Ok, so my first fic. I was watching the scene where Sarah asks Joel to build her a desk, and kinda thought there may be some sort of…friendship/vibe going on there. So I gave the ship a whirl.
This will be continued. I'm just beginning to get into Sarah's head here.
Ok, so ships. Er. There will be Joel/Julia, Sarah/Gordon, and Joel/Sarah. Weird, right?
It's weird. And set after 2x09, so spoilers up until then.
Oh, and how great does the next eppy look?
And I own nobody.
Sarah sat on the steps of the guesthouse, gently gulping copious amounts of wine. The only thoughts in her head were of failure; once again, she had proven herself as the black sheep of the family, the one who could never do anything right.
She was tired. Tired of diffusing the negative thoughts in her head, tired of always having to defend her own characteristics. She couldn't think of anything but the fact that once again, she had failed, and now her brother's company was in even more dire straits.
He had confronted her that afternoon. Sarah wasn't stupid; she had seen how stressed her brother had become over the past few months. It had built up, seemingly since earlier that year when her daughter had slept with his daughters' boyfriend. Sarah had screwed that up as well. So she knew. She knew that he had been dealt a rough hand recently with his son, and she knew that she should be appreciative of everything he had done for her.
But beneath that, was the acknowledgement that underneath the helping hand, was the implication that once again, his little sister had needed him to pick up the pieces. She had relied heavily on him; perhaps too heavily, and now she felt the weight of her dependence on her own shoulders. The two siblings who had always been close; closer with each other than with any of their other siblings, now had a broken relationship. Or at least a heavily strained one.
She took another large gulp. And another. Trying to forget about her jealousy in having to send her daughter to talk to another woman about her future, because she obviously couldn't do it herself. She was a failure. A woman who couldn't talk to her daughter about college and so had to use her loose-termed boyfriend's old college friend to get her interested. She had used Gordon. And she knew it.
She also knew, deep down, that he was most probably using her. She was no stranger to being used for sex, though. It was a cycle as old to Sarah as the problem of hiding emotions was to Adam. She had low self- esteem. It was easy to see. So when a handsome, rich man persued her, it was almost inevitable that with enough wooing, she would fall for him. She would sleep with him. In a limo. The symbol of his richness. The symbol of everything he was; rich, business-like, too good for her for anything other than a physical relationship. Adam tried, in his stressed out, always angry way, to talk to her, though it seemed like he was lecturing her about past choices.
So when that afternoon, he had taken his frustrations, his anger, out on his sister, for once she had not taken it. She had let a few rogue tears fall, she had let herself get angry for the fact that every fucking thing she did turned out ballistic. She let herself entertain the idea that maybe, just maybe, she also deserved to let herself go fucking mental like her brother had.
So she had shouted. Shouted at him because her ex-husband had called, most likely high as hell. He had been sweet, asking after his children, almost making her feel like he wanted to know what their lives were like. She shouted at Adam because she had fucked up again, had an idea for his company that turned into shambles, taking a lot of the already-swindling amounts of company money with it. And he had walked out.
She re-filled her glass, remembering his last words as she took another large gulp.
"I can't do this anymore. I can't help you any more, Sarah. It's too tiring. For once, try and sort something out yourself."
And he had left, leaving her standing in his office teary-eyed but with dry cheeks, standing in a puddle of self-deprecating thoughts until Gordon had come in about ten minutes later, noticing her through the windows.
He embraced her, asking what was wrong. She muttered something vague about allergies and rushed out, not wanting to fuck that…relationship….however vague the description may be, up as well.
And four hours later, after an arduous dinner listening to her daughter talking about Carly, the successful woman Amber now idolized, and watching her son barely look at her, she found herself slipping through the back door, leaving her parents alone at the table wrapped in a shroud of their own problems.
She wanted someone to tell her that she was ok. That she wasn't a complete failure as a mother, a sister and a human being. She supposed, briefly, that she could call Gordon; she knew he would be sympathetic, even if only to get into her pants again. She could go see him, inevitably fuck him again, and leave before midnight like a cheap hooker. But she wouldn't. It would be too difficult to rationalize with herself how it would be productive to depend on yet another person to make herself feel better. She would stop doing that. Now.
