Fic: Touching Evil (US), Creegan/Branca, "The Most Important Meal of the Day"

[anxietygrrl]

edanielyra and kirbyfest requested Creegan/Branca. Blame kirbyfest for the revelation that if you say the word "waffle" enough times, it starts to sound dirty. Or maybe that's just me.



Her face lit up just the tiniest bit when the waitress set the plate in front of her. She tried to hide it, because the face of a world-weary murder cop at the end of a three day stakeout absolutely should not light up at the sight of breakfast, but he saw definite childlike joy. She couldn't help herself. The goriest dismembered corpse she could detach from and not react, but fluffy waffles, whipped cream, and strawberries hit some primal Susan-chord, and she just -- if briefly -- lit up.

He loved that about her.

"Why is Belgium the only country that gets their own waffles?" he asked. "Is that a NATO thing?"

"I don't think waffles are in the NATO charter, no." She raised her fork and began to carefully study her plate, deciding on the best approach for maximum enjoyment. He saw her notice the powdered sugar, and grinned behind his coffee cup.

"What?" she asked, because she'd seen the grin, because he hadn't been trying to hide it.

"Nothing. You like waffles, huh?"

"I... Yes. I like waffles. Is there something funny about that?"

"No. No, waffles are great."

"Okay." She went back to evenly distributing toppings over each square of the flaky, delicious grid, and when she was satisfied, she cut into it -- precisely perpendicularly -- with the side of her fork. She lifted the first bite to her mouth, but paused before eating. "You're still staring at me."

"No, I'm not. Look, there's a waitress. Look, there's a guy in a bad toupee," he pointed. If her reaction was any indication, he'd probably said that too loudly. "And here's some toast." He picked up the toast triangle from his own plate and finished it in two bites. "Mmm. Toast."

"You definitely need some sleep."

"Sleep may be among the many things I need," he conceded. Then he pretended to turn his attention to his own food -- Denver omelet, side of bacon, side of hashbrowns, side of pancakes -- while he covertly watched her eat her waffle. He was glad she hadn't ordered eggs. It wouldn't be as much fun to watch her eat eggs.

He watched the way her lips closed over the tines of the fork before she slowly drew it out again. He watched as her tongue darted out to lick a bit of whipped cream from her bottom lip.

He looked down at his half-eaten omelet and poked it with his fork. Maybe he should've gotten waffles. He turned to the pancakes instead, mushed some butter on top of them, and then began to spin the syrup carousel. He picked up one of the pitchers and held it up to the light. "What the hell is boysenberry, anyway? Have you ever seen a boysenberry?"

"They're poisonous until they're cooked, I think."

"Oh, score," he proclaimed, dousing his pancakes. "The fugu of breakfast toppings. Living on the edge."

"If that's what you want to tell yourself. Oh, and you've got syrup on your face, Evel Knievel." She reached across the table and wiped the corner of his mouth. With her thumb. And then licked the syrup off, all apparently without thinking.

"I want to have breakfast with you every morning," he blurted out. "Seriously. You eat waffles like no one else on the planet." He'd even make the damn waffles. From scratch. They could sit at the kitchen table -- in his head it was a nice round, wooden table in a sunny corner -- and share a copy of the Chronicle, trading Arts for Sports for International, tossing away Business. She'd be wearing a t-shirt and a pair of fuzzy socks, and he'd have on boxer shorts. He didn't own any, but she'd buy him some, just for Sunday breakfast. Her fuzzy socks would brush against his calves, and he'd quietly sip his orange juice and watch her eat waffles. And then after breakfast he'd kiss her and she'd taste like strawberries, and then--

"They're just waffles," she laughed. But she also blushed, just a little, as if she'd somehow eavesdropped on his rambling fantasy.

"No, you have some sort of fascinating relationship with the waffles that I can't begin to understand."

"David, do you want some of the waffle?" she asked, gesturing toward the last lonely piece remaining on her plate. "Is that what this is about?"

God no. Somehow, it was suddenly about fuzzy socks and the Sunday Chronicle. "Are you offering me your waffle, Susan?"

She raised her eyebrows, just a little. "Maybe. How badly do you want it?"

"We are still talking about breakfast, right?"

She laughed, and ate the last piece herself. It was cooled off and soggy by now, but she still closed her eyes and smiled around her fork.

He didn't realize it, but his face lit up.

