That Blue Gibson: Etc.

Segno

A/N: this has been sitting in my drafts forEVER and I figured the timing was right to finally post...

"Shit."

The gate alarm chimed and Dave shot up from the couch in his office. The acoustic guitar he'd been playing threatened to fall from the stand he placed it on twice before he could sprint back through the house and into the kitchen. He'd completely lost track of time wrapping his head around a song that had been eating at him for a few days and totally forgotten to start dinner like he'd promised Liz. 

He was tossing some pasta into a not-quite-boiling pot and wondering if he could pass off one of the jars of sauce in the pantry as homemade when the door to the garage opened. His apologies were mentally situated and he'd located some garlic bread in the freezer, but his contrite face and open arms went to waste when she didn't appear in the kitchen as he'd expected her to. 

She always - always -  dropped her bag and keys on the island right after she got home. The muscle memory he'd gained from their routine after a handful of years together went unfulfilled when he dropped his arms and frowned. He could typically time her movements from the moment the gate allowed her access at the top of the hill to the moment she greeted him with a kiss. 

But not today apparently. 

She was wearing her favorite black heels - he knew just by the sound of them clicking off the wood floors - and was moving just a bit slower than her usual quick pace. His remorse was replaced with confusion when he heard the landing on the stairs creak and quickly drained the pasta so he could follow her.

"Marco?" he called over his shoulder as he finished throwing dinner together and into the oven, stopping short when he heard a door in their bedroom slam in response.

Muttering in mild irritation to himself, he set off after her. Jelly, the multi-colored Calico, waited at the top of the steps with a curious look and a swishing tail, hopping up when he was close enough to weave herself through his legs. Thinking she would lead him to Liz, Dave coaxed her into the empty bedroom where he heard the muffled laughter of his wife combined with an even more familiar giggle coming from the bathroom. 

"See? The plastic just keeps it protected on the ride home, but now it needs to breathe to heal properly."

"I suppose this is a silly question, but will it scar?"

Dave was fully pressed against the door at that point, his eyes wide as he listened to a series of questions being lobbed at his wife until the wood he was pressed against suddenly gave way and he tumbled into the bathroom.

"Jesus!"  Liz hissed and stepped protectively between Virginia and their sudden intruder. 

Dave managed to right himself and almost repeated the same line he threw back at her the night they met in such a similar way but instead craned his neck to look around her, "What in the hell are you two doing?"

Virginia fully ignored his question by fussing with the long sleeves of her sweater and raised a sharp brow at him, "Goodness, Elizabeth. Does he always lurk behind doors like that?"

"Yes," she grumbled, her hand still flat against her chest as if to keep her heart from beating right out of its cage while she cleaned off the vanity countertop.

"I promise you I didn't raise him like that."

"No, I'm pretty sure it's just a bad habit he picked up from that Hawkins kid he always hangs out with."

"Dinner's ready in twenty," he tried to appear as stern as possible, but he knew damn well he was no match against those two. Especially when they were up to something.