A/N: A three part story, this first part has no spoilers. All mistakes are mine.
Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing them, okay?
Comfort Food
He didn't know how he could have missed it.
He sometimes saw the crinkled blue and white packaging under discarded paper and fruit skins, but he never gave it a second thought. He never suspected the empty glasses that littered their place after every difficult case, drained of its original contents – leaving behind a thin sheen of white and black specks at the bottom of the glass.
He however, noticed that there were many more glasses involved after any case with hints domestic abuse.
"Do you want one?" She asked, noticing him staring. She was standing by the counter, an Oreo cookie in hand and an almost empty packet in the other.
He shook his head, settling down on the couch wearily. "I don't like the taste."
She nodded, nibbling on a new one. They were still in the clothes they wore from the lab – him in a plain Oxford tee and slacks, her in a grey blouse and pants. It was three brutal shifts, and still they couldn't find enough evidence to pin it on the abusive husband.
He watched her as she absent-mindedly reached for another cookie, her eyes staring out the window. She dipped it effortlessly in a glass of milk by her side, and started chewing daintily.
It was mesmerizing; he had never seen anyone eat with such grace.
It took two more dips with two new cookies, and she was done with her first packet.
They had been home ten minutes, tops.
She reached up to the cupboard and pulled out two new packets. Why hadn't he seen them before? After opening the packet swiftly, she sat on the counter and bit into one after dipping it into a refilled glass of milk, her long legs dangling off the side.
"Are you sure eating that many all at once is healthy?" He asked, eyes widening as she opened her third packet.
"Everyone has a way to relax, right? You ride roller coasters, I indulge in Oreos."
"Sorry, I didn't want to sound judgmental."
She looked up and gave him a small smile; her teeth still a bright white, miraculously spared by the sticky, black cookie goo, like she was born to eat them. "It's okay."
Several more minutes passed, and she was almost at the end of the third pack. He concluded that the more she talked, the fewer cookies she would consume, lowing the risk of diabetes thus preventing her premature death by chocolate biscuits.
"Why Oreos?"
She stopped chewing, and mused.
"Did your mom give you any Oreos when you were little?"
"Yeah, but I disliked it even then."
She laughed, finishing the milk and leaving tiny black crumbs at the end of the cup. "I can't imagine a little boy not wanting any cookies."
He smiled, his first since arriving home.
"My mom would give me one, after every fight my father and her had. Which meant I'd get at least three a week. I would eat it, feeling like that girl in that Oreo advertisement – the one where a little girl eats the cookie staring out her
backyard, watching her dad wash the car, her dog playing in the grass and her mum gardening, with the sun beaming down everyone? I thought if I ate enough, my life would be like that. Ever since I was seven, Oreos have been my comfort food, and in a sense, a source of hope."
She picked out the second last cookie (not that he was counting or anything), observing it.
"Old habits die hard, I guess."
He didn't know what to say, much less look her in the eye – all the years he had known her, today was the first time he had bothered to ask?
She slid off the table, and walked up to him. "Lets go."
"Where?"
"New York New York."
"Sara, we just got back."
"Exactly."
He stared at her, and she stared back.
Can one suffer from an overdose of Oreos?
Symptoms: bright eyes, small smile, disorganized thinking.
She sighed, sitting down next to him.
"You don't understand. You need to relax."
"Who says I'm stressed?"
"It's obvious." She said gently, and he knew she was right. It was as though she could sense whenever he had a bad headache coming, like a sixth sense.
She placed a palm on his arm, the warmth comforting.
"I can bring Oreos to me, but I can't bring the Manhattan Express to you." She whispered, so close; he could smell the Oreos on her breath.
Sweet icing.
Creamy milk.
Chocolate.
Suddenly, he didn't feel like leaving the room, much less the couch, even though she smelled of a biscuit he hated.
He leaned in to kiss her, tasting Oreo and flinched slightly. To him, it tasted so sweet it was like an instant toothache disguised in the form of an innocent cookie. It didn't help with its saccharine sweet aftertaste either.
After a few minutes of oxygen deprivation, she pulled away. "I'm serious Gil. Let's get going."
"I thought you hate riding roller coasters?"
"I thought you hate the taste of Oreos?"
"I do," he answered patiently.
"Then why'd you kiss me?"
"Because I love you." He said automatically.
"Me too, that's why we're going."
He sighed. "You never give up, do you?"
"You should know." She answered coyly.
"At least let me change first," he said in a defeated tone, shaking his head lightly at her but smiling slightly.
She nodded and smiled her oh-so bright smile as he made his way to the bedroom, the same one that made his heart skip a beat way back then.
As he walked out wearing more suitable clothes, he caught her sitting on the counter once more, twisting the top of the cookie off expertly. He stood there hidden by the bedroom door, watching her without wanting to disturb her.
She ran her tongue slowly down the creamy white icing, and he could imagine her as a little girl, doing the exact same thing as she stared out the window with the Californian sunshine beaming down.
She replaced the top gently, and dipped it gracefully in the milk, holding it there for half a second before biting off the milk-soaked part. He watched her silently eat away the remainder of the biscuit with a faraway look in her eye that made his heart ache slightly.
Just as silently, she stuffed the empty packet into the trashcan and deposited the glass into the dishwasher, the look in her eye gone.
Turning around, she caught him standing there. "Ready?"
He nodded and grabbed the car keys. Watching her twist, lick and dunk the Oreo made his head spin, the main reason he rode roller coasters. That same sensation that could make anything on his mind disappear, even for three glorious seconds.
They walked out of the apartment, her hand in his, and he couldn't resist stopping midway down the car park to kiss her lightly, the night sky glittering above them.
Unsurprisingly he tasted Oreos again, but this time, he didn't mind it. He was surprised, because usually, once his mind was made up, nothing could change it.
Sara, the exception.
He couldn't help but ask after he pulled away to catch his breath.
"Why'd you twist, lick and dunk that last cookie?"
She looked at him, her body pressed up against his chest, before turning her eyes upwards towards the stars.
"It made me feel like I was in some sort of exclusive club then – a club where kids twisted, licked and dunked their cookies. No matter how far they lived, down my block or halfway around the world, we all were united by the way we ate our cookie. It made me feel like I was never alone."
He didn't know what made him tear up – her heartbreaking confession or that bittersweet smile on her face.
Sara, always the exception.
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A/N2: I had a serious Oreo craving while writing this. And to think I was inspired by a line from Gossip Girl #7 Nobody Does It Better. Did you like it? Dislike it? Know how I can improve? Review away :)