fic: i didn't ask for you (veep, amy/dan)
title: i didn't ask for you
characters: amy/dan
rating: r
summary: "you didn't tell me about your father," he says and she wishes he wouldn't.
author's notes: spoilers for 2.01 and 2.02. these two are childish assholes and I love them dearly.
She does not say thank-you.
They climb into the elevator after waiting what seems like a fuck ton of minutes, no one cares if the guy was nearly dead on the stretcher, okay, and stand perfectly in the center. The buttons light up as it descends. Silence compresses in the sterile air between them.
Amy taps the toe of her heel, a sharp noise over the hum of the cables, and from the corner of her eye she can see the furrow of Dan's forehead. She swipes her tongue over her bottom lip. "You better not fuck this up."
His head swings round at her then for that comment. Eyes narrowed and he's glaring. "Me? You mean we."
We
we as if they're pretending this isn't something either of them could do while eating or fucking or sleeping; all at the same time probably.
"Oh," she scoffs, as the elevator door opens up to the parking deck. She walks ahead of him. "I'm not putting my name on this if you screw it up. I'll tell Selina it was you."
He huffs behind her, tongue already dropping more clever insults that only half make sense. Her car keys bite sharply into the meat of her palm, and she exhales a bit.
The words thank-you never leave her lips.
Of course Dan doesn't fucking get it because he's a fucking moron on the best of days, and so he doesn't fucking get it and doesn't fucking drop it, and she's really fucking not into having this conversation. See the exchange in the elevator.
When has Dan ever done what she wanted though; no the time he'd eaten her out before the Chinese delivery guy had come doesn't count.
He sidles up to her in the kitchenette, when she's hunting down the good snacks she knows Gary hides. From around the corner she can hear Jonah and Mike talking about their dicks and the upcoming vote on the deficit. She frowns as she moves a box of granola aside, listening to them go on, and grins when she finds the oatmeal creme pies. Jackpot.
Of course at that moment, Dan makes his presence known. How he got in without her hearing him, she's not sure. As it is, he touches her shoulder and says maybe her name, and then she's jerking around smack him for startling her.
"What the fuck," he hisses, rubbing his neck.
Amy clutches her snack prize, her lip curling. "Jesus fucking christ, what is your problem?"
"My problem," his too well groomed eyebrows, looking better than hers today, arch up. "My problem? I don't know, Rocky, what's your problem, just assaulting people like that for trying to do a good deed."
She squints at him. "Good deed?"
His eyes flick upwards, his mouth twisting in distaste, as if he too can't believe he just said that. "Whatever," he jerks his chin, staring down at her. Then, that little twitch that she's seen too recently lately, and his voice stammers and goes quieter. "So, uh, you didn't tell me about your Dad."
Blinking, in the tiny kitchenette that OEOB and Congress deemed them worthy enough to have, with the whine of the near broken refrigerator and the dying overhead light, she stares at him. While he stares at her. Expectant and waiting.
She opens her mouth, pauses, and clutches her snack, crinkling plastic and probably smashing it. "Right," she gives him a small smile. "I didn't."
She weasels past him and out the door.
What follows can only be described as an adult game of hide and seek, in which she does her best to not look at him and avoid him at all expenses.
It helps that Selina is back, and there's a minor meltdown over the fact that Gary thinks he left the VP's traveling scarf in North Carolina.
Amy forgets that Dan knows where she lives.
So maybe she didn't forget, because that'd be hard to do when he's eaten at her place, picked her up from her place, fucked her at her place, let her fuck him at her place, and that one time he helped her fix her smoke detector at her place.
It's not a thing. They're not a thing.
They're not.
Her cell-phone mocks her with his stupid text message telling her to let him into the building. It keeps chirping and she thinks it would serve him right to leave him outside waiting. And it would be really funny for her.
She hadn't lied to her family when she'd said it was only three dates.
That's what it had been.
She just didn't tell them that sometimes she and Dan still saw each other and had sex. Her business is her own, thank you very much.
"Well," Amy says when she opens her door to his face. She takes a few steps back because the last time he'd stopped by her neighbor had shouted at them to leave the hallway.
