Title: Trouble Magnet
Characters: Fargo, Sheriff Carter
Spoilers: General for the series.
Summary: Fargo’s in a bit of a predicament again.
Word Count: 413
Disclaimer: I don’t own Eureka, or the characters. They belong to their creators.
You'd think he would have learned his lesson with the personal force field generator, but somehow he just keeps hoping that next time will be different. It's not like he's stupid or anything, this is a town of geniuses and he knows he belongs here; he just seems to suffer from bouts of terminal optimism.
He’s better, smarter, than people give him credit for, it’s in his blood, he just can’t make it manifest in any useful way. Or at all, really. If anything’s going to go wrong in Eureka, it’s a given that Fargo will be involved in some way. Not that he ever actually causes any of it; it’s just that trouble inevitably finds him. Which is a kind of talent, right?
It’s got to the point where Sheriff Carter checks in with Fargo first when anything goes wrong, which is nice. It makes him feel like he has a certain amount of importance; he’s not a nobody, he matters, which is comfortingly reassuring.
Someone will fix this, just like they’ve fixed everything else; as long as he stays calm everything will work out just fine. It’s not even the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, not by a long shot, and he wouldn’t have picked up the bottle if he hadn’t accidentally knocked it over in the first place.
Now if someone would just please get him down off the ceiling, that would be good. He’s not all that fond of heights and he’s starting to get dizzy.
“Breathe, Fargo, you’ll be fine,” he tells himself. “At least you weren’t in the atrium when this happened. That would’ve been bad, I don’t think there’s a ladder tall enough to reach the ceiling in there.”
“Fargo? What are you doing?”
Sheriff Carter’s here at last. Thank God for that.
“Waiting for someone to get me down.”
“What happened this time?”
“You don’t want to know. Oh, and you probably shouldn’t touch that bottle on the floor over there. Or the stuff that’s spilled out of it.”
“Right. Duly noted. I’ll go… get a ladder or something.”
“Okay. Thank you. Um, would you mind hurrying?”
“Be right back. Just… don’t go anywhere.”
“Like I even can.” But the Sheriff’s gone and there’s no reply.
Fargo’s not worried now. Well, not much anyway. He won’t be stuck up here much longer. He’s just not sure how they’re going to make him stay on the ground once they get him back down there…