![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Fic: 31 Flavours (Rookie Blue, Chris/Gail/Dov)
Title: 31 Flavours
Fandom: Rookie Blue
Pairing(s): Chris/Gail/Dov
Word Count: 1256
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dov and Gail have a Serious Disagreement on the topic of ice cream.
Notes: Written for the "Pass It On" challenge at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fandomverse.
It's hot. Like, really, really hot; so hot that Gail's hair is still half-damp from the shower, her shirt sticking to her skin, and it's still hours before noon. Not good news for their shift. In fact, the only good news is that it isn't until this afternoon. That leaves their entire morning free, which Gail supposes is a good thing - or at least, it would be a good thing, if Dov weren't seemingly hell-bent on driving her absolutely crazy.
"Dov," she snaps, for what has to be the tenth time this morning. "Would you stop that?"
"Stop what?" he asks. Innocent, except for the gleam in his eyes she only ever sees when he's making her life unbearable. Or trying to; most of the time, she's able to ignore it.
Not today.
"Doing ... that," she says, and when he raises a questioning eyebrow, "You know exactly what you're doing."
What he's doing, of course, is rubbing his foot against hers on top of the table, running his toes along her ankle, hitting the ticklish spot near her Achilles tendon he damn well knows about.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he says. How he manages to keep a straight face, she has no idea.
"Dov," Chris interjects. Usually when they're arguing, he stays out of it, but maybe the heat's getting to him, too. "Stop it. Last time you accidentally got me instead."
"Yeah," Dov says, flushing a little; Gail doesn't think it's solely from the heat. "Sorry about that."
"Don't be sorry," Chris says. "Just stop tormenting our - my girlfriend."
Gail doesn't blink at the slip; Dov doesn't even seem to notice. Honestly, it's not the first time. (Even more honestly, it's not even that untrue at this point.)
"Yeah," Dov says. "Whatever." Leaning back, arms crossed, like he's actually sulking. He seriously needs to grow up.
"Look, why don't we all go down and get some ice cream or something?" Chris suggests then.
Or not, whatever.
Dov brightens at that (seriously, such a child), and even Gail has to admit it's kind of a good idea. Not because she's eight years old like Dov, but it's hot and they're all a little cranky, so maybe some fresh air and something cold might help. A little.
At least, it'll help her and Chris. She doesn't think anything could help Dov at this point.
She doesn't bother to get changed before they leave; it's hot enough that anything she wears is pretty much going to be soaked through by the time they get there, and at least what she's wearing is reasonably cool. Chris walks on one side of her, Dov on the other, both of them occasionally bumping into her in a way that could be deliberate or purely accidental. It's not like she minds either way.
In fact, she's even in a pretty good mood - at least, until they get to the ice cream store.
"Wow," Dov says as they enter. "This place is packed."
"What the hell did you expect?" Gail asks, though she's a little surprised herself at just how packed it is. "We're in the middle of a heat wave."
"Can't we just flash our badges and get to the front?" he asks. Chris rewards the question with a glare; if they'd actually brought their badges, Gail thinks Dov might have done it anyway.
Instead, they wait. Gail leans back against Chris, comfort and solidness almost making up for the way it makes her even hotter, stamping on Dov's foot when he tries that stupid tickling thing again. It's bad enough when they're at home; she's pretty sure, in public, it's pretty far from being any kind of appropriate behaviour.
Still, she lets him go first when they finally reach the front of the line. If it keeps his mouth (and his hands, and his feet) busy even just for a couple of minutes, it'll be worth it. Plus, that way he's the one who has to find them a table in the overcrowded store, which isn't something Gail thinks she's be particularly capable of in her current condition. At least, not without going back for her taser.
Dov manages it, though, and by the time she and Chris join him, he's already halfway through his ice cream. Which she supposes really shouldn't be all that surprising, even though it's all of thirty seconds later.
"Seriously?" he asks when she sits down next to him. He glances from her to Chris, and then back at her. Or, more specifically, at her ice cream. "Vanilla?"
"What?" she asks. It comes out sharp, more annoyed than she really feels. "I like vanilla."
"Okay," he says, holding up his hands as if in self defense; it's a fairly comical gesture when one of his hands is holding an ice cream cone. "Fine, you like vanilla. But -"
And of course he can't let this go. He's Dov, he can't let anything go. He looks her up and down, leering slightly; she's pretty sure that look isn't appropriate in public, either.
