Of all the images Morgan imagined could send his pulse racing and his heart beating out of his chest, he never guessed it would be the sight of Tamra's perfectly pedicured dark cocoa feet at the end of his bed. They were in perfect view from his station in the kitchen, which was both a blessing and a curse. How could he concentrate on making the perfect breakfast when the evidence of her presence, which was equal parts amazing and distracting, taunted him from such a small distance?
He imagined what his life would be like without gluten. Shouldn't be too hard, he thought as he whisked together the eggs. Of course, just about all of his food contained at least trace amounts of wheat, but who cares? Gluten-free food can't taste any worse than prison food, and, admittedly, there were a few recipes that looked interesting when he was researching different breakfast options. Tamra made him try gluten-free pizza once. "God, Morgan, man up! It's not that bad!" She was right...it wasn't terrible. It was good enough to make him stop calling it "bitch pizza" in his head, anyway. And he could learn to enjoy flourless cakes with her and read labels and cruise special sections of the grocery stores with her and he would do it all with the dumbest looking grin on his face. Yes, she was the one with Celiac Disease and this could just as easily continue to be her issue while he enjoyed his hoagies and flour-packed cake, but there was something about experiencing this with her and being "in this together" that he couldn't resist. He liked cupcakes. He loved Tamra.
Morgan checked on the dark chocolate melting in a small pot on the stove, then eyed the cubed fruit as he slipped the egg soufflé onto her plate. He couldn't remember the last time he made breakfast for himself. His grandmother didn't require much when he was living with her – just the occasional bowl of cream of wheat whenever she needed a break from her toast with her thin slice of ham – so there was never really a demand to exert more energy than what was required to microwave a burrito. It felt so wonderful to grip a pot handle and to feel the heat radiating from the burners. It felt amazing to feed someone.
Once he spotted tiny bubbles gently breaking the surface of the chocolate, he turned off the stove completely and moved the pot to a cold burner, allowing it a few minutes to cool. He moved over to bowl of fruit, filled with her favorites: pineapples, mangoes, bananas, strawberries, and kiwi. The green fruit spurred a sense of pride in him. It was one of the few things he could introduce to her at time when he thought all he had to offer her was affection. "I know it's fuzzy as hell, Tamra, but it's good stuff, I promise."
When they made it back to her apartment he immediately peeled the fruit and fed her a slice. Since then, she would ask him to pick up a kiwi on his way back from lunch, or he would catch her toss a few chunks into one of her smoothies. It was a small thing, but none of his previous relationships bred many opportunities for him to play the positive influence.
Grabbing a slotted spoon, he scooped some of the fruit into a small bowl, then drizzled some of the chocolate over the heap. Morgan directed his attention back to the feet in his bed, which were beginning to shift. The time on his watch read 7:57, which meant Bones would be bounding into the bedroom at any moment to nip at her feet. The level of restraint he had to exercise in order to keep himself from getting her a puppy for a present was astonishing. In fact, he was visiting an old friend who raised purebred poodles and was physically holding the tiny dog (who was shivering and licking his nose, that precious bastard) when he made the decision that he didn't want to give her a dog that was hers. When the time was right, when their future was far more solidified, he would bring home a dog that was theirs. They would debate his name (he would lean towards Sir Wellington Puppnuts and she would fight for Usher Raymond), walk him together and marvel at his growth side-by-side. Then, when doggy care no longer sustained them, they could discuss rings and last names and a new home and tiny happy, mouthy amalgamations of the two of them.
But now was not the time for any of that. Now was the time for breakfast in bed. Checking the egg soufflé one final time to make sure the temperature was still acceptable, he sat the bowl of fruit on the empty space on the plate and loaded the small tray. He quickly opened the refrigerator door and grabbed a small bottle of Powerade as a finishing touch, carrying it and the breakfast into the room. He stopped briefly at the door frame to take in her sleeping form. Her back was to him, however the sight of her dark hair fanned behind her and her limbs claiming as much space as possible still managed to capture his heart. Worried that her breakfast would get colder, he shook himself out of his trance and walked over to the bed. Morgan knelt down until he was close to her ear.
"Tamra," he whispered. "Tamra, baby, wake up."
Tamra arched her back slowly flipped onto her back, her eyes still screwed shut. She groaned unintelligibly. Morgan bent forward and planted kisses on her eyelids and jaw line until she finally began to blearily crack open her eyes. "Morgan?"
He kissed her simply and gently on her lips. "I made you breakfast!"
"Awwww, boo," she replied sleepily, a slow smile spreading across her face. "That's so sweet!" She scooted her body upward until she was propped against the headboard. Once settled, Morgan gingerly placed the tray on her lap. He was so thrilled to see her eyes light up as she inspected the food. "It all looks so good…and you remembered the kiwi! Wow, thank you so much, baby!"
Careful not to shift the tray, she placed both of her hands on either side of his face, leaned forward, and kissed him firmly on his lips. When she pulled back, Morgan flashed a satisfied grin. "Happy birthday, Tamra."
A/N: This piece was written for the incomparable alittlenutjob for her birthday. Happy Birthday, my friend! Thank you for always being such an incredible source of support. Thinking of you. :-)
Hollaatchyagirl,
Phunky