Fic: Momentum [bsg rpf, Jamie/Katee, PG-13]
Title: Momentum
Author: Trinity
Pairing: Jamie/Katee
Word count: 2,428
Summary: It's the same pattern for the next three days. Work, drink, sleep. Take long drives around Vancouver and try not to think about how empty the house is.
Author's notes: You knew it was coming. Post-Shore Leave fic. For stars_like_dust, to make up for flaking out on her the other night. And for wisteria_, because she wanted Jamie POV fic (and thanks for the beta, too!). This fic ate my brain for an entire day. It was fun.
Momentum
"So how was the convention?"
Jamie unceremoniously swings his feet into Katee's lap as she takes a deep drag off her cigarette. "Fine, I guess."
"Get any good questions?"
He laughs. "Oh, the usual. Favorite scene, favorite coworker - "
"Me, of course." Katee pushes his feet off of her; he replaces them immediately.
"Naturally."
He watches as she takes a final drag; watches the play of light off her newly-short hair, the way she looks around to see if anyone's watching before tossing the cigarette butt into the street. How she purses her lips just slightly as she exhales. She is mesmerizing.
He could do this all day, and probably would, were she not snapping her fingers in his face.
"Jamie!"
"Yes. What?" He is flustered, and suddenly worried that it shows. Like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, or something.
"You were staring."
"Was not."
She grins like a small child. "Were too."
"I was not," he snaps. Her face crumples, and he instantly regrets it. This insane mental image pops into his head - lifting his hand to her cheek, pressing her backwards into the grass as he kisses the frown from her lips. It is fleeting, and when he comes back to his senses, he realizes that his hand is hovering in the air and Katee is looking at him with an odd expression.
Shit.
"Man," he says, shaking his head and hoping to god that Katee doesn't see through his pathetic attempt at recovery, "that's some jet lag. I didn't mean to snap at you, honestly. I'm just tired. Long weekend, you know the drill." He even attempts a yawn. It must be convincing, because Katee laughs a bit and pushes herself up off the curb.
She nods. "Oh, we've all been there. It's nothing, really. You go get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"Sure." They stand there and look at each other for a few awkward seconds before she steps in and puts her arms around him. Just a hug between friends, and he is extra careful not to hold her any tighter than is strictly necessary for this type of embrace.
He tells himself he's watching her leave because it's the polite thing to do, make sure she gets going okay and that she hasn't forgotten anything, that sort of thing. What he won't admit to himself is that the reason he's not looking forward to walking back to that big, empty house is not just because Kerry and the girls aren't there, but because Katee isn't.
*
Kerry remembered to stock the fridge before she went back to London with the girls to visit her mother. That alone makes a lump form in his throat, and it doesn't go away until he's through with his second bottle of beer. He flips on the TV and goes through every channel twice before discovering that it's not as much of a distraction as he needs right now. So he sits on the couch in the dark and listens to the silence.
No laughter.
No unsteady feet on the linoleum.
No soft voice in his ear, no discussion of the mundane details of their day. Just silence so loud it makes his ears ring. He grabs another beer and tries not to think of all the things he'd be doing right now if his wife and girls were there.
It's pathetic and he knows it, but the loneliness is so acute that it's like a knife right under his ribcage. And he knows it's cliche, too, sitting on the couch drinking himself into oblivion. All that's missing is the pictures of his family scattered across the coffee table and him, passed out on the couch with a bottle in one hand and a picture of the twins in the other.
Only he can't sleep. So he drinks instead, and lines the bottles up on the table as he finishes them. He stops at four, because he does have to work in the morning and Rymer waits for no one, least of all hung-over actors.
He knows he'll add more tomorrow.
*
It's the same pattern for three days. Work, drink, feel sorry for himself. Talk to his wife once a day, try not to cry as he pictures Kerry holding the phone to Darcy's ear, trying to coax her into saying something for her daddy. Hang up, watch mindless television, take late night drives around Vancouver, anything to forget about how empty the house is.
