Daniel Cleaver, Tom, and Mark Darcy
Squeal!

Bridget Jones' Birthday--Tom's Diary

It was blue--a lovely robin's egg blue. It would have been fine for a shirt or an Easter egg--but soup? Only Bridget. I love Bridget. I will always love Bridget. If she was a man or I was a lesbian I would marry Bridget, but my God--blue soup?  I drank some more wine.

Actually I probably drank more wine than I should have, but hell, darling... Blue soup for starters and orange marmelade for afters? But it was dear Bridget's birthday, and I was sitting next to a perfectly delicious thing called Mark Darcy. Yes, yes, I know--Bridget had a bit of the hots for him, but what's a little mental drooling between friends?

Things were going quite well until Shazzer (who I also love, but who can be a clueless cat sometimes) asked Mark why his wife left him. I covered it quickly by proposing a toast to Bridget, "Who can't cook, but who we love just as she is." Aww, warm fuzzies all around. I'll admit it--I'm a sentimental pouf.

That sort of defused things, then there was a knock at the door. Jude ran down to answer it, and what does she bring back up but a blasting cap. Daniel Cleaver--Bridget's blue-eyed, devastatingly sexy, charming, cheating cad of an ex-boss/ex-lover--the one who shared a mutual, mysterious antagonism with Mark Darcy that seemed connected to Darcy's ex-wife, and why she became his ex-wife.

Cleaver was very rumpled and very drunk. I recognized the persona immediately--adorable, lost, helpless puppy. My last boyfriend used it a lot, but he was never as good at it as Daniel. His voice was humbly apologetic. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

God, have you ever felt the warmth just get sucked out of a room? I looked over at Mark Darcy, and he was the Ice Prince. Daniel noticed him and the tension in the room rose. Tom to the rescue again. I held out my hand to Daniel. "Hi! I'm Tom."

"Pleased to meet you." He shook, then turned back to Bridget. "I, um, thought you'd be on your own. Silly me. I feel like an idiot. Darcy, what are you doing here?"

Bridget proved that she does have a few working brain cells by hustling him out of the room. They weren't working too hard, though, because we could still hear them clearly.

God, he was so sweetly bumbling and pathetic. I mean, it was fucking transparent, but it was cute. He went on about how he was going crazy, how Bridget was all he could think of, how things had been going too fast after that weekend in the country and he'd panicked, but she was the only one who could save him. If she didn't save him he'd end up twenty years down the line in a seedy bar with a seedy blonde. (Actually, I could picture that, but I rather saw the seedy blonde as an older Backstreet Boy).

I glanced at Mark Darcy. Oo, glower, glower. What can I say? Brooding does it for me.

Cleaver even played the trump card. He claimed that when she came on the telly he closed his eyes and listened to what she had to say instead of staring at her bum in her short skirt. Mark couldn't handle the bullshit anymore. He got up, put on his jacket, and walked out to them. "I'd better be going."

Shameless time--Shazzer, Jude and I snuck over to the door. Daniel was an artist at rubbing salt in the wound. "Oh, don't go on my part." He put an arm around Bridget. "Stay and have a drink."

Mark gave him a look and went downstairs. Bridget said, "Why are you here?"

"I told you, love. The question is why was Mark 'Wanker' Darcy here and oh, my God, he's back."

And so he was. He could move quite quietly for such a tall man. "Okay, outside."

"Outside?" Daniel smiled in disbelief. "What? Should I bring my dueling pistols or sword?" Mark just glared at him, turned, and went downstairs.

Well, I mean! A fight!

*squeal!*

We hurried after them. They were facing each other in the middle of the street as we came out. Mark was saying, "I should have done this years ago."

Daniel smirked. "Done what?"

"This." *Smack!*

Oh, darling! Such a lovely, swooping right, and it caught Daniel flush on the left cheekbone. Daniel staggered back, clutching his hands over his face. "Fuck me, that hurt!" His voice was muffled. "What the fuck did you do?"

"This." *Bang!* Another right, landing exactly where the first one had.

I couldn't contain myself any longer. I flew across the street to the Greek restaurant. I threw open the French doors that let onto the sidewalk, breathless with excitement. "Fight! Fight!" The room's occupants stared back at me. Forks full of moussaka, humis, and baklava paused halfway to parted lips. Several perfectly stunning dark-haired, olive-skinned waiters blinked black, liquid eyes at me. I elaborated, "Well, quick! It's a real fight!" Aparantly the Greeks consider street fights to be great entertainment. All the waiters and a number of the patrons piled out after me.

By that time Daniel Cleaver (who'd been knocked on his pert little bum) was sitting up. Mark Darcy, breathing heavily, demanded, "Get up!" Daniel, one hand still over his face, gestured at him as if waving him off. "Get up!" Mark repeated. When Daniel waved again he said, "Do you give up?"

"Give me a minute." Daniel was pushing himself up, bracing against a car. Mark turned away, as if disgusted, and oh, my dear! You never saw such a quick recovery. Daniel sprang at Mark, leaping half on his back, and they started twisting and grappling, sort of wrestling upright. I'm positive I saw at least one ass grab in there. *growl* Give a man ideas, why don't you?

They broke apart and kicked at each other, like the world's whitest, clumsiest martial artists. Nothing landed. I scampered across to where Bridget, Jude, and Shazzer were watching the action.

Jude looked at me accusingly and said, "Oh, Tom, you're not enjoying this?"

I shrugged. "Darling, you know how many times I saw Gladiator. Who are we for?"

