The West Wing: (Murphy’s) Laws and Sausages (The No Surprises Remix)
Original Fic: No Surprises, by amathela
Remix: (Murpy’s) Laws and Sausages [Andy Wyatt/Toby Ziegler, 260 words, rated PG], by visiblemarket
She makes the reservation at Sequoia.
She spends three hours in Georgetown being lectured about wine she won’t even be drinking anyway.
She squeezes into a dress she knows for a fact she won’t be wearing again and might have spent more money on, relatively speaking, if inflation numbers are to be trusted, than she did on her wedding dress.
She knows it’s ridiculous, she knows it’s a waste of time and money and effort when she’s already exhausted most of the time. She knows he probably won’t care about any of it.
She’s right.
Not-quite-morning sickness takes care of the dress.
The fact that she loses track of time and is much too used to ignoring her secretary’s pointy looks and actually managed to forget what that night was takes care of their reservation.
The wine’s okay though. According to Toby, at least, and she has to admit, there’s probably no wine that goes wrong with chili dogs, and fries, and red velvet cake.
He offers to take her home.
She counter-offers that she could really use some coffee. Yes, decaf, she concedes, even as she rolls her eyes. No, not at Starbucks. Yes, at your place. Yes, oh.
He gets it, finally, and it’s in reverence of the day that she doesn’t tease him about being the best representative of the Bartlet Brain Trust.
She does bring it up later, though, upon the reminder of just who else makes up said Brain Trust.
Surprise, and she can’t stop laughing, and once everyone else is gone, Toby laughs too.
Remix: (Murpy’s) Laws and Sausages [Andy Wyatt/Toby Ziegler, 260 words, rated PG], by visiblemarket
She makes the reservation at Sequoia.
She spends three hours in Georgetown being lectured about wine she won’t even be drinking anyway.
She squeezes into a dress she knows for a fact she won’t be wearing again and might have spent more money on, relatively speaking, if inflation numbers are to be trusted, than she did on her wedding dress.
She knows it’s ridiculous, she knows it’s a waste of time and money and effort when she’s already exhausted most of the time. She knows he probably won’t care about any of it.
She’s right.
Not-quite-morning sickness takes care of the dress.
The fact that she loses track of time and is much too used to ignoring her secretary’s pointy looks and actually managed to forget what that night was takes care of their reservation.
The wine’s okay though. According to Toby, at least, and she has to admit, there’s probably no wine that goes wrong with chili dogs, and fries, and red velvet cake.
He offers to take her home.
She counter-offers that she could really use some coffee. Yes, decaf, she concedes, even as she rolls her eyes. No, not at Starbucks. Yes, at your place. Yes, oh.
He gets it, finally, and it’s in reverence of the day that she doesn’t tease him about being the best representative of the Bartlet Brain Trust.
She does bring it up later, though, upon the reminder of just who else makes up said Brain Trust.
Surprise, and she can’t stop laughing, and once everyone else is gone, Toby laughs too.