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t46q46
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Date Posted: 17:39:58 02/01/04 Sun
She often drank, but rarely to the excess she was currently. Over the years, she had lectured him on the importance of maintaining discipline and focus. She had told him that Section would have been destroyed years before if people had been a little more careful, taken a little more time, been a little smarter.
Janet had impressed upon him the need to remain alert; to wait until after you had destroyed the enemy to celebrate - like the old adage "Don't count your chickens..." And yet, here she was, on the eve of their greatest victory, knocking back scotch - quickly approaching intoxication.
He sat on the other side of her ancient desk, and watched her drink, growing increasingly uncomfortable as she rode an alcohol high. Daniel had no idea how much she had consumed, but looking at the half-empty bottle, he decided she was liberal when pouring.
"I think you've had enough."
"Why would you say that?" Her tone light - her expression alternating between puzzled and amused.
"Because any minute now, you intend to regale me with that damn elephant joke." He couldn't help smiling as she laughed happily in response.
"It is a classic! I don't know why you hate it so." Light danced in her eyes, defeating her attempt at looking sad.
He knew it was coming, knew he could do nothing to stop her; still, he hoped God would give him a break and send a bolt of lightning his way.
No.
Such.
Luck.
"Why did the elephant cross the road?" She was laughing before the punch line - if one could call it that.
He couldn't see the point in answering.
"Because he didn't like the chicken." She laughed a little louder.
Daniel cringed. Like the rest of the civilized world, he didn't see the joke.
Regaining control, she said, "I'm a comic genius!"
"Where was the comedy in that?" he dryly replied.
"Oh come on! It's hilarious! And I made it up at the young age of two!" She didn't pull off the shocked look she so obviously was aiming for - one cannot look shocked while grinning like a madwoman.
"We shall have to agree to disagree." He grinned back at her.
"Richard thought it was funny," she informed him as she headed to the bar.
"Do you have a point?" He watched her pour two glasses - straight up - with a surprisingly steady hand. Perhaps she hasn't drunk quite as much as I thought?
Or maybe she's drunk a little more! He amended the thought, as she tripped over her own feet on the way back. In the way of all true drunks, she managed to avoid spilling a drop of alcohol as she fell flat on her ass. He stood and helped her up.
"Why, thank you, kind sir."
Taking the glass she held out to him he reclaimed his seat. "Now I'm sure you've had enough." Still, he made no attempt to confiscate her glass. He quickly downed his - no point being the only one sober - then got up and retrieved the bottle.
While she moved on to Englishman/Scotsman/Irishman jokes - of which she knew a great deal too many - he drowned in alcohol, knocking them back in quick succession. The alcohol suffused through his body, spreading warmth from head to toe and erasing most of his discomfort.
After what felt like her hundredth joke, she wiped the tears from her eyes and looked at him appraisingly. "You hate my jokes."
"They're not so much jokes, as torture."
She laughed loudly, her eyes dancing with amusement, but then she stopped suddenly, the life seemingly leaching from her face. He thought at first she was going to throw-up, but she made no move to grab the rubbish bin or rush to the toilet. She sat motionless in her chair and stared off into space, seeming to search for some answers in the pattern of the floor carpet.
He watched, transfixed, as the light died in her eyes and the temperature around them seemed to drop a few degrees. She came back to him then, back from wherever it was she went on these occasions.
He did not know what had happened to her in those few brief moments, but it seemed to him that all the joy in her had died.
"In the entire world, you are the only person I consider to be my friend." She seemed completely sober now.
"I'm honored." He smiled kindly, while hoping for another of her dreary jokes. As much as he found "Janet the comic genius" uncomfortable to deal with, he found "Janet the morose" more so.
"What do you think that says about me?" She looked at him intently, as though his answer was the most consequential thing in the history of the world.
"You have impeccable taste." He kept his tone light, wanting to kill the conversation there.
She laughed softly, but it didn't sound real. "What would I do without you?"
"I sincerely hope you never find out," he chuckled and was rewarded with a soft smile.
Janet studied the carpet again, and then the sadness seemed to lift; the light, however, did not return to her eyes. Of the three, this was the Janet he preferred - her apathy was strangely comforting. He knocked back his scotch. "Another?"
"I've had enough."
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