Bitter Suite, Chapter 1
By Jelsemium
Pairing: Charlie Eppes/Amita Ramanujan, Alan Eppes
Rating/Category: (T/Het)
Word Count: 3,642
Spoilers: None
Summary: What's a math goddess to do when she's not getting' enough lovin'?
Notes: This was written for the Numb3rs Write-off Community at LiveJournal. The prompt was to write a schmoop story about Charlie/Amita based on the word "Bitter."
Notes 2: The plot was inspired by a prompt over at the LJ community: "chocfic". Specifically: "Numb3rs, Het or Femslash-Amita/?: Charlie forgets about Amita one too many times, who does she turn to? – "If you were mine, I would treat you like the sex goddess you are."
Acknowledgements: Elysium1996 – Goddess of Beta Reading and Peeps.
Amita stared at her reflection and bitterly wondered what was wrong with her.
She smoothed her hair down, sure she curled her hair, but that was a fashion choice, not because her hair was disgusting. She ran her hands down her chest. She didn't have a large bust, but her "girls" were nicely formed. Sure her suits didn't exactly display them to their best advantage, but she had a professional image to maintain.
She touched her cheekbones. Her coloring was dark by nature and a judicious amount of sun. She squinted, maybe green contact lens? Green eyes contrasted with her cinnamon skin would add more exoticism. Thank heavens her acne had cleared up by the time she got to college… Wait! Was that…?
She leaned into the mirror. #Damn, it was a pimple.# Probably nerves. Even in college, every time finals rolled around, her face would break out.
She resisted the urge to try to pop it. A little medication, a little make up and Charlie would never notice. She sighed.
Not that he'd been noticing her much lately.
She sighed again and told herself to stop being a cry-baby. "You've known Charlie for years," she told herself. "You knew what you were getting into."
That didn't mean that she had to enjoy being ignored.
Worse, there wasn't anybody that she could whine to about it. Her mother was lukewarm on the idea of a non-Indian son-in-law. If Amita complained about being neglected, her mother would take the opportunity to push her to accept her former fiancé, or another India-born suitor.
She didn't want to involve Megan or Larry in this fight… not that she and Charlie had actually fought.
Amita almost wished that she and Charlie had fought. A little drama would get the blood stirring. Anything was better than this slow slide in and out of twilight.
"Pull yourself together, woman," Amita instructed herself aloud. "If you don't like the situation, then change it."
#Change it how?# "Herself" answered. #What exactly do you i want /i from Charlie? From yourself?#
Her mind was only half on her surroundings as she ran her errands. #Do you i want /i to break up with Charlie? Do you want more attention from him? Do you want a more attentive, if less intelligent, lover?#
There was one of her problems. She'd never be happy with a man who was significantly less intelligent than she was. Another problem was that Charlie was genuinely trying his best… when he was trying.
Suddenly Amita realized that her suit was no longer with her. Frantically, she whirled around as if her navy skirt and blazer had somehow run off. She must have dropped it off at the cleaners, right?
She ducked into the nearest store so she could dig through her purse. She sighed with relief when she found her claim ticket from the cleaners. Then she had to laugh at herself for being as absent-minded as Charlie.
A deep, calming breath settled her nerves and slowed her pulse. It also brought the scent of flowers to her attention. It didn't take an astrophysicist to figure out that she was in a florist shop.
Amita smirked a little. Charlie had sent her a bouquet of red roses for Valentine's Day, and a bouquet of pink roses for her birthday. #He probably set up an account to automatically order the flowers,# her inner voice snarked.
"But that merely proves that he tries to compensate for his poor memory, right?" Amita murmured to herself. "Is there anything i wrong /i with advance planning?"
#Well, no,# her snarky side admitted. #But it's not nearly as romantic as spontaneous flower giving for no reason other than it would make you happy.#
Amita made a wry face. She certainly was demanding, wasn't she? She wondered if she could gently hint about her desire for flowers for no reason.
#But didn't hinting kind of ruin the idea of spontaneous gift-giving? On the other hand, how was Charlie supposed to know these things?#
Of course, she could always send i herself /i a bouquet.