Dan ducks in and nudges the door close with his sneaker. He's wearing those gray running shorts of his, the ones she'd put on once at his place back when they'd gone out in public to dinners. His hair's still wet too, like he just showered before coming over. She doesn't want to think on that. "Uh," he starts, looking around her foyer and into her kitchen, the sheepish confusion on his face saying maybe he didn't think she'd let him in. "You never answered my question."
"Oh god," she bites out. Her hands rise into the air and then fall back to her sides, a smacking pop noise of frustration. "Seriously?"
"Well you didn't," he jumps in, voice rising to match hers. "I was just--"
"What?" Interrupting, she pins him down with her scariest look. The one that makes Mike turn do a u-turn immediately. A thought reaches her, completing his sentence. "Were you," she pauses and lifts her head from where she'd leaned closer to him. "Were you concerned for me?"
Dan twitches his head to the left. "No," he scoffs, voice completely fake. "I was just," a beat, "you know." He lifts his shoulders in a shrug that shows off too much of his collarbone where his t-shirt hands loose.
"Well," she says slowly, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth for a second. "For your not concern, I'm just fine."
His forehead crinkles and he nods. "Good." He blinks and looks around again, shifting in his tennis shoes. "Good then. I'll just go," he finishes, thumbing over his shoulder to her door.
Amy rolls her eyes towards the ceiling, regretting this maybe. The line of his back greets her when she looks forward again. "Wait," she sighs as he hand rests on the doorknob. "Do you want to eat?"
He turns around and squints at her, mouth lifting in that douchebag grin he'd probably trademarked. "Who's doing the eating?"
"Real food, dumbass."
He leaves her doorknob, shuffling back into her place. "We're not eating from that Ethiopian place you like."
She lets him squabble with her about the takeout menus, satisfied and pleased again at this turn of events. Deflection, her sister's voice whispers in her head. She tells it to fuck off.
Later she sleeps in those gray shorts and shoves her cold feet under his calves while he bitches about Furlong and her cold-as-fuck toes.
characters: amy/dan
rating: r
summary: "you didn't tell me about your father," he says and she wishes he wouldn't.
author's notes: spoilers for 2.01 and 2.02. these two are childish assholes and I love them dearly.
She does not say thank-you.
They climb into the elevator after waiting what seems like a fuck ton of minutes, no one cares if the guy was nearly dead on the stretcher, okay, and stand perfectly in the center. The buttons light up as it descends. Silence compresses in the sterile air between them.
Amy taps the toe of her heel, a sharp noise over the hum of the cables, and from the corner of her eye she can see the furrow of Dan's forehead. She swipes her tongue over her bottom lip. "You better not fuck this up."
His head swings round at her then for that comment. Eyes narrowed and he's glaring. "Me? You mean we."
We
we as if they're pretending this isn't something either of them could do while eating or fucking or sleeping; all at the same time probably.
"Oh," she scoffs, as the elevator door opens up to the parking deck. She walks ahead of him. "I'm not putting my name on this if you screw it up. I'll tell Selina it was you."
He huffs behind her, tongue already dropping more clever insults that only half make sense. Her car keys bite sharply into the meat of her palm, and she exhales a bit.
The words thank-you never leave her lips.
Of course Dan doesn't fucking get it because he's a fucking moron on the best of days, and so he doesn't fucking get it and doesn't fucking drop it, and she's really fucking not into having this conversation. See the exchange in the elevator.
When has Dan ever done what she wanted though; no the time he'd eaten her out before the Chinese delivery guy had come doesn't count.
He sidles up to her in the kitchenette, when she's hunting down the good snacks she knows Gary hides. From around the corner she can hear Jonah and Mike talking about their dicks and the upcoming vote on the deficit. She frowns as she moves a box of granola aside, listening to them go on, and grins when she finds the oatmeal creme pies. Jackpot.
Of course at that moment, Dan makes his presence known. How he got in without her hearing him, she's not sure. As it is, he touches her shoulder and says maybe her name, and then she's jerking around smack him for startling her.