*~*~*~*~

Hope that was satisfactory! Now taking requests for Thursday. (Lord, what am I getting myself into?)

Comments

[daygloparker.livejournal.com]

"Are you offering me your waffle, Susan?"

She raised her eyebrows, just a little. "Maybe. How badly do you want it?"

"We are still talking about waffles, right?"

*is dead from giggling*

(omg we done post creegan/branca fic at the same time!!! WHOA.)

[anxietygrrl.livejournal.com]

d00d. WHOA.

I almost almost wrote sex-in-a-bathroom for them once! They were at work. And she was wearing his favorite bra.

[hiddenw.livejournal.com]

That's it. You are now obligated, yes obligated, to write Creegan/Branca fic every week for the next four years. Thank you for your cooperation =)

I was so right there with Creegan with his Sunday morning fantasy. Awwww, fuzzy slippers, trading sections of the paper, and waffles. Yes, Branca would buy him boxers, but for Sunday only. The rest of the week it's him going commando. That's only right.

And I know I keep repeating myself but I love the way you write their banter. NATO charter, toupees, boysenberries, offering of waffles - hee!

[kirbyfest.livejournal.com]

::Jill falls over, dead::

That was fucking amazing. You should pardon the language, but it's early and really, I can't say anything else coherent because WAFFLES! And fuzzy socks! And doing the mom thing with the syrup! And the last line! And... and...

::dead from joy::

mmm, waffles!

[anxietygrrl.livejournal.com]

OMG I killed Jill!

::pokes her::

[edanielrya.livejournal.com]

He'd have on boxer shorts. He didn't own any...

Does this mean that he doesn't wear anything? Because I can't see him as a brief type of guy, y'know?

Anyway, this was lovely. Perfect "Sunday Morning Fantasy," and a very sweet side of Creegan that he would want such a thing.

It very nearly makes up for USA cancelling the show.

[anxietygrrl.livejournal.com]

I could have sworn we saw him in briefs once. Then again, hiddenw's 'going commando' theory works for me, too. ;)

I don't know if he'd actually fantasize such a thing, but I do think he's someone who'd hop on board a train of thought and ride it til the end of the line, without having a clue where it's going, and yet not be particularly surprised when he got to the final station.

Er, or something.

[nyias.livejournal.com]

I'm here via kirbyfest, and this was so crisp and funny and joyful. You definitely brightened my day. :D (Damn you, Canadian television, for not airing the last four episodes...)

[anxietygrrl.livejournal.com]

Waffles make everything better. :)

Thanks for reading, and thank you for the kind comment! I'm very glad you enjoyed it.

[anxietygrrl.livejournal.com]

P.S. You... you have a link to The Bob Squad on your LJ! *fangirls AMG* I may friend you, oh I just might. Do not be frightened. I am mostly harmless.

[nyias.livejournal.com]

I cannot BELIEVE that you actually know what the Bob Squad is. I have had one of the comics printed out and in various lockers/dorm rooms since forever and an eon ago. *fangirls MG right alongside*

I never thought I'd meet somebody who actually knew what it was without me explaining it to them first. (Well, you see, it's action figures and a Scrabble board....)

[anxietygrrl.livejournal.com]

The brilliance of the Bob Squad remains unsurpassed. Who can beat Egg Bob for sheer charisma, I ask you?

I had great fun lurking about the Reboot fandom for a couple years. Reading The List Forum and whatnot. Ah, good times... *wistful*

[nyias.livejournal.com]

Even the poor, lost-behind-the-bureau-for-awhile Box Bob cannot surpass Egg Bob on the charisma chart. I still wonder at how Egg Bob would have used his brilliant fish hammer, seeing as he has no limbs. But yet, I believe that he would have succeeded like a champion.

I lurked around the ReBoot fandom for a bit, but never really got into it actively. But I remember reading the List forum too. *reminisces*

[jesshelga.livejournal.com]

I'm not going to mince words: this was the bomb fucking diggity.

I am WAY too late to this party, aren't I?

[anxietygrrl.livejournal.com]

I appreciate your non-word-mincery.

It wasn't ever really a party so much as a small, polite get-together that wrapped up early. And holy crap, 2004 seems like a long time ago. Yee-ikes.

[anatolealice.livejournal.com]

I'm even later to the party. But I love it nonetheless. Sigh. Didn't even know what I missed til it was gone. But love love love this.

[anxietygrrl.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I need to rewatch this show.