Fic: Women Beware Women, Patty/Ellen, M
Title: Women Beware Women
Author: Lola lauriestein
Rating: M
Pairing: Patty/Ellen
Spoilers: Up to 3x07 "You Haven't Replaced Me".
Written for story_lottery prompt #14 'tarmac'
Word Count: ~4000
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I'm just playing and no profit is being made.
Summary/Notes: When I watched the end of 3x06, with Alex calling Ellen, I felt such a strong urge to write Patty/Ellen for the first time. It began as a story with Ellen telling Patty she couldn't be replaced, and then 3x07 happened so it got adapted and grew into a much longer story. This is my maiden voyage into the Damages fandom, and I'm so grateful to girlie_girl_23 for all her help with this.
Essentially, this is about Ellen's reaction to Patty's decision in that episode, and assumes Patty and Ellen have slept together in the past.
Monday Evening
Ellen breaks into a run before Alex's grating English accent has faded from her ears. Even in the din of Manhattan on a Friday night, the news had rung out as clearly as church bells in a sleepy village. Her heels make every step perilous, the sidewalk slick beneath her feet. Waiting for the lights to change and let her cross becomes an inconvenience Ellen can no longer tolerate, and so she begins to dart through any gaps in the relentless weekend traffic, risking life and limb to outrun the fleet of yellow cabs and anonymous town cars. The tarmac is rougher, easier to keep a grip, and she briefly wonders if she shouldn't attempt a one-woman road race.
Ellen doesn't have to think about the route: much like when she worked at Hewes & Associates, she's always subconsciously aware of how far she is from Patty's lair at all times. She nods at the doorman, still familiar enough after all this time to be ushered through with a white-gloved wave. Only when she comes to a halt by the elevator does Ellen consider what the hell she's doing. The doorman (she remembers his face, not his name) will have called upstairs to Patty by now, and there's every chance entrance will be refused once the elevator glides its way to the top. She decides to cut her losses, pressing the button and entering the code for Patty’s floor.
There's the metallic burn of adrenalin at the back of Ellen's throat and she tries to write it off as a fear of being turned away, the habitual risk of dealing with Patty. The clammy feeling of her hands, the prickle of sweat along her hairline say otherwise and Ellen resumes her battle with those memories she's spent so much time trying to erase.
If she closes her eyes, it’s two years ago and she’s deafened by the shrieking panic of being attacked; of being sure that the flashing silver blade was about to take her life. Her breath is threatening to burst out of her chest, and her heart hammers in her ears; she has to force herself to let it go. It’s getting easier to relax, the distraction of her mission something to cling to in the dim light of the elevator.
This is the last place on earth she should return to of her own volition, and Ellen doesn't want to contemplate what it means that she can't stay away. Hasn't she spent all this time building defenses around herself? The security of a job at the DA's office was the first step. Then the apartment, which wasn’t procured by a favor from Patty, nor is it an anonymous hotel where guns are fired and blood is shed.
So much, too much, has happened in these past three years, and nobody would blame Ellen for fleeing the city and pretending New York doesn't exist. But the ghosts that stalk her would follow her anywhere, and that's what outsiders don't understand.
Patty understands all too well. She wears her losses in the softer lines of her face, only visible to a selected few. Ellen knows she's privileged, though she fears that privilege more than she appreciates it. All the empathy in the world can't remove the fact that Patty is poison, that she's the root cause of so much of Ellen's pain.
And that still isn't why Ellen ran here in a haze of fury, dodging the worst excesses of Manhattan streets to make a point, to come and yell at Patty when in earlier times she would have gone home and fumed to the nearest fascinated party. There had never been a shortage of willing audience members for Ellen’s rants about the Patty Hewes of headlines and legends.
No, she's pissed at Patty for making her groom the improbable English rose who appears to be the new junior associate. For making Ellen hear the catch in the blonde's voice that said Patty was already forcing her to cross lines, to metaphorically skip a wedding to prove a point. Ellen had known from her first few sentences with Alex that the girl would cross any line Patty placed in front of her, but not for the right reasons. It took time to understand the machinations behind every challenge and another fool was falling headfirst into the trap. Knowing when to comply, when to take a stand or when to tell Patty to go fuck herself was both an art and a science, neither of which a law degree could prepare anyone for.
The elevator door slides open as the penthouse floor is reached. Patty has given tacit permission for the visit by not locking the door in the little hallway, but in her irritation Ellen feels like she could have scaled the walls to make her point. As she steps into the living room, the door is prompt in closing behind her. There's only cavernous space and artistic lighting, no sign of the lady of the house at all.
Ellen pauses for a moment, sure of her mission but not of the execution. She wants Patty to seek her out, to make the first concession in the war they’ll wage tonight. There's a childish impulse to call out, to test the acoustics and summon Patty at the same time, but she lets it pass.
The absence of Phil is like a physical ache in the room, the last vestiges of softness seem to have left with him, and no dog comes bounding across smooth wooden floors to greet her and leave errant hairs on her new black suit.
