fic: so many stories (rpf: stargate: atlantis)
STATUS: Complete
SUMMARY: Some things are inevitable.
RATING: NC17
CLASSIFICATIONS: Torri/Joe
ARCHIVING: Do not archive. Please ask.
NOTES: This story is RPF (real person fiction). If that bothers you, turn away now. Unbeta'd.
FOR: mylittleredgirl. Happy (belated) birthday, Sachi. This is a poor homage, I know, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. ILU!
WORDS: 4,293
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue.
Copyright anr; July 2009.
* * * * *
So Many Stories by anr
* * * * *
A
His agent calls first thing in the morning, waking him. "I need a quote."
6:27.
"Joe?"
6:28.
"Joe, man, did you hear me?"
6:29.
In the seconds before the alarm can go off, he clears his throat; feels Torri's warmth against his back and closes his eyes. "Some things are inevitable."
B
At Brad's wrap party, he spends half his time trying not to watch Torri from the opposite side of the room, and the other half pretending that she will be back next year, that this isn't all the end.
He's not very successful at either.
C
Three weeks before Christmas, David invites everyone over for lunch. It's casual and boozy and after dessert -- and way too many cups of Torri's 'special' eggnog -- Paul suggests a Secret Santa. David has the names of their characters cut from an old script before it even occurs to anyone they might want to refuse.
"But we're shopping for us, right?" asks Rachel, eyeing the baseball cap dubiously. "And not our characters?"
Jason shrugs, and pulls a piece of paper out of the passing hat. "Does it matter?"
Torri looks up from reading hers and smirks. "After your own pair of leather chaps, are you?"
She's blown an exaggerated kiss. "Fuck you too, babe."
"Yes!" David pumps a fist into the air, and kisses the scrap of paper clutched in his other hand. "I was so hoping I'd get myself."
"Way to keep a secret," mutters Paul. "Do you want to redraw?" He holds the cap back out, but David looks at him, aghast.
"Are you kidding? I already have the best present idea ever."
Joe rolls his eyes, and gives Rachel an encouraging look. "Come on," he says, drawing a name out for himself, "what's the worst that could happen?"
Across the room, Torri looks at him, looks at the piece of paper in her hand, looks at him and smiles.
D
He's drunk.
Drunk and intoxicated and drunk and definitely not thinking straight. Not with the scent of alcohol in the air, beer and Torri's jack and cokes, bottles of booze littering the coffee table nearby.
Not with the feel of Torri's skin against his, naked and soft, sweat damp and slick.
Not with the sight of her moving above him, her hand braced on his chest, hair falling in her eyes and brushing his cheeks when he leans up to kiss her.
The sound of breathing, fast and heavy, her name caught in the back of his throat, his name a wordless echo.
The taste of him, and her, and liquor, a combination that blurs his thoughts a little further each time she rises, and sinks, pushing them both closer to the edge.
Definitely drunk.
E
She heads to LA as soon as post-production gives them the all clear; puts nine-hundred-odd miles between him and her and this world of make-believe they call their careers. He knows it's a chance for him to try and figure things out.
It's not easy -- almost none of it makes any sense -- but he reassures himself with the one thing he knows is true: he is not in love with his co-star.
He won't let himself be.
F
He never means to have sex with Torri.
It sounds cliché, like a bad joke, the kind his college roommate used to love telling day and night -- "and then I was all, whoops! sorry, babe -- looks like my dick accidentally slipped into you there" -- but the truth is, it's never planned, or thought of, until it's actually happening. Until he's deep inside her, her mouth skimming his jaw and his fingers stroking between them, searching out her clit, listening for that change in her breathing that'll tell him she's close.
"You escalate things," he says unthinkingly, watching her brush her hair. She's naked, and damp from her shower, sitting on the edge of the bed with her back to him.
"Well that's something I haven't heard before," she says dryly. Dropping the hairbrush, she stands and flicks her hair over her shoulder, walking towards her bureau.
"I didn't mean --" He shakes his head, cutting himself off. He should probably get up, get dressed, get his cheating ass home. Linking his hands behind his head, he watches her sort through her drawers and thinks about what he said instead. "No, actually, I did. You do escalate things."
Turning, she looks at him and raises an eyebrow. "Do I want to know how I do that?"
He shrugs. "I don't know how you do it."
She gives him a look, a what the hell are you on? look that reminds him sharply of the looks she usually gives him on set, when they're both in character. "Joe, what --"
"It's just -- when we touch --" He frowns, knowing he's not explaining himself very well, and tries again. "We hug, and then we're kissing, and then we're --" He searches for the appropriate word.
She smirks. "Fucking?"
He winces. It's not an inaccurate description, true, but he's not so sure it's appropriate either. "Yeah." He looks at her. "I don't know how you do that."
Laughing, she steps away from the bureau and walks over to his side of the bed, sitting down beside him. "I don't think I'm the only one escalating here," she says, smoothing her hand across his chest. "You're the one who makes it impossible for me to keep my hands to myself."
Moving, he reaches down to grasp her hand with his, lacing their fingers. "Me? How the hell do I do that?"
"How do I escalate things?"
"I told you -- I don't know how." His other hand moves to rest on her knee, fingers drawing random shapes on her skin.
She shrugs. "Well, neither do I."
"Well, neither --" He stops and smiles. "Wait, why are we even arguing about this?"
