Yep."Models with briefcases" ought to be out there as an insult too. And she had some of that talent stuff, too. Some TV people don't look at that very often. I guess it doesn't show on a headshot.

Just wanted to chime in with the love of recent fic. You're all brilliant.

Erika, I absolutely love this, and I've never watched Homicide.

Tim wanted to take them and make actual smudges on them so that this brilliant and well-read man would not be reduced to busywork.

That just gets me. What an amazing line.

Aw, thanks, Deena. I liked it too. Of course, that meant that I thought everyone else would hate it. It was pretty soft, even for Timmy. And you should watch Homicide.

Now I want to read Tim/Wes. They would make such a pretty and entertainingly dysfunctional couple.

No kidding.Of course, Plei pointed that out forever ago. I don't think I could do it, I'm slash-impaired. But they both have that "kiss it and make it better" thing.And by kiss, I mean porn.

When You Are Tired of London

Part Five: James’ Morning

Rupert and his young friends had left early, leaving James settled in the kitchen with a pot of coffee, The Times and a bowl of cereal. He was welcome to make something else, of course, but he was dreadfully afraid to touch anything.

Outside, on the back lawn, a squad of teenage girls was running through what looked like some sort of karate exercises. Which was odd, to be certain, although he couldn’t deny the view was entertaining.

“Left alone in a house full of teenage girls,” thought James. “If I weren’t convinced that Rupert would murder me…”

He let the thought go. He wondered what sort of school this was, but then, it had always been strange schools with that side of the family.

On occasion, James’ mother spoke of how her sister, his aunt, had suddenly one day begun private tutoring. And then, there was the odd academy that Rupert had been sent off to—none he’d ever heard of, but evidently prestigious enough to get him enrolled in Oxford, even with his dubious behavior record.

“Rupert was cool back then,” thought James, recalling just how much he wanted to be like him. The wild parties, the dangerous friends, the running away to London. James always harbored a knot of jealousy toward Rupert. Even when he suddenly returned to school, transformed into a model student, he was cool. Soon after graduation, he was traveling the world for the museum, his life one seeming adventure after another.

James had watched him from his orthodontic clinic, and couldn’t help but feel that he was missing something.

His revelry was disturbed by the sound of someone moving about in the adjoining chamber. Startled, he spilled a few drops of coffee on the table. Not seeing a cloth nearby, he soaked it up with the Book Review section.

In the window, an atrociously beautiful dark-haired woman in her early twenties appeared. She glanced in the window, smiled and waved, then opened the door and stepped in.

“Prodigal’s back!” said the woman. “Next time we need a nest cleared out in Liverpool, B. can take it. I mean, birthplace of the Beatles and all, cool, but man, crawling around those factories can be a bear. I’ve got grease in places I didn’t know could get greasy.”

The woman stopped and looked at him seriously.

“You wearing an earring, Giles? This isn’t some kind of mid-life thing, is it?”

“Giles? No, I’m sorry,” said James. “I’m Giles’ cousin, James.”

The woman looked at him quizzically, but before she could say anything, Dawn entered the room.

“Hey, Faith,” she said. “Good hunting in Liverpool? Hey, Giles.”

“James, Dawn. We met last night?”

“What are you talking about?” asked Dawn.

“James,” said James. “Giles’ cousin? The one he doesn’t like very much?”

“Funny, you look like Giles to me,” said Faith.

“I’m lost,” said Dawn. “So, you’re not Giles, you’re his identical cousin? This isn't some kind of weird, Trigger Happy TV thing, is it?” she asked, looking around, “because my hair’s a total mess.”

“You… you don’t remember? What with the Rupert scolding me and the 'doooomed' and….”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

James was speechless. Something terribly strange was going on, and he had no idea how to deal with it. And for the second time in as many days, he wished Rupert was here.

Not seeing a washcloth nearby, he soaked it up with the Book Review section.

(choking)

(choking)

Hee. Sorry. Couldn't resist.

You evil bugger, you.

I am off to bed, with Terribly Confused James and his Drippy Newspaper firmly implanted in my frontal lobes.

I am off to bed, with Terribly Confused James and his Drippy Newspaper firmly implanted in my frontal lobes.

Pleasant dreams!