So Goddamn Magnificent | R | Damages
Title: So Goddamn Magnificent
Summary: Patty realizes that it’s Ellen’s birthday.
Fandom: Patty/Ellen, Damages
Requested by: nakedmonkey
Rating: R
Word Count: 930
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: Set post-series finale. I’ve had this idea in my head for ages, so I couldn’t resist writing it for my friend to cheer her up. I hope this short fic is in character and that those of you who read it will enjoy it. Let me know what you think!
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Patricia C. Hewes is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a sentimental woman. She has her moments, but borderline sappy gestures are a rare occurrence unless she has a point to make or an ulterior motive or, more commonly, a little extra bourbon in her system.
On this particular occasion, she blames the booze when she peruses her thick, busy date book and realizes that it is Ellen Parsons’ birthday.
She sits back in the comfortable chair in her office, resting her head on the cool leather as she easily conjures an image of the young woman, her foolish former protégé. It’s been-she furrows her brow, contemplating the exact length of time-two years since she’s seen her. Ellen has a toddler now; how bizarre to imagine Ellen with a child! The concept of motherhood is not foreign to Patty, as she had managed the not-so-easy feat herself, but the notion of Ellen giving up a promising career in favor of having a child with a scruffy, damaged war vet is completely beyond her comprehension. Ellen could have gone places, but she chose instead to settle for suburban mediocrity.
Perhaps it’s for the best; she cannot put herself in Ellen’s shoes, but she can muster some envy for Ellen’s decision. Maybe Ellen will be the lucky one. Maybe her child will not be collateral damage and end up murdered.
A chill courses through her, as it always does when she thinks about Michael. She takes one sip of her amber liquor and then another; the sting of it warms the ice in her veins. She won’t digress now-she’ll return her thoughts to Ellen and will not allow them to stray again.
How has motherhood changed Ellen Parsons? Is she softer around the edges? Has she let go of the self-righteousness she wore as armor? Patty suspects that motherhood has only served to inflate that self-righteousness and laughs through a sneer at the thought. Did pregnancy change her body? She imagines with fondness the swelling of Ellen’s hips and breasts, the fleshy padding added to her rail-thin frame. Patty had often entertained fantasies of feeding Ellen proper meals, encouraging her to maintain healthier eating habits in order to look less like a too-skinny, anorexic waif.
This fictional version of Ellen is unspeakably appealing to Patty. She won’t humor a ridiculously cliché ideal of Ellen as radiant or glowing, but the woman always possessed a striking beauty. She is no doubt as beautiful as ever, regardless of her extra baggage.
Smiling to herself, Patty closes her eyes, her legs swaying just enough to swivel gently in her chair. Ellen, Ellen, Ellen. It would be so easy to acquire the woman’s new phone number or, better yet, her address. She entertains the notion of calling her up to wish her a happy birthday, or to messenger an outrageous bouquet of exquisite flowers. It would be so simple to trump whatever sad bundle of carnations and daisies Ellen’s man-friend (Boyfriend? Fiancé? Husband?) has undoubtedly given to her, and it would give Patty a certain delight to out-do him.
But, if Patty knows Ellen, and she’s certain that she does, she knows that Ellen would reject the flower delivery or leave them on the curb. She would throw out any gift that Patty might give and avoid any phone call that came from her. Ellen is, if anything, a master grudge-holder, which leaves a sour taste in Patty’s mouth. She rectifies this with another drink.
With practiced, habitual ease, Patty pulls up the Wall Street Intelligencer on her laptop, searching the archives for Ellen’s interview regarding her infamous last case. Patty has watched this video more times that she cares to admit-she could recite Ellen’s passionless argument word for word-but that will not stop her from watching it again.
This Ellen, this cool, sleek, cunning lawyer, had so much potential that Patty can nearly taste it. It makes her hungry. It evokes that playful competitiveness that had always inspired Patty, that had fueled their relationship for the better part of five years. The competitive spark fills her with fire, infusing her with a deliciously familiar heat.
She doesn’t give much thought to what she does next; she knows she’s alone in the office, and the fact that she’s a little drunk only urges her on. She tugs on her skirt, pulling it up her hips so that she can widen her legs, giving her hand room enough to pull aside the already damp fabric of her underwear.
On the computer screen, Ellen speaks about her case, and Patty presses her fingers against her clit, massaging the ache that always seems to accompany thoughts of Ellen Parsons. She misses this Ellen, her adversary, her colleague, her mirror image. They had something special, and Patty wonders just how spectacular they could have been together if given the chance.
She works her fingers faster, watching the interview through half-lidded eyes. Ellen goes on with feigned disinterest, making herself appear unapproachable and more experienced than she actually was at the time. Patty laughs at the woman’s naiveté. She could have been so goddamn magnificent if she hadn’t given it all up. The last thought that crosses Patty’s mind before she comes is that of the matriarch, blowing out the candles of a homemade birthday cake while her child and partner cheer her on.
Sated and clouded with drink, Patty wipes her fingers on her thighs before straightening her skirt. The interview is about to conclude, and she raises her glass.