Late on the third night, he finds himself standing on the back porch, dialing Katee's number as he leans on the railing to steady himself. He gets her machine and knows he should just hang up, because the results of these kinds of calls are never pretty, but before he can even finish that thought the message ends and he starts talking.
"Katee, hi. It's Jamie." His words slur a bit more than he'd like. "I, er, I know it's late, and...well, you're probably already asleep, and I don't even know why I'm talking to your machine, except that - "
A click, and a breathless voice cuts him off. "Jamie?"
That was unexpected. "Um...hi." For all his rambling a few seconds ago, he's completely speechless now. It's almost comical. He starts laughing.
"Oh my god." She chuckles lightly, and he can hear her moving around her apartment. She must have just walked in. Impeccable timing, he thinks wryly. "You're drunk, aren't you?"
"No. Yes. Well, not exactly. Sort of. I don't know. Maybe."
"You are! You totally drunk dialed me, Jamie. How much have you had to drink, anyway? I suppose we both should be thankful you don't have to work tomorrow, because no offense, but you're a bitch when you're hung over. Not to mention you usually look like hell, and I know Lee's supposed to be all depressed and all, but..."
He lets her blather on about his drunken state for as long as she can keep it up. Her voice is somehow comforting, and he has this powerful urge to ask her over despite the late hour. The night is beautifully warm, and she would appreciate the solemn stillness of the air, would stand with him and listen to the hum of the traffic on the nearby highway. She would sneak sips of his beer, and he would pretend not to notice, and they'd probably stand in silence a lot. And that's all he wants, he tells himself. Just a body next to his. Nothing wrong with wanting a little company.
He waits for a lull in the conversation. "Katee, I was wondering..."
"Yeah? Hey, look, Jamie. I'm sorry, but I've really got to get some sleep. Michael wants me on set by five. Something about getting the pre-dawn atmosphere, I don't know. More fucking flashbacks." She pauses. "You're going to be okay, right?"
Jamie can actually feel himself deflate when she says that. "Yeah, it's nothing."
"You sure?" She doesn't sound convinced.
He's not sure. He lies. "What, like you've never called anyone while you were drunk? I'm fine."
The lie obviously placates her, because she laughs. "Touche. I'll see you tomorrow. I'll bring breakfast after the shoot. Please don't be passed out in a pool of your own vomit, okay?"
"I'll try my best."
"Good night, Jamie." She hangs up, and he goes inside where he can think about his wife, rather than staying outside and picturing Katee smiling with the sunrise.
*
"Oh, Jamie."
Katee shows up at eleven, an hour that only barely qualifies as breakfast time, and he opens one eye and tries to ignore the disdain in her voice. She's carrying two grocery bags and doesn't look like she's been up since before sunrise. He, on the other hand, looks like he's been run over by an eighteen-wheeler. Feels like it, too. She presses two aspirin in his hand, followed by a glass of orange juice.
"Come on, you lush. On your feet. Take these and drink that whole glass - you can thank me for this later."
He does as he's told. "Really, Katee," he croaks, knowing that how awful he sounds isn't doing him any favors, "It's not as bad as it looks."
She rolls her eyes. "It's every bit as bad as it looks. Now get in the shower."
"Katee..."
"Don't make me toss you in fully clothed. You know I'll do it, too."
With a sigh, Jamie relents. Katee's got a point - the shower feels good, and after brushing his teeth, he almost feels like a real person again. He puts on jeans and a fresh shirt - Katee laid one out for him - and wanders back into the living room.
Looks like he really will have to thank her for this later. She's cleaned up a week's worth of beer bottles and take-out containers, turned the TV off and replaced a picture of the girls on top of his entertainment center. It strikes him then how utterly pathetic he must have looked before.
There's music playing in the kitchen, something with a low, persistent beat. As he walks in, he is struck motionless by the sight of Katee, and his breath catches in his throat. Her back is to him, and she is moving around his kitchen as if she'd done it a thousand times before, swaying to the music and singing along. The window is open and a breeze blows strands of hair into her face; she lifts a hand to push her hair back and the gesture is sweet and perfect and so Katee.
