fic: stars are blind (rpf: stargate: atlantis)
prettylightsfic ficathon: dirty_diana requested torri/joe and, I saw you in the bar last night / taking drinks from every guy / foolish me / for thinking we had something, "Sorry To See Me Go" (Teddy Thompson)
STATUS: Complete
SUMMARY: He's not worried.
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATIONS: Torri/Joe
SOUNDTRACK: "Stars Are Blind" (Paris Hilton)
ARCHIVING: Do not archive. Please ask.
NOTES: This story is RPF (real person fiction). If that bothers you, turn away now.
WORDS: 1,255
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue.
Copyright anr; December 2006.
* * * * *
Stars Are Blind by anr
* * * * *
now tell me
who have you been dreaming of
at night at home
*
The writers are having trouble coming up with a season four storyline that includes Weir, and rumours of her being written out of the show spread like wildfire on the internet. Joe's not worried -- Don lasted seven seasons with no real storyline on Stargate.
"Relax," he says. It's late, almost midnight, and he's careful to keep his voice low as he sits in his kitchen and listens to her ramble on about how she forgot to organise for someone to collect her mail before she left for LA. "I'll take care of it."
"I'm sorry," she says. "I don't --" She laughs, and there's a breathless catch to it that hits him harder than usual. "I'm usually much better at leaving than this."
He closes his eyes and thinks, don't be.
*
Aidan and Truman want to watch Daddy on TV, so he puts on one of the DVD's Rachel gave him for his birthday, and by the time he's remembered which episode is which, it's too late to stop and change discs.
They kiss.
They kiss, and his boys laugh, and say, "hi Torri!" to the screen, and he focuses on them, on the way they're sitting too close to the set, because if he doesn't, if he doesn't --
(Three takes, fourteen months ago. He thinks he can still taste her on his lips.)
"Move back, guys," he says.
*
Nine weeks after the season ends, David recalls everyone for drinks, and when he hesitates -- it's the Friday before Christmas, and his parents are in town, and it's probably going to end up being only him, David and Jane anyway -- Kathy tells him to just go.
"You might as well," she says, as she picks up after the boys. "The wrapping's mostly done, and I was planning on drawing for a while anyway."
I'm sorry, he thinks, but doesn't know why. "I won't be late," he says.
She's already down the hall and halfway up the stairs. "Whatever. Have fun."
*
Torri's here.
Torri's here, and he doesn't understand why -- he likes his co-stars, sure, but he doesn't think he'd fly a thousand-odd miles just to have a few drinks with them -- and she's standing beside Paul's chair, her hand on his shoulder, laughing, and she's wearing jeans and some soft, slippery-looking top that clings in places he's not meant to notice, and he can't stop staring at her bare shoulders, at the arch of her back when she leans across Paul to grab a drink, at the wicked grin she throws over her shoulder when Jason walks past and says something too low for him to hear from the doorway.
"Joe!" she says, looking up, and suddenly she's across the room and in his arms, her kiss missing his cheek and grazing his ear instead. He's half hard already, and it takes all his willpower to stop from sliding his hands down her back. "Merry Christmas!"
"Merry Christmas, Tor," he says, and his words brush the curve of her neck.
*
He comes home late, smelling of alcohol and cigarettes, and heads straight for the bathroom. He doesn't think he's going to throw up, but better safe than sorry. He stares at his reflection in the mirror until things get a little less blurry, and then runs a shower so hot the room's full of steam in minutes.
He stands under the spray, hands and forehead against the tiles, and remembers only pieces of the night. He remembers the first round of shots, and too many rounds of beer, and spirits, and the heat from Torri's palm when she rested her hand on his thigh --
He groans.
His hand slips from the tiles, washes across his abdomen, lower, lower.
He thinks only of her.
*
He's been calling past her house at least once a week to collect her mail, and by lunchtime he's sober enough to drive. Kathy asks him to buy eggnog and diapers on his way home.
She's still in pyjamas and a robe when she answers her door, but her hair is damp like she's showered recently, and her smile is bright. She looks incredible for a woman who drank most of them under the table less than twelve hours ago.
"Hey," she says, and lets him inside.
He follows her to the kitchen. She's just made a pot of coffee, and she gets a second mug for him without asking. He sits at her kitchen table and stares out the window that faces her backyard. It's starting to snow again.
