Accidentally On Purpose
Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.
:: This is completely, utterly AU. Some of the people and situations are canon, but mostly AU. Think of Team One (mainly Sam and Jules) being in a one and a half hour romantic/comedy movie. This story is just that. The first chapter is a short one- an introduction. Things will start to pick up (and the chapters will be longer) in chapter 2. I have the second chapter written but it still needs a few adjustments and I won't post till I'm done with chapter 3 and so on. Thanks Shiggity for all her help.
Chapter 1: Party's Over
'I'm dyin' without your-'
Jules slammed the radio off, putting a stop to someone young enough to be her sixteen year old kid from lecturing her about what mattered the most in life—being in love and getting the right girl. If things didn't work out then it's the end of the world, but before, let's write a song about it and make millions. Wordy would know who sang the song. Blessed with three darling daughters, he's familiar with the most current singing sensation. The last one being a blonde girl with Multiple Personality Disorder whose daddy was a former rock star.
Music was still ringing in her eardrums even though the stereo's off. Her throat hurt, an invisible man was poking her head with a hockey stick and at that moment she wanted nothing more than to be at home and get her pliers. The feel of the soft, slightly damp material was starting to grow uncomfortable.
If it's not for Shay's party, she would be sitting Indian style in her living room now, amidst the paint-flecked tarps and crumpled newspapers, trying to mix the blue and green paint she bought from Home Depot the other night.
She's not even remotely close with the blushing bride. She was there simply for formality and she had a good feeling that the invitation had reached her locker by default. Shay's co-worker, who had orchestrated the whole thing had invited every female in SRU with connections to Lew. Even Sophie had made the time; the sweet, mother of two, Sophie Lane. There's no way she could have escaped this one. Ed had been pestering about her so exciting barely existent love life and she could only imagine what he would do when he heard her plan of skipping the celebration.
For someone whose ideal activity was to spend it alone with her assortment of tools and buckets of paint, having to attend bachelorette parties was simply put, a nightmare. Watching a swarm of giggling women slowly but surely get intoxicated while some famous 90s singer singing her heart out about how men didn't impress her much, certainly didn't impress her much.
Shay was an accountant, and she was Lew's fiancée. Those facts combined meant a nice, low-key evening in an exclusive lounge with some Jazzy melody at the background. There would have been a bit of a teasing about her last days being a free woman, some liquor would have been involved, but it'd have been mostly alcohol-free. It should have been like a royalty's bachelorette party, the ones who couldn't afford getting high as a kite and exposed smooching a bartender five minutes after it happened on the internet. The closest thing to that fantasy was the glittering pink tiara on Shay's head.
That's what Jules had thought. Either she was stupid, or naïve. She reckoned she just had too much faith in the world.
Lew would have an instant heart attack when Shay went home with another man's underwear. Or maybe Lew liked it kinky. Everybody had their own quirks. Who knew what her seemingly quiet teammate did behind closed doors. Maybe once Shay took off her glasses, she was an entirely different person, an exact mirror of Clark Kent with and without his black-rimmed glasses.
Like the evening wasn't bad enough already, a slightly-tipsy Keira had point-blank asked her about boyfriends. About the possible plus-one she didn't plan on bringing to the wedding. Her face must have given her away because right after that, waves of recommendation started to flow in. James from the Gun and Gang's department. Keith, the 6'2 French-Canadian with a dazzling smile and a perfect set of dimples. Steve, the paramedic who would look good enough to eat –their words, not hers- once he got a decent haircut. From there, the names piled up. It had started to sound like they're picking out a baby name.
Minutes before they moved the party to one of the suites upstairs, Jules had managed to slip away to the lobby while the other women were busy admiring the bartender showing off his skills and showcasing his abs at the same time. She sent a short text to Winnie, explaining her whereabouts –'major headache, finally caught the bug that had been going around the headquarter'—and practically running to the parking lot in her four inch heels. It was an art she had mastered a long time ago, having inherited the genes of her equally petite mother.
She hated that her dress was several inches above the knees and she'd forgot her jacket back at the hotel. She hated that everybody but her seemed to be having a good time. She hated that she had to giggle along the rest of the women. She hated that she was the second oldest woman in there next after Sophie. She hated herself because she knew she should've been more considerate and yet she had been mulling over an escape plan since she first stepped into the building.
Her eyes flicked downwards.
And she hated that.
She really needed to get home. Her hand was officially itching now.
Jules flinched when a high-pitched siren disrupted her self-pity. The reflection of the blue and red flasher glaring in her rearview mirror took her headache to the next level. Squinting her eyes, she could vaguely make out the outline of someone sitting behind the wheels.
Shoot, seriously?
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