'the office' fic.
I am totally not skipping the review session for Anthro because it's a waste of time and I get more done here.
AND I have my Italian Oral Exam. I WILL NOT get nervous. That's my mantra. Hoping to come back and see lots of reviews for this story! :P
ANYWAYS! No, I have not forgotten about your fic prompts and preferences, so here's the first one!
This was prompted by klutzy_girl and to be honest, this is the first The Office fic I've ever written. Like always, leave me comments with suggestions, what you loved and didn't love, and ENJOY! ♥
Title: What Angela Martin Doesn't Do
Fandom: The Office
Length: ~900 words
Characters/Pairing: Dwight/Angela with mentions of Andy
Rating: PG
Setting: Mid-season 5, but without Angela's engagement to Andy
Disclaimer: Everything owned by Greg Daniels and Co.
Notes: This was written for klutzy_girl's prompt: Dwight/Angela reunion. I hope you enjoy it! ♥
She’s not sure why she waits by the car at 7:10pm sharp, shivering in the slight chill of the early autumn evening. Michael kept them late, again, due to something called “HQ Awareness Day”, which he somehow got mixed up with HD and forced them all to watch the first Lord of the Rings on his new TV. Surprises of all surprises, the work day’s ending had been backed up by two hours and everyone had grumbled but complied; it was Michael, after all. Angela had been the most vocal in her complaints but when Michael had threatened the office with a marathon of the trilogy, she had quickly quieted.
Now her gaze keeps wandering up to the top floor where there’s still a light on, like it always is even after Michael has gone home. He’s still there, straightening up the things on his desk, maybe plotting out his next attempt to sabotage Jim on one of those yellow pads of paper he never seems to be in short supply of. Angela’s lips curl into the beginnings of a smile as she remembers how protective Dwight was of his collection, telling her that she was the only one besides him to know of it. It’s just paper, she remembers whispering to him in an appalled yet amused tone. Dwight had shushed her, warned about Russian spies, and slammed the cabinet before sneaking her a kiss.
But then the memory fades and is replaced by Andy’s off-pitch singing, those stupid yellow ties he always wears and his begging. At least, that’s how it appears to Angela. She’s always loved when men woo her, that up-turned nose of hers enjoying every bit of doting attention. She’d been fine with Andy at first, her ready-made revenge, but soon he became too over-bearing. Too in her face when before, when she wasn’t at work, most of her time was spent at home with her cats.
She had started with two admirers and ended with none. Revenge had come to collect its payment in the worst possible way. Now, though, there’s something there. A curious feeling that hasn’t allowed her to drive home, not until she’s sure. She doesn’t do forgiveness easily but sometimes…
“Angela?”
Startled, Angela takes a step back as she lowers her chin and sees Dwight standing in front of her, trench coat flapping in the breeze and a curious expression on his face. He seems to want to say something but is too surprised to continue. Angela blinks, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Dwight. I was just…looking for the stars.” She raises an eyebrow, daring him to contradict her. He would, because he knows her. He would, because Angela Martin doesn’t enjoy something as frivolous as looking at the stars.
Not alone, at least.
“Ha,” Dwight scoffs, a smirk sliding across his lips. “Who wants to watch gas burning? They’re all dead anyways.”
Angela’s arms drop back to her side and she turns around, hand fumbling for the keys in her pocket as that cold resentment returns, forming ice around her words.
“I was just leaving. Good night, Dwight.” She unlocks her car and opens the door, intending to get in and drive away. But she hesitates, what if staying her hand, shoulders rigid as she waits. For what? She has no idea.
Dwight supplies the answer to her unasked question. He reaches out and places a hand on the frame of the car door and Angela can smell him, a mixture of some cheap cologne and something else. It reminds her of his farm, a scent so vital to who he is that she almost leans back so it envelopes her in memory.
Almost.
“You know I’m sorry.” Dwight’s voice is barely above a whisper, his tone different than the one he uses in the office. It’s only for her. “Angela, please.” Laced with pleading now.
Angela feels herself start to melt, old affections called forth, but her hand reminds rigid on the door. Think of Sprinkles, she tells herself, but even that mantra is wearing thin.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I need to get home to give Mittens his allergy medicine.” Angela winces, bracing herself for whatever lewd or haughty joke Dwight will make out of that. But instead of speaking he inches his hand closer to hers. She moves it further away; his hand follows. She huffs out an irritated breath and turns around, only to find herself face-to-face with Dwight. And this time she can’t take a step back, the door of the car already pressing against her shoulder. All Angela can do is lower her eyes and try to ignore the lessening protests of her heart.
Dwight doesn’t move, but she can feel him shift, head dipping a fraction of an inch lower.
“Let me in, Monkey.”
Angela will tell herself that Dwight being so close and she being so indecisive was the reason. She’ll convince herself that she’d been planning this all along because she wanted to make Andy jealous, even if he wasn’t paying any more attention to her. She’ll come up with thousands of reasons but none, not one of them will be because Dwight used her nickname.
Angela Martin doesn’t do nicknames.
Angela Martin certainly doesn’t lean forward, and she does not press her lips against Dwight Schrute’s own.