This place fits Patty perfectly, the deceptive warmth of it. It's more like a gallery than an apartment, and Patty keeps herself in a tempered glass case with laser beams and heavy steel gates to punish anyone who might intrude.
Ellen opts for the bolder move, proceeding into the kitchen and pouring herself a generous glass of Scotch from the crystal decanter on the counter. Either the sharp beats of her heels or the splash of alcohol is finally enough to summon the hostess, and by the time Ellen has downed her first taste of the single malt, Patty is waiting on the opposite side of the kitchen table.
"I had a feeling I might see you tonight, Ellen. It's nice of you to drop by."
That inscrutable smile is present of course, though Ellen knows better by now, and so she looks directly at Patty's eyes. It's only ever a flicker but that fragment of a second when Patty's true intentions are revealed is too valuable to miss. Otherwise she remains the Sphinx of the Upper East Side.
"I see that Alex passed your little tests. Congratulations.”
The bitterness was supposed to stay hidden, but Ellen can hear it dripping from her own words as they hang in the air. The only response they elicit from Patty is a tiny smirk.
"Is that what you think I'm doing, Ellen? How simplistic. I expected better of you by now.”
Ellen bites her tongue, literally, almost sharp enough to draw blood. She won’t rise to the bait so early in the exchange.
“Aren't you going to pour me a drink?"
Ellen can feel the insistent pressure of Patty's will coming at her, deceptively gentle waves that slowly submerge her until she isn't sure of her own mind. Not tonight, she berates herself. Tonight she came to speak her mind, and she won't be dissuaded by Patty's charm.
"There's a glass right there. Help yourself."
It's pointless, Ellen's pouting refusal to give Patty her own damn Scotch, but a concession now will take Ellen out at the knees. Patty shrugs off the minor slight and pours her own drink, striding off into the lounge with an unspoken expectation that Ellen will follow. Ellen does, kicking off her shoes before sinking into the expanse of sofa.
Finding the opening shot is troublesome, and not for the first time Ellen curses her impulsive nature. She can feel Patty watching her, but Ellen opts to focus on the heavy crystal in her hand, the dancing reflections in the amber liquid a far safer place to rest her eyes.
" I didn't think you would care who works for me.” Patty begins, and her voice is softer than Ellen would have expected. "You've made it quite clear that you want to pursue a career with the DA's office."
The silence that follows is expectant, and Ellen struggles to formulate her response. She's wildly emotional, and although she doesn't trust her own words, right now she can barely restrain them from spilling out.
How can she explain to Patty that she likes feeling special, likes being the one junior associate to beguile the untouchable Ms. Hewes? Is there a way to express her spike of jealousy without betraying how she misses so much more than the complex cases and the cut and thrust of the fight?
It boils down to this: while Alex can take Ellen's job, Alex absolutely cannot take Ellen's place. That's what Ellen can't stand idly by and let happen; that's why she's here.
That's what she needs to express, in this echoing room that still feels too small because Patty is only a couple of feet away and already Ellen is calculating how few half-seconds it would take to be next to her, to be touching her. She wonders if Patty knows (she suspects that of course Patty knows) that Wes wasn't enough, and the memory of David is already beginning to fade. Ellen wants to ask if Patty's bed has remained resolutely empty since Phil left, though whether Patty would reward her with a laugh or a slap is a risk she can’t take.
"I'm sure she's a perfectly good lawyer, Patty. And I'm happy with the choices I made."
Pouncing on what remains unspoken, Patty places her glass on the table, and the deft movement looks for all the world like an opening gambit. Ellen can bluster and brave her way through every conversation, but there's little doubt who is Queen on this particular board. Ever the seemingly protected King, Ellen knows her escape routes are limited, that whatever this tangled mess between them is, Patty can keep coming at her until the open air gives way to unbreakable walls.
"All of your choices?"
Patty leans closer, the distance between them reducing in an instant. Spine straightening, Ellen swallows hard and attempts to hold Patty's gaze without flinching. She succeeds, until Patty reaches for her hand and the warm contact feels like a circuit completing. Ostensibly, the only reason for the touch is so that Patty can retrieve Ellen's now-empty glass, but a second or two later their hands are reunited.
As their fingers clasp together, the contact is neither friendly nor aggressive. With her free hand, Ellen brushes an errant strand of hair from her own face, trying to distract herself from the soft but worn skin that's pressed against her own. Patty has spent a lifetime handling paper, from statute books to checks and the evidence lingers under the sheen of expensive moisturizer.
She knows these hands, these fingers, and it's why she finds herself in this dangerous, miserable place once more. As the last attempt at polite extrication begins to form in her throat, Ellen feels her air stolen by Patty's first kiss.
Not tender, like the careful union of their hands, but as direct and powerful as the Patty she's come to know and love, and hate. Ellen kisses back, the anger and confusion she's been feeling for the past hour coming to a head and she tries to channel her unarticulated words through the actions of her lips instead.
