Work Text:
“Are ye sure you’re okay with it hen? Simon sleeping with other people?”
You feel your patience slipping further out of your grasp with Johnny’s question. That or it’s the fucking god damn pan that you’re trying to scrape your burnt god damn eggs off of. All you had wanted was nice fucking breakfast. But the universe apparently wanted you to fucking suffer.
First you ended up fucking up your replacement insulin pod, and then when you tried a second time the syringe leaked, so while you finally got a working pod on yourself, you had the smell of insulin stuck in your nose.
And you knew that you needed to go grocery shopping, your list taunting you from where it’s magnetized to your fridge, but you weren’t expecting how bare bones it was. All that was really left had been an almost empty bag of shredded cheese, half a pouch of questionable grapes, and two eggs. Omelets and fruit it was then.
Or it would have been but as soon as you put your eggs in the pan the doorbell had gone off, and Simon was apparently in the shower because he didn't get the door, which meant that you had to, and even though you had tried to be as fast as possible, your eggs were still burning when you and Johnny got back to the kitchen. And now he was asking the same question for the tenth fucking time.
"Yes Johnny, like I said before I'm perfectly fine with it. And no before you ask it's not that I can't fuck anyone else, it's because I don't want to fuck anyone else."
In the end you just drop the pan, figuring you can just come back to it when you don't feel like bashing a scott's head in. Only as soon as you turn around you decide that maybe you should just beat his skull. Simon wouldn't be that upset right?
"For fucks sake stop eating my fucking grapes!"
Johnny stops mid grape, wide eyed and looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"Wot? It's just a handful."
"It's half the fucking bowl already!"
Are you being unreasonable? Maybe, but you've already figured out your numbers, taken your bolus, and now all those numbers were fucked, and you didn't think you had anything else, and you just wanted to stop fucking smelling insulin.
Before any murder could happen though, Simon decides to grace you all with his freshly showered presence, pushing one of his protein bars into your hand. Your very loud speaking gets caught off as you stare down at the bar as if you're confused as to how it got there.
Simon doesn't say much as he grabs the list off of the fridge, and then the back of Johnny's shirt, pulling the man away from your strangling range and towards the front door and freedom.
"Going shopping. Text if you need anything else."
Before you can question why Simon has decided to do your grocery shopping for you, the front door shuts, leaving you with your few remaining grapes and a protein bar. At least it was a flavor you liked.
Outside Soap doesn't say anything until they’re in Simon's truck and already on the way to the grocery store, sounding confused and a little hesitant to get on another Riley's nerves.
"So...she always like that?"
Simon cut his eyes away from the road quickly to see how his teammate was looking at him like he was some poor damsel in distress. Jesus he wasn't thinking you two were normally having domestics was he?
"She's gotta keep track of the carbs she eats."
"Wot? Like compulsively?"
Lord now Soap is going to think you have some sort of fucking eating disorder or something. Not that Simon thought you did. At least he was pretty sure you didn't.
"It's for her diabetes. She takes insulin based off the carbs she eats, and she's gotta take it a bit before she eats. So you were messing with her carb count."
He paid attention to what you did, and he remembers what he read up on it after the possible haunted baby episode.
Soap's quiet from the passenger seat, and Simon just hopes it doesn't lead to some sort of over the top over compensation for it all. Though maybe he can swing for some free groceries.