Inspired by Penhall in the Besieged episode. Yes, I think Hanson/Hoffs forever but Penhall/Hoffs has potential. Just saying.)
Besiege My Heart by Ms. J
(A short, one-shot fanficcie of 21 Jump Street. Blame my husband. 6/14/2010)
There always some doe-eyed babe that ends up crying in your arms.
Wasn't the fall of man marked by some babe? Some babe with an apple who bought eternal damnation and hell fire? Was she crying?
This sucks.
I was there a few nights ago in the same place, same apartment. This doe-eyed babe was in arms, shedding big watery tears and all.
Some night I had.
Didn't I go there to be consoled?
Okay, I'm selfish. I get that.
I was the one consoling the doe-eyed babe and my ego shot through the roof.
So, now I can be labeled as one of those sensitive-can-hold-you types who may even buy some Haagen-Dazs ice cream and cry with you during Steel Magnolias…
The title could prove to be invaluable in times of garnishing female company… except that even I would agree that I'm a dog with said crying female as she laid it into me.
What's with me?
She had a right to call me out when we fought—I kissed her, things got too heavy, she had every right to blow me off. Then that small guilty part of me enjoys what transpired. This doe-eyed female has a killer body, beautiful chocolate brown eyes, and an equally dark chocolate skin that looks better than good in the uniform. Oh, if only she was a pencil and I was paper….
Wait, wait, sorry. I am getting off topic.
Then again, so do they, other guys. They majorly get off topic…okay, okay, calm thyself, Douglas. Can't beat them all up—but maybe…
When did I start liking her?
When did misread signals go off?
What made me think that kissing her was just okay?
I'm the type of guy that wakes up in the morning, sniffs a dirty shirt lying on the floor and wears it if it's okay, not tongue one of my best friends just because it's okay.
She's not some piece of discarded laundry. She is an—an—an ideal. She's got looks, brains, and is funny. That's a package deal. It's like getting the seats courtside next to Spike Lee. That's her! Then the fight happened! Man! My "spare tires" were innocently there in my wallet. I didn't plan to take advantage of her—heck, I don't plan on taking advantage of anybody in this same century. My action is limited to the punk kids I chase in the streets. I'm a young man with needs, needs, don't you get it? This is the 80s! Live fast, die young, have fun.
But the big disease with the little name is still running around and I still have to protect one of us from dangers that I forgot existed in the health books.
Not that if we did cross the line, I wouldn't mind. If I get the chance to hook up with someone like that, I shouldn't pass it.
Because now I realize, I like wiping away the tears from her doe-eyes. I was the man in that moment. I could do something about the crap going on around me even if it was something in her world. I could make love to someone and it wouldn't feel cheap like it did in those horrible R&B songs she likes to listen to.
A babe like that deserves the quant house on the corner with a white picket fence, a good husband, and two-point-five children.
So she lets me in this time after I grovel at her pretty feet to the max.
Here we go again: We're sitting on her couch again and in one moment we make eye contact… Every muscle in me screams "yes," logic says "no" and the world waits for an answer...
Judy, why did you get caught in my headlights?