She laughed to herself at the idea. "How pathetic is that?" she asked herself. She started out the door when a splash of color caught her eye… yellow flowers in a pitcher of lemonade.
She bent over to confirm her sighting. The graceful pitcher held slices of lemons suspended in a milky liquid. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of drinking the stuff, as it was probably as much mold as lemon.
She sniffed tentatively at the mouth of the pitcher, but could only pick up on the aroma of the flowers.
"Nice, aren't they?" the tattooed shop girl asked.
"Very," Amita agreed. She was pulling out her wallet before she realized that she had come to a decision. She almost hesitated when the image of her trying to juggle the bouquet, her purse, several large textbooks and a hefty stack of graded papers flashed through her mind.
"I'd like to have these delivered," she said. She pulled out her business card, mentally berating herself for not being able to remember CalSci's zip code. Ironic, considering that she could do combinatorics in her sleep.
"Certainly," the Goth looking shop clerk chirped. The Goth produced an order pad and Amita filled out her name, CalSci's address and her office number. She pushed the pad back.
"Hm," the Goth said. "Amita Ra-ma-nu-jan?"
Used to people mangling her last name, Amita merely nodded.
"No message? No signature?" she shop clerk asked.
Impulsively, Amita declined to inform the clerk that she was sending the flowers to herself. Instead, she reclaimed the pad and wrote… "If you were mine, I would treat you like the sex goddess that you are." She signed "A. Nonymous" with a flourish.
"Ooo… i bold /i ! I like that!" squeed the Goth.
Amita paused. The bouquet would take all the cash she had on her. However, using her credit card would ruin the shop clerk's day.
#Oh, well, it's not like you're going anyplace that doesn't take credit cards.# So she paid with crisp twenties, wilted ones and a handful of change from the bottom of her purse. She went on her way, laughing.
If Charlie was going to ignore her, then she was just going to have to rely on herself, wasn't she?
She put the bouquet out of mind until lunchtime.
Charlie dropped by her office, and Amita frowned at his appearance. Really, he looked like a scarecrow. Was she supposed to help him pick out his wardrobe? Was she a bad girlfriend if she didn't?
"Am I interrupting?" Charlie asked, obviously taking the frown to mean that she was unhappy with him.
"Oh, no," Amita said hastily. She looked at the chalkboard of equations for Larry.
"I am interrupting," Charlie said. He sighed. "I was hoping I could steal you away for lunch?" he added hopefully.
Amita was on a roll and didn't want to stop for fear of losing momentum. She hesitated, then told herself she was being silly. If there was anything Charlie understood, it was writing while the muse was hot. "I brought my lunch," she said, just as the deliveryman chose to walk up with her lemonade bouquet with its insinuating message.
Still, it wouldn't have been so bad if the resulting waltz that arose as the deliveryman made his way past Charlie and around the clutter in Amita's office hadn't included brushing up against one of Amita's bookcases. The clip that held the card to the bouquet broke and dropped the message literally at Charlie's feet.
Automatically, Charlie read the card before handing it to Amita.
"Um, well, okay," Charlie said. His cheeks turned pink and he shuffled out the door. "I'll just get out of your way, then." He scurried out of the office before Amita finished signing for the flowers.
"Showed him you were taken, huh?" the delivery driver observed.
"Hm?" Amita said. "Did I, now?" she tipped him with a few Sacagawea dollars that she had in her desk and frowned as he left. #Is that what I wanted to do? Make Charlie think that he has a rival?#
She debated telling Charlie that she had sent the flowers herself, but she felt a pang of bitterness because she i had /i been forced to buy her own flowers. #Girls with boyfriends shouldn't have to behave like maiden aunts. If he has a problem, well, that's i his /i problem!#
Amita was startled to realize that she was shaking. "Bah!" she said out loud. She took a deep breath to clear her head. #The ball's in his court… has been for weeks now. Let's see what he makes of this. #
She tucked the note into her desk drawer and arranged the flowers to catch the maximum amount of available light. She was determined to enjoy her bouquet for as long as it lasted.
TBC
