Digging A Deeper Hole
Rating: PG.
Pairing: Harriet/Jordan.
Fandom: Studio 60.
Summary: Harriet and Jordan discuss their relationship and the press.
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine.

"You know, this whole mess would go away if you'd just tell the press about us."

You look up from your script, glancing towards the open door where Jordan is standing with her arms folded across her chest and her brow quirked. You hate it when she does that – when she takes that matter-of-fact tone with you – because it always makes you grin, even when there's no reason to do so. Like right now, for example.

"You think they'll release Tom if I told the press about us."

You say this with a skeptical tone, and it's definitely more a statement than it is a question. You also know that this is not what she's talking about, but you like to tease her sometimes. You like her best when she's flustered, because you've noticed that's when she's most Jordan-like, and you enjoy trying to get her to that point.

"What? Tom?" She looks confused, and you know she's already forgotten about Tom. You watch as realization spreads across her face, and she shakes her head. "No. I wasn't talking about Tom."

"I know," you reply with a smile, knowing that she knows what you're trying to do as you return to going over your script. Without looking up, you continue, "But I'd just be inviting the Post to do a whole new story on me." You sigh. If only the papers would find something better to do instead of quoting you. A pause, and then you glance at her. "Great idea, Jordan. More press coverage, so they can misquote me again."

"Well," she begins, and you can tell she's thought this out. "They can't call you 'homophobic' if you're dating a woman."

"No; they'd just come up with a new term for it."

"There is a term for it."

You ignore her.

"And then after I let the public know we're dating, maybe we can announce that we're thinking of artificial insemination – and then they can't call you a baby-hater."

Jordan glared.

"Very funny, Harry."

"No, I'm serious," you say, though you're everything but.

When you don't receive an answer, you look up, only to find yourself alone. You don't know when exactly she left, because she was so quiet about it and you were studying your script. You've managed to get her way beyond flustered – now she's probably mad at you, and you know that you won't see her tonight.

You watch her silently as she goes through her script, her blonde locks hiding part of her face from your curious eyes. You like watching her; you always have. Even the way she turns a page holds some interest for you. You're quiet because you don't want to disturb her – but you must've been standing there for a good few minutes now.

"You know, this whole mess would go away if you'd just tell the press about us."

The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. This has been weighing on your mind since yesterday, when you found out what she'd said in that column. It's not what you imagined your first words to her that day would be – you were kind of thinking something more along the lines of, 'Hey, how are you doing?' But what can you do now?

"You think they'll release Tom if I told the press about us."

You're not sure if she's mad at you, but you think maybe not, since she's doing that half-grin thing you've come to love. You also know that she can get mad over nothing, though, so you proceed with caution. Besides… "What? Tom?" It takes you a while before you realize what she's talking about. Another of the things you have to deal with – Tom. But that was another story. "No. I wasn't talking about Tom."

"I know."

And suddenly you realize that she isn't mad; she was just trying to get you mad. Or something like that, though you can't imagine why. You watch as she continues reading her script, as though you aren't even there. But you know better; you know she's listening to every word you're saying, because she's flipping through the pages faster than she can read.

"But I'd just be inviting the Post to do a whole new story on me." A pause, and she looks up. "Great idea, Jordan. More press coverage, so they can misquote me again."

Now that was an unnecessarily stinging remark. You frown, and point out, "Well, they can't call you 'homophobic' if you're dating a woman."

"No; they'd just come up with a new term for it."

"There is a term for it."

And you start to tell her about hypocrisy, but she cuts you off.

"And then after I let the public know we're dating, maybe we can announce that we're thinking of artificial insemination – and then they can't call you a baby-hater."

"Very funny, Harry."

You frown again, annoyed. You know she must be frustrated, working out this relationship with you and where it fits in her religion, because she's religious like that, but you don't deserve her snide remarks. And with everything else piling on, you have better places to be than in her makeup room, watching and listening to her poke fun at you.

So you leave.