Ellen feels the first currents of excitement beginning to course through her, as though champagne is bubbling around her spine and her chest is tightening; she almost forgets to breathe between kisses.
This is what she's addicted to. This is why she can't walk away when any sane person would run.
A kiss is not enough, and Ellen finally summons the co-ordination to move. She runs her hands along the delicate silk of Patty's blouse and pulls her closer. The heat between them is palpable, and Ellen offers no resistance when Patty begins to tug at the buttons of Ellen's jacket.
It's a familiar routine by now, although the separate occasions have allowed months to elapse between them. Despite the lack of novelty, Ellen still feels the heady thrill of the contest, finally competing with Patty on a level playing field. For all of Patty's dominance, elegance and skill, Ellen knows the effect she has on her former boss. Patty can hide almost everything but there's no disguising her reaction to Ellen's body, the fervor of her words and actions increasing as more clothing falls by the wayside.
Ellen started out shocked at Patty's attention: that first, slightly fumbling time in Patty's office. She'd heard rumors of course, the same ones that were whispered about every powerful woman. Naively perhaps, Ellen had accepted the happiness of the marriage at face value, having no reason to doubt until one night, just after eleven, Patty had made her move.
Subtle to a fault, all it had taken was for Patty to trace one searching finger along the exposed skin of Ellen's thigh. Sitting beside each other on the soft chairs in the corner, it had seemed almost normal for Patty to touch that inch or two of Ellen's leg. When Patty's finger continued its trail past the hem of Ellen's skirt, she knew she was a goner.
Tonight there's no less urgency in their touches, and Ellen is still slightly in awe of Patty's abilities. Ever the perfectionist, she's been studying Ellen's body and learning every possible way to draw out those breathy little moans that escape without any conscious decision on Ellen's part.
Not content to merely be a plaything, Ellen remembers why she came here and changes the game. Patty Hewes will be in no doubt about how replaceable Ellen is by the time this is over.
When Patty attempts to steer them towards her bedroom, Ellen is resolute in her refusal. She pulls a half-dressed Patty back onto the sofa beside her, and is pleasantly surprised when Patty complies.
Wasting no time, Ellen drops to her knees and pushes roughly at Patty's skirt until it's past her hips. Her thumbs begin to stroke in alternating rhythms along Patty's inner thighs, and when Patty's head drops back in silent approval, Ellen is sure she can have her way.
One cautious finger ventures to stroke Patty through the silk of her underwear, and Ellen is rewarded with the slick evidence of arousal through the fragile material. She allows her neatly manicured nails to scrape along Patty’s thighs, impressed by the hiss it draws from Patty’s mouth.
Then she stops being quite so deliberate and busies herself with the removal of that final silk barrier, letting her fingers tease and explore with abandon. There’s no pattern, no pre-determined rhythm to match the pounding of her own heart, but by the time Ellen replaces her fingers with her tongue, Patty is already well on her way to an almost violent climax. Her hips thrust towards Ellen instinctively, the temporary loss of control as satisfying to Ellen as the almost-scream she inspires.
For her all of her considerable flaws, Patty has always been generous, and when she’s finally able to see straight she makes sure to reciprocate. Ellen can no longer feign detachment, she’s on fire as Patty’s nearly quivering hand first seeks out Ellen’s breast. The older woman finds her stride quickly, and before long she has three of her fingers buried inside Ellen, coaxing her into a staggering orgasm that cause Ellen to writhe underneath her until she has to beg Patty for a little mercy.
She always asks too much, but Ellen can never stop herself from giving exactly that.
Regrets surface in record time, their combative closeness obliterated in the post-coital lack of glow. Ellen recovers her clothing with minimal fuss and lets herself out of the apartment before Patty even thinks to move from the couch.
It doesn’t feel strange, going home to find Josh in her bed. It’s an unofficial arrangement, he can crash here while he decides where’s next on his quest to win a Pulitzer. The sex is pretty good too, so she doesn’t mind sacrificing half of the pillows. Patty doesn’t do sleepovers, and Ellen would have to sleep with one eye open anyway. With as much grace as her aching limbs can manage, Ellen eases into her own bed, fearful of waking her companion. He doesn’t wake up, so he can’t smell the sex and Scotch on her. Checking her alarm once more, it doesn’t take long for Ellen to fall asleep.
Tuesday, early morning
The vibration of her phone on the nightstand sounds like thunder and the fear rises up in her throat like bile. She grabs blindly for the flashing block of plastic, feeling Josh stir in confusion behind her.
“Hello?”
Ellen’s voice is barely a croak, her eyes too sleepy to check the display. She listens to Patty’s entirely plausible lines about voicemail and stammers an acceptance to the dinner invitation before she can really form any kind of coherent thought. Placating Josh, hoping he won’t feel like putting the moves on her before she’s had the chance to shower away the traces of fucking Patty, Ellen rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling. There’ll be no more sleep tonight.