"Our first fight," she says teasingly, "how precious." Leaning forward, she kisses him lightly. "And you started it."
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did."
"No." Sitting up, he wraps his arms around her and tugs her on top of him. "I didn't."
Laughing, she kisses him again, shifting until she's straddling him properly. "You so did."
G
Kathy needs some time to paint, to finish her latest piece, so Joe takes the boys out for the afternoon. He's not really sure how they're going to kill four hours -- most of the things he can do with Truman and Aidan, Gus is too young for, and vice versa -- but he figures the park, at least, is a good place for them to start.
"Dad! Dad! Look who we found!"
Looking up from Gus, Joe watches as Tru and Aidan run over, a familiar face following at a slower pace.
"Hey Tor," he says, getting to his feet. He leans over to brush her cheek with a kiss when she stops next to him. "How're you doing?"
She smiles. "Good, you?"
"Great."
"Dad, can we take Sedge for a run?" interrupts Tru, already patting her. "Please?"
"You need to ask Torri," he says, smiling as Aidan looks up at her with a pleading expression. "But it's okay with me."
"Torri?" Aidan asks hopefully.
She nods, and hands over the leash to Truman. "Stay close though, okay?"
"Okay!"
"Sure!"
With a chuckle, Joe watches them take off, Sedge bounding eagerly between his boys. Taking a seat on the bench beside Gus' stroller, he drapes his arm across the backrest as Torri settles beside him, strands of her hair falling across his forearm.
"So," she says, watching the three of them begin a haphazard game on the grass.
"So," he echoes. His hand shifts enough to touch her shoulder, fingers lightly stroking the bare skin he finds there. "I miss you."
She rests her hand on his thigh, her palm warming his flesh through the denim of his jeans. "I miss you too."
H
Mid-season hiatus, and he admits to himself: I want her.
His conscience refuses to contemplate anything more than that.
I
"Seriously, Joe," she says, sitting on his front step and flipping through a magazine. "Sports Illustrated?"
Rolling his eyes, he shifts the bag of groceries in his arms so that he can grab the rest of his mail from off the top of her duffel. "I like the pictures."
"Cliché." She says it likes it's an insult.
"Canadian."
"Whatever." Standing, she steals his groceries, leaving him to collect her duffel. "I'm starving."
Unlocking his door, he holds it open for her. "Mi casa, su casa."
J
"Is it the sex? Tell me it's the sex. It is, isn't it? Isn't it?"
"Kath --"
"Shut up. Just -- shut up!" Digging her hands into her hair, she spins away from him, pacing towards the bedroom window only to stop and suddenly turn back. "Well? Is it?"
Rocking back on his heels, he realises his hands are still raised and he drops them nervously, shoving them into his pockets and then pulling them out again a second later. "Kath," he tries again, softly, cautiously, "I'm sorry --"
"Oh, fuck you, Joe. Fuck you! How long, huh? A few weeks? A few --" She swallows hard. "-- months? You bastard -- years?!"
Wincing, he takes an instinctive step backwards. "Months," he says. "Months, not years. Not years, I swear. Only since August."
She makes a sound that's not even close to being a word, her face crumbling. "Only?" she manages. "Only?"
"I'm sorry," he repeats, stepping forward, closer to her, to the bed that's littered with tabloid magazines, the glossy, grainy pictures still face up, him and Torri and their indiscretion on show for all the world to see. "I'm so, so sorry you had to find out like this. I never meant --"
"Get out!" With a fresh burst of rage, she turns and stalks right up to him, slapping him hard across the face. "Get your stuff and get the fuck out of this house and don't ever come back."
"Kath --"
She gives him a suddenly cool look that's somehow worse than the furious anger of a moment ago, ice steeling her expression and voice. "Now."
K
He rolls over, wide awake at three am, and suddenly, inexplicably, just knows.
His marriage is over.
L
"Kath's taking the kids back to LA."
He watches her place another book into the box she's packing, and then another, but she doesn't look up. "Oh?"
"I think we're separating."
"Oh," she says again. She still doesn't look up.
He understands; neither of them have ever made any promises.
M
"Marry me?"
Panting for breath still, he stares at her, dumbfounded. "Did you just --"
"Yes."
Feeling his muscles tremble, he pulls back with a groan, shifting to the left and settling beside her. "Are you --"
She smiles. "Yes."
"Even though --"
"Yes."
Closing his eyes, he takes a moment, his thoughts slowing with his heartbeat, steadying. Smiling, he opens his eyes. "Ask me again."
N
She guest stars on NCIS and, because of their schedules, it's almost two weeks before he really sees her again. After read through, he offers to bring her up to date on the latest set gossip, and they're laughing over guest star antics as she follows him into his trailer.
When she straddles him on the couch, he only pulls her closer, holds her tighter. His mouth on her neck, and her hands in his hair, and things get a little blurry when his palms drag over her thighs and ass, his fingers slipping under the hem of her shirt. Someone groans, and it occurs to him that maybe, just maybe, this isn't a couple (fifteen; seventeen if he includes Comic Con and the Thalan and Phoebus episode) of (harmless) kisses anymore.
If he's being honest with himself: it probably never was.
O
Torri sends him postcards; bright, shiny pictures of tourist locations near and far.
