Title: Untitled Fandom/original: Semi-original: dirty_life universe. Characters: Estee Matthews, Erick & Aaron Pond Rating: G Word count: 527
Ring.
Estee Matthews, sometimes Pond, was in the middle of a dream. What the dream was didn't exactly matter; she didn't usually remember them or pay attention to them, despite writing down what she did when she could. It didn't mean all that much most of the time, and after all, Stacey wasn't around to be playing interpreter anyway.
Ring.
She'd fallen asleep in the bunk at the Institute again, after a late night with records. That was why the bunks were there, though – kind of like a crib at a police station, they were usually more for tired officers than unexpected crises.
Ring.
Her telephone was trying to make a point.
Ring.
She was sleeping through it.
RING, the phone said, emphatically, because the other line really did want her attention. The other line wanted her attention at 4:25am, regardless of whether she'd just fallen asleep at three. Regardless of what work she had the next day in either job department. Regardless of how much she'd been doing all day.
Estee Matthews' mobile, like Harold Crick's watch, had a lot of points to make and a lot of things to say, and she was ignoring it.
The telephone didn't believe that she needed sleep. The telephone was of the belief that she lived by its hours, and, especially when it was in cahoots with the pager, this was, largely, true.
The person on the other line of the telephone (or at least one of them) believed she lived by his hours, too, and this too, had potential to be true.
Calmly, the phone began again, starting at its softest, most innocent little ring and progressing louder again, until Estee jumped, overturning most of the books that had remained on top of her when she'd fallen asleep, nearly tumbling on the floor, and grabbing the mobile.
"Matthews."
"I'm so sorry about this, E."
She blinked.
It was her (somewhat estranged) husband. Why was he calling? They hadn't lived together in ages, and he had Aaron that week – Aaron. Fuck.
"– Erick? What's wrong? You sound –" He didn't, in fact, sound concerned or worried or upset. He sounded like a combination of guilty and amused.
"Like I'm trying not to laugh or scream? Yeah. Aaron woke me up just now."
"Is he all right?" Her voice caught.
"Yeah! Yeah, he's fine, just – listen, he comes into my room and goes, 'dad, I am so close to four and three-quarters I can feel it. You've got to ring Mom and maybe she can come over for breakfast!' I think he wants a party for it getting closer to almost being his birthday."
Estee's nervous gasp turned into a quiet chortle, as she put her face in her hand and shook her head. "I'll see what I can do."
"I don't think he understands how I work."
"The part where your hours aren't mine and neither of ours are his and he can't get away with this?"
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ninetydegrees
no subject
on 2007-09-17 04:13 pm (UTC)Fandom/original: Semi-original:
Characters: Estee Matthews, Erick & Aaron Pond
Rating: G
Word count: 527
Ring.
Estee Matthews, sometimes Pond, was in the middle of a dream. What the dream was didn't exactly matter; she didn't usually remember them or pay attention to them, despite writing down what she did when she could. It didn't mean all that much most of the time, and after all, Stacey wasn't around to be playing interpreter anyway.
Ring.
She'd fallen asleep in the bunk at the Institute again, after a late night with records. That was why the bunks were there, though – kind of like a crib at a police station, they were usually more for tired officers than unexpected crises.
Ring.
Her telephone was trying to make a point.
Ring.
She was sleeping through it.
RING, the phone said, emphatically, because the other line really did want her attention. The other line wanted her attention at 4:25am, regardless of whether she'd just fallen asleep at three. Regardless of what work she had the next day in either job department. Regardless of how much she'd been doing all day.
Estee Matthews' mobile, like Harold Crick's watch, had a lot of points to make and a lot of things to say, and she was ignoring it.
The telephone didn't believe that she needed sleep. The telephone was of the belief that she lived by its hours, and, especially when it was in cahoots with the pager, this was, largely, true.
The person on the other line of the telephone (or at least one of them) believed she lived by his hours, too, and this too, had potential to be true.
Calmly, the phone began again, starting at its softest, most innocent little ring and progressing louder again, until Estee jumped, overturning most of the books that had remained on top of her when she'd fallen asleep, nearly tumbling on the floor, and grabbing the mobile.
"Matthews."
"I'm so sorry about this, E."
She blinked.
It was her (somewhat estranged) husband. Why was he calling? They hadn't lived together in ages, and he had Aaron that week – Aaron. Fuck.
"– Erick? What's wrong? You sound –" He didn't, in fact, sound concerned or worried or upset. He sounded like a combination of guilty and amused.
"Like I'm trying not to laugh or scream? Yeah. Aaron woke me up just now."
"Is he all right?" Her voice caught.
"Yeah! Yeah, he's fine, just – listen, he comes into my room and goes, 'dad, I am so close to four and three-quarters I can feel it. You've got to ring Mom and maybe she can come over for breakfast!' I think he wants a party for it getting closer to almost being his birthday."
Estee's nervous gasp turned into a quiet chortle, as she put her face in her hand and shook her head. "I'll see what I can do."
"I don't think he understands how I work."
"The part where your hours aren't mine and neither of ours are his and he can't get away with this?"
"Yeah."
But he did get away with it.
Every time.