The following tiny drabble was written immediately after dealing with a sizable load of laundry. Muses can be found among Maytags. Who knew?
Military Folding
When the clock struck 6 o'clock am, she'd already been at the lab for an hour. And little was accomplished for such an early arrival. In 10 minutes Natalie's boss would be expecting data. His rather terse text message made that abundantly clear. And Lord knows the man wasn't blessed with patience.
Just considering the hurry Connor would be in and the inevitable disappointment when she couldn't produce made her inch closer to crankiness. Unconnected victims were dying at varying rates based on county and they needed to determine commonalities. They had the 'what', which meant control was on their side, but they still needed the 'why.' Nothing was standing out. This would take a miracle.
Shucking off her coat with particular emphasis on speed, Natalie gave the inflammable white cloth a quick toss onto a stool, missing by an embarrassing degree. Turning back to her beaker-and-tube filled station, she attempted to focus her eyes on the laptop screen. At the precise moment the computer graphs became unjumbled to her tired eyes, a presence announced itself with a tap on the doorframe.
Looking up sharply, Natalie found a pair of blue eyes piercing through her lab coat, merrily sprawled on the floor in a heap. He was early by 2 minutes, not that it mattered. Her time estimate last night was just left of realistic and there was seemingly no chance of getting this analysis completed before lunch. Not that they often stopped for lunch. That was reserved for every other Never. Never also described her chance of getting out of a scolding. Late and littering would not be ignored.
"Frustrated?" Connor asked, not a trace of amusement showing. Square jaw firmly set, irritation just a word away. Typical.
"It slid off after the perfect throw." Amazing how skilled she'd gotten at lying to him with a straight face. Mostly because Stephen knew better. Plus her aim was famously consistent with that of the blind.
Leaning down, Stephen grabbed the lab coat and carried it to the lone empty table. Ignoring her task, Natalie watched as Stephen proceeded to work a series of folds and creases until a tight square had been created of her coat. The final act was to smooth out some perceived and likely invisible wrinkle. Such an unrepentant perfectionist. A quarter would have bounced on the damned thing.
"No data?" It wasn't a question so she let a head shake speak what he already knew. "I'll check back later," he announced as he neared the threshold, presumably to jump down someone else's throat. He'd have to make up for not yelling at her, she supposed. Natalie sighed as she tried again to focus her fuzzy vision on the screen before her.
"Not everyone likes anal military folding," Natalie muttered after him as she settled on the painful stool behind her.
"You sure about that?"
A voice made her jump off her seat, knocking it back with a stark and echoing clang. He had left…how could he have heard that? And why can't she bitch within the confines of her head like everyone else? She sucked in her bottom lip as Stephen approached, his course direct with an economy of steps…like a true former soldier.
"You forget. There are benefits to military folding…" he moved to stand behind her, leaning his chin on her shoulder to remind her, "It ensures I have room in my closets for your unorganized mass of clothes."
True…so true. Cohabitation with a perfectionist did indeed have it unique perks. Which left her with only one question… Was it wrong to smile like a thoroughly stoned, certifiable lunatic while compiling death rate data? Having deposited a quick kiss on her shoulder before he departed, Natalie worked a mere 10 minutes more before the commonality miraculously showed itself.