Drank pina coladas yesterday, she writes, a picture of Oklahoma corn fields on the reverse, but couldn't find any dunes. Maybe I should have looked for O'Malley's instead?
Alcohol. Sand. Work.
He's packing a bag when Kathy gets home. "You going somewhere?"
He grabs a handful of t-shirts. "My agent called -- he's lined up an audition for me."
"Yeah?" Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she toes off her shoes. "Where?"
"Hawaii." Zipping up his bag, he snags his wallet from the top of the bureau. "Surfing and water sports thing." Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he pauses. "You don't mind, right? It'll only be a couple of days."
She smiles faintly. "You've been going on a lot of auditions lately."
He shrugs. "Show won't last forever."
"Hmm."
He picks up his bag. "I'll call you when I land."
"... bye."
When he arrives at Will Rogers seven hours later, he finds Torri standing in front of a rack of postcards in the airport gift shop. Dropping his bag at her feet, he stands close enough for his arm to press against hers.
Without looking at him, she grins. "Took you long enough."
P
"So," she says, without preface. "I'm pregnant."
Staring at Kathy, he clears his throat. "Um --"
"Joe? Joe, did you hear what I said?"
Glancing up, Kathy throws him a quizzical look. "Who's on the phone?"
He feels faint, light-headed. "Uh, Torri?"
"Joe," Torri says patiently, at the same time Kathy says, "say hi from me."
Gripping his cell, he draws in a quick breath. "I gotta go."
Hanging up, he leaves the room.
Q
"I quit."
The words are simple enough, their meaning clear. Swallowing, he waits for the room to stop spinning. "I don't -- why?"
R
He smiles at her, slow and lazy, reaching out to play with a strand of her hair, twisting it around his finger. "Hey, Tor?"
"Mmm?" Running her thumbnail along his inseam, she slowly moves to unzip his jeans.
"Whatcha doing?"
Her smirk is one-hundred-percent wicked as she reaches into his boxers, pulling him out. "Rehearsing."
S
Being back for the new season is familiar but somehow different; strange and wonderful all at the same time. He finds himself slipping back into all his old habits without even thinking, developing new ones with that same level of ignorance.
Watching the dailies of the location shoots with Jason, and running lines with David between takes. Spending lunchtimes with Torri near the craft services table and making fun of Rachel's costumes, Jason's dreadlocks, or whoever's got the day's cheesiest line of dialogue. Small talk and shop talk and topics that don't really mean anything at all.
Nothing like the convention. The convention he sometimes, sometimes, wonders if he didn't just maybe imagine.
The fans and the panel. The press of her mouth against his and the scrape of her fingernails on his scalp. The way it took almost five days for the sense memory of her lips to fade.
He reminds himself daily that he doesn't miss it.
T
She's not his first affair.
Grace had been everything he thought he needed in college, the perfect girlfriend, the perfect future Mrs Joseph Flanigan. Even his family had adored her. Shannon, on other hand, had been everything he wanted.
She's not his second.
Kath likes to remember things differently, after thirteen years and three boys, but the truth is she had a boyfriend when they first met, and he a girlfriend, and none of that had mattered for shit.
She's not even his third.
He was six months into the show when he realised he was about to make the worst best mistake of his life. That was when he met Cara, a bartender at the hotel he was staying in. It was only one night and, unfortunately, not nearly enough of a distraction. He switched from hotels to staying with Jason after that.
She is, however, his fourth.
He remembers the first time he saw Torri -- her hair straightened and jeans stonewashed, shoulders bare in a strappy tank top that looked far too insubstantial for Vancouver weather. She looked more like a woman heading out for the night than one heading into a meeting with the exec's, and he hadn't been able to stop staring. For three years, apparently.
He likes to think she's his last.
U
It's raining when they get out of the restaurant, the somewhat overcast sky from earlier having turned while they were eating dinner.
Flicking up the collar of his jacket, Joe digs out his keys. "You wait here," he says, "I'll get the car."
She shrugs. "I'll come with."
"It's raining."
"So?"
"So, you'll get wet. We don't have an umbrella."
Smiling, she reaches out and catches his tie, tugging on it. "You're sweet," she says, leaning in to brush her mouth against his. "But a little water's not going to hurt me."
He smirks. "In that case, here." He holds up the keys. "You go, I'll wait."
She laughs, pulling on the tie until he's forced to follow her into the rain. "Nice try, Flanigan."
Sliding his arm around her shoulders, he holds her close and grins.
V
He arrives late, the celebration already in full swing, and sees David and Jason first. They're at the bar, buying enough drinks to fill two trays, and he joins them in time to be handed four Coronas.
"Party's this way," says Jason, nodding in the general vicinity of the VIP rooms. "How's Kath and the kids?"
"Fine," he says. "Who else is here?"
The guys take turns running through the roll call as they weave through the crowds, and Joe's surprised by the number of names listed. He would have figured on a lot more people having left town for the break.
"I think Claud and Ben are still around somewhere," says Jason, as they head into the room, "and that's pretty much everyone. Oh! And, of course --"
"Torri," he says, because she is the first thing he sees when he clears the threshold. The only thing he can see. She's standing with her back to the door, leaning over someone sitting down. He thinks it might be Michael.
"Yeah," says David, brushing past him. "She flew in this afternoon."
"For this?" He tries to work out how long it's been, how many days -- nights -- since they last saw each other, but the only figure he can come up with is too long.
