Matthew Gray Gubler One Shots and Scenarios

Slammed

Slammed

Cast:

Y/N = Your name

It had been a long day and all Y/N wanted to do was curl up on the sofa, eat whatever junk food she had in the house and watch crappy television but apparently whoever was calling her as soon as she had sat down had other plans. She groaned to herself as she reached out for her phone which she hadn't long set down on the arm of her chair. She really wasn't in the mood for talking. Her attitude changed, however, when she saw that it was her boyfriend of four months, Matthew, calling.

"Hello: Chinese. Can I take your order please?" Her mood had taken a complete one-eighty turn.

A loud laugh erupted from the receiver like music to her ears. A wide smile attached itself to her face.

"You really are something else." He chuckled down the line.

"I do try." She joked back, muting the sound on her television. "How are you? How's the job hunt going?" Matthew was currently looking for any and all directing opportunities, even going on the occasional audition despite not having much of an interest in acting. She knew he was going to be something big one day. She listened intently as he talked fondly of his day's accomplishments and how he had just been on an audition for some FBI-style television programme that he doubted he would get a call back for.

They chatted idly for a while exchanging details of their day. Y/N began to feel the familiar pangs of hunger. She had yet to eat, having come straight in from her job in a record store and, after abandoning her shoes at the door, had immediately flopped onto the sofa, her feet sore from a long day of standing behind the counter. With her phone still to her ear as she talked to Matthew, she swung her legs off of the sofa and stood up. She made an "oof" sound causing Matthew to ask her if she was alright.

"I'm fine." She giggled. "I was just getting up and I guess I'm a little stiff from lying down. I'm starving."

Her sock-covered feet padded across the laminated floor boards as she crossed over the threshold between the living room and the kitchen. She walked over to the furthest away point in her kitchen; the fridge. Opening the door, she sighed loudly as she discovered that it was practically empty bar two eggs, some moulding cheese and a bottle of neon yellow nail varnish (don't ask).

She heard Matthew laugh again. "I'm guessing you don't have any food in? Please tell me you at least removed that revolting tomato that I discovered at the back of it last week." She could practically hear him squirm down the line.

Y/N peered past the minimal contents to where Matthew had found the offending object. Nope. It was still there.

"Fuck you, Gubler!" She joked as she closed the door back over. She turned her attention to the chest freezer to her left and sighed again; I guess I'll just have to turn on the bloody stove. She shot a disgusted look at it; she hated cooking. She lifted up the lid with her free hand and was almost overjoyed to see a half-bag of potato waffles and a box of chicken nuggets sitting halfway down, luring her in. This was about the only meal she could justify turning the oven on for.

"Matthew; I'm putting you on speaker. If I don't reply then I've fallen in the freezer and died doing what I love."

She pressed the speaker button on her phone and set it on the counter next to her.

"Saving forgotten food from an icy death?"

She could barely make out his words as she stuck her head into the freezer, almost dangling into it as she stood on tiptoes. Rescuing the nuggets and the waffles, she set herself back firmly on the ground and pushed the lid down. The strong magnets in it pulled it downwards quickly. It slammed shut, trapping her hand in it.

"Ah fuckshitballs!" Y/N suddenly cursed out loud, dropping the contents of her meal to the ground in shock. She opened the freezer back up again drawing her other hand back in pain and hissing.

"What's wrong?"

"I just slammed my hand in the fucking freezer door." She put the tip of her worst-off finger in her mouth to try and soothe the pulsating sensation. She took her finger out and examined it. It was bright red and starting to swell at an alarming rate. To top it off her nail had broken at the tip, drawing a little blood. The rest of her fingers were sore but her index finger had taken the brunt of the force and needed immediate attention.

"Matthew; I gotta go. I might need to go to the ER or something."

She quickly hung up before he could get a word in, desperate to ice her hand. She reached out her hand to get a bag of long discarded peas out. She stopped herself before she lifted up the lid of the freezer again; she didn't want another injury and she certainly wasn't going to contaminate her beloved potato treats with her injury. She walked over to the sink and turned on the cold tap, sticking her finger underneath it. The cool water eased the pain somewhat but her finger still remained a dark puce shade. She hovered over the sink for a minute or so until the pain subsided considerably and her finger had turned numb from the now near-freezing water. She cut off the water supply and reached over to her right to grab some paper towels. She ripped a block of two off of the roll, wrapping it around her finger to dry it off whilst she went in search of a bandaid to at least cover the broken nail until she able to locate a nail file – something she could never find when she needed but always discovered at least three of at the most inconvenient of times. She searched all over her house. The kitchen was the most obvious place for them to be lurking; she had a box in a cupboard filled with various prescribed medicines and dressings from over the years where she usually had a stash of the adhesive strips, yet it turned up void of even so much as a wrapper. The box of bandaids that she usually kept in the bathroom for after-shaving cuts was empty. She cursed herself, partly for having not bought some more and partly for being too cocky after going months without as much as a nick.

"Fuck."

As she contemplated running out to her local pharmacy to grab some and a pack of nail files (to be kept somewhere obvious this time), the doorbell rang. Cursing under her breath, she ran back down the stairs, careful not to trip and injure herself further.

She pulled the door open to discover a very wet - yet smiley - Matthew with his skateboard under one arm. He raised his other arm to show her what he had in it. It was a first aid kit and tucked behind it a carrier bag of take out.

"I thought you could use this."