| posted on 17-Sep-2002 7:07:57 PM by alli balli |
| title - Other Blondes
rating - PG - not much here, folks summary - post-destiny, sort of A/T an - Lately I've been feeling the need to branch out from my almost exclusive M/M writing. And this is the first result of that. 
Other Blondes "Hey." She slid into the booth across from him, leather pants over pleather seat. Her shirt dipped low, exposing the tops of her breasts, fit over them snugly. Liz would have looked away in distaste and Maria would have commented on "trying too hard", but he wasn't judgemental like his friends. "Hey." They would be hurt if they knew about this. It was her fault, they had concluded. It was her fault that Max couldn't be with Liz. It was her fault that Michael wouldn't look Maria in the eye. It was her fault that Isabel... "What are you up to today?" "Not much." He didn't need to think about Isabel today. While Liz had sheepishly boarded a plane to Tallahassee and Maria spent endless hours murmuring wistfully into an ear that wouldn't listen, he had come to terms with his fate. Isabel didn't love him. And that was fine with him. Which wasn't to say that it hadn't hurt that last week of school when she'd passed him in the hallways without so much as a glance. Every time he saw her sitting in a booth with Michael and imagined their ankles bumping together, teasingly, the wound opened a little, felt a little fresher. But he was going to be okay. He was moving past it. And almost as proof of that, here he was, sitting across from the instigator herself. A bored waitress took her drink order - a cherry cola. So it wasn't just a "guy thing" - or should he say, an alien guy thing. It was weird, thinking of them as alien. They looked human. They acted, felt, thought, smelled, tasted human. If so many parts of you are exactly the same, how can you still be so different? "How is Liz doing?" That one took him by surprise. Why did she care? She hated Liz - at least, that's what they'd all assumed. He knew that Liz hated her. "She's good." He didn't know, really. Liz never called him anymore. Maybe because he didn't hate Isabel like she needed him to. "And Maria?" By now her soda had arrived, and she sucked at it slowly, pink lips puckered around the thin plastic straw. "A little crazy." That was true, for the most part. Michael did love her, she'd told him time and time again. He was just scared, didn't want to admit it. And so he'd nodded along to every desperate word, murmuring the occasional agreement in the appropriate places. That was all you needed to keep Maria satisfied. It was too bad that Michael had never figured that out. The bell above the entrance clanged, announcing the arrival of more bodies to feed. He watched as Isabel lowered herself gracefully into a seat, closely followed by Michael. He didn't look down, knowing where their ankles would be. She followed his gaze, staring at the couple across the room. There was a long moment of silence between them, and then she dug into her back pocket, dropping a five-dollar bill onto the tabletop. Her cool blue eyes met his warm brown ones. "There are other blondes in Roswell, you know." He watched her leather-clad hips as they slipped away, swaying down the sidewalk, foggy through the window glass. Sighing, he dropped his own change onto the table, and left the diner. He didn't look back. finis |