A/N: The Hayley/Bullock pairing is one that I have liked in American Dad, and I enjoyed how they played upon it in 'Blood Crieth Unto Heaven,' but I feel it requires more development. This will be told in several perspectives, switching between Hayley and Bullock, with an occasional jaunt to someone else.
(Obligatory) American Dad characters owned by Seth MacFarlane
"What's the matter, Babe?" Jeff's voice came out of the darkness, almost startling Hayley out of the half-sleep she had fallen into. He was tracing his finger up and down her bare back, his typical lackluster invitation for sex, but she hadn't responded yet.
"It's nothing, Jeff." She said, burying her face in her pillow and continuing to ignore him. She was getting tired of Jeff's trailing fingers, but if she told him to stop, he would. If she told him to keep going, he would. If she told him to jump out of the fucking window, he probably would. She bit back her anger, telling herself that she was just tired, and tried to fall asleep. Eventually Jeff's dancing fingertip smoothed out into a full palm before he got tired and simply wrapped his arm around her waist, settling into the bed next to her. She softly elbowed him away.
"It's too hot." She complained, wiggling uncomfortably under the weight of his arm.
"Oh. Okay." He said, pulling back the limb and curling into a ball, facing the opposite wall. Hayley closed her eyes again, but couldn't drift into sleep.
"Jeff, you're suffocating me." She bitched, wanting him to say something back, but instead he just said, "Oh, sorry about that." And went to curl up on the bean-bag chair instead. Hayley growled in frustration.
"You know what, Jeff? I just don't think I want you in my room tonight."
"Did I do something wrong?" He asked, his eyes wide and wondering. He was like a child, really.
"No, just… I'm just cranky and tired and I can't sleep with you around." She said. He shrugged and picked up his pants from the floor. After buttoning them and slipping on his flip-flops, he pulled his van key from the pocket.
"Can I have my shirt at least?" He asked. Hayley looked down at herself, Jeff's old, stained shirt hanging off her body like a weight.
"No, it's comfortable." She said. Jeff shrugged and bid her goodnight, reaching for the door handle.
"Is that it?" Hayley asked, frustration pushing at her tone. Jeff raised his eyebrows in a wide-eyed expression of wonder.
"What do you mean? I'm doing what you want."
"You aren't going to fight for yourself? Even a little?" She asked, sitting up.
"Why would I fight with you, Babe? I love you too much." He smiled and left the room before Hayley could say anything. She looked back down at the shirt, the old musk of pot and Jeff's cologne floating like a halo around her from her body heat, before stripping off the shirt in frustration and pulling her bedsheet over her head. She sometimes felt like a freak, demanding more of Jeff than his subservient, hen-pecked ways. Surely women liked that? For God's sake, he was practically a giant, fuckable doll. Still, she felt like she was doing herself a disservice. Surely her love would be better suited for someone who could challenge her, fight with her.
That's what she craved, a good old-fashioned, knock-down, drag-out fight. And she wanted it to be about something petty, something that didn't even matter. 'Hey hon? Where's my razor?' 'Oh, that thing was so old, I threw it away.' 'But I could have used it again!' 'You have like a dozen more, just open a new one!' 'Why should I use a new one when I had at least one use left on my old one?' 'You could get cut more easily with a dull razor!' 'I'm not made of money, you inconsiderate...'
She smiled at her musings. Her parents were like that. They loved each other more than anything, she knew that, but they fought. They fought all the time. They were passionate people, with passionate opinions. That's what she wanted. She wanted someone who would call her out of being a hypocrite and cuddle her the same night. She wanted someone who would push her mind and her body, someone who would make her ideologically uncomfortable, not fall into a rut. That's all Jeff was- a personified rut.
She flipped her pillow over and dug her face into its cool surface, letting out a slow breath through her nose. Tomorrow she would do it, she would finally break up with him. She just couldn't do it it anymore. She fell easily into sleep then, images of how she would do the deed floating in her mind before she drifted into blackness.
Breaking up with him had almost been more infuriating than dating him. She tried to wipe from her memory the cheery way he had called after her.
"Good call, Babe! You can do better!"
Who did Jeff Fischer think he was? What a bastard, to take away the only joy she would've had in dumping him. Give her an emotion, any emotion! Not just acquiescence and brainlessness.
Still seething, she stomped into the kitchen to find her parents and Roger dilligently folding napkins.
"It's just a CIA carnival, why are we folding napkins?" Francine asked, carefully placing a folded bird on the table in front of her.
"Because there'll be food, and my boss likes to wipe his mouth on swans." Stan replied, then cast an exasperated look at Roger, "What the hell is this?"
"Metrosexual soccer icon David Beckham. I can't do swans, I don't know why."
"Hey, if the whole CIA is at this carnival, who's out there undermining democracy?" Hayley snarked, standing between her parents.
"The FBI pulls a double shift." Stan snapped back, furrowing his brow, "Now listen, when we get there you better keep your liberal piehole shut!" his eyes narrowed and he pounded the table, "My promotion depends on it."
Hayley sneered and almost replied before her mother interjected.
"Honestly, Stan. What does Hayley have to do with you getting a promotion? It should be enough that you're really good at your job."
Francine was always trying to do that, distract Stan's irrationality back to the point at hand, but it hardly ever worked. As prime evidence, Stan immediately went into one of his non-sequitur rants before demanding that the whole family attend the carnival with him. At this Hayley scoffed.
"Why do I need to go? You don't even want me there." Hayley said. Stan sniffed derisively and crossed his arms over his chest.
"I need to show Bullock that I can unify people, besides the fact that there is nothing more American than a beautiful family walking together into a government funded carnival."
"I didn't know you were taking me, Stan. That's wonderful." Roger said.
"What on earth makes you think you're coming with us?" Stan demanded.
"Well, you did say beautiful family." Roger smiled, "So who else could you have been referring to?"
Stan crumpled napkin David Beckham and threw it at the alien's head.
There may be only one thing that was more American than a beautiful family walking together into a government funded carnival, and that was a beautiful family immediately splitting up as soon as they reached the center of said carnival. Hayley was at a loss, desperately looking around for something, anything, that would catch her interest. AS she wandered around, she eventually caught sight of her dad and his work buddies. At a garbled announcement, half of them left, leaving Stan alone with Avery Bullock.
Perfect. Hayley thought. If there was one person in this whole carnival that could get her blood boiling, it was her father's boss, and she was itching for a fight. She sauntered casually up to them, putting a defiant hand on her hip as she stood next to her father.
"Deputy Director Bullock. You're looking well." She sneered. Her father cast a desperate look at her, then shifted back to Bullock apologetically.
"Sir, you remember Hayley. My… son's sister." He laughed uncomfortably. Bullock looked Haley up and down, his eyebrow raising in slight disapproval.
"Of course. I'm surprised they let you through security," He said, a laugh in his voice, "I guess those scanners can't detect half-baked political ideology."
"Heh, you're lucky." Hayley bit back, "As a cockroach, you'll survive the nuclear war you're working so hard to incite." She turned away, feeling satisfied with herself as she heard her father mumble a half-baked excuse. Bullock's voice suddenly rose about the crowd.
"That's right, run along! Go play Ultimate Frisbee with your drum circle, and leave politics to the adults!"
With a coal of hatred burning in her chest, she turned to face him. "You know, I actually don't play Frisbee. I guess the CIA got their intel wrong." She narrowed her eyes, "Again."
~o~O~o~