David shrugs. "I guess so."
"Huh."
David pulls ahead of them, making straight for the knot of people at the table, him and Jason following a few steps behind.
"By the way, bro?" He just manages to catch sight of the room key in Jason's hand before it's slipped into his top pocket. "Room one-fifteen. She'll meet you there after."
"Jase --"
Jason shakes his head. "Don't ask, don't tell, remember?" Grinning, he bumps Joe's shoulder with his own. "Let's just say I don't want to find you two on my sofa bed come morning." He throws him a significant glance that's mostly ruined by his smile. "Again."
With an embarrassed laugh, Joe ducks his head and lets Jason guide them to the others.
W
Weir off-world, and it's all nanites and gunfire and replicators. Martin wants Ronon to push her out of the way of the explosion, but the choreography is off and she's tripping each and every time. Fifteen takes and counting; Joe's pretty sure her bruises are going to have bruises.
When Martin and Carl start discussing rewrites, he can't help but step forward and ask if he can try something first. He's not sure why he's bothering -- out of the whole script, this is probably the first scene that will be cut -- but he knows these people, knows how perfect they like to be, and having a frustrated director, cast and crew will not make the rest of his day any better.
And Martin is frustrated; it doesn't take much for him to say okay to the suggestion and wave everyone back to their marks. Joe can see Torri watching him as he talks to Jason, but before she can ask what's going on they're filming again.
On cue, she takes her step forward, and turns to look at the oncoming threat. Joe shouts a warning, and he watches her tense as Jason moves -- this is when the scene usually starts to fall apart -- only Jason's not moving towards her this time. No, this time he and Joe are smoothly exchanging positions and the next thing any of them know, Joe is looping his arm around her waist and pulling her into his gravity. Momentum pivots them into facing the corridor wall and they take a half-step forward so that she is pressed against the prop with his body shielding hers.
In the split-seconds before the explosion will occur, he tightens his arm around her waist and ducks his head. He knows she can feel his cheek against hers, and the press of his body with every breath. His eyes close.
Boom.
X
Sometimes, he wonders if he really knows her.
He knows the first time she saw him, she thought he was a bit of an ass. He knows that in the years since then, she's been tempted to steal his skateboard six times, and lay cables across the paths he usually skates at least five.
He knows she auditioned for three different guest spots on the X Files -- unsuccessfully -- and she's not a fan of scifi, per se, but she's worked it enough during her career to have developed an appreciation of the genre. She runs every day, even when it's raining, but only for thirty minutes -- a neat, four block circuit of her neighbourhood -- and only because she knows it's good for her. It's a habit more than a want.
He knows she likes to eat fruit in the mornings, but not in the afternoons. She's constantly thinking about getting another dog, but she can never make up her mind because there's always at least three to choose from every time she starts looking.
He knows she doesn't mind fucking when she's drunk, but likes oral more when she's sober. She's told him more than once that she loves the feel of him moving inside her when she's already come, her muscles still twitching. She doesn't care if he leaves marks on her hips, or thighs, or even on her neck, and she loves that she can make him speechless when she palms him or whispers his name when he's not expecting it.
He knows she loves him. Maybe even as much as he loves her.
He just wishes he knew how she's going to react when he asks her tonight.
Y
It's the wrong place for a discussion, the wrong time, but not, he thinks, the wrong decision.
Standing at the edge of the Yosemite Falls viewing area, Kath already making her way down the path, Joe stares at the swift flowing water, feels the faint spray push back towards him as the water crashes against the rocks.
Slowly, he slides his wedding ring off his finger.
Z
It's not when he meets her. Or when she comes over to watch Galaxy Quest with the others.
It's not when they film the first episode, the first mid-season cliffhanger, the Thalan and Phoebus episode, that Genii episode, or any of the sixty-four, really.
It's not when she announces she's leaving the show.
It's not when she films her last scene, or when everyone bands together to get her drunk after she films her last scene, or when she leaves the lot, curled up in the backseat of Paul's car, half gone and so very much on her way.
It's not when they film that episode with Michelle, or the one set in Vegas, or the last episode, or the goddamn movie.
It's not even when he attends his next round of conventions, auditions, callbacks...
"It was during the break, when everyone moved away to pee or twitter or, I don't know, whatever. And I was standing there, getting a coffee, thinking about the next scene we were going to read, and whether I needed to pick up milk, or bread, or both, on my way home, and without even thinking --"
Her expression, her smile, doesn't change when he hands her the coffee he's holding, the coffee he made out of an almost forgotten habit, two hours and change ago. There's no confusion, or bafflement, at his unexpected arrival on her doorstep, or why he's giving her a stone cold cup of coffee -- just a happy, pleased, look that warms him almost as much as the brush of her fingers on his.
"I love you," he says, smiling. "And I just thought I should tell you that."
Zipping up his jacket, he leans forward and kisses her on the cheek. Pulling back, he stuffs his hands in his pockets.
"I'll see you round, yeah?"
Laughing, she shakes her head and reaches out to grab his arm before he can even think about turning and walking away, tugging him forwards and across her threshold. "You're an impulsive fool, Joe Flanigan."
The way he sees it, he's a good six years past impulsive, but the fool part's probably true enough. Grinning, he closes the door behind them. "I've missed you too."
