the crack I smoke is so very fat
So the hike? 9 miles. I stayed home and wrote odd, odd fic.
Title: Angela's Island
Fadom: Lost/Office Crossover
Pairing: Angela/Dwight, some Jack/Kate/Sawyer, slight Jim/Pam
word count: 788
a/n: this is pretty Office centric. And I want this to be better, and bigger.
Angela wasn’t supposed to be on the plane. Actually she wasn’t supposed to be in Australia at all, but she really wasn’t supposed to be on the same flight back.
They had tried other airlines and other departure times, but connecting flights to Scranton out of LA are few and far between. Flight 815 had been their only option baring a departure on the 23rd. A Monday. They had risked it and tried to book a seat far away enough from Michael, Jim, Pam and Toby. Angela refuses to call in sick.
So of course the plane crashed. So like the universe to betray her like that and force her secret into the open.
*
She finds them amidst the chaos. Dwight cleaves to her in an alarming fashion. He says her name once, and then twice. Her chin wobbles for a moment, but only just.
She takes stock. Jim looks dazed, but he always looks a little confused, so he must be fundamentally okay. Pam holds on to his rather tattered sleeve. That’s not so unusual either. Neither of them look surprised to see her. Must be the shock.
She makes Michael sit with his head between his legs so he will calm down and cease with the panicked babbling. Something about corporate not technically knowing about the conference and what will Jan say and then there’s a lot about not wanting to die. Behavior like that only scares others.
There is only one of them missing.
“No Toby?” She asks, raising her voice above the clatter of people and machinery. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“I’m right here Angela.”
And so he is, and worse for the wear. Beyond the expected mess of dirt and torn clothing, Toby’s arm is bent awkwardly, obviously broken. She rubs his other arm in what she hopes is an apologetic gesture.
“There must be a doctor. There’s always a doctor. We’ll find him.”
*
Wool pencil skirts are not conducive to tropical islands, neither are black turtlenecks. And her shoes are wildly inappropriate. Pam’s unprofessional attire appears to have treated her quite well. She’s ditched the khaki skirt, but the Keds and button down are holding up nicely. Angela does however have the large sunglasses and Fedora which are quite nice for avoiding the sun.
She caves and finds some clothes that are on the less slutty side of whorish. One must make do in such circumstances.
*
She should feel embarrassed for him, but it’s so familiar, it’s almost comforting.
Michael interrupts the attractive doctor.
“Living together. Living. Together.”
The cantankerous blond man groans, starts to say something Angela is sure will be disparaging. Angela merely glares in his direction. It seems to work. Sawyer has already called Jim “Beanpole” and her Dwight “Trekkie” (Of course that devolved rather quickly into Dwight’s lengthy explanation of why Star Trek fans prefer the term “trekker,” and Angela’s pretty sure Sawyer immediately regretted that particular nickname). Regardless, she has no need to hear the rest of his limited repertoire and she’s sure other people don’t either. The stoic Iraqi (and wow, is she ever surprised that that particular term crops up in her head) the stoic Iraqi gives her an appreciative nod.
Michael, ever oblivious, continues. “Someone once said that No Man is an Island. But maybe he should have said No man has and island. Well we, all of us, do have an island, together, and if we don’t have that, we die a lonely death.”
It goes on for a rather long time, but Angela just smiles and feels at home for the first time in near a week.
*
She really hopes someone is feeding her kitties.
And Oscar better not have taken down her poster.
*
It’s like Pam Pong, only so much more frequent.
She sits on the beach, and they approach her with altering degrees of familiarity. Jack is always hesitant, rather like Jim is with Pam. Sweet and saccharine. Sawyer is always too forward for her taste.
Kate gives them enough to keep them coming back.
It’s not much in the way of entertainment, but it’ll do.
She decides on “Kate Bait” for a name. She likes the alliteration of Pam Pong, but can’t come up with a game that starts with a K. Rhyming will have to suffice.
She sits in the shade, she’s sure she is much more comfortable than Kate squinting into the sun. Dwight approaches her from behind, places a palm on her back and sits quietly next to her. She is pleased to note that their own posture is straighter and more correct than that of Kate and Jack.
