Title: Excerpts from a Scrapbook of Memories
Author: Cath
Feedback: Always greatly appreciated
Disclaimer: Characters still aren't mine. But it's my birthday this week so if I think happy thoughts maybe I'll get them as a present! Yeah, I'm not holding my breath.
Summary: Seven T/M moments pre-series two.
Notes: After having watched series 2 (again) I was inspired to think about the events that could have led up to the obvious closeness between Tony and Michelle. And as I was in the mood for some fluff after the angst of late, I decided to write some! There is no redeeming plot/drama value at all. I don't apologise for this. Also, I've been experimenting with writing in different POVs and styles. As always, let me know if you think it works and if you enjoy.
Chapter titles borrow lines from the following songs:
I: (Jack Johnson, Do You Remember)
II: (Bright Eyes, First Day of My Life)
III: (Corinne Bailey Rae, Like a Star)
IV: (Green Day, Good Riddance (Time of Your Life))
V: (Orson, No Tomorrow)
VI: (The Coral, Dreaming of You)
VII: (Mazzy Star, Fade Into You)
None of which are mine.
I: do you remember when we first met, I sure do
She looks at her watch and sighs. It's twenty past seven and there's only ten minutes left until her blind date arrives. To say that she's not looking forward to it would be an understatement. The fact is that she's pissed enough already that she's had to work this late, and she really hasn't the energy to deal with a blind date and all the associated awkwardness and effort.
Besides, Cal's description of the guy hasn't entirely made her too curious or excited about him. As she recalls, the words used were: "he's not exactly traditionally attractive, but you'll love him, Michelle, I promise." Also there were comments about him not being too tall, a little older than she might normally go for, and over emphasis of how nice he was. She feels the subtext is obvious: she's about to go on a blind date with an old, short, unattractive and uninteresting guy with whom she will probably have nothing in common.
It's amazing that she agreed to it, really, she thinks amusedly. But the truth is, the current state of her life is so dire that her evenings out usually involve take out at her brother's or going to the gym. Although lately it seems as though all she ever does is work; Carrie has apparently decided that she should work more hours, take more of her responsibilities on, and, of course, still allow her to take all the credit. If she's still here in six months time she swears she'll have to seriously question her mental state.
She is in the process of checking her emails when she hears someone approach. A quick glance at clock on her monitor informs her that he's early. Wearily she starts to look up.
She is incredibly surprised by the guy who stands in front of her.
Not short, not fat, not old, and not unattractive.
She muses over the last point again: he's definitely not unattractive. And his eyes: she could look into his eyes for a long time. And for once in her life she loves Cal's insistence that she go on a blind date.
"Michelle Dessler?" he asks.
She smiles, holds out a hand. "Hi. Nice to meet you, Bob. Cal really didn't do you justice in her description."
"It's Tony," he replies with a strange look on his face. He takes her hand, shakes it, and continues to look curious, as if trying to understand the situation, not entirely sure what he has gotten himself involved in. You could at least return the compliment, she thinks.
"I'm sorry, Tony," she apologises for her error. She ignores the voice at the back of her mind informing her that Cal had definitely said Bob.
Nervously, she attempts to take control of the situation, sensing that if she says nothing the evening will prove to be even more awkward and uncomfortable than it needs to be. Unfortunately she realises that she has nothing of actual interest to say.
"I don't normally do this," she explains as she gets her jacket, "But then sometimes you have to take a risk and so I thought, why not, it could be fun." He doesn't say anything, although he continues to regard her with a questioning and increasingly confused look, so she continues to talk, progressively more uneasy. "I mean, it's not as though I've not been in a relationship forever, it's just with the job it's sometimes difficult to meet people… And, well, in my spare time I tend to go to the gym and then I've not got a lot of free time to socialise." She laughs briefly. "Cal described you…. You look nothing like I'd expected…" She finally takes a moment to breathe and pull herself together. Honestly, she has no idea what has come over her; she is usually cool and calm and collected in any situation. She hopes that he is not listening to a word that she is saying; she hasn't babbled on this incoherently since she was about 15 and tried to talk to Brad Clark, captain of the football team. And that hadn't gone spectacularly well, either.
"So," she comments eventually, "Where are we headed?"
"Actually, I'm here with a job proposal. So, I'm guessing that here would do," he comments.