Thursday evening
The realization of a potential trap only occurs when Ellen finds herself in the elevator of Patty’s building again. She knows that there’s no such thing as a simple invitation, and moments later Alex’s presence merely confirms her suspicions. Ellen likes to think she’s become an expert in the secret language of Patty, but she didn’t trust her instincts enough to prevent this temporary humiliation.
Her stupid fucking flowers (Patty’s favorite, she checked with an assistant at the firm all those years ago) dangle limply from her hand, and she watches the smile of triumph almost flicker into life on Patty’s face. Ellen wishes fervently that she didn’t find that particular arrogance so attractive, but she manages to recover and depart with a non-committal “we’ll see”.
Most frustrating of all is that Ellen has never found jealousy to be an attractive quality, now she’s facing wave after wave as she stumbles back out to the street. The thought of the cozy little dinner, the specially selected bottle of wine and the guileless hero worship on Alex’s face leave Ellen feeling sick. Patty likes to possess, to force the players in her life into competition, and Ellen hasn’t been keeping up with the game in recent months. She used to be a pro, but now she’s just rusty.
She screws her frustration out through Josh, who doesn’t comment on the rage in her eyes or the bruises she leaves on his collarbone. For an investigative journalist, he doesn’t seem to ask a lot of questions. It how she can justify using him to fire her own warning shot. Patty Hewes would do well to remember that there is one person who can hurt her in return.
Friday Evening
The dinner party never materializes, of course. Instead, Ellen finds herself perched on a stool and watching Patty attack her dinner with all the aggression of a hunter. The frustrations of being outside, of being forced to deal with bureaucracy like a mere public servant, are beginning to wear on Ellen. She finds herself missing the world of Hewes & Associates where the ideas are bolder and rules become mere guidelines, best avoided if at all possible.
This détente is informal at best, so why build too much on foundations of mistrust? Their dysfunctional faith in each other will have to be enough, even if it’s only the belief that eventually they’ll attempt to screw each other over. Mutually assured destruction is a little Cold War for Ellen’s tastes, but it seems the only way to get the results she wants.
If Patty taught her anything, it’s the importance of the result above the method, so who better to have as an untrustworthy ally? Since Ellen’s boss doesn’t care about the victims, and she still wants to believe that on some level Patty does, Ellen has made her choice. It might be considered treachery, but there’s enough evidence by now to suggest that Ellen never fully turned against Patty in the first place.
Expecting anything more than conversation from Patty is setting herself up for disappointment, and yet Ellen can’t help herself. They sit there in the artful kitchen lighting, protected in their respective trenches as the plates and glasses populate no man’s land of the counter. Patty begins with an apology, but Ellen is too nervous to gauge its sincerity.
“I hear Josh Reston’s back in town.”
Busted, Ellen thinks. Knowing how Patty expects the chase, she denies all knowledge as innocently as she knows how. Innocent was easier back before she’d spread her legs for her former boss, or tried to hand her over to the FBI. Innocent felt like an entirely different person, most days.
“Oh? I didn’t know.”
Just the right amount of high-pitched denial, Ellen thinks. Patty’s warm laugh is confirmation; this is as close as they’ll come to an in-joke.
“You had him interview Alex for a piece you knew I wouldn’t like, and then you sent Alex to apologize.”
Patty seems more amused than angry, but Ellen has to bite back a smile at the thought of getting under her skin at all.
“Why would I do that?”
Patty plays with her food, the silver cutlery glinting under the bright lights, and an involuntary shudder ripples down Ellen’s spine. Memories whirl for a panicked second, but Patty’s bemused words soothe them away.
“To show me that you could get to me. You’re upset that I’ve replaced you.”
She may be imagining it, but Ellen thinks the next bite Patty takes is just a little more forceful than it needs to be. Shaking her head to continue the charade of confusion, Ellen offers the party line she already decided on.
“I think Alex is great. She’s very excited about working at the firm.”
The attempt to duck the question doesn’t even merit an upward glance from Patty, but she continues her interrogation between mouthfuls.
“So you’re not upset that I’ve replaced you?”
Expectation is suddenly thick in the air between them, and Ellen finds herself holding her breath without conscious choice. This question feels like the definition of loaded, months of unspoken questions and insecurities crammed into a few words. She exhales slowly, realizing her retention of the upper hand for once.
“Patty.” She still speaks the name with something approaching reverence; all the bravado in the world can’t tarnish that. “You hired someone. You didn’t replace me.”
For now, for tonight, that’s the only distinction they need. Ellen is suddenly eager to move on, to prove her worth to Patty all over again. She doesn’t want to be just an associate, or just an occasional fling. What she wants is for Patty to recognize what they both already suspect: that in some magnetically charged, possibly pathetic way, it’s impossible for them to stay apart. As they discuss the revelation about Carol Tobin, it’s what prompts Ellen to say the most romantic thing she can think of.
“The case is what matters, Patty. I want you to find that money.”
The truth and the falsehoods of her statement are obvious to both of them, but Ellen knows from the glimmer of a smile on Patty’s face that it might just be enough.
