LOVEFOOL BY JESSA
RATING/GENRE: PG/Romance, semi Comedic
FANDOM/CHARACTERS: Dollhouse/Mellie, Mellie/Paul Ballard
SUMMARY: Love makes you do the whacky; Mellie can speak from experience.
DISCLAIMER: Mellie, Agent Ballard and Dollhouse are Joss Whedon's amazing brain children. I own nothing but the words!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the first thing I've written for a very long time. I know its tiny but hey. I think Mellie is adorable and this drabble just flowed out of me.
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Sometimes I felt like a stalker, that's just the long and short of it -- waiting near my door for footsteps down the hall or automatically picking out recipes I knew he'd like, even if I was allergic to the main ingredient. I knew I was being ridiculous a lot of the time and I could see it in his amused smile, but there was always something pulling me in his direction.
As I went about my day I'd tell myself that it would be fine if nothing ever happened between us, often giving myself pep talks aloud, and then I'd hear his door opening and I'd be right back to square one. Desperate, unrequited square one.
Paul Ballard was so hard to read but for whatever reason that only made him more attractive to me. Everything he did, the way he moved and spoke, sucked me into what I can only describe as a state of insane adoration. Nevermind the fact that in every romantic movie I'd ever watched, a girl like me rarely landed the sexy FBI agent from across the hall. My heart didn't care about the facts or the usual way of things, which was kind of annoying since it meant I had no control over my actions when he was around. I stammered and said stupid things that made me cringe when I thought about them later. I obsessed over small details of his responses towards me, attempting to figure out if maybe I had a chance with him.
It made no sense, not a lick, but for whatever reason Paul became the center of my world and I'm pretty sure he had no idea. He would have had to be blind not to notice that I was crushing on him but then again, the man was normally too preoccupied with things like getting punched and shot to think much about his love life. It hurt a lot, to give so much of your energy to someone and get so little back. A sane person would have given up on my plight a long, long time ago and yet there I was, throwing myself at him whenever the opportunity arose.
Why? Could it be because I'm an idealist? Or hopelessly romantic? Is it chemical? What the heck was it about Paul Ballard that made me go all shaky in the knees?
Sure he's a handsome, noble FBI agent with really nice arms and a deep voice... on second thought, forget that last question.
I guess I finally understand why people keep saying there's no place for logic in the land of love. My mother always warned me about this sort of thing. Rats. I hate it when that woman is right.