Work Text:
I Don't Take It All
by MJ
It was a momentary crush on her. A silly, meaningless, sophomoric crush. She was very blonde, very cute, and - let's be honest - very stupid.
It was a crush I intended to have go nowhere. I admitted as much to Denny when he confronted me about it in my office; I admitted as much to him later, when I'd fought it out of my system at the end of the case. It did go nowhere. Despite rumors to the contrary, I can resist temptation. My relationship with Denny Crane surely proves that.
He never chastised me about the crush - not once. Of course, he had no reason to. We've always agreed we could never change each other, that we'd never bother trying to do it. I have always accepted Denny as he is, and that includes his infatuations with various women, and even his quite temporary, as well as quite insane, marriage to Bev. He has accepted my own dalliances with various women; he's tolerated them quite well, in fact.
But I didn't dally with this one, much less dilly with her, as far as that goes. I've actually come to appreciate at some point along the course of a mis-spent life that seducing your secretary may be easy, but it's ultimately unrewarding and usually winds up meaning that you have to hire a new secretary.
I won her case - more or less. She lost, but she didn't get jail time. Just a fine and a suspended sentence. She came into my office to thank me. She brought flowers. I thanked her. She propositioned me. I turned her down. She threw herself on me with a passionate kiss that could have set the drapes in my office on fire, and I didn't budge. I even managed not to respond in parts of my body that she didn't succeed in getting close to.
It was only a crush, after all. One that I'd promised Denny would go nowhere on my part. I hadn't expected her to push the envelope. In other circumstances, perhaps I might have indulged, but in the totality of circumstances in this case, discretion was quite definitely the better part of valor.
Denny teased me about it, asked me if I'd decided she should nurse me through my night terrors rather than spending my nights with him. I said no. I meant it. I can't really remember the last time I shared a bed with anyone except Denny. Tara left, and there may have been someone or other, and then Denny.
We drank, we smoked, we brooded, we acknowledged that love trumps everything - including, I should point out, a night with my very young, very blonde, very dysfunctional assistant.
It would have been easy to bed her. I didn't. I accepted the distraction of a very minor crush. I let it slide, acknowledged that it would be a bad thing, closed my eyes and thought of England (or perhaps it was Denny Crane) when she kissed me. I realized that for all her quite delectable availability, a powerful cocktail of Denny Crane, her working for me, and her extensive laundry list of personal baggage stood between me, her, and sex.
Without a doubt, I did all the right things. I talked to Denny about it while it was going on, admitted that my hormones were improperly over-reactive and that I knew better than to indulge them. I let him know that the temporary hormonal rush was over. I had a drink and a cigar, and we talked about love, something we rarely discuss. It's easier for two men not to talk about such a thing, but we talked about it.
I never laid a hand on her, never contemplated actualizing such a thing, resisted the advances I'd never thought she'd make.
And yet I still feel guilty. A peculiar thing, as you can't really cheat on someone who is merely amused by your momentary distractions from their bed. Or can you?
Perhaps Denny and I should converse on love more often.