Time Warp: Basement of Wonders [Abe]

[Ferris Macklin]

((backdated to fourth night of Hanukkah, Nov 30, 2013))

Abe Milton was the only non-telepath who knew of his ballet dancing (Ferris didn't know if Sean had pulled it out of his head or not and was happy not knowing), so he didn't have to keep his basement locked like when Devon came over. (Keeping at least part of his house off limits to Devon was probably smart either way.) But as much as he could not have to be embarrassed about his dance studio there, he felt... well, at least sheepish about the jars.

The insane, incomprehensible, how-had-this-happened, looks-like-you're-compensating-for-something number of jars. Pints, quarts, half gallon sized, all meticulously labeled with contents and date in Ferris's neat handwriting. He thought it was a pity jars couldn't be reused, but at least they were recyclable. And his jar lids were BPA-free too, he liked that very much. There... were just a lot of them.

The third of his basement he'd dedicated to food storage was filled in a way a hoarder would recognize. The wall was lined with seven-foot tall, extra-strength, industrial metal shelving, jars stacked up to three high, twine wrapped through the holes in the metal sides to hold it all in. More of the same shelves, similarly twine-wrapped, stood sideways, perpendicular to the wall so he could fit more in, and paper-wrapped, curing meat hung on hooks over his chest freezer. Large plastic pails held sauerkraut and kimchi and whole-cucumber pickles, and in the narrow fridge he'd bought were his cheese experiments (as well as other things). And of course, there was overflow upstairs in his library. And bedroom. And living room. And possibly his bathroom. He wasn't telling.

The basement wasn't entirely finished, but had been drywalled and had a bamboo floor easy to dance on and replace in case of flooding. The stairs were wide and comfortable, each with a slip-proof mat. Three switches at the base of the stairs (the one that illuminated the stairs themselves was at the top), and Ferris flicked the single one that would light up the front third of his basement. The glass gleamed in the soft fluorescent lighting. Pickles, preserved vegetables and fruit, jams, jellies, a marmalade or two, apple butter, relishes, salsas, chutneys, syrups, sauces... the variety was as dizzying as the quantity. Ferris had even experimented with pickling eggs, and a half-gallon jar full white oblongs sat all by itself off to one side. The only thing he hadn't gotten to was confit, or pickling meat. Next year.

"...Feel free to snoop around. I know you'll be careful. And if you say anything about a lack of a social life I'll have you know that Roman, Devon, and I got thrown out of five different establishments this fall." Hands in pockets as he tried not to blush now that he was seeing his obsession the way Abe would see it, he laughed a little. "If you want samples, I have a few open upstairs. It's all organic, and I made my own pectin from apples. Vegetarian, but not all vegan. I used honey sometimes."

Looking at his hoard... he laughed again, ruefully. "I said you could have five as a present, but hell, why don't you take ten? Or twenty? Good god."

[Abe Milton]

Coming into the house, Abe was hard-pressed to keep his usual, FBI bland composure as he stared around the house. He’d brought his cane with him, although his knee was behaving decently well, and now he was grateful he had. It gave him something to lean against as his eyes scanned the room.

“You said you had more of these in the basement, right?” Abe let out a low whistle. “Ferris, I was feeling bad for taking these cans off your hand, but now I think I’m doing you a favor.” He grinned at him. “Still, thanks. I know canning takes a lot of effort, and I appreciate it.” He leaned against the cane a bit more to help himself lower to the ground to examine the pickled eggs, thoughtful. Could he have these? Probably not. He wasn’t sure how kosher they were. Shame. He hauled himself back up with a little bit of difficulty—his knee just didn’t bend correctly, not even now—then looked around. “And you said these were all BPA free? Impressive.”

And a little worrying. Abe was not the meddling type. Nosy, yes. Hellishly nosy. Old habits die hard. When he met people, especially those he was suspicious of, he had a tendency to call up old contacts in the FBI and ask for a background check. And as he’d had a good reputation, offered free drinks and meals to old friends travelling through and sending extra treats during the holidays to all the people he’d been in contact with. However, when it came to Ferris, he was half-tempted to meddle. He couldn’t comment on certain habits as it had been a long time since he’d had any either, but that just meant he could recognize things for what they really were. And the reality was that Ferris needed to get laid.

But not have more of a social life, apparently.

“Five?” Abe’s brows climbed, then he laughed. “I’d invite you to come to mine, but maybe that’d be a bad idea. You could come on Saturday so long as you promised to clean up afterwards, because I can’t work on the Sabbath.”

He didn’t even know where to start. But he had an idea.

“I’ll be right back,” he said absently, then walked out. When he returned, he had a shopping basket over one arm and the cane in the other.

“Samples first,” he decided.

[Ferris Macklin]

Though they weren't obvious, Ferris's lack of closed storage made the jars stashed around rooms not his kitchen or basement easy to find for those who knew they were there. Abe's eyes were like lasers that found all the little caches like someone playing a real life game of What's Wrong With This Picture.

