After The Bomb (1/1)
By: Len
rating: PG
spoilers: TWAH
teaser: Josh chews on what Joey tells him. Dial it up, baby...
disclaimer: Still not mine. And they never, ever will be. And don't
sue me, 'cause I couldn't sell this story if I tried...
note: This was one of those annoying, nagging fics that I had to
write to get out of my over-loaded brain.
WILL FIC FOR FEEDBACK (and I really do mean this!!)Here we go...
I sit and stare at the doorway for a long time after Joey leaves.
Was she serious? Or was that just her way of getting me off-balance
long enough to make her point? Whether that was her intention or
not, it certainly worked.
Donna _likes_ me?
Lets say it again, this time with feeling! Just kidding. Okay,
it's like, two-thirty in the morning. I think I must be getting
punchy. That would explain why I have this sudden urge to run
outside and do a little 'Singing In The Rain' song and dance number
up and down Pennsylvania Avenue.
Singing in the Rain. Donna loves that movie. Don't ask how I
know, because I can't remember. When you're in close contact with
someone for three years, you kind of pick up on details like that.
Joey thinks Donna _likes_ me? Of course Donna likes me. She'd
have to like me to hang around for three years, come to think of it.
I happen to like her, too.
Not in the way that Joey seems to think, though. I mean, Donna
doesn't like me in the way Joey thinks. She's not pining for me over
pints of Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream, at least. If she was I'd
notice the signs. After one of her Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream
binges, Donna always nibbles on candy bars for a couple days
afterwards. Kind of like a Hershey's version of the nicotine patch.
And I haven't seen so much as a single, solitary Kiss around the
office for months. This is a good sign, right?
Donna _likes_ me? I laugh and rub my face tiredly. Actually,
Donna has informed me on numerous occasions that the sound is not a
good-natured chuckle but actually a derisive snort. She has also
told me not to make that sound in public.
I told her to go file something.
See why a relationship between Donna and I would never work? Not
that I have any intention of having a relationship with Donna, but
just to set the record straight--it would never work. Donna wouldn't
put up with me. When I do something stupid, I won't be able to tell
her to leave me alone and find a memo to type, because I'll end up
sleeping on the couch.
Whoops. Did I actually think that out loud?
Well, I'll admit in the privacy of my own mind that I have always
found Donna not unattractive. But that's because I have eyes. And a
brain--an organ which seems to be curiously absent in the majority of
the losers she dates. Their loss is, well, their loss, I guess.
But that doesn't actually _mean_ anything. Donna does not have a
secret passion for me. Not that I'm aware of, anyway. And she's
trying to fix me up with Joey Lucas because...because...um...
Donna likes me.
Well, if it is actually true--who can blame her? Not only do I
have power, looks, intelligence and amazing wit, but I have my own
fan club. Few, if any, can say the same. All I can wonder about is why
it took three years for her to like me. If it's true.
Okay, I freely admit that I have no idea what to do with this
particular piece of intelligence. Its potential uses are endless,
but in the wrong hands it could be dangerous.
I consider my hands to be wrong--I really do. And I really wish
now that Joey hadn't said anything. This knowledge might mess up the
rhythm Donna and I have. The two of us--we are a well-oiled machine.
Granted, I make up most of the machine, but Donna is certainly part
of it. A small but vital cog... So I don't want to assume something
that isn't true, and thus put the entire future of the United States
at risk.
So, in the interests of National Security, I think I should find
out if Joey was right. However, I think I have a better chance of
outlawing firearms all together than ever figuring out what's going
on in Donna Moss' head. Or her heart.
Okay, this internal soliloquy is getting mushy. I'm going to go
home and regroup, strategize, and come up with a plan for Operation
Moss. Maybe I'll even have the chance to jump in a few puddles along
the way.
