Overwhelmed
By Reena ([email protected])
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Category: M/M Foof
Summary: Clueless Michael in a grocery store, trying to get something for Maria
Spoilers: Not a one
Disclaimer: The usual blah blah blah about not owning ‘em and it’s a
Metz/WB-thing
Author's Notes: Oh, this is my pathetic attempt at foof.
***
Michael walked into the store. This was going to be easy, he thought. Go in.
Find the stuff. Leave. Just because this isn’t the kind of thing that happens to
me doesn’t mean that I can’t do it. As he found the right aisle and looked at
all the products in front of him, he became a bit overwhelmed. Uh, oh. I should
have written it down.
Wait a minute. I can do this. It isn’t hard. I mean, I just have to pick one. Or
was it two? Dammit!! How do people do this? She never said there were this many
choices. I’m going to kill her for this. But if I don’t get back pronto, she’ll
kill me first. I love my little Cheesehead, but right now, she’s not in the best
of moods. She’s so cranky right now, I just want to kick her out of the
apartment and tell her to come back when she’s feeling better. But, something
tells me that won’t go over too well. And I bet she’d have no problem kicking my
‘dorkbutt’ for saying it or revoking Eraser Room privileges.
Michael was still staring at all of his choices when a clerk approached him.
“Can I help you?” Do I look like I need help? Oh, well...maybe...um, yeah.…
The words were on the tip of Michael’s tongue, but stubbornness prevailed and
something else came out instead. “No. I’m fine.” The store clerk walked away,
and Michael was left dazed, still looking at all of his choices on the shelf.
Great, just great. You can’t even let yourself get help from a clerk. For these.
And if I don’t get back soon, I’m going to have a blonde hurricane ready to
pounce on me the second I hit the door. Although...
Mud. Mud. Mud.
Okay, I could just call her and ask her what she wants, right? I mean, she could
have come with me. But, nooo. She’s miserable. And I’m the boyfriend. Did I just
say that? Dammit!! Reminder to self...less time with Max. More time with Kyle.
Whoa. Did I just say that, too? Okay, it has to be her ‘cooties’ or something
doing this to me. Yeah, that’s it. Her weirdo vibrations are getting to me.
Simple explanation.
Michael was getting annoyed. He had one simple task to do, and if he failed, he
would never hear the end of it. Like it wasn’t bad enough that she had stuff at
his apartment. His bathroom smelled like some botanical garden half of the time.
But at least it was clean. Between his Cheesehead and Isabel, he’d been
introduced to ‘the wonder that is bleach.’ And now, more of her stuff was going
to be invading his bathroom. Just great.
A crazy thought zipped through Michael’s head, and he was convinced, again, that
it was her ‘cooties.’ Because he would never think, on his own, that this was
how it was going to be like when they lived together in college. No. Live
together? College? Yeah, definitely ‘cooties.’ Crazy girl ‘cooties.’ How long
did these ‘cooties’ last? Was it three or four days? He couldn’t remember. All
he knew was they had to go away. Too many nutty thoughts were invading his
‘fragile alien brain.’ Great, I’m quoting her again. Stupid Cheesehead.
As he was still looking at the display of products in front of him, he made a
decision.
***
When he opened the door to his apartment, some chick music was playing on his
stereo. As long as it didn’t stay at his place, he could deal with it. He’d have
to ‘clean out’ the stereo with some Metallica, that’s all.
She was lying exactly where he left her. On the couch, miserable. She popped up,
eyeing the bag he was carrying.
With outstretched hands, she motioned for him. “Hand it over.” Yeah, nice to see
you too.
Maybe this could be over in a day or two...he wasn’t sure how much more of her
‘pleasant’ demeanor he could take. Looking at her, he just knew. He was whipped
on this girl. Out of any girl in Roswell, New Mexico...this is who he was
whipped on. Maybe it was her yellow Curious George pajama bottoms and his
Metallica T-shirt that was driving him crazy. Or the fact that her hair was a
mess. Or the fact that even though she was in a cranky, foul mood, she was still
adorable. Whatever it was...he was a goner. A bit, fat, loser-goner for her.
She laughed at the contents of the bag. “Um, Michael, you didn’t need to buy the
entire supply. I just needed--“
“Look, it’s confusing, okay? I mean, this isn’t the kind of thing that happens
to me! Just tell me that the stuff you wanted is somewhere in that bag.” It
better be...he just didn’t think he could brave it again.
He watched her rifle through the bag, triumphantly pulling out what she had
wanted. Phew! Mission accomplished. Although, somewhere he had a nagging feeling
that he had forgotten something...
“Um, Michael? Oh no...…
“What?” He knew it was coming...
“You kinda forgot something.” One look at her, and he just
knew...Dammit!!
“I’ll go get it.” She gave him a half-smile.
Reluctantly, he walked over to the counter and grabbed his keys. He was pretty
sure she yelled something as he was shutting the door. So, he was off to the
store, again. For her. Again. Of course, he had to forget the Kleenex. What
human didn’t need Kleenex when they were sick? At least this wasn’t as scary as
decongestants, or those syrups, or non-drowsy, etc.
I mean, all I have to do is by some Kleenex.
Aaahh!! Since when did Kleenex come in a billion different choices?! He had a
gut feeling that whatever she yelled at the door might have been relevant to the
Kleenex choice. Just then, the same clerk from before headed down the aisle.
Relief washed over Michael and his pride went bye-bye. “Hey.” The clerk looked
at him. “My girlfriend is sick and...”
***
Ten minutes later, Michael was back at the apartment with the Kleenex. He handed
the box over to her, awaiting her response.
She just smiled that goofy smile of hers. “Thanks,
Dorkbutt.”
He did it. He got the right Kleenex. And his little Cheesecurl-pixie was happy.
And he did it. And as he was basking in the glow of his mini-success, she just had to blow her
nose.
“I hate being sick!” Okay, memo to self, no ‘happy.’ But she was still his sick,
adorable, sniffle-head Cheesecurl girl.
And he got the Kleenex right.
The End