Aftermath
Fillmore is sentenced to clean-up duty.
It was still there.
On the floor it sat innocently, mocking him with its presence.
He glared at it as if he could make it disappear by sheer force of will.
No dice.
When that failed, he started scrubbing the spot viciously for the fifth time with the mop. He cursed when he saw that his effort accomplished nothing and the wretched green stain remained on the otherwise white tiles of the cafeteria floor. "What is this stuff?" He mumbled to himself.
"Jam. Homemade."
He turned to the entrance to see his partner smirking at his misfortune. He shot her a similar look that he gave the stain. She brushed it off easily and sashayed over to his side with a catty grin and gleaming green eyes that gave him a once-over. Her grin turned mischievous. "Nice outfit."
Fillmore resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at her. So what if he was decked out in rubber gloves and rubber boots with an apron to top it all off? "Hey, it's better than having to touch it with my bare hands." He countered, flashing a quick smile. "Or getting it all over me."
He may not have been there to see Ingrid get plastered with the goo, but that's why they had O'Farrell. Or, to be more specific, O'Farrell's camera. Danny was mildly traumatized for the day so Anza had to be the one to take the pictures. Ingrid had not been amused. If Fillmore remembered correctly, the bodyguard was still trying to get green goop out of his hair.
Ingrid rolled her eyes. "The hairnet's a bit much." She said, chuckling.
"It's required when handling school food." He sighed wearily, tugging at the pointless object on his hairless head.
His best friend eyed the brown mush that coated the walls and floors of X Middle School's lunch room.
"Can this even be counted as food? I'm pretty sure I saw some of it move just now."
He shrugged and proceeded to pick up a shovel and start clearing various pieces of trash off the floor. "This had to be the biggest Food Fight in X history. It sure is taking forever to clean up anyway." He was on his fourth trash bag and he couldn't even see the tiles yet. Given the chance, this stuff could block out the sun.
"Actually, the Food Frenzy of '79 is still ranked one on the Examiner's 'Top Food Fights at X'." Ingrid mused, stepping over a suspicious-looking ham and cheese concoction. "Someone filled the vents with four years worth of mashed potatoes and replaced the soda machines with at least two tons of gravy. Called it a Happy Thanksgraving."
"Dawg." Fillmore whistled, "I'm glad I ain't cleaning that one up."
"Which reminds me," the girl drawled, "How did Vallejo manage to talk you into doing clean-up duty in the first place?"
"I can't do it because I felt guilty for leaving you to deal with the fight all by yourself?" He tried to look hurt, but gave up after she threw what looked like a pretzel rod at him. "He may have offered to knock some zeros off my debt." He admitted as he tied the knot on his fourth bag and opened a new one.
"Ah, and the truth finally reveals itself." She said knowingly before pulling out a pair of rubber gloves for herself.
He raised a brow at the sight of them.
"I felt bad that you had to clean all of this by yourself." She answered his unspoken question. "Even though you do deserve it for ditching your partner." She added as an afterthought.
"It's not like I wanted to get called out by Principal Folsom." Fillmore protested. "I would choose getting covered in green with you than be clean with her any day. We're a team. If we go down, we'll go down together." As if on cue, he slipped on a packet of hot sauce and nearly fell face first into god-knows-what gunk had Ingrid not reflexively caught his arm and pulled him upright.
"How about we not go down at all?" Her voice was strained as she tried to hold up his weight.
He chuckled and nodded his thanks. "Sounds like a plan."
They fist bumped and shared a smile.
"So tell me something." Fillmore started as he returned to shoveling.
"Shoot." Ingrid replied, holding open the bag for Fillmore to dump the trash in.
"How did you manage to get rid of all that…jam you had on you?"
She paused, narrowing her eyes at carefully his neutral expression. After analyzing him for a full thirty seconds, she shook her head. "No way, Fillmore. Anza took a whole roll of film. He's not getting off the hook—or out of the goop—that easily."
"Who said anything about Anza?" He asked innocently, although the small tilt of his lips betrayed his show of ignorance. "I just want to know how to get this stuff off the floor. Tehama said you developed a counter-formula to remove it."
