Author: Anne Marsh
Title: Fuzzy Bunnies and Martians
Rating: PG-13 at the very most
Summary: Sam's got some 'splainin' to do.
Notes: Sequel to 'Weekly Gazette', this time from Josh's POV. Characters not mine, except for the martian. Again, it's humour. If you're easily amused, don't drink milk while reading. If you're stoic, drink as much milk as you want, I guess. If you're lactose intolerant, don't drink milk anyway, unless you've got pills for that.
Feedback: Oh, yes. =^_^=
Fuzzy Bunnies and Martians by Anne Marsh
There was a knock on my door. Not like that's a unique occurrance or anything, it must happen all the time, but this time it preludes some stuff.
Anyway, there was a knock on my door.
"Who's there?" I called.
"Sam and Janet." Sam called back.
"Sam and Janet who?" I replied, grin spreading over my face.
"Have you gone stupid or something?" I heard Donna shouting on the other side of the door. "And it's--"
"Sam and Janet evening," Sam belted, making a dramatic entrance. He turned to Donna. "Sorry, he loves that."
"What?" She wore a look of perplexion-- that's a word, right? You know what, it's a word now. She wore a look of perplexion.
"It's a knock-knock joke. You know, because of South Pacific." He explained. "Okay, so it's kind of an in-joke from college, but see, just now, it was-- So I had to do the thing."
"But my name is Donna." She reminded him, possibly not getting the joke, which really was funny, and it kind of was an in- joke, because the first time he did it, we had this friend named Janet who was with him. I guess Donna would've had to have been there.
"I'm presuming you didn't drag 'Janet' in just to amuse me."
"Oh. Um, no. No, we totally have a purpose. Or, I have a purpose. She just came along because-- It's a good purpose!"
"Toby's on the warpath. I didn't ask what about, because I value my life. But, um, if he finds the fuzzy bunnies--"
"Hold up there, chief-- fuzzy bunnies? What is this?"
"I have fuzzy bunnies." He told me, in all seriousness.
"I'm sorry. How long do the doctors say you have?"
"Jo-osh!" Donna whined, stretching my name out an extra syllable. "This is important! For the fuzzy bunnies?"
"I'm sorry, I thought I worked in a professional environment? Again, what is up with the fuzzy bunnies? And how many times are we going to say 'fuzzy bunnies' in the course of this talk? Do you even realize how ridiculous this all sounds?"
"Fairly ridiculous." Sam agreed. "The fuzzy bunnies are a birthday gift for a friend's daughter. I have been roped into holding the fuzzy bunnies."
"Loving the mental image I get with that one." I commented. Of course, I liked the mental image better *without* any bunnies-- or really, pants. *That* was a good mental image. But I digress.
"And you're not helping."
"Fuzzy bunnies!" Donna reminded me.
"Donna, it would help the fuzzy bunnies immensely if you left right now," I informed her. "Because if I have to hear you whine about them one more time, I will bite their fuzzy widdle heads off."
Her lip wobbled, and she went away.
"So. This fuzzy bunny story... it can't be real."
He laughed. "You got me. It's totally not real."
"Donna believes it?"
"Wholeheartedly. She's a sucker for fuzzy bunnies in trouble."
"Fuzzy bunnies of the invisible sort?"
"I'm hiding them. Because they're contraband."
"Fuzzy bunnies are contraband?"
They are in the workplace." He shrugged.
"So why are you really here, and why did you tell her there were fuzzy bunnies?"
"I had to tell her something so she'd let me in."
"And the story you couldn't tell her...?"
"Well, it all started with the weekly Gazette, the only newspaper available for miles..."
"You've been dropping acid in the men's room." I nodded. "All right, go home, sleep it off, and I'll reschedule the mandatory drug tests for a week from Tuesday."
"I'm not high!" He defended.
"Of course not. You're loaded. Whacked out. There's probably a difference." I smiled.
"What, you go from fuzzy bunnies to telling me some weekly Gazette is the only newspaper available for miles, you expect me to just nod politely and accept every word? Do you not remember who it is you are dealing with?"
"Toby asked me a question the other day. He said 'if we were in the Old West, what would our Old West names and functions be', so I told him we'd work at the weekly Gazette."
"Right, the only newspaper available for miles."
"Exactly!" He seemed gratified. "He'd be Black Bart, the gruff-but- loveable editor and reformed outlaw gunslinger--"
"Loveable newspaper editor and reformed outlaw gunslinger? What was he, the hundred-and-forty-second fastest gun in the West?" I scoffed.
"I'm the intrepid and sometimes spunky junior reporter." He continued brightly, ignoring me.
"What am I? I get to be in your Old West too, don't I?"
"You're the dreamy young deputy whose only mistress is the Law."
"I can't get a better mistress than the Law? And Justice is blind-- I'm not sure I like what you're saying here!" I feigned outrage.
"There's a good reason. And it's not that you *can't*-- one of the can-can dancers at the saloon, which is, by the way, the rowdiest saloon this side of the Sierra Nevadas, moons over you. Also, all the can-can girls are ex-bank robbers."
