this is not of interest to anyone but jenna and me
Okay! Here is something silly and self-indulgent! It seriously has no appeal except to Jenna and to me. It's something that we've jokingly talked about three times now, and since I owe Jen about eighty-nine stories, I figured I might as well write it. Writing something is better than writing nothing, after all, and writing something I find hilarious is better than writing, you know, something else.
Whatever, it's almost one am, I don't even know what the frig I'm talking about anymore.
***
When Danny comes back from lunch, Alan isn't in his office.
It's not entirely a surprise. Alan works for the network, not for Danny, and does spots on everyone's shows, as well as his own specials. In addition, he still lectures and sees occasional patients, and that's not even taking into account the fact that he spends his spare time attempting to wrangle a precocious three-year-old girl.
That doesn't mean that Danny isn't disappointed. He gets a little philosophical after lunch and Alan is the only one willing to indulge him by listening. After waiting for a few moments in Alan's office, he heads to the conference room, the kitchen, the writers' room, sticking his head in the doorways and glancing around surreptitiously. The easy way to solve this would be to call Alan's cell and ask him where he is, but that's much less exciting.
When he's rounding past make-up, he bumps into Felicity.
"I'm looking for Alan," he says, and Felicity snorts. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," Felicity says. "He's hanging out in make-up."
"Why is he hanging out in make-up?" Danny asks. "He's not even on the show tonight. Who would be in make-up now, anyway? Unless the White House finally got their shit together and sent someone up for the thing."
"They did," Felicity says. "See you at the 2pm meeting."
She leaves before he can further deconstruct what she's saying, or rather, what she's trying to imply, so he does the only thing he can think to do--he hastily retraces his steps and ducks down the hallway towards make-up.
He hears Alan laughing before he even reaches the room, and hovers in the doorway, frowning. The White House has sent someone. They've sent Sam frigging Seaborn. Sam Seaborn, who's leaning forward in his chair as he tells Alan some elaborate story, complete with hand gestures and that charming smile. Sam's a nice guy, he's smart and personable and intelligent--he makes good teevee. Unfortunately, he's also exactly Alan's type, which presents a whole different set of problems.
"It's very noble," Alan says, "and I'm sure the whole scientific community appreciates it."
"Well, I wouldn't go as far to say noble," Sam says, "and I think the scientific community could go without me acting like an idiot in public."
"You make it sound much worse than I'm sure it was," Alan says.
"That's flattering of you to say," Sam says.
Danny clears his throat before the flirty smiles can go any further. Alan, Sam, and Monica, the make-up artist who's fixing her lipstick in the mirror, turn to him. He offers them a strained smile.
"Can I talk to you?" he asks.
"Sure," Sam says, getting up out of his chair.
"No, no," Danny says, "not you. The one whose daughter's tuition I pay."
Alan raises an eyebrow at him. "I'm talking to Sam, Danny," he says. "I'll be out in a few."
"It's important," Danny says. If his tone is a little clipped, it's entirely not his fault. Alan rolls his eyes and stands up, smiling at Sam apologetically.
"I'll be back in a few," he says. "I'd love to hear how that meeting turned out." Danny grabs his arm and pulls him the rest of the way out of the room, out into the hallway and out of earshot.
"Hi," Danny says.
"Hi," Alan says. He cranes his neck and peers down the hall. "The White House sent Sam Seaborn."
"Yes," Danny says. "I noticed, what with the overt flirting and all."
"Mmhm," Alan says. "He's very attractive, isn't he?"
"No, not really," Danny says. He does he best to muster up a glare that doesn't just look jealous and pathetic. He's not sure it works. "Could you please, you know, not openly flirt with White House staffers? We're supposed to appear impartial."
"You're supposed to appear impartial," Alan says. "I'm a doctor. I follow the facts. And Sam Seaborn has some very nice facts on his side."
Danny gives in and pouts. "You're starting to hurt my feelings a little," he says.
