This is my first Mag7 fanific. In actuality, it's my first attempt at any fan fiction. But Melody's incident with the laundry thing got a plot crow to pick at my brain.

The large black birds soared in circles above the old well where Josiah Sanchez sat. He gazed at the murder of crows in horror. *Crows are the work of the Devil,* his mind screamed at him. Suddenly, a solitary crow was left. It pearched beside Josiah on the rim of the well and stared up at him with empty, ominous, black orbs.

A large hand reached out absently to shut off the blaring alarm clock. Josiah's mind was fixated on the dream. He could feel something was not right with the world.

"Damn crows," the anthropologist muttered as he realized it was Sunday and setting the alarm last night was a darn stupid thing to do.

Josiah lumbered toward the kitchen of his spacious Victorian home. He had decided not to go back to sleep and to make the best of the day. Maybe he'd "accidently" sleep in late tomorrow to make up for it. Larabee wouldn't mind, or would he? No, he'd believe Josiah. After all, it's not like he was Buck or Ezra.

Sanchez continued his musings while he rumaged through the fridge for some bacon. He searched the second shelf where he usually kept it only to find the elusive meat had seemingly disappeared.

"Hmm.." the large man pondered. He always left the bacon to the right of the marmalade jelly and in front of the left-over chili on the second shelf of his refridgerator. Always. Without fail. Now where the Hell was the dang-blasted bacon?

Another train of thought entered his mind. Was he getting old? He'd forgotten he was supposed to eat lunch with Nathan and Raine last week, true, but was he growing forgetful? No. Not him. It couldn't happen. Then again, if he was getting this annoyed and introspective over strips of pig for God sakes, maybe he *was* entering senility. Maybe he'd put in his resignation tomorrow.

"Shit!" he cursed when he realized he was all out of orange juice as well. "That's the last time brother Buck gets his paws on my fridge."

Sighing, Josiah ran a hand through his gray curls. He shoved the refridgerator door closed; he was going out for breakfast. If he couldn't have his bacon, he'd settle for some bear claws and coffee from Dunkin' Donuts.

Coming to the realization he was starke naked in the middle of the cold kitchen, he stomped back to the bedroom to get dressed. Though seeing the look on the drive-thru girl's face might be worth catching a cold. No, somebody would recognize him and he'd never live it down.

Pawing through his closet, only yellow sweatpants were found. Josiah had forgotten to do the laundry. There's that word again. Forgot.

"Damn, you *are* getting old, Sanchez," he ranted. "And now you're going to spend the entire day washing clothes. Adam and Eve didn't wear clothes. Why were the goldarn things invented anyhow? I'll tell you! To torment unsuspecting people who don't do the laundry, that's why! Of all the.."

After rambling on and cursing for ten minutes, Josiah and his yellow sweatpants were ready to fight stains. He needed some different things to do for his penance anyway. He actually *enjoyed* painting his house, so it wasn't really a punishment. But laundry, Lord knows he hated laundry.

He trudged down the basement stairs to his laundry room. Why the former owners of the house put it way down there, he'd never know. Josiah filled the washing machine with a herd of white socks. Yes, a herd. Closing the lid, he put the penny he kept by the machine between the lid and that little button that makes it start. The old washer wouldn't work without it. It was a stange thing, indeed.

What was that? Water? Water! No! Josiah practically growled at the large puddle of soapy water forming under the washer. Damn. He rushed up the stairs to procure a roll of duct tape.

"Yes, that would fix everything," he smirked to himself. Sometimes it really does pay to watch Bob Villa.

Rumaging through various bureaus and cabinets, Josiah began his search for the elusive duct tape.

"Damn!" he cursed, cutting his finger on a knife in one of the drawers. The explicative was quickly followed with a bellow of triumph as he held out the glimmering silver roll like it was the Holy Grail itself.

Making his way down the stairs, his ears were assaulted by a loud creaking sound, followed by a splash. He scurried to the bottom step and stood gaping at the pile of metal and socks that was once his washing machine. Chucking the duct tape at the mangled appliance, he turned on his heel and stormed upstairs with his laundry basket. He blamed the possessed socks for the demise of his beloved washer and so, left them to drown on the basement floor.

Josiah tugged on his boots and made for the front door, not bothering to tie the laces. He snagged his keys from the counter top and stormed outside, slamming the door so loud that Mrs. Newton from across the street shouted at him from her front porch where she stealthily (at least in her opinion) watched for hooligans from the safety of the rocking chair. Josiah, his temper already skyrocketing, merely flipped her off, shut the Suburban's door and sped off to towards the laundromat.