She sends Josh a text. Won’t be home tonight. It really can be as simple as that.
Author: Lola lauriestein
Rating: M
Pairing: Patty/Ellen
Spoilers: Up to 3x07 "You Haven't Replaced Me".
Written for story_lottery prompt #14 'tarmac'
Word Count: ~4000
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I'm just playing and no profit is being made.
Summary/Notes: When I watched the end of 3x06, with Alex calling Ellen, I felt such a strong urge to write Patty/Ellen for the first time. It began as a story with Ellen telling Patty she couldn't be replaced, and then 3x07 happened so it got adapted and grew into a much longer story. This is my maiden voyage into the Damages fandom, and I'm so grateful to girlie_girl_23 for all her help with this.
Essentially, this is about Ellen's reaction to Patty's decision in that episode, and assumes Patty and Ellen have slept together in the past.
Monday Evening
Ellen breaks into a run before Alex's grating English accent has faded from her ears. Even in the din of Manhattan on a Friday night, the news had rung out as clearly as church bells in a sleepy village. Her heels make every step perilous, the sidewalk slick beneath her feet. Waiting for the lights to change and let her cross becomes an inconvenience Ellen can no longer tolerate, and so she begins to dart through any gaps in the relentless weekend traffic, risking life and limb to outrun the fleet of yellow cabs and anonymous town cars. The tarmac is rougher, easier to keep a grip, and she briefly wonders if she shouldn't attempt a one-woman road race.
Ellen doesn't have to think about the route: much like when she worked at Hewes & Associates, she's always subconsciously aware of how far she is from Patty's lair at all times. She nods at the doorman, still familiar enough after all this time to be ushered through with a white-gloved wave. Only when she comes to a halt by the elevator does Ellen consider what the hell she's doing. The doorman (she remembers his face, not his name) will have called upstairs to Patty by now, and there's every chance entrance will be refused once the elevator glides its way to the top. She decides to cut her losses, pressing the button and entering the code for Patty’s floor.
There's the metallic burn of adrenalin at the back of Ellen's throat and she tries to write it off as a fear of being turned away, the habitual risk of dealing with Patty. The clammy feeling of her hands, the prickle of sweat along her hairline say otherwise and Ellen resumes her battle with those memories she's spent so much time trying to erase.
If she closes her eyes, it’s two years ago and she’s deafened by the shrieking panic of being attacked; of being sure that the flashing silver blade was about to take her life. Her breath is threatening to burst out of her chest, and her heart hammers in her ears; she has to force herself to let it go. It’s getting easier to relax, the distraction of her mission something to cling to in the dim light of the elevator.
This is the last place on earth she should return to of her own volition, and Ellen doesn't want to contemplate what it means that she can't stay away. Hasn't she spent all this time building defenses around herself? The security of a job at the DA's office was the first step. Then the apartment, which wasn’t procured by a favor from Patty, nor is it an anonymous hotel where guns are fired and blood is shed.
So much, too much, has happened in these past three years, and nobody would blame Ellen for fleeing the city and pretending New York doesn't exist. But the ghosts that stalk her would follow her anywhere, and that's what outsiders don't understand.
Patty understands all too well. She wears her losses in the softer lines of her face, only visible to a selected few. Ellen knows she's privileged, though she fears that privilege more than she appreciates it. All the empathy in the world can't remove the fact that Patty is poison, that she's the root cause of so much of Ellen's pain.
And that still isn't why Ellen ran here in a haze of fury, dodging the worst excesses of Manhattan streets to make a point, to come and yell at Patty when in earlier times she would have gone home and fumed to the nearest fascinated party. There had never been a shortage of willing audience members for Ellen’s rants about the Patty Hewes of headlines and legends.
No, she's pissed at Patty for making her groom the improbable English rose who appears to be the new junior associate. For making Ellen hear the catch in the blonde's voice that said Patty was already forcing her to cross lines, to metaphorically skip a wedding to prove a point. Ellen had known from her first few sentences with Alex that the girl would cross any line Patty placed in front of her, but not for the right reasons. It took time to understand the machinations behind every challenge and another fool was falling headfirst into the trap. Knowing when to comply, when to take a stand or when to tell Patty to go fuck herself was both an art and a science, neither of which a law degree could prepare anyone for.
The elevator door slides open as the penthouse floor is reached. Patty has given tacit permission for the visit by not locking the door in the little hallway, but in her irritation Ellen feels like she could have scaled the walls to make her point. As she steps into the living room, the door is prompt in closing behind her. There's only cavernous space and artistic lighting, no sign of the lady of the house at all.
Ellen pauses for a moment, sure of her mission but not of the execution. She wants Patty to seek her out, to make the first concession in the war they’ll wage tonight. There's a childish impulse to call out, to test the acoustics and summon Patty at the same time, but she lets it pass.
The absence of Phil is like a physical ache in the room, the last vestiges of softness seem to have left with him, and no dog comes bounding across smooth wooden floors to greet her and leave errant hairs on her new black suit.
