Fic: Behind Oscar's Hazel Eyes (The Office, Oscar & Andy)
Title: Behind Oscar's Hazel Eyes
Fandom: The Office
Pairing/Characters: Oscar/Andy
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,200+
Spoilers: For "Blood Drive"
Summary: A missing-scene type of scenario that grew from me wisecracking to dollsome re: my Andy Bernard-is-Kelly Clarkson obsession + a bit of Internet research anxietygrrl sent me once upon a time
He and Andy should not be allowed to drink together. It seemed like embarrassing mistakes always happened when the two of them imbibed together.
Which would explain why he, Oscar Martinez, who had not sung in public since his days in the choir at Nativity of Our Lord, found himself Rex Harrisoning his way through Prince's "Little Red Corvette" in front of fifteen or twenty drunk, rambunctious gay men in Moosic's most pride-filled bar.
Andy was beaming with pride at their table, which made Oscar feel self-conscious, in addition to generally ridiculous for singing a song that was a barely veiled metaphor about a woman's...
Not that Oscar figured he'd ever come back here. After all, his chances of getting laid by anyone in the room had to be pretty well shot.
As if reading his thoughts, Andrew Bernard shouted, "Woooooo, Oscar!"
Oscar found himself laughing through the next verse in spite of himself.
Things took a turn when Andy strode up to the stage and took the mike. His normally sweet-but-melancholy demeanor had gradually clouded, then darkened as the night progressed, and more and more White Russians made their way to the table.
A piano plinked plaintively, and Andy seemed to look everywhere but at Oscar as he said, "This song is about heartbreak and misery and hypocrisy perpetrated by tiny blonde...things."
Most of the men in the room could relate, so they hollered. The response seemed to fortify Andy's anger and bitterness.
"I will not make the same mistakes that you did/I will not let myself cause my heart so much misery..."
Oscar's heart sank. Andy was singing a Kelly Clarkson song.
That's how bad it had gotten. Andy was expressing himself through a former American Idol.
As the music crescendoed and Andy reached the first chorus, it was clear that the crowd had found its flavor of the night. Andy's earnest, raw reading of the song made Oscar desperate to charge the stage, to take the mike away from Andy and explain everything, tell the irony-loving 20-to-40-somethings in the audience about how Andy'd had his heart broken by the loosest Christian cat fancier in Scranton, how Andy was, in spite of his sycophancy and occasional denseness, so nice and genuine and...well, almost lovable.
Ever contrary, cheeks flushed with righteous drunkenness, Andy howled, "You never thought of anyone else/you just saw your pain/and now I cry/in the middle of the night/for the same damn thing."
Oscar's eyes stung. He was sure it was the impending hangover causing the prickling around his lower lids. The song was the worst kind of mediocre pop drivel, and Andy baring his wounded soul through its words just proved Oscar's empathy would be better served elsewhere.
"Because of you/I tried my hardest just to forget everything/Because of you/I don't know how to let anyone else in/Because of you/I'm ashamed of my life because it's empty..."
Oscar realized too late he had pressed his hand to his chest as if trying to stop himself for bursting with pity.
The song ended in a barely audible, wavering falsetto “Because of you…” and the crowd erupted in applause. Andy squinted out at his adoring fans, then looked to Oscar, who tried to work up a smile as he applauded.
He must have failed, as Andy’s features hardened into a proud-yet-on-the-brink-of-tears mask, and he stormed off the stage, dropping the microphone with a resounding and magnified thunk.
"Andy!"
As he pursued his friend out to the parking lot, he noticed he received several disapproving stares. It was clear to the crowd that he, Oscar Martinez, had broken Andy Bernard Clarkson’s heart.
"Andy, where are you going?"
"I don’t know. Back to Scranton. Back to Ithaca."
"Stop being unreasonable." Oscar wished he were more sober and sounded less ridiculous shouting as he practically ran to catch up with Andy.
"Is this why you’re spending time with me now? Because you feel sorry for me? Well, let me tell you, homm-bre, you couldn’t even get laid in Canada. So who should be feeling sorry for who?"
After a beat, Oscar said, "Whom."
Andy stopped walking; as a result, Oscar nearly ran into him.
"What?"
"'Who should be feeling for whom?' 'Whom' is the direct object."
Andy fixed Oscar with a hard, fuming stare. Oscar shrugged and looked at his feet.
The two of them were silent for a moment. A car drove by, and Oscar suddenly felt hyperaware of how much of what had happened in such public places: his own outing at work, Andy’s breakup, whatever had just happened with Kelly Clarkson at the Twelve Penny...
"I don’t feel sorry for you, Andy."
Andy scoffed.