"I just didn't peg you as the vanilla type, is all," he says. Putting a lot more into his words than is actually there, and now it's Gail's turn to feel flushed. Dov doesn't take his eyes off her, but his smirk kind of morphs into something else, something more serious. Beside her, Chris slides an arm around her waist. Not possessively, she thinks; if she were to turn around, she's pretty sure she'd see the same look on his face that's on Dov's.
"Well, it's better than whatever crap you're having," she says, changing the subject. At least until they get back home. "What is that, a kiddie cone?"
"I like them," Dov says, suddenly defensive. "Besides, everybody knows rainbow's the best flavour."
"Rainbow's a colour," she says. "It's like blue, it's not a flavour."
"Ah," Dov says. "But everybody knows that blue is the second best flavour."
Seriously. Eight years old.
"Yeah, and it's so packed full of artificial crap that it'll probably kill you before you hit thirty."
"I'd rather that than live to a hundred eating vanilla," he says, and Gail glances around as Chris sits forward.
"Why don't you just try them both?" he asks, and for a second, she and Dov regard each other warily. And then, slowly, reluctantly, they switch cones.
She was right. Dov's ice cream is totally, completely artificial. It's also, unfortunately, surprisingly good.
"Mine's still better," Dov says as they switch back, but she saw him totally enjoying hers, he can't even deny it. "And now you've got my spit all over your ice cream."
She licks it. All over. Just to show him she's not afraid.
Not of his spit, anyway.
(He doesn't look intimidated. If anything, he looks a little turned on. Totally Inappropriate In Public count: Three.)
"Dov," Chris says, too indulgent to really be chiding. "Stop teasing my - our girlfriend."
Gail doesn't blink at that, either. And Dov shifts a little closer.
"Fine," he says. He's already finished his ice cream; she has no idea how he does it. "But if she hogs the shower this afternoon, I'm not waiting outside."
It isn't a threat in his gaze; it's a promise, and one that sends shivers down Gail's spine for the first time since this heat wave started.
"I'll hog the shower if I want," she says, and this time, it's her feet that find his. (Totally Inappropriate In Public count: Who the fuck cares, she's happy.)
Fandom: Rookie Blue
Pairing(s): Chris/Gail/Dov
Word Count: 1256
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dov and Gail have a Serious Disagreement on the topic of ice cream.
Notes: Written for the "Pass It On" challenge at
fandomverse.It's hot. Like, really, really hot; so hot that Gail's hair is still half-damp from the shower, her shirt sticking to her skin, and it's still hours before noon. Not good news for their shift. In fact, the only good news is that it isn't until this afternoon. That leaves their entire morning free, which Gail supposes is a good thing - or at least, it would be a good thing, if Dov weren't seemingly hell-bent on driving her absolutely crazy.
"Dov," she snaps, for what has to be the tenth time this morning. "Would you stop that?"
"Stop what?" he asks. Innocent, except for the gleam in his eyes she only ever sees when he's making her life unbearable. Or trying to; most of the time, she's able to ignore it.
Not today.
"Doing ... that," she says, and when he raises a questioning eyebrow, "You know exactly what you're doing."
What he's doing, of course, is rubbing his foot against hers on top of the table, running his toes along her ankle, hitting the ticklish spot near her Achilles tendon he damn well knows about.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he says. How he manages to keep a straight face, she has no idea.
"Dov," Chris interjects. Usually when they're arguing, he stays out of it, but maybe the heat's getting to him, too. "Stop it. Last time you accidentally got me instead."
"Yeah," Dov says, flushing a little; Gail doesn't think it's solely from the heat. "Sorry about that."
"Don't be sorry," Chris says. "Just stop tormenting our - my girlfriend."
Gail doesn't blink at the slip; Dov doesn't even seem to notice. Honestly, it's not the first time. (Even more honestly, it's not even that untrue at this point.)
"Yeah," Dov says. "Whatever." Leaning back, arms crossed, like he's actually sulking. He seriously needs to grow up.
"Look, why don't we all go down and get some ice cream or something?" Chris suggests then.
Or not, whatever.
Dov brightens at that (seriously, such a child), and even Gail has to admit it's kind of a good idea. Not because she's eight years old like Dov, but it's hot and they're all a little cranky, so maybe some fresh air and something cold might help. A little.