* * * * *
The End.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated. *g*
SUMMARY: Some things are inevitable.
RATING: NC17
CLASSIFICATIONS: Torri/Joe
ARCHIVING: Do not archive. Please ask.
NOTES: This story is RPF (real person fiction). If that bothers you, turn away now. Unbeta'd.
FOR: mylittleredgirl. Happy (belated) birthday, Sachi. This is a poor homage, I know, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. ILU!
WORDS: 4,293
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue.
Copyright anr; July 2009.
* * * * *
So Many Stories by anr
* * * * *
A
His agent calls first thing in the morning, waking him. "I need a quote."
6:27.
"Joe?"
6:28.
"Joe, man, did you hear me?"
6:29.
In the seconds before the alarm can go off, he clears his throat; feels Torri's warmth against his back and closes his eyes. "Some things are inevitable."
B
At Brad's wrap party, he spends half his time trying not to watch Torri from the opposite side of the room, and the other half pretending that she will be back next year, that this isn't all the end.
He's not very successful at either.
C
Three weeks before Christmas, David invites everyone over for lunch. It's casual and boozy and after dessert -- and way too many cups of Torri's 'special' eggnog -- Paul suggests a Secret Santa. David has the names of their characters cut from an old script before it even occurs to anyone they might want to refuse.
"But we're shopping for us, right?" asks Rachel, eyeing the baseball cap dubiously. "And not our characters?"
Jason shrugs, and pulls a piece of paper out of the passing hat. "Does it matter?"
Torri looks up from reading hers and smirks. "After your own pair of leather chaps, are you?"
She's blown an exaggerated kiss. "Fuck you too, babe."
"Yes!" David pumps a fist into the air, and kisses the scrap of paper clutched in his other hand. "I was so hoping I'd get myself."
"Way to keep a secret," mutters Paul. "Do you want to redraw?" He holds the cap back out, but David looks at him, aghast.
"Are you kidding? I already have the best present idea ever."
Joe rolls his eyes, and gives Rachel an encouraging look. "Come on," he says, drawing a name out for himself, "what's the worst that could happen?"
Across the room, Torri looks at him, looks at the piece of paper in her hand, looks at him and smiles.
D
He's drunk.
Drunk and intoxicated and drunk and definitely not thinking straight. Not with the scent of alcohol in the air, beer and Torri's jack and cokes, bottles of booze littering the coffee table nearby.
Not with the feel of Torri's skin against his, naked and soft, sweat damp and slick.
Not with the sight of her moving above him, her hand braced on his chest, hair falling in her eyes and brushing his cheeks when he leans up to kiss her.
The sound of breathing, fast and heavy, her name caught in the back of his throat, his name a wordless echo.
The taste of him, and her, and liquor, a combination that blurs his thoughts a little further each time she rises, and sinks, pushing them both closer to the edge.
Definitely drunk.
E
She heads to LA as soon as post-production gives them the all clear; puts nine-hundred-odd miles between him and her and this world of make-believe they call their careers. He knows it's a chance for him to try and figure things out.
It's not easy -- almost none of it makes any sense -- but he reassures himself with the one thing he knows is true: he is not in love with his co-star.
He won't let himself be.
F
He never means to have sex with Torri.
It sounds cliché, like a bad joke, the kind his college roommate used to love telling day and night -- "and then I was all, whoops! sorry, babe -- looks like my dick accidentally slipped into you there" -- but the truth is, it's never planned, or thought of, until it's actually happening. Until he's deep inside her, her mouth skimming his jaw and his fingers stroking between them, searching out her clit, listening for that change in her breathing that'll tell him she's close.
"You escalate things," he says unthinkingly, watching her brush her hair. She's naked, and damp from her shower, sitting on the edge of the bed with her back to him.
"Well that's something I haven't heard before," she says dryly. Dropping the hairbrush, she stands and flicks her hair over her shoulder, walking towards her bureau.
"I didn't mean --" He shakes his head, cutting himself off. He should probably get up, get dressed, get his cheating ass home. Linking his hands behind his head, he watches her sort through her drawers and thinks about what he said instead. "No, actually, I did. You do escalate things."
Turning, she looks at him and raises an eyebrow. "Do I want to know how I do that?"
He shrugs. "I don't know how you do it."
She gives him a look, a what the hell are you on? look that reminds him sharply of the looks she usually gives him on set, when they're both in character. "Joe, what --"
"It's just -- when we touch --" He frowns, knowing he's not explaining himself very well, and tries again. "We hug, and then we're kissing, and then we're --" He searches for the appropriate word.
She smirks. "Fucking?"
He winces. It's not an inaccurate description, true, but he's not so sure it's appropriate either. "Yeah." He looks at her. "I don't know how you do that."
Laughing, she steps away from the bureau and walks over to his side of the bed, sitting down beside him. "I don't think I'm the only one escalating here," she says, smoothing her hand across his chest. "You're the one who makes it impossible for me to keep my hands to myself."
Moving, he reaches down to grasp her hand with his, lacing their fingers. "Me? How the hell do I do that?"
"How do I escalate things?"
"I told you -- I don't know how." His other hand moves to rest on her knee, fingers drawing random shapes on her skin.
She shrugs. "Well, neither do I."
"Well, neither --" He stops and smiles. "Wait, why are we even arguing about this?"
