The Cursed Tuba Contingency Continuance
Rating: R
Characters: Middleman, Wendy Watson, Lacey, Noser
Disclaimer: I do not under any circumstances own the rights to these characters or the show and I'm not being paid for this.
Summary: Internal dialogues during the Cursed Tuba Contingency
Spoilers: Refers to some information in the Doomsday Armageddon Apocalypse
Author's Note: Again, have had no crits on this, so if you catch anything, let me know and I'll change it. Constructive criticism always welcomed. Also: Song lyrics in the Stump the Band exchange with Noser quoted from I Want You to Want Me. All credit to the artist and composer.
EDIT: As noted on the Flying Fish story, the longer fic I was working on took a turn and neither this scene nor Flying Fish no longer fit. Leaving them up for kicks and giggles, but as of now, they're standalones. Have changed author's note to that effect. Will cross-post to Fanfiction.net for those who prefer to read there.
Song: Cowboy Romance (Natalie Merchant)
Time: 8660 Hawks Lane, Apartment 9. God, am I underpaid.
Disgusting. What kind of gentleman would announce to unknown callers that he planned on having intercourse with his lady friend? And what kind of inept idiot only needs five minutes for sex? Colton knew he wasn't dealing with a fellow officer and a gentleman, but still, crass was crass.
He could summon a little sympathy for Johnny John's sexual frustration. Since Raveena's death, he'd had few sexual encounters himself. Still, that was his choice. He'd never had any inclination for casual sex. Sex within a relationship, now, that was another story. Given his self-imposed drought, it was a good thing he had plenty of opportunities to vent his aggression on evildoers.
Now that he thought about it, apart from demeaning his lady friend, Johns could have offended Dubbie. Maybe that would be a good reason to apply a little forcible reasoning. Just if the situation called for it, of course. Teach him some manners. Dubbie's hardly a wilting flower, of course, but it's the principle of the thing.
Besides, contemplating appropriate punishment gives him something to think about besides the sound effects, which are just dadblamed embarrassing. It's also helping him to keep focused. Otherwise, he'll be tempted to consider drought solutions for himself.
Like Lacey.
He's been accused of being obtuse when it comes to recognizing when women are expressing interest in him, but even he couldn't miss those signals. Quite flattering, really, even if being cast in the role of the pursued instead of the pursuer isn't something with which he's really comfortable.
Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad solution. She knows enough to be accepting when he's called in for duty, since she's used to dealing with that with Dubbie. From random comments Dubbie's made, he knows she's rather uninhibited, and that might make things easier for him, as well. He could be very fond of her. Not a permanent arrangement, of course, but he needs to do something to restore his focus. If he's committed, particularly to someone that close to Dubbie, he can effectively put Dubbie off limits.
That would definitely be a good thing. He's starting to regret that common changing room. It's a delicate balance. He doesn't want to do anything which would betray his discomfort to Dubbie, but it's doggone hard to concentrate when she parades through there in scraps of lace. He's learned to stay clear of the place just after she's taken a shower. The place steams up with the faint floral scent he associates with her, and all he can think of is what she must look like in there, arched back, water pouring over ivory skin.
On one hand, he's glad she trusts him enough to feel comfortable, but if he's honest with himself, it does sting his male ego. Does she think he's immune? Ancient? Lacey clearly doesn't think he is.
He puffs out his cheeks and rocks back on his heels. Then he makes the mistake of glancing over at Dubbie. She's blushing, just a little, the color intensifying to pale rose as it disappears beneath the soft waves of her hair. He wonders if her skin's a little warmer there. How she reacts if she's kissed right there, in that silky, sensitive hollow below her ear.
No. He doesn't wonder. He doesn't need to know. He can't think of any ending for a relationship with Dubbie that wouldn't betray her trust in him or disaster, or both. He definitely can't afford to risk her safety by being this distracted. That would be an even greater betrayal than putting her into an untenable work situation.
He's going to call Lacey and set up that date.
###
Song: Where Have All the Cowboys Gone? (Paula Cole)
Time: 8660 Hawks Lane, Apt. 9. Still really, really underpaid.
Five minutes. Five minutes? If she'd disliked Johnny Johns a little less, Wendy would have taken pity on him and told him if he could manage to double his time, he'd be less desperate. Maybe he could ask Santa to put some Extenze in his stocking.
She wishes she could make a joke about it with her boss, but knowing him, he'd start spouting facts and figures and details she just Did. Not. Need. To. Know.
Not that she wants to know. Nope.
She knows too much as it is, thanks to that [bleep]ing shared dressing room policy. Also not something she wants to think about. Thoughts are starting to creep in when she's trying to take care of matters with the help of her handy B.O.B., and she is just not going there. Why couldn't he be about twenty years older and look like Bluto in there? Life would be a [bleep] of a lot easier.
Trancelike ecstasy of sexual gratification. Boss just had to say that, didn't he? With a straight face.
Knowing him, he wouldn't consider five minutes sufficient for a good toe-curling kiss, much less sex.
She so wants to slug him sometimes.
###
Song: I Want You to Want Me (Letters to Cleo cover)
Setting: Billionaire Arthur Mendelssohn's Private Ocean Liner,which is three feet longer than the Queen Mary and eighty-six feet longer than the Titanic. Still woefully underpaid.
[NOTE: At the very end of the episode]
Wendy's not jealous. Her type is sensitive and artsy. Like Ben.
Okay, sensitive and artsy doorknobs. But she definitely doesn't want to mess around with the Lone Ranger. She's just looking out for Lacey.
They really do look good together, though. And she knows Lacey. Lacey doesn't take no for an answer. Ever. Her boss's loneliness versus Lacey's resolve. Yeah, like that's going to be a [bleep]ing contest. She wouldn't even bet on him to place or show in that little horse race.
Maybe she does feel a little wistful. Probably just from being all dressed up and being a wallflower. Reminds her of prom, only without the boyfriend in the purple tuxedo and Hawaiian shirt. The one who danced like he was being electrocuted. That's pretty much the way all her dates dance. One reason she avoids dancing. Although the ballroom dancing stuff looks kind of fun. It reminds her a little of when she was little and her dad used to balance her on his toes and dance her around the kitchen.
Okay. Definitely not going there. Her mood's sinking lower than Cecil and his tuba out in the bay.
Her boss dances well. Not that this surprises Wendy. It's one of those old-fashioned things she'd expect from him. She almost wishes she had the nerve to cut in. But dancing with him? When it wasn't the Zombie Tango? Awkward, party of two. Not to mention she doesn't think she could detach Lacey's suckers from around his neck without sticking a lit cigarette to her butt.
Noser sidles up to her. "Feelin' all alone without a friend, Wendy Watson?"
"You know, you feel like dyin'."
"Didn't I see you cryin'?"
Wendy shifts against the bar and stares straight ahead. "Nope."