"What the fuck," he hisses, rubbing his neck.
Amy clutches her snack prize, her lip curling. "Jesus fucking christ, what is your problem?"
"My problem," his too well groomed eyebrows, looking better than hers today, arch up. "My problem? I don't know, Rocky, what's your problem, just assaulting people like that for trying to do a good deed."
She squints at him. "Good deed?"
His eyes flick upwards, his mouth twisting in distaste, as if he too can't believe he just said that. "Whatever," he jerks his chin, staring down at her. Then, that little twitch that she's seen too recently lately, and his voice stammers and goes quieter. "So, uh, you didn't tell me about your Dad."
Blinking, in the tiny kitchenette that OEOB and Congress deemed them worthy enough to have, with the whine of the near broken refrigerator and the dying overhead light, she stares at him. While he stares at her. Expectant and waiting.
She opens her mouth, pauses, and clutches her snack, crinkling plastic and probably smashing it. "Right," she gives him a small smile. "I didn't."
She weasels past him and out the door.
What follows can only be described as an adult game of hide and seek, in which she does her best to not look at him and avoid him at all expenses.
It helps that Selina is back, and there's a minor meltdown over the fact that Gary thinks he left the VP's traveling scarf in North Carolina.
Amy forgets that Dan knows where she lives.
So maybe she didn't forget, because that'd be hard to do when he's eaten at her place, picked her up from her place, fucked her at her place, let her fuck him at her place, and that one time he helped her fix her smoke detector at her place.
It's not a thing. They're not a thing.
They're not.
Her cell-phone mocks her with his stupid text message telling her to let him into the building. It keeps chirping and she thinks it would serve him right to leave him outside waiting. And it would be really funny for her.
She hadn't lied to her family when she'd said it was only three dates.
That's what it had been.
She just didn't tell them that sometimes she and Dan still saw each other and had sex. Her business is her own, thank you very much.
"Well," Amy says when she opens her door to his face. She takes a few steps back because the last time he'd stopped by her neighbor had shouted at them to leave the hallway.
Dan ducks in and nudges the door close with his sneaker. He's wearing those gray running shorts of his, the ones she'd put on once at his place back when they'd gone out in public to dinners. His hair's still wet too, like he just showered before coming over. She doesn't want to think on that. "Uh," he starts, looking around her foyer and into her kitchen, the sheepish confusion on his face saying maybe he didn't think she'd let him in. "You never answered my question."
"Oh god," she bites out. Her hands rise into the air and then fall back to her sides, a smacking pop noise of frustration. "Seriously?"
"Well you didn't," he jumps in, voice rising to match hers. "I was just--"
"What?" Interrupting, she pins him down with her scariest look. The one that makes Mike turn do a u-turn immediately. A thought reaches her, completing his sentence. "Were you," she pauses and lifts her head from where she'd leaned closer to him. "Were you concerned for me?"
Dan twitches his head to the left. "No," he scoffs, voice completely fake. "I was just," a beat, "you know." He lifts his shoulders in a shrug that shows off too much of his collarbone where his t-shirt hands loose.
"Well," she says slowly, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth for a second. "For your not concern, I'm just fine."
His forehead crinkles and he nods. "Good." He blinks and looks around again, shifting in his tennis shoes. "Good then. I'll just go," he finishes, thumbing over his shoulder to her door.
Amy rolls her eyes towards the ceiling, regretting this maybe. The line of his back greets her when she looks forward again. "Wait," she sighs as he hand rests on the doorknob. "Do you want to eat?"
He turns around and squints at her, mouth lifting in that douchebag grin he'd probably trademarked. "Who's doing the eating?"
"Real food, dumbass."
He leaves her doorknob, shuffling back into her place. "We're not eating from that Ethiopian place you like."
She lets him squabble with her about the takeout menus, satisfied and pleased again at this turn of events. Deflection, her sister's voice whispers in her head. She tells it to fuck off.
Later she sleeps in those gray shorts and shoves her cold feet under his calves while he bitches about Furlong and her cold-as-fuck toes.