Who Knows What Lurks
She wasn't really a domestic person, but Vic was under the weather – more like laid up with half a dozen broken ribs, a sprained wrist and a cracked femur – so Helena decided that as a loving girlfriend, she could do her boyfriend's laundry. Once.
The Question, it seemed, was sadly predictable when it came to his clothing choices. She'd done three loads of laundry. One black, with pants, socks, and underwear – boxers. One colored, with shirts and a few pairs of jeans – the trenchcoat and fedora had been sent to a trustworthy (well, mostly. Q didn't seem to trust anyone completely…except her) drycleaners. One white, with shirts, and more socks and underwear – briefs this time. He didn't seem to own anything really wild; all the colors seemed to be varying shades of blue or gray.
Helena mentally shrugged as she hung up the last shirt and turned to put away the socks and underwear in Q's dresser drawers. Ordinarily she wouldn't dream of being in his bedroom while he was recuperating, for fear of disturbing his rest, but the pain pills that J'onn or someone had forced on him had him so zonked out, she was sure he wouldn't wake up even if a one-eyed one-horned flying purple people eater flew in the window and did the watusi.
She eyed the carefully folded undies in the drawer and snorted softly before sighing and trying to fold the freshly washed ones just the same way. If you were going to do something, do it right – the first time. That's what she always told her students. Thankfully, Vic's sock drawer wasn't so neat; the socks were just folded up into pairs.
She was just placing the last pair into the drawer when she saw them. She couldn't believe her eyes. Her Q had those? She turned to look at her sleeping lover and couldn't help but chuckle. And here she thought he'd been kidding about having a pair of orange socks.
She should've learned by now to never underestimate the Question.