"Oh, sweetie, don't worry," Alan says. He leans over and kisses the corner of Danny's mouth. "I'm not trading you in. But, you do spend a lot of time in war zones and other locations generally considered unsafe by the general public. It's good to have a back-up plan."
"You're shopping for my replacement?" Danny asks incredulously. "You realize that Bartlet staffers have been shot at like, eighty-five times now, right? I think Seaborn's got a much higher chance of biting it than I do."
"I wonder if he likes kids," Alan murmurs, glancing down the hall thoughtfully.
"You're just doing this to torture me," Danny says.
"You're right," Alan says. He turns back towards Danny, amusement sparkling in his eyes. "Anyway, what did you want to see me for?"
"Excuse me?" Danny asks, but at Alan's prompting look he thinks back and then admits, "Um, nothing, really. I had a crazy idea at lunch and I wanted to talk about it, but I can't remember what it was, now."
"Of course you can't," Alan says, rolling his eyes and taking Danny's arm, pulling him back towards make-up. "Temporarily blinded by jealousy and inadequacy, huh?"
"Something like that," Danny admits. He holds open the door to make-up. Monica is now sitting on the counter, listening to Sam talk with a bemused look on her face. Both of them turn to the door when Danny and Alan reappear.
"Sorry about that," Alan says. "There was a thing."
"It's fine," Sam says. "How is your little girl, anyway?"
"She's wonderful," Alan says. "She's almost four, now. She'll be upset when Danny dies tragically while covering some war, but I think she'll get over it and learn to accept another parent. Speaking of which, how do you feel about kids?"
"Um," says Sam, smiling cluelessly.
Danny reaches over and pinches Alan's upper arm.
"Ouch! Jesus!" Alan mutters, rubbing his arm and glaring at Danny. "You pinched me!"
"I may have slipped," Danny says, dryly. "Don't you have about two dozen jobs to be doing elsewhere, Dr. Pratchett?"
"I do," Alan says. "I'm sorry, Sam, I'll have to hear the end of that story some other time." He lets go of Danny's arm and kisses his cheek, then moves his mouth a few centimeters to the side. "Don't worry," he murmurs into Danny's ear, loud enough for Sam and Monica to hear, "You're still cuter."
Danny allows himself a moment to preen, even as Monica snorts and says, "He is not."
"I know," Alan says as he steps back. He squeezes Danny's hand as he leaves the room. "But I still like him better."
Danny watches him leave, shakes his head to himself, wonders what he did to deserve Alan Pratchett. He knows it was either something horrible or something wonderful, but he's still not sure which.
He turns back to Monica and Sam and smiles.
"Sam," he says, offering him a hand. "Good to see you. Glad you could make it."
"Of course, Danny," Sam says. "It's nice to be back in New York."
Danny doesn't let go of his hand. "Come with me, Sam," he says. "Let's have a chat...."
***
"Hey there, Sam," Bonnie says as Sam comes into the bullpen. He seems vaguely stunned and distant, but that's not entirely abnormal for Sam, who has a habit of walking into walls when he's thinking really hard about a speech. Still, as far as Bonnie knows, there's nothing major on his plate.
"Sam?" she says again. "You there?"
Sam stops short and looks at her, as if really seeing her for the first time. He smiles, but it falters. "Hi," he says.
"How was New York?" she asks.
"It was... um, good," he says. He blinks.
"Saw you on Daniel Stevens' show," she says. "You looked very good."
"Good," Sam says. "I'm not allowed on anymore."
Bonnie stares at him. That's a bit of a non-sequiter, even for Sam. "Any particular reason for that?"
"Apparently," he says, "I spend too much time flirting with Danny Stevens' husband. He banned me from the show until I learn to keep my, and I quote, 'flirty science stories' to myself."
Bonnie blinks.
"What does that mean?" she asks.
"I'm not sure," Sam says. He stands there for another second and then disappears into his office, stunned and distant again.
