TWW Ficlet: Coulda, Woulda
Fandom: The West Wing
Title: Coulda, Woulda
Characters: Donna, Amy
Notes: set during Freedonia in season 6. I really don't know where this came from. I was trying to write an Amy/Donna slash piece, but it didn't come. I'm not practiced at femslash, so... I'll have to build up to it. I'm not even gonna bother to post this anywhere else. It's just for you, flist! Happy birthday! (Birthday, you ask? Yeah, I don't know either)
[ coulda, woulda ]
by kHo
Amy smiles that just barely there smile and sips slowly through the straw in her drink. “Bet you were surprised to hear from me.”
Donna smiles, because it’s the polite thing to do mostly, and sits down on the barstool next to hers. “Kind of. Yeah.”
Amy laughs, because she still sees right through her, and nods her head. “We could have been friends,” she says, flicking her eyes at the bar tender, giving a slight nod for a refill on her vodka tonic. “Would have been, in fact. In different situations.”
Donna asks the bartender for a whiskey sour and wonders to herself why she agreed to meet Amy in a bar in New Hampshire. She should be prepping Russell for the debate that Santos snowed them into, but instead here she sits. “Somehow I doubt that.”
“No,” Amy says, shaking her head. “You would have liked me. I can be fun.”
Donna stiffens as she tries to think of things to say, and how to put them. “It’s not that I don’t think I would have liked you--”
“You would have,” Amy says. “You would have admired the way I stood up for the things you never had the backbone for.”
She almost stands up and leaves right then. Almost, but doesn’t. “You’re really convincing me that we definitely would have been friends.”
Amy laughs. “Admit it. You weren’t the most assertive of women in your younger days, Donna.”
Donna’s jaw tightens as the drink arrives and she wraps her hands around the glass. “Well, I’ve changed.”
“I’ve noticed,” she says. “Good for you. Leaving him. I’m happy.”
Donna looks at her. “I didn’t leave him.”
Amy looks right back at her, her eyes boring into her. “Okay.”
“I didn’t,” Donna says despite the fact that she knows Amy’s right in ways she didn’t want her to be. “It was about me, not him.”
“Right,” Amy says, nodding. “But, in order to do it for you, you had to leave him. And I didn’t think you’d get to that point.”
“Well. I did.”
Amy looks at her, her eyes sweeping over Donna’s body so slowly Donna fights the urge to squirm. “You would have liked me. We would have had fun.”
“I guess we’ll never know,” Donna says, and she hates the bitterness she still feels. She hates the jealousy that’s fueling it. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter now.”
“Nope,” Amy says. “Because neither of us got him.”
Donna doesn’t know what to say to that so she makes her mind go blank and tries to pretend Amy’s just some girl sitting next to her in a bar. “Uhuh.”
“You know, there’s something you never got, Donna,” Amy says, looking down at the bar before looking up at her and propping her head in her hand. “You always thought you played second fiddle to any woman in Josh’s life. And what you never got, is that every other woman in Josh’s life actually always played second fiddle to you.”
Donna fights the bitter laugh and fails. “Okay.”
Amy’s smile is as sharp as a knife and Donna feels cut by it. “Deny it all you want. It’s true.”
“Like you said,” Donna says, wishing she’d ordered a shot instead of a full glass, because a shot would take less time to finish. “Doesn’t really matter anymore.”
“He said your name once,” Amy says, smiling softly, almost as if it’s a fond memory. “There I was, on my knees-- I’m excellent at head, mind you-- and he said your name.”
Donna’s eyes close, because she’s not sure which part of that is more painful. “Please, don’t continue that story.”
“I was done,” Amy says, laughing and standing up. “Just thought you should know.”
“Why,” Donna asks, regretting the question immediately, but still needing to know.
“Because you thought I thought you were pathetic,” she says, brushing Donna’s hair back from her face and resting her hand on Donna’s shoulder. “I thought you should know I knew it was him that was pathetic and not you.”
Donna looks up at her and frowns. “Why did you call me down here, Amy?”
Amy shrugs. “I always thought it was a shame we never got to be friends. Thought maybe there was a chance.”
Donna sighed, looking down. “Maybe there is.”
Amy laughed. “No. There’s not.”
As Donna watched Amy walk away she wondered if Amy wasn’t right about them. In the end she decided it didn’t matter, because mostly she was annoyed that Amy always got the last word.
