Fic: Keep Moving (RPF, Rachel Maddow/Keith Olbermann, PG-13)
Title: Keep Moving
Author: aliyaskie
Pairing: Rachel Maddow/Keith Olbermann
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Rachel sees Keith in a different light as she works through her breakup.
Author's Notes: Written for lgbtfest prompt 1733: Rachel's been out since she was just a teenager, so what exactly is this thing that she has with Keith? This was not at all the direction I intended when I signed up, but these two were pretty stubborn. Thanks to finstergrrrl for the desperate, clinging beta. ;)
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
The night Susan leaves for good, Rachel spends hours bawling in their (her) bed. She finally dozes off around 3am, but when she wakes back up, it's still dark outside. She calls into work, and ten minutes later finds herself on Keith's doorstep. When he opens the door, he's rubbing his eyes and looks ready to kill.
"What the -- " She can't keep from bursting into tears all over again, and he pulls her in and wraps her up in his arms. "Hell, Rach. Come in."
He leads her to the couch, arm around her shoulders. They settle in and she buries her head in his chest as he lets her cry it out, stroking her hair.
It takes about an hour for her to calm down enough to explain what happened, the tears still streaming silently down her cheeks. (She'd known it was coming, it was mutual, but it still hurt like hell...she figures it's pretty much the same ending as any relationship that's lasted as long as theirs.) Keith is touching her throughout, just little things -- rubbing her back, stroking her hair, holding her hand during the rougher parts -- and she feels grounded in a way she hasn't since all this started (longer, even, if she stops to think about it). "Why didn't you tell me?" he asks gently when she's done.
"I didn't want to bother you," she laughs, a tinge of bitterness creeping in. "I thought I could handle it. I wanted to handle it."
He doesn't say anything, letting her words hang between them for a few minutes as he continues to rub little circles into her back. Then Keith yawns and she suddenly realizes what time it is.
"Crap, I'm sorry, you have to get to work in a few hours."
"Oh, you know better than to worry about that by now," he laughs. "I bet you could use some rest, though."
"Yeah, you're probably right," she frowns. "Um. Can I sleep on your couch? I don't think I can go back there right now."
"Please, this thing isn't fit for Poppy to sleep on, let alone an actual human," he laughs, getting up. She flinches at the mention of Poppy, shivering at the loss of warmth after being so close for so long. "Come on, you're sleeping with me," he offers, pulling her off the couch. She wants to argue (she has a hard time sleeping in strange places, doesn't want to keep him awake with her tossing and turning, doesn't want to put him out any more than she already has...), but can't seem to find the words.
He leads her to his room and goes over to the dresser, digging out a Red Sox shirt. "Gag gift from Dan", he responds to her raised eyebrow. "The sad part? It's not the only one." That earns him a faint smile as he leaves the room so she can change. When she's done, Rachel lays down on the side of the bed furthest from the door and curls herself up into as small a ball as she can manage. She's fast asleep before he even comes back into the room.
When she wakes up the next afternoon, the sunlight peeking through the blinds is dim but insistent. She realizes the bed is empty next to her and suddenly panics. (How will she ever get used to being alone again?) She takes a few deep breaths to calm herself, but it's not until she finds Keith waiting for her in the kitchen, a full coffee mug in hand, that she feels her body let go.
They take turns with the paper and wrestle over bagels, then settle in on the couch for a day of mindless distraction. They order Indian food and watch action movies long past nightfall, not talking about anything that could even possibly turn serious.
The next night, Keith shows up about halfway through her show and stands just behind the camera until she's wrapped. He follows her quietly back to her dressing room, waits for her to change, and throws his arm around her shoulder as they leave, cracking jokes the whole way downstairs. She starts to protest as he gives the driver his address, but he shushes her with, "the Yankees are at Fenway tonight, there's no way I'm letting you miss that." They stay up and watch the Red Sox trample the Yankees in extra innings, drinking and screaming at the tv for hours. Rachel's grateful Keith doesn't say anything when she heads to the bathroom during a pitching change and comes back in the Red Sox shirt (though his eyes get wide, just for a second before he looks away), and when the game ends, she follows him into the bedroom.
* * * * *
She spends more nights with him than not over the next few weeks, waking every morning to find him sitting in the kitchen, coffee made, newspaper divided, no matter what time it is. Then one morning, Rachel wakes too early from a nightmare with Keith curled up around her. His head is buried in her hair, his arm flung heavy around her waist, and she immediately feels better. She leans back into him, tangling her legs with his and drifting back to sleep with a soft smile on her face. When she wakes up for real later on, she's alone again, and she spends a few awkward days worried that she imagined it, trying to figure out what it could mean. But when it happens again a few days later, she thinks she's figured out what's wrong, and can come up with only one way to fix it.