This place fits Patty perfectly, the deceptive warmth of it. It's more like a gallery than an apartment, and Patty keeps herself in a tempered glass case with laser beams and heavy steel gates to punish anyone who might intrude.
Ellen opts for the bolder move, proceeding into the kitchen and pouring herself a generous glass of Scotch from the crystal decanter on the counter. Either the sharp beats of her heels or the splash of alcohol is finally enough to summon the hostess, and by the time Ellen has downed her first taste of the single malt, Patty is waiting on the opposite side of the kitchen table.
"I had a feeling I might see you tonight, Ellen. It's nice of you to drop by."
That inscrutable smile is present of course, though Ellen knows better by now, and so she looks directly at Patty's eyes. It's only ever a flicker but that fragment of a second when Patty's true intentions are revealed is too valuable to miss. Otherwise she remains the Sphinx of the Upper East Side.
"I see that Alex passed your little tests. Congratulations.”
The bitterness was supposed to stay hidden, but Ellen can hear it dripping from her own words as they hang in the air. The only response they elicit from Patty is a tiny smirk.
"Is that what you think I'm doing, Ellen? How simplistic. I expected better of you by now.”
Ellen bites her tongue, literally, almost sharp enough to draw blood. She won’t rise to the bait so early in the exchange.
“Aren't you going to pour me a drink?"
Ellen can feel the insistent pressure of Patty's will coming at her, deceptively gentle waves that slowly submerge her until she isn't sure of her own mind. Not tonight, she berates herself. Tonight she came to speak her mind, and she won't be dissuaded by Patty's charm.
"There's a glass right there. Help yourself."
It's pointless, Ellen's pouting refusal to give Patty her own damn Scotch, but a concession now will take Ellen out at the knees. Patty shrugs off the minor slight and pours her own drink, striding off into the lounge with an unspoken expectation that Ellen will follow. Ellen does, kicking off her shoes before sinking into the expanse of sofa.
Finding the opening shot is troublesome, and not for the first time Ellen curses her impulsive nature. She can feel Patty watching her, but Ellen opts to focus on the heavy crystal in her hand, the dancing reflections in the amber liquid a far safer place to rest her eyes.
" I didn't think you would care who works for me.” Patty begins, and her voice is softer than Ellen would have expected. "You've made it quite clear that you want to pursue a career with the DA's office."
The silence that follows is expectant, and Ellen struggles to formulate her response. She's wildly emotional, and although she doesn't trust her own words, right now she can barely restrain them from spilling out.
How can she explain to Patty that she likes feeling special, likes being the one junior associate to beguile the untouchable Ms. Hewes? Is there a way to express her spike of jealousy without betraying how she misses so much more than the complex cases and the cut and thrust of the fight?
It boils down to this: while Alex can take Ellen's job, Alex absolutely cannot take Ellen's place. That's what Ellen can't stand idly by and let happen; that's why she's here.
That's what she needs to express, in this echoing room that still feels too small because Patty is only a couple of feet away and already Ellen is calculating how few half-seconds it would take to be next to her, to be touching her. She wonders if Patty knows (she suspects that of course Patty knows) that Wes wasn't enough, and the memory of David is already beginning to fade. Ellen wants to ask if Patty's bed has remained resolutely empty since Phil left, though whether Patty would reward her with a laugh or a slap is a risk she can’t take.
"I'm sure she's a perfectly good lawyer, Patty. And I'm happy with the choices I made."
Pouncing on what remains unspoken, Patty places her glass on the table, and the deft movement looks for all the world like an opening gambit. Ellen can bluster and brave her way through every conversation, but there's little doubt who is Queen on this particular board. Ever the seemingly protected King, Ellen knows her escape routes are limited, that whatever this tangled mess between them is, Patty can keep coming at her until the open air gives way to unbreakable walls.
"All of your choices?"
Patty leans closer, the distance between them reducing in an instant. Spine straightening, Ellen swallows hard and attempts to hold Patty's gaze without flinching. She succeeds, until Patty reaches for her hand and the warm contact feels like a circuit completing. Ostensibly, the only reason for the touch is so that Patty can retrieve Ellen's now-empty glass, but a second or two later their hands are reunited.
As their fingers clasp together, the contact is neither friendly nor aggressive. With her free hand, Ellen brushes an errant strand of hair from her own face, trying to distract herself from the soft but worn skin that's pressed against her own. Patty has spent a lifetime handling paper, from statute books to checks and the evidence lingers under the sheen of expensive moisturizer.
She knows these hands, these fingers, and it's why she finds herself in this dangerous, miserable place once more. As the last attempt at polite extrication begins to form in her throat, Ellen feels her air stolen by Patty's first kiss.
Not tender, like the careful union of their hands, but as direct and powerful as the Patty she's come to know and love, and hate. Ellen kisses back, the anger and confusion she's been feeling for the past hour coming to a head and she tries to channel her unarticulated words through the actions of her lips instead.
Ellen feels the first currents of excitement beginning to course through her, as though champagne is bubbling around her spine and her chest is tightening; she almost forgets to breathe between kisses.