"Our first fight," she says teasingly, "how precious." Leaning forward, she kisses him lightly. "And you started it."
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did."
"No." Sitting up, he wraps his arms around her and tugs her on top of him. "I didn't."
Laughing, she kisses him again, shifting until she's straddling him properly. "You so did."
G
Kathy needs some time to paint, to finish her latest piece, so Joe takes the boys out for the afternoon. He's not really sure how they're going to kill four hours -- most of the things he can do with Truman and Aidan, Gus is too young for, and vice versa -- but he figures the park, at least, is a good place for them to start.
"Dad! Dad! Look who we found!"
Looking up from Gus, Joe watches as Tru and Aidan run over, a familiar face following at a slower pace.
"Hey Tor," he says, getting to his feet. He leans over to brush her cheek with a kiss when she stops next to him. "How're you doing?"
She smiles. "Good, you?"
"Great."
"Dad, can we take Sedge for a run?" interrupts Tru, already patting her. "Please?"
"You need to ask Torri," he says, smiling as Aidan looks up at her with a pleading expression. "But it's okay with me."
"Torri?" Aidan asks hopefully.
She nods, and hands over the leash to Truman. "Stay close though, okay?"
"Okay!"
"Sure!"
With a chuckle, Joe watches them take off, Sedge bounding eagerly between his boys. Taking a seat on the bench beside Gus' stroller, he drapes his arm across the backrest as Torri settles beside him, strands of her hair falling across his forearm.
"So," she says, watching the three of them begin a haphazard game on the grass.
"So," he echoes. His hand shifts enough to touch her shoulder, fingers lightly stroking the bare skin he finds there. "I miss you."
She rests her hand on his thigh, her palm warming his flesh through the denim of his jeans. "I miss you too."
H
Mid-season hiatus, and he admits to himself: I want her.
His conscience refuses to contemplate anything more than that.
I
"Seriously, Joe," she says, sitting on his front step and flipping through a magazine. "Sports Illustrated?"
Rolling his eyes, he shifts the bag of groceries in his arms so that he can grab the rest of his mail from off the top of her duffel. "I like the pictures."
"Cliché." She says it likes it's an insult.
"Canadian."
"Whatever." Standing, she steals his groceries, leaving him to collect her duffel. "I'm starving."
Unlocking his door, he holds it open for her. "Mi casa, su casa."
J
"Is it the sex? Tell me it's the sex. It is, isn't it? Isn't it?"
"Kath --"
"Shut up. Just -- shut up!" Digging her hands into her hair, she spins away from him, pacing towards the bedroom window only to stop and suddenly turn back. "Well? Is it?"
Rocking back on his heels, he realises his hands are still raised and he drops them nervously, shoving them into his pockets and then pulling them out again a second later. "Kath," he tries again, softly, cautiously, "I'm sorry --"
"Oh, fuck you, Joe. Fuck you! How long, huh? A few weeks? A few --" She swallows hard. "-- months? You bastard -- years?!"
Wincing, he takes an instinctive step backwards. "Months," he says. "Months, not years. Not years, I swear. Only since August."
She makes a sound that's not even close to being a word, her face crumbling. "Only?" she manages. "Only?"
"I'm sorry," he repeats, stepping forward, closer to her, to the bed that's littered with tabloid magazines, the glossy, grainy pictures still face up, him and Torri and their indiscretion on show for all the world to see. "I'm so, so sorry you had to find out like this. I never meant --"
"Get out!" With a fresh burst of rage, she turns and stalks right up to him, slapping him hard across the face. "Get your stuff and get the fuck out of this house and don't ever come back."
"Kath --"
She gives him a suddenly cool look that's somehow worse than the furious anger of a moment ago, ice steeling her expression and voice. "Now."
K
He rolls over, wide awake at three am, and suddenly, inexplicably, just knows.
His marriage is over.
L
"Kath's taking the kids back to LA."
He watches her place another book into the box she's packing, and then another, but she doesn't look up. "Oh?"
"I think we're separating."
"Oh," she says again. She still doesn't look up.
He understands; neither of them have ever made any promises.
M
"Marry me?"
Panting for breath still, he stares at her, dumbfounded. "Did you just --"
"Yes."
Feeling his muscles tremble, he pulls back with a groan, shifting to the left and settling beside her. "Are you --"
She smiles. "Yes."
"Even though --"
"Yes."
Closing his eyes, he takes a moment, his thoughts slowing with his heartbeat, steadying. Smiling, he opens his eyes. "Ask me again."
N
She guest stars on NCIS and, because of their schedules, it's almost two weeks before he really sees her again. After read through, he offers to bring her up to date on the latest set gossip, and they're laughing over guest star antics as she follows him into his trailer.
When she straddles him on the couch, he only pulls her closer, holds her tighter. His mouth on her neck, and her hands in his hair, and things get a little blurry when his palms drag over her thighs and ass, his fingers slipping under the hem of her shirt. Someone groans, and it occurs to him that maybe, just maybe, this isn't a couple (fifteen; seventeen if he includes Comic Con and the Thalan and Phoebus episode) of (harmless) kisses anymore.
If he's being honest with himself: it probably never was.
O
Torri sends him postcards; bright, shiny pictures of tourist locations near and far.