"I don’t. I...wish things had happened differently. And I wish you weren’t..." Deciding it was too late to avoid earnestness at this point, Oscar continued. "I wish you weren’t hurting so much right now. You don’t deserve it. You’re a good person."
Oscar’s honesty, the open air, and the effects of six White Russians had a predictable outcome: Andy burst into tears.
"Oh... God..." Oscar hesitantly took a step forward. Then a step back. Then after a second or two, he stepped forward again and uneasily hugged Andy.
The moment Andy wrapped his arms around him, Oscar was torn between breaking off the embrace and sinking into it, compelled to share how he and Gil had spent the last months of their relationship oscillating between screaming at each other and hours of frosty, stubborn silence.
He didn’t share. But he thought about it.
"It seems...like...Kelly Clarkson knows how...I’m feeling."
"I’m sure she does, Andy. I’m sure she does."
After a moment or two more, Andy sighed. "I think I’m going to go on my honeymoons."
Oscar was becoming more uncomfortable about the embrace. Andy’s breath was hot on his neck and he smelled like Kahlua and cream and aftershave. Oscar couldn’t ignore how big Andy’s hands felt against his back.
"That sounds like a great idea."
Andy’s fingers flexed. Oscar anticipated.
"...Wanna come with?"
"On your honeymoons?"
"Yeah."
"I...don’t...know..." Just say no, Oscar, he thought to himself.
But there was something tempting in the offer. Something promising.
Andy stepped out of the embrace. "I’m going to the Napa Valley. And Walt Disney World. And the Bahamas. We could go." He paused thoughtfully. "I promise I won’t sing." After another moment or two, he amended, "A lot. I won't sing a lot."
Oscar smiled at his shoes and successfully avoided saying "Yes" as he began, "It’s a very nice offer, Andy..."
"But no, right? Well, fine. I can fly solo. By myself. Alone. I guess I’d better get used to it."
"Don’t think...you know, it’s just going to take time."
Andy looked from under his lashes and said "I know" in the most unconvincing manner possible.
"Really, Andy. It’ll get better. And you can send me postcards. Tell me all about..." Oscar trailed off, as saying "your lonely honeymoons in places that will be full of newlyweds" seemed insensitive.
Maybe he should go.
"You would hate Disney World, wouldn’t you?" Andy asked as he started back towards the bar.
"Most definitely."
When they reached the door, Andy held it open, then said, “Wanna duet on 'Breakaway?'"
Oscar flinched inside, but he hated to deny Andy twice in one evening. "Sure."
Fandom: The Office
Pairing/Characters: Oscar/Andy
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,200+
Spoilers: For "Blood Drive"
Summary: A missing-scene type of scenario that grew from me wisecracking to dollsome re: my Andy Bernard-is-Kelly Clarkson obsession + a bit of Internet research anxietygrrl sent me once upon a time
He and Andy should not be allowed to drink together. It seemed like embarrassing mistakes always happened when the two of them imbibed together.
Which would explain why he, Oscar Martinez, who had not sung in public since his days in the choir at Nativity of Our Lord, found himself Rex Harrisoning his way through Prince's "Little Red Corvette" in front of fifteen or twenty drunk, rambunctious gay men in Moosic's most pride-filled bar.
Andy was beaming with pride at their table, which made Oscar feel self-conscious, in addition to generally ridiculous for singing a song that was a barely veiled metaphor about a woman's...
Not that Oscar figured he'd ever come back here. After all, his chances of getting laid by anyone in the room had to be pretty well shot.
As if reading his thoughts, Andrew Bernard shouted, "Woooooo, Oscar!"
Oscar found himself laughing through the next verse in spite of himself.
Things took a turn when Andy strode up to the stage and took the mike. His normally sweet-but-melancholy demeanor had gradually clouded, then darkened as the night progressed, and more and more White Russians made their way to the table.
A piano plinked plaintively, and Andy seemed to look everywhere but at Oscar as he said, "This song is about heartbreak and misery and hypocrisy perpetrated by tiny blonde...things."
Most of the men in the room could relate, so they hollered. The response seemed to fortify Andy's anger and bitterness.
"I will not make the same mistakes that you did/I will not let myself cause my heart so much misery..."
Oscar's heart sank. Andy was singing a Kelly Clarkson song.
That's how bad it had gotten. Andy was expressing himself through a former American Idol.
As the music crescendoed and Andy reached the first chorus, it was clear that the crowd had found its flavor of the night. Andy's earnest, raw reading of the song made Oscar desperate to charge the stage, to take the mike away from Andy and explain everything, tell the irony-loving 20-to-40-somethings in the audience about how Andy'd had his heart broken by the loosest Christian cat fancier in Scranton, how Andy was, in spite of his sycophancy and occasional denseness, so nice and genuine and...well, almost lovable.
