A Fresh Start (Jim, Andy) PG
Title: A Fresh Start
Author: bridgetmoon
Characters: Jim, Andy
Rating: PG
Summary: Jim's first day at Stamford, and the beginnings of an epic friendship.
Spoilers: Just through Gay Witch Hunt!
Thanks to the TBS reruns, 9thmonkey and I were reliving our love for DM Stamford last night, and she suggested I write something about it. This little thing is it.
As requested, Jim went in early the first day to meet with Josh, and they wound up spending an agreeable half-hour talking about the vagaries of the Connecticut market. He felt pretty optimistic. This was his fresh start, and a boss he could actually relate to was not a bad beginning.
But when Josh got on the phone to HR to find out why Jim didn't have a commission number yet, he found his mind drifting a little. To force it back to the present, he focused his attention on the office beyond, where by now other people had arrived. He found himself picking out one voice in particular, which was not only close by, but distinctive, in that it sounded like someone trying to impersonate several different types of asshole at once.
"…hailing, as they do, from the Carolinas, where string bands have been enjoying quite the renaissance, but why the heck would you put a Hawaiian guitar on 'Save the Bones for Henry Jones?' Why all the Tin Pan Alley stuff? Seriously."
There was a brief silence, and then from very near the door, almost directly behind him, a woman replied, "Not minstrel stuff?"
"Minstrel stuff? Like Stephen Foster? Oh, minstrels. No, I said it was a…I said a renaissance, a renaissance, small 'r.' It has nothing to do with the Renaissance."
"Well, it sounded like a capital 'R,'" the woman said innocently.
"I distinctly said a lower-case 'r,' and you know what, I don't think you know the difference between the Renaissance and a Renaissance Festival. Minstrels. Holy smokes, Karen."
"So no old-timey costumes?" she asked.
"Sorry about that," Josh said mildly, hanging up, and Jim hastily refocused, wiping any private amusement from his face. "I think everyone should be here by now. C'mon, I'll introduce you around."
Jim stood up, readying himself to shake hands and remember names.
"Might as well start with the sales team." Josh gestured at the glass wall, and Jim realized he was indicating the people right outside, the pontificating lunatic and the slyly provoking woman.
* * * * * * * *
"How's it going?" Josh asked as he returned from lunch. "No problems?"
"No problems," Jim assured him. He was eating his sandwich as he updated his contact sheet, feeling very virtuous and productive.
"Well, you don't actually have to eat lunch at your desk," Josh said over his shoulder as he headed into his office. "You're allowed to take breaks, you know."
"Breaks are for slackers," Jim said, meaning it as a joke, but as he spoke to Josh's back his eyes met Karen's. Her detached sardonic gaze pinned him for just a second, then slid away before he could recover enough to say anything.
He turned back toward his desk, only to come face-to-face with Andy, who had swiveled like a sunflower to follow Josh's path through the office. Andy tensed with hyper-alert hostility, as though he thought Jim might try to bite his face.
Resignedly, Jim turned his gaze out the window to his left, where a few sails dotted the choppy waters of the Sound.
"Nice view," he said wryly, to no one in particular.
He was startled when Andy abruptly jostled his desk, and sat up straight, alarmed.
"Dude," Andy said, thrusting his arms and upper body over the edge of Jim's desk, like a swimmer clinging to a raft, "ask me how much I miss my springy little Zephyr on a day like this. 'Course, the Baba's a sweet cruiser. Starts out kinda tender, but stiffens up like a dream."
His pulse still pounding in his ears a little, Jim resisted the urge to look around - there was no one exchange looks with, no sympathetic friend or incredulous film student, no help to be had from any quarter.
"What about you?" Andy went on. "Don't tell me. You're a Lord Nelson man, am I right? You go for solid. Roomy."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Jim broke in.
Andy stared at him, presumably weighing how to rephrase his question. Finally he came up with,
"Do you… have a boat?"
