So, the other day I was telling jesshelga how sometimes I like to daydream about stuff. Fanfic kinda stuff. About my OTP. Y'know, hangin' out. Goin' to the Target.

Then I requested/demanded that she write a fic about her OTP doing some Target shopping. And she did. And it was pleasing.

And then she decided that it should be a meme-type prompty thing, which is a SUPERB idea. YOUR FAVORITE OTP AT TARGET...GO!

As a good faith gesture, you will find mine behind the cut. Because it was too long to leave in the comments at jesshelga's place.


2005

"I'm beginning to think this was a bad idea."

She held her phone up with her shoulder as she struggled to maneuver the heavily laden shopping trolley around a corner--she never failed to select one with a wonky wheel--and nearly collided with a small boy who darted into the aisle between handbags and children's shoes. "Sorry," she said, genuinely apologetic. He stuck out his tongue at her and ran off. She returned the gesture.

"What was that?" asked Abby.

"I said I'm beginning to think this was a very bad idea."

"Well, it's too late to change your mind now. I already changed the locks."

"Funny."

"And are you ever going to pick up the rest of these boxes? Because I can call the Salvation Army and--"

"All right, all right. I'll get them tomorrow. I've just bought shelves." The flatpacked boxes jutted out dangerously from the bottom of the cart.

"And you signed the lease, right?"

"Yeah."

"So there's no turning back."

"I'm afraid so."

"It's not going to be that bad. He's not so bad."

"I know. And we'll hardly see each other. But I've been there a week and I've already met two different girls named Nikki. I didn't think about having a front row seat to the--"

"Neverending skank parade?"

"Exactly. Except it's not sleazy, really, it's just...oh, whatever."

"Uh huh. You don't have a crush on him or something, do you?"

She stopped in her tracks, and used her right hand to switch her phone to her other ear, not noticing when the cart drifted into an endcap on its own momentum and knocked over half a dozen bottles of Listerine. "What? That's ridiculous. He's ridiculous."

"I was just making sure."

"He's sloppy, and lazy, and irresponsible, and now I've lost him in the Target. He's like a four year old."

"You don't have to babysit him, you know."

"No, I just have to share a bathroom."

"Yeah, good luck with that."

They wrapped up their call on that oh-so-encouraging note, and Neela continued pushing her way through the Saturday afternoon crowd. She finally found him in cosmetics, chatting up a--well, she didn't want to say 'skank,' but those cheap platform wedges were a podiatric nightmare, and the skirt was so short she didn't think she'd seen that much of another woman's inner thighs since her ob/gyn rotation. They were probably comparing favorite brands of eyeliner.

"Ray."

"Oh. There you are. Wow, you got a lot of stuff."

She reached into the trolley, pulled out two packages, and held them up for his perusal. "We need a new one. Striped or plain?"

His new friend saw the shower curtains and tottered off into the next aisle.

"Nice. Thanks."

"I did you a favor."

"Hey, she could have been a grad student in comparative literature, you don't know."

"Spare me your feminist manifesto."

He came over to examine the contents of her cart, and made a face. That one where he tilted his head, quirked up one side of his mouth, and a little wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows. "Do you own anything you're not planning to store in a plastic tub? Or is Sterilite going out of business?"

"I like to be organized."

"If you're that worried about my stuff contaminating yours we can swipe some biohazard containers from work."

"Oh, shut up."

"We could swing by office supplies and get you a label maker, so you can put 'property of Neela' on everything. Or we could just get a big roll of tape and make a line down the middle of the living room..."

She rolled her eyes at him, tossed the plain shower curtain back into the basket and left the striped one under a row of Maybelline, and began the increasingly laborious procedure of turning the wonky-wheeled trolley one hundred-eighty degrees.

"Need some help with that?"

"I can manage." She gave a hard shove, and stumbled forward a little as the cart veered to the right. Her shelves slid off the bottom rack with a depressing thwack.

She sighed, and stepped around to retrieve them, but bumped into him on his way to do the same. He balanced the boxes under one arm, grabbed the lame corner of the trolley with his other hand, and they made their way to the nearest checkout lane.


2006

"Here's your half of the list." She handed him a sheet of paper with about a dozen items written down in her small, precise penmanship. "I made sure everything on it was on the opposite side of the store from the Juniors' department."

"Ha ha." He nodded at her tiny smirk. "You been saving that one?"

"I'm just trying to help you stay out of trouble."