She smiles at Dwight and takes his hand in hers.
Title: Angela's Island
Fadom: Lost/Office Crossover
Pairing: Angela/Dwight, some Jack/Kate/Sawyer, slight Jim/Pam
word count: 788
a/n: this is pretty Office centric. And I want this to be better, and bigger.
Angela wasn’t supposed to be on the plane. Actually she wasn’t supposed to be in Australia at all, but she really wasn’t supposed to be on the same flight back.
They had tried other airlines and other departure times, but connecting flights to Scranton out of LA are few and far between. Flight 815 had been their only option baring a departure on the 23rd. A Monday. They had risked it and tried to book a seat far away enough from Michael, Jim, Pam and Toby. Angela refuses to call in sick.
So of course the plane crashed. So like the universe to betray her like that and force her secret into the open.
*
She finds them amidst the chaos. Dwight cleaves to her in an alarming fashion. He says her name once, and then twice. Her chin wobbles for a moment, but only just.
She takes stock. Jim looks dazed, but he always looks a little confused, so he must be fundamentally okay. Pam holds on to his rather tattered sleeve. That’s not so unusual either. Neither of them look surprised to see her. Must be the shock.
She makes Michael sit with his head between his legs so he will calm down and cease with the panicked babbling. Something about corporate not technically knowing about the conference and what will Jan say and then there’s a lot about not wanting to die. Behavior like that only scares others.
There is only one of them missing.
“No Toby?” She asks, raising her voice above the clatter of people and machinery. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“I’m right here Angela.”
And so he is, and worse for the wear. Beyond the expected mess of dirt and torn clothing, Toby’s arm is bent awkwardly, obviously broken. She rubs his other arm in what she hopes is an apologetic gesture.
“There must be a doctor. There’s always a doctor. We’ll find him.”
*
Wool pencil skirts are not conducive to tropical islands, neither are black turtlenecks. And her shoes are wildly inappropriate. Pam’s unprofessional attire appears to have treated her quite well. She’s ditched the khaki skirt, but the Keds and button down are holding up nicely. Angela does however have the large sunglasses and Fedora which are quite nice for avoiding the sun.
She caves and finds some clothes that are on the less slutty side of whorish. One must make do in such circumstances.
*
She should feel embarrassed for him, but it’s so familiar, it’s almost comforting.
Michael interrupts the attractive doctor.
“Living together. Living. Together.”
The cantankerous blond man groans, starts to say something Angela is sure will be disparaging. Angela merely glares in his direction. It seems to work. Sawyer has already called Jim “Beanpole” and her Dwight “Trekkie” (Of course that devolved rather quickly into Dwight’s lengthy explanation of why Star Trek fans prefer the term “trekker,” and Angela’s pretty sure Sawyer immediately regretted that particular nickname). Regardless, she has no need to hear the rest of his limited repertoire and she’s sure other people don’t either. The stoic Iraqi (and wow, is she ever surprised that that particular term crops up in her head) the stoic Iraqi gives her an appreciative nod.
Michael, ever oblivious, continues. “Someone once said that No Man is an Island. But maybe he should have said No man has and island. Well we, all of us, do have an island, together, and if we don’t have that, we die a lonely death.”
It goes on for a rather long time, but Angela just smiles and feels at home for the first time in near a week.
*
She really hopes someone is feeding her kitties.
And Oscar better not have taken down her poster.
*
It’s like Pam Pong, only so much more frequent.
She sits on the beach, and they approach her with altering degrees of familiarity. Jack is always hesitant, rather like Jim is with Pam. Sweet and saccharine. Sawyer is always too forward for her taste.
Kate gives them enough to keep them coming back.
It’s not much in the way of entertainment, but it’ll do.
She decides on “Kate Bait” for a name. She likes the alliteration of Pam Pong, but can’t come up with a game that starts with a K. Rhyming will have to suffice.
She sits in the shade, she’s sure she is much more comfortable than Kate squinting into the sun. Dwight approaches her from behind, places a palm on her back and sits quietly next to her. She is pleased to note that their own posture is straighter and more correct than that of Kate and Jack.
She smiles at Dwight and takes his hand in hers.