Chapter Text
The sun was shining through the windows of the kitchen, causing a glare on Specs laptop where he sat at their breakfast bar, reading through emails. Tucker was on the other side of the bar across the kitchen, tending to a pan of scrambled eggs.
Specs tilted his screen, attempting to resolve the glare issue without having to disrupt his breakfast of oatmeal. He was anxious; he could tell and Tucker could tell. If not from his legs bouncing at such a high rate it was shaking the whole table, then by his furrowed brow and concentrated silence.
It had been a rough month for the three of them: Elise, Specs, and Tucker. Things were relatively tame in the haunting world following the Lambert case and he was worried that it wouldn’t pick back up. The last job they had was nine days earlier, and turned out to be a dud caused by a carbon monoxide leak, something Tucker’s detector had picked up on within five minutes of the two arriving at the troubled family’s property.
Tucker took his eggs off the heat, covering them while he put two slices of toast in the toaster and readied the jam and sausage patties he had prepared earlier. They had the tv on in the next room, distantly playing the 9:00 morning news for Los Angeles, though neither had it on for anything other than background noise. Tucker’s toast popped and they both jumped at the sudden noise, Specs breaking out of his anxious trance and meeting Tucker’s eyes with his spoon in his mouth.
“What are you having?” Specs asked to start a dialogue, embarrassed that he’d been zoning out so hard that it was the first thing he’d said since starting his oatmeal several minutes before.
“Going with the egg sausage sandwich today. Little raspberry jam, too.” He nodded at Specs, turning back to retrieve a plate and compile the planned sandwich.
“Raspberry, huh?” His eyes were zoning out again, but he stayed active in the conversation as Tucker turned to sit at his spot across from Specs.
“Hitting all the food groups in one punch,” he replied, taking a large, messy bite of his sandwich. Specs broke out of his reverie to glance at Tucker, then down at his abandoned oatmeal, and finally settling on his computer screen. Watching all this, Tucker sighed as Specs once again became absorbed in his anxious refreshing of the Spectral Sightings email inbox.
“Hey,” he cooed softly, but direct enough to garner Specs’ attention, “don’t stress over it.” He finished simply with a small, but genuine smile, which Specs returned nodding.
Tucker, half of his sandwich in one hand, leaned across the bar towards Specs, gesturing him closer with his other. Specs complied, allowing Tucker to kiss his temple and letting the comfort wash over him. Tucker, however, did not plan on relishing in any kind of ease. He quickly and carefully reached up, plucking Specs’ glasses from his face before he could react, placing them on the counter behind him.
Specs gaped at him, slightly angry but more shocked, before his senses returned.
“Tucker! I hate it when you do that! Give me my glasses back,” he glared towards the other, who had resumed eating his sandwich as if unbothered by his boyfriend’s whining. He shook his head.
“Just relax for a second. You’re either gonna get an email or you’re not; you don’t need to be obsessively refreshing every second. Finish your oatmeal,” he scolded, mouth half full.
“How am I supposed to eat my oatmeal when I can’t see my oatmeal?” Slipping into his sassy bickering mode Specs turned his full attention to Tucker, gesturing towards his breakfast and forgetting about the emails.
“You aren’t that blind, dude.” He responded, nonchalant.
“Yeah...I’m not blind at all. I’m visually impaired. You’re being insensitive.”
“You’re being insensitive,” he met his eyes, “finish your oatmeal.”
He huffed, but did as told, knowing there was no point in trying to stubbornly read the emails without his glasses. And he knew Tucker was right; they would either receive an inquiry or they wouldn’t. He started back in on his oatmeal, he added cinnamon and apple chunks today. Tucker got up to begin washing his dishes.
“So,” he started, glancing back at the other still sitting at the bar, “what are we doing today?”
Elise had called them the night before, something to the degree of I want you boys to come over today after breakfast, there’s something we need to talk about.
“I have absolutely no idea,” he responded, glancing up at Tucker’s back. “For all I know she could be telling us to hit the road; that we’d be better off as circus clowns.”
Tucker turned from the sink to look at Specs, giving him a look he couldn’t determine without his glasses.
“You would be a fucking awful circus clown,” he said deadpanned, causing a surprised laugh to bubble out of Specs.
“Screw you, I hope you drown doing those dishes,” the smile was evident in his voice even with Tucker’s back turned, “I’d be a kickass circus clown.”
