Work Text:
Death To Mickey
by elicesmithus
Charlie was happily ensconced in the garage when it happened. Larry had presented him with some wonderful new equations and he was deep in his head when the surprisingly high pitched scream followed by a gunshot rang through the house. Dropping his chalk, he bolted for the bedroom.
"DON!" Visions of terrorists and old cases come back gave his feet wings. Bursting through the door, he stopped. His eyes bugged out. His tough FBI agent and secret lover was standing on top of the dresser, wrapped in a towel, soaking wet, and holding a gun on a small brown shape standing next to a smoking bullethole in the middle of the room. He had to ask.
"What are you doing?"
"Killing it."
Charlie rolled his eyes at the succint statement. "I'll buy some mousetraps tomorrow. Why don't we put the gun away now, and get dressed. I'm sure one of the neighbors has called the police by now. You can head them off. I'll be in the garage." Shaking his head, he left the room muttering, "And they think I'm the weird one."
END