You?”
“I like the mythology world.” Bob gives her an arch look. “And I like women who can break me in half.”
Grey’s cheeks flame, even though Bob surely can’t understand why. She nods and does her best to hide it. “She’s pretty.”
Then she busies herself with setting the table, even though it requires searching through cabinets, just so she has something to do. Bob lets her. Maybe he thinks she’s attracted to Barbara and embarrassed about it.
When they sit down to eat, Bob offers Grey wine, and she says yes; even a lightweight like her can manage a glass. Everything is delicious, and Bob smiles when she says so. They talk a bit about Barbarian Barbara—favorite moments, favorite characters—and it’s nice. Sitting here with Bob, having dinner and wine with him… she likes it, and the wine helps her feel less guilty about it.
Then Bob says, “can I ask you a personal question?”
Grey stiffens but nods.
“That day I snapped at you, after I got the news I’d be working the holidays, you clearly had an appointment with that ass after me. What’d he want to see you for?”
She relaxes. That’s no big deal. “Future duties.”
“Uh huh.” Bob gives her a chiding look over his wineglass. “And what does that mean?”
Grey sighs. “They want me out of the field.”
Bob almost slams his glass down. “What? Why?”
Grey pops her shoulder. “Getting old.” Then, because she’s had some wine and can’t help herself, “Thought you wanted a transfer.”
“Yeah, until all the trigger-happy young fellows started flooding Ops. At least you don’t think I’m a terrorist.” Still nervous, Bob takes another sip. “What’d you tell them?”
“No. I hate desk work.”
That makes him relax. “The boys upstairs let you say no to them?”
For now. But she doesn’t want to think about that. “Not always,” she says. “Still made you work on Diwali.”
“What do you mean?”
Grey hesitates, then decides there’s no reason not to tell him now. “Asked them to let you off.”
Bob pauses. “After I gave you all that shit?”
Grey shrugs. “Wasn’t about me.”
Bob squints at her. “But you know that I was still wrong to do it, right?”
Grey shrugs again, avoids his eyes, and stretches her shoulder. She’s big. She doesn’t talk. She makes people uncomfortable. When they get angry, sometimes they shout at her, and it doesn’t mean anything. It’s fine.
“I’m sorry,” Bob says.
Her discomfort increases. “It’s fine.”
“Well then, thank you. Why didn’t you say so before?”
Grey’s feeling the wine. “Didn’t want you to like me.”
Bob snorts, gives her that smile. “Too late now.”
Grey averts her eyes. This is getting dangerous. She’s liking this too much for the wrong reasons when as far as Bob’s concerned, this was just an impulsive invitation to a coworker. He isn’t supposed to like her.
Then again, he wasn’t supposed to suddenly be seen as a threat by half the PIN either. Grey’s personal issues take a back seat to Bob’s basic comfort at work. He’s new in town, new on the job, and needs a friend. Grey isn’t a very good one, but she can at least buffer him. It’ll be much harder to bother Bob if she sticks close. The new management can’t push her out (yet).
It’s the least she can do for the man who made her kaju katli and Thanksgiving dinner.
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Date: 2020-12-08 08:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-12-09 07:18 pm (UTC)