She is confused as hell. Words fail her at this point. And she is really quite glad because God only knows what would come streaming out if she had the ability to talk.
Fortunately her cell phone interrupts the moment and calls out to her. She answers it. "Hey Michelle," Cal greets her.
"Hello," she replies, her confusion mounting.
"Just wanted to say that I'm really sorry, but Bob just called me. He's not feeling very well and so he's going to have to re-schedule."
"But Bob…," she looks over at the stranger at her desk. And the pieces suddenly fall into place. "Ah… That's fine. Well, I'll, uh, have to let you know about dates."
"Thanks, Michelle, I'll let him know… You okay? You sound a little strange."
"Uh, yeah, I'm fine. I'm just… I'm fine. I'll talk to you later." She hangs up. She attempts to pull herself together as she prepares to explain her confusion. She smiles, nervous and embarrassed: an excellent combination. "Yeah, you're not Bob and you're not... I'm sorry. Really sorry. I was supposed to be meeting someone, a blind date, and… well. He's not going to be turning up after all." She clears her throat. "So, a job proposal you said?" she tries, attempting to channel her professional persona.
"Tony Almeida, CTU," he introduces himself, much to her relief obviously deciding to overlook the fact that she's acting like a crazy person. He holds his hand out and she shakes it.
"Michelle Dessler."
"We're recruiting an internet protocol manager over at CTU; George Mason wanted to know if there were any potential candidates over at Division."
"Okay," she comments neutrally.
"Ryan Chappelle mentioned your name: he's impressed with your work, thinks you'd do well over at CTU. He showed me some of the work you've been involved with. You handled the Gregson case well."
"Thank you," she replies. She mentally berates herself for her lack of stellar conversational skills this evening, realising that she will replay it in her head later and think of a thousand more appropriate answers. She tries to redeem herself. "So who do I speak to about obtaining a job description?"
"I'll send you an email," he answers. "You should consider applying for it," he tells her. "I think you'd be an asset to the team."
And as he exits she smiles genuinely for the first time in what seems like months. And she thanks the powers that be that Bob never turned up.
II: I went out in the rain, suddenly everything changed
It has been three weeks since she started working at CTU and he hasn't yet regretted his decision to recommend her to Mason as the right person for the job.
Not even amidst her potentially critical oversight today.
Of course, it was her response to this oversight that has caused him to become even more impressed with her professionalism and abilities.
The first time he'd met her he had been initially unsure as to her supposed professional demeanour and immaculate record. He'd been impressed as hell with the work that she'd done and then was startled when he'd met her and she seemed to be entirely removed from reality. Thankfully, it was a temporary confusion and when he left he found himself involuntarily grinning at the situation. He remembers it being the first time that he'd been amused in months, even if it was just a fleeting emotion.
Fortunately, she'd applied for the job and, as he had predicted, they found her to be the most appropriate person. She was definitely an asset to the team and, luckily, seemed to be very much grounded in reality.
Since then he's been starting to feel and think things that he doesn't want to. He plays his part as the consummate professional well, but amidst this he finds her intriguing in a way that he shouldn't. And as a consequence he finds himself trying to draw away from her. He's almost perfected this technique; today when he could sense that despite appearances she was distressed he resisted the urge to reassure her. Instead he simply nodded and removed himself from the situation. It is the only way that he feels he can cope with this potential attraction; by not allowing himself to become distracted.
He only wishes that he didn't have to fight against it so hard.
It is time to return home after another long day and although he wants to seek her to find out if she is okay, he fears the potential closeness and so exits without looking in the direction of her desk.
It is raining; fat, cold drops of water fall rapidly and he takes his jacket off to provide a makeshift shelter so that he can reach his car with minimal soaking.
He sees her. She stands in front of her car, searching through her purse, her curly hair almost straightened with the water that drenches her.
And he finds that he can't just walk past, ignore her, or say a brief "see you".
"You okay?" he asks as he tries to compel his body to continue walking. He is unsuccessful.
"I've lost my damn keys. Perfect way to end the day," she comments sarcastically.
He shifts from foot to foot, half his brain telling him not to dwell on it because there's nothing he can do, the other half attempting to formulate answers that don't result in inviting her back to his apartment to dry off.
He compromises, walking over to her, putting his jacket over her head as well as his, attempting to give her some shelter from the rain.
She looks across at him, a surprised but grateful look on her face. Her face is close to his, but he tries not to dwell on it.
