Title: A Day in the Life of the Mediator
Author: Laure, said Mediator
Rating: SIC (self indulgent crap) and Msism (Mary Sueism)
Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Poor, very poor. Xani thinks I own him now, but I don't.
Timeline: Do these fit into HSU or do they have a separate category? If in, after everything.

For me, Sundays are lazy days. For some reason the crises of the previous week rarely spill over to the next, and new ones don't seem to start until Monday. Occasionally I have an emergency appointment, usually Cal--the poor boy really needs professional help. But, usually I can just relax.

This Sunday I awaken to the sound of gentle rain. My thoughts immediately fly to the drooping, half burned tents on the rugby field and a certain egotistical emperor.

Is he in one of those soggy tents, cold and uncomfortable? Or has he found another bed? He's insane, but he's also gorgeous, and here, insanity is often a plus with the Ho's.

Shaking off the unwanted thoughts, I force my mind away from him, and snuggle into the back of my other EA, my arm wrapping around his slender waist. Xani mumbles something in his sleep and burrows his face into the pillow.

He's handsome and he's a damn good lover, but he's not...

No, no more of this. I'm still mad.

Time to wake Xani up and forget that other one for a while.

*****

For me, Sunday breakfasts have become a habit of hearty brunches of anything I want--smoked salmon quiche, bagels and creamed cheese, sausage, bacon, eggs benedict--served in my bed. Quintus used to bring in the trays, but now I've had to bribe Cal with another appointment to get him to do it.

The boy turns bright red at the sight of Xani.

I roll my eyes and take the tray. Xani and I are both dressed in silk p.j.s and robes--perfectly decent.

Cal's a twit.

Xani and I watch the football pregame shows while feeding each other and drinking hot, sweet coffee.

We don't talk much. Now that the bantering and sexual teasing are unnecessary, there's really not much to talk about. It's...different.

Better. It's better. Better than prattling on about every little thing on the tv, the quality of the food, the plans for the day.

After Brunch, I boot Xani out--well, I politely ask him to vacate while I have my daily meeting with the General. It's the only thing that Xani complains about. He really does despise Obi-Wan.

Tough.

If it wasn't raining, the General and I would be on the golf course, but, since it is, we'll spend the couple hours in bed watching football and...other things.

He's never actually been in my bedroom. There was always someone else here.

I change the sheets and take a shower.

*****

The Chiefs lose. Sadly, this is not a surprise. Happily they get behind so early on that the General and I get distracted by other, more interesting things.

He says he likes my style of furnishings, and the tasteful pre- Raphaellite prints. I can't meet his eyes when he wistfully mentions that he would have liked to see my room sooner.

I know full well that he knows everything that goes on here--both on campus and in my bed. I also think he tends to put it so far out of his mind that, at most times, he truly doesn't remember or think about it.

Did I hurt him when I took up with Xani?

I hope not.

*****

After the game--and after the General has gone off to meet Judy for "inventory"--I pull on a comfortable sweatshirt and old jeans and enter my office. I'm always behind on my paperwork. Maybe if I actually worked eight hours a day, I'd stay current, but there are so many more interesting things to do around here in between appointments--both mediatorial and General.

Shopping with Shana, chatting with Giles over my journals, bugging the Nurse, tea with Dande, golf with whomever I can get my hands on, instructing my Padawan, breaking in my new EA...

Paperwork is exceedingly dull, but a necessary evil. On the surface it appears that none of the administrators actually work, but we do and we do our jobs well. We also teach all the classes--and there are actually classes.

It keeps us busy, but it doesn't keep us out of trouble.

Sitting down behind my new desk, in my newly repainted and recarpeted office, I pick up Cal's file, nearly spraining my wrist in doing so.

The boy really needs professional help.

*****

Three hours later, it's dinner time. On Sundays, the chef only cooks brunch, so we're on our own for the rest of our meals. Most of the time, we administrators fix our own meals anyway or get bar food, rather than go over to the Dorm--though the food there is excellent.

I'm hoping we can trade in Emeril for Jamie of Naked Chef fame, though.

I vaguely recall leaving some leftover sesame chicken in the fridge, but I'm really not surprised that it's missing. I mutter something obscene about putting alarms on my leftovers, then head for the phone.

Pizza ordered, I dismiss the thought of calories, figuring I'll work it off later if I can dig up my EA, and walk down the hall to the pub.

Judy's looking happy. Inventory with the General must have gone well. Ordering a diet coke--the calories in the pizza will be wiped out by the zero calories in the drink, of course--I grab the comics and sport section from the Sunday paper and curl up in a corner booth, tuning out the conversations of the scattered gladiators and the few Ho's.

I smell the pizza before I see the delivery boy. Smiling, my stomach rumbling, I look up...

And frown as my pulse leaps.

He looks so handsome, even bedraggled, his laurel wreath drooping over one smoky, sorrow-filled eye.

I tell him to go away.

He lowers the pizza to the table, then drops to one knee, reaching for my hand.

Silence falls over the room, everyone metaphorically holding their breath.

He begs my forgiveness.

But, I can't. I'm not ready. I don't forgive as easily as the Dean. I can't do this anymore, live this bizarre, one-sided relationship. I'm not his mother and I'm certainly not his sister.

Tears burn my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Yanking my hand free, I grab the pizza box and push my way past him, nearly running out of the pub to the sound of him calling my name.

The strength and the need in his voice isn't real. He's whining. He always whines. I have to believe that.

*****

And so evening find me curled up on my bed, apathetically munching on cold pizza, watching a really bad rerun of the XFiles. Xani's nowhere in sight--probably off either mooning over Dor, boinking Pelham, or pestering Emmy. Hell, knowing Xani, he's doing all three.

I could probably get an emergency appointment with the General, but he doesn't need me transferring this mess with my EA to him, even though he does have those really lovely broad shoulders to cry on.

I would just feel too guilty. When I'm with the General, I want to be only with him, and not be thinking about another man.

*****

Xani finally strolls in around midnight, smelling of lavender water-- luckily I have absolutely no problem with him doing anyone else, male, female, ewok...okay, I might have a problem with him boinking an ewok.

He makes some crack about seeing the mopey Roman emperor at a lonely campfire, mumbling my name into his ale and eating a half- thawed tv dinner.

I throw the pizza box at him.

He finds that a turn on.

I lock myself in the bathroom.

For the most part--outside of the highlight of the General and I being in my own bed for the first time--today just flew down hill into the pit of suckidom.

And tomorrow's Monday.

Yuck.

End