Dedication to Stormchilde, who is best the best beta I've ever had. Feel the love!
A Random Day at the Vegas Crime Lab: 'Tomatoes are Made to be Thrown, not Eaten' (1)
Deirdre Sanders had a motto: 'Tomatoes are mad to be thrown, not eaten.'
She took this motto very seriously; no one, not even her new husband (who loved tomatoes), could convince her to ingest the blobby, red fruit-vegetables. Tomato paste, she could deal with, since it is only used as an ingredient; ketchup went wonderfully with hotdogs and French fries…
Tomatoes themselves, though, will always be made to be thrown, not eaten.
Unfortunately, the employees at the Las Vegas Crime Lab, though successful in their chosen fields, seemed to be ridiculously forgetful - and this included her husband. First, it was her "DON'T BLOODY-WELL ASK ME FOR YOUR RESULTS EVERY FIVE FRIKKIN' MINUTES" rule that drifted from their minds, then it was her constant threats and warnings not to touch her emergency supply of Dr Pepper. When her motto and extremely vocal protests against the Evil Fruit-Vegetable of Doom were forgotten, though…
She shuttered at the memory. The action did not go unnoticed by Greg, though, who was working on some hair samples nearby.
"You okay?" His voice was somewhat hesitant, and he glanced up from his work. He knew the answer; this was something that they were both aware of.
Briefly, she was happily reminded that the man she had married was not as blind to emotion as the rest of his species were. However, she still frowned and glared when she turned to face him. "No, Gregory, I am not 'okay'."
A sigh. "Dee, be serious. It was just a tomato -"
'Just a tomato?' Oh, no he didn't…
Her glare strengthened, as did her voice. "It's not 'just a tomato' and this is no small matter! I'm allergic to the damn things!"
He snorted in poorly suppressed laughter - or disdain, she could not quite tell. "You're not allergic, you just don't like -"
"If I'm not allergic, then why am I unable to breathe after I eat them!"
"Because you hold your breath so that you don't have to taste them. If this is really such a problem, you could've just asked the waiter -"
"Don't tell me what I could've done!"
"And I picked them off for you, anyway, so you really didn't even have to eat them -"
"I COULD STILL TASTE THEM!"
There was a moment if silence during which he simply stared at her. His pale face and dark-rimmed eyes reminded her of the many double shifts he had been working, with lab work above that to help her, so that she would not fall behind in the mess of crimes that had gripped the city. Beginning to feel stupid, she recalled that he had been the one to suggest they go out for a late dinner at a restaurant before their shift started, since work had begun to impede on the time they were able to spend together…
Suddenly, she felt incredibly stupid.
Swallowing her pride was something Deirdre often found to be difficult, but she had already opened her mouth to apologize before even realizing what her intentions were.
He, though, was already speaking, in a weary and exhausted voice that she truly hated to hear from him. "Honestly, Deirdre, they're only tomatoes."
Her own voice somehow got lost in her throat as he silently walked out of the DNA lab.
They did not drive home together that morning; he simply insisted that he had far too much work left to do. So, Deirdre left the keys to their car with him and took a taxi back to their condominium.
When he would finally make his own way back home, almost trembling with exhaustion but ready to make amends with his wife, he would find her already asleep in the master bedroom, snoring lightly and obviously comfortable in one of his shirts.
He would also find a plastic container filled with red cherry tomatoes, waiting for him on the kitchen counter.
Deirdre Sanders had a new motto: 'Whenever possible, tomatoes are made to be thrown, not eaten.' This new motto strangely made things much easier between herself and her tomato-loving husband.
You know what? My original plan was to involve lots of laughing on Greg and Deirdre's part, and then some tomato throwing. And then I ended up with… This. I'm not even sure how much I like it.
Isn't it strange how you just sort of lose control of your hand sometimes?
Ah well, watch for the evil master-mind chickens! They're coming to rule the world!
xCxBxBx