Archive of Our Own ^beta

I flip my mic off and the weather report on in one clean motion, drilled into my routine from innumerable years at the station. What I don’t expect is a knock on the studio door.

“Sorry to bother you during the weather, Mr. Palmer, but the scientist called in asking for you and I thought-”

I cut off the new intern, “Oh, sweet Carlos! Why didn’t he just call me directly? His brain is probably all frazzled with a new experiment. Can you wire him to the studio phone, Grace? I can push your other duties onto Aaron so you can leave early.”

“Oh yes, right away, sir! Thank you, sir!” It’s good to incentivize a little friendly competition between interns. And I feel oh so giving when Carlos is involved. Speaking of…

☆

“You are on the air! Tell me, our gorgeous local scientist, why are you calling in today?”

“Cecil, hey. The weather’s playing, right? I’m not actually on air?”

I giggle. “You caught me, dear Carlos. Good to know you’re tuning in.”

He giggles back. “I couldn’t turn the dial if I tried, Ceec. Every time I try the radio starts smoking. I’ve been meaning to investigate that actually. If I could just find a screwdriver-” The line is smothered between a labcoat-clad shoulder and his scratchy beard and I hear drawers being opened and closed two at a time before he speaks again. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t call for you to hear me all sciency. I-”

“Carlos, talking science is a more than okay reason to call. But, yes, I would love to know what was so urgent that couldn’t wait ‘til dinner.

“I-it’s about dinner, actually. Cecil, I’m so sorry, I don’t think I can make it.” Drawers stop opening.

“Well, Carlos-”

“I know I keep cancelling dates week after week. It’s just- I keep getting new projects a-and my mind still zeros in on all the science. I swear I’m not purposefully missing them and I-” The ramblings turn to tiny mutters, only audible through my radio headset, “I hope you don’t hate me.”

“Carlos, doll, I didn’t start dating a scientist assuming he’d drop his life’s work to have a few drinks. I simply want you to know that you are loved.”

“Aww, Ceec, I love you t-”

“Which is why I will be at your doorstep approximately 8 minutes and 34 seconds after I close the show.”

“Wait, Ceec, what-”

“Do good science!” I say as I end the call. Oh, I hope Carlos will just love my plan! Aaand, that’s the weather report ending. The rest of today should be a breeze.

☆

I straighten out my outfit, a black cat onesie, as I set the Rube Goldberg-esq contraption into motion next to the lab door. The marble is almost to the doorbell when the door opens, and there stands my slightly disheveled but still perfect boyfriend.

“Cecil, what ar-” The marble hits the doorbell and we stare into each others eyes as the sound of geese being cooked alive echoes off the sterile white walls of the lab. When it’s completely gone, I shift the takeout bag to solely reside on my left and extend my right hand in a ‘Continue’ gesture.

“What are you doing here? You ended the call before I could respond with a question or anything. I became so unfocused…I have a lot of science left to do, Cecil.”

I click my tongue at the completely expected outcome. “Well that certainly won’t do. Alright, you go finish your science, and I-” I brush past him as I enter the small waiting area (really just two plastic chairs and empty labcoat hooks), “-will get started. Oh, this will be so neat! I’ll leave you to your science.”

Carlos closes the door behind us and I plant a kiss on his cheek before I close myself off in his upstairs apartment.

“I- a- okay?”

☆

“Knock knock knock,” says the corner of the wall as I alert Carlos of my presence.

“Hey… I’m almost done writing these numbers, okay? What’s that smell?” He pulls his eyes away from his notebook for the first time in 40 minutes and I truly see the darkness circling those brown gemstones.

“That smell is a fresh pot of tomato soup with your name on it. Do you… label your kitchen utensils?”

“I don’t label them, Cecil, I name them.”

“Well, can Carlos the Scientist join me for some soup?”

He sighs into his notebook but leaves the numbers unwritten.

“He can.”

★

Soup for two above an empty lab is neat.