"Oh." Jim said, laughing, vaguely relieved. "No. I’m from Scranton. Never owned a boat."
Andy drew back a little and bit down on his pen for a moment, considering. Then he took the pen from his mouth and tapped Jim's arm with it.
"Well, you should look into that," he advised.
"Okay," Jim said.
"Oookay."
Jim heard the slightly exaggerated mimicry of his own laconic drawl, but he wasn't sure if it was intended as mockery. Thinking that signaled the end of the conversation, he picked up his sandwich.
* * * * * * * *
Well, that wasn't so bad, he told himself, when the end of day arrived. Josh seemed pretty cool. And you can't expect everyone to warm instantly to an outside promotion.
"Hey! Big Tuna! Hold the door!"
Jim let his hand hover uselessly over the button panel, but Andy was not relying on him. He bolted forward and thrust his hand between the closing doors, thwacking one viciously to make them open again. Having triumphantly gained the elevator, he turned a look of anticipation upon Jim, who nodded in what he hoped was a non-engaging manner.
It was weird - he didn't want to antagonize the guy he was going to be looking at every day for the foreseeable future, he told himself, but… at least that was familiar, he knew what to do with it. The last thing in the world he was prepared for was Andy's apparently unshakeable determination to chat with him.
He half expected to be asked what type of boat he had decided on, but instead Andy asked, "What sort of things do you like to talk about?"
"Michael wants us to bond so we need topics for conversation."
"Ponies."
"No!"
"How about rainbows?"
"No!"
"Flowers."
"Ponies," Jim said.
"Hrmm… Mine's name was Pequot. Thirteen hands, three gaits, very straight mover." Andy hugged himself and looked at Jim expectantly.
Jim blinked, the memory evaporating. They stared at each other.
"You can't really sustain a conversation about ponies, either, can you," Andy said.
"No, man, I was bluffing," Jim replied, suppressing a bubble of hilarity that came precariously close to the surface.
Andy saw it and frowned, peering at him with mingled exasperation and puzzlement.
"You're a weird one, Tuna," he said, not unkindly.
Author: bridgetmoon
Characters: Jim, Andy
Rating: PG
Summary: Jim's first day at Stamford, and the beginnings of an epic friendship.
Spoilers: Just through Gay Witch Hunt!
Thanks to the TBS reruns, 9thmonkey and I were reliving our love for DM Stamford last night, and she suggested I write something about it. This little thing is it.
As requested, Jim went in early the first day to meet with Josh, and they wound up spending an agreeable half-hour talking about the vagaries of the Connecticut market. He felt pretty optimistic. This was his fresh start, and a boss he could actually relate to was not a bad beginning.
But when Josh got on the phone to HR to find out why Jim didn't have a commission number yet, he found his mind drifting a little. To force it back to the present, he focused his attention on the office beyond, where by now other people had arrived. He found himself picking out one voice in particular, which was not only close by, but distinctive, in that it sounded like someone trying to impersonate several different types of asshole at once.
"…hailing, as they do, from the Carolinas, where string bands have been enjoying quite the renaissance, but why the heck would you put a Hawaiian guitar on 'Save the Bones for Henry Jones?' Why all the Tin Pan Alley stuff? Seriously."
There was a brief silence, and then from very near the door, almost directly behind him, a woman replied, "Not minstrel stuff?"
"Minstrel stuff? Like Stephen Foster? Oh, minstrels. No, I said it was a…I said a renaissance, a renaissance, small 'r.' It has nothing to do with the Renaissance."
"Well, it sounded like a capital 'R,'" the woman said innocently.
"I distinctly said a lower-case 'r,' and you know what, I don't think you know the difference between the Renaissance and a Renaissance Festival. Minstrels. Holy smokes, Karen."
"So no old-timey costumes?" she asked.
"Sorry about that," Josh said mildly, hanging up, and Jim hastily refocused, wiping any private amusement from his face. "I think everyone should be here by now. C'mon, I'll introduce you around."
Jim stood up, readying himself to shake hands and remember names.
