fic: oh sister of mine (Justified/The West Wing, Ava/Boyd, Ainsley)
oh sister of mine
Justified & The West Wing crossover / Ava/Boyd + Ainsley / 657 words
For norgbelulah, Happy Holidays, hon! I hope this works for you
Boyd finds the picture.
“What this, baby?”
Ava turns from where she’s standing in front of the kitchen sink, mixing a pitcher of lemonade because she had a craving for it today at the shop. She squints, and says, exasperated. “You know I can’t see that from here.”
It’s a picture frame, and where he found it she can’t begin to think about. Down in the basement maybe, tucked back in a box with books on top, or a blanket or old sweaters covering it up from sight. She wonders how he found it.
She sets the wooden spoon she’s stirring with down and takes the frame from his hands.
The person in it is familiar. The blonde hair and matching eyes and soft skin. Her fingers itch for a cigarette even though she’s trying to quit. She could really use one though at the sight in front of her, down in her hands.
“It’s Ainsley. My sister,” she states, matter of fact.
Boyd’s brow furrows, eyebrows constricting over deep eyes. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”
She exhales, laughs a little. “Ainsley didn’t want to leave Daddy, and Mama, well, she didn’t want to stay.”
He gives her a thoughtful look but doesn’t say anything further then.
--
“You ever talk to her?”
Ava looks up from her sewing machine. She’s working on a new pattern for a blue colored dress. She got the design from a magazine one of her customers was looking at the other day. She shrugs. “Sometimes. Not always. She’s busy.”
Boyd’s gotten a weird obsession in his head about her sister now. It’s like a puzzle he wants to figure out, and it would be funny if it didn’t bring up things she’d rather not think about.
“You can see her whenever you want. Just have to turn on the TV,” she adds, flipping the switch on her needle.
“Oh? What’s she do?” He’s reading on the couch, a thick book that she teased him about the name of yesterday.
Another small laugh. Then the sound of machine running. “She works for the President.”
--
They’re in bed, comfortable, the sounds of the night with the wind and the bugs lulling them to sleep.
“I saw your sister today,” Boyd murmurs, interrupting the peaceful spell.
Ava doesn’t lift her head from where she’s comfortable laying on his shoulder. She plucks at the sheet that drapes over their hips and legs. “Did you?”
“Miss Ainsley Hayes,” he drawls out, voice low and timber rich. She likes the way he lingers over the vowels, thinking of how he says her name.
Mama had liked names with a’s.
“She’s a smart one,” he continues, playing with the ends of her hair.
Ava laughs, a loud sound that bounces off the wall. She lifts her chin so she can prop it up and see his face. She meets his eyes, and says with a teasing grin, “She’d eat you alive. Even you with all your smarts and books.”
He meets her smile with one of his own. It’s genuine, and gives her a flash of straight teeth. “Not so different from you then.”
--
Ava sits on the front porch, one foot on the worn planks, pushing off so the swing rocks ever so slightly back and forth. Boyd’s at work, and it’s only her here.
She’s got a cigarette in one hand and her cellphone in other. She takes a drag, inhales, and then flips the phone open, scrolling for a familiar number.
Memories of hot summers spent rolling down the grass hill behind their house, of winter skating over the neighbor’s iced over pond from down the way, of shared whispers in the night, sift through her mind.
She presses the enter button and waits.
It rings, once, twice, a third time, and then a familiar voice speaks in a syrupy familiar voice, “Hayes.”
Ava clears her throat, pauses, and says,
“Ainsley.”
Justified & The West Wing crossover / Ava/Boyd + Ainsley / 657 words
For norgbelulah, Happy Holidays, hon! I hope this works for you
Boyd finds the picture.
“What this, baby?”
Ava turns from where she’s standing in front of the kitchen sink, mixing a pitcher of lemonade because she had a craving for it today at the shop. She squints, and says, exasperated. “You know I can’t see that from here.”
It’s a picture frame, and where he found it she can’t begin to think about. Down in the basement maybe, tucked back in a box with books on top, or a blanket or old sweaters covering it up from sight. She wonders how he found it.
She sets the wooden spoon she’s stirring with down and takes the frame from his hands.
The person in it is familiar. The blonde hair and matching eyes and soft skin. Her fingers itch for a cigarette even though she’s trying to quit. She could really use one though at the sight in front of her, down in her hands.
“It’s Ainsley. My sister,” she states, matter of fact.
Boyd’s brow furrows, eyebrows constricting over deep eyes. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”
She exhales, laughs a little. “Ainsley didn’t want to leave Daddy, and Mama, well, she didn’t want to stay.”
He gives her a thoughtful look but doesn’t say anything further then.
--
“You ever talk to her?”
Ava looks up from her sewing machine. She’s working on a new pattern for a blue colored dress. She got the design from a magazine one of her customers was looking at the other day. She shrugs. “Sometimes. Not always. She’s busy.”
Boyd’s gotten a weird obsession in his head about her sister now. It’s like a puzzle he wants to figure out, and it would be funny if it didn’t bring up things she’d rather not think about.
“You can see her whenever you want. Just have to turn on the TV,” she adds, flipping the switch on her needle.
“Oh? What’s she do?” He’s reading on the couch, a thick book that she teased him about the name of yesterday.
Another small laugh. Then the sound of machine running. “She works for the President.”
--
They’re in bed, comfortable, the sounds of the night with the wind and the bugs lulling them to sleep.
“I saw your sister today,” Boyd murmurs, interrupting the peaceful spell.
Ava doesn’t lift her head from where she’s comfortable laying on his shoulder. She plucks at the sheet that drapes over their hips and legs. “Did you?”
“Miss Ainsley Hayes,” he drawls out, voice low and timber rich. She likes the way he lingers over the vowels, thinking of how he says her name.
Mama had liked names with a’s.
“She’s a smart one,” he continues, playing with the ends of her hair.
Ava laughs, a loud sound that bounces off the wall. She lifts her chin so she can prop it up and see his face. She meets his eyes, and says with a teasing grin, “She’d eat you alive. Even you with all your smarts and books.”
He meets her smile with one of his own. It’s genuine, and gives her a flash of straight teeth. “Not so different from you then.”
--
Ava sits on the front porch, one foot on the worn planks, pushing off so the swing rocks ever so slightly back and forth. Boyd’s at work, and it’s only her here.
She’s got a cigarette in one hand and her cellphone in other. She takes a drag, inhales, and then flips the phone open, scrolling for a familiar number.
Memories of hot summers spent rolling down the grass hill behind their house, of winter skating over the neighbor’s iced over pond from down the way, of shared whispers in the night, sift through her mind.
She presses the enter button and waits.
It rings, once, twice, a third time, and then a familiar voice speaks in a syrupy familiar voice, “Hayes.”
Ava clears her throat, pauses, and says,
“Ainsley.”