Just as she agreed with herself to stop the self-destructive path she had been on for thirty eight years, a cab pulled up.
She staggered to her feet, stumbling slightly under the weight of half…wait...an entire bottle of wine, and wandered over to where her brother in law, Joel, was stumbling himself, attempting to get out of the cab.
She was astounded, having never seen him be anything other than rock-like, and offered him a hand.
"Thanks, Sarah." She muttered a "no problem", and watched him hand the driver a crisp twenty. Realizing that she wanted…no, needed, for her sister's sake, to know what was going on, she grabbed his hand, asking if he was ok. He stuttered a response, obviously distressed.
"Yeah. I just, er, had a few too many and Julia is already pissed at me. Thought it'd be best to crash here tonight."
"Oh, ok. Let's, er, get you some water, in the kitchen. Which is, you know, that way." She pointed to the house, not pointing out the obvious fallacy in his reasoning. Obviously, if he stayed out all night, it would seem much worse to her sister, but she was no-one to complain about that.
She grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the house, both half-stumbling, giggling slightly to themselves as they tripped on a medium-sized rock simultaneously, cursing the naturistic appearance of the Bravermans' back garden.
They finally reached the kitchen, suddenly neither feeling that interested in a non-alcoholic beverage. Sarah remembered the blackberry brandy half-finished in the cupboard from the time she had drank in the kitchen with Jim half naked, and opened the cupboard.
"Something a little more substantial? This is disgusting…and delicious. It's blackberry brandy. Which is a weird combination anyway, but…" she drifted off as he grabbed the bottle, taking a large swig of the liquor. "Yeah….you see? It's disgustio-delicious. Really."
He laughed, loudly, and suddenly realizing that there were four slumbering souls upstairs, Sarah pulled him outside again, giggling herself as she realized the absurdity of the situation.
She had gotten drunk on a bottle of wine, feeling depressed and alone, and then her brother-in law, the most perfect husband alive, had shown up wasted and needing a place to sleep.
"What's so funny?" He grinned, amused.
"Not-not-nothing. It's just you're here. And I'm here. Drunk. Well. You're drunk. I'm not really. Kinda. Like half-drunk. I guess. It's just funny." She grabbed the bottle, swigging a good few shots worth before handing the bottle back over. "So. What made you also feel the need for a good – hiccup – night of getting wasted?"
"Julia. She well…I don't know if I should be talking to you about this, being, ya know, her sister, but she, er….she's been distant. You know we've been trying for a baby, and I just…I don't know. I'm not that into it, I don't think. And she sees that, and now she's distant. Something is going on. Someone else. Maybe. God." He collapsed his head into his hands, and not really knowing what to do, Sarah reached over and put her hand on his arm, wondering if it would be appropriate or not to pull him into a hug.
She decided that yes, a hug would probably be a good idea, so she embraced him, letting him pull her close…possibly a little too close for a woman and her brother in law to be hugging. But, she rationalized, he needed a hug. That's it.
So she pressed her palms flat against his back, moving her hands in circular motions meant to soothe, and felt him press his face into her hair. He wasn't crying. But he was silent.
Sarah felt the impulse to move back suddenly, fearing the hug taking on a new dimension, and pulled back slightly, still holding onto his shoulders.
He looked up at her, and possibly seeing his alone-ness and messed up mind reflected in her eyes, he started to move closer.
Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea. Move away. Sarah's mind took on a mantra-like chant. But she couldn't move. And when his lips finally met hers, she felt nothing more than a glowing admiration that finally, she felt some odd sense of co-dependence. She was, obviously, kissing him back to make herself feel better. But it felt oddly good to know that he kissed her to ultimately make himself feel better. They were on the same wavelength; doing nothing more than making themselves feel better.
That thought made her stop briefly, before she relented to his tongue palming her lower lip, and she became a more active participant in the kiss, tugging on his bottom lip, letting her own tongue caress his as he moaned slightly.
They pulled away with another brief kiss, and suddenly Sarah's mind was filled with thoughts of Julia, and Gordon, and Sydney, and what the fuck did I just do?
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