Mark opened his front door, a tiny paper bag with batteries in hand. "You would not believe the traffic, babe!" He called out. "There was an accident outside the bakers on Fourth, and it's affected everything. I had to head south to that-" He paused. The TV was turned on, yet he always made sure to turn anything off before leaving the house. "He could hear something in the kitchen, and some footsteps in the adjacent room. Worried, Mark kept the door open behind him, then called out, "Hello?"
Someone poked their head around the corner, making Mark leap backwards in fear. Except it was a familiar face, one he hadn't seen in a while. "Hey bro!" Sal grinned, and stepped out from the doorway.
Mark clutched his chest, taking deep breathes. "Hey Sal. What are you doing here? You gave me a fright."
"Sorry," Sal said sheepishly. "Were you expecting Brad? Papi and I came by so we could talk shop. I told him we should've called ahead, but you know my dad. I thought he'd be with you, but apparently not..."
"Jim's here too?" Mark's eyes were drawn down to the blue cannister Sal was holding. His heart skipped a beat. It couldn't be what he thought it was...
Noticing his look, Sal held the spray up. "Oh yeah, just some fly. Papi has a vendetta against them. He's got it trapped in the kitchen."
There was a loud bang, of glass hitting a counter, followed by a deep, rough voice shouting "Mierda!"
Mark pushed Sal aside, and ran into the kitchen to see his husband's father looming over the counter, glass in hand. "Acabo de perder al bastardo. Sal, pásame el spray!" He turned around, and his expression changed from anger to confusion. "Oh, Mark. You're here. Where's Brad?"
Mark stared him, trying not to be frightened. "He's around... What are you doing in here?"
"Just this pesky bug that won't die!" Jim pointed towards the housefly that stumbled across the kitchen counter, making the occasional buzzing sound as it tried to fly away. Mark gulped, that tiny fly was actually his husband! Why wasn't Brad flying out of the way? Could he be injured? Jim turned back to the helpless bug and uttered, "I've got you this time..." He aimed the glass and swung his arm down.
"No!" Mark cried out, causing Jim to stop his hand mere inches from the counter. His aim would have been impeccable, were it not for being distracted. Mark's face turned red as he cleared his throat, and stepped closer to Jim. "No, we don't kill anything in this house," he started to say, just as Sal entered the kitchen with the bug spray. Jim raised an eyebrow, and Mark chuckled awkwardly. "Not anymore... We set things free."
"Well this fly is on its last legs," Jim grunted, his fingers tight against the offending glass.
"That doesn't mean we should be unkind," Mark began to say before he looked past the man to see his tiny flying husband staggering across the counter, towards the window. The little fly looked worse for wear. It looked like Jim had already clipped him with the glass, his wings were torn, and a tiny trail of liquid leaking from his body. Mark's heart dropped, if he could only distract his father-in-law for long enough...
"The bastard can't even fly," Jim said with a shake of his head. "It's best to put it out of its misery." With a sudden movement, Jim brought the glass down to the counter with a solid whack. Mark flinched, and turned his head away. Jim brushed his hands together, then stepped away from the counter. "I suppose Brad won't be back anytime soon," he grumbled, clearly agitated. "We'll be back later in the week. Let's go, Sal."
Mark felt his whole world fall to pieces, his legs wobbled, and he had to grip the counter to keep himself from collapsing altogether.
Jim looked back at Mark, and muttered, "Este marica es un bebé llorón. Es sólo una mosca." Sal chuckled and nodded his head.
From the floor, Mark stared up at the glass on the counter. He didn't dare take a peek. If he didn't look, then there was still a chance that Brad might not be splattered underneath it. Schrodinger's Fly... No, his upmost priority now was to get the Chronivac back up and running. There had to be a failsafe that protected users from terrible fates. Stored memories, time reversal, clones, anything!
He gripped onto his paper bag of batteries, gulped, and left the kitchen in a hurry. Abandoning the glass, and the insect residue that may or may not be crushed beneath it.