TI: In This Life 2.
AU: SnoopMaryMar
DI: NCIS is not mine.
RA: T
SU: What happens when the bullpen is empty and there's no one left to keep the chills at bay?
You wrestle with the cart (why do the wheels on these things never quite work?) at the entrance to the grocery store, a place that never failed to make you feel inadequate because you were there by yourself.
It was the reason for your former take-out addiction - it was easier to order in than feel like a total loser when you went through the 10 items or less checkout every time you did your groceries. But age and a slowing metabolism combined with Ducky's incessant nagging had worn you down.
The cooking course from Abby at Christmas had definitely helped too. At least you knew how to use your stove now.
You pull out your list, feeling like an imposter the whole time. You know there's some invisible sign floating over your head screaming 'pitiful bachelor' to all the other people there.
The list is something you quickly learnt made this exercise much less agonizing. At least it made you look more in control and capable.
Okay.
Fruits and vegetables.
Apples. Oranges. Plums. Peaches. Strawberries. Blueberries. Bananas. Tomatoes. Zucchini. Celery. Carrots. Potatoes. Peppers. Garlic. Onions. Herbs.
Lettuce - hmm. Spring mix or the baby arugula?
What dressings are in the fridge? Do you still have the raspberry dressing Abby brought over? That was really good...you think for a minute, mentally opening your fridge door.
Yup. It's beside the mustard.
Arugula it is.
You're reaching for the pre-sliced squash chunks when she turns the corner of the aisle.
She's cute. Really cute. And she has a hairband thing in her brown hair that's kind of hot.
You shift plans and go look at the smoothies, wondering if it would annihilate your chances if you snagged one of the kiwi ones she was looking at. Did women like men who liked kiwis?
Okay. Smile at her and quickly excuse yourself as you reach for the smoothie.
Yes!
Man, she's got a great smile. And big blue eyes. And really cute freckles on her nose.
You rack your brain, desperately trying to remember what it was you said back when this was easy but a quick glance into her cart spots diapers just as the light makes the gold band on her hand flash.
Dammit.
You smile, nod and push off.
Moving onto breads, avoiding the pastry bins on peril of more Ducky-lectures.
12 Grain or Honey Flax? What kind of lunch meat was on the list? You rapidly scan your list and decide to try the honey flax. It might taste good with the turkey in this week's flyer.
Into the cart you go, lunch for the week. Hey, if the weather's nice, maybe you'll take your sandwich over to the Mall and people-watch. The crowded steps at the memorial would still be better than eating at your desk over cold cases. You don't have to stay in the office by yourself, just because Tim and Abby have each other and Ziva prefers to eat with Ducky or Gibbs now.
After all, there's no point in springing for lunch by yourself. You're not that big a loser, taking a case file into a diner to read while you eat an overpriced hamburger and eavesdrop on the laughter at other tables, just so you can feel like people know you exist.
You hit the deli counter and spot some really nice looking proscuito that you would totally love to eat. But it's way too pricey and it's just not an option, what with the mortgage and the stupid car payment you know is going to go up after this weekend. You settle for the turkey, some pastrami and the rosemary ham, with some light swiss and marble cheese slices. You decide to change tonight's dinner plans when you see the finely grated parmesan and grab a large container before backtracking to grab some of the dried gourmet mushroom mix and some lemons.
The fish counter is more promising. Especially with the blonde in the skirt suit and the surprisingly hot dark plastic frames. You take a number and smile at her as you both wait your turns.
Nothing.
Okay. You know you're flashing the available hand and have a lot of healthy goodness in the buggy. So why no reaction?
Oh.
You smile and nod at the skinny-looking, underfed guy who strides forward to take her hand and kiss her cheek and continue to wait your turn.
Digging a pen out of your pocket, you quickly (and slightly viciously) score off fish before hitting the butcher counter.
Mmmm. Beef.
That was easy - steak and lean ground. You stop and quickly grab the flattened seasoned chicken, suddenly looking forward to dinner tomorrow night. Maybe you'll try that soup recipe from the class with the leftovers?
You grab eggs and the low-sodium turkey bacon you've discovered you really like (and God help you if the guys ever find out you like it better than the real stuff!) before darting up the cereal aisle.
You toss your Cheerios in, followed quickly by the apple and cinnamon instant oatmeal.
Cranberry juice. Vegetable juice packs. Irish breakfast tea.
As much as you agree with Ducky in principle on the 'evil aisle', you just can't help it. You can't give up the tortilla chips or those little chocolate bars. The homemade salsa should get you off the hook if Herr Doktor makes a surprise inspection again.
You avoid making eye contact with the diaper-lady when you meet beside the condiments, even though you'd love to look into those pretty eyes again.
You aren't into that kind of self-abuse.
The next aisle reminds you of your Nonna, though it'll never taste the same.
Tagliatelle. Farfalle. Penne. Linguine.
Maybe you'll try the pasta recipes out of that book she gave you when you finished school sometime soon, when you're not on call. Because no matter where it's made or what language is on the package, it still doesn't taste right.
Canned tomatoes. Canned artichokes. Pickles. Canned chicken broth.
Pesto in a jar (Nonna, forgive me...).
You quickly backtrack when you realize you forgot the arborio rice, apologizing profusely when you nearly ram the scrawny guy's cart.
See - charm and good manners. Your loss, blondie.
You grab a couple of cans of soup before sprinting through the rest of the aisles (where in the hell is the sunshine-scented liquid detergent!) and into the frozen foods section.
Potato wedges, some quick microwave dinners for those nights when his bones ached and his heart bled for some poor bastard in Ducky's morgue.
Pretend you don't see the ice cream, because the only thing more pitiable than a cart full of frozen dinners is a man with several pints of Ben and Jerry's and no wedding ring.
That sick, solitary glumness starts to surge like a tide and you grab the strawberry prebiotic yogurts, the OJ, some of those little red circles of cheese and the skim milk before sprinting for the cash.
You stand there, watching the brunette and the blonde with the scrawny guy ahead of you and wonder what the hell is wrong with you that you don't have that.
Anyone who thought you could meet somebody in these places was sniffing the air fresheners.
This has gone from a one-shot to an arc, thanks to the wonderful reviews!