Angela Martin doesn’t forgive, but sometimes, very rarely, she can forget.
AND I have my Italian Oral Exam. I WILL NOT get nervous. That's my mantra. Hoping to come back and see lots of reviews for this story! :P
ANYWAYS! No, I have not forgotten about your fic prompts and preferences, so here's the first one!
This was prompted by klutzy_girl and to be honest, this is the first The Office fic I've ever written. Like always, leave me comments with suggestions, what you loved and didn't love, and ENJOY! ♥
Title: What Angela Martin Doesn't Do
Fandom: The Office
Length: ~900 words
Characters/Pairing: Dwight/Angela with mentions of Andy
Rating: PG
Setting: Mid-season 5, but without Angela's engagement to Andy
Disclaimer: Everything owned by Greg Daniels and Co.
Notes: This was written for klutzy_girl's prompt: Dwight/Angela reunion. I hope you enjoy it! ♥
She’s not sure why she waits by the car at 7:10pm sharp, shivering in the slight chill of the early autumn evening. Michael kept them late, again, due to something called “HQ Awareness Day”, which he somehow got mixed up with HD and forced them all to watch the first Lord of the Rings on his new TV. Surprises of all surprises, the work day’s ending had been backed up by two hours and everyone had grumbled but complied; it was Michael, after all. Angela had been the most vocal in her complaints but when Michael had threatened the office with a marathon of the trilogy, she had quickly quieted.
Now her gaze keeps wandering up to the top floor where there’s still a light on, like it always is even after Michael has gone home. He’s still there, straightening up the things on his desk, maybe plotting out his next attempt to sabotage Jim on one of those yellow pads of paper he never seems to be in short supply of. Angela’s lips curl into the beginnings of a smile as she remembers how protective Dwight was of his collection, telling her that she was the only one besides him to know of it. It’s just paper, she remembers whispering to him in an appalled yet amused tone. Dwight had shushed her, warned about Russian spies, and slammed the cabinet before sneaking her a kiss.
But then the memory fades and is replaced by Andy’s off-pitch singing, those stupid yellow ties he always wears and his begging. At least, that’s how it appears to Angela. She’s always loved when men woo her, that up-turned nose of hers enjoying every bit of doting attention. She’d been fine with Andy at first, her ready-made revenge, but soon he became too over-bearing. Too in her face when before, when she wasn’t at work, most of her time was spent at home with her cats.
She had started with two admirers and ended with none. Revenge had come to collect its payment in the worst possible way. Now, though, there’s something there. A curious feeling that hasn’t allowed her to drive home, not until she’s sure. She doesn’t do forgiveness easily but sometimes…
“Angela?”
Startled, Angela takes a step back as she lowers her chin and sees Dwight standing in front of her, trench coat flapping in the breeze and a curious expression on his face. He seems to want to say something but is too surprised to continue. Angela blinks, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Dwight. I was just…looking for the stars.” She raises an eyebrow, daring him to contradict her. He would, because he knows her. He would, because Angela Martin doesn’t enjoy something as frivolous as looking at the stars.
Not alone, at least.
“Ha,” Dwight scoffs, a smirk sliding across his lips. “Who wants to watch gas burning? They’re all dead anyways.”
Angela’s arms drop back to her side and she turns around, hand fumbling for the keys in her pocket as that cold resentment returns, forming ice around her words.
“I was just leaving. Good night, Dwight.” She unlocks her car and opens the door, intending to get in and drive away. But she hesitates, what if staying her hand, shoulders rigid as she waits. For what? She has no idea.
Dwight supplies the answer to her unasked question. He reaches out and places a hand on the frame of the car door and Angela can smell him, a mixture of some cheap cologne and something else. It reminds her of his farm, a scent so vital to who he is that she almost leans back so it envelopes her in memory.
Almost.
“You know I’m sorry.” Dwight’s voice is barely above a whisper, his tone different than the one he uses in the office. It’s only for her. “Angela, please.” Laced with pleading now.
Angela feels herself start to melt, old affections called forth, but her hand reminds rigid on the door. Think of Sprinkles, she tells herself, but even that mantra is wearing thin.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I need to get home to give Mittens his allergy medicine.” Angela winces, bracing herself for whatever lewd or haughty joke Dwight will make out of that. But instead of speaking he inches his hand closer to hers. She moves it further away; his hand follows. She huffs out an irritated breath and turns around, only to find herself face-to-face with Dwight. And this time she can’t take a step back, the door of the car already pressing against her shoulder. All Angela can do is lower her eyes and try to ignore the lessening protests of her heart.
Dwight doesn’t move, but she can feel him shift, head dipping a fraction of an inch lower.
“Let me in, Monkey.”
Angela will tell herself that Dwight being so close and she being so indecisive was the reason. She’ll convince herself that she’d been planning this all along because she wanted to make Andy jealous, even if he wasn’t paying any more attention to her. She’ll come up with thousands of reasons but none, not one of them will be because Dwight used her nickname.
Angela Martin doesn’t do nicknames.
Angela Martin certainly doesn’t lean forward, and she does not press her lips against Dwight Schrute’s own.
Angela Martin doesn’t forgive, but sometimes, very rarely, she can forget.