fic: nihilism, broadcast in lights (s60)
nihilism, broadcast in lights
fandom: studio 60
disclaimer: not mine
word count: 396
rating: pg
characters/pairings: jack; jack/jordan, jordan/danny
summary: they quit making romances for Bogarts and Bergmans too many generations ago.
notes: for
tidbit2008, who requested "five times Jack knew he and Jordan would never be together." because she's cruel. just kidding. kind of.
she's an old-time ambassador
of sweet talking, night walking games
(queen bitch; david bowie)
-
It is on a Tuesday, of course, when he realizes.
These things? They always find the most mundane of moments.
He’s running low on cognac.
-
Jordan? She finds successes in the strangest of doses, and Jack? He’ll shake his head, at a loss as to what a man does when he was been proven wrong, yet again.
“I’m getting too old for this,” he mutters, a hand through his hair, and somewhere, none too gently, her smile mocks and her laughter rings.
“I’m getting too damn old,” and Wilson White wants to build altars and towers in the names of things he can’t pronounce, but better yet, can’t believe in.
He was a man built for another age, another style, and this one is far from suiting.
Her pants drag across the floor; she should really get those hemmed.
He chuckles.
-
There is a sex scandal; of course, he finds himself muttering to himself, fingers at his temples and the TV still on.
It’s strange though, a Mont Blanc pen in hand, never actually reaching the page - words like termination there, just waiting for his signature -
He’s found himself extrapolating the situation, months, maybe just weeks down the road, her reputation already in tatters, then his, his wife -
You see, it’s like this: he’s supposed to be a better man than this.
-
Danny says hello, loaded language and the like.
Jack tightens his tie.
These things don’t change with time. The girl - she’ll always, with an almost comforting consistency, fall for the renegade, the writer, the bohemian, like Vietnam is still burning somewhere.
Jack, he’s just a suit.
Eventually, Jordan says yes; Jack’s wife finally says no.
-
There is a baby, yes, there is a baby, inside her, and his wedding band no longer matches him, inside or out.
“Mid-life crisis?” she hums and he can feel a grin stretching the corners of his mouth -
He has no idea if she is speaking of him or maybe just herself.
-
This industry - it hardens.
Her eyes still sparkle, sometimes.
So that’s what it looks like, to still believe.
It must be nice.
-
fin.
fandom: studio 60
disclaimer: not mine
word count: 396
rating: pg
characters/pairings: jack; jack/jordan, jordan/danny
summary: they quit making romances for Bogarts and Bergmans too many generations ago.
notes: for
tidbit2008, who requested "five times Jack knew he and Jordan would never be together." because she's cruel. just kidding. kind of.
she's an old-time ambassador
of sweet talking, night walking games
(queen bitch; david bowie)
-
It is on a Tuesday, of course, when he realizes.
These things? They always find the most mundane of moments.
He’s running low on cognac.
-
Jordan? She finds successes in the strangest of doses, and Jack? He’ll shake his head, at a loss as to what a man does when he was been proven wrong, yet again.
“I’m getting too old for this,” he mutters, a hand through his hair, and somewhere, none too gently, her smile mocks and her laughter rings.
“I’m getting too damn old,” and Wilson White wants to build altars and towers in the names of things he can’t pronounce, but better yet, can’t believe in.
He was a man built for another age, another style, and this one is far from suiting.
Her pants drag across the floor; she should really get those hemmed.
He chuckles.
-
There is a sex scandal; of course, he finds himself muttering to himself, fingers at his temples and the TV still on.
It’s strange though, a Mont Blanc pen in hand, never actually reaching the page - words like termination there, just waiting for his signature -
He’s found himself extrapolating the situation, months, maybe just weeks down the road, her reputation already in tatters, then his, his wife -
You see, it’s like this: he’s supposed to be a better man than this.
-
Danny says hello, loaded language and the like.
Jack tightens his tie.
These things don’t change with time. The girl - she’ll always, with an almost comforting consistency, fall for the renegade, the writer, the bohemian, like Vietnam is still burning somewhere.
Jack, he’s just a suit.
Eventually, Jordan says yes; Jack’s wife finally says no.
-
There is a baby, yes, there is a baby, inside her, and his wedding band no longer matches him, inside or out.
“Mid-life crisis?” she hums and he can feel a grin stretching the corners of his mouth -
He has no idea if she is speaking of him or maybe just herself.
-
This industry - it hardens.
Her eyes still sparkle, sometimes.
So that’s what it looks like, to still believe.
It must be nice.
-
fin.