Tucker snorted a laugh, turning off the sink and removing his dish gloves and the apron he was forced to wear over his pajamas. (You splash yourself so much when you do the dishes it’s like hugging the dish sponge!) He tucked Specs glasses in the pocket of his pants before coming to sit on the stool next to him at the bar instead of across from him.
“I think you’ve already demonstrated that you’ve a natural talent for being a clown-”
“Oh, my god,” Specs laughed over him.
“-it’s more the circus part I’m concerned about.”
“You are the worst person in the world. I seriously mean that.”
“I love you, too,” Tucker smirked, kissing Specs before collecting his empty bowl and placing it in the sink, filling it with water to allow it to soak.
-
The drive to Elise’s was just as frustratingly long as LA morning traffic ever was. Specs was driving the van today, leaving him to his own thoughts while Tucker stared into space in the passenger seat, thinking of what had happened before they left the house.
After breakfast, Tucker had leaned his hip against the edge of the counter after depositing Specs’ bowl in the sink. Unfortunately, what good graces he made in being a good boyfriend and bringing the dish to the sink were immediately squandered when a quick crack filled the sunlit room.
“Oh,” Tucker grimaced, lifting off of the counter and reaching into his pocket for what remained of the glasses, now split in two directly down the middle.
Specs had not been happy. Hence why Tucker let him drive the van today.
Stopped at a red light, a few minutes from their destination, Tucker turned to look at the man next to him, feeling guilty again. Specs hated his backup glasses; black thin rimmed ones that he said made him look like Jefferey Dahmer. Tucker always argued it was more like Dwight Schrute.
Specs, noticing Tucker looking at his glasses, frowned at him and turned his attention back to the stoplight and the flow of cross traffic.
“Sorry, again,” he said over the sound of rushing cars coming through the open windows. “But I think they suit you.”
“Thank you. I’m glad the serial killer look isn’t too much of an eyesore,” Specs responded, a little bitter, but mostly just putting it on. He had ordered another pair off of his preferred website before they had left for Elise’s, so it wasn’t the end of the world.
“Nah,” Tucker turned to look back out the window as the light turned green, “you’re about the same with how much of an eyesore you were with your regular glasses.” He smirked, waiting to see if Specs would give him an earful. Instead, he shot him a heatless scowl.
He flipped the blinker and turned onto Elise’s street, driving up the hill and coming to a stop near her fence’s gate. Tucker opened his door and got out before Specs had turned off the ignition, leaving him scrambling a bit to catch up. He pulled out the keys and opened his door, sliding onto the pavement and pushing the door shut again.
“You lock it?” Tucker asked as Specs came to meet him on the sidewalk.
“Was just about to,” Specs lifted the key fob into Tucker’s line of sight, pressing the lock button while maintaining eye contact. “Thanks.” Tucker smirked and rolled his eyes, starting towards the gate in the fence.
Elise opened the door and met them on the porch before they had even reached it, stepping out a couple of steps and throwing her arms out in a wide exclamation.
“Boys,” she cheered, “we’re hitting the road!” Tucker and Specs flicked their eyes to each other.
“Not to become circus clowns, I hope,” Specs said to Tucker. Elise gave them a confused smile, tilting her head.
“No, we’ve got a case!” She gave them an ear to ear smile, clasping her hands in front of her. “Come on in, I’ll explain everything.”
-
“So,” she explained after they were all seated at the kitchen table, steaming cups of tea in their hands, “I got a phone call from a very nice young man yesterday evening, he explained to me that his wife and him had bought their first home a couple of months ago at a real steal. Nobody had been interested in buying it, because the entire town thought it’s condemningly haunted, basically uninhabitable, but his wife and him didn’t believe in ghosts, so they took advantage of the deal. Well,” she smirked at them both, “turns out it was haunted. They’re stuck in the house they had put all their savings in and need our help.” She finished with a smile.
“Okay, awesome,” Specs grinned at her, excited. “So, you said we’re hitting the road?”
“Mhm, they live in Wyoming,” they both gaped at her, “right in the bottom left corner! Evanston, I believe.”
“Wow, Elise,” Tucker fiddled with his teacup resting on the tabletop, “that’s pretty far.”
She nodded in response, sending them a grimace before smiling again.
“It’ll be fun! A nice road trip and steady job to get us back in the swing of things!” She dropped her smile a bit, continuing, “I’m glad you two were up early today, though. We should probably leave first thing tomorrow, so you’ll have all day to get ready to go.”
“Oh, golly,” Specs joked, “hear that, Tuck? A whole day of packing ahead of us.”