"Might as well start with the sales team." Josh gestured at the glass wall, and Jim realized he was indicating the people right outside, the pontificating lunatic and the slyly provoking woman.
* * * * * * * *
"How's it going?" Josh asked as he returned from lunch. "No problems?"
"No problems," Jim assured him. He was eating his sandwich as he updated his contact sheet, feeling very virtuous and productive.
"Well, you don't actually have to eat lunch at your desk," Josh said over his shoulder as he headed into his office. "You're allowed to take breaks, you know."
"Breaks are for slackers," Jim said, meaning it as a joke, but as he spoke to Josh's back his eyes met Karen's. Her detached sardonic gaze pinned him for just a second, then slid away before he could recover enough to say anything.
He turned back toward his desk, only to come face-to-face with Andy, who had swiveled like a sunflower to follow Josh's path through the office. Andy tensed with hyper-alert hostility, as though he thought Jim might try to bite his face.
Resignedly, Jim turned his gaze out the window to his left, where a few sails dotted the choppy waters of the Sound.
"Nice view," he said wryly, to no one in particular.
He was startled when Andy abruptly jostled his desk, and sat up straight, alarmed.
"Dude," Andy said, thrusting his arms and upper body over the edge of Jim's desk, like a swimmer clinging to a raft, "ask me how much I miss my springy little Zephyr on a day like this. 'Course, the Baba's a sweet cruiser. Starts out kinda tender, but stiffens up like a dream."
His pulse still pounding in his ears a little, Jim resisted the urge to look around - there was no one exchange looks with, no sympathetic friend or incredulous film student, no help to be had from any quarter.
"What about you?" Andy went on. "Don't tell me. You're a Lord Nelson man, am I right? You go for solid. Roomy."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Jim broke in.
Andy stared at him, presumably weighing how to rephrase his question. Finally he came up with,
"Do you… have a boat?"
"Oh." Jim said, laughing, vaguely relieved. "No. I’m from Scranton. Never owned a boat."
Andy drew back a little and bit down on his pen for a moment, considering. Then he took the pen from his mouth and tapped Jim's arm with it.
"Well, you should look into that," he advised.
"Okay," Jim said.
"Oookay."
Jim heard the slightly exaggerated mimicry of his own laconic drawl, but he wasn't sure if it was intended as mockery. Thinking that signaled the end of the conversation, he picked up his sandwich.
* * * * * * * *
Well, that wasn't so bad, he told himself, when the end of day arrived. Josh seemed pretty cool. And you can't expect everyone to warm instantly to an outside promotion.
"Hey! Big Tuna! Hold the door!"
Jim let his hand hover uselessly over the button panel, but Andy was not relying on him. He bolted forward and thrust his hand between the closing doors, thwacking one viciously to make them open again. Having triumphantly gained the elevator, he turned a look of anticipation upon Jim, who nodded in what he hoped was a non-engaging manner.
It was weird - he didn't want to antagonize the guy he was going to be looking at every day for the foreseeable future, he told himself, but… at least that was familiar, he knew what to do with it. The last thing in the world he was prepared for was Andy's apparently unshakeable determination to chat with him.
He half expected to be asked what type of boat he had decided on, but instead Andy asked, "What sort of things do you like to talk about?"
"Michael wants us to bond so we need topics for conversation."
"Ponies."
"No!"
"How about rainbows?"
"No!"
"Flowers."
"Ponies," Jim said.
"Hrmm… Mine's name was Pequot. Thirteen hands, three gaits, very straight mover." Andy hugged himself and looked at Jim expectantly.
Jim blinked, the memory evaporating. They stared at each other.
"You can't really sustain a conversation about ponies, either, can you," Andy said.
"No, man, I was bluffing," Jim replied, suppressing a bubble of hilarity that came precariously close to the surface.
Andy saw it and frowned, peering at him with mingled exasperation and puzzlement.
"You're a weird one, Tuna," he said, not unkindly.