Kelly doesn't even think about Ryan.
Even though he's in prison and probably stuck with like, a super gross prison guy, Kelly doesn't think about Ryan. This is a totally great party and the sun is setting in that rustic, romantic way and her hair had looked just right this morning and even though she's added like, a million hits to his youtube video already, she doesn't care. He's the last thing on her mind.
Her boyfriend has got that boring black tee on but, whatever. Darryl wears music so well that it kind of makes up for it and even though he forces her off stage when she tries to give him a hug, she doesn't mind. Besides, black looks good on him -- much better than orange looks on Ryan and realizing this makes Kelly excited that that color totally washes him out.
Thinking about colors on Ryan is different than thinking about Ryan so the night is still fabulous.
When the fireworks start, Kelly would like nothing more than to snuggle up to Darryl. She bets he would tell her how pretty she looks in the colored lights but he's still up there singing and she doesn't complain because she's selfless that way. She sits by herself and maybe if she wasn't so secure she would look a little lonely and kind of scared because she's seen Prison Break and wonders how he's doing.
Kelly stops and reminds herself that she isn't one of those women so really, she just looks awesome and grown up.
Darryl has to go pick up his daughter that night and even though in her head she curses out that stupid kid, she just smiles and kisses him and tells him how sexy he is when he sings. That's what being a good girlfriend is; it's about being totally supportive and helpful because Kelly knows that some men have serious self-esteem issues and even though they never say thanks or make you feel appreciated for everything you do, they really are grateful. And they'll be sorry. Like, really sorry.
Kelly congratulates herself at home later because she went an entire evening without thinking about whatever his name was and had a great party and got to see someone who she was scared would spend the rest of her life alone get proposed to and those are the kinds of moments that give people hope.
She only clicks on the video one more time before getting into bed. She's got to add it to her favorites, after all.
Angela is a whore.
She's well past the point of caring about barbecue sauce or fried twinkies because Angela Martin has bigger things to worry about.
Her soul, for one.
Dwight asks her why she's crying and even if his voice is gentle, worried, and maybe makes her stop for a split second, it's unacceptable because he of all people should know exactly why she's crying.
She's crying for her eternal damnation, the ring currently on her finger, and the underwear around her ankles. Especially the underwear around her ankles because it flushes her hot and humiliated when she's got to shimmy it up her legs like some common streetwalker. Seeing Phyllis dart back downstairs, just as flustered as she is, isn't any consolation at all and instead makes her want to hit Dwight for causing all of this.
It's not all right when he grabs her arm and says, "Monkey, please," because it only reminds her of when she told him there were things about her that would shock him and, at the time, she didn't know she would only end up shocking herself.
She pulls away because he's still indecent, they're still in the office, and the tears aren't stopping at all. The sweat on her forehead is starting to cool but she almost vomits because she discovers she has sweat everywhere due to certain activities with a certain cat killer that she should never have forgiven and maybe she still never will.
He gives her one last pleading look and she presses her lips into a thin line because it's really all she can do. She leaves him there, broken twice over, because she's a trollop, a tramp, a strumpet, and engaged.
Angela leaves quickly because, more than anything, she just needs to take a shower.
And maybe become a nun.
A hot chick buys Kevin pie.
Holly is so hot. Kevin's lucky he can play it cool because otherwise? Oh man..!
When she'd buckled his seatbelt, her chest had pressed up against him and she was just so soft and good and a woman. He's been trying not to think about Stacy recently so this definitely helps.
He doesn't even mind that she doesn't wear glasses.
Holly's great because she asks him questions like, "What's your favorite kind of pie?" and when he says, "Apple," she lights up surprised and delighted because apparently thats her favorite too. Kevin can't remember the last time he'd worked with anyone so nice and so not mean so he giggles a little and Holly, being as cool as she is, giggles right back with him.
He is so gonna hit that.
He's sitting across from her at the Glider Diner and watching Holly slowly push a forkful of pie into her mouth makes him smile. He finds himself smiling a lot when he's around her and whenever she looks up and sees that, she grins back, big and slow and just... so hot.
She starts to ask him a lot about Michael and how it's like to work at Dunder Mifflin and since these aren't at all as interesting as her pie questions he answers with his eyes trained expertly on her breasts. He quickly realizes that talking about Michael is starting to make her seem a little sad (he can't blame her) so he cups his hand on top of hers where its resting on the table. She only hesitates for a second (which is also hot) before meeting his gaze and brightening tremendously.
"I'm glad I could spend this time with you, Kevin."
Holly even refuses to let him pay; Kevin might explode.
"You've got to come see my band."
Andy plans a wedding.