“Happy birthday, Ellen.”
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Summary: Patty realizes that it’s Ellen’s birthday.
Fandom: Patty/Ellen, Damages
Requested by: nakedmonkey
Rating: R
Word Count: 930
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: Set post-series finale. I’ve had this idea in my head for ages, so I couldn’t resist writing it for my friend to cheer her up. I hope this short fic is in character and that those of you who read it will enjoy it. Let me know what you think!
-
Patricia C. Hewes is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a sentimental woman. She has her moments, but borderline sappy gestures are a rare occurrence unless she has a point to make or an ulterior motive or, more commonly, a little extra bourbon in her system.
On this particular occasion, she blames the booze when she peruses her thick, busy date book and realizes that it is Ellen Parsons’ birthday.
She sits back in the comfortable chair in her office, resting her head on the cool leather as she easily conjures an image of the young woman, her foolish former protégé. It’s been-she furrows her brow, contemplating the exact length of time-two years since she’s seen her. Ellen has a toddler now; how bizarre to imagine Ellen with a child! The concept of motherhood is not foreign to Patty, as she had managed the not-so-easy feat herself, but the notion of Ellen giving up a promising career in favor of having a child with a scruffy, damaged war vet is completely beyond her comprehension. Ellen could have gone places, but she chose instead to settle for suburban mediocrity.
Perhaps it’s for the best; she cannot put herself in Ellen’s shoes, but she can muster some envy for Ellen’s decision. Maybe Ellen will be the lucky one. Maybe her child will not be collateral damage and end up murdered.
A chill courses through her, as it always does when she thinks about Michael. She takes one sip of her amber liquor and then another; the sting of it warms the ice in her veins. She won’t digress now-she’ll return her thoughts to Ellen and will not allow them to stray again.
How has motherhood changed Ellen Parsons? Is she softer around the edges? Has she let go of the self-righteousness she wore as armor? Patty suspects that motherhood has only served to inflate that self-righteousness and laughs through a sneer at the thought. Did pregnancy change her body? She imagines with fondness the swelling of Ellen’s hips and breasts, the fleshy padding added to her rail-thin frame. Patty had often entertained fantasies of feeding Ellen proper meals, encouraging her to maintain healthier eating habits in order to look less like a too-skinny, anorexic waif.
This fictional version of Ellen is unspeakably appealing to Patty. She won’t humor a ridiculously cliché ideal of Ellen as radiant or glowing, but the woman always possessed a striking beauty. She is no doubt as beautiful as ever, regardless of her extra baggage.
Smiling to herself, Patty closes her eyes, her legs swaying just enough to swivel gently in her chair. Ellen, Ellen, Ellen. It would be so easy to acquire the woman’s new phone number or, better yet, her address. She entertains the notion of calling her up to wish her a happy birthday, or to messenger an outrageous bouquet of exquisite flowers. It would be so simple to trump whatever sad bundle of carnations and daisies Ellen’s man-friend (Boyfriend? Fiancé? Husband?) has undoubtedly given to her, and it would give Patty a certain delight to out-do him.
But, if Patty knows Ellen, and she’s certain that she does, she knows that Ellen would reject the flower delivery or leave them on the curb. She would throw out any gift that Patty might give and avoid any phone call that came from her. Ellen is, if anything, a master grudge-holder, which leaves a sour taste in Patty’s mouth. She rectifies this with another drink.
With practiced, habitual ease, Patty pulls up the Wall Street Intelligencer on her laptop, searching the archives for Ellen’s interview regarding her infamous last case. Patty has watched this video more times that she cares to admit-she could recite Ellen’s passionless argument word for word-but that will not stop her from watching it again.
This Ellen, this cool, sleek, cunning lawyer, had so much potential that Patty can nearly taste it. It makes her hungry. It evokes that playful competitiveness that had always inspired Patty, that had fueled their relationship for the better part of five years. The competitive spark fills her with fire, infusing her with a deliciously familiar heat.
She doesn’t give much thought to what she does next; she knows she’s alone in the office, and the fact that she’s a little drunk only urges her on. She tugs on her skirt, pulling it up her hips so that she can widen her legs, giving her hand room enough to pull aside the already damp fabric of her underwear.
On the computer screen, Ellen speaks about her case, and Patty presses her fingers against her clit, massaging the ache that always seems to accompany thoughts of Ellen Parsons. She misses this Ellen, her adversary, her colleague, her mirror image. They had something special, and Patty wonders just how spectacular they could have been together if given the chance.
She works her fingers faster, watching the interview through half-lidded eyes. Ellen goes on with feigned disinterest, making herself appear unapproachable and more experienced than she actually was at the time. Patty laughs at the woman’s naiveté. She could have been so goddamn magnificent if she hadn’t given it all up. The last thought that crosses Patty’s mind before she comes is that of the matriarch, blowing out the candles of a homemade birthday cake while her child and partner cheer her on.
Sated and clouded with drink, Patty wipes her fingers on her thighs before straightening her skirt. The interview is about to conclude, and she raises her glass.
“Happy birthday, Ellen.”
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