Fic: "Mechanism," AMC, David/Angie, PG.
I've never written this particular pairing before, but they've definitely been occupying space in my brain for a while. I think I just love the idea of someone seeing through all of David's "I'm a medical god!" razzle-dazzle, and that someone being Angie... who, tragically, is both literally and figuratively blind to what's going on in her own home. Plus, Vincent Irizarry and Debbi Morgan would just be hot together.
Title: "Mechanism" 1/1
Author: monimala
Fandom AMC
Rating/Classification: PG, David/Angie, angst, kissing, pre-'ship
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and am making no profit!
Summary: 600 words. He's tender with her now in a way he never was before… and she can still see right through him.
She hears the catch in his voice. It's like the click of deadbolt lock being turned open, two smooth cylinders sliding out of the rings. Angie remembers how that looks. She remembers a thousand other things that, at the time, she could've sworn she didn't stare at too closely. But her memories cast everything in sharp relief. So she can even pair an expression with that catch, that gasp. She can remember how David's hard, coal-black, eyes turn soft and his arrogant smirk fades into something almost vulnerable. "What happened to you?" she wonders, listening for another clue, another betrayal of whoever lives beneath David Hayward's armor.
"Angie, don't," he says, reaching across his desk, rustling papers along the way, before his fingers close around her wrist. "Don't you dare try to analyze me."
"I wouldn't dream of it." The words drip with wry amusement. She speaks, touches, senses and hears with so much more clarity now, because she can't rely on her eyes. So, she feels David's thumb stroking lightly against the back of her hand as acutely as if it were a slap. He's tender with her now in a way he never was before… and she can still see right through him.
He lets her go just long enough to stand and come around to her side of the desk. Six and a half paces with his long, confident stride. And then he's moving her cane from where she's leaned it, taking both of her hands in his. They're strong, sure, steadying. David's performed miracles with these hands. Committed sins, too. "I will heal you," he promises, pulling her from her seat. "I will give you back your sight. You can count on that."
He smells like crisp, expensive cologne and the barest hint of lies he doesn't even know he's telling. David thinks he's God. But she what she feels is just a man. His open lab coat, his shirt with its collar undone. His face is unsmiling, serious, and she traces the full pout of his lower lip. "Maybe it's you that needs healing, David. Maybe someone ought to give you back your soul."
"Angela…" She hears another catch in his voice. It's like a light switch being flipped. It's her only warning before he's kissing her. There's no tease, no laughter, none of the gentle hesitation that always fuels Jesse. There's only power, only passion. Like everything else he does, David kisses like he's the best at it. He commands attention and participation… and he tastes like loneliness.
But just when she would hold him closer, play with the straight, fine hair at the base of his neck and show him she's just as capable of excellence… he lets go. David sets her away from him, wrapping her fingers safely around her cane. His breathing sounds like the rat-a-tat of gunshots, and her blood pounds against her eardrums like cannon fire. Over the sound, she can hear him say that he'll see her next week for a follow-up. "David… you're impossible," she sighs.
"I know. So don't waste your time with me, Angela Hubbard." He guides her towards the door. Both his steps and his laughter are uneven.
She understands precisely why. Something flashes across her eyelids that might be light, could be stars. When she touches his mouth, it feels kinder… like there's the barest hint of joy. "This isn't a waste, David. On the contrary… it's time well spent for both of us."
It'll be a race, she thinks. Her sight versus his humanity.
And may the best doctor win.
--end--
August 7, 2011
Title: "Mechanism" 1/1
Author: monimala
Fandom AMC
Rating/Classification: PG, David/Angie, angst, kissing, pre-'ship
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and am making no profit!
Summary: 600 words. He's tender with her now in a way he never was before… and she can still see right through him.
She hears the catch in his voice. It's like the click of deadbolt lock being turned open, two smooth cylinders sliding out of the rings. Angie remembers how that looks. She remembers a thousand other things that, at the time, she could've sworn she didn't stare at too closely. But her memories cast everything in sharp relief. So she can even pair an expression with that catch, that gasp. She can remember how David's hard, coal-black, eyes turn soft and his arrogant smirk fades into something almost vulnerable. "What happened to you?" she wonders, listening for another clue, another betrayal of whoever lives beneath David Hayward's armor.
"Angie, don't," he says, reaching across his desk, rustling papers along the way, before his fingers close around her wrist. "Don't you dare try to analyze me."
"I wouldn't dream of it." The words drip with wry amusement. She speaks, touches, senses and hears with so much more clarity now, because she can't rely on her eyes. So, she feels David's thumb stroking lightly against the back of her hand as acutely as if it were a slap. He's tender with her now in a way he never was before… and she can still see right through him.
He lets her go just long enough to stand and come around to her side of the desk. Six and a half paces with his long, confident stride. And then he's moving her cane from where she's leaned it, taking both of her hands in his. They're strong, sure, steadying. David's performed miracles with these hands. Committed sins, too. "I will heal you," he promises, pulling her from her seat. "I will give you back your sight. You can count on that."
He smells like crisp, expensive cologne and the barest hint of lies he doesn't even know he's telling. David thinks he's God. But she what she feels is just a man. His open lab coat, his shirt with its collar undone. His face is unsmiling, serious, and she traces the full pout of his lower lip. "Maybe it's you that needs healing, David. Maybe someone ought to give you back your soul."
"Angela…" She hears another catch in his voice. It's like a light switch being flipped. It's her only warning before he's kissing her. There's no tease, no laughter, none of the gentle hesitation that always fuels Jesse. There's only power, only passion. Like everything else he does, David kisses like he's the best at it. He commands attention and participation… and he tastes like loneliness.
But just when she would hold him closer, play with the straight, fine hair at the base of his neck and show him she's just as capable of excellence… he lets go. David sets her away from him, wrapping her fingers safely around her cane. His breathing sounds like the rat-a-tat of gunshots, and her blood pounds against her eardrums like cannon fire. Over the sound, she can hear him say that he'll see her next week for a follow-up. "David… you're impossible," she sighs.
"I know. So don't waste your time with me, Angela Hubbard." He guides her towards the door. Both his steps and his laughter are uneven.
She understands precisely why. Something flashes across her eyelids that might be light, could be stars. When she touches his mouth, it feels kinder… like there's the barest hint of joy. "This isn't a waste, David. On the contrary… it's time well spent for both of us."
It'll be a race, she thinks. Her sight versus his humanity.
And may the best doctor win.
--end--
August 7, 2011