This is what she's addicted to. This is why she can't walk away when any sane person would run.
A kiss is not enough, and Ellen finally summons the co-ordination to move. She runs her hands along the delicate silk of Patty's blouse and pulls her closer. The heat between them is palpable, and Ellen offers no resistance when Patty begins to tug at the buttons of Ellen's jacket.
It's a familiar routine by now, although the separate occasions have allowed months to elapse between them. Despite the lack of novelty, Ellen still feels the heady thrill of the contest, finally competing with Patty on a level playing field. For all of Patty's dominance, elegance and skill, Ellen knows the effect she has on her former boss. Patty can hide almost everything but there's no disguising her reaction to Ellen's body, the fervor of her words and actions increasing as more clothing falls by the wayside.
Ellen started out shocked at Patty's attention: that first, slightly fumbling time in Patty's office. She'd heard rumors of course, the same ones that were whispered about every powerful woman. Naively perhaps, Ellen had accepted the happiness of the marriage at face value, having no reason to doubt until one night, just after eleven, Patty had made her move.
Subtle to a fault, all it had taken was for Patty to trace one searching finger along the exposed skin of Ellen's thigh. Sitting beside each other on the soft chairs in the corner, it had seemed almost normal for Patty to touch that inch or two of Ellen's leg. When Patty's finger continued its trail past the hem of Ellen's skirt, she knew she was a goner.
Tonight there's no less urgency in their touches, and Ellen is still slightly in awe of Patty's abilities. Ever the perfectionist, she's been studying Ellen's body and learning every possible way to draw out those breathy little moans that escape without any conscious decision on Ellen's part.
Not content to merely be a plaything, Ellen remembers why she came here and changes the game. Patty Hewes will be in no doubt about how replaceable Ellen is by the time this is over.
When Patty attempts to steer them towards her bedroom, Ellen is resolute in her refusal. She pulls a half-dressed Patty back onto the sofa beside her, and is pleasantly surprised when Patty complies.
Wasting no time, Ellen drops to her knees and pushes roughly at Patty's skirt until it's past her hips. Her thumbs begin to stroke in alternating rhythms along Patty's inner thighs, and when Patty's head drops back in silent approval, Ellen is sure she can have her way.
One cautious finger ventures to stroke Patty through the silk of her underwear, and Ellen is rewarded with the slick evidence of arousal through the fragile material. She allows her neatly manicured nails to scrape along Patty’s thighs, impressed by the hiss it draws from Patty’s mouth.
Then she stops being quite so deliberate and busies herself with the removal of that final silk barrier, letting her fingers tease and explore with abandon. There’s no pattern, no pre-determined rhythm to match the pounding of her own heart, but by the time Ellen replaces her fingers with her tongue, Patty is already well on her way to an almost violent climax. Her hips thrust towards Ellen instinctively, the temporary loss of control as satisfying to Ellen as the almost-scream she inspires.
For her all of her considerable flaws, Patty has always been generous, and when she’s finally able to see straight she makes sure to reciprocate. Ellen can no longer feign detachment, she’s on fire as Patty’s nearly quivering hand first seeks out Ellen’s breast. The older woman finds her stride quickly, and before long she has three of her fingers buried inside Ellen, coaxing her into a staggering orgasm that cause Ellen to writhe underneath her until she has to beg Patty for a little mercy.
She always asks too much, but Ellen can never stop herself from giving exactly that.
Regrets surface in record time, their combative closeness obliterated in the post-coital lack of glow. Ellen recovers her clothing with minimal fuss and lets herself out of the apartment before Patty even thinks to move from the couch.
It doesn’t feel strange, going home to find Josh in her bed. It’s an unofficial arrangement, he can crash here while he decides where’s next on his quest to win a Pulitzer. The sex is pretty good too, so she doesn’t mind sacrificing half of the pillows. Patty doesn’t do sleepovers, and Ellen would have to sleep with one eye open anyway. With as much grace as her aching limbs can manage, Ellen eases into her own bed, fearful of waking her companion. He doesn’t wake up, so he can’t smell the sex and Scotch on her. Checking her alarm once more, it doesn’t take long for Ellen to fall asleep.
Tuesday, early morning
The vibration of her phone on the nightstand sounds like thunder and the fear rises up in her throat like bile. She grabs blindly for the flashing block of plastic, feeling Josh stir in confusion behind her.
“Hello?”
Ellen’s voice is barely a croak, her eyes too sleepy to check the display. She listens to Patty’s entirely plausible lines about voicemail and stammers an acceptance to the dinner invitation before she can really form any kind of coherent thought. Placating Josh, hoping he won’t feel like putting the moves on her before she’s had the chance to shower away the traces of fucking Patty, Ellen rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling. There’ll be no more sleep tonight.
