(no subject)
Fandom: Guiding Light
Title: jet plane
Pairing: CC/JL RPS
Rating: PGish
Summary: So you smile, and you nod, and you make jokes and goof off with them, and through it all she’s got you.
Disclaimer: I’m not CC or JL, and this is purely a work of fiction. Title/cut tag credit to Peter, Paul and Mary.
A/N: It’s RPF/S. If you’re not cool with it, don’t read it :).
You’re overwhelmed by the outpouring of love from the fans. So overwhelmed, in fact, that you’re actually tearing up, because these people are amazing, and they’ve been thanking you all morning. And if you were by yourself, you’d be crying, probably, but here in this crowded room, she’s threaded her fingers through yours, and you hold onto her like a life raft, her grip keeping you anchored.
So you smile, and you nod, and you make jokes and goof off with them, and through it all she’s got you. When someone asks for a picture with her, she turns, but she links her pinky with yours, like it’s this big secret you’re sharing, like she can’t stand to let go.
And you breathe easier, because even though you’ve been known to thrive on overstimulation, (and frankly, you’ve lately thrown yourself into an over stimulated life), it’s been an intense weekend. And she can tell. Hell, it’s been crazy for her too, but still she flashes you that overly dimpled grin that makes your body hum pleasantly, and the rush is familiar and oddly calming.
When you smile back at her, her eyes are big and bright, and she relaxes (how did you not notice she was tense?) because you’re starting to. And this time it’s you who reaches for her hand, tangling your fingers together behind the back of the person posing between the two of you, and you smile for the camera and caress her thumb gently, lightly.
The clock in the restaurant catches your eye, and you realize their time with you is up. So you make your goodbyes (a final, heartfelt speech), and then you’re out on the streets of New York, holding hands with the woman you’ve missed terribly, and for just a moment, it’s like September 18th didn’t happen, and you don’t have to fly back to California in three hours.
Except that it did, and you do, so she offers to drive you to the airport, because the baby’s at home and she can, and you don’t even hesitate to say yes to forty-five minutes, probably in traffic, because it’s forty-five minutes in traffic with her.
Far too quickly, you’re there, at the airport, and she can’t come with you any further than the security line, because America is ridiculous and uptight, and it fucking sucks. So you have to say goodbye, here, in line with your empty water bottle and plastic bag of 3 ounce liquids and too many strangers. It’s not at all the goodbye you’d have hoped for, but it’s what you get, because she lives here and you live there, and this isn’t as simple anymore.
So you squeeze her hand, and when you hug, your foreheads bump, and you both start to laugh, because here in this public place with cameras, you basically have to be them, and it apparently still comes too easily for the both of you.
The line starts to move, and the older man behind you is getting impatient, and she knows it’s her cue to leave. So she leans in and whispers in your ear, and it makes you want to cry, but you don’t.
Instead, you put on a smile that doesn’t quite reach your green eyes and tell her you’ll see her at the end of the month.
Title: jet plane
Pairing: CC/JL RPS
Rating: PGish
Summary: So you smile, and you nod, and you make jokes and goof off with them, and through it all she’s got you.
Disclaimer: I’m not CC or JL, and this is purely a work of fiction. Title/cut tag credit to Peter, Paul and Mary.
A/N: It’s RPF/S. If you’re not cool with it, don’t read it :).
You’re overwhelmed by the outpouring of love from the fans. So overwhelmed, in fact, that you’re actually tearing up, because these people are amazing, and they’ve been thanking you all morning. And if you were by yourself, you’d be crying, probably, but here in this crowded room, she’s threaded her fingers through yours, and you hold onto her like a life raft, her grip keeping you anchored.
So you smile, and you nod, and you make jokes and goof off with them, and through it all she’s got you. When someone asks for a picture with her, she turns, but she links her pinky with yours, like it’s this big secret you’re sharing, like she can’t stand to let go.
And you breathe easier, because even though you’ve been known to thrive on overstimulation, (and frankly, you’ve lately thrown yourself into an over stimulated life), it’s been an intense weekend. And she can tell. Hell, it’s been crazy for her too, but still she flashes you that overly dimpled grin that makes your body hum pleasantly, and the rush is familiar and oddly calming.
When you smile back at her, her eyes are big and bright, and she relaxes (how did you not notice she was tense?) because you’re starting to. And this time it’s you who reaches for her hand, tangling your fingers together behind the back of the person posing between the two of you, and you smile for the camera and caress her thumb gently, lightly.
The clock in the restaurant catches your eye, and you realize their time with you is up. So you make your goodbyes (a final, heartfelt speech), and then you’re out on the streets of New York, holding hands with the woman you’ve missed terribly, and for just a moment, it’s like September 18th didn’t happen, and you don’t have to fly back to California in three hours.
Except that it did, and you do, so she offers to drive you to the airport, because the baby’s at home and she can, and you don’t even hesitate to say yes to forty-five minutes, probably in traffic, because it’s forty-five minutes in traffic with her.
Far too quickly, you’re there, at the airport, and she can’t come with you any further than the security line, because America is ridiculous and uptight, and it fucking sucks. So you have to say goodbye, here, in line with your empty water bottle and plastic bag of 3 ounce liquids and too many strangers. It’s not at all the goodbye you’d have hoped for, but it’s what you get, because she lives here and you live there, and this isn’t as simple anymore.
So you squeeze her hand, and when you hug, your foreheads bump, and you both start to laugh, because here in this public place with cameras, you basically have to be them, and it apparently still comes too easily for the both of you.
The line starts to move, and the older man behind you is getting impatient, and she knows it’s her cue to leave. So she leans in and whispers in your ear, and it makes you want to cry, but you don’t.
Instead, you put on a smile that doesn’t quite reach your green eyes and tell her you’ll see her at the end of the month.