Daylight Saving Time
Bobby watched the time change from 3:03 p.m. to 3:04 p.m. on his phone and scowled. He leaned into the wall and tapped his heel against it, waiting for the door to Phoebe's office to open. He had been standing outside of her office for only a few minutes, but Phoebe was punctual. She always started their sessions on time, never a second too early or too late and always adhered to the time limit.
Tapping his foot a little faster, Bobby narrowed his eyes on her nameplate only to utter a confused grunt. Leaning forward and stuffing his phone into his jeans pocket, he noticed the nameplate was slightly crooked. Compared to the orderly interior of her office, the slight discrepancy struck him as strange. When he had glanced at his phone, the nameplate had been perfectly centered. Now, it had somehow lowered by an inch, and when he came closer to her door, he saw one of the nails hammered into it jostling, threatening to loosen the nameplate in its entirety.
He held his knuckles to her door only to pull away when the door shuddered. Cupping his hand to his ear, he heard muffled laughter murmuring from within. But it was deeper, resonating and rumbling, nothing at all like Phoebe's voice.
What, she's got another dumbass to psychoanalyze instead of me and goin' overtime? Bobby thought, scratching through his hair and lowering his eyes to her doorknob.
He hadn't tried opening her door yet. He usually let her welcome him in when it was time for his session. Curiosity seized his hand, and he placed it on the doorknob. He let it linger, debating with himself on whether it was right to waltz in when another peel of deep laughter made him twitch, his hand jerking to the side and twisting the knob. (Though, as the door flung open, he knew he would have opened it anyway, privacy be damned.)
Standing in the doorway and letting the hall light bleed into Phoebe's office, Bobby blinked at the strange sight to his left. He wasn't sure what to make of the tangled limbs and awkwardly positioned agents next to him. He didn't know how to take Mikhail's arm slowly lowering from the spot on the door where he had been gripping, the same area where the nameplace was outside. Even though Bobby took in the scene fully, staring at Mikhail's legs wrapped around Phoebe's waist, her holding him up to the wall, their faces flushing red, the rest of her office in the same orderly fashion that he knew, Bobby couldn't completely fathom what he was witnessing.
"Feels a lot like summer camp in here," he finally said and broke the silence.
Phoebe immediately parted from Mikhail and let him slam on to the ground. She thrust his fingers into her wavy curls, blurting, "Bobby! Bobby, what are you-? You shouldn't-you shouldn't be-not yet-I-" She cleared her throat and tittered nervously, avoiding his wide-eyed gaze. "It's not time-it's not time for your appointment," she lamely finished.
"Uh, yeah, it is. I ain't stupid enough to forget," he retorted, taking out his phone for her to see the time.
"Wha-? It's already three o'clock?" She quickly jerked her head at Mikhail as he rubbed his bottom. "Isn't it two o'clock? It was just two o'clock a few minutes ago."
"Eh, should be," Mikhail weakly offered, getting to his knees. He looked at his wristwatch and raised his arm to her, clearly showing the hour hand on two.
At the confusion crossing their faces over the mismatching times, Bobby rolled his eyes. "You guys know it's Daylight Saving Time, right? Move the clock forward an hour or something like that?"
Phoebe fiddled with a hair tie around her wrist and quickly looped her hair through it, the frizzy locks going out in a few different directions. She smoothed them through her fingers and shook her head, mumbling, "What, what, what? But that can't be right. It's…" She looked over at Mikhail as he continued sitting on the floor, now examining his phone. "Hey, what time does that say?"
Mikhail pursed his lips. He slowly got to his feet and sucked in a breath, held it, then sighed it out. He turned his phone around for both of them to see, Bobby grinning and crossing his arms as he basked in his victory.
3:10 p.m. was emblazoned in crisp white letters against Mikhail's phone background, which was a photograph of too many brown bears to count on a grassy field with one of them wearing his hat.
"Huh," was all Phoebe said as Mikhail pocketed his phone.
"Will, uh, see self out," he said, Bobby twisting himself out of the way while Mikhail stumbled out of her office.
"See you later," she called, and Mikhail shut the door behind him.
Bobby watched Phoebe groan and drag her hands down her face. She stumbled away from him over to her desk, and Bobby bent forward, snatching Mikhail's abandoned hat off the ground, the furry material very warm. Tossing it between his hands, he waited as Phoebe slouched into her armchair, pulled out his file from the metal cabinet next to her desk and dropped the large manilla folder on to her desk, her expression completely blank.
"Wow, Dr. Love, I didn't know you liked gettin' frisky," he said, tossing Mikhail's hat into her lap.
He ducked out the way when she threw a spare pair of drumsticks at his head and cackled while she did her very best not to roast him like a pig on a spit.