It all feels so familiar, Saturday morning with a slow beat floating through the house, sunlight through all the open windows and the smell of pancakes and coffee. He gets swept up in the rightness of it, of the perfection of the moment and how good he suddenly feels. It's all exactly how it's supposed to be - she is radiant in the light and at ease in his kitchen, so beautiful to him, and the linoleum is sun-warmed under his feet and he grins so wide it hurts. Spins her around gently and kisses her, kisses her soft and easy and slow, like they have all the time in the world. A hand trails up her side, under her shirt and across her stomach - rounded slightly where Kerry is firm, feminine curves where Kerry is lean and angular, and though the comparisons come to mind he doesn't stop to consider them. Just kisses Katee, who melts under him and opens to the gentle pressure of his insistent mouth.
Then she pushes him away, and the illusion shatters like broken glass around him. It isn't right, it never was, and the look on her face spells that out clearer than any words could.
The only thing he can think of to do is leave.
*
Jamie sits on the porch steps, toying with Katee's pack of Marlboros and drumming his feet on the wood. He lights, inhales, and Katee opens the door in time to hear him choke and cough. "Don’t usually do this," he says, looking sheepish with a cigarette between two fingers.
But that’s not quite what he’s getting at, he thinks.
She brings out a cup of coffee, sits next to him and lights up. "Are we going to talk about it?"
"No."
"Jamie..."
"Katee..."
They inhale at the same time, exhale as one. Jamie coughs. Katee reaches over and snatches the cigarette out of his hand. "You look like an idiot smoking these things," she says, stubbing it out in the grass.
"I am an idiot," he murmurs.
She shakes her head. "No, you're not. Look, I get it, okay? It's not a big deal. It won't happen again, but it's not a big deal."
"It is. Katee, I - "
"You're lonely. Right? And it was just the moment. I won't lie, I felt it, too. But that's all it was - a moment. It didn't mean anything, and it's over, and now we get on with our lives. No hard feelings."
He lets out a frustrated sigh and scrubs his hands through his hair, looking up at the sky as if to ask for direction. A lost, empty feeling falls over him. "I - god, Katee, I miss them so much."
Silently, she rests a hand on his arm. His voice cracks, and tears burn hot behind his closed eyelids. "I chose this. Everyone told me it was practically impossible to have a family and an acting career, but I wasn't willing to pick just one. And now my wife and kids are halfway across the world without me, and I feel so..." But he can't bring himself to say it. Inadequate. Failure. Selfish.
"Like you made the wrong choice," she finishes quietly.
He nods, and his shoulders shake as he presses his palms to his eyes and tries not to let her see him cry.
"Jamie...Jamie, look at me." Reluctantly, he does. "You have never once failed them. Not Kerry, not the kids. Not ever. God, do you know how many women out there would kill to have you as the father of their children? And not just because you're gorgeous, either. Although that doesn't hurt."
He manages a smile. "Thanks, really."
Laughing, she continues. "Any time. Honestly, though. You're the perfect husband. Kerry really is the luckiest woman on Earth. If you two weren't madly in love, it would be like - you know that movie where Chris O'Donnell has all those women chasing him down the street? Just women in bridal gowns, lining up to be his wife? Like that. Anyone who looks at you can tell that you're the most devoted husband and father in existence. Don't second-guess yourself." Then she cuffs him on the shoulder.
"Because next time you do, I'm so not cleaning up after your drunk ass."
Their laughter is just what he needs. "Katee?"
"Hm?"
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
"I won't, don't worry."
"Smart ass."
She smokes, and he sips his coffee, and they watch together as the wind blows through the trees. Listen together to the distant traffic on the highway. He sees her reach for his coffee when she thinks he's not looking. The phone rings, and the voice on the other end makes his face light up in sheer joy.
"Kerry? I miss you too, love. How are the girls?"
Katee smiles at him and turns to go. Gives him the thumbs up as she slips out the door, but he's too busy to watch her leave.
