Work Text:
Five Ways That Conversation Didn't Happen
by Anne Marsh
1.
"You put the question in, didn't you?" He demanded, fairly seething.
"No." I sat up, perplexed and sandy. "What the heck are you talking about?"
"Oh." He had the good grace to look abashed as he picked himself up off the ground and dusted himself off. "Sorry about that, then."
2.
"Oh, False One, you have deceived me!"
"Deceived you?"
"Yes, deceived me."
Okay, backing up a bit here, he was singing. And he had a much nicer voice than I had anticipated, considering the strange, bizarre, all-around otherworldliness of the circumstances. IE, him tackling me on the beach.
Before I could say anything else, he started up with the singing again.
"You told me you were fair as gold,"
"Are you self-medicating?"
"And now I see you're plain and old!"
"This is irritating." I said, clearly making my word choice based on what would rhyme, because hey, why not?
"Upon my innocence you prey!"
"We got a higher rating!"
"Your face is lined, your hair is grey--"
"Okay, dude, fun time is over." I stopped the musical number. "What pain meds are you on for your surgery?"
"Vicodin..." He mulled it over. "Percocet."
"Crap in a hat." I sighed, pulling him to his feet. "And my hair is not grey."
"Faithless woman!"
"I'm taking you home."
3.
We were deep in contemplation of the clear homoeroticism which would be perceived by, oh, everyone within a mile of where he was *lying on top of me*. On the beach. It was very 'From Here To Eternity', except that we were, you know, shouting at each other.
Or at least, we had been. Except that I (yeah, this is how brilliant I am) decided that if everyone was going to think it, anyway, we might as well.
So I kissed him. I grabbed him and I kissed him. I kissed him hard. I'm not saying it couldn't have been more perfect if flocks of angels had flown overhead strewing rose petals on us from above or anything (do angels flock?). Let's face it, a lot of things could have made it more perfect.
But he didn't break my nose for it, so all in all I'm going to put it in the win column.
Until tomorrow when I read all about it in the tabloids.
4.
The execs looked very disappointed.
Matt looked a little angry and a little smug, despite the ice pack he held over one eye.
I looked-- well, I don't really want to think about it. The pocket square I had been coerced into owning soaked through really quickly, and now I'm being told I'm lucky it's just bleeding and not broken.
"Serves you right." He mumbled, surly.
"You're a douche." I informed him, only it didn't quite come out like that, because I was holding a wad of paper towels up my nose.
"It's not all bad news." Someone said, and I honestly don't know if that someone works for a hospital or a broadcasting network. "If you hadn't been punched in the face, we wouldn't know you had a deviated septum."
"You deviated my septum?"
"It was already deviated." Said the guy I'm now guessing is a medical professional, and props to him for being able to understand me. He probably has to deal with that kind of thing all the time.
"I'm sorry." Matt moved over to sit beside me when the doctors and studio execs had cleared out. "You didn't deserve that. I'm a total douchebag."
"That's what I said."
"Huh? Nevermind. Look, hit me."
"I already hit you."
"Well, hit me again. I feel guilty."
"I'm not hitting you to assuage your guilt."
"What was that?"
"Nevermind." I said, only of course it came out 'nuburmide'.
"'Kay."
5.
"You bastard." I got up, dusting the sand from what used to be a really nice, possibly-my-best suit.
"What?"
"I can't believe," I said, stressing each syllable. "I said, I can't *believe*, that you put that question in."
"Oh, shut up." He sighed and accepted my help getting up. "You would've done the same thing."