She hadn't intended for this to happen, still was puzzled as to how it had happened, actually. Bernie stood across the kitchen, hair in more of a startled mess than usual, one hand subconsciously to her chest; the heavy, fast rhythm pounded strongly through her palm. Across the sleek table top, Bernie's latest victim sat, smoke rising from both sides, flushing the surfaces with a grey smog and rising upwards, faded into the air. Said victim happened to be Serena's new microwave.
In fact, it had been Bernie's fault they'd needed to seek out a replacement in the first place, when she'd been helping move the kitchen around, hefting the microwave had been an underestimated task. The thing was like shifting a rock from Stonehenge and Bernie had, quite majestically, managed to trip over nothing and resulted in the thing plummeting to the seemingly in-destructive flooring. Tiles one, Microwave nil.
It had taken nearly two weeks of endless scavenging to find an exact replica, as Jason insisted on the same operating functions. When Serena had naively thought she'd found one, she practically jumped for joy, before realising the button was a different shape and on the wrong side…
So when they did eventually find the same model, it seemed miraculous! It had only been there a week, 10 days at best, Bernie's frenzied mind tried to recall, though it didn't really aid the subsiding of panic. It contributed to its growth.
Yes, she knew the thing was very new.
Yes, she knew it was extremely trying to their relationship in finding a new one.
Yes, she knew the prospects when Serena returned- in approximately 17 minutes- were bleak.
No, she did not know what to do.
As if dragging her back to the present, to the current problem, a shrilling scream pierced through from the landing.
Oh shit.
In her daydream, more panic-of-a-nightmare, Bernie had neglected the clouds of smoke that had continued in rising through the kitchen passage and drifted through to the proximity of the fire alarm, which was now wailing, emitting a blaring shriek. Taking two steps at a time before making anyone else aware of the issue, she managed to disarm the smoke detector and decided to take on round 2 in getting the microwave out of the way. She managed to shuffle the bulky metal through the patio door, out onto the grass, dumping it down with a little less care than truly intended, ironically a softer landing than the previous appliance, which had been in perfect order until being moved.
Hands on her hips to straighten out, being sure to have felt a sharp twinge to her back in the trial, Bernie looked disgustedly down to the machine lying sideways on the cropped greenery, door now hanging askew from the crash.
"I'll get you for this," She muttered, before pausing momentarily, shaking her head in realising she was talking to a microwave- a dead one at that.
"I'm home!" She heard a faded call from the other entrance to the house, screwing her eyes tightly shut, willing time to slow down- freeze even- just this once.
There were two options, Bernie thought: Not mention it and hope Serena wouldn't need to use the microwave until she'd ventured to find a new replica, or go in there, sweetness and light, to try and let her down gently.
Deep breath, Major.
"You won't believe the shift I've- what's that smell?" Serena stopped a foot into the kitchen, handbag slumped on the side, frown on her face.
Okay, one option.
"What have you burnt, Bernie?" Serena pressed on when no immediate reply was given.
"Right," She shuffled closer, probably a big mistake already.
An audible sigh and shrug came from her partner, who now leant against the sideboard previously occupied by the deceased appliance.
"You know that microwave?" Bernie edged quietly, opting to begin the explanation, let Serena figure out the rest, and then plead innocence. Simple, though risky… or so it seemed in theory.
Serena's eyes narrowed, before darting to the empty space on the marble top.
"Where is it?" Serena demanded flatly.
"The garden."
"Oh for Christ's sake, Bernie…" She whispered furiously, sweeping past as Bernie jumped out of her path, towards the gadget's graveyard.
"How the hell did you manage that one?" Serena hissed, arms folded at the door, gazing out to the ruin.
"I don't know! It must have been faulty, Serena!"
"What? Because we've had it a week?!" Serena spun around to face her partner, who was partly hiding behind the doorframe. "We've had that bloody thing a week, Bernie! And you've managed to blow it up!"
Bernie sheepishly followed her further into the garden, hanging back to watch her investigation from a safer distance.
A moment passed as Serena poked each button.
"They won't work anyway if it's not plugged in." Bernie pointed out, too plainly it would seem.
"I don't think you are in any position to be giving advice here, Ms Wolfe." Serena snapped back, but did stop prodding around at her comment.
"See? Nothing to do with me!" Bernie held her hands up in surrender, taking another confident step closer.
"Oh…" Serena lowly chuckled, a dangerous response Bernie had come to learn. "You want to bet, Major?" She stood back up, beating a spoon in her hand.
"Oh, whoops…" Bernie mumbled, taking a smaller step back as Serena made her advances closer to her.
"Oh whoops, indeed." Serena speculated, still drumming the metal culprit on her palm. "Well, I was intending on using the microwave tonight because those potatoes take forever in the oven. But that'll give you time to look online for another exact…again." A small smirk creeping onto her face.
"On it." Bernie sprang back into the house- considering to have got away lightly on that- leaving Serena shaking her head fondly as she followed her back inside, an amused smile playing on her lips. With anyone else- Jason even- she'd ring their bloody necks. With Bernie though… how could she?