"I think I've discovered the reason this saloon of yours is so rowdy." I raised my eyebrows. "So... is she pretty?"
"Oh, you know. Wispy, blonde. Totally not your type." He shook his head. "There's also sultry saloon girl Claudia, and a caustic old alcoholic sherrif. And a doc, and a preacher, and some railroad men. Friendly Ed the Singing Bartender, Ragtime Willy the pianist. There's a schoolmarm, and the preacher's young daughter, and Larry's Flophouse. Goldpannin' Danny comes through town with his mule 'times."
"You gave this a lot of thought, didn't you?"
"Well, now we're getting to the thing I had to tell you... um, in a roundabout way, because I actually have to explain the story before you'll understand."
"See, I kind of got into it while we were making it up-- sultry saloon girl Claudia was all Toby's idea-- and so I started telling this story... where, um, bandits come through town."
"Makes for a good story, I'm sure. Was it like in Blazing Saddles?"
"Actually, they shoot the preacher."
I stared at him. "They what?"
"Yeah, they wing 'im. Um, and they shoot the deputy."
"What about the sherrif?"
"Oh, no, he's fine. He's getting the preacher to the doc, making sure the townsfolk ain't panicked."
"It's obvious Bob Marley never had a hand in your story."
"Hm?" He looked somewhat like a confused puppy.
"He would have shot the sherrif, but he would not have shot the deputy."
"Oh. Well, in this story, the bandits shoot the deputy."
"Thanks. Can we have a story where I don't get shot next time?"
"I swear I'm getting to the important part! See, while the deputy is recovering, two people stay with him, mostly. The can-can girl--"
"Being totally in love with his undeniable charms and good looks." I interjected, running a hand over my hair. I could feel it doing something weird in the back, which kind of ruined the fantasy of me as charming and good-looking.
"--and the intrepid young junior reporter. So, I'm telling the story, and I'm getting, admittedly, a little-- a lot-- carried away, and... The deputy and the reporter run off together!"
"And become pirates." He added earnestly, looking apprehensive.
"I'm sorry, can you explain to me why this is important? Why it was so urgent that you had to invent fuzzy bunnies to see me to tell me about it?"
"I was telling Toby the story."
"You told him the whole story?"
"Yes." He nodded, his head staying down.
"And he didn't tell you to shut up and throw things at you?"
"He never threw anything, no. Actually, he got pretty intrigued when I shot the deputy."
"Well, don't I feel marvelous about that."
"Well, I didn't tell him you were the deputy."
"But I'm pretty sure he knows, because, um, who else would it be."
"So he-- Does Toby know about us?"
Sam nodded, looking small. I got up from behind my desk with a sigh and walked around to take his hand.
"He hasn't told anyone yet." I reasoned.
"No, he's not going to tell anyone." Sam shook his head.
"So why are you so worried?"
"I've been worried, because I was afraid you'd be mad."
"Mad. Hm. Well, I still have my job... I still have you... I still have this nifty martian stress reliever that Donna bought me for Christmas. Nobody knows but Toby, who wouldn't tell anybody, because that would mean admitting knowledge of the personal lives of his co-workers, which means being human. Also, he wouldn't tell because he's a decent guy who wouldn't rat his friends out, Seeing as how it doesn't affect anything. No, I'm not mad."
"It doesn't affect anything!" He agreed readily. "We don't even work in the same department! We do totally different things, most of the time."
"We become pirates?"
"I just threw that in at the end because I couldn't think of anything else to say." Sam shrugged, colouring slightly.
"Oh. Well, I'd love to do the pirate thing with you, but I get seasick."
"We should go sailing." He said decisively.
"Did you not hear me just now when I told you I get seasick?"
"Hm? Oh, I guess not. We could go-- looking. At boats. And pretending we were sailing. Only, not ever, you know, getting on boats. Salt air'll do you good."
"Sure." I smiled, patting his hand. We probably would go sailing, if he asked me to. I'd take some dramamine and give it a go, if Sam was standing there batting his eyes at me.
"Can I squeeze your martian?"
"You can squeeze my martian anytime. Mi martian es su martian."
"Generous of you." He grinned.
"Oh, not at all. See, su sandwich es mi sandwich. I'll totally be mooching off you at lunch today.
He laughed, one of his hands squeezing mine, the other squeezing my martian. The martian's eyes popped out of his little head. Mine didn't. If he'd been naked, maybe they would have. Sam, not the martian. For all I know, the martian is always naked. I'd have to talk to Donna about buying me indecent martians.
"Mi sandwich es su sandwich." He agreed, kissing my cheek and getting up. "See you later?"
"Of course you'll see me later. I'll be eating half of su sandwich." I grinned.
Fuzzy bunnies and weekly Gazette aside, the day was off to a good start. Maybe we can convince Toby to say the words 'rabbit stew' in front of Donna today... that would be really funny.
Or even better, maybe I can get Sam to do his darndest to make *my* eyes pop out... that would be great.
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