"How long are you going to rag on me about that?"

"Just a little longer." She glanced at her watch. "Meet at the Starbucks in forty-five minutes?"

He looked at the list. "I can knock this out in twenty."

"I have to stop and pick up some photos, I don't know how long it'll take. I finally got my pictures developed from the wedding." She smiled broadly with anticipation.

"Oh. Neat."

She raised her perfect eyebrows at him. "'Neat'?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, can't wait to see 'em. Have you, uh, thought about dinner tonight? I was thinking lasagna..."

"Sounds good."

It only took him fifteen minutes to pick up everything on his list--dryer sheets, coffee filters, sandwich bags, and other idiot-proof items--and he killed the other thirty just wandering around the store, filling his basket with random odds and ends. A few t-shirts; her favorite cereal; some disposable razors; a pack of those gel pens she liked to use; four cds for himself, and one of a new band he didn't really like, but thought she might enjoy.

She wasn't there yet when he made his way to the Starbucks counter, so he ordered a tea and a grande white chocolate mocha, flirted perfunctorily with the barista, and grabbed a table to settle in and wait.

When she showed up, she was carrying at least six bags. It looked like one of them might be filled entirely with flip-flops.

"Get everything you needed?"

"Think so." She dropped her bags to the floor. "Is that mine?" she asked as she sat down, not waiting for an answer before she picked up her mocha and took a long sip.

"Get your pictures?"

"Mm hmm," she replied, excited, and reached into her purse for the envelope. "Want to see? I've got the digital copies to send to Michael, of course, but I thought I might as well get some prints."

It was stupid, but sometimes he actually forgot she was married. It had been such a crazy--well, okay, he didn't want to say 'crazy.' It had been surprising. Not that it was any of his business anyway. But here was the proof. There was Chuny and Haleh. There was Neela hugging Abby. There was Pratt with his arm around a grinning, spit-polished Gallant.

And there was the bride, his pain in the ass roomie, radiant in her white sari, beaming into the camera.

Oh, and there was his left arm in the background. At least, he thought that was his arm.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

He looked up. "What?"

"You sighed."

"I--? What? No I didn't." Did he? "Just breathing." He handed the stack of pictures back to her. "You look...really happy."

"Thank you."

He stood, picked up his bags and a few of hers, and started toward the exit. She threw away their cups and followed.

"So. Lasagna, right?"


2007

She was fifth in line at one of only four open registers when she heard the familiar voice over her shoulder.

"Hey. Fancy meeting you here."

"Hi!" she greeted him, surprised but happy. They smiled at each other. A moment passed that could only be called an awkward pause, and she found herself the first to break eye contact. "So...doing some shopping?"

He laughed. "Yeah, how'd you guess?"

"Right. Sorry. Me too." She looked down at her cart, suddenly mortified. A dozen frozen dinners, a dvd of While You Were Sleeping, and laid right on top, six pairs of plain cotton panties. It was like she'd picked it all up in the Pathetic Single Women department. "Just...needed a few...things."

He held up his basket and showed her the contents: a six pack of white Hanes crew socks, a two pack of boxer shorts, and Alien Vs. Predator.

"Interesting choice."

"You think I should go with the briefs?" he looked into the basket instead of at her when he said it.

"I meant the movie."

"Are you kidding? It's an action-packed interspecies love story. Quality stuff."

"I'll take your word for it."

They chatted with increasing ease as they progressed through the line, and ended up loitering near the exit, uncertain. "So, do you want to, uh, get a coffee or something?" he asked, hopeful.

"I can't," she said, and his face fell. "It's just..." she gestured to her Lean Cuisines. "I should get this stuff home to the freezer." She wondered if she was as bad as him at hiding her disappointment. "Sorry. I'll see you at work, then, I guess..."

"Right, sure. See you at work."

"We should hang out sometime, though," she blurted.

"Yeah?" His head popped up, and he looked at her like...like...

"Yeah," she nodded. "Get a drink or something. Like old times."

"Great," he said, working hard at nonchalance. "Yeah, like old times."

They parted after a few more 'see yous' and 'okays', and she watched him for a minute as he walked away, noting he was wearing that jacket she'd always particularly liked.

Her phone sounded from inside her purse. When she finally dug it out she saw 'Tony Gates' on the caller ID.

She let it ring.


I have to go to bed now. I can't stay up and finish this, right? I have to go to work in eight hours. That's more important...right?