Thursday evening
The realization of a potential trap only occurs when Ellen finds herself in the elevator of Patty’s building again. She knows that there’s no such thing as a simple invitation, and moments later Alex’s presence merely confirms her suspicions. Ellen likes to think she’s become an expert in the secret language of Patty, but she didn’t trust her instincts enough to prevent this temporary humiliation.
Her stupid fucking flowers (Patty’s favorite, she checked with an assistant at the firm all those years ago) dangle limply from her hand, and she watches the smile of triumph almost flicker into life on Patty’s face. Ellen wishes fervently that she didn’t find that particular arrogance so attractive, but she manages to recover and depart with a non-committal “we’ll see”.
Most frustrating of all is that Ellen has never found jealousy to be an attractive quality, now she’s facing wave after wave as she stumbles back out to the street. The thought of the cozy little dinner, the specially selected bottle of wine and the guileless hero worship on Alex’s face leave Ellen feeling sick. Patty likes to possess, to force the players in her life into competition, and Ellen hasn’t been keeping up with the game in recent months. She used to be a pro, but now she’s just rusty.
She screws her frustration out through Josh, who doesn’t comment on the rage in her eyes or the bruises she leaves on his collarbone. For an investigative journalist, he doesn’t seem to ask a lot of questions. It how she can justify using him to fire her own warning shot. Patty Hewes would do well to remember that there is one person who can hurt her in return.
Friday Evening
The dinner party never materializes, of course. Instead, Ellen finds herself perched on a stool and watching Patty attack her dinner with all the aggression of a hunter. The frustrations of being outside, of being forced to deal with bureaucracy like a mere public servant, are beginning to wear on Ellen. She finds herself missing the world of Hewes & Associates where the ideas are bolder and rules become mere guidelines, best avoided if at all possible.
This détente is informal at best, so why build too much on foundations of mistrust? Their dysfunctional faith in each other will have to be enough, even if it’s only the belief that eventually they’ll attempt to screw each other over. Mutually assured destruction is a little Cold War for Ellen’s tastes, but it seems the only way to get the results she wants.
If Patty taught her anything, it’s the importance of the result above the method, so who better to have as an untrustworthy ally? Since Ellen’s boss doesn’t care about the victims, and she still wants to believe that on some level Patty does, Ellen has made her choice. It might be considered treachery, but there’s enough evidence by now to suggest that Ellen never fully turned against Patty in the first place.
Expecting anything more than conversation from Patty is setting herself up for disappointment, and yet Ellen can’t help herself. They sit there in the artful kitchen lighting, protected in their respective trenches as the plates and glasses populate no man’s land of the counter. Patty begins with an apology, but Ellen is too nervous to gauge its sincerity.
“I hear Josh Reston’s back in town.”
Busted, Ellen thinks. Knowing how Patty expects the chase, she denies all knowledge as innocently as she knows how. Innocent was easier back before she’d spread her legs for her former boss, or tried to hand her over to the FBI. Innocent felt like an entirely different person, most days.
“Oh? I didn’t know.”
Just the right amount of high-pitched denial, Ellen thinks. Patty’s warm laugh is confirmation; this is as close as they’ll come to an in-joke.
“You had him interview Alex for a piece you knew I wouldn’t like, and then you sent Alex to apologize.”
Patty seems more amused than angry, but Ellen has to bite back a smile at the thought of getting under her skin at all.
“Why would I do that?”
Patty plays with her food, the silver cutlery glinting under the bright lights, and an involuntary shudder ripples down Ellen’s spine. Memories whirl for a panicked second, but Patty’s bemused words soothe them away.
“To show me that you could get to me. You’re upset that I’ve replaced you.”
She may be imagining it, but Ellen thinks the next bite Patty takes is just a little more forceful than it needs to be. Shaking her head to continue the charade of confusion, Ellen offers the party line she already decided on.
“I think Alex is great. She’s very excited about working at the firm.”
The attempt to duck the question doesn’t even merit an upward glance from Patty, but she continues her interrogation between mouthfuls.
“So you’re not upset that I’ve replaced you?”
Expectation is suddenly thick in the air between them, and Ellen finds herself holding her breath without conscious choice. This question feels like the definition of loaded, months of unspoken questions and insecurities crammed into a few words. She exhales slowly, realizing her retention of the upper hand for once.
“Patty.” She still speaks the name with something approaching reverence; all the bravado in the world can’t tarnish that. “You hired someone. You didn’t replace me.”
For now, for tonight, that’s the only distinction they need. Ellen is suddenly eager to move on, to prove her worth to Patty all over again. She doesn’t want to be just an associate, or just an occasional fling. What she wants is for Patty to recognize what they both already suspect: that in some magnetically charged, possibly pathetic way, it’s impossible for them to stay apart. As they discuss the revelation about Carol Tobin, it’s what prompts Ellen to say the most romantic thing she can think of.
“The case is what matters, Patty. I want you to find that money.”
The truth and the falsehoods of her statement are obvious to both of them, but Ellen knows from the glimmer of a smile on Patty’s face that it might just be enough.
She sends Josh a text. Won’t be home tonight. It really can be as simple as that.