He waits until she's sitting next to him before speaking. "When do you leave?"
"Tonight. Seven o'clock out of YVR." She takes a sip of her coffee.
A little over six hours from now. Kathy'll probably start to worry after only two. He looks at her and tries for a smile. "I'm glad you're here."
She smiles back. "Me too."
When he leans across the corner of the table, he's half expecting her to pull away and tell him off, maybe even slap him. What he's not expecting is for her to meet him half way, her lips parting at the touch of his and the tip of her tongue tracing his bottom lip. He groans, and pulls her off her chair, and onto his lap. Buries his hands in her hair and kisses her until they can't breathe.
*
He feels regret, after. Guilt too.
(He wishes they'd done this sooner.)
*
Torri goes back to LA, and he spends Christmas with his family, and every other day after that he drives past her house and collects her mail. Sometimes he even shovels her walk.
He thinks about following her, even though he knows she'll be back. He thinks about not seeing his boys every day, and it's not necessarily an either/or situation but his kids always win, except for sometimes, when it's snowing, when he gets lost in the memory of her skin, of her taste, in the way she moved with him, above him, snow falling in her backyard and his name on her lips as she came.
*
Kathy finds him in the kitchen, preparing a bottle for the baby. "Is it over?" she asks, and he doesn't want to know what she's really asking, what she thinks she knows.
He splashes milk on the inside of his wrist and doesn't meet her eyes. Can't. "I don't know."
He hears Fergus cry, a thin wail that curls into the kitchen and pierces the spaces between them.
"I'm sorry," he says, as he steps around her, bottle in hand.
She breathes in sharply. "Joe --" she says, but his son is hungry and he can't stay.
He walks away.
She doesn't ask again.
*
Two weeks before hiatus ends, Kathy takes the kids to New York, and it's not for forever, it's just until he can get himself moved out and set up somewhere else, so he's not worried. He's not worried.
*
Filming resumes, and he's waiting in her trailer when she arrives. Her mail is in three neat stacks on the table: bills, magazines, everything else.
"Hey," he says, smiling, watching as she shrugs out of her jacket.
She smiles and walks over. Kisses him until they can't breathe. "Hey," she agrees.
(He always knew she'd be back.)
* * * * *
The End.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated. *g*
STATUS: Complete
SUMMARY: He's not worried.
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATIONS: Torri/Joe
SOUNDTRACK: "Stars Are Blind" (Paris Hilton)
ARCHIVING: Do not archive. Please ask.
NOTES: This story is RPF (real person fiction). If that bothers you, turn away now.
WORDS: 1,255
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue.
Copyright anr; December 2006.
* * * * *
Stars Are Blind by anr
* * * * *
now tell me
who have you been dreaming of
at night at home
*
The writers are having trouble coming up with a season four storyline that includes Weir, and rumours of her being written out of the show spread like wildfire on the internet. Joe's not worried -- Don lasted seven seasons with no real storyline on Stargate.
"Relax," he says. It's late, almost midnight, and he's careful to keep his voice low as he sits in his kitchen and listens to her ramble on about how she forgot to organise for someone to collect her mail before she left for LA. "I'll take care of it."
"I'm sorry," she says. "I don't --" She laughs, and there's a breathless catch to it that hits him harder than usual. "I'm usually much better at leaving than this."
He closes his eyes and thinks, don't be.
*
Aidan and Truman want to watch Daddy on TV, so he puts on one of the DVD's Rachel gave him for his birthday, and by the time he's remembered which episode is which, it's too late to stop and change discs.
They kiss.
They kiss, and his boys laugh, and say, "hi Torri!" to the screen, and he focuses on them, on the way they're sitting too close to the set, because if he doesn't, if he doesn't --
(Three takes, fourteen months ago. He thinks he can still taste her on his lips.)
"Move back, guys," he says.
*
Nine weeks after the season ends, David recalls everyone for drinks, and when he hesitates -- it's the Friday before Christmas, and his parents are in town, and it's probably going to end up being only him, David and Jane anyway -- Kathy tells him to just go.
"You might as well," she says, as she picks up after the boys. "The wrapping's mostly done, and I was planning on drawing for a while anyway."
I'm sorry, he thinks, but doesn't know why. "I won't be late," he says.