Bonnie watches him for a moment. This is hardly the weirdest thing that has happened to Sam, and she has faith that it will either pass or be forgotten when the next bizarre thing happens, probably later today, when he takes his first meeting on the hill.
She shakes her head, and then goes back to work.
Whatever, it's almost one am, I don't even know what the frig I'm talking about anymore.
***
When Danny comes back from lunch, Alan isn't in his office.
It's not entirely a surprise. Alan works for the network, not for Danny, and does spots on everyone's shows, as well as his own specials. In addition, he still lectures and sees occasional patients, and that's not even taking into account the fact that he spends his spare time attempting to wrangle a precocious three-year-old girl.
That doesn't mean that Danny isn't disappointed. He gets a little philosophical after lunch and Alan is the only one willing to indulge him by listening. After waiting for a few moments in Alan's office, he heads to the conference room, the kitchen, the writers' room, sticking his head in the doorways and glancing around surreptitiously. The easy way to solve this would be to call Alan's cell and ask him where he is, but that's much less exciting.
When he's rounding past make-up, he bumps into Felicity.
"I'm looking for Alan," he says, and Felicity snorts. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," Felicity says. "He's hanging out in make-up."
"Why is he hanging out in make-up?" Danny asks. "He's not even on the show tonight. Who would be in make-up now, anyway? Unless the White House finally got their shit together and sent someone up for the thing."
"They did," Felicity says. "See you at the 2pm meeting."
She leaves before he can further deconstruct what she's saying, or rather, what she's trying to imply, so he does the only thing he can think to do--he hastily retraces his steps and ducks down the hallway towards make-up.
He hears Alan laughing before he even reaches the room, and hovers in the doorway, frowning. The White House has sent someone. They've sent Sam frigging Seaborn. Sam Seaborn, who's leaning forward in his chair as he tells Alan some elaborate story, complete with hand gestures and that charming smile. Sam's a nice guy, he's smart and personable and intelligent--he makes good teevee. Unfortunately, he's also exactly Alan's type, which presents a whole different set of problems.
"It's very noble," Alan says, "and I'm sure the whole scientific community appreciates it."
"Well, I wouldn't go as far to say noble," Sam says, "and I think the scientific community could go without me acting like an idiot in public."
"You make it sound much worse than I'm sure it was," Alan says.
"That's flattering of you to say," Sam says.
Danny clears his throat before the flirty smiles can go any further. Alan, Sam, and Monica, the make-up artist who's fixing her lipstick in the mirror, turn to him. He offers them a strained smile.
"Can I talk to you?" he asks.
"Sure," Sam says, getting up out of his chair.
"No, no," Danny says, "not you. The one whose daughter's tuition I pay."
Alan raises an eyebrow at him. "I'm talking to Sam, Danny," he says. "I'll be out in a few."
"It's important," Danny says. If his tone is a little clipped, it's entirely not his fault. Alan rolls his eyes and stands up, smiling at Sam apologetically.
"I'll be back in a few," he says. "I'd love to hear how that meeting turned out." Danny grabs his arm and pulls him the rest of the way out of the room, out into the hallway and out of earshot.
"Hi," Danny says.
"Hi," Alan says. He cranes his neck and peers down the hall. "The White House sent Sam Seaborn."
"Yes," Danny says. "I noticed, what with the overt flirting and all."
"Mmhm," Alan says. "He's very attractive, isn't he?"
"No, not really," Danny says. He does he best to muster up a glare that doesn't just look jealous and pathetic. He's not sure it works. "Could you please, you know, not openly flirt with White House staffers? We're supposed to appear impartial."
"You're supposed to appear impartial," Alan says. "I'm a doctor. I follow the facts. And Sam Seaborn has some very nice facts on his side."
Danny gives in and pouts. "You're starting to hurt my feelings a little," he says.
"Oh, sweetie, don't worry," Alan says. He leans over and kisses the corner of Danny's mouth. "I'm not trading you in. But, you do spend a lot of time in war zones and other locations generally considered unsafe by the general public. It's good to have a back-up plan."
