Rowing in Eden (3/3)
Mar. 6th, 2010 09:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dipenatesTitle: Rowing in Eden
Fandom: West Wing/Sports Night
Rating: PG-13
Icon: by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dreadnought
Word Count: ~1000
Characters: Amy Gardner/Dan Rydell, and Dana Whitaker
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: When Josh screws Amy over Dana (and Dan) are there to console her with cocktails (and kissing)
Warning: Nothing.
Author's note: Written forhihoplastic for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
purimgifts.
“Dana Whitaker.”
“It’s me.”
“Amy? What’s wrong?”
Amy drew a shuddering breath. “I don’t really know where to start.”
“Hold on.” Dana got up and closed the door to her office. “Okay. What’s up?”
“I’m resigning on Monday.”
“Oh, God. What happened?”
“You remember that I was telling you about the work I was doing on the welfare bill?”
“Sure.” There was something comforting in hearing about somebody else’s world of internecine power-struggles and backstabbing. Even if professional politics had nothing on television.
“It was Josh’s bill.” She laughed, as if she didn’t think it was funny. “Well, they’re all kind of Josh’s bills. But we were on different sides of the fence.”
“Okay.”
“Team Josh won by bribing my boss. I’m out of a job.”
“Josh lost you your job?”
“Yeah.” Amy started to sniffle. “I guess I’ve lost that, too.”
“Amy, I’m so sorry.”
Amy snorted. “I’m not crying because I’m heartbroken. I’m crying because I’m so fucking angry. He could have got the votes without selling out women, but he’d rather play politics than get things done. We had a pretty good thing, but he’s pissed all over it.”
Dana swung her feet up on to her desk. “If you’re resigning on Monday then come to New York. Get outside the Beltway. Drink some cocktails and do a little dancing.”
“Maybe.” Amy sounded unsure.
“What else are you going to do? Sit inside your apartment, reading the Post and trying to resist the temptation to reply to some bitchy little tryhard politics blogger?” Dana dropped her feet to the floor. “You’re not thinking about doing the Sundays are you?”
“No,” Amy said, firmly. “When I’m reading to push the button on my whole career, I promise that you’ll be the first to know.”
“So come.”
***
“And this is the control room.” Natalie waved her arm at the banks of seats and desks.
Amy smiled, politely, and Dana squeezed her arm. An I know you’ve been in a million TV studios squeeze.
It was surreal being in the Sports Night studio. To see Dan Rydell and Casey McCall, whom she’d spent hours watching in bed with Josh. Or, rather, spent hours writing briefs and emails in bed with Josh, while Josh wrote memos and emails, and watched TV, all at the same time.
Her first thought had been that, if Dana didn’t want him, Casey McCall would be perfect for CJ. Then she remembered, in a moment that stung, that CJ was on Team Josh and so wouldn’t be speaking to her for a very long time. Or what passed for a long time in politics.
(Sometimes it seemed like Josh liked having all of these women orbiting him like planets. She’d never really known Mandy Hampton, or CJ, or even Donna. And how had that happened, that all these brilliant Democrat women would remain mysterious to one another?)
Her second thought had been that Dan Rydell had the most melancholy eyes she’d seen on anyone that wasn’t Josh. (Or Toby, but, with the greatest of respect to Andi, he fell into a different category altogether.)
***
They’d gone out, all of them, to some local bar. Amy ate a steak and a whole plate of fixings, and Dan raised his eyebrows in approval. Amy had drunk enough Grey Goose that she forgot to think Danny was an asshole for wanting women to eat like Vikings and be whip thin, and found herself smiling into his face with her hand on his knee.
Dana squeezed her arm. A go for it, kiddo squeeze.
***
Dana had told her a lot about Dan, but she couldn’t tell her this. That Dan would sit in his chair in her hotel room, rolling his whisky glass around his palm, until she started unbuttoning her own damn shirt, looking for all the world like he was delighted with her company and didn’t need skin to make the evening perfect.
That once she’d made a start, he would slide her out of her clothes with practiced fingers, and look at her like she was beautiful, and not like her legs were too skinny or her stomach too round.
That he’d know where to touch her, and how much pressure to use, but wouldn’t act like he was following some routine he’d memorised in high school.
That his neck would smell of her childhood teddy bear, and his mouth would taste of salt and cigars, and that he’d smile when she came like she’d given him a gift.
That she would gasp when he slid inside her, and he would search her face for permission to continue, and it would make her feel like captain of her own ship, and mistress of her own fortune.
That almost nothing (apart from the preceding half hour) would feel nicer than lying in bed with him, tangled up in the sheets.
That in the morning he would make her bad in-room coffee, and leave her with a smile.
***
“So, you had a nice evening?” There was a hint of mockery in Dana’s smile, as she forked waffles into her mouth.
Amy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “If the sports thing doesn’t work out, I think he could marry very well.”
Dana laughed. “He’s a great guy.” She signalled for more coffee.
Amy smiled. “Thanks for this weekend. I didn’t realise how much I needed this.”
“No problem.” Dana touched her hand. “I’m so glad that we met at LAX. It’s hard to make friends when your work life is all about winning. It’s nice to have someone that isn’t about that.”
Amy raised her coffee cup in salute. “To friends.”
