Title: After Hours
Author: WGSarah (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Notes/Disclaimer: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALY!!!! This li'l piece of Bobby-ness
was written for Mice's 'Bobby in Loooooove' challenge in honor of
Alyson Hurt's birthday. (Um, how old is she, anyway?) Much like Bobby
himself, the story got a little sidetracked. However, I had such a
nifty plot device, I couldn't let it go to waste. ::grin:: The story's
for Aly so she can do what she wants with it, but I'll eventually
be archiving my copy at 'The
Bright White Light'. Feedback is always nice and is treated reverently.
Now, to make all the lawyers happy: Bobby is NOT MINE. Nor is Hank.
Yeah, I go to sleep every night crying too, it's such a shame. This
story was written for fun and not for profit. I am seeing not a dime
in revenue for this baby. That said- enjoy!
Robert Drake, accountant extrodinaire, trudged glumly through the
hallowed halls of Kepperman, Ludigton and Kenai associates. He had
had enough for the day. It was late. He was tired. His shoelaces,
despite his best efforts to knot them, would not stay tied. But that
wasn't the worst of it. Not by a longshot.
Bobby was getting tired of doing the accounting thing.
Not that he was ready to go back to the X-Men yet either. Oh no.
Not since Hank had stolen his girl.
To be fair, Bobby admitted as he shuffled into the room that housed
his 'office', Hank hadn't known that Torah had been his girl. He'd
been courting her slowly. Very, very slowly. Apparently she hadn't
fully realized that. Then, out of the blue, a great big ... blue hairball
had shown up and that was that. Bobby shrugged. He didn't begrudge
Hank his happiness, he just wished ... he wished...
Meandering past the cubicles that belonged to his new 'team', he
nosily peered into them looking for nefarious evil doers, crazed monkeymen
or rampant cheese peddlers. Anything.
The lady had clearly made her choice. It was just that she had seemed
to like him, really, honest-to-God like him, Bobby. And she had been
so normal. She didn't carry around mysterious little black boxes that
hopped dimensions and she'd favored little silver hoop earrings, as
opposed to skulls...
Reaching his cube, he snorted and vengefully snapped off his computer
without logging out properly. Well, who needs her, right? Right? Snatching
up his briefcase, he stalked toward the exit.
Then quietly, an off key voice began to waft out of the office across
the hall. Bobby stopped. It sounded familiar, like that Rick Springfield
song where he smashes a mirror with his guitar in the video. Curious,
Bobby changed directions. There bounding through a maze of cubicles
was petite brunette, singing to herself.
"Bobby's girl, I wish that I was Bobby's girl..."
The gentleman in question froze with a dumbfounded look upon his
face. Say what? She couldn't mean me, he thought disjointedly.
Bobby watched her race back and forth to her desk, occasionally pausing
to curse good naturedly at the fax machine.
"Stupid thing! 'No connection', eh? I'll show you a connection!"
She whapped it soundly with a package of paper. "Cut me off after
hours, willya..." She headed back to her desk with a satisfied look
on her face.
She had freckles. Bobby began to grin.
"Why can't I find a fella like that? Bobby's girl, I wish that ...
I ... was ... Oh!" She stopped dead in her tracks as she finally noticed
Bobby standing in the doorway. Flushing bright red, she quickly sank
out of sight behind a cube wall.
Bobby's grin broke into a full-fledged smile. The accounting thing
just became much more interesting.
Author's Notes: Okay, so it was more of
a "meet cute" than a full fledged romance. What can I say, I don't
know anything about the girl- just that her name's Sheila and she's
much better about having "Sheila" (Buddy Holly, I think) sung to her
than I am about Starship's "Sara".
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