Miscommunication

by Xasphie

E-mail: Xasphie

Category: angst

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimers: I’ll look after them, if no one else wants them, other than that ....

Originally posted to the SA List July 2004

 

Thursday:

Yeah, great. Shout all you like. See if I care. Not that you ever do.

No, no. Go ahead. Rant. If it makes you feel better, rant. Don’t mind me.

Not that it’s my fault you managed to lock your keys in the truck, but I can take the brunt of it. Not a problem. I suppose it’s better that you yell at me, rather than some other poor schmuck.

Oh yeah, here we go. Try the pacing, that works well for caged tigers, I’m sure it’s great for closet jaguars too.

Up, down, up, down.

No, you’re taking your temper out on me, don’t start on anyone else. I’m used to it.

Okay, fine. Ignore me; if that’s the way you want to play it. We can wait around in the cold until one of your buddies gets here, so you can trip the lock with a metal rod, sure, or we can wait in that nice, warm diner over there. Y’know, the one with the heating? The one where I don’t have to freeze because it’s warm? Remember warm? It’s the opposite of cold.

Which I am.

I don’t function too well in the cold, and that’s only going to piss you off further, so … good, good. Left, right, left, right.

No – not back to your beloved truck. It doesn’t need you to hold its hand. It’s quite happy to sit out here in the subzero temperatures, unlike me.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. That’s all I wanted. A little warmth to defrost my insides. Let’s just wait in here.

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Sunday:

Now what? You know I hate getting wet. I’ve got no waterproofs, and you want to come out here in the pouring rain and abuse me yet again. Great, who invented this life for me? Not that I’m allowed to say anything.

On the other hand, I could always refuse to join in. Now there’s a neat idea. I could refuse.

But then you’d get all agitated, and do that wrinkled brow and hand raising gesture, and quite probably replace me. Oh yeah, that would solve all my problems. Sure.

Okay, okay. Whatever. Just make sure I get the chance to dry off sooner rather than later.

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Tuesday:

No, you can’t take me with you, Rafe. I work with Jim. He might be an asshole on occasion, but I work with Jim. Yeah, great Jim, just great. Loan me out like a library book, why don’t you? Do you charge an overdue fee if I’m not returned punctually?

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Wednesday:

Of course I’m going to refuse to cooperate if you’re going to treat me like this. No one appreciates being smacked around, or tossed off to one side when it’s convenient. If this is how you think you can treat me, it’s a wonder you’ve got any friends at all. No, I know I wasn’t here to see the collapse of your marriage, but I bet you didn’t mistreat your wife this way!

Poke me like that again, and scream at me for being useless one more time, and I’ll fry you.

I don’t have to take this.

You can deal with your colleagues in that arrogant, alpha male attitude, but for me, man, this sucks.

I’m sick of it.

I’ve had enough.

I’m calling it a day.

No more. Got it? No more. I don’t have to cope with this domineering temper of yours any longer. I quit. Okay? I quit. That’s it. Forget it. I’m outta here. Gone. Goodbye.

"Damnit," Ellison protested, shaking his adversary roughly, and smacking hard. "I know you hated getting wet on Sunday, and wouldn’t cooperate with Rafe on Tuesday, but give me a break." The detective gave up and called over his shoulder. "Sandburg, can I use your cell? You know how mine’s been acting up? It’s finally given up and stopped working completely." He pocketed the obsolete pile of microchips, and punched in the number on Blair’s instead.

Fin

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copyright Xasphie 22/05/04

 

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