Written for the prompt "Roy/Ed, domestic bickering," for the LJ community fmagiftexchange.
.
.
.
.
eggs
bread (white, not that weird shit)
Voynich manuscript
salt
eggs
meat or something
noodles
3 scalpels
Roy read the list. Then he read it again. Finally, he just put the damn thing down and slid it across the table, leaving it right in front of Ed. "Try again."
"What?" Ed asked. "What's wrong with it?"
"Where to begin?" Roy muttered, rubbing at his eyes.
Picking up the ripped-off sheet of paper, Ed shook it at Roy across the table and demanded, "What's wrong with my list? You asked what I needed!"
"Groceries," Roy emphasized. "I asked what you needed from the grocery!"
"Well, yeah."
"Three scalpels," Roy read. "The Voynich manuscript—what the hell that even is, I'm not going to ask—and no," he snapped when Ed opened his mouth, obviously moving to inform Roy, "I don't want to know. Meat or something," he continued. "What's the 'or something'?"
"I dunno," Ed shrugged. "I figured you'd think of something."
Roy shot him a dark look, then returned to the list. "White," he read, "not weird shit. What's wrong with wheat?"
"It's gross."
"It's healthy, Ed. Your brother said—"
"Just 'cause Al's doing the doctor thing, you're gonna go running to him every fucking time you need to buy bread?"
"I do not," Roy denied, then added, "and I'm telling him you referred to his life's work as 'doing the doctor thing'."
"Asshole," was all Ed had to say about that.
"And to top it all off," Roy said, brushing off the insult with casual indifference, "you wrote 'eggs' twice."
"Oh, well, my bad," Ed muttered, turning the list over and staring it down, eyes squinting and nose scrunched in concentration. "I fuckin' suck at this. Why you even asked me to—"
"You said you wanted to!"
"I take it back," Ed said gravely. "Do the shopping on your own. I'm goin' to the lab today anyway."
"That's probably for the best," Roy assured him, and managed not to snicker until after the younger man had left the kitchen.
It didn't occur to Roy until long after he and Ed had parted ways that morning to ask just what Ed needed three scalpels for.