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New Fic: Any Given Sunday

Any Given Sunday

Fandom
: Sense8
Rated: PG
Category: Vignette. RajKalaGang, OT3, Angst, Established Relationship, Romance, Family.
Time Frame: Post-series finale.
Spoilers: Series finale.
Word Count: 500.
Summary: Some days, Rajan can’t win. But on others, he’s hall of fame material.

-----

It comes out of nowhere on a sunny Sunday afternoon as they watch football.

One minute Rajan is touching Wolfgang on the shoulder to get his attention and the next, Wolfgang is flailing on the opposite end of the couch like a man possessed.

Rajan just stares - until he hears the crash in the bathroom.

Then his head bobbles from Wolfgang to the bathroom like a spectator at a tennis match for a few volleys before he bolts from  the room.

When he throws open the bathroom door, he finds Kala gripping the sink like her life depends on it.

She’s taking in big, ragged gasps of air and it takes her a minute to realize Rajan is there.

Once she does, she shoos him away.

“No. Not me. Go! Go to Wolfgang!”

Rajan’s brow furrows and when he doesn’t move right away, Kala sighs and pushes past him. She’s recovered now, and she heads straight to the living room.

A second later, she’s cradling Wolfgang’s head in her lap as she stares accusingly at Rajan.

“What did you do?”

Rajan sputters.

“N-nothing!”

Kala narrows her eyes at him and Rajan begins gesticulating wildly.

“I swear! I did nothing!”

Kala starts to respond to him when Wolfgang speaks up.

“Wasn’t his fault,” he murmurs. Then he looks a little sheepish as both Kala and Rajan stare at him expectantly.

Wolfgang half sits up and gestures vaguely at Rajan.

“He... um... he shocked me.”

“What?” says Kala, looking alarmed.

“Not on purpose,” says Wolfgang, sitting all the way up and folding his legs under him. “Static.”

Kala closes her eyes and nods in understanding. When she opens her eyes a moment later, she takes Wolfgang’s hand and looks at him with concern.

“But you’re okay?” she asks gently.

Wolfgang nods.

“Yeah,” he says, running a hand along the back of his neck and looking down, a bit embarrassed. “Yeah, I am.”

Kala sighs.

“Good.”

Rajan watches the whole exchange in silence, growing more confused by the moment. Finally, he speaks up.

“Can someone tell me what is going on here?”

Kala focuses her gaze on him, and it’s still a little hard. The softness she’d had for Wolfgang only a moment before is gone, and in its place is the slightest glare.

“Later,” she says.

Then her eyes travel the length of Rajan’s body from head to toe, making him feel like a specimen in a jar. When Kala sees his feet, her eyes snap back to his.

“For now,” she states emphatically, “no rubber-soled shoes in the house.”

To his credit, Rajan doesn’t ask questions. He just kicks off his slippers without a word.

It’s many Sundays later when Rajan finds out exactly why Wolfgang sometimes freaks out over even the tiniest electrical shock.

And that’s the day one of the richest men in India has a humidifier shipped in and removes even the most expensive rugs from his house.

The neighbors call him eccentric. Wolfgang uses another word entirely.


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