"I'm making martinis," she announces that night while changing after the show. "The real kind -- those annoyingly-bland, watered-down things you drink should be ashamed of themselves."
Keith barely manages to stifle his laugh. "Dr. Maddow, only an idiot would turn down your expert bartending, and I am no idiot." She grins her approval as he takes her hand and they head home. (When did Keith's become home?)
She goes easy on the vermouth as she pours the first few, trying to ease him into the potency of a real cocktail, but by the third round, she's mixing them the way she likes. When she settles back in next to him on the couch, he tries to tackle her, but just ends up kind of toppling into her shoulder instead. He's a little cross-eyed as he laughs, "Okay, admit it: you wanted to get me liquored up so you could have your way with me."
"Well no, but the fact that you could even think that'll make great blackmail material later," she grins, wrapping herself around him and pulling him close.
Keith stops laughing abruptly. "There is that," he adds softly as he tries to burrow himself deeper into her arms.
They both sit quietly for a few minutes, sipping their cocktails, as she tries to figure out how to work up to her real question. Of course, her mouth gets impatient, and what comes out is, "Keith, do you want to sleep with me?" It's quiet, gentle, but she hadn't really meant to blurt it out like that. (She wishes she could make it sound less panicked, but it's out there now, and she can't get it back.) She feels him clench up against her and try to pull away, but her clinging wins out, and he settles for burying his face in her arm before answering.
"We've been sleeping together for almost a month, Rachel," he sighs half-heartedly, muffled by her skin.
She rolls her eyes at the back of his head and ignores him. "It's... it's okay, you know, if you do. I...I think we could."
At that, Keith turns his face back up towards her, his eyes shining. "Oh, Rach...we're friends. That's enough."
She's positive that the smile plastered to his face is the saddest thing she's ever seen, and the silence that follows is just too much to bear. So she leans in and kisses him.
She can't remember the last time she kissed someone (who wasn't Susan), and when Keith doesn't respond right away, she spends a few seconds worrying about the mechanics.
Once he does, though, she gives into the moment. He deepens the kiss right away, and she realizes that if she could spend years just kissing Keith, she could probably be happy.
But when they break apart, his eyes flicker towards the bedroom before they meet hers, and she takes a step back. She knows what she has to do.
Author: aliyaskie
Pairing: Rachel Maddow/Keith Olbermann
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Rachel sees Keith in a different light as she works through her breakup.
Author's Notes: Written for lgbtfest prompt 1733: Rachel's been out since she was just a teenager, so what exactly is this thing that she has with Keith? This was not at all the direction I intended when I signed up, but these two were pretty stubborn. Thanks to finstergrrrl for the desperate, clinging beta. ;)
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
The night Susan leaves for good, Rachel spends hours bawling in their (her) bed. She finally dozes off around 3am, but when she wakes back up, it's still dark outside. She calls into work, and ten minutes later finds herself on Keith's doorstep. When he opens the door, he's rubbing his eyes and looks ready to kill.
"What the -- " She can't keep from bursting into tears all over again, and he pulls her in and wraps her up in his arms. "Hell, Rach. Come in."
He leads her to the couch, arm around her shoulders. They settle in and she buries her head in his chest as he lets her cry it out, stroking her hair.
It takes about an hour for her to calm down enough to explain what happened, the tears still streaming silently down her cheeks. (She'd known it was coming, it was mutual, but it still hurt like hell...she figures it's pretty much the same ending as any relationship that's lasted as long as theirs.) Keith is touching her throughout, just little things -- rubbing her back, stroking her hair, holding her hand during the rougher parts -- and she feels grounded in a way she hasn't since all this started (longer, even, if she stops to think about it). "Why didn't you tell me?" he asks gently when she's done.
"I didn't want to bother you," she laughs, a tinge of bitterness creeping in. "I thought I could handle it. I wanted to handle it."
He doesn't say anything, letting her words hang between them for a few minutes as he continues to rub little circles into her back. Then Keith yawns and she suddenly realizes what time it is.
"Crap, I'm sorry, you have to get to work in a few hours."
"Oh, you know better than to worry about that by now," he laughs. "I bet you could use some rest, though."
"Yeah, you're probably right," she frowns. "Um. Can I sleep on your couch? I don't think I can go back there right now."
"Please, this thing isn't fit for Poppy to sleep on, let alone an actual human," he laughs, getting up. She flinches at the mention of Poppy, shivering at the loss of warmth after being so close for so long. "Come on, you're sleeping with me," he offers, pulling her off the couch. She wants to argue (she has a hard time sleeping in strange places, doesn't want to keep him awake with her tossing and turning, doesn't want to put him out any more than she already has...), but can't seem to find the words.