Ever contrary, cheeks flushed with righteous drunkenness, Andy howled, "You never thought of anyone else/you just saw your pain/and now I cry/in the middle of the night/for the same damn thing."
Oscar's eyes stung. He was sure it was the impending hangover causing the prickling around his lower lids. The song was the worst kind of mediocre pop drivel, and Andy baring his wounded soul through its words just proved Oscar's empathy would be better served elsewhere.
"Because of you/I tried my hardest just to forget everything/Because of you/I don't know how to let anyone else in/Because of you/I'm ashamed of my life because it's empty..."
Oscar realized too late he had pressed his hand to his chest as if trying to stop himself for bursting with pity.
The song ended in a barely audible, wavering falsetto “Because of you…” and the crowd erupted in applause. Andy squinted out at his adoring fans, then looked to Oscar, who tried to work up a smile as he applauded.
He must have failed, as Andy’s features hardened into a proud-yet-on-the-brink-of-tears mask, and he stormed off the stage, dropping the microphone with a resounding and magnified thunk.
"Andy!"
As he pursued his friend out to the parking lot, he noticed he received several disapproving stares. It was clear to the crowd that he, Oscar Martinez, had broken Andy Bernard Clarkson’s heart.
"Andy, where are you going?"
"I don’t know. Back to Scranton. Back to Ithaca."
"Stop being unreasonable." Oscar wished he were more sober and sounded less ridiculous shouting as he practically ran to catch up with Andy.
"Is this why you’re spending time with me now? Because you feel sorry for me? Well, let me tell you, homm-bre, you couldn’t even get laid in Canada. So who should be feeling sorry for who?"
After a beat, Oscar said, "Whom."
Andy stopped walking; as a result, Oscar nearly ran into him.
"What?"
"'Who should be feeling for whom?' 'Whom' is the direct object."
Andy fixed Oscar with a hard, fuming stare. Oscar shrugged and looked at his feet.
The two of them were silent for a moment. A car drove by, and Oscar suddenly felt hyperaware of how much of what had happened in such public places: his own outing at work, Andy’s breakup, whatever had just happened with Kelly Clarkson at the Twelve Penny...
"I don’t feel sorry for you, Andy."
Andy scoffed.
"I don’t. I...wish things had happened differently. And I wish you weren’t..." Deciding it was too late to avoid earnestness at this point, Oscar continued. "I wish you weren’t hurting so much right now. You don’t deserve it. You’re a good person."
Oscar’s honesty, the open air, and the effects of six White Russians had a predictable outcome: Andy burst into tears.
"Oh... God..." Oscar hesitantly took a step forward. Then a step back. Then after a second or two, he stepped forward again and uneasily hugged Andy.
The moment Andy wrapped his arms around him, Oscar was torn between breaking off the embrace and sinking into it, compelled to share how he and Gil had spent the last months of their relationship oscillating between screaming at each other and hours of frosty, stubborn silence.
He didn’t share. But he thought about it.
"It seems...like...Kelly Clarkson knows how...I’m feeling."
"I’m sure she does, Andy. I’m sure she does."
After a moment or two more, Andy sighed. "I think I’m going to go on my honeymoons."
Oscar was becoming more uncomfortable about the embrace. Andy’s breath was hot on his neck and he smelled like Kahlua and cream and aftershave. Oscar couldn’t ignore how big Andy’s hands felt against his back.
"That sounds like a great idea."
Andy’s fingers flexed. Oscar anticipated.
"...Wanna come with?"
"On your honeymoons?"
"Yeah."
"I...don’t...know..." Just say no, Oscar, he thought to himself.
But there was something tempting in the offer. Something promising.
Andy stepped out of the embrace. "I’m going to the Napa Valley. And Walt Disney World. And the Bahamas. We could go." He paused thoughtfully. "I promise I won’t sing." After another moment or two, he amended, "A lot. I won't sing a lot."
Oscar smiled at his shoes and successfully avoided saying "Yes" as he began, "It’s a very nice offer, Andy..."
"But no, right? Well, fine. I can fly solo. By myself. Alone. I guess I’d better get used to it."
"Don’t think...you know, it’s just going to take time."
Andy looked from under his lashes and said "I know" in the most unconvincing manner possible.
"Really, Andy. It’ll get better. And you can send me postcards. Tell me all about..." Oscar trailed off, as saying "your lonely honeymoons in places that will be full of newlyweds" seemed insensitive.
Maybe he should go.
"You would hate Disney World, wouldn’t you?" Andy asked as he started back towards the bar.
"Most definitely."
When they reached the door, Andy held it open, then said, “Wanna duet on 'Breakaway?'"
Oscar flinched inside, but he hated to deny Andy twice in one evening. "Sure."