She's already down the hall and halfway up the stairs. "Whatever. Have fun."
*
Torri's here.
Torri's here, and he doesn't understand why -- he likes his co-stars, sure, but he doesn't think he'd fly a thousand-odd miles just to have a few drinks with them -- and she's standing beside Paul's chair, her hand on his shoulder, laughing, and she's wearing jeans and some soft, slippery-looking top that clings in places he's not meant to notice, and he can't stop staring at her bare shoulders, at the arch of her back when she leans across Paul to grab a drink, at the wicked grin she throws over her shoulder when Jason walks past and says something too low for him to hear from the doorway.
"Joe!" she says, looking up, and suddenly she's across the room and in his arms, her kiss missing his cheek and grazing his ear instead. He's half hard already, and it takes all his willpower to stop from sliding his hands down her back. "Merry Christmas!"
"Merry Christmas, Tor," he says, and his words brush the curve of her neck.
*
He comes home late, smelling of alcohol and cigarettes, and heads straight for the bathroom. He doesn't think he's going to throw up, but better safe than sorry. He stares at his reflection in the mirror until things get a little less blurry, and then runs a shower so hot the room's full of steam in minutes.
He stands under the spray, hands and forehead against the tiles, and remembers only pieces of the night. He remembers the first round of shots, and too many rounds of beer, and spirits, and the heat from Torri's palm when she rested her hand on his thigh --
He groans.
His hand slips from the tiles, washes across his abdomen, lower, lower.
He thinks only of her.
*
He's been calling past her house at least once a week to collect her mail, and by lunchtime he's sober enough to drive. Kathy asks him to buy eggnog and diapers on his way home.
She's still in pyjamas and a robe when she answers her door, but her hair is damp like she's showered recently, and her smile is bright. She looks incredible for a woman who drank most of them under the table less than twelve hours ago.
"Hey," she says, and lets him inside.
He follows her to the kitchen. She's just made a pot of coffee, and she gets a second mug for him without asking. He sits at her kitchen table and stares out the window that faces her backyard. It's starting to snow again.
He waits until she's sitting next to him before speaking. "When do you leave?"
"Tonight. Seven o'clock out of YVR." She takes a sip of her coffee.
A little over six hours from now. Kathy'll probably start to worry after only two. He looks at her and tries for a smile. "I'm glad you're here."
She smiles back. "Me too."
When he leans across the corner of the table, he's half expecting her to pull away and tell him off, maybe even slap him. What he's not expecting is for her to meet him half way, her lips parting at the touch of his and the tip of her tongue tracing his bottom lip. He groans, and pulls her off her chair, and onto his lap. Buries his hands in her hair and kisses her until they can't breathe.
*
He feels regret, after. Guilt too.
(He wishes they'd done this sooner.)
*
Torri goes back to LA, and he spends Christmas with his family, and every other day after that he drives past her house and collects her mail. Sometimes he even shovels her walk.
He thinks about following her, even though he knows she'll be back. He thinks about not seeing his boys every day, and it's not necessarily an either/or situation but his kids always win, except for sometimes, when it's snowing, when he gets lost in the memory of her skin, of her taste, in the way she moved with him, above him, snow falling in her backyard and his name on her lips as she came.
*
Kathy finds him in the kitchen, preparing a bottle for the baby. "Is it over?" she asks, and he doesn't want to know what she's really asking, what she thinks she knows.
He splashes milk on the inside of his wrist and doesn't meet her eyes. Can't. "I don't know."
He hears Fergus cry, a thin wail that curls into the kitchen and pierces the spaces between them.
"I'm sorry," he says, as he steps around her, bottle in hand.
She breathes in sharply. "Joe --" she says, but his son is hungry and he can't stay.
He walks away.
She doesn't ask again.
*
Two weeks before hiatus ends, Kathy takes the kids to New York, and it's not for forever, it's just until he can get himself moved out and set up somewhere else, so he's not worried. He's not worried.
*
Filming resumes, and he's waiting in her trailer when she arrives. Her mail is in three neat stacks on the table: bills, magazines, everything else.
"Hey," he says, smiling, watching as she shrugs out of her jacket.
She smiles and walks over. Kisses him until they can't breathe. "Hey," she agrees.
(He always knew she'd be back.)
* * * * *
The End.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated. *g*