He leads her to his room and goes over to the dresser, digging out a Red Sox shirt. "Gag gift from Dan", he responds to her raised eyebrow. "The sad part? It's not the only one." That earns him a faint smile as he leaves the room so she can change. When she's done, Rachel lays down on the side of the bed furthest from the door and curls herself up into as small a ball as she can manage. She's fast asleep before he even comes back into the room.
When she wakes up the next afternoon, the sunlight peeking through the blinds is dim but insistent. She realizes the bed is empty next to her and suddenly panics. (How will she ever get used to being alone again?) She takes a few deep breaths to calm herself, but it's not until she finds Keith waiting for her in the kitchen, a full coffee mug in hand, that she feels her body let go.
They take turns with the paper and wrestle over bagels, then settle in on the couch for a day of mindless distraction. They order Indian food and watch action movies long past nightfall, not talking about anything that could even possibly turn serious.
The next night, Keith shows up about halfway through her show and stands just behind the camera until she's wrapped. He follows her quietly back to her dressing room, waits for her to change, and throws his arm around her shoulder as they leave, cracking jokes the whole way downstairs. She starts to protest as he gives the driver his address, but he shushes her with, "the Yankees are at Fenway tonight, there's no way I'm letting you miss that." They stay up and watch the Red Sox trample the Yankees in extra innings, drinking and screaming at the tv for hours. Rachel's grateful Keith doesn't say anything when she heads to the bathroom during a pitching change and comes back in the Red Sox shirt (though his eyes get wide, just for a second before he looks away), and when the game ends, she follows him into the bedroom.
* * * * *
She spends more nights with him than not over the next few weeks, waking every morning to find him sitting in the kitchen, coffee made, newspaper divided, no matter what time it is. Then one morning, Rachel wakes too early from a nightmare with Keith curled up around her. His head is buried in her hair, his arm flung heavy around her waist, and she immediately feels better. She leans back into him, tangling her legs with his and drifting back to sleep with a soft smile on her face. When she wakes up for real later on, she's alone again, and she spends a few awkward days worried that she imagined it, trying to figure out what it could mean. But when it happens again a few days later, she thinks she's figured out what's wrong, and can come up with only one way to fix it.
"I'm making martinis," she announces that night while changing after the show. "The real kind -- those annoyingly-bland, watered-down things you drink should be ashamed of themselves."
Keith barely manages to stifle his laugh. "Dr. Maddow, only an idiot would turn down your expert bartending, and I am no idiot." She grins her approval as he takes her hand and they head home. (When did Keith's become home?)
She goes easy on the vermouth as she pours the first few, trying to ease him into the potency of a real cocktail, but by the third round, she's mixing them the way she likes. When she settles back in next to him on the couch, he tries to tackle her, but just ends up kind of toppling into her shoulder instead. He's a little cross-eyed as he laughs, "Okay, admit it: you wanted to get me liquored up so you could have your way with me."
"Well no, but the fact that you could even think that'll make great blackmail material later," she grins, wrapping herself around him and pulling him close.
Keith stops laughing abruptly. "There is that," he adds softly as he tries to burrow himself deeper into her arms.
They both sit quietly for a few minutes, sipping their cocktails, as she tries to figure out how to work up to her real question. Of course, her mouth gets impatient, and what comes out is, "Keith, do you want to sleep with me?" It's quiet, gentle, but she hadn't really meant to blurt it out like that. (She wishes she could make it sound less panicked, but it's out there now, and she can't get it back.) She feels him clench up against her and try to pull away, but her clinging wins out, and he settles for burying his face in her arm before answering.
"We've been sleeping together for almost a month, Rachel," he sighs half-heartedly, muffled by her skin.
She rolls her eyes at the back of his head and ignores him. "It's... it's okay, you know, if you do. I...I think we could."
At that, Keith turns his face back up towards her, his eyes shining. "Oh, Rach...we're friends. That's enough."
She's positive that the smile plastered to his face is the saddest thing she's ever seen, and the silence that follows is just too much to bear. So she leans in and kisses him.
She can't remember the last time she kissed someone (who wasn't Susan), and when Keith doesn't respond right away, she spends a few seconds worrying about the mechanics.
Once he does, though, she gives into the moment. He deepens the kiss right away, and she realizes that if she could spend years just kissing Keith, she could probably be happy.
But when they break apart, his eyes flicker towards the bedroom before they meet hers, and she takes a step back. She knows what she has to do.