"There's too much damn stuff in this purse," she comments.
"Why don't you come sit in my car, in the dry, and then you can empty stuff out. It might be easier," his voice offers to his own surprise.
She looks momentarily confused, unsure that his offer is genuine, or perhaps wondering why he is being so courteous given his recent indifference to her.
"That would be great, thanks," she replies.
She follows him to his car, still under the relative shelter of his jacket. He opens the passenger side door for her, then runs round to the driver's side and climbs in.
"Thanks," she says. "I'm really looking forward to going home and putting this whole day behind me. It would be typical that today I lose my keys as well," she comments, searching through her purse and removing a miscellany of items. He finds it fascinating the stuff she needs to carry for everyday existence: hair brush, pens, an empty bottle of water, hair pins, make up items, aspirin, wallet, plus a whole host of other small items.
He doesn't say anything, instead takes a moment to enjoy the intimacy of having her in his car. It won't last: he assures himself that tomorrow he'll go back to the rules he has imposed upon himself. These are extenuating circumstances, he tells himself.
"Today wasn't a complete disaster," he says after a pause, wanting to engage her in conversation. After all, he might as well break some of his other rules while he has the excuse. "It was a good outcome."
"No thanks to me," she replies, still rooting through her purse to no avail.
"Yes, thanks to you, Michelle," he insists. "And you know it. You didn't cover up your mistake and you made damn sure that the situation was resolved."
She looks over at him, regards him carefully, one hand in her oversized purse but it remains still. And for some reason he feels compelled to continue talking, to actively make her feel better. He doesn't understand it, and attempts to persuade himself that it is not related to those seductive brown eyes.
"It was a good outcome," he repeats. "And that's what counts. That's what Mason will remember. He'll get over it, I promise."
She gives a half smile and he feels his resolve to keep to the rules start to crumble. "See, you were doing so well, I was about to believe you."
"Should have stopped with the outcome being the important part?" he questions with a slight smirk.
"Yeah." She smiles in earnest, and he's glad to see it.
"Damn. Well, I'll know for next time."
"You tried," she teases.
There is a pause in the conversation as he remembers who he is and attempts to retain some sense of decorum, and she shakes her near-empty purse. "They're in here," she notes decisively. He watches as she rummages through a little more, and then produces the offending item from the dark recesses of the bag triumphantly.
"Your keys?" he comments redundantly.
She nods. She reaches for the door handle and opens the door slightly, preparing to exit.
"You'll be okay?" he asks, although about what in particular he isn't quite sure.
"Yeah."
"Good."
She exits the car, stands outside for a brief moment.
"Tony?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks," she smiles.
He says nothing, just smiles slightly in return and watches almost regretfully as she leaves.
III: You've got this look I can't describe, you make me feel like I'm alive
Tony took another swig of his coffee. It was about the only thing keeping him awake at this point. The conference was as boring as he had anticipated and he hoped that next year he would be able to persuade George Mason that he really didn't need to attend.
He had been to this conference every year since he had been in a managerial position within CTU and he found it no more relevant or interesting than the first year.
This year, however, it was proving increasingly difficult to keep his attention on the insipid speakers. This was only partly because they seemed to be even more dreary than in previous years. The other reason was because she was sat next to him. And she seemed to be as bored as he was.
This was the third day of the conference in Atlanta. And thankfully was the final day. Today was the day of lectures on biological threats and in theory should have been both useful and engaging. It was neither.
This was also the day of accolades and awards for the units that had proved themselves worthy over the last year. The cheap champagne was neither sought after nor likely to be awarded to the LA unit, and so Tony had almost completely lost interest after three hours of monotonous droning.
He was also almost delirious from the tiredness which ensued.
Naturally he turned his attention to the person sat next to him.
"I'm going to have to kill myself for entertainment if this guy continues to talk much longer," he complained.
"I've been planning my weekly shopping for the last twenty minutes," she whispered back. "Thank god for handout notes."
He rolled his head from side to side in an attempt to rouse his brain cells. "This coffee's getting cold. I need some hot coffee."
"That's in Mississippi, you know," she remarked, apparently also delirious from boredom and lethargy.
"Huh?"
"Hot Coffee, Mississippi. When I was young my parents had this thing about places with weird names. When we were on vacation we'd have to visit one nearby," she explained quietly.
He laughed quietly, his amusement increased by his boredom. "Like where?"
