Spoilers: "Pulp Turkey" (set later that night).
A bit of fluff that's been bouncing around for a while - inspired by a car trip in which something similar happened. Un-beta-read, a two-sitting write, not much thought and lots of caffeine put into it.
"It was just one piece of pie. One little piece."
"Mmm-hmm." The good doctor's response was almost a growl.
"I mean, compared to the amount of sludge and foliage I've eaten, it's not like one piece is gonna do all that much damage."
"Mr. Wiseman. Please." Morris' eyes were locked on the road in front of them. Specifically, he was staring at the back bumper of the car in front of them, which - like the rest of the traffic - had not moved for the past ten minutes.
Michael sighed. "I said I was sorry."
"You were placed on a specific diet for a number of reasons. None of which was for you to break it at the first opportunity."
"Hey, if you hadn't started to dig in right in front of me, Doc--"
"If you hadn't pressured to stay for dessert, we wouldn't be having this discussion."
"If your work of art hadn't broke down, we wouldn't be."
"If you hadn't gone and suggested your house--"
"Yeah? What would have happened if I hadn't?" Michael snapped. "If we hadn't been there? Huh? What?"
For once, Dr. Theodore Morris was at a loss for an answer. He frowned and went back to focusing on the unmoving cars in front of them. The silence lasted for a good minute as Michael fidgeted and Morris stared at the bumper before him, willing it to move.
When Michael started drumming on the dashboard, Morris couldn't take it any more. "Do you mind?"
"What? It's not like I have anything better to do."
"Just - find something less irritating."
Michael sighed again and stared out the window at the city not far away. New York was as bright as ever in the dark night sky.
"The very thought of you... and I forget to do..."
It was Michael's turn to groan as the Doc started singing. "Oh, no."
"...the little ordinary things that I'm supposed to do..."
"Give me a break, Doc."
"I see your face in every flower..."
"And you call me irritating."
"...your eyes in stars above..."
"Billie Holiday's gonna haunt you for this one."
"...it's just the thought of you, the very thought of you, my love."
"Doc!" Michael cried before Morris could launch into the next verse. "If I can't drum, you can't sing."
"And what gives you the authority to determine that?"
"Let me put it this way. How would you feel if your most precious possession put a dent in your second most precious possession?"
Morris growled. Michael glared.
After several seconds of their standstill, the doctor sighed and turned away. Michael was about to protest, but then he threw up his hands in defeat and went back to staring out the window in boredom.
Several minutes passed. Neither man spoke. Nothing moved. Michael was seriously considering getting out of the car and physically shoving aside the traffic jam for them to get through when something peculiar happened.
"War! Uhh! What is it good for?"
Michael stared at Dr. Morris for a moment before he found himself joining in.
"Absolutely nothing! Uh-huh, uh-huh!"
Maybe it was his imagination, but Michael thought he could see movement at the head of the line.
"War! Uhh! What is it good for? Absolutely nothing!"
As the two men continued belting out the chorus in order to alleviate boredom - and keep from killing each other - the cacophony of honking horns outside began to taper off.
"Sing it again, ya'll! War! Uhh! What is it good for? Absolutely nothing! War! Uhh! What is it--"
The chorus abruptly stopped as the car in front of them began to move. Morris suddenly snapped back to attention and started the engine up again before the SUV behind them could start blaring its horn. Amazingly enough, the traffic continued to move, slowly but surely, allowing them to pass through the tunnel with no more stops. The Doc focused completely on the road while Michael returned to staring out the window.
They were approaching the Upper West Side when Morris finally broke the silence.
"Mr. Wiseman, if you breathe a word of this to anyone - even a word--"
"You'll pull what's left of my personality out of my head. Yeah, I know."
"I'm glad we have an understanding."
Michael settled back into the seat, smiling to himself. "You know, it might help if you threw in something edible. A Devil Dog or something?" He grinned as Morris glared at him. "To make it easier to keep my mouth shut?"
"I think duct tape would be preferable."
"Now you're just being hostile."
Morris said nothing. Michael sighed as they approached the townhouse. Morris opened the door for Michael to step inside. As he did so, Michael couldn't resist one last comment.
"It was just one piece, Doc."
The Doc smirked. "Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Wiseman."
The metal door slammed shut.
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