He knows that his little lady loves to plan things but sometimes Andy just can't help himself. He's in bed, alone, but that doesn't matter because the future Mrs. Bernard will soon be sharing it with him.
The plans are coming to him left and right (red and white roses for Cornell's colors) and he realizes that, between both of their party planning expertise, this wedding is going to be the most bomb-diggity event ever.
He tries a few of the meditation exercises he learned at management training but even they aren't helping him fall asleep. The old Andy would call Angela and gush about the wedding but the new Andy knows enough about her to guess that she's probably sound asleep, dreaming little dreams of veils and butter cream frosting, and it's better not to wake her.
Instead he hops out of bed, blasts some ABBA, and decides to make a list about all of his awesome ideas. (God Bless the Broken Road as their first dance song? He bets Angela loves her some Rascal just as much as he does. If not, he's got their entire lives to find that out.)
He doesn't even mind not getting any sleep because Andy feels really, really good about this.
Michael baby proofs his condo.
Michael has never looked into baby proofing before because he always thought that, for a guy who wanted kids, it was a little counter-productive. It's not until he finds out that baby proofing makes a home safe for babies instead of safe from babies that he gives it serious consideration.
Apparently, his condo is a death trap. He's been up for hours surfing baby websites and the more he reads, the more he fears for Jan's unborn child's life. Michael's not sure if the baby is going to even be spending anytime at his place but he thinks it's better to be safe than sorry.
He learns that babies can get into all sorts of stuff on the ground like poison and electricity. Michael figures that if he spent all his time crawling around he would get into some pretty dangerous stuff too.
It bums him out a little that the George Foreman grill has got to go but Michael understands its perils more than anyone else. It would break his heart to know that because of his sizzling bacon, Jan's baby had a char-broiled face. And then the kids would call him 'Hamburgler' or 'Burger Cheeks' or 'Whopper.' Although... 'Whopper' does sound kind of cool...
Doesn't matter, the grills gone. Michael doesn't mind making these kind of sacrifices for his kid.
Even if it's not, ya know, his kid.
Creed throws up.
Creed hasn't thrown up since, oh... 1974 -- during that phase he lived off of mostly milkweed. Since then, he's built up a great immunity to all that sort of stuff, so he's surprised when he sees his own (at least he thinks its his own) vomit beside him.
He checks the label and when he realizes that he's been drinking straight barbecue sauce and not energy drink, Creed gets really mad. Mad that he stole six bottles of the stupid junk from the carnival today and instead of giving him that great buzz he was looking for it only makes him feel like he's gonna quickly sink to the bottom of the ocean.
Brushing himself off and smoothing down his hair, Creed decides its not so bad. He knows a bunch of dogs he can give the rest of it to that would love this stuff.
Dwight loves a cat.
The door swings open and Dwight suddenly realizes he's never seen Angela this broken. Her hair is dripping wet, the robe she's wearing dwarfs her, and all he wants to do is tuck into her and never leave. He thinks he might barf because his stomach is filled with fear, joy, and so much love but he knows she finds that disgusting so he somehow manages to hold it in.
Her eyes are a little red but still, the best thing about her standing there is the fact that she's standing there and Dwight appreciates this with every bone in his body.
This all happens within a second and by the time another ticks by her voice is thick with tears as she cries, "Great! You let him out!"
Dwight stands frozen before he registers that a blur of fur has escaped between his legs, into the night. He looks to Angela and the way she's reacting makes it seems like a cat getting out is the worst thing in the world.
"Angela," he breathes as he notices that all the buttons on his shirt are buttoned wrong -- almost like this horrible evening.
"What, Dwight?" She sounds so tired and it kills him to see his Monkey like this. He knows everything is really his fault and the responsibility weighs heavy on his chest. Dwight feels like he died when Andy proposed to her and again when she'd kissed him so, so hard in the darkened office. He's not sure he can take a slamming door because dying three times in one night is a little much, even for a Schrute.
He doesn't say, "I love you," or "Please, don't marry him," because when he opens his mouth to let the words spill, he feels a warmth twist around his legs -- a big, hairy, brown and black warmth -- a feline shaped warmth.
Angela's face softens and the corner of her mouth twitches almost imperceptibly when she says, "He came back. He must remember you."
Bending to pick the cat up, Dwight holds him in his arms and feels his claws dig into his skin through his shirt.
The word stumbles out like a prayer from his lungs. "Garbage."
The three stand there in teary silence that's feels an awful lot like forgiveness before Angela speaks. "Yeah."
With that, she's ushering them both back inside.
Story Notes:
A whole bunch of characters I'd never written before so this was fun! Sorry about all the references to vomit :|
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
