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Published:
2022-09-10
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1,157
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1/1
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There's No Such Thing as a Free Lunch (But Sometimes It's My Treat)

Summary:

It was clearly labeled as his, and it probably wasn't poison. …Eh, Martin had better things to do than worry about the provenance of free food.

Someone has started leaving packed lunches for Martin, and he's not sure who or why. The food is certainly good, though. Five times the mysterious lunches appear, and one time he actually talks to his benefactor.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

1. Monday

When the first brown paper bag appeared on Martin's desk, he was a little puzzled. Still, they'd been running flat-out on this case since 9 am, so unless it was literally a bomb or a severed hand or something, he really did not have the energy to care.

It was a sandwich.

Two sandwiches, actually, and a little bag of dried apricots.

He stared blankly at the ziploc bag in his hand for a long moment. He picked up the paper bag again to check for any indication of who it belonged to: “Martin.”

…The bag definitely hadn't been there when he stopped at his desk this morning, so it wasn't that he'd dissociated so hard over the weekend that he'd grocery shopped and packed a lunch without remembering. Besides, that wasn't his handwriting.

“Finally decided to upgrade from vending machine fare?” Cahill's voice sounded amused, but she wore a decidedly pleased smile. Hmm. She was surprised, so this wasn't some weirdly direct new therapy strategy, then. She didn't need to know he had no idea what was going on.

He considered the sandwich again as Cahill walked on.

It was clearly labeled as his, and it probably wasn't poison. …Eh, he had better things to do than worry about the provenance of free food.

The sandwiches were peanut butter and jelly, and Martin did not die.

2. Tuesday

Another bag was sitting on his desk when he arrived the next morning.

It contained almonds, grapes, a container of cheese, pepperoni, and crackers, and a brownie.

Martin glanced around the room, but no one seemed to be paying any attention. His name was clearly written on this one, too.

He ate the brownie and saved the rest for lunch.

3. Wednesday

He was vaguely disappointed when there was no bag on his desk the next morning.

Tracking down leads for the latest case took the entire morning and more. By the time they made it back to the station, it was almost 2 pm, and Roger had been moaning about how hungry he was for over an hour.

There was still no bag on his desk.

He wasn't really even sure why he was so disappointed. The lunch-bag fairy was apparently a two-day only deal, but that was better than he had any reason to expect.

He grabbed a few items from the vending machine, as per usual, and tried to forget about yesterday's brownie.

…

The station was nearly deserted when he ducked into the breakroom one last time before leaving, but Martin wasn't quite the last hold-out plugging away at the case—Scorsese was sitting at the table, his head propped on one hand and an energy-drink can in the other, looking like a zombie.

He frowned blearily as Martin plugged his coins into the vending machine and tried to decide between cheese puffs and M&Ms. Or both. This was his dinner, after all.

“…Did you forget you left your lunch in the fridge?”

Martin's nearly-made decision evaporated from his brain. “Huh?”

“Your lunch,” said Scorsese. “It's still in the fridge.”

The fact that Martin hadn't brought a lunch was on the tip of his tongue, but…

He opened the fridge. Sure enough, a brown bag labeled “Martin” sat on the middle shelf. A peek inside revealed another two sandwiches and bag of carrot sticks.

“Thanks for reminding me.”

“No problem,” said Scorsese. He chugged the remainder of his energy drink.

Martin headed towards the door.

“Your money's still in the vending machine,” noted Scorsese.

Martin flashed him a crooked smile. “Right.” He punched the buttons for the M&Ms, and snagged them out of the dispenser. “Guess I'd better get out of here before I forget where I left my head.”

Scorsese snorted. “Yeah. Me, too.”

4. Thursday

There was, again, no bag on Martin's desk the next morning, but there was one in the fridge.

He delved into it eagerly while waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.

Turkey sandwiches today, with tomato, avocado, and plenty of mustard. More carrot sticks, and a lemon bar.

The case sucked, but a bad day with a lemon bar was certainly an improvement over a bad day without one.

5. Friday

The bag was on his desk again, and the first thing he pulled out was a thermos.

Martin pondered it with some concern. All of the wrappings previously had been disposable.

He supposed if the lunch-bag fairy was able to access his desk to leave lunches, they must also be able to get in and retrieve stuff (which, in hindsight, he probably should have reported to Avery by now), but… was he intended to wash it? And when did they come? It was almost the weekend.

He set the thermos down and continued his exploration. Crackers, some cherry tomatoes, another lemon bar, and a note.

“Since my husband is clearly not going to remember to ask you: Please come join me for coffee [a note scribbled in the margin added 'and coffee cake'] tomorrow (Saturday) morning. Recently got a 'Texas chili' recipe that I'd like to pick your brain about. Anytime after 9am is fine. –Trish (P.S. Bring the thermos with you.)”

+1 Saturday

Martin sheepishly knocked on the Murtaughs' door at 9 am, thermos in hand. Trish welcomed him in with a smile, reclaiming the thermos and pointing him to a seat. Roger and the teens were out for the day, she explained.

It took Martin no more than halfway through his first, generous slice of rich cinnamon coffee cake to dissect all the ways in which the purported “Texas” chili recipe was anything but. (“Barely even qualifies as 'chili,'” he grumbled, eliciting a snort of laughter from Trish.)

It took a few more bites to finally dredge up the will to broach the other topic on his mind. His eyes stayed on the surface of the coffee in his mug, as if it were likely to do something dangerous if left unsupervised. “So you're the one who's been leaving lunch for me all week?”

There was a pause.

“Well, I sent it in with Roger. …What did he say when he gave it to you?”

Martin hesitated.

“Martin.” Trish's face brooked no argument.

“Well… he didn't exactly say anything. I just found it on my desk. Or in the fridge.”

Trish dropped her face into her hand. “I swear I am going to kill that man someday.” She pointed a finger at Martin. “That is a figure of speech, and not an admission of guilt.”

By the time Martin left in mid-afternoon, he'd been drafted as a prep cook to assist with multiple batches of meals to stock the freezer, fueled by helping to polish off several of the remaining lemon bars.

He also had another coffee date with Trish scheduled for the next week.

As price for a week's worth of lunches went, he was definitely coming out ahead.

Notes:

Pretty sure the odds of Roger dropping off a brown-bag lunch every day without mentioning it at all, not even to turn it into an argument or tease Martin about it, are practically nonexistent, but I am choosing to ignore that. 😉 Possibly Trish threatened something dire if she found out he was giving Martin a hard time about this specific topic, and his solution was to say absolutely nothing.