Cold Lunches [Peter]

[DR. WILLIAM PORTHOS]

The microwave died. The microwave died. Why did the microwave die? Will didn't do anything to it to upset it lately. He tried not to make it mad at him. Really. He was sure to use it and pet it and call it Sally. Wasn't that enough? Sometimes, he'd even feed it some marshmallows when he left them in there too long.

Yes. Will cooked marshmallows in the microwave. How else was he going to make s'mores?

Now, when he tried putting his frozen meal thing in the microwave, it worked long enough to somewhat de-thaw the spaghetti, then it cracked and fizzed and stopped working. No matter how many times he hit it, it didn't work. Old faithful Sally died on him. He'd mourn over her later. Right now, he was upset that he had cold, half-frozen noodles and lukewarm alfredo sauce.

Would he get in trouble if he whipped out his lighter and tried to roast it? He was seriously considering it.

Right when he migrated from the dead microwave to one of his operating tables, as he called them, Peter walked in with his own lunch. It was something they did when they had time off. The two of them had been friends for a long time in the department, probably since Peter came down to the morgue and hassled Will over some dead stiffy he was taking his sweet time with. Since Will didn't take any bull from the new children who played detective and thought they were the bee's knees, he hassled him right back. Instant friendship.

It was lunch, so Peter came down to keep Will company. The dead stiffs didn't talk much aside from the release of gases. Belches and flatulence, mostly. Dead people had no respect. Luckily, Will had already cut in to all of his stiffs and released all of their gases, so it was really not a big deal.

"Peter," Will whined, waving his container of half frozen lunch at him angrily. "Sally died on me. I want you to shoot her dead."

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

The people he knew weren’t normal. Life would have been no fun if they were. However, one of his best friends, if not the best, was Will Porthos, and he was by far the least normal of the bunch.

Take lunch, for example. Most normal people liked to sit at their desks or go outside. Not Will. The man insisted on eating in his morgue. That’s right – morgue. As in the place where they cut up dead people. He supposed Coroners should like their work, but...well, it was a tad strange. Peter had pointed that out, but he had yet to get Will out of the morgue, so like the old saying goes: if you can’t beat them, join them.

That was how Peter came to be clutching the Tupperware container of lunch Louise had sent for him that day, walking into the morgue. He was getting used to eating there, in fact it wasn’t so terrible. It was quiet, clean, and ghost free, so rationally there was nothing wrong with the place. It was just the knowledge that dead people came there, that they were cut open, bared in no natural way to learn how they died...

He shook his head a bit. That was not something to think on before lunch.

Instead, he caught sight of Will wandering around the room and remembered when he had first met the man. He’d just started on as a Detective and was assigned up in homicide. He’d hated it, but it was his job. So when his partner bit his head off about not having results, he’d taken it upon himself to come down to Will’s office and ask for the results with a bit more stress and force in his tone that was necessary. Will had jibbed him until he’d managed a laugh and they’d been pals ever since.

"Peter! Sally died on me. I want you to shoot her dead."

And since they were pals, he didn’t take comments like that too seriously, even if Will was waving his frozen dinner around angrily.

“If she’s dead, I can’t kill her again,” Peter pointed out, taking his usual stool by one of the morgue tables. “Hello, by the way. Nice to see you, too. I’m doing well, thanks. It’s a slow day upstairs.”

He hungrily opened the container, hoping it wasn’t anything too cold if Sally had finally bit the dust. It was a miracle she’d survived as long as she had. Really, who knew what Will cooked in that thing!

“Come sit down and I’ll share whatever this is with you. It doesn’t feel frozen.”

Louise cooked too much. Peter knew she was trying to fatten him up, but he appreciated the fact she thought of him at all. And if it kept Will from digging out a hot plate or Bunsen burner, he was happy to share.

[DR. WILLIAM PORTHOS]

"If she's dead, I can't kill her again," Peter argued as he made his way to his usual seat at one of his operating tables, carrying a plastic container of some homemade food. The jerk. He always had homemade food just given to him by Louise, who really didn't like Will that much. Something about Will being hot-headed and 'impossible to work with'.

"I don't care," Will huffed out, heading for the seat across from Peter. "Give me your gun, then, and I'll kill her myself. Make her more dead than before."

Because of his medical condition, Will wasn't technically allowed to shoot or hold a firearm. He also wasn't technically allowed to jump out of planes, but he did that too. Will did a lot of things he wasn't supposed to. Taking his dead microwave to the shooting range and really killing it wouldn't be a step up from his usual shenanigans.

"Hello, by the way. Nice to see you, too. I’m doing well, thanks. It’s a slow day upstairs."

Of course Peter would get mad that he wasn't properly greeted. Will leaned over the table at him, giving him a somewhat apologetic look.

"I'm terribly sorry. Hello, apple butt. I'm so happy you're joining me today for lunch. It's nice to hear you're doing well. Slow days never hurt anyone. I've been cutting up dead people all morning. Want to smell my fingers?"

He wiggled his fingers at him, then grinned widely and straightened back up.

"Really though, I'm going to need a new microwave. And it sucks. You should buy me one with all that detective money you get."

He plopped himself down in a chair and looked at the food Peter was offering him. Honestly, he didn't trust the food Louise gave Peter. She kept saying how skinny Peter was. Will figured that she wanted to fatten him up so she could throw him in a pot and make stew.

"No, thanks. Lukewarm alfredo always hits the spot."

Will grabbed his plastic fork and stabbed the frozen food. Well, maybe not.

"Where'd I put my blow torch?"

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

Peter smirked when Will paid attention to him and leaned across the table to greet him properly.

