A/N: Just your regular Joan of Archadia fic. I just HAD to write this after
seeing the latest episode on the telly.
Disclaimer inserted here.
Enjoy!
~~~~
"What If God Was One Of Us?"
He had always thought of Joan as Jane. He never did quite know why Maybe it was because Joan sounded so proper, and prim. Like, a rightful young lady, or class president. Not like the Joan who laughed at his jokes. Except the one about angels. To him Joan was Jane. Plain, and beautiful at the same time, with full lips, and doe like eyes. Pretty eyes. Jane like eyes.
Adam had admitted to himself, that he liked her. Like, liked her, Jane was special to him. And, though, she didn't totally understand him. He figured, that if she continued to put up with him, someday she really would. He didn't really want to think in depth about his feelings, because, they were hardly friends, and he wanted to be her friend first....
.....But then, she wrecked his ticket out. And his mother's memories.
That person was Joan. Not Jane, and maybe that wasn't even Joan. But, Adam could see the guilty look in her eyes, when she turned around from his crushed sculpture and dropped the chair.
...What she had done, hurt him more deeply then any physical cut he had ever received. And so, all that had been was gone. And all the fluffy feelings he had felt, all the little twisty butterfly wing thingies, that fluttered in his stomach when she gave him her smile, was smoldered into nothingness, and he ignored his like for Joan, because, she wasn't Jane anymore.
And then in the bookstore.... Something had happened in the bookstore. He had known for awhile, maybe since he first met his Jane, that she was different. She had this thing about her, that no one else knew. And Adam knew she wanted to tell him, and she almost had, she had left for a moment, and had come back, and she had once again changed. Her Janeness had disapeared, and her Joan had returned.
And he had almost cried for God's sake! Cried! Where had his Jane gone?!
...After that, they didn't really converse, and anything that was said, was usually sadistic and rude on her part. And he never fought back, because he was just that way. He didn't see a point in arguing over something that was her fault, and something that she knew was her fault. He had forgiven her. Because, what was the point of hating her when he knew he couldn't.
She was his Jane, no matter how hard he tried to deny it. And every time she looked at him, those infernal butterfly thingies came back full swing, harder, and faster then the last time, and his heart rate seemed to be sky high.
And she had built a boat, albit a messed up one, but a boat all the same. And it was beautiful, because Jane had made it. And it was beautiful, because Jane had touched it. And it was beautiful because Jane had cried over it.
And Rocky had died. Rocky had died. Died. Died. Rocky.
....Dead.
Jane had tried to talk to him, but he didn't feel like talking. Life officially sucked. Mom dead. Rocky dead. Dad-artdestroyer- Grace involved with Luke, Jane turned into Joan. And then, as he had laid on his back, facing the ceiling of his bedroom, his eyes had darted over to his realitivly plain desk. Which was weird because he was an artist, and he was supposed to have art in his room. But he just hadn't felt like doing anything since Jane dissapeared. Or reappeared. Whatever.
He had seen the letter. The letter. God....
..Joan had gotten her mom to convince him to talk with her, and she talked. Something about not killing himself, and good ripples.
Good ripples. Ironic how his mother had written just that in her letter. And yes, he had read the letter, or rather Joan's-Jane's mother had. And after hearing his mother's words, he felt liberated, in a strange kind of way he did, and he was crying.
And the next day Jane was there with him, and she had feathers in her hair. And he was suddenly reminded of the day he had told her that he could talk to angels. And how she hadn't laughed at all when he had said that. Maybe that was because she was an angel, she looked like one with those feathers everywhere.
And then he wondered what it would be like to kiss her. And he wanted to kiss her.
So he did.
~~~
A/N: Majorly corny, and sickenly fluffy, and gaggerificly stuffy, but hey, I had to do it. Tell me what you think. I appreciate the imput. A lot.
Thankies, Jaina
Disclaimer inserted here.
Enjoy!
~~~~
"What If God Was One Of Us?"
He had always thought of Joan as Jane. He never did quite know why Maybe it was because Joan sounded so proper, and prim. Like, a rightful young lady, or class president. Not like the Joan who laughed at his jokes. Except the one about angels. To him Joan was Jane. Plain, and beautiful at the same time, with full lips, and doe like eyes. Pretty eyes. Jane like eyes.
Adam had admitted to himself, that he liked her. Like, liked her, Jane was special to him. And, though, she didn't totally understand him. He figured, that if she continued to put up with him, someday she really would. He didn't really want to think in depth about his feelings, because, they were hardly friends, and he wanted to be her friend first....
.....But then, she wrecked his ticket out. And his mother's memories.
That person was Joan. Not Jane, and maybe that wasn't even Joan. But, Adam could see the guilty look in her eyes, when she turned around from his crushed sculpture and dropped the chair.
...What she had done, hurt him more deeply then any physical cut he had ever received. And so, all that had been was gone. And all the fluffy feelings he had felt, all the little twisty butterfly wing thingies, that fluttered in his stomach when she gave him her smile, was smoldered into nothingness, and he ignored his like for Joan, because, she wasn't Jane anymore.
And then in the bookstore.... Something had happened in the bookstore. He had known for awhile, maybe since he first met his Jane, that she was different. She had this thing about her, that no one else knew. And Adam knew she wanted to tell him, and she almost had, she had left for a moment, and had come back, and she had once again changed. Her Janeness had disapeared, and her Joan had returned.
And he had almost cried for God's sake! Cried! Where had his Jane gone?!
...After that, they didn't really converse, and anything that was said, was usually sadistic and rude on her part. And he never fought back, because he was just that way. He didn't see a point in arguing over something that was her fault, and something that she knew was her fault. He had forgiven her. Because, what was the point of hating her when he knew he couldn't.
She was his Jane, no matter how hard he tried to deny it. And every time she looked at him, those infernal butterfly thingies came back full swing, harder, and faster then the last time, and his heart rate seemed to be sky high.
And she had built a boat, albit a messed up one, but a boat all the same. And it was beautiful, because Jane had made it. And it was beautiful, because Jane had touched it. And it was beautiful because Jane had cried over it.
And Rocky had died. Rocky had died. Died. Died. Rocky.
....Dead.
Jane had tried to talk to him, but he didn't feel like talking. Life officially sucked. Mom dead. Rocky dead. Dad-artdestroyer- Grace involved with Luke, Jane turned into Joan. And then, as he had laid on his back, facing the ceiling of his bedroom, his eyes had darted over to his realitivly plain desk. Which was weird because he was an artist, and he was supposed to have art in his room. But he just hadn't felt like doing anything since Jane dissapeared. Or reappeared. Whatever.
He had seen the letter. The letter. God....
..Joan had gotten her mom to convince him to talk with her, and she talked. Something about not killing himself, and good ripples.
Good ripples. Ironic how his mother had written just that in her letter. And yes, he had read the letter, or rather Joan's-Jane's mother had. And after hearing his mother's words, he felt liberated, in a strange kind of way he did, and he was crying.
And the next day Jane was there with him, and she had feathers in her hair. And he was suddenly reminded of the day he had told her that he could talk to angels. And how she hadn't laughed at all when he had said that. Maybe that was because she was an angel, she looked like one with those feathers everywhere.
And then he wondered what it would be like to kiss her. And he wanted to kiss her.
So he did.
~~~
A/N: Majorly corny, and sickenly fluffy, and gaggerificly stuffy, but hey, I had to do it. Tell me what you think. I appreciate the imput. A lot.
Thankies, Jaina