Drank pina coladas yesterday, she writes, a picture of Oklahoma corn fields on the reverse, but couldn't find any dunes. Maybe I should have looked for O'Malley's instead?
Alcohol. Sand. Work.
He's packing a bag when Kathy gets home. "You going somewhere?"
He grabs a handful of t-shirts. "My agent called -- he's lined up an audition for me."
"Yeah?" Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she toes off her shoes. "Where?"
"Hawaii." Zipping up his bag, he snags his wallet from the top of the bureau. "Surfing and water sports thing." Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he pauses. "You don't mind, right? It'll only be a couple of days."
She smiles faintly. "You've been going on a lot of auditions lately."
He shrugs. "Show won't last forever."
"Hmm."
He picks up his bag. "I'll call you when I land."
"... bye."
When he arrives at Will Rogers seven hours later, he finds Torri standing in front of a rack of postcards in the airport gift shop. Dropping his bag at her feet, he stands close enough for his arm to press against hers.
Without looking at him, she grins. "Took you long enough."
P
"So," she says, without preface. "I'm pregnant."
Staring at Kathy, he clears his throat. "Um --"
"Joe? Joe, did you hear what I said?"
Glancing up, Kathy throws him a quizzical look. "Who's on the phone?"
He feels faint, light-headed. "Uh, Torri?"
"Joe," Torri says patiently, at the same time Kathy says, "say hi from me."
Gripping his cell, he draws in a quick breath. "I gotta go."
Hanging up, he leaves the room.
Q
"I quit."
The words are simple enough, their meaning clear. Swallowing, he waits for the room to stop spinning. "I don't -- why?"
R
He smiles at her, slow and lazy, reaching out to play with a strand of her hair, twisting it around his finger. "Hey, Tor?"
"Mmm?" Running her thumbnail along his inseam, she slowly moves to unzip his jeans.
"Whatcha doing?"
Her smirk is one-hundred-percent wicked as she reaches into his boxers, pulling him out. "Rehearsing."
S
Being back for the new season is familiar but somehow different; strange and wonderful all at the same time. He finds himself slipping back into all his old habits without even thinking, developing new ones with that same level of ignorance.
Watching the dailies of the location shoots with Jason, and running lines with David between takes. Spending lunchtimes with Torri near the craft services table and making fun of Rachel's costumes, Jason's dreadlocks, or whoever's got the day's cheesiest line of dialogue. Small talk and shop talk and topics that don't really mean anything at all.
Nothing like the convention. The convention he sometimes, sometimes, wonders if he didn't just maybe imagine.
The fans and the panel. The press of her mouth against his and the scrape of her fingernails on his scalp. The way it took almost five days for the sense memory of her lips to fade.
He reminds himself daily that he doesn't miss it.
T
She's not his first affair.
Grace had been everything he thought he needed in college, the perfect girlfriend, the perfect future Mrs Joseph Flanigan. Even his family had adored her. Shannon, on other hand, had been everything he wanted.
She's not his second.
Kath likes to remember things differently, after thirteen years and three boys, but the truth is she had a boyfriend when they first met, and he a girlfriend, and none of that had mattered for shit.
She's not even his third.
He was six months into the show when he realised he was about to make the worst best mistake of his life. That was when he met Cara, a bartender at the hotel he was staying in. It was only one night and, unfortunately, not nearly enough of a distraction. He switched from hotels to staying with Jason after that.
She is, however, his fourth.
He remembers the first time he saw Torri -- her hair straightened and jeans stonewashed, shoulders bare in a strappy tank top that looked far too insubstantial for Vancouver weather. She looked more like a woman heading out for the night than one heading into a meeting with the exec's, and he hadn't been able to stop staring. For three years, apparently.
He likes to think she's his last.
U
It's raining when they get out of the restaurant, the somewhat overcast sky from earlier having turned while they were eating dinner.
Flicking up the collar of his jacket, Joe digs out his keys. "You wait here," he says, "I'll get the car."
She shrugs. "I'll come with."
"It's raining."
"So?"
"So, you'll get wet. We don't have an umbrella."
Smiling, she reaches out and catches his tie, tugging on it. "You're sweet," she says, leaning in to brush her mouth against his. "But a little water's not going to hurt me."
He smirks. "In that case, here." He holds up the keys. "You go, I'll wait."
She laughs, pulling on the tie until he's forced to follow her into the rain. "Nice try, Flanigan."
Sliding his arm around her shoulders, he holds her close and grins.
V
He arrives late, the celebration already in full swing, and sees David and Jason first. They're at the bar, buying enough drinks to fill two trays, and he joins them in time to be handed four Coronas.
"Party's this way," says Jason, nodding in the general vicinity of the VIP rooms. "How's Kath and the kids?"
"Fine," he says. "Who else is here?"
The guys take turns running through the roll call as they weave through the crowds, and Joe's surprised by the number of names listed. He would have figured on a lot more people having left town for the break.
"I think Claud and Ben are still around somewhere," says Jason, as they head into the room, "and that's pretty much everyone. Oh! And, of course --"
"Torri," he says, because she is the first thing he sees when he clears the threshold. The only thing he can see. She's standing with her back to the door, leaning over someone sitting down. He thinks it might be Michael.
"Yeah," says David, brushing past him. "She flew in this afternoon."
"For this?" He tries to work out how long it's been, how many days -- nights -- since they last saw each other, but the only figure he can come up with is too long.