"Drop it, Fillmore." Ingrid scowled. "I know all about your bargain with him. I don't care if he's offering to distract Folsom for the rest of the semester whenever you break something, I'm not handing over my formula. Not unless he erases all of the evidence."
He sighed, dropping the act. It was impossible to hide anything from those emerald eyes of hers. "Alright. Can't say I didn't try though. Hand me that bag if it's full."
After several hours passed, they took out the mountain of trashbags that had accumulated during the time. Fillmore was surprised at how quickly they managed to finish the job despite the enormity of the mess. He was also startled when he checked his watch to find that so much time had passed without his noticing. He had been chatting with Ingrid the entire time: they first discussed how to catch Eddy Tubman for instigating the food fight. That led to guessing how long Folsom would give him detention. Which led to Folsom's repressed anger. Leading to all the previous times the blonde Principal had lost her temper with the Safety Patrol. Then came talk of their fellow Safety Patrol members. Vallejo was getting new picture frames and shooting them both glares. O'Farrell was feeling better and was quite pleased with model train Ingrid had sent as an apology. Tehama was helping Anza with his hair and spending a considerable amount of time trying to fix it. They laughed at their friends' antics and then snickered at their own predicament. Before he knew it, it was nearing six o'clock and his parents had called to check when he'd be coming home for dinner.
He shot his partner a glance and saw her rub her neck, wincing as she did so. They had just finished cleaning the ceiling and their necks were sore from staring up the entire time.
"Why don't you sit down, Ingrid. I can take it from here." he offered her an empty seat on one of the lunch tables while removing his rubber gloves since most of the dirty work was over. She just shrugged and remained standing but leaned against the wall for a break, watching him take the mop back out and wipe it across the tiles.
"Hey Ingrid?" He didn't look up from his task, but he felt her eyes focus on him. "About that day of the food fight…"
"Forget about it, Fillmore." She interrupted. "You said it yourself: you didn't want to leave me alone. That's enough."
He frowned to himself and wiped the mop with more force than necessary. "No, it's not."
It hadn't felt right—to leave her to fend for herself on an assignment while she was still new to the job. The entire time he was in Folsom's office, his mind had been elsewhere. More specifically, it had been on Ingrid and how she was faring.
"I should have stayed. Forget what Folsom wanted, I'm your partner Ingrid."
"And I'm yours." She broke in once again, sounding irritated.
"I should have been with you in Folsom's office when you were getting blamed for the damage done on the Gerald case. You weren't the one who knocked over the 'priceless' vase in the first place. How do you think I felt for letting my partner take the rep for something that was my fault? We both wanted to do something else but we couldn't go against orders. We're even."
Ingrid sighed. "Don't blame yourself for not being able to do the impossible."
There was a comfortable silence between the two of them as they each reflected on what the other said.
Then she noticed that he was still frowning. "What's wrong now?"
He sighed heavily.
"It's a little annoying how you have an answer for everything." He replied and promptly got smacked in the face with a pair of rubber gloves she threw at him.
"…Ouch."
"You missed a spot."
Word from the Writer: I hate stains. Really, I do.
I may have written this piece just for the sake of making Fillmore wear a hairnet. Yeah, it seems I'm just that evil. Who knows, my next sinister plot may be to make Ingrid wear yellow.
Replies to the Reviewers
FanFicAA: With this chapter, I revive you! (hopefully) Thanks for dropping by, hon. Always a pleasure to hear from you.
QSR016: I heard laughter is supposed to give you abs. So keep reading if you want to be ripped! (Disclaimer: Dev is not responsible for any abnormalities that may occur if you use SCP. Please consult your physician if any ruptured spleens, induced comas, or excessive crying occurs. Thank you for reading and reviewing SCP. We hope you visit again.)
In all seriousness, I wanted to post something in honor of those who died in 9/11. It's been 10 years but their memory will continue to live on in the hearts of millions in America. I understand this chapter is not a very good representation of that but I believe that when times are darkest, the smallest happiness can make a huge difference. In spite of everything that had happened, we must look forward with a smile on our face and continue to hope for the better without forgetting those who died this day and those who died trying to save them.
Rest in Peace.
-Dev