The West Wing/Andrea Wyatt/Prompt #5/Outsides
Title:Inside the Voice
Pairing:Andy/?
Spoilers:None. Totally AU
Word Count:727
Author's Notes:Originally writen for soaked_in_stars' birthday, now reworked and edited for hopeful betterness.
She is crouched in a forgotten dark corner, midway between the massed gathering out front and the select few behind the scenes. She knows her absence will be noted by some but she also knows with greater certainty that she needs to be here, distant, apart and yet so close that she could almost reach out and touch him. The darkness helps her to concentrate on the words without distraction, to hear him inside the voice reverbating around the room. She is so close she can almost feel CJ hovering on the other side of the dais and, as many times before, smiles inwardly, knowing the differences in the object of their vigils. She knows that CJ will be listening not to the words but to the orator, to the tone and delivery rather than the content, because right now, this very second, that is her job; she will already have etched the actual words into herself over the last few days.
She takes a small dark comfort in knowing that she is the only person who may read his speeches before they are complete. She is neither required nor indeed permitted to comment, suggest or contribute but she doesn’t mind, because this is the essence of him at his most vulnerable and she knows how excruciatingly hard it is for him to give even her this part of himself. Listening now, his words wrap around her like a blanket, warm, familiar and weighted, cocooning her in the dark.
“I knew you would be here.”
The voice above her head makes her shiver, startled and in relieved anticipation. She remains crouched against the wall as a hand softly strokes her hair before coming to rest on her shoulder, pressing down as its owner comes down to her level.
“I haven’t read this one.”
“Not one of his more rousing ones.”
“The singer or the song?” a fingertip brushes the collarbone exposed at the top of her blouse.
“You must be the only person who can hear both their voices,” she replies in a whisper, placing a hand on the thigh now brushing against her own for balance. And for the sake of touch.
“Probably. You will soon.” The fingers continue their dance, slipping under the smooth green silk of Andy’s blouse, pushing the camisole aside, seeking their prize. Andy’s hand pinches skin through clothing, then releases its hold as she relaxes, as the pursuit ends with little sense of chase, tongue slipping into her mouth as easily as the fingers had done into her clothing. She closes her eyes to the sensation, blacker behind her eyelids than the dark of her hiding place, her tongue pushing back, on the point of forgetting who and where and what. All she can feel are warm hands against her cold skin, the heat of a tongue brushing over her own. Touch becomes almost everything, dark actions in a darkened corner, just the faintest echo of her previous purpose whispering in her ear. She is on the point of being completely submerged, head spinning, overcome with the sensation she is tumbling in. Then she catches a recognized phrase and pulls back.
“No…we can’t...there’s no time, it’s almost over.” She pulls away, freeing herself from the hands on her body, straightens her clothing.
“Duty calls, then.” One gentle chaste kiss and suddenly Andy is left alone again.
Back in her darkness, hearing his words. She never thought that there was yet another keeping vigil in a third way, different again from herself and CJ, yet linked inextricably to the two. Andy reflects that it is not, as she always thought, CJ who is the other side of her coin, but Abbey. It is Abbey who is married to the man who sets free her own husband’s words; Abbey hears her husband’s voice first, and Toby’s voice second; the opposite order to Andy. As the applause begins, she stands up, long limbs stiffened from her crouching, wraps her arms round herself and moves to look at the party grouped on the dais. The hand that was caressing her moments earlier is now back where it belongs, clasped by the President, her husband.
The house lights are brought up and she blinks under their sudden glare. No more dark hiding places, light flooding the corridor, illuminating her inside and out. She quietly walks away.
Pairing:Andy/?
Spoilers:None. Totally AU
Word Count:727
Author's Notes:Originally writen for soaked_in_stars' birthday, now reworked and edited for hopeful betterness.
She is crouched in a forgotten dark corner, midway between the massed gathering out front and the select few behind the scenes. She knows her absence will be noted by some but she also knows with greater certainty that she needs to be here, distant, apart and yet so close that she could almost reach out and touch him. The darkness helps her to concentrate on the words without distraction, to hear him inside the voice reverbating around the room. She is so close she can almost feel CJ hovering on the other side of the dais and, as many times before, smiles inwardly, knowing the differences in the object of their vigils. She knows that CJ will be listening not to the words but to the orator, to the tone and delivery rather than the content, because right now, this very second, that is her job; she will already have etched the actual words into herself over the last few days.
She takes a small dark comfort in knowing that she is the only person who may read his speeches before they are complete. She is neither required nor indeed permitted to comment, suggest or contribute but she doesn’t mind, because this is the essence of him at his most vulnerable and she knows how excruciatingly hard it is for him to give even her this part of himself. Listening now, his words wrap around her like a blanket, warm, familiar and weighted, cocooning her in the dark.
“I knew you would be here.”
The voice above her head makes her shiver, startled and in relieved anticipation. She remains crouched against the wall as a hand softly strokes her hair before coming to rest on her shoulder, pressing down as its owner comes down to her level.
“I haven’t read this one.”
“Not one of his more rousing ones.”
“The singer or the song?” a fingertip brushes the collarbone exposed at the top of her blouse.
“You must be the only person who can hear both their voices,” she replies in a whisper, placing a hand on the thigh now brushing against her own for balance. And for the sake of touch.
“Probably. You will soon.” The fingers continue their dance, slipping under the smooth green silk of Andy’s blouse, pushing the camisole aside, seeking their prize. Andy’s hand pinches skin through clothing, then releases its hold as she relaxes, as the pursuit ends with little sense of chase, tongue slipping into her mouth as easily as the fingers had done into her clothing. She closes her eyes to the sensation, blacker behind her eyelids than the dark of her hiding place, her tongue pushing back, on the point of forgetting who and where and what. All she can feel are warm hands against her cold skin, the heat of a tongue brushing over her own. Touch becomes almost everything, dark actions in a darkened corner, just the faintest echo of her previous purpose whispering in her ear. She is on the point of being completely submerged, head spinning, overcome with the sensation she is tumbling in. Then she catches a recognized phrase and pulls back.
“No…we can’t...there’s no time, it’s almost over.” She pulls away, freeing herself from the hands on her body, straightens her clothing.
“Duty calls, then.” One gentle chaste kiss and suddenly Andy is left alone again.
Back in her darkness, hearing his words. She never thought that there was yet another keeping vigil in a third way, different again from herself and CJ, yet linked inextricably to the two. Andy reflects that it is not, as she always thought, CJ who is the other side of her coin, but Abbey. It is Abbey who is married to the man who sets free her own husband’s words; Abbey hears her husband’s voice first, and Toby’s voice second; the opposite order to Andy. As the applause begins, she stands up, long limbs stiffened from her crouching, wraps her arms round herself and moves to look at the party grouped on the dais. The hand that was caressing her moments earlier is now back where it belongs, clasped by the President, her husband.
The house lights are brought up and she blinks under their sudden glare. No more dark hiding places, light flooding the corridor, illuminating her inside and out. She quietly walks away.