"I'm terribly sorry. Hello, apple butt. I'm so happy you're joining me today for lunch. It's nice to hear you're doing well. Slow days never hurt anyone. I've been cutting up dead people all morning. Want to smell my fingers?"

Peter leant back when Will stuck his fingers in his face. He knew Will wore gloves and washed his hands religiously. Still, the thought...he was glad when Will straightened up again.

"Really though, I'm going to need a new microwave. And it sucks. You should buy me one with all that detective money you get."

Peter chuckled as Will plopped down and suspiciously eyed his food. Will always teased him about the money Detectives made. He couldn’t argue the pay increase was better, but with all the debt he had, rent, feeding himself and the dog...he sometimes didn’t make it through the month. Louise fed him at least once a week, and he could make up his rent by fixing things in the building, but it still meant he couldn’t just spend money like that.

“My Detective money is better spent. Sorry, Snookums.”

He turned his attention to the container, pleased to see it was cold meatloaf. It was a whole meatloaf, sliced for his convenience. It would last him days. Louise made amazing meatloaf.

"No, thanks. Lukewarm alfredo always hits the spot."

Will was crazy to pass it up, especially when his dinner was still half-frozen. Peter chuckled when Will’s fork bounced off his food.

"Where'd I put my blow torch?"

“Man, not the blow torch.” Peter shook his head, not wanting to find the extinguisher. He would need it. Even if Will promised he wouldn’t, he always ended up putting a fire out.

“C’mon, it’s meatloaf. You like meatloaf! You can help me eat it.” Peter tipped the container so Will could see. “It’s all seasoned and tastes amazing cold!”

It really did. Peter grabbed a slice and bit into it. Fork be damned. He moaned a little, hoping that it would entice Will. He really did not want to put out a fire today.

[DR. WILLIAM PORTHOS]

Even with Will's complaining, Peter was refusing to buy him a microwave. In all seriousness, he wasn't expecting Peter to buy him a microwave. Some months the guy hardly had enough money to even pay his rent. Since Will was a doctor after all, he did manage to get more money than Peter sometimes.

"Fine. Don't buy me a microwave. I'll get my own. I saw one at a flea market last week that looked like it could give me cancer. You know, one of those from the 80s?"

Will went back to stabbing his frozen food absently while Peter tried to get him to take some meatloaf. In what world did Will like meatloaf? In what world did any person in their right mind like meatloaf? Well, actually, Will didn't mind meatloaf. Most of the time he was a human garbage disposal anyways, so meatloaf wouldn't kill him. He sniffed near the container and made a face. It was Louise's meatloaf that was the problem. Louise scared Will.

"I'd rather get my blow torch. I promise not to catch anything on fire this time. I'll take off my coat and everything!"

The last time Will got his hands on a blow torch, things didn't go well. First the sleeve of his lab coat caught fire, which proceeded to catch the papers on the table on fire. It spread from there and luckily, Peter knew how to work a fire extinguisher.

Judging Peter's face, he didn't want to have a fire fiasco today. Fine. Will shoved his tray of frozen food aside and motioned for Peter to give him the tin of meatloaf.

"Okay, give me some of that. And if I die, tell my wife I love her." He smiled. "Don't worry, I love you too."

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"Fine. Don't buy me a microwave. I'll get my own. I saw one at a flea market last week that looked like it could give me cancer. You know, one of those from the 80s?"

Peter couldn’t help but chuckle. That was how Will did most things – use it until it died, then go find something at the flea market to replace it. It was rare when Will actually bought something new. Peter could understand that. He never bought new things, either. The only new things in his apartment were the stacks of kitchen gadgets Angelique insisted on sending him – the perks of half-owning the only bed, bath, and kitchen store for at least fifty miles in Fort Benton, Montana. She had yet to send him major appliances, but maybe he’d ask for a microwave for Christmas and re-gift it to Will. He already tried to re-gift everything else, so why not?

“I’m sure you’ll love the fact there is a risk of cancer, you dare devil.”

He continued to munch on the meatloaf, watching as Will sniffed at the container and made a face. Peter smirked just a bit. Louise, Gerry’s wife, was kind of like an adopted mother to him. They didn’t have kids, so Louise mothered him. She wasn’t a fan of Will since Gerry liked to tell her stories from work – mainly all the things he and Will got up to. Since Peter was perfect in her eyes and Will was a dare devil who wanted to drag him into an air plane to go sky diving...well, Louise just didn’t like him. That was too bad. Will would make a great adopted son, too.

So if he was turning it down, it was just because Louise cooked it.

"I'd rather get my blow torch. I promise not to catch anything on fire this time. I'll take off my coat and everything!"

“Uh huh. You do that,” Peter replied, polishing off the first slice. Even with the coat off, Peter had little faith in that.

Will shoved his food away with a sigh. "Okay, give me some of that. And if I die, tell my wife I love her. Don't worry, I love you too."

Peter chuckled, holding out the container so Will could have some. It was good and Will wouldn’t die from it. If he did, well, at least he didn’t have a wife yet. Heck, Peter wouldn’t know who to tell if Will did keel over.

“I don’t know what you’re worried about. Louise doesn’t want me dead, so the food is safe,” Peter pointed out. “I mean, yeah, she still thinks I’m too thin, but she doesn’t sabotage her cooking or anything.”

Peter shrugged, digging out another slice of meatloaf. Heck, he wouldn’t mind dying if he was going out with a piece of meatloaf in his mouth. Of course, he’d rather die in his sleep as an old man, but it could be worse.

“And hell, if you’re going to go out, this is the way to do it.”