"You're shopping for my replacement?" Danny asks incredulously. "You realize that Bartlet staffers have been shot at like, eighty-five times now, right? I think Seaborn's got a much higher chance of biting it than I do."
"I wonder if he likes kids," Alan murmurs, glancing down the hall thoughtfully.
"You're just doing this to torture me," Danny says.
"You're right," Alan says. He turns back towards Danny, amusement sparkling in his eyes. "Anyway, what did you want to see me for?"
"Excuse me?" Danny asks, but at Alan's prompting look he thinks back and then admits, "Um, nothing, really. I had a crazy idea at lunch and I wanted to talk about it, but I can't remember what it was, now."
"Of course you can't," Alan says, rolling his eyes and taking Danny's arm, pulling him back towards make-up. "Temporarily blinded by jealousy and inadequacy, huh?"
"Something like that," Danny admits. He holds open the door to make-up. Monica is now sitting on the counter, listening to Sam talk with a bemused look on her face. Both of them turn to the door when Danny and Alan reappear.
"Sorry about that," Alan says. "There was a thing."
"It's fine," Sam says. "How is your little girl, anyway?"
"She's wonderful," Alan says. "She's almost four, now. She'll be upset when Danny dies tragically while covering some war, but I think she'll get over it and learn to accept another parent. Speaking of which, how do you feel about kids?"
"Um," says Sam, smiling cluelessly.
Danny reaches over and pinches Alan's upper arm.
"Ouch! Jesus!" Alan mutters, rubbing his arm and glaring at Danny. "You pinched me!"
"I may have slipped," Danny says, dryly. "Don't you have about two dozen jobs to be doing elsewhere, Dr. Pratchett?"
"I do," Alan says. "I'm sorry, Sam, I'll have to hear the end of that story some other time." He lets go of Danny's arm and kisses his cheek, then moves his mouth a few centimeters to the side. "Don't worry," he murmurs into Danny's ear, loud enough for Sam and Monica to hear, "You're still cuter."
Danny allows himself a moment to preen, even as Monica snorts and says, "He is not."
"I know," Alan says as he steps back. He squeezes Danny's hand as he leaves the room. "But I still like him better."
Danny watches him leave, shakes his head to himself, wonders what he did to deserve Alan Pratchett. He knows it was either something horrible or something wonderful, but he's still not sure which.
He turns back to Monica and Sam and smiles.
"Sam," he says, offering him a hand. "Good to see you. Glad you could make it."
"Of course, Danny," Sam says. "It's nice to be back in New York."
Danny doesn't let go of his hand. "Come with me, Sam," he says. "Let's have a chat...."
***
"Hey there, Sam," Bonnie says as Sam comes into the bullpen. He seems vaguely stunned and distant, but that's not entirely abnormal for Sam, who has a habit of walking into walls when he's thinking really hard about a speech. Still, as far as Bonnie knows, there's nothing major on his plate.
"Sam?" she says again. "You there?"
Sam stops short and looks at her, as if really seeing her for the first time. He smiles, but it falters. "Hi," he says.
"How was New York?" she asks.
"It was... um, good," he says. He blinks.
"Saw you on Daniel Stevens' show," she says. "You looked very good."
"Good," Sam says. "I'm not allowed on anymore."
Bonnie stares at him. That's a bit of a non-sequiter, even for Sam. "Any particular reason for that?"
"Apparently," he says, "I spend too much time flirting with Danny Stevens' husband. He banned me from the show until I learn to keep my, and I quote, 'flirty science stories' to myself."
Bonnie blinks.
"What does that mean?" she asks.
"I'm not sure," Sam says. He stands there for another second and then disappears into his office, stunned and distant again.
Bonnie watches him for a moment. This is hardly the weirdest thing that has happened to Sam, and she has faith that it will either pass or be forgotten when the next bizarre thing happens, probably later today, when he takes his first meeting on the hill.
She shakes her head, and then goes back to work.