"Ava did what? Oh, god, that's fantastic..."
**
Author: Trinity
Pairing: Jamie/Katee
Word count: 2,428
Summary: It's the same pattern for the next three days. Work, drink, sleep. Take long drives around Vancouver and try not to think about how empty the house is.
Author's notes: You knew it was coming. Post-Shore Leave fic. For stars_like_dust, to make up for flaking out on her the other night. And for wisteria_, because she wanted Jamie POV fic (and thanks for the beta, too!). This fic ate my brain for an entire day. It was fun.
Momentum
"So how was the convention?"
Jamie unceremoniously swings his feet into Katee's lap as she takes a deep drag off her cigarette. "Fine, I guess."
"Get any good questions?"
He laughs. "Oh, the usual. Favorite scene, favorite coworker - "
"Me, of course." Katee pushes his feet off of her; he replaces them immediately.
"Naturally."
He watches as she takes a final drag; watches the play of light off her newly-short hair, the way she looks around to see if anyone's watching before tossing the cigarette butt into the street. How she purses her lips just slightly as she exhales. She is mesmerizing.
He could do this all day, and probably would, were she not snapping her fingers in his face.
"Jamie!"
"Yes. What?" He is flustered, and suddenly worried that it shows. Like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, or something.
"You were staring."
"Was not."
She grins like a small child. "Were too."
"I was not," he snaps. Her face crumples, and he instantly regrets it. This insane mental image pops into his head - lifting his hand to her cheek, pressing her backwards into the grass as he kisses the frown from her lips. It is fleeting, and when he comes back to his senses, he realizes that his hand is hovering in the air and Katee is looking at him with an odd expression.
Shit.
"Man," he says, shaking his head and hoping to god that Katee doesn't see through his pathetic attempt at recovery, "that's some jet lag. I didn't mean to snap at you, honestly. I'm just tired. Long weekend, you know the drill." He even attempts a yawn. It must be convincing, because Katee laughs a bit and pushes herself up off the curb.
She nods. "Oh, we've all been there. It's nothing, really. You go get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"Sure." They stand there and look at each other for a few awkward seconds before she steps in and puts her arms around him. Just a hug between friends, and he is extra careful not to hold her any tighter than is strictly necessary for this type of embrace.
He tells himself he's watching her leave because it's the polite thing to do, make sure she gets going okay and that she hasn't forgotten anything, that sort of thing. What he won't admit to himself is that the reason he's not looking forward to walking back to that big, empty house is not just because Kerry and the girls aren't there, but because Katee isn't.
*
Kerry remembered to stock the fridge before she went back to London with the girls to visit her mother. That alone makes a lump form in his throat, and it doesn't go away until he's through with his second bottle of beer. He flips on the TV and goes through every channel twice before discovering that it's not as much of a distraction as he needs right now. So he sits on the couch in the dark and listens to the silence.
No laughter.
No unsteady feet on the linoleum.
No soft voice in his ear, no discussion of the mundane details of their day. Just silence so loud it makes his ears ring. He grabs another beer and tries not to think of all the things he'd be doing right now if his wife and girls were there.
It's pathetic and he knows it, but the loneliness is so acute that it's like a knife right under his ribcage. And he knows it's cliche, too, sitting on the couch drinking himself into oblivion. All that's missing is the pictures of his family scattered across the coffee table and him, passed out on the couch with a bottle in one hand and a picture of the twins in the other.
Only he can't sleep. So he drinks instead, and lines the bottles up on the table as he finishes them. He stops at four, because he does have to work in the morning and Rymer waits for no one, least of all hung-over actors.
He knows he'll add more tomorrow.
*
It's the same pattern for three days. Work, drink, feel sorry for himself. Talk to his wife once a day, try not to cry as he pictures Kerry holding the phone to Darcy's ear, trying to coax her into saying something for her daddy. Hang up, watch mindless television, take late night drives around Vancouver, anything to forget about how empty the house is.