Dana clinked her cup against Amy’s. “To friends.”
Fandom: West Wing/Sports Night
Rating: PG-13
Icon: by
dreadnought Word Count: ~1000
Characters: Amy Gardner/Dan Rydell, and Dana Whitaker
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: When Josh screws Amy over Dana (and Dan) are there to console her with cocktails (and kissing)
Warning: Nothing.
Author's note: Written for
hihoplastic for purimgifts.“Dana Whitaker.”
“It’s me.”
“Amy? What’s wrong?”
Amy drew a shuddering breath. “I don’t really know where to start.”
“Hold on.” Dana got up and closed the door to her office. “Okay. What’s up?”
“I’m resigning on Monday.”
“Oh, God. What happened?”
“You remember that I was telling you about the work I was doing on the welfare bill?”
“Sure.” There was something comforting in hearing about somebody else’s world of internecine power-struggles and backstabbing. Even if professional politics had nothing on television.
“It was Josh’s bill.” She laughed, as if she didn’t think it was funny. “Well, they’re all kind of Josh’s bills. But we were on different sides of the fence.”
“Okay.”
“Team Josh won by bribing my boss. I’m out of a job.”
“Josh lost you your job?”
“Yeah.” Amy started to sniffle. “I guess I’ve lost that, too.”
“Amy, I’m so sorry.”
Amy snorted. “I’m not crying because I’m heartbroken. I’m crying because I’m so fucking angry. He could have got the votes without selling out women, but he’d rather play politics than get things done. We had a pretty good thing, but he’s pissed all over it.”
Dana swung her feet up on to her desk. “If you’re resigning on Monday then come to New York. Get outside the Beltway. Drink some cocktails and do a little dancing.”
“Maybe.” Amy sounded unsure.
“What else are you going to do? Sit inside your apartment, reading the Post and trying to resist the temptation to reply to some bitchy little tryhard politics blogger?” Dana dropped her feet to the floor. “You’re not thinking about doing the Sundays are you?”
“No,” Amy said, firmly. “When I’m reading to push the button on my whole career, I promise that you’ll be the first to know.”
“So come.”
***
“And this is the control room.” Natalie waved her arm at the banks of seats and desks.
Amy smiled, politely, and Dana squeezed her arm. An I know you’ve been in a million TV studios squeeze.
It was surreal being in the Sports Night studio. To see Dan Rydell and Casey McCall, whom she’d spent hours watching in bed with Josh. Or, rather, spent hours writing briefs and emails in bed with Josh, while Josh wrote memos and emails, and watched TV, all at the same time.
Her first thought had been that, if Dana didn’t want him, Casey McCall would be perfect for CJ. Then she remembered, in a moment that stung, that CJ was on Team Josh and so wouldn’t be speaking to her for a very long time. Or what passed for a long time in politics.
(Sometimes it seemed like Josh liked having all of these women orbiting him like planets. She’d never really known Mandy Hampton, or CJ, or even Donna. And how had that happened, that all these brilliant Democrat women would remain mysterious to one another?)
Her second thought had been that Dan Rydell had the most melancholy eyes she’d seen on anyone that wasn’t Josh. (Or Toby, but, with the greatest of respect to Andi, he fell into a different category altogether.)
***
They’d gone out, all of them, to some local bar. Amy ate a steak and a whole plate of fixings, and Dan raised his eyebrows in approval. Amy had drunk enough Grey Goose that she forgot to think Danny was an asshole for wanting women to eat like Vikings and be whip thin, and found herself smiling into his face with her hand on his knee.
Dana squeezed her arm. A go for it, kiddo squeeze.
***
Dana had told her a lot about Dan, but she couldn’t tell her this. That Dan would sit in his chair in her hotel room, rolling his whisky glass around his palm, until she started unbuttoning her own damn shirt, looking for all the world like he was delighted with her company and didn’t need skin to make the evening perfect.
That once she’d made a start, he would slide her out of her clothes with practiced fingers, and look at her like she was beautiful, and not like her legs were too skinny or her stomach too round.
That he’d know where to touch her, and how much pressure to use, but wouldn’t act like he was following some routine he’d memorised in high school.
That his neck would smell of her childhood teddy bear, and his mouth would taste of salt and cigars, and that he’d smile when she came like she’d given him a gift.
That she would gasp when he slid inside her, and he would search her face for permission to continue, and it would make her feel like captain of her own ship, and mistress of her own fortune.
That almost nothing (apart from the preceding half hour) would feel nicer than lying in bed with him, tangled up in the sheets.
That in the morning he would make her bad in-room coffee, and leave her with a smile.
***
“So, you had a nice evening?” There was a hint of mockery in Dana’s smile, as she forked waffles into her mouth.
Amy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “If the sports thing doesn’t work out, I think he could marry very well.”
Dana laughed. “He’s a great guy.” She signalled for more coffee.
Amy smiled. “Thanks for this weekend. I didn’t realise how much I needed this.”
“No problem.” Dana touched her hand. “I’m so glad that we met at LAX. It’s hard to make friends when your work life is all about winning. It’s nice to have someone that isn’t about that.”
Amy raised her coffee cup in salute. “To friends.”
Dana clinked her cup against Amy’s. “To friends.”
