fic: lights all faded (rpf: stargate: atlantis)
yuletide ficathon: llikultra requested anything torri/joe.
STATUS: Complete
SUMMARY: She wishes she knew what she was waiting for.
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATIONS: Torri/Joe
ARCHIVING: Do not archive. Thank you.
NOTES: This story is RPF (real person fiction). If that bothers you, turn away now.
WORDS: 1,369
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue.
Copyright anr; December 2007.
* * * * *
Lights All Faded by anr
* * * * *
She leaves.
For one reason, for a hundred, she leaves.
It was probably time for a change anyway.
She spends her days running errands, keeping busy, and she knows she's in denial, at least partly, but she can't help it. It's easier to think that this is just like any other hiatus.
Her agent ups the number of scripts he was sending her, flooding her inbox and mailbox with pilots and guest stars and the odd movie or two, but she leaves them stacked on her desk and desktop, unopened and unread.
She wishes she knew what she was waiting for.
She's skimming the newspaper and thinking she might go see a play later, or maybe a movie, when her cell rings and Sedge goes inexplicably wild. She can't hear a word the person on the other end is saying and she's a good twenty seconds or more into the call before Sedge stops barking long enough for her recognise the voice.
"Joe," she says, a little surprised, a little not, "hi."
"Hey." She thinks he might be smiling. "Bad time?"
"No," she says automatically and Sedge immediately contradicts her. She winces. "Maybe. Hang on a second."
She follows the sound of barking to her front room and grabs Sedge's collar, pulling her away from the window. "Bad dog," she says, "hush." Sedge ignores her and pulls free, heading towards the front door, and as she straightens to follow, she catches sight of an unfamiliar car in her driveway. She fumbles with her cell and makes her way into the hallway.
"Joe? Listen, can I call you back? I think there's someone --" She manages to push Sedge out of the way long enough for her to open the door and then stops short in surprise. "-- here." She blinks at the figure standing on her front porch. "Hi."
"Hey, Tor."
She was right. He is smiling.
Over coffee, he explains that he's in town to talk with his agent about a couple of callbacks, maybe catch up with some family and friends, and since she's one of the latter, well...
"That's sweet," she says, and she means it -- she's always liked to think that they're friends more than they're co-stars, likes it more than she can say to know that he thinks the same, that her leaving hasn't changed that -- but her smile feels a little forced, a little planned.
Feels a little like how his explanation sounds.
But she invites him to stay for dinner anyway, and he says yes, and when they end up making their way through almost two bottles of wine, she offers him her guest room for the night and he accepts that too. In hindsight, this will probably all seem very cliché but, after three years on Atlantis, she's fallen into the habit of only paying attention to stereotypes involving alien invasions and the like and this hardly falls into that category.
"The bathroom's down the hall," she says, as she shows him to the room, "and there's fresh towels beneath the sink."
He brushes past her to enter the room, and her breathing hitches slightly with the whisper of contact. It's the closest she's been to him in weeks; he doesn't seem to notice.
She straightens away from the door; away from him. "Well, I'll let you turn in. If you need anything else..."
He turns back from studying the room, and smiles. "No, I'm good." A careless wave. "This is great."
"Okay then." She tries for a smile, and is relieved when the expression comes easily. "Goodnight, Joe."
"Night," he echoes, and she nods, and walks away, and she's just reached her own door when he says, "hey, Tor?" She looks back. "Thanks."
His tone is quiet, affecting, but her smile doesn't falter for an instant. "Anytime."
He's not there when she gets up in the morning but she finds a damp towel slung over the chair in the guest room, and a water glass draining on her kitchen sink, so at least she knows it wasn't all some crazy dream. No note saying goodbye though -- she'll have to give him hell about his lack of manners the next time she sees him.
A small, bitter part of her whispers: if she ever sees him again.
She ignores it.
She takes Sedge to a nearby park during the afternoon and tries out the new lenses she bought for her camera before she left Vancouver. It's almost sunset when she and Sedge finally return and she's surprised by how not surprised she is to find Joe sitting on her front step.
"Hey," she says, as she pulls her keys out of her pocket. "Still in town?"
He nods, and stands aside so that she can open the door. "I think I left my cell here last night." When she glances at him, he shrugs. "Sorry."
"No problem." She unclips Sedge's leash and gives her a pat, letting her dash inside. "Come on in."
