#so bitty's trying to live his life while fending off his mother who at this point is just INVENTING cousins for the guest list

[justlookfrightened]

Time management

I wrote this to fill this anonymous prompt: If you still want Zimbits prompts, I’m an absolute sucker for any Bob and/or Alicia pov with them seeing how happy Jack has become with Bitty and the SMH team. Bonus if this is the first time they’ve met Bitty as Jack’s bf + roughhousing of any sort. Thank you so much! I love your writing soo much I’m subscribed to you on AO3 😄😄💚

It doesn’t quite hit all the marks – this is set before parents’ weekend of year 2, long before they are boyfriends – but I think it’s in the same spirit. I hope you like it!

And I’m always in the market for new Zimbits prompts!

Alicia stepped on the mat and raised her eyebrows at Bob.

There hadn’t been a mat last time she was here, and if there had been, it would have gotten lost in the detritus that had littered the front porch: battered bikes, broken furniture, maybe even a discarded keg that no one had returned for the deposit.

That hadn’t really bothered her; it was right in line with the frat house decor she remembered from her time at Samwell. But now the porch sported functional furniture (mismatched, but still) and showed evidence of recent sweeping. And it had a welcome mat.

Well, actually, the mat said “Welcome, y’all!” in a cheerful cursive script.

“This is new,” she said.

Bobby just grinned. “Didn’t Jack say Bittle – that kid from Georgia – moved in this year?” he said. “Either it’s his, or the boys are chirping him a little.”

“You know very well Bittle – Eric, isn’t it? – moved in,” Alicia said. “Jack practically mentions him more than he does Shitty, and I’ve never met him. That’s half the reason I decided to come with you.”

The other half, she didn’t say, was to see with her own eyes that Jack was still there, still doing as well as he said he was in their weekly phone calls. He had friends, he said, and a good therapist, and a life.

Bob pushed the door open while Alicia said, “Bob! We should ring the bell.”

“I’m not sure it even works,” Bob said. “It’s open. Let’s see if Jack is here.”

The hall and the living room were empty, but a light shone from the kitchen door, and as she stepped forward (and why was she walking so quietly?) Alicia heard voices from the kitchen, a light tenor that was raised in protest, and Jack’s deeper rumble.

Now she was tiptoeing in earnest, Bob creeping along behind her. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want to make her presence known, just that she felt like it wouldn’t be a good time to interrupt.

“You give that back, Jack Zimmermann. It’s mine!” the other boy yelled.

She peered around the door to see a smaller blond reaching for the 10-pound bag of flour Jack  held over his head with one hand.

“You told us not to give it to you, Bittle,” he said, meeting the boy’s fury with calm. Alicia thought there might even be a bit of a chuckle in his voice.

“But it’s my flour,” Bittle said, jumping and swiping at the bag, and falling woefully short. He probably wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment, but he was adorable, Alicia thought. His wide brown eyes were fixed on Jack, set off by pink cheeks and slightly mussed hair. He was half a head shorter than Jack, and nowhere near as wide across the chest and shoulders, but his body had a compact sort of strength and grace.

“Yes, and you can have it as soon as you turn in that paper,” Jack said. “Remember? You asked Holster to put it on the top shelf, and you told all of us not to get it down until your paper was done.”

Bittle looked like he was going to make a run at Jack and try to tackle him, but Jack fended him off with his free arm.

“I didn’t ask anyone to get it down,” Bittle said. “I was getting it myself, until my giant of a captain snuck up on me and took it right out of my hands.”

“It wasn’t in your hands yet,” Jack said reasonably. “And I’m pretty sure you still need to work on your paper.”

“I did work on it,” Bittle said. “And my mother is going to be here tomorrow. And your parents are going to be here. I have pies to bake. You know your dad likes my pie.”

Alicia turned to give Bob a look. He hadn’t stopped talking about that pie for weeks.

“Wait,” Eric was continuing. “Does your mom even like pie? Or is she more of a cake person? Never mind. She has exquisite taste. Of course she appreciates pie. I just need to make some!” “They’re not supposed to be here until morning,” Jack said. “You can bake after you finish the paper.”

“I can finish the paper while I’m baking,” Eric said, circling behind Jack and trying to climb on a chair without Jack noticing. “I’ll have 45 minutes while the pies are in the oven.”

Jack turned and grabbed Bittle around the waist like he was a sack of flour himself and lowered him gently to the floor.

“That’s not enough time,” he said. “You said you needed to do well on this paper, and you said it’s due by 6 p.m.”

Bittle now had a spatula extended in front of him like a weapon.

“Give me my flour, please,” he said. “Or I’ll whack you with the spatula.”

“No,” Jack said. “Your education is important, Bittle. Somebody has to take it seriously.”

Bittle started in with the spatula, the flat blade thwacking off Jack’s ribs and shoulders, clearly not making any impression on Jack, who took it for a few moments before wresting the spatula away from Bittle. Bittle was starting to look near tears.

“Bittle,” he said. “I’ll tell you what. You go get your laptop and your notes. I’ll put the flour back on the top shelf. And I’ll sit with you while you finish writing.”

Jack paused to shift the flour to the other hand.

“Then I’ll proofread while you make the pies. You can make corrections and submit it while they bake. Look, I’ll even peel apples while you’re writing.”

Bittle subsided, gave Jack a speculative look, and sighed.

“What makes you think I’m making apple pie?” he asked.

“My dad likes it?” Jack tried.

“You mean you like it,” Bittle said. “But it is a fall classic, so yes, I’m making apple. Fine. You put the flour away and I’ll get my laptop.”

Then, entirely too quickly, he was stepping through the doorway into the hall. He gave a small yelp when he saw them.

“Who – Oh, Mr. Bad Bob – Jack!”

Jack had startled at Bittle’s cry, and was bobbling the flour bag between his hands. It landed in a puff of white as the bag broke, dumping most of the flour on the floor, with a layer of powder settling on the table and counters.

“Sorry, Bittle,” Jack said. “I’ll get –”

“You’d better stay and clean your up your mess,” Alicia said. “Your father and I will go buy more flour. Eric – you are Eric, right? – is there anything else you need from the grocery store?”

Bittle snapped his jaw shut.

“Um, no, unless you want something besides apple or pecan pie,” he finally said. “And may I say, Mrs. Zimmermann, I’m a big fan.”

“Well,” Alicia said. “I have a feeling I’m going to be big fan of yours, so we’ll be even.”

#zimbits #prompt fill #omgcheckplease #omg check please