In The Grocery Bag
EbonyQuill

Summary: A snippet of Miles and Richard's post-Island life concerning hair dye and cooking.
Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm pretty sure Darlton and JJ Abrams own some part of it and that ABC owns the rest of it.

With a grocery bag in one hand and a cell phone in the other, Miles quickly loses his patience with the person on the other end. "You don't have to yell! Jesus, haven't you used a phone before?"

"Yes," Miles Straume can almost hear the other person grinning with self-satisfaction. "I just like to annoy you."

Miles rolls his eyes. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't destroy anything."

Click.

As he arrives at his small two-bedroom home, the plastic bag crinkles noisily in his grasp. Suddenly, he's nervous and his stream of consciousness leads him into doubt. What if he takes it the wrong way? I mean, I have no problem with his appearance now, but...

Before he realizes it, he has arrived at his front door. Taking his key out, his feeling of doubt overcomes him and he starts to panic. In one swift movement, he takes a small package out of the grocery bag and stuffs it into the front of his jacket.

Yeah, he won't notice that I've magically grown rectangular-shaped breasts in the past two hours, he thinks sarcastically to himself. But it is the best he can do.

Entering the front hallway of his home, he calls out, "I have the groceries."

"Did you buy a lot?" Richard Alpert bounds around the corner. His brow is furrowed in confusion as he concentrates on the cookbook that he is holding. He pushes his reading glasses above the bridge of his nose and sighs in frustration, "I think it's going to take a few trials."

"I will eat whatever you cook. I'm starving," Miles says matter-of-factly. Living with an old man has not made him any less impatient. If anything, it has made him more impatient.

Richard rolls his eyes without looking up from his literature. "I could always cook a boar. I'm good at cooking boar. Go hunt one down in the Los Angeles jungle."

"Funny. You're funny," Miles's expression turns sour.

Richard finally looks up. "I've had a long time to develop a good sense of humor."

"And you never let me forget it."

Richard smirks. He almost returns to his cookbook when he notices the disproportion in his roommate's appearance. With a raised eyebrow, he inquires, "What's inside your jacket?"

Miles's eyes shift to the side. "Nothing."

"You were never that good at lying," Richard smirks again. "What is it?"

Miles jests lightly in a ploy to change the subject. "It's a piece of boar. I acquired a taste for it. I'm sure you can pop it in the microwave."

Richard rolls his eyes. "As delicious as that sounds, I think I've had enough boar for five lifetimes. Literally."

Subject averted. Miles's silently feels relief.

"So - what's in your jacket?"

Shit.

Miles takes a deep breath. "Don't be mad."

"As long as it isn't a plane ticket to Guam, I doubt I'll be mad."

Miles slowly takes the small box out of his jacket and hands it to Richard.

There's a handsome young man on the front of the box. He has a toothy grin with dimples and sleek, black hair. However, Richard ignores the clever marketing and just stares at the large logo.

Hair dye.

Richard looks at the box in shock. His expression changes to confusion, then to skepticism. Finally, after a pregnant pause, he starts laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. "Am I really getting that gray?"

"No. No! Not at all," Miles speaks in short, terse sentences because his nerves have gotten the best of him. "It's just - I know that you've had the same appearance for a long time. And I know that transition to the real world is pretty daunting and I thought some kind of familiarity with, I don't know, yourself would be a comfort or something. I don't know."

Richard grins. "I'm turning grey. I'm not turning into a zombie. I'm okay. Really, I'm fine."

"I just wanted you to have the option. Most guys are pretty vain and dying your hair isn't frowned upon in today's culture and there are loads of dudes who -." Miles says this all very quickly before Richard cuts him off.

"Miles," Richard says quietly, eyeing the box with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah?" His eyes fly to the corner of the room where Richard and the hair dye are not visible.

Richard smiles. "Thanks."

"Yeah," Miles smiles back.

Author's Note: I haven't written anything in ages, but this started as an LJ prompt and I couldn't resist.