David shrugs. "I guess so."
"Huh."
David pulls ahead of them, making straight for the knot of people at the table, him and Jason following a few steps behind.
"By the way, bro?" He just manages to catch sight of the room key in Jason's hand before it's slipped into his top pocket. "Room one-fifteen. She'll meet you there after."
"Jase --"
Jason shakes his head. "Don't ask, don't tell, remember?" Grinning, he bumps Joe's shoulder with his own. "Let's just say I don't want to find you two on my sofa bed come morning." He throws him a significant glance that's mostly ruined by his smile. "Again."
With an embarrassed laugh, Joe ducks his head and lets Jason guide them to the others.
W
Weir off-world, and it's all nanites and gunfire and replicators. Martin wants Ronon to push her out of the way of the explosion, but the choreography is off and she's tripping each and every time. Fifteen takes and counting; Joe's pretty sure her bruises are going to have bruises.
When Martin and Carl start discussing rewrites, he can't help but step forward and ask if he can try something first. He's not sure why he's bothering -- out of the whole script, this is probably the first scene that will be cut -- but he knows these people, knows how perfect they like to be, and having a frustrated director, cast and crew will not make the rest of his day any better.
And Martin is frustrated; it doesn't take much for him to say okay to the suggestion and wave everyone back to their marks. Joe can see Torri watching him as he talks to Jason, but before she can ask what's going on they're filming again.
On cue, she takes her step forward, and turns to look at the oncoming threat. Joe shouts a warning, and he watches her tense as Jason moves -- this is when the scene usually starts to fall apart -- only Jason's not moving towards her this time. No, this time he and Joe are smoothly exchanging positions and the next thing any of them know, Joe is looping his arm around her waist and pulling her into his gravity. Momentum pivots them into facing the corridor wall and they take a half-step forward so that she is pressed against the prop with his body shielding hers.
In the split-seconds before the explosion will occur, he tightens his arm around her waist and ducks his head. He knows she can feel his cheek against hers, and the press of his body with every breath. His eyes close.
Boom.
X
Sometimes, he wonders if he really knows her.
He knows the first time she saw him, she thought he was a bit of an ass. He knows that in the years since then, she's been tempted to steal his skateboard six times, and lay cables across the paths he usually skates at least five.
He knows she auditioned for three different guest spots on the X Files -- unsuccessfully -- and she's not a fan of scifi, per se, but she's worked it enough during her career to have developed an appreciation of the genre. She runs every day, even when it's raining, but only for thirty minutes -- a neat, four block circuit of her neighbourhood -- and only because she knows it's good for her. It's a habit more than a want.
He knows she likes to eat fruit in the mornings, but not in the afternoons. She's constantly thinking about getting another dog, but she can never make up her mind because there's always at least three to choose from every time she starts looking.
He knows she doesn't mind fucking when she's drunk, but likes oral more when she's sober. She's told him more than once that she loves the feel of him moving inside her when she's already come, her muscles still twitching. She doesn't care if he leaves marks on her hips, or thighs, or even on her neck, and she loves that she can make him speechless when she palms him or whispers his name when he's not expecting it.
He knows she loves him. Maybe even as much as he loves her.
He just wishes he knew how she's going to react when he asks her tonight.
Y
It's the wrong place for a discussion, the wrong time, but not, he thinks, the wrong decision.
Standing at the edge of the Yosemite Falls viewing area, Kath already making her way down the path, Joe stares at the swift flowing water, feels the faint spray push back towards him as the water crashes against the rocks.
Slowly, he slides his wedding ring off his finger.
Z
It's not when he meets her. Or when she comes over to watch Galaxy Quest with the others.
It's not when they film the first episode, the first mid-season cliffhanger, the Thalan and Phoebus episode, that Genii episode, or any of the sixty-four, really.
It's not when she announces she's leaving the show.
It's not when she films her last scene, or when everyone bands together to get her drunk after she films her last scene, or when she leaves the lot, curled up in the backseat of Paul's car, half gone and so very much on her way.
It's not when they film that episode with Michelle, or the one set in Vegas, or the last episode, or the goddamn movie.
It's not even when he attends his next round of conventions, auditions, callbacks...
"It was during the break, when everyone moved away to pee or twitter or, I don't know, whatever. And I was standing there, getting a coffee, thinking about the next scene we were going to read, and whether I needed to pick up milk, or bread, or both, on my way home, and without even thinking --"
Her expression, her smile, doesn't change when he hands her the coffee he's holding, the coffee he made out of an almost forgotten habit, two hours and change ago. There's no confusion, or bafflement, at his unexpected arrival on her doorstep, or why he's giving her a stone cold cup of coffee -- just a happy, pleased, look that warms him almost as much as the brush of her fingers on his.
"I love you," he says, smiling. "And I just thought I should tell you that."
Zipping up his jacket, he leans forward and kisses her on the cheek. Pulling back, he stuffs his hands in his pockets.
"I'll see you round, yeah?"
Laughing, she shakes her head and reaches out to grab his arm before he can even think about turning and walking away, tugging him forwards and across her threshold. "You're an impulsive fool, Joe Flanigan."
The way he sees it, he's a good six years past impulsive, but the fool part's probably true enough. Grinning, he closes the door behind them. "I've missed you too."
* * * * *
The End.
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