Quickly before I start – I just rated it M, in case, 'cause she does swear, like once, and I don't want to get banned or anything :) But there isn't anything risqué, YET...
-stellierox xx

Disclaimer: See previous page. You had to have seen the top of the previous page to get on to this one :)

Stale-ish.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I walked through my front door, embracing the smell of cinnamon and dog hair. Jack bounded up to me, planning on nearly bowling me over, as per usual. This time I was ready. A split second before his usually inevitable collision with my stomach, I quickly stepped to the side, laughing like an idiot as he sped out the front door and turning my back to him. Little did I know that he did a 360 turn in my front yard, and came hurtling into me. There was a thud as he slammed into my back, and I slowly sank, defeated, to the ground, as he licked me into submission.
I couldn't even outwit my dog. Figures.
Sure, my dog was really smart, but come on. How am I going to outwit criminals if I can't pull one over on a Border collie?
I got up, closed the front door and leant against it, suddenly exhausted. How was I going to do my job while being continuously distracted by my, granted, good looking, but infuriating boss? I needed coffee, and I needed... My stomach growled ominously, like the thunder before the lightning. Oh, right. I hadn't eaten anything except for my morning cereal. Not even Danny's doughnuts. I needed food. I straightened up and padded into the kitchen. Dinner? What was the time? I checked my watch. Dinner. These days, with the workload, and going into the field, I couldn't expect to get home before seven thirty.
Pasta sounded good, mostly because all I would do was chop up some peppers and onions, and throw them in a bowl with other sauce-making ingredients, boil the pasta and mix everything together. I got myself a beer and gathered all my ingredients together. Did I really have to cook? A sandwich would suffice, wouldn't it? I wouldn't have time for a run if I cooked. I needed to get out, to clear my head.
I put everything back, and opened the bread bin. Stale-ish. Toast was fine. Toast was more like dinner than a sandwich, it was kind of cooked. Toast would suffice. I put some bread in the toaster, and hopped onto the counter. I laid my head down on the top, savouring the chill against my cheek. God, he was irritating. I couldn't say more than a sentence in his direction before he'd roll his big, blue eyes and I would get pissed off. And then he'd get pissed off. And then we'd have a big huge fight, right in the middle of the office, and everyone would be staring, and when he was angry, and his arms got so tense, I could just imagine him wrapping those arms around me... And then I would think Shit! And try to remember what it was that we were fighting about in the first place.
"God!" I shouted at no one at particular, sending Jack skittering towards the bathroom, his tail between his legs. Get a grip, Sam, I thought to myself, embarrassed by the less than professional thoughts I was having about my boss. He was my boss, for God's sake.
My toast popped up, and I got to work.

Stomach full and a smile on my face as I listened to some Jack Johnson. He was born here, right? He's Hawaiian?

"Telephone singing, ringing, it's too early, don't pick it up; we don't need to, we've got everything we need right here, and everything we need is enough"

I wish that I could do this more often. That my job was less demanding. What if I wasn't with the FBI? What if it was my job to listen to this? Someone has to do it. Someone in a record company must be in charge of listening to new artists and deciding if the music's good enough to be signed. What if that was my job? I'd be a lot happier, I guess. But I wouldn't be able to survive in that environment. Working in the bureau was great, exciting. It was just 5-0 that I didn't enjoy. It wasn't the cases, or my colleagues. It was him. I couldn't find the self control to ignore his open invitations to challenge him, to defy him. If I got along with McGarrett, I would love 5-0, I'm sure.
Anyway, only three months to go, I thought to myself. And then I can go back to the bureau, and tell them all about the functionality of a team with no limits. Thing is, it wasn't that the team was good because of the way that the governor ran it. It was good, because the members were all perfect for what they did. McGarrett was a good leader, I would give him that. He ran the unit well. But I couldn't say that to Special Agent Johnson. All the bureau would want to know was their success rate, the number of cases solved each month. He wouldn't want to know about that girl that the team found on that drug raid last Thursday, the one that the governor got into school. If I told Johnson, he'd listen, pat my shoulder, and look sympathetically at me as I would desperately try to make him care.
I got up, and went to my fridge to scrawl down a grocery list on the cute little flowered post-it pad, then checked my watch.
Eight thirty. I could still go for a quick jog, just till 9 or so.

This is the greatest feeling in the world, I thought as I jogged along the promenade, feeling the stuffy, humid feeling that Hawaii brought about fade away, the air rushing past, cool on my face, and my music blasting in my ears. I stopped to catch my breath, leaning forwards, my hands on my knees, and pulled out my earphones. I wanted to hear my surroundings. The waves were so peaceful, and the palm leaves were swaying to the wind's music. I started up again, marvelling at how fast I could go, pushing myself harder and harder.
"Come on Sam," I whispered to myself as I sprinted across the beachfront. "You won't be able to catch the crooks at this pace."

Author's Note: In case anyone notices; yes, Jack the dog is named after Jack Johnson the singer songwriter. I didn't mean to, but then I saw the connection, and was like: "Hey, that actually makes a lot of sense!"
I've decided to include a soundtrack to this, seeing as I always listen to music when I'm writing, and I'm pretty sure that affects what happens to my characters. The full list will be included at the end (If it even reaches an end), but the Jack Johnson song that she's listening to is Banana Pancakes, in case you want to listen to it. In case you don't want to listen to it: it sounds really lazy, kind of blues-y and it is mostly just acoustic guitar.
Also, when she's running, the song she's listening to is called Fader and it's by The Temper Trap.