Title: Miles and Miles of Mountains
Author: Linchpin_volcanoes@hotmail.com
Pairing: CJ/T
Rating: PG (if that.)
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Aaron Sorkin et al. I make nothing.
(sigh.)
Notes: The title comes from Damien Rice's 'Volcano' (on the album 'O' - buy
it, it's amazing.)
You're watching me. Just standing there, you nurse your drink, maybe
shuffle your feet momentarily and look more than a little uncomfortable.
So? Do you expect me to go over to you? Seriously?
I'm talking to a very charming man by the name of Joshua Lauer. He's a corporate lawyer for NBC or ABQ or something and you, my friend, would despise him with your very core. I, thank God, am not you and therefore not entirely immune to his charm. He's asking me to dance now and I'm saying yes. The pained look in your eye is entirely your own fault by the way. I'm determined to enjoy myself and if that means ignoring you, so I will.
Joshua Lauer is a very good dancer, excellent even. You've never asked me to dance. I think you're allergic to it, or maybe it's just people you don't like. I'm dancing with a handsome, winsome man and I'm enjoying myself being surrounded by these very important, or is that famous, people. You, however, haven't moved from the bar all night.
Heh. You're playing with the complimentary peanuts. I wouldn't eat them by the way. You eye them and I feel an obligation to tell you that. I thank Joshua Lauer for his excellent company and compliment his dancing skills before I excuse myself. He's asking for my number and I smile. I remind him that I'm readily available at work, but he asks for my home number. "Maybe later". I smile coyly and hate myself for doing so. He's going to call.
You've obviously been watching this. I can feel your stare, you know and I find it very rude. You scoff to yourself before picking up a peanut and admiring it.
"I wouldn't eat that."
"Yeah?"
"People don't wash their hands."
You scowl and drop it back into the complimentary bowl. You wipe your hand on your pant leg vigorously and I look away. I'm not keeping you company. There are many people here that I'm getting the courage to introduce myself to, but you seem to ignore that and stare at your drink.
"If you're not careful I'll feel neglected."
"I'm sure you can find some corporate sleazebag to keep you company."
"I'm sure I can."
I don't know when it happened but you're not staring at your drink anymore. I can feel your gaze travelling up my body and I'm not discouraging it.
"I know you can."
"Thanks."
"I don't want you to."
"I know you don't."
You shift the balance to the other foot and eye the peanut bowl again before thinking better of it. I order a whiskey sour and turn my attention to the room. Other people seem like a good option right now and yet, I don't leave. You move ever so closer and ever so gently I feel your fingertips on my thigh. Your face doesn't change though and I, again, thank God when my drink arrives. You scan the crowd absentmindedly. You don't know anyone here or if you do, you don't care. I'm beginning to think it's the latter.
I wonder when we stopped talking. We don't talk, at least not normally, just the two of us, and I like it better this way.
You've finished your drink and have apparently decided to stare at my collarbone.
"Anybody else would think you're a pervert right about now."
"Anybody else wouldn't be here right now."
"That's because they're smart."
"You're smart."
"Not right now. I'm not."
You've decided to watch the ice in my now empty glass melt and I'm getting impatient, but I will not be the first to yield. Instead, I've decided to make things more comfortable.
"Joshua Lauer wants my phone number."
"Joshua Lauer has your phone number."
"Not all of us live at work. He wants my home phone."
"Yeah?"
"I think I'm going to give it to him."
You pause before ordering another drink. I'm tired and cancel it. You just look at me and I nod.
We stare out the windows of the taxi. The driver has figured out we're not the talkative kind. I'm about to prove him wrong.
"I don't need you to tell me I'm smart."
"What?"
"I know I'm smart. I don't need anybody to tell me what I already know."
"I know."
We don't look at each other but I feel his baby finger brush up against mine. I cover it with my own and cover it accordingly. Still you don't look at me but I feel a hint of a smile in your fingers.
The driver looks back at us just as we reach your apartment and you pay him, though you know I'll glare at you. I do. We step out of the taxi and he drives off. We stand on the sidewalk, you staring at your shoes and me staring at you.
"I really don't need you."
"I know - you have Joshua Lauer."
"I don't need anybody. I'm fine by myself."
"I know that. I don't need anybody to tell me what I already know."
You're looking straight at me and I'm looking straight at you. You smile for, I think, the first time tonight.
"I don't want you to need me."
"I don't want you to need me."