"Favor... enabling... 's all the same," he said. "BPA free, yup. Not doing that would be like cooking all afternoon and packing the results in lead boxes." Well, not quite, but Ferris didn't understand why a chemical banned in China was still going strong in the US.

Equating his jars with needing sex had already been done, though Devon had starting holding off when his neighbor simply stopped sharing their contents if they were so indicative of his love life. Ferris guessed most people thought about that when they saw the objects (the many... many... objects) of his obsession, but the idea that Abe was so affected by it so as to entertain thoughts of playing matchmaker would've surprised him. He thought Abe had better sense. Or maybe more maturity. Than, say, the aforementioned Brit.

"Might be better if we just skipped your place as a group. Our collective IQs plunge when we're together till none of us can tie our shoelaces after an hour or two." This was only a slight exaggeration.

Beholding the basement of preservative glory had clearly impressed the older man. Ferris didn't know if he was excusing himself to laugh or to share a photo he'd secretly taken on his Twitter with the caption 'needs a date'. But when he came back with the basket a brown eyebrow rose. "I didn't know your power was to manifest shopping equipment."

Samples though, that he could do. Might take his mind a little off the gleam in Abe's eye. Blobs of jam or jelly and little chunks of pickles were tossed into ice cube trays to keep the tastes from mixing. It was a decent enough cross section, though was hardly representative of the variety. The pickles were sour or garlicky or dilly or hot or sweet or bread and butter and represented every vegetable that could be pickled and a few experiments, like cabbage pickled like garlic dills and ramps in a sweet liquid. He added a handful of paper towels, and trotted back downstairs.

"Snacks!" Sort of. He wondered if anything had caught Abe's eye or if he was still marveling over how virginal Ferris was.

[Abe Milton]

Abe nodded. “Corporations have a lot of sway in general. Politicians are only human—they still like to favor their friends, if possible. I ran up against that a couple of times back when I was still working with them. I made sure everything was BPA free as well. It’s a bit harder when you’re buying things in bulk but…” He shrugged. “It’s worth it.” His wife had died of cancer. Of course he was going to put in the extra effort.

Abe did have better sense and more maturity than Devon. He also had more of a need for the wares, which was why he wasn’t going to say anything, but maybe look into interested parties. Right now, however, he didn’t know enough of the man’s tastes. Besides, it wasn’t like he would be particularly good at it. He hadn’t had many relationships in his time, although those he’d had were serious and long-lasting.

The older man grinned at the idea. “Come by when it’s mostly just the teen employees, then. I want to see the looks on their faces.” Abe enjoyed discomforting his younger employees. Gently, because they had to learn that the real world wasn’t like school, but not overly so because he didn’t want to be mean to them either.

He smiled again and held up the shopping basket. “No, although I guess I could use it like that if I wanted it to just sit there. I…might have thought you needed a hand cleaning up. It was either this or a cart. Be grateful.” Abe still had contacts in law-enforcement and was a very good customer at most of the nicer markets. They let him take certain liberties.

Lots of things had caught Abe’s eye. The jams and jellys were being analyzed with great care—Purim was coming up, and Abe’s hamentashen were well known in the area. The eggs looked good as well, and all in all several jars had somehow wound up in the basket, although Abe had set it on the floor to not strain his leg. He turned as Ferris came down and smiled. “Clever. Thank you. Hope you don’t mind, but I already helped myself.” He stepped forward to try a few of the samples, pulling a small flask—filled with water—from his pocket and taking a sip after trying each one. “So when did you learn to do this?” 

[Ferris Macklin]

Most adults had better sense and maturity than Devon Wentsworth, but that was neither here nor there. Ferris still looked on the younger man as a sort of strange unwanted sibling he'd grown very fond of almost against his will. He enjoyed their times together greatly, but... they were seriously going to get arrested one of these days.

"It is worth it, if you can afford it. Luckily I don't buy much. Except jars." The people at Bell and Kerr were probably wondering what the hell was going on in Vermont by now.

If Abe was looking for gentle discomfort... Devon, Ferris, and Roman were not where to start. Filling the restaurant with adolescent wolves was a gentle discomfort. The Goof Patrol was more in line with a minor Act of God.

A brown eyebrow rose. "You were questioning my social life even before you came?" He laughed. "Then I'm either doing something right, or something very, very wrong."

The jars in the basket made him grin. "No, no. That's the whole reason you're over here." With amusement, he watched as Abe tried the samples. He'd brought his own water. Of course he had.

"Uh. In bits and pieces over the last five or seven years. There'd be a dish that the chef de cuisine wants a compote or preserve for, or decide that for breakfast we're serving homemade spreads. A few of the meat-centric places I worked at made their own pickles to go with the meat or in sandwiches. Or a bakery couldn't find the flavor of jam they wanted in a filling and make it themselves." He shrugged, smiling, remembering. "This is the first time I've put the practice to work at home though. In jars. Sometimes I'd throw together some fridge pickles but nothing like this. What about you, you ever done this sort of thing?"

Snorting a bit, he added, "I see you eyeing the eggs. You want a few? They haven't sat for very long, but it's been more than a week. Problem there though is that once they're open they have to go in about five or seven days."