fic: generic live shot
So I watched the first three episodes of this yesterday and I enjoyed it, which is surprising. I went in expecting it to be shitty, and it was a bit, I guess. But I dunno, it’s Sorkin so I’ll stick the season out and see what happens. Also, Jane Fonda’s character is solid gold bamf.
But anyway. This happened. I apologise unreservedly.
generic live shot
the newsroom, maggie, will (slight maggie/will, mac/will). minor spoilers. light r.
and the lion says to the lamb -- i was a prosecutor, once.
‘Maggie.’ He starts, waits a beat for the correction that doesn’t come. She’s in her favourite spot on the stairs, ‘I thought everyone had gone home.’
‘I thought everyone had gone home,’ she echoes. Her fingers twist and she’s not quite meeting his gaze in a manner she probably thinks is endearing but just kind of fucks him off a bit.
Still, he’s a gentleman, as some might say, so he motions to his office, ‘Drink?’ He asks. ‘I only have scotch - ’
She’s a little unsteady on her feet and it’s more a reflex than anything when he steps towards her. ‘That’s OK. Kinda reminds me of my dad.’ The office door shuts with a thud.
‘Jesus.’ He mutters. He forgets how fucking young she is, sometimes, when he looks at her and all he can see is Mac. His fingers slip on the bottle - Charlie’s been at it, he notes.
‘So,’ she says, the glass chiming with her nails as she takes it, ‘You were a lawyer?’
His grin’s lopsided. ‘A prosecutor. The best this side of Chicago.’ He pauses, pulls a face, ‘You know the sanctimonious bullcrap Charlie spouts? That’s all true.’
‘Wow,’ she breathes, and genuinely sounds impressed. She shrugs her shoulders, ‘I was a barista in Starbucks.’
He chuckles. ‘The world’s not what it used to be, eh?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’ She says, and he thinks she might just be teasing him but the doe-eyed delivery makes it kind of hard to tell.
There’s a silence. Someone’s fucked with the settings on his chair, so he’s sitting lower to the ground than he’d like. She sits a head above him on the sofa, legs curled up beside her like she’s a Disney fucking princess, or something. When he speaks his voice pitches more unevenly. It’s the scotch. ‘Mac says that you guys think I’m an ass’ He sees a smirk ghost across her face, ‘Be honest - I won’t get mad.’
‘Just even.’ She chimes back.
He chuckles, ‘That’s probably breaking some copyright law or something,’ and fuck when did he start sounding so pathetically middle aged.
Maggie just smiles. She drinks slowly, steadily, and he guesses scotch isn’t her usual drink of choice. He finds himself watching the bob of her throat as she takes a sip. ‘Will?’ She says, quiet and sincere, and when he pulls his eyes are to hers her brows are furrowed, ‘Are you OK?’
Something passes. ‘You’re going to go places kid, you know that?’ His voice sounds foreign, and he idly wonders if Charlie’s spiked his scotch. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Her lips twist, and she doesn’t say you’re drunk will or jesus will what is wrong with you. Instead she says, ‘Thanks Will.’
And he says, ‘You’re welcome.’
end.
But anyway. This happened. I apologise unreservedly.
generic live shot
the newsroom, maggie, will (slight maggie/will, mac/will). minor spoilers. light r.
and the lion says to the lamb -- i was a prosecutor, once.
‘Maggie.’ He starts, waits a beat for the correction that doesn’t come. She’s in her favourite spot on the stairs, ‘I thought everyone had gone home.’
‘I thought everyone had gone home,’ she echoes. Her fingers twist and she’s not quite meeting his gaze in a manner she probably thinks is endearing but just kind of fucks him off a bit.
Still, he’s a gentleman, as some might say, so he motions to his office, ‘Drink?’ He asks. ‘I only have scotch - ’
She’s a little unsteady on her feet and it’s more a reflex than anything when he steps towards her. ‘That’s OK. Kinda reminds me of my dad.’ The office door shuts with a thud.
‘Jesus.’ He mutters. He forgets how fucking young she is, sometimes, when he looks at her and all he can see is Mac. His fingers slip on the bottle - Charlie’s been at it, he notes.
‘So,’ she says, the glass chiming with her nails as she takes it, ‘You were a lawyer?’
His grin’s lopsided. ‘A prosecutor. The best this side of Chicago.’ He pauses, pulls a face, ‘You know the sanctimonious bullcrap Charlie spouts? That’s all true.’
‘Wow,’ she breathes, and genuinely sounds impressed. She shrugs her shoulders, ‘I was a barista in Starbucks.’
He chuckles. ‘The world’s not what it used to be, eh?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’ She says, and he thinks she might just be teasing him but the doe-eyed delivery makes it kind of hard to tell.
There’s a silence. Someone’s fucked with the settings on his chair, so he’s sitting lower to the ground than he’d like. She sits a head above him on the sofa, legs curled up beside her like she’s a Disney fucking princess, or something. When he speaks his voice pitches more unevenly. It’s the scotch. ‘Mac says that you guys think I’m an ass’ He sees a smirk ghost across her face, ‘Be honest - I won’t get mad.’
‘Just even.’ She chimes back.
He chuckles, ‘That’s probably breaking some copyright law or something,’ and fuck when did he start sounding so pathetically middle aged.
Maggie just smiles. She drinks slowly, steadily, and he guesses scotch isn’t her usual drink of choice. He finds himself watching the bob of her throat as she takes a sip. ‘Will?’ She says, quiet and sincere, and when he pulls his eyes are to hers her brows are furrowed, ‘Are you OK?’
Something passes. ‘You’re going to go places kid, you know that?’ His voice sounds foreign, and he idly wonders if Charlie’s spiked his scotch. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Her lips twist, and she doesn’t say you’re drunk will or jesus will what is wrong with you. Instead she says, ‘Thanks Will.’
And he says, ‘You’re welcome.’
end.