"Once we went to Lizard Lick in North Carolina. Not as interesting as the name might suggest," she mused. "And one year we passed through Toad Suck in Arkansas. And my particular favourite was visiting Hell. In Michigan."
"I once knew a guy from Idiotville. Strangely he had an IQ of about 150," he commented.
"At least he wasn't from Looneyville in Texas," she offered.
"Or Superior Bottom," he suggested, raising his eyebrows mock-suggestively.
She raised an eyebrow. "Or Humptulips. It's in Washington," she replied to his questioning look.
"Or Intercourse, Pennsylvania."
"Dead Bastard Peak," she commented with a grin.
"There's no such place," he whispered back.
"Okay, maybe not now, but in the past…"
"Well if we're going with historical, Fucking Creek," he smirked.
"Chucklehead Diggins."
"Nunathloogagamiutbingoi Dunes, Alaska," he countered.
She paused for thought. "El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora la Reina de los Angeles del Rio Porciuncula," she rattled off eventually.
There was a moment of silence. "You win," he told her.
She looked at him and smiled triumphantly. Captivated, he smiled back.
Her wide eyes looked into his, and he was unable to break the gaze. And then something about her smile changed, and he tried to understand it, but to no avail. Something felt different, and he thought that for the first time perhaps this conference wasn't the worst place to be.
And for the first time in a long time he didn't even consider the negative implications of his thoughts.
Then the audience started clapping. And the moment was broken.
IV: so take the photographs and still frames in your mind
You remember that day well. It keeps repeating in your mind even as you try hard to banish it. But nothing will stop that image from appearing, unbidden, in your thoughts; not even putting up a wall, feigning nonchalance, keeping your distance.
And it comes back to you now. And your mouth involuntarily curves upwards at the edges with the thought.
You are walking along the beach. Your mother is with you. She has come to visit you from Chicago and has demonstrated an interest in visiting the sea. It has been several months since the incident with Nina and your mother asks you how you are coping. You shrug, look out across the surf, and tell her you're fine; you're better off without her. And you understand now that you're actually speaking the truth. Your mother says nothing but you know instinctively that she is glad that Nina is no longer in your life, for reasons of treason or not.
The weather is fairly warm and so the beach isn't as quiet as you had hoped. There are groups of teenagers, families, and the occasional couple. You watch people, observe their interactions, and watch the world go by with more than a hint of circumspection.
Strangely, what you remember is sounds and feelings: the squawking of the birds flying overhead, the woosh of the tide as it approaches the beach, and the sighing as it retreats across the sand, the feeling of hot sand sinking beneath your bare feet, the heat of the sun on your dark t-shirt.
And then you see her. You now associate all these sounds and feelings with this moment, and any one of them will bring it back to you.
On a conscious level you don't know that it is her at first: it is just a woman building sandcastles with two children. But subconsciously you make the connection. This woman, the one with the dark curly hair, engrossed in the objective of creating the perfect sandcastle, is the same one who has been in your thoughts for more than a reasonable proportion of time recently.
And on the conscious level you are drawn to her and continue to observe her as you walk nearer.
And then your conscious mind makes the link and you see her.
Briefly you internally debate whether you should approach her or not, but your feet make the decision for you.
"Michelle," you say. And she turns towards you, for a minute confused, and then she also makes the connection and a wide smile appears on her face and she is captivating.
"What are you doing here?" she asks.
You introduce her to your mother. And you know already that your mother is mentally querying your relationship with this woman.
"These are my brother's kids," she tells you, answering the question you have not yet asked. "This is Jenna, and this is Matt."
Jenna greets you with a wide-eyed smile that is reminiscent of her aunt's.
"Are you gonna help us with the fortress?" she asks.
"You need help?" you query, uncertain that assisting in sandcastle building is exactly within your expertise or your definition of time well-spent.
"We've not even started on the village yet," she explains. "And Matt can't make the bridge stay up."
You glance over at Michelle, silently almost requesting permission and she nods in agreement. Your mother says nothing to you, but questions Matt about the structure, wordlessly giving her approval.
Despite initial reticence it remains in your mind one of the best afternoons of recent years, reminding you of your visits to the beach as a child. But it is not because of this reminiscence that you favour this afternoon above most others that you have spent recently. It is because in just over an hour you learned so much about her, predominantly from her talkative niece, and it is the first time that you spent time with her outside of work.
