SN ficlet: Shadows of a Doubt
Title: Shadows of a Doubt
Fandom: Sports Night
Characters: Dan Rydell, Isaac Jaffee, Abby Jacobs
Rating: PG
Category: Five linked drabbles (one double) - 600 words; gen, slash subtext
Summary: Drabble sequence. What Dan wants is unattainable. Isn't it?
Written: August 2006 for the contrelamontre 65-minute challenge, Hitchock titles. See how many titles you can spot!
Spellbound
You knew from the start it was impossible. Yes: he's beautiful. Yes: you have chemistry together. But he's straight - he's engaged, for god's sake! - and you swore to yourself you'd never fall for another straight man, not after the last time.
So you tried to stay away; went to any lengths to avoid him. Only to find that he wouldn't be kept away. Somehow, wherever you are, there he is too, looming over you at your desk, his voice on your machine at weekends. Sooner or later you weaken and pick up the phone.
You tried; but you can't resist.
* * *
Vertigo
He's 24 years old. His outstanding college loans are still fresh and new. Sometimes he gets carded in bars. He'll stand all night out in the rain to be first in line for concert tickets.
He's 24 years old, and about to go on air to co-anchor Lone Star's big, new, flagship sports show.
He only stopped throwing up twenty minutes ago. From where he's standing now, at the uttermost top of the world, it seems an awfully long way down. So very far to fall.
This is success, he guesses. Who knew it would feel so much like failure?
* * *
Marnie
"I don't know who that is."
He's never known anyone sit as still as Abby: back straight, hands folded, no visual clues. Do they teach that in Shrink School? "You do, everyone does. That's my point. West Side Story, My Fair Lady - you've seen them?"
"The films?" He nods. "I guess so."
"Then you've heard her sing. That wasn't Natalie Wood. Or Audrey Hepburn."
"Oh." Abby considers this a moment. "She was pretty good."
"She's incredible. But nobody knows her name."
Abby's making notes. Dan reads them upside-down, throws up his hands in disgust. "You can't even spell it right!"
* * *
Lifeboat
Most people would say you had a pretty good life, Abby had told him. He can't deny it. He has (in a B-list way) fame, fortune, success. Most people would kill to be him.
Dan accepts that.
But there are dark days when he knows himself too well: fake, fraud, liar, loser; when success seems empty, victory undeserved and hollow. When he can't bear to look in the mirror, afraid of what he might see.
"I can't," he says, helpless, stumbling.
A hand on his shoulder: steadying, consoling him.
"Yes," Isaac says. "Yes, Danny. You can."
And Dan believes him.
* * *
Torn Curtain
You wake with a memory of ...
Of nothing much. There may have been tequila. Or you may simply have paid a man with a hammer to hit you in the head until you passed out.
He's still there today. Apparently.
You need Advil. Now. Also, someone to bring it to you, along with a glass of cold water. Two glasses. Maybe a bucket.
But you live alone, and so you swing your legs out of bed, wince as your bare feet hit cold floor; frown at the state of the sheets. And the state of you.
The drapes are open, meaning you have to manoeuvre carefully; the old man opposite is at his usual window, binoculars poised. You eventually locate your boxers, and stumble to the kitchen.
Where there's coffee percolating, the table's set, eggs cracked ready in a bowl. But no other signs of life. Except …
Yes. Water running. You follow the sound to the shower, stand uncertainly at the door. Through the faded plastic, you see an outline: familiar but (you'd thought) impossible.
You daren't hope. It won’t be the first time you came home with the wrong man.
Then he pulls back the curtain. And he smiles.
* * *
Fandom: Sports Night
Characters: Dan Rydell, Isaac Jaffee, Abby Jacobs
Rating: PG
Category: Five linked drabbles (one double) - 600 words; gen, slash subtext
Summary: Drabble sequence. What Dan wants is unattainable. Isn't it?
Written: August 2006 for the contrelamontre 65-minute challenge, Hitchock titles. See how many titles you can spot!
Spellbound
You knew from the start it was impossible. Yes: he's beautiful. Yes: you have chemistry together. But he's straight - he's engaged, for god's sake! - and you swore to yourself you'd never fall for another straight man, not after the last time.
So you tried to stay away; went to any lengths to avoid him. Only to find that he wouldn't be kept away. Somehow, wherever you are, there he is too, looming over you at your desk, his voice on your machine at weekends. Sooner or later you weaken and pick up the phone.
You tried; but you can't resist.
* * *
Vertigo
He's 24 years old. His outstanding college loans are still fresh and new. Sometimes he gets carded in bars. He'll stand all night out in the rain to be first in line for concert tickets.
He's 24 years old, and about to go on air to co-anchor Lone Star's big, new, flagship sports show.
He only stopped throwing up twenty minutes ago. From where he's standing now, at the uttermost top of the world, it seems an awfully long way down. So very far to fall.
This is success, he guesses. Who knew it would feel so much like failure?
* * *
Marnie
"I don't know who that is."
He's never known anyone sit as still as Abby: back straight, hands folded, no visual clues. Do they teach that in Shrink School? "You do, everyone does. That's my point. West Side Story, My Fair Lady - you've seen them?"
"The films?" He nods. "I guess so."
"Then you've heard her sing. That wasn't Natalie Wood. Or Audrey Hepburn."
"Oh." Abby considers this a moment. "She was pretty good."
"She's incredible. But nobody knows her name."
Abby's making notes. Dan reads them upside-down, throws up his hands in disgust. "You can't even spell it right!"
* * *
Lifeboat
Most people would say you had a pretty good life, Abby had told him. He can't deny it. He has (in a B-list way) fame, fortune, success. Most people would kill to be him.
Dan accepts that.
But there are dark days when he knows himself too well: fake, fraud, liar, loser; when success seems empty, victory undeserved and hollow. When he can't bear to look in the mirror, afraid of what he might see.
"I can't," he says, helpless, stumbling.
A hand on his shoulder: steadying, consoling him.
"Yes," Isaac says. "Yes, Danny. You can."
And Dan believes him.
* * *
Torn Curtain
You wake with a memory of ...
Of nothing much. There may have been tequila. Or you may simply have paid a man with a hammer to hit you in the head until you passed out.
He's still there today. Apparently.
You need Advil. Now. Also, someone to bring it to you, along with a glass of cold water. Two glasses. Maybe a bucket.
But you live alone, and so you swing your legs out of bed, wince as your bare feet hit cold floor; frown at the state of the sheets. And the state of you.
The drapes are open, meaning you have to manoeuvre carefully; the old man opposite is at his usual window, binoculars poised. You eventually locate your boxers, and stumble to the kitchen.
Where there's coffee percolating, the table's set, eggs cracked ready in a bowl. But no other signs of life. Except …
Yes. Water running. You follow the sound to the shower, stand uncertainly at the door. Through the faded plastic, you see an outline: familiar but (you'd thought) impossible.
You daren't hope. It won’t be the first time you came home with the wrong man.
Then he pulls back the curtain. And he smiles.
* * *