TITLE: Not Heaven Sent
AUTHOR: Demon Faith
CATEGORY: Songfic, Amy POV
SPOILERS: Season 3 up to and including Night Five.
RATING: PG-13
WARNINGS: Amy’s human. <runs screaming>
SUMMARY: ‘What am I doing? This isn’t me.’
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own anyone. :’( Mr Sorkin et al own The West Wing. Ms Britney Spears owns ‘Oops I did it again.’
AUTHOR’S NOTES: I actually don’t like Amy. I saw her, and had a great desire to hit the mute button. However, plot bunnies tend to attack me at odd moments, and my darling friend Mel (yeah, this is also your fault) said how she wished someone would write Amy as a decent person. Yeah, that stuck, unfortunately.
A big ‘thank you’ to Jeanine, for putting up with me at Wolf SG5 when I proclaimed this song was perfect for Josh/Amy. Her look of horror was priceless! Love you, hon!
Damn.
This has gone too far, way, way too far. What am I doing? This isn’t me.
It was bad enough *thinking* about it. Actually, dating the stupid, annoying man was not in my plans.
Damn.
I tend to do this. I have a passing interest in some guy, and then it all gets blown out of proportion, and between telling him to shut up and dating another guy, we fall into bed a few times. Yeah, that’s life, huh?
It started with laws. And politics. Most things start that way. For me, anyhow. He came to see me about the thing. The forced prostitution thing. And he half-listened, and then he went away, and I thought that it was nice that I had seen him again. No, nice is the wrong word. Try ‘terrible, despicable and disappointing.’
He wasn’t particularly geeky anymore. That was interesting. He was all ego. But that was Washington, so that was ok. Then, later, he came over to tell me nothing at all, and between politics and more politics, we talked about balloon animals and whether he was dating his assistant. The way his grin faded, the way his answer came slightly too quickly – that said a lot.
And then I threw a balloon at him. I realised what I’d done later, how stupid I had been. The way his assistant – Donna, I think – glared at me when we met, and later, quietly, had asked me never to throw things at him again. I listened, because she’s known him a lot longer than I have. I think we did some bonding – between the glaring and accusing, just a little bonding.
Not that I need to continue this thing with J, because he’s wrong for me, and cos he likes his assistant, and cos these things never turn out well. But, he has these dimples, and this smile – and you wonder ‘maybe this is a good thing.’ If you loved him, you would think that. But I don’t love him, so that’s okay. I like him a lot, he’s nice, and he has the most amazing hands…but, love? I, Amy Gardner, don’t do love.
I like the chase – the elusive playing around, never letting him know who won that round or where he stands. I adore the game. And, then, when he starts caring too much, when there’s that stupid puppy look in his eyes – then, I back off, full reverse, I do, really. ‘Cept, not this time. This time, I stayed for the ride, and I think he thinks this is big. It’s not. This is the game still – a huge political game, except people are going to get hurt. Maybe. I don’t want that to happen, but it will.
I’m not who he thinks I am. He thinks because Donna – Donnatella, he calls her. She doesn’t like it, but doesn’t tell him. I would tell him – and him banter up and down the corridors all day long, we’ll do the same. We don’t. I’m not Donna. I can’t listen long enough to be Donna. He’s halfway through his point, and I’m jumping on the words to undermine him. Everything about us is a political argument, a score that’s being kept, a tally of points against each other. Most of the time, I hate him. Most of the time, he ignores me. He gets his Donna to call, and say he can’t make it. He’s a coward. I’m dating a weak man – this is familiar territory.
I long ago gave up on finding a white knight – they don’t exist, it’s pointless wishing that they did. I still keep comparing every man I meet with the image of The Guy. J is not The Guy – he isn’t even close. He has an overwhelming attitude problem, he doesn’t listen and he has an unhealthy attraction to someone else. Cinderella never had these problems. I’m a fool to think myself Cinderella – if my Fairy Godmother dropped by, I’d ask to be made the first female President – stuff Prince Charming.
Still, I find myself crying sometimes, thinking that it would be nice to be like ordinary women. To not have a political agenda, to not have to worry that your boyfriend is using you for his own ends, to not have to have this pointed out to you by an infuriating man to whom you have a passing attraction. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? My life isn’t nice. And the man I had a passing attraction to is now frequenting my apartment for casual sex with a titled attachment. Ok, that’s not how this story goes.
The political woman is single, untouchable and does not sleep with any man in the White House. It is bad for her career, it’s just asking for trouble – CJ Cregg realised that, and she is still a highly respected individual. I am already getting whispers on the Hill. Political women do everything in their power to avoid appearing subject to a man – and J is a subjugating man. He can’t help it, poor deluded creature; he’s just been brought up to believe he is All Powerful and All Knowing – he needs beating around the head, a role I am quite happy to fulfil.
So, I’m sleeping with Josh Lyman, legend in his own mind. I am ruining my career, I am ignoring everything I have conditioned myself to feel and I am earning the hatred of J’s precious Donnatella. Not that I would usually mind irritating The Other Woman – this is part of the game, after all – but she is a sensible feminist, who is an integral part of J’s life and clearly has the home advantage. She is not a woman to be crossed – friends in high places, acquaintance of the First Lady and cohort of the White House Press Secretary.
So, really, you have to ask: why am I doing this? Why do I lose all my sensibilities over a big brown-eyed egotistical chauvinistic pig? Why am I aggravating my fellow feminists?
The truth is: I don’t know.
Damn.
I think I did it again
I made you believe we’re more than just friends
Oh baby, it might seem like a crush
But it doesn’t mean that I’m serious
Cos to lose all my senses
That is just so typically me
Ooh, baby, baby
Oops I did it again
I played with your heart
Got lost in the game
Ooh, baby, baby,
Oops, you think I’m in love
That I’m sent from above
I’m not that innocent.
You see my problem it this
I’m dreaming away, wishing that heroes they truly exist
I cry watching the days
But you see, I’m a fool in so many ways
But to lose all my senses
That is just so typically me
Baby, oh,
Oops I did it again
I played with your heart
Got lost in the game
Ooh, baby, baby,
Oops, you think I’m in love
That I’m sent from above
I’m not that innocent.
Oops I did it again to you heart
Got lost in this game, oh baby
Oops you think I’m sent from above
I’m not that innocent