At least, it'll help her and Chris. She doesn't think anything could help Dov at this point.
She doesn't bother to get changed before they leave; it's hot enough that anything she wears is pretty much going to be soaked through by the time they get there, and at least what she's wearing is reasonably cool. Chris walks on one side of her, Dov on the other, both of them occasionally bumping into her in a way that could be deliberate or purely accidental. It's not like she minds either way.
In fact, she's even in a pretty good mood - at least, until they get to the ice cream store.
"Wow," Dov says as they enter. "This place is packed."
"What the hell did you expect?" Gail asks, though she's a little surprised herself at just how packed it is. "We're in the middle of a heat wave."
"Can't we just flash our badges and get to the front?" he asks. Chris rewards the question with a glare; if they'd actually brought their badges, Gail thinks Dov might have done it anyway.
Instead, they wait. Gail leans back against Chris, comfort and solidness almost making up for the way it makes her even hotter, stamping on Dov's foot when he tries that stupid tickling thing again. It's bad enough when they're at home; she's pretty sure, in public, it's pretty far from being any kind of appropriate behaviour.
Still, she lets him go first when they finally reach the front of the line. If it keeps his mouth (and his hands, and his feet) busy even just for a couple of minutes, it'll be worth it. Plus, that way he's the one who has to find them a table in the overcrowded store, which isn't something Gail thinks she's be particularly capable of in her current condition. At least, not without going back for her taser.
Dov manages it, though, and by the time she and Chris join him, he's already halfway through his ice cream. Which she supposes really shouldn't be all that surprising, even though it's all of thirty seconds later.
"Seriously?" he asks when she sits down next to him. He glances from her to Chris, and then back at her. Or, more specifically, at her ice cream. "Vanilla?"
"What?" she asks. It comes out sharp, more annoyed than she really feels. "I like vanilla."
"Okay," he says, holding up his hands as if in self defense; it's a fairly comical gesture when one of his hands is holding an ice cream cone. "Fine, you like vanilla. But -"
And of course he can't let this go. He's Dov, he can't let anything go. He looks her up and down, leering slightly; she's pretty sure that look isn't appropriate in public, either.
"I just didn't peg you as the vanilla type, is all," he says. Putting a lot more into his words than is actually there, and now it's Gail's turn to feel flushed. Dov doesn't take his eyes off her, but his smirk kind of morphs into something else, something more serious. Beside her, Chris slides an arm around her waist. Not possessively, she thinks; if she were to turn around, she's pretty sure she'd see the same look on his face that's on Dov's.
"Well, it's better than whatever crap you're having," she says, changing the subject. At least until they get back home. "What is that, a kiddie cone?"
"I like them," Dov says, suddenly defensive. "Besides, everybody knows rainbow's the best flavour."
"Rainbow's a colour," she says. "It's like blue, it's not a flavour."
"Ah," Dov says. "But everybody knows that blue is the second best flavour."
Seriously. Eight years old.
"Yeah, and it's so packed full of artificial crap that it'll probably kill you before you hit thirty."
"I'd rather that than live to a hundred eating vanilla," he says, and Gail glances around as Chris sits forward.
"Why don't you just try them both?" he asks, and for a second, she and Dov regard each other warily. And then, slowly, reluctantly, they switch cones.
She was right. Dov's ice cream is totally, completely artificial. It's also, unfortunately, surprisingly good.
"Mine's still better," Dov says as they switch back, but she saw him totally enjoying hers, he can't even deny it. "And now you've got my spit all over your ice cream."
She licks it. All over. Just to show him she's not afraid.
Not of his spit, anyway.
(He doesn't look intimidated. If anything, he looks a little turned on. Totally Inappropriate In Public count: Three.)
"Dov," Chris says, too indulgent to really be chiding. "Stop teasing my - our girlfriend."
Gail doesn't blink at that, either. And Dov shifts a little closer.
"Fine," he says. He's already finished his ice cream; she has no idea how he does it. "But if she hogs the shower this afternoon, I'm not waiting outside."
It isn't a threat in his gaze; it's a promise, and one that sends shivers down Gail's spine for the first time since this heat wave started.
"I'll hog the shower if I want," she says, and this time, it's her feet that find his. (Totally Inappropriate In Public count: Who the fuck cares, she's happy.)