Josiah was practically growling by the time he reached Potter's Laundromat. He had managed to hit every damn red light on the way, as well as a few miles of road work.

The large, angry man flung the car door open and yanked his laundry basket out, muttering to himself about crows all the while. Within a few feet of the Potter's door, he tripped over his bootlaces and tumbled down onto the asphalt.

He shrieked wordlessly and gathered his clothing, which had been flung in different directions. He was grateful there were no other patrons in the parking lot that had witnessed his embarrassing fall. Yet, he thought bitterly, people passing by on the highway were sure to have seen him.

Sighing, he made his way through the automatic doors, half expecting them to get stuck; relieved when they didn't. Sanchez smiled at the elderly lady at the counter, who was looking at him and his yellow pants with distain.

Josiah selected the machine at the back of the room where he could grumble in peace.

"At least I don't have pink hair," he mumbled, referring to the stereotypical old lady hair the woman had.

Josiah sorted his whites out of the basket and tossed them into the washer. Shutting the lid, he fished in his pockets for the quarters he was sure he'd brought. Just when he was about to go mad, he realized there was a hole in his pocket and the coins had fallen into his boots. Yanking the left one off, he snagged a handful of grubby quarters and paid the machine.

He wasted his time looking at old outdated Cosmopolitan magazines while his clothes washed. Considering the machine hadn't broken down or the laundromat had yet to catch fire, he believed his bad luck to be over. Wait! What was that? Josiah peered at the window, hoping he imagined what he thought he saw. No! He didn't! A crow! A damn evil crow!

Josiah stopped the washing machine and cautiously took a peek inside.

"Hellfire and damnation! Why, Lord, why!?"

His clothes were pink. Pink! All of them!

He rooted through the wet unmentionables, looking for the culprit. He had checked the machine beforehand so this wouldn't happen. How could he have missed it? He was sure all the clothes he put in were white. Aha! He spotted a flash of bright red and pulled out the sock. He didn't own any red socks. Hell, he left all his socks in the basement. Who the Hell would wear red socks? And leave them in my dirty clothes hamper? Ezra! He liked red.. No, no.. He wouldn't be caught dead wearing red socks, no matter how much the liked the color. Who else liked red?

"Vin! I'm gonna kill that sorry li'l Texan!" Yes, Vin had red socks. And he had destroyed Josiah's underwear, albeit not on purpose, but still..

Josiah stared at the sock for a while, his eyes flickering between it and the crow still perched outside the window. He sniffled, cursing his horrible luck.

He wandered dejectedly back to the Surburban, leaving his clothes, dirty and clean, in the building, but taking Vin's sock with him. He slid into the driver's seat, staring blankly at the sock. The shrill of his cell phone distracted him momentarily.

"Sanchez," he said, with no feeling. Just a soft, bland tone.

"Josiah? Thank God! Where the Hell were you!? We thought something happened... Josiah?"

"Yes, brother Nate?"

"Where are you? Where have you been?"

"The laundromat," Josiah whispered, turning his attention back to Tannersock, his newly christened sock puppet.

"The *laundromat*!? Why? What? We had a bust today, Josiah!"

"Tanner.."

"What? What about Vin?"

"Red sock.."

There was a pregnant pause. "Vin, you wearing red socks?" Nathan yelled to the man in the next office. "Yes, I said red socks!... Josiah... Yeah, he said your name, then something about red socks... I don't know.. He said he was the laundromat... Shut up, Ezra! It's not funny... I think there's something wrong with him... Well, do you *own* red socks, Vin? Do you know what he's talk-- what was that, Josiah?"

"Tannersock.. He wants to speak with you, brother."

"Josiah, are you okay?"

"Just fine, Nathan. Just fine," Josiah replied in a high-pitched voice, presumably that of Tannersock.

"Josiah, you're scaring me. What laundromat are you at?"

"Josiah's in the car. I am Tannersock, the magnificent red sock."

"Okay... Tannersock, um, do you know where you are?" Jackson spoke as if talking to a small child.

"In the car."

"And where's the car, Tannersock? Damn it, Ezra! Quit laughing!"

"I am the magnificent red sock.. I live in Red Rock.." Josiah sang quietly in the background.

"Josiah?" Nathan questioned, seriously doubting his friend's sanity. "C'mon, please, tell me where-- Josiah? Damn!" He slammed the phone down after Josiah had hung up. "JD, did you get a trace?"

"No, I.."

"Damnit!" Nathan stormed out to check every laundromat in Denver, his fellow agents at his heels.

Josiah Sanchez was never found. Though, years later, rumors surfaced of an old man with a red sock puppet wandering the streets screaming and crying about crows and Texans. ---

The end.