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Proud To Be Rose-Free
Rating: I'm thinkin' G-ish…
Written: July '99
Category: Romantic comedy
Disclaimer: If they were mine, this wouldn't be a *fan*fic.
Summary: For the most part, a cliché-less monologue.
Author's note: This is just a way of looking at our dear Jesse a little bit differently. For me, at least. It's kind of a parody of Rocketshippy fics. To my fellow 'Shippers and romantic J&J authors out there: Please don't feel insulted by any of this!
Feedback: Allicatt3@aol.com is my email addy. You can type, can't you? Then type up an email for me! ^_^
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Proud To Be Rose-Free
by Rocket Jesse
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I am in love with my partner.
That's new for me.
Just realized it today.
Well, I guess I always knew I had a larger-than-life crush on him. I just thought it was a lack-of-another-male-as-a-teenage-girl type thing and that if I spent enough time with him, it'd wear off. Then we could be plain old best friends again.
But it's not like it was love at first sight, you know. That would be cheap. People who think that actually happens have another thing coming.
I've been in love for a while, I think. I'm not sure how long, and even though it hasn't been forever, I have to say-- when I first met him, his awkward developing voice struck a chord with me. I heard that before I actually saw his face. And I'll bet that if I'd seen him without listening to him speak, I wouldn't have been one hundred percent positive on that gender.
There was really nothing wrong with his physical appearance, but it *did* take a while to grow on me. Once it did, it wasn't like I'd start drooling over him whenever he walked into a room. I have more control over myself than that.
His *voice,* on the other hand…
No. I won't go into that now.
Anyway, when I recognized the depth of the feelings I've got for the guy, it had absolutely nothing to do with his rose.
No, it was *not* when we were in the depths of a vicious argument and became lost in each other's eyes, all our defenses suddenly melting away like butter.
He certainly didn't do anything unusually chivalrous for me. Come on. This is *my partner* we're talking about, here.
It wasn't in a life or death situation. Not that we could actually die, anyway. We're immortal.
I most obviously did not come up with this fate-deciding love knowledge over a romantic candle-lit dinner. Yeah, right, like that nosy cat would ever leave us alone for that long.
Wasn't after a humiliating moment that left me wallowing in self-pity. I, ladies and gents, do *not* wallow in self-pity. There's not a single thing wrong with me, and perfect people have nothing to wallow about.
Unless I run out of lipstick…
But that's a different story.
It didn't pop into my head as he swooned over another woman.
Not that that's even *remotely* possible-- who's the most gorgeous one on the planet, here?
When he got jealous of *me* admiring somebody else? Nope. Haven't you noticed before? He does that all the time.
And he never directly complimented me in anything resembling a romantic manner, so scratch that.
No, not when we both by chance reached for the same bottle of extra-strong hair gel at the same time so that his hand tenderly covered mine.
*That* happens every morning!
I wouldn't sink so low as to "accidentally" trip and fall into his arms so I could feel his heart beating just beneath my ear. Usually.
It was *not* when we rented an exceedingly romantic movie and paralleled it with our own relationship. He'd get sappy and cry at all the sad parts. Quite sensitive for a guy, I know.
I already said this, but I can't stress it enough: The rose did not have the slightest thing to do with it.
So, what exactly triggered my heart, here? It's pretty insignificant, but by now, that's probably not the least bit surprising.
He was having one of his daily food-spazzes this evening at dinner; shoveling everything down and barely stopping long enough to breathe. I said to myself, 'I really hate that habit.'
Before I knew it, my lips were opening to tell him so and to start eating like a gentleman.
I clamped my mouth shut, though, because *that's* when I figured it out: I wanted to change him. And I was about to do it in a non-violent way, nonetheless. Can you believe it? *That* shut me up for the rest of the meal.
Though when this all fell into place for me, I didn't excuse myself to go take a swim so I could think about it, hoping James might follow me and his eyes would bug out at the mere sight of me in one of my many skimpy bikinis.
I did *not* blush uncontrollably and suddenly become unable to talk without stuttering. You know me better than that-- I'm always acting like a first class lady.
And my tea stayed right where it was supposed to; that means it did *not* come spewing out of my nose.
No way you'd catch me suddenly flirting with him like there was no tomorrow. That would be so… Cassidy.
Yuck.
I hadn't the guts to proclaim my love for him over the radio.
I didn't bring him to a secluded spot on a hill to watch the most beautiful sunset I'd ever been witness to and live out the ending of one of those cheesy romantic movies we might have rented earlier.
Nothing at all took place that involved gazing into one another's eyes and just knowing we both felt *exactly* the same way.
Even *I* wouldn't ever take an Oreo and place it on his tongue. A cherry? Maybe. But we didn't have any.
No, of *course* I didn't grab him and start kissing him madly.
No romantic music was played.
I'd never do something so cowardly and mainstream as quietly, shyly asking him if he'd go out with me.
Didn't start dropping hints.
(Or tolerance.)
A love poem was out of the question; same thing went for songs.
Acting like a love struck fool is just not *me.*
Either is carving our names into a tree.
And, once again, I must make it totally clear that the rose had *no* part in this.
Now, I have to admit-- even somebody as graceful as myself tends to get nervous from time to time.
This was definitely one of those times.
But when it comes to outer beauty, I can pull anything off, and that includes a calm exterior. Don't believe me? Well, since I can't whack you from here, I'll tell you this: I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror after dinner until I was absolutely confident that I looked just as dashing as ever.
He was sitting on the couch in our sorry excuse for a bedroom, living room, kitchen, and dining room in one.
Thank *God* the bathrooms in these Rocket cabins are separate from everything else.
No, he did *not* have a rose in his hands. Neither did I.
I'd timed this so the shortest member of our team was off on his regular nightly jog. I honestly don't know why he does that; at night, no less. I mean, he's lazy. Always making my partner and me do the hard work so he doesn't get his snooty little paws dirty…
If this were a fictional story, I'd think the author had him out running just to use his absence as a tacky plot device to get me and you-know-who alone together.
But that's silly-- we're talking real life, here.
Anyhow, it was pretty simple. I waltzed over to the sofa and sat next to him, grabbing the remote from his hands.
Gently.
Well, okay, so not *that* gently…
I flicked The Monkees off, and he gave me his full attention, intelligently deciding not to complain about missing his show.
Taking a deep breath, I made sure to keep this from ballooning into a more important event than it already was. "I… love you, James."
His face lit up like a Christmas tree. Who's wouldn't after hearing that from *moi?*
The inevitable followed: A nice ambrosial kiss.
No, my life didn't flash before my eyes. I wasn't dying, people.
Nor did I jump out of my skin from the sheer thrill of the moment.
And the rose still had *nothing* to do with anything.
We just kissed, and, after a while, the cat returned. Then we went to bed.
What I'm going to tell you next is *really* cute, and if it wasn't, I would've stopped talking a few lines ago. But my partner was pretending to be sleeping. I know this because when he actually *is* sleeping, he inhales a lot less frequently than once every two seconds.
As you may know, our makeshift beds are always right next to each other.
Well, he did this *adorable* little thing where he rolled over in his "sleep" and slung his arms around me.
Isn't that just precious? You *know* it must be if *I* think so.
So here I am, still awake but ready to fall asleep, laying in his arms and…
And trying not to finger the rose in his hand.
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