Late on the third night, he finds himself standing on the back porch, dialing Katee's number as he leans on the railing to steady himself. He gets her machine and knows he should just hang up, because the results of these kinds of calls are never pretty, but before he can even finish that thought the message ends and he starts talking.
"Katee, hi. It's Jamie." His words slur a bit more than he'd like. "I, er, I know it's late, and...well, you're probably already asleep, and I don't even know why I'm talking to your machine, except that - "
A click, and a breathless voice cuts him off. "Jamie?"
That was unexpected. "Um...hi." For all his rambling a few seconds ago, he's completely speechless now. It's almost comical. He starts laughing.
"Oh my god." She chuckles lightly, and he can hear her moving around her apartment. She must have just walked in. Impeccable timing, he thinks wryly. "You're drunk, aren't you?"
"No. Yes. Well, not exactly. Sort of. I don't know. Maybe."
"You are! You totally drunk dialed me, Jamie. How much have you had to drink, anyway? I suppose we both should be thankful you don't have to work tomorrow, because no offense, but you're a bitch when you're hung over. Not to mention you usually look like hell, and I know Lee's supposed to be all depressed and all, but..."
He lets her blather on about his drunken state for as long as she can keep it up. Her voice is somehow comforting, and he has this powerful urge to ask her over despite the late hour. The night is beautifully warm, and she would appreciate the solemn stillness of the air, would stand with him and listen to the hum of the traffic on the nearby highway. She would sneak sips of his beer, and he would pretend not to notice, and they'd probably stand in silence a lot. And that's all he wants, he tells himself. Just a body next to his. Nothing wrong with wanting a little company.
He waits for a lull in the conversation. "Katee, I was wondering..."
"Yeah? Hey, look, Jamie. I'm sorry, but I've really got to get some sleep. Michael wants me on set by five. Something about getting the pre-dawn atmosphere, I don't know. More fucking flashbacks." She pauses. "You're going to be okay, right?"
Jamie can actually feel himself deflate when she says that. "Yeah, it's nothing."
"You sure?" She doesn't sound convinced.
He's not sure. He lies. "What, like you've never called anyone while you were drunk? I'm fine."
The lie obviously placates her, because she laughs. "Touche. I'll see you tomorrow. I'll bring breakfast after the shoot. Please don't be passed out in a pool of your own vomit, okay?"
"I'll try my best."
"Good night, Jamie." She hangs up, and he goes inside where he can think about his wife, rather than staying outside and picturing Katee smiling with the sunrise.
*
"Oh, Jamie."
Katee shows up at eleven, an hour that only barely qualifies as breakfast time, and he opens one eye and tries to ignore the disdain in her voice. She's carrying two grocery bags and doesn't look like she's been up since before sunrise. He, on the other hand, looks like he's been run over by an eighteen-wheeler. Feels like it, too. She presses two aspirin in his hand, followed by a glass of orange juice.
"Come on, you lush. On your feet. Take these and drink that whole glass - you can thank me for this later."
He does as he's told. "Really, Katee," he croaks, knowing that how awful he sounds isn't doing him any favors, "It's not as bad as it looks."
She rolls her eyes. "It's every bit as bad as it looks. Now get in the shower."
"Katee..."
"Don't make me toss you in fully clothed. You know I'll do it, too."
With a sigh, Jamie relents. Katee's got a point - the shower feels good, and after brushing his teeth, he almost feels like a real person again. He puts on jeans and a fresh shirt - Katee laid one out for him - and wanders back into the living room.
Looks like he really will have to thank her for this later. She's cleaned up a week's worth of beer bottles and take-out containers, turned the TV off and replaced a picture of the girls on top of his entertainment center. It strikes him then how utterly pathetic he must have looked before.
There's music playing in the kitchen, something with a low, persistent beat. As he walks in, he is struck motionless by the sight of Katee, and his breath catches in his throat. Her back is to him, and she is moving around his kitchen as if she'd done it a thousand times before, swaying to the music and singing along. The window is open and a breeze blows strands of hair into her face; she lifts a hand to push her hair back and the gesture is sweet and perfect and so Katee.