"Mark, of course," said Shazzer. "After all, he never left Bridget for a naked American woman."

Jude piped up, "And he likes Bridget just as she is."

Bridget said glumly, "But he also shagged his best friend's fiancee and got her to leave him. Poor Daniel."

I was puzzled. "Was it Mark who did that? I thought it was Daniel...? Oh, well, it's a good point. This is a hard one to call."

Mark had gotten hold of Daniel's hair and was dragging him backward. Daniel managed to twist *oo, that must have hurt*, grabbed him, and they lunged through the doors I'd left open, into the restaurant.

Quick stampede over to the restaurant.

They thrashed about under the astonished eyes of the patrons. When they broke apart, Daniel landed on one table, and Mark landed on another. They both politely apologized to the startled diners before heaving themselves up to return to the fray.

Daniel, obviously hoping an audience would cool things down, panted, "Well? Had enough, Darcy?"

"Not quite." *Bam!* The man had a masterful turn of a terse phrase.

Daniel fell back against the wall. "Bloody hell! I think you broke my jaw."

"Happy bir-ta-day to you..." A cook, complete with toque, was bringing in a huge birthday cake, done as a representation of the Acropolis or the Parthenon, or some such antiquity, surrounded by lit candles. The cook took in the scene, his voice dying away uncertainly.

There's a certain type of Englishman who can carry on, no matter what. Mark Darcy started singing, "Happy birthday to you..." The rest of the patrons took it up, and we all finished the song as the cook set the cake before a beaming boy of about fourteen or fifteen. I bet this was the most action that poppet sees till he gets into his first set of knickers. We all applauded as he blew out the candles.

Then Daniel tackled Mark, throwing them both through a window and out into the street in a shower of broken glass. When we dashed back into the street they were still struggling weakly. Daniel had his hands in Mark's thick, curly hair and was bouncing his head off the cement. "Wanker!"

Mark rolled, getting Daniel under him. Daniel kept pulling Mark's hair, dragging his head back. Mark growled, "Why? Why, you fucker?" *Good God--Mark Darcy, cursing?* "Why'd you do it with Tamiko? Why'd you screw her and lure her away from me?"

I looked at Shazzar and Jude. "Ah, Mark cuckoldee, Daniel cuckolder."

Daniel growled, "God! Because you were willing to hitch yourself to that twit just because your parents expected you to get married."

They rolled again. By this time they were off the broken glass. At least they should be a little more comfortable. Daniel was on top again, (and don't you just love lines like that?).

Mark gasped, "How could you do that to me?"

"How the fuck could you do that to me? After all... after all..." His voice died. They stared at each other silently.

Then Daniel kissed Mark--hard.

Shazzar, Jude, and Bridget, the waiters, the patrons--they all gasped. I screamed.

I screamed again when Mark wrapped his arms around Daniel's neck, strained up, and kissed him back--hard.

With tongue.

Squeal!

By the time they parted the street had gotten very quiet, so it was easy to hear Mark. "That really hurt, Danny. Couldn't you have just told me how upset you were?"

"I tried, you wanker."

Mark's voice was suddenly purring. "Oh, so you do remember."

Do you know--he wrapped his legs around Daniel? Bridget watched, open mouthed, as her crush rubbed his (may I be permitted to say 'nicely packed') crotch against her ex-lover/ex-boss.

Said ex-lover/ex-boss groaned, "Fucking tease. That's right, wait for a bleeding audience." He nipped at Mark's lips.

"There's a hotel two blocks over."

"That's one thing I've always loved about you, Darcy--you think fast." They scrambled to theeir feet, helping each other up. "Like the time that housemaster at Cambridge found our stash of Hot Buns magazines and you convinced him they were research material for a social science class."

"Yes, well, you were the one who got him to believe that the pages were sticking together because you'd spilled a milkshake on them instead of..."

"Hello, company." Daniel pointed at us.

"Oh, yes. Um..." *harrumph* Mark limped over, straightening his tie. It was a bit futile, I thought, since one of his jacket's sleeves had been half ripped off. "Sorry about brawling on your birthday, Bridget."

"Yes, sorry," added Daniel. He was standing very close to Mark. In fact, I think the two of them were sharing one unit of 'personal space'.

Bridget looked a bit stunned. "Yes. Well..." She shook her head, as if to clear it. "So. You've settled it, then?"

The two men made significant eye contact. Mark said, "Not quite."

"No," agreed Daniel. "We still have to make up and I'm afraid that may take some time."

Mark's eyes were smoky as he looked at him. "Hours."

Daniel smiled slowly. "Possibly all night."

"Oh, I'd say that's a distinct possibility." Mark jerked his head in the direction of the corner. "Come on. Bridget, I'll... uh... I'll call. Yes, I'll call." He took a firm grip on Daniel Cleaver's arm and started marching him away.

Daniel called back over his shoulder. "Happy birthday, Bridget. You throw a lovely party." Just before they rounded the corner I saw him slide his hand down the back of Darcy's pants.

Shazzar and Jude started petting Bridget and cooing to her, reassuring her of her goodness, her worth as a person in general and a woman in particular, and how well off she was without both of them. I joined in the petting, but all I managed was a tiny sob.

"Oh, Tom," Bridget embraced me. "It's okay, love. Gloria Gaynor, I will survive, and all that."

"I know, dear." I gazed off toward where that beautiful couple had just disappeared. "But I can't help it." I sniffed, then wailed, "I love a happy ending!"