carl@fire

"Oh god, that was a mistake," Carl groaned from his seat on the bench in the shower.

Annie continued to lather shampoo into her hair with her eyes closed. "I had fun, and I know you enjoyed yourself too," she said. "You're not the only one who's been getting stressed out lately, you know."

Carl looked up from his self-inspection, deciding that he was still, in fact, in one piece despite what his battered, broken body was trying to tell him. That might not have been the case if he hadn't planned far in advance and kept an emergency supply of iced coffee stashed next to the bed, however. "What's going on? You didn't mention anything before."

"I knew you were all focused on your big server update and other stuff at work," Annie said, now tilting her head back into the spray as she rinsed. "It's not like this is as bad as you and Roger, or that recurring thing with the porn." She laughed a little. "Adi really came through for you on that, didn't he."

Carl ran a hand through his beard. "I'll say. I think I'm gonna give him some off-the-books PTO since he already used his taking care of his son."

Annie frowned in the middle of rubbing in her conditioner. "Don't leave yourself shorthanded again, Carl. You need to cut back."

He stood up, enduring the continued soreness in his everywhere, and reached up for the body wash. "I know, I know. Once I get this last headcount filled and Dax up to speed it'll be a lot easier." He squirted some of the gel into his hand before replacing the bottle in the shelf to the side of the shower head. He looked down at his wife while he started to lather himself, and his brows drew down. "But what's going on with you? Not that serious, you said?"

"Just yoga and school stuff," Annie said. She tipped her head back again to rinse. "We got another of those people in our Tuesday-Thursday night group a few weeks back. Friend of Deb's."

Carl rolled his eyes. "Another one?"

"Eyes closed," Annie said, reaching up to grab the detachable shower head.

Carl closed his eyes, then rubbed soap all over his face and leaned down a little.

A cascade of scalding hot water poured over him, starting at his head, then moving to his chest, covering both arms, his legs, and lingering for a while at his crotch.

Carl opened his eyes.

Annie wiggled the shower head a little more, then put it back up onto its cradle.

He reached for the shampoo. "I guess yoga's a place to meet new people," he mused. "Who's getting it this time? No, wait, I'll guess. Man or woman?"

"Woman."

Carl considered the options. "Gotta be Brody again, right? Sally must be—"

Annie made a sound reminiscent of a game show buzzer. "It's not Brody."

Carl frowned and began working in the shampoo he'd poured out. Brody was, he estimated, the most attractive and fit guy in his wife's yoga group. The thirty five year-old had rippling pecs, chiseled biceps, and abs that had once been used as a genuine cutting board as part of a video for social media; he was the kind of guy that looked like he'd stepped off the cover of a romance novel. In fact, he was the type of guy who might cause a man to grow concerned if his wife spent too much time near him.

Was Carl one of those men?

Of course not.

Carl Weathers never doubted his wife—not even for an instant.

Also, Brody was a great guy, and Carl had been the one with the knife in the social media stunt, not to mention that the man was engaged to Sally, who was really sweet and bubbly.

Annie got out of their shower.

"But it's almost always Brody," Carl called. He ducked a little again and stuck his head under the hot spray.

"It's not Brody this time," Annie called back.

"Chad?" Carl tried again, naming the marathon runner and fitness coach of the group. He turned to let the water run down his back, hoping the heat would be enough to loosen it up a bit.

"Nope!" Annie called.

Carl turned the shower off, then used his hands as squeegees to dry himself off a little in order to optimize the time he'd need to be using a towel.

"Give up?" she asked, her voice muffled by the towel around her head.

"I guess," said Carl. He pushed open the door of the shower and stepped out onto the floor mat, then grabbed his own towel.

Annie turned to him with a complicated expression on her face and the towel draped over her head. "She's hitting on me, Carl."

"Huh," said Carl.

"It was kind of flattering at first," she continued, again starting to rub her wet, shoulder-length hair with her towel, "I mean, being mistaken for someone ten years younger is a nice compliment and all, but…" she trailed off, and her hands slowed on her towel, pulling it slightly over her eyes and obscuring his view.

Carl considered the matter.

"At the same time, though," Annie said, "I think I'm at about an eleven on the I'm not interested hinting scale, and she's not taking the hint." She sighed deeply, tilting her head down and body slightly forward towards him.

Carl, at that moment, had come up with no less than eight potential strategies which he believed would definitely resolve the issue in question. "That sounds really annoying," he said instead. "I can imagine how frustrating it must be having that kind of thing going on there since you love your yoga group so much, and it's the place where you go to relax."

Annie's head started immediately bobbing in agreement. "Yeah, it is annoying," she said, sounding very annoyed. She gave her head a few more rubs, then tossed the towel onto her hanger and walked back into their bedroom. "I wear my ring, I talk about my husband Carl this and my husband Carl that, but it's like she's fucking oblivious!"

Carl wasn't an idiot. If his wife wanted his advice, she'd ask for it. This was just venting.

When Carl wanted to listen, he listened actively.

"She'd have to be oblivious to miss those kinds of hints," he said, finishing his drying session by wiping his legs. He replaced his own towel on his hanger, then moved back to their bedroom where his wife was pulling on a pair of pajama-ish pants.

"Exactly!" Annie said. "Why can't people be less annoying!"

"Tell me about it," he said in agreement. He sat down on the edge of the bed while he put his own house pants on, feeling at least a little bit less sore than he had. "What do you think you're gonna do?"

"Well, that's the thing," Annie said, sounding slightly less aggravated. "She seems to get along with everyone pretty well, and it's just this one thing that's off about her. It's not like she's creepy about it or anything, she's just…" she trailed off again.

"Sounds like a pickle," said Carl. He stared down at his t-shirts in his dresser drawer, then picked one out of a certain pile.

"What do you think I should do?" she asked.

"Well," said Carl, years of training suddenly activating to inform him that what his wife wanted at this moment was for him to confirm the plan she'd already decided on—not because she needed his approval, but because she was trying to include him in that part of her life, "you must have some kind of plan, right?"

Annie sat down on the bed behind him. "I was thinking I'd take her aside and tell her very directly that I'm not interested at this point."

Carl turned around.

His wife started to chuckle unwillingly as she stared at his shirt. "I haven't seen that one before."

Carl had decided that this was the perfect time to show off a shirt he'd been saving which read "I'm friends with 25 letters of the alphabet, I don't know y".

Annie was an English teacher.

Carl moved over to the bed and put his hands on her shoulders. "That's a great plan, Annie," he said.

His wife smiled up at him, still managing to dazzle him despite the twenty three years they'd been together. "You really are the best listener, you know that?"

Of course he did.

He was Carl Weathers, and he would do anything to make his wife happy.

Annie stood up, wincing the tiniest bit in the process, then rose up higher on her tip toes to receive a kiss.