It all feels so familiar, Saturday morning with a slow beat floating through the house, sunlight through all the open windows and the smell of pancakes and coffee. He gets swept up in the rightness of it, of the perfection of the moment and how good he suddenly feels. It's all exactly how it's supposed to be - she is radiant in the light and at ease in his kitchen, so beautiful to him, and the linoleum is sun-warmed under his feet and he grins so wide it hurts. Spins her around gently and kisses her, kisses her soft and easy and slow, like they have all the time in the world. A hand trails up her side, under her shirt and across her stomach - rounded slightly where Kerry is firm, feminine curves where Kerry is lean and angular, and though the comparisons come to mind he doesn't stop to consider them. Just kisses Katee, who melts under him and opens to the gentle pressure of his insistent mouth.
Then she pushes him away, and the illusion shatters like broken glass around him. It isn't right, it never was, and the look on her face spells that out clearer than any words could.
The only thing he can think of to do is leave.
*
Jamie sits on the porch steps, toying with Katee's pack of Marlboros and drumming his feet on the wood. He lights, inhales, and Katee opens the door in time to hear him choke and cough. "Don’t usually do this," he says, looking sheepish with a cigarette between two fingers.
But that’s not quite what he’s getting at, he thinks.
She brings out a cup of coffee, sits next to him and lights up. "Are we going to talk about it?"
"No."
"Jamie..."
"Katee..."
They inhale at the same time, exhale as one. Jamie coughs. Katee reaches over and snatches the cigarette out of his hand. "You look like an idiot smoking these things," she says, stubbing it out in the grass.
"I am an idiot," he murmurs.
She shakes her head. "No, you're not. Look, I get it, okay? It's not a big deal. It won't happen again, but it's not a big deal."
"It is. Katee, I - "
"You're lonely. Right? And it was just the moment. I won't lie, I felt it, too. But that's all it was - a moment. It didn't mean anything, and it's over, and now we get on with our lives. No hard feelings."
He lets out a frustrated sigh and scrubs his hands through his hair, looking up at the sky as if to ask for direction. A lost, empty feeling falls over him. "I - god, Katee, I miss them so much."
Silently, she rests a hand on his arm. His voice cracks, and tears burn hot behind his closed eyelids. "I chose this. Everyone told me it was practically impossible to have a family and an acting career, but I wasn't willing to pick just one. And now my wife and kids are halfway across the world without me, and I feel so..." But he can't bring himself to say it. Inadequate. Failure. Selfish.
"Like you made the wrong choice," she finishes quietly.
He nods, and his shoulders shake as he presses his palms to his eyes and tries not to let her see him cry.
"Jamie...Jamie, look at me." Reluctantly, he does. "You have never once failed them. Not Kerry, not the kids. Not ever. God, do you know how many women out there would kill to have you as the father of their children? And not just because you're gorgeous, either. Although that doesn't hurt."
He manages a smile. "Thanks, really."
Laughing, she continues. "Any time. Honestly, though. You're the perfect husband. Kerry really is the luckiest woman on Earth. If you two weren't madly in love, it would be like - you know that movie where Chris O'Donnell has all those women chasing him down the street? Just women in bridal gowns, lining up to be his wife? Like that. Anyone who looks at you can tell that you're the most devoted husband and father in existence. Don't second-guess yourself." Then she cuffs him on the shoulder.
"Because next time you do, I'm so not cleaning up after your drunk ass."
Their laughter is just what he needs. "Katee?"
"Hm?"
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
"I won't, don't worry."
"Smart ass."
She smokes, and he sips his coffee, and they watch together as the wind blows through the trees. Listen together to the distant traffic on the highway. He sees her reach for his coffee when she thinks he's not looking. The phone rings, and the voice on the other end makes his face light up in sheer joy.
"Kerry? I miss you too, love. How are the girls?"
Katee smiles at him and turns to go. Gives him the thumbs up as she slips out the door, but he's too busy to watch her leave.
"Ava did what? Oh, god, that's fantastic..."
**