Title: Our Two Consciences:Filibusters, Falls, and Feline Avengers
Author: Michelle H.
Category: General J/D
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own. No profit.
Thanks: Laurel again. ?
Feedback: Yes please, michelle@propertykey.com
Notes: Corresponds to Laurel's Bast, a Bowler, and Bucking for a
Promotion. Post Stackhouse Filibuster.

I've said it before; hiring Donnatella Moss was the smartest thing I've
ever done. And it was. And now I'm sure.

Donnatella Moss is amazing.

She was the one who thought to discover that Senator Stackhouse had an
autistic grandson, and she remembered that Stackhouse could yield to a
question without giving up the floor. My assistant saved the day.

I'm so proud.

How did she get to be so smart? It's hard to believe it was solely
From listening to me, because I'm convinced she doesn't hear a word I
say most of the time. And yet, she told the President that I told her
the rules of a filibuster. So technically, all praise and thanksgiving
should go to me.

But I can't believe she remembered.

I am my father's son. I remember my father always explained things to
My mother so patiently. My mother is, of course, exceedingly bright,
and my father loved providing her with odd and obscure facts. He told
me once, when I was older, that the look of discovery in her eyes as she
realized something new was the most beautiful thing in the world.

My mother loved to hear my father rattle off arcane trivia and explain
Why things work and the origins of things. And my mother, being, of
course, exceedingly bright, was a fountain of knowledge in her own

Their beloved information exchanges were the basis of their entire
relationship. They were teacher and student, and the roles flip-flopped
and reversed and changed with each new day or topic or mood.

Their relationship fascinates me, even now. I hope someday I'll find
someone as wonderful as my mother; someone who's brilliant, and
listens, and is even a connoisseur of quality footwear. Because I've
gotta say, despite the slippery soles, these are some stylin' shoes.

But I digress. Back to Donna. She's been doing a fabulous job. She's
really made an impact around here lately. She deserves a raise. She
deserves more than a raise; she deserves a promotion. Absolutely. A


If she got a promotion, she wouldn't be my assistant anymore.

Okay, so ix-nay on the promotion. Definitely a raise, though.

Even my mother thinks I don't pay her enough.

My mother says Donna is a very nice young woman.

She obviously doesn't know her very well, because while Donna can be
perfectly nice, she can also be--well, less than nice.

Words cannot express how thankful I am that Donna wasn't there when I
Wiped out on the hill in my new shoes. I would hear about that for the
rest of my natural life, which surely wouldn't be long, because the
embarrassment would eventually kill me.

Donna would definitely have laughed at me.

And that wouldn't be nice.

So I'm sitting here, writing a letter to my mother, who I've
established is a wonderful woman. Donna, who proved today beyond the
shadow of a doubt that she, too, is wonderful, is sharing a beer with me
and telling me all the things she learned while researching Bast, the
ancient Egyptian cat goddess, on the internet.

"Bast was often portrayed as either a sitting cat or a cat-headed
goddess. In the latter portrayal, she held either a sistrum, an ankh,
or a papyrus wand in her hand," she says.

"You mean paw," I say. But I'm not really listening.

"Josh, pay attention," she admonishes. "Bast holds those things when
she's in her cat-headed goddess aspect. Goddesses have hands, Josh.
She was known as the protector of the Pharaoh and as an avenger," she
says. She takes a swig of beer.

"A what?"

She snorts again. "An avenger, Josh."

I can't help it. I mean, I know I sometimes think of myself as an
avenger, but I just can't help it.

"Is that anything like a Caped Crusader?" I giggle, thinking about a
cat in a super hero costume. It's just a funny mental image. Really.

Okay. I'll shut up now.

Donna rolls her eyes at me, but decides to play along. "No, Josh, it's
more like Steed and Mrs. Peel."

Well, she's got me there.

"Hand over the beer, Donna."

"Bast is connected with music, sensuality, fertility, ecstasy, the
arts, the moon, and hemp," she says, handing me the bottle.

"Hemp?" I raise my eyebrows at her.

"Hemp," she says. "Her worship began around 3200 BCE, Josh."

"Fascinating," I say. I'm bored, and I could really care less.

Thankfully, the phone rings and puts me out of my misery. It's Leo.
He needs to talk to all of us for a minute, and then we can head home.

"Mrs. Peel, we're needed," I tell Donna.

She raises an eyebrow. "If you think I'm going to call you Steed,
you're out of your mind," she says.


So Donna and I head out into the hallway, running into CJ and Carol in
The process.

"Hey, CJ," I say. "Did you know that people started worshipping Bast
around 3200 BCE?" I smirk at her.

CJ glares at me. "Shut up."

I look at Donna out of the corner of my eye. She's smiling a little

See? I do listen.



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