Now, you realise, it is the time that you started to fall for her.
V: 'cause you're the only one who can get me on my feet and I can't even dance
Michelle took another sip of wine and laughed at her co-worker's joke. It was the annual Christmas party and she had finally started to settle in at CTU and had made enough friends that she felt relaxed enough to socialise. The wine she had been drinking also helped.
She surreptitiously glanced over at Tony, partly to reassure herself that he was actually attempting to socialise with his colleagues. She had noticed over the past few months that he kept a distance between himself and those around him. It was something beyond professional distance, this wall he had built up, and on the few occasions that he had lowered it she saw something definitely worth sharing with others. She hoped that one day he would find whatever it was that would compel him to break the barriers.
He wasn't talking to those around him, she noticed. But he seemed at least somewhat involved in a conversation that was taking place around him.
But that wasn't her problem, she decided.
She drank some more wine, gaining enough confidence and sense of frivolity that when her colleagues got up to dance she joined them.
It was fun, she decided, letting go once in a while and enjoying herself. She hadn't had much of an opportunity to do that in the last year, with everything that had happened with her brother and with Carrie.
For some reason, though, her gaze was drawn back to Tony.
"He won't dance," Ellie told her.
"He never does, not even with… well, her," Alicia explained, skirting around the subject of Nina.
"In fact, it's pretty damn amazing that he's even come tonight. He doesn't do social events," Ellie clarified.
"He'll dance," Michelle informed them. She imagined that the wine was helping her conviction.
Alicia looked amused. "You're up for a challenge?"
She didn't reply with words, but with a look of self-assurance.
"It's a lost cause," Ellie laughed.
Michelle walked over towards the table where Tony sat. She gave her most winning smile.
"Dance with me," she requested casually. She ignored the amused glances of those sat at the table.
He smirked slightly. "It's much more fun watching you," he replied.
She raised an unconvinced eyebrow in return. "Come on, live a little, dance."
"I can't dance. It would scare everyone," he tried. She laughed.
"It can't be that bad," she countered.
"It really can. You've not seen me."
"Then maybe you should dance so that I can observe it first hand," she mused.
"Good try, but not nearly good enough," he replied. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. The others at the table watched on with interest.
"What will convince you?" she asked, leaning in slightly. She attributed her confidence to the alcohol.
He thought about this a moment. "Well, there's the report for Mason…"
"I offer to help you with Mason's report and you'll dance?" she enquired.
He smirked, confident that she wouldn't take him up on his offer. Helping with Mason's report was not an attractive option. "Yeah."
She pretended to think for a moment. "Deal.".
He looked at her in amazement. "How can I pass up an opportunity like that? You won't forget tomorrow when you're sober will you?"
"I'd have to be drunk in order to forget," she remarked.
"One dance."
She held out a hand for him to take. He took it, and followed her to the dance floor.
Alicia and Ellie looked at her, impressed.
Michelle started to dance, but sighed when she noticed that Tony was making little effort. "Oh for God's sake, come here would you." She grabbed his hand and put it on her waist, and placed the other in her own hand. They danced formally at first, with distance and a half separating them. He started to relax, and twirled her around as she laughed.
More of their colleagues made it onto the dance floor and so they were pushed closer together, attempting not to be whacked by some outlandish dancing from the less sober. She leaned into him as arms flailed behind her.
"Sorry," she apologised.
"Not a problem," he replied.
She turned back towards him after observing her colleagues' antics to notice how close she was to him. A feeling of something undeterminable, heat and something akin to electricity passed through her body as she glanced up at his face.
Embarrassed, she stepped back, unsure how to handle the situation. She stood there a few moments before he regained control over the situation, took her hand and twirled her again.
The song ended and they walked back to his table.
"See, that was fun, wasn't it?" she queried enthusiastically, overcompensating.
"So, how about Friday evening then?" he asked.
"Huh?"
"To help with the report," he clarified. "Unless you have somewhere more exciting to be?"
"More exciting than CTU on a Friday night?" She thought for a moment. "Unfortunately not."
"It's a date then," he confirmed with a smirk.
"Yeah, I'm really looking forward to it," she replied sarcastically, attempting to hide the fact that it was possibly the most exciting thing she had done on a Friday night in a long time.
"Why, what could be better than spending your Friday night with me at work?" he asked mockingly.
