My second entry for Bad Fic '09. (I don't know what the hell I was thinking...) Hope you, erm, enjoy! [Usual disclaimers.]
"What the hell is that?"
Reid carefully poked his head inside the small refrigerator, a clothespin placed ever so precariously at the end of his nose. "What's what?" the profiler asked. "I don't see anything…"
"My God, Reid, if it were any more huge and white and fuzzy I'd say a yeti came to roost in your fridge. I mean, seriously, what is that thing?"
Wide brown eyes stared at the lump of furry white substance that lay neglected on a plate on the third shelf. "I'm, uh, not sure," he replied, looking at his friend with questioning eyes.
"Haul it out and we'll throw it away."
Reid grabbed the plate, but it wouldn't budge. After several attempts his friend cried, "What? Now it won't come out?"
"It's stuck," Reid cried. "You think you can move it, Oliver, you give it a try!"
Oliver ducked his head inside the pungent, insulated cold box, his face covered with a gas mask he'd brought from home. He was used to 'saving' refrigerators on a monthly basis—his boss never seemed to know when to toss anything either. Reaching inside, he grabbed the stationary plate and gave it a tug, nearly breaking it in the process. "Damn," he said, his voice thick from the layers of protection covering it. "Almost as if it decided to permanently move in…"
"So?" Reid asked. "What is it?"
The two men looked at the huge, white furry lump that had taken over the plate. The mass was about the size of a baseball, and it had grown to encompass the dimensions of the small breakfast plate it inhabited.
"That thing moves on its own, we're calling an exterminator," Oliver decided finally. "I mean, at this point it could be feral leftovers or a small domestic rat."
"There are no rats in this building," Reid huffed, a little annoyed.
"Have they checked your refrigerator lately?" Oliver joked. "I mean, we might have proof of life here, right on this…" The older man stopped a second, inspecting the sliver of china that was visible underneath the mound of white fur. "Hey! This is my plate!"
"Well, that settles it," Reid said simply. "Your cooking attracts white rats and small yetis. And here I thought it was just decent. Who knew?"
"Beats yours. All food does not come in cardboard boxes or take-out containers. I mean, seriously, how do you live on that crap? It's a wonder you haven't turned into a fortune cookie or something."
"Very funny. Last time I call you to help me with the spring cleaning," Reid shot back, armed now with a pail of soapy water and a broom, his pink flowered apron getting dirtier as the day wore on. "Flip you for the bathroom…"
"Oh, God," Oliver grimaced. "Now there's a bet I really hope I lose…"