He follows her down the hall and into her kitchen and, as she grabs a bottle of juice from the fridge, she watches him in her peripheral vision. He looks comfortable enough, leaning against her kitchen counter, but his gaze is darting around the room like he's never been there before. When she leans around him to get a glass from the cabinet behind his head, he catches her wrist gently.
"Tor --"
She breaks free of his loose grip but doesn't move away. "Close your eyes."
There's a split second of hesitation before he does as she asks. She licks her lips, and thinks about what she's going to say; almost reconsiders and asks him if he wants to stay for dinner again instead.
"You're married." The statement makes him flinch, and she's close enough to him to feel it. "You're married, and you have three beautiful boys --" He breathes out sharply. "Keep your eyes closed." His nod is brief, jerky. "You have a great job, and a career -- a reputation -- that you've worked hard for." Her hand slips in and out of the front pocket of his jacket. "And we both know you can't lie for shit. Open your eyes."
The weight of his cell is heavy in her hand, but he doesn't even glance at it, just meets her gaze and holds it; waits for her to finish.
"Am I worth all of that?"
There's a terrible, weighted moment where time seems to stand still, and she finds herself wondering if she was wrong to try and voice this something that she's -- they've -- always ignored, if her sudden need for a clean break might not make things worse instead of better, and then his hand is brushing against hers, retrieving the phone, and that hurts, oh god it hurts to breathe, but she also knows that it's not a surprise, that she's always known this would be his answer.
It's why she's never asked before; it's why she's asking now.
He places his cell on the counter. "Am I?"
Shocked, she stares at him and thinks, he can't be serious. "We'd regret it," she hears herself say, and he nods.
"Yes." His hand rises to shift a piece of hair away from her eyes, his fingertips lingering against her temple. "But not all of it."
She closes her eyes. "No," she agrees unsteadily, "not all."
She calls her agent at sunrise, barefoot in her kitchen and Joe's shirt slipping off one shoulder.
"I've changed my mind," she says, fingers tracing the marks she knows he's left on her neck. "Tell Mallozzi I want Weir to live. That I'll do the guest spots."
She hangs up before he can ask her what changed her mind.
Joe stirs when she slips back into the bed, his arm moving to drape around her waist, pulling her in close as she presses her mouth to his shoulder, kissing his skin and breathing in deep.
She'll stay a little longer.
* * * * *
The End.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated. *g*
STATUS: Complete
SUMMARY: She wishes she knew what she was waiting for.
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATIONS: Torri/Joe
ARCHIVING: Do not archive. Thank you.
NOTES: This story is RPF (real person fiction). If that bothers you, turn away now.
WORDS: 1,369
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue.
Copyright anr; December 2007.
* * * * *
Lights All Faded by anr
* * * * *
She leaves.
For one reason, for a hundred, she leaves.
It was probably time for a change anyway.
She spends her days running errands, keeping busy, and she knows she's in denial, at least partly, but she can't help it. It's easier to think that this is just like any other hiatus.
Her agent ups the number of scripts he was sending her, flooding her inbox and mailbox with pilots and guest stars and the odd movie or two, but she leaves them stacked on her desk and desktop, unopened and unread.
She wishes she knew what she was waiting for.
She's skimming the newspaper and thinking she might go see a play later, or maybe a movie, when her cell rings and Sedge goes inexplicably wild. She can't hear a word the person on the other end is saying and she's a good twenty seconds or more into the call before Sedge stops barking long enough for her recognise the voice.
"Joe," she says, a little surprised, a little not, "hi."
"Hey." She thinks he might be smiling. "Bad time?"
"No," she says automatically and Sedge immediately contradicts her. She winces. "Maybe. Hang on a second."
She follows the sound of barking to her front room and grabs Sedge's collar, pulling her away from the window. "Bad dog," she says, "hush." Sedge ignores her and pulls free, heading towards the front door, and as she straightens to follow, she catches sight of an unfamiliar car in her driveway. She fumbles with her cell and makes her way into the hallway.
"Joe? Listen, can I call you back? I think there's someone --" She manages to push Sedge out of the way long enough for her to open the door and then stops short in surprise. "-- here." She blinks at the figure standing on her front porch. "Hi."
"Hey, Tor."
She was right. He is smiling.
Over coffee, he explains that he's in town to talk with his agent about a couple of callbacks, maybe catch up with some family and friends, and since she's one of the latter, well...
"That's sweet," she says, and she means it -- she's always liked to think that they're friends more than they're co-stars, likes it more than she can say to know that he thinks the same, that her leaving hasn't changed that -- but her smile feels a little forced, a little planned.