"Nothing," she replied with a smile, her voice dripping with sarcasm but her mind less convinced.
VI: up in my lonely room, while I'm dreaming of you
I keep having this dream. It's not every night, but it seems to be increasing in frequency.
There are parts that change, the build-up to "the scene" for example, or the people who are initially present, but the main part of the dream is the same.
It starts in many ways, sometimes there's a few of us at CTU, or once I was even at my brother's apartment. And then the scene mutates in my mind and there's just the two of us, me and Tony, and we're in this room. It's not a room I've ever seen in real life, but in the dream I know it's part of CTU. And we're standing there, in this dark room, talking about something, the subject changes each time, and suddenly there's this light shining so brightly that I have to almost close my eyes. I ask if I can turn the light off, but he tells me that it needs to stay on. I give him a questioning look, and he asks me if I trust him. I tell him, of course I do. Then he tells me to trust him; that the light needs to stay on. And soon my eyes adjust and I can see again and I look at him, and he's gazing into my eyes and I can't help but move closer to him. And then we're standing face to face, inches apart and he asks me again if I trust him. And instead of responding in words, I lean closer to him, tell him that I love him, and he smiles, puts his arms around me and then we're kissing. And I feel so happy. And suddenly, the phone rings, or the alarm starts, or something else interrupts us and I'm awake, feeling even more frustrated and alone.
It's not the most romantic of dreams, and there's certainly nothing particularly sexual about it (at least compared to some of my other recurring dreams) but every time I wake up I feel as though I'm missing something.
I sometimes try to convince myself that this thing between us is just a result of my imagination. It's safer that way. It means that I'm less likely to try and pursue something only to realise that he doesn't or can't allow himself to feel the same way.
He's damaged in more ways than I can understand, and the truth is that even if he does feel anything for me, I've got to wait until he's ready to approach the subject.
But the more I dream about him, the more I feel that this thing between us, whatever it is, needs exploring. And I can't wait forever to find out if it's something or nothing.
And I know that one day, sometime soon, I'll have to tell him how I feel.
VII: and then smiles cover your heart
My mother never particularly liked Nina. She claims even now that she's not entirely certain why; just that she had some sort of sixth sense about the whole thing. They only met once, and that was an accident. Nina and I were not exactly to a point in our relationship where we would intentionally meet the others' parents. But you could tell even at the time that she didn't exactly hit it off with Mom. And to be honest, at the time, I stubbornly decided that I didn't care about my mother's opinion.
Yeah, well, we all know how that turned out.
Recently mom has started asking me how Michelle is. I don't know why, but there's certainly insinuation. I tell her, politely, that as far as I am aware, Michelle is fine. Okay, so polite may be an exaggeration.
I don't know where she gets her ideas from: it's not as though I talk exclusively about Michelle or any part of my love life around my mother. Not that Michelle is a part of my love life except in my mother's mind. Not currently, anyway, and honestly, I don't see how that will change in the future.
It's not that I haven't thought about Michelle in that way. The fact is, lately she's been in my thoughts far more than I'm comfortable with. And I look forward to seeing her at work every day; she's probably the highlight of my day. But it won't go any further than friendship; I can't allow it to.
I wonder sometimes if she feels the same way about me. I see the way that she smiles at me, the way she stands close to me when we talk as if proximity is linked with comprehension. And I tell myself that it's just a friend thing; that what we share is nothing more than a professional relationship. But in reality I've felt that there's been something between us since I first met her.
But knowing that and acting on it are two different things. And it's not just because I'm her boss and a professional that I won't let her know how I feel.
Nina taught me about relationships, and particularly about those between colleagues. She taught me not to get close to another woman again and she taught me that work and life should never mix.
I've learned these lessons well and they've become, for want of a better word, my mantra.
And so at work, I'll continue to be a professional, and I'll pretend that I think of Michelle only as a colleague. We'll smile, we'll laugh and she'll have no idea that I ever had any thoughts about us being anything more than friends.
And tomorrow, the same as every day, I'll say good morning and move on. I'll remember the lessons and there'll be no lingering looks, no standing too close, no physical contact, no contrived excuses to talk to her. I'll be the consummate professional.
A brief smile, a polite good morning, and then back to work: That's all there is to it.
Because this thing with Michelle, it'll pass.
Give it another couple of weeks and I'll be completely over it. I really will.
Fini.