Title: Coulda, Woulda
Characters: Donna, Amy
Notes: set during Freedonia in season 6. I really don't know where this came from. I was trying to write an Amy/Donna slash piece, but it didn't come. I'm not practiced at femslash, so... I'll have to build up to it. I'm not even gonna bother to post this anywhere else. It's just for you, flist! Happy birthday! (Birthday, you ask? Yeah, I don't know either)
[ coulda, woulda ]
by kHo
Amy smiles that just barely there smile and sips slowly through the straw in her drink. “Bet you were surprised to hear from me.”
Donna smiles, because it’s the polite thing to do mostly, and sits down on the barstool next to hers. “Kind of. Yeah.”
Amy laughs, because she still sees right through her, and nods her head. “We could have been friends,” she says, flicking her eyes at the bar tender, giving a slight nod for a refill on her vodka tonic. “Would have been, in fact. In different situations.”
Donna asks the bartender for a whiskey sour and wonders to herself why she agreed to meet Amy in a bar in New Hampshire. She should be prepping Russell for the debate that Santos snowed them into, but instead here she sits. “Somehow I doubt that.”
“No,” Amy says, shaking her head. “You would have liked me. I can be fun.”
Donna stiffens as she tries to think of things to say, and how to put them. “It’s not that I don’t think I would have liked you--”
“You would have,” Amy says. “You would have admired the way I stood up for the things you never had the backbone for.”
She almost stands up and leaves right then. Almost, but doesn’t. “You’re really convincing me that we definitely would have been friends.”
Amy laughs. “Admit it. You weren’t the most assertive of women in your younger days, Donna.”
Donna’s jaw tightens as the drink arrives and she wraps her hands around the glass. “Well, I’ve changed.”
“I’ve noticed,” she says. “Good for you. Leaving him. I’m happy.”
Donna looks at her. “I didn’t leave him.”
Amy looks right back at her, her eyes boring into her. “Okay.”
“I didn’t,” Donna says despite the fact that she knows Amy’s right in ways she didn’t want her to be. “It was about me, not him.”
“Right,” Amy says, nodding. “But, in order to do it for you, you had to leave him. And I didn’t think you’d get to that point.”
“Well. I did.”
Amy looks at her, her eyes sweeping over Donna’s body so slowly Donna fights the urge to squirm. “You would have liked me. We would have had fun.”
“I guess we’ll never know,” Donna says, and she hates the bitterness she still feels. She hates the jealousy that’s fueling it. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter now.”
“Nope,” Amy says. “Because neither of us got him.”
Donna doesn’t know what to say to that so she makes her mind go blank and tries to pretend Amy’s just some girl sitting next to her in a bar. “Uhuh.”
“You know, there’s something you never got, Donna,” Amy says, looking down at the bar before looking up at her and propping her head in her hand. “You always thought you played second fiddle to any woman in Josh’s life. And what you never got, is that every other woman in Josh’s life actually always played second fiddle to you.”
Donna fights the bitter laugh and fails. “Okay.”
Amy’s smile is as sharp as a knife and Donna feels cut by it. “Deny it all you want. It’s true.”
“Like you said,” Donna says, wishing she’d ordered a shot instead of a full glass, because a shot would take less time to finish. “Doesn’t really matter anymore.”
“He said your name once,” Amy says, smiling softly, almost as if it’s a fond memory. “There I was, on my knees-- I’m excellent at head, mind you-- and he said your name.”
Donna’s eyes close, because she’s not sure which part of that is more painful. “Please, don’t continue that story.”
“I was done,” Amy says, laughing and standing up. “Just thought you should know.”
“Why,” Donna asks, regretting the question immediately, but still needing to know.
“Because you thought I thought you were pathetic,” she says, brushing Donna’s hair back from her face and resting her hand on Donna’s shoulder. “I thought you should know I knew it was him that was pathetic and not you.”
Donna looks up at her and frowns. “Why did you call me down here, Amy?”
Amy shrugs. “I always thought it was a shame we never got to be friends. Thought maybe there was a chance.”
Donna sighed, looking down. “Maybe there is.”
Amy laughed. “No. There’s not.”
As Donna watched Amy walk away she wondered if Amy wasn’t right about them. In the end she decided it didn’t matter, because mostly she was annoyed that Amy always got the last word.