Feels a little like how his explanation sounds.
But she invites him to stay for dinner anyway, and he says yes, and when they end up making their way through almost two bottles of wine, she offers him her guest room for the night and he accepts that too. In hindsight, this will probably all seem very cliché but, after three years on Atlantis, she's fallen into the habit of only paying attention to stereotypes involving alien invasions and the like and this hardly falls into that category.
"The bathroom's down the hall," she says, as she shows him to the room, "and there's fresh towels beneath the sink."
He brushes past her to enter the room, and her breathing hitches slightly with the whisper of contact. It's the closest she's been to him in weeks; he doesn't seem to notice.
She straightens away from the door; away from him. "Well, I'll let you turn in. If you need anything else..."
He turns back from studying the room, and smiles. "No, I'm good." A careless wave. "This is great."
"Okay then." She tries for a smile, and is relieved when the expression comes easily. "Goodnight, Joe."
"Night," he echoes, and she nods, and walks away, and she's just reached her own door when he says, "hey, Tor?" She looks back. "Thanks."
His tone is quiet, affecting, but her smile doesn't falter for an instant. "Anytime."
He's not there when she gets up in the morning but she finds a damp towel slung over the chair in the guest room, and a water glass draining on her kitchen sink, so at least she knows it wasn't all some crazy dream. No note saying goodbye though -- she'll have to give him hell about his lack of manners the next time she sees him.
A small, bitter part of her whispers: if she ever sees him again.
She ignores it.
She takes Sedge to a nearby park during the afternoon and tries out the new lenses she bought for her camera before she left Vancouver. It's almost sunset when she and Sedge finally return and she's surprised by how not surprised she is to find Joe sitting on her front step.
"Hey," she says, as she pulls her keys out of her pocket. "Still in town?"
He nods, and stands aside so that she can open the door. "I think I left my cell here last night." When she glances at him, he shrugs. "Sorry."
"No problem." She unclips Sedge's leash and gives her a pat, letting her dash inside. "Come on in."
He follows her down the hall and into her kitchen and, as she grabs a bottle of juice from the fridge, she watches him in her peripheral vision. He looks comfortable enough, leaning against her kitchen counter, but his gaze is darting around the room like he's never been there before. When she leans around him to get a glass from the cabinet behind his head, he catches her wrist gently.
"Tor --"
She breaks free of his loose grip but doesn't move away. "Close your eyes."
There's a split second of hesitation before he does as she asks. She licks her lips, and thinks about what she's going to say; almost reconsiders and asks him if he wants to stay for dinner again instead.
"You're married." The statement makes him flinch, and she's close enough to him to feel it. "You're married, and you have three beautiful boys --" He breathes out sharply. "Keep your eyes closed." His nod is brief, jerky. "You have a great job, and a career -- a reputation -- that you've worked hard for." Her hand slips in and out of the front pocket of his jacket. "And we both know you can't lie for shit. Open your eyes."
The weight of his cell is heavy in her hand, but he doesn't even glance at it, just meets her gaze and holds it; waits for her to finish.
"Am I worth all of that?"
There's a terrible, weighted moment where time seems to stand still, and she finds herself wondering if she was wrong to try and voice this something that she's -- they've -- always ignored, if her sudden need for a clean break might not make things worse instead of better, and then his hand is brushing against hers, retrieving the phone, and that hurts, oh god it hurts to breathe, but she also knows that it's not a surprise, that she's always known this would be his answer.
It's why she's never asked before; it's why she's asking now.
He places his cell on the counter. "Am I?"
Shocked, she stares at him and thinks, he can't be serious. "We'd regret it," she hears herself say, and he nods.
"Yes." His hand rises to shift a piece of hair away from her eyes, his fingertips lingering against her temple. "But not all of it."
She closes her eyes. "No," she agrees unsteadily, "not all."
She calls her agent at sunrise, barefoot in her kitchen and Joe's shirt slipping off one shoulder.
"I've changed my mind," she says, fingers tracing the marks she knows he's left on her neck. "Tell Mallozzi I want Weir to live. That I'll do the guest spots."
She hangs up before he can ask her what changed her mind.
Joe stirs when she slips back into the bed, his arm moving to drape around her waist, pulling her in close as she presses her mouth to his shoulder, kissing his skin and breathing in deep.
She'll stay a little longer.
* * * * *
The End.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated. *g*