"Then we're in agreement." I nod.
"I want you though." You nod.
"I'd be lying if I said I didn't want you."
"I don't need to be told that."
"I know."
You nod and lean in and once again I'm struck by the softness of your lips. You cup my face and I don't know who started it but your tongue is in my mouth and it tastes like cigarettes and brandy. You rest your forehead against mine and I know.
I'm talking to a very charming man by the name of Joshua Lauer. He's a corporate lawyer for NBC or ABQ or something and you, my friend, would despise him with your very core. I, thank God, am not you and therefore not entirely immune to his charm. He's asking me to dance now and I'm saying yes. The pained look in your eye is entirely your own fault by the way. I'm determined to enjoy myself and if that means ignoring you, so I will.
Joshua Lauer is a very good dancer, excellent even. You've never asked me to dance. I think you're allergic to it, or maybe it's just people you don't like. I'm dancing with a handsome, winsome man and I'm enjoying myself being surrounded by these very important, or is that famous, people. You, however, haven't moved from the bar all night.
Heh. You're playing with the complimentary peanuts. I wouldn't eat them by the way. You eye them and I feel an obligation to tell you that. I thank Joshua Lauer for his excellent company and compliment his dancing skills before I excuse myself. He's asking for my number and I smile. I remind him that I'm readily available at work, but he asks for my home number. "Maybe later". I smile coyly and hate myself for doing so. He's going to call.
You've obviously been watching this. I can feel your stare, you know and I find it very rude. You scoff to yourself before picking up a peanut and admiring it.
"I wouldn't eat that."
"Yeah?"
"People don't wash their hands."
You scowl and drop it back into the complimentary bowl. You wipe your hand on your pant leg vigorously and I look away. I'm not keeping you company. There are many people here that I'm getting the courage to introduce myself to, but you seem to ignore that and stare at your drink.
"If you're not careful I'll feel neglected."
"I'm sure you can find some corporate sleazebag to keep you company."
"I'm sure I can."
I don't know when it happened but you're not staring at your drink anymore. I can feel your gaze travelling up my body and I'm not discouraging it.
"I know you can."
"Thanks."
"I don't want you to."
"I know you don't."
You shift the balance to the other foot and eye the peanut bowl again before thinking better of it. I order a whiskey sour and turn my attention to the room. Other people seem like a good option right now and yet, I don't leave. You move ever so closer and ever so gently I feel your fingertips on my thigh. Your face doesn't change though and I, again, thank God when my drink arrives. You scan the crowd absentmindedly. You don't know anyone here or if you do, you don't care. I'm beginning to think it's the latter.
I wonder when we stopped talking. We don't talk, at least not normally, just the two of us, and I like it better this way.
You've finished your drink and have apparently decided to stare at my collarbone.
"Anybody else would think you're a pervert right about now."
"Anybody else wouldn't be here right now."
"That's because they're smart."
"You're smart."
"Not right now. I'm not."
You've decided to watch the ice in my now empty glass melt and I'm getting impatient, but I will not be the first to yield. Instead, I've decided to make things more comfortable.
"Joshua Lauer wants my phone number."
"Joshua Lauer has your phone number."
"Not all of us live at work. He wants my home phone."
"Yeah?"
"I think I'm going to give it to him."
You pause before ordering another drink. I'm tired and cancel it. You just look at me and I nod.
We stare out the windows of the taxi. The driver has figured out we're not the talkative kind. I'm about to prove him wrong.
"I don't need you to tell me I'm smart."
"What?"
"I know I'm smart. I don't need anybody to tell me what I already know."
"I know."
We don't look at each other but I feel his baby finger brush up against mine. I cover it with my own and cover it accordingly. Still you don't look at me but I feel a hint of a smile in your fingers.
The driver looks back at us just as we reach your apartment and you pay him, though you know I'll glare at you. I do. We step out of the taxi and he drives off. We stand on the sidewalk, you staring at your shoes and me staring at you.
"I really don't need you."
"I know - you have Joshua Lauer."
"I don't need anybody. I'm fine by myself."
"I know that. I don't need anybody to tell me what I already know."
You're looking straight at me and I'm looking straight at you. You smile for, I think, the first time tonight.
"I don't want you to need me."
"I don't want you to need me."
"Then we're in agreement." I nod.
"I want you though." You nod.
"I'd be lying if I said I didn't want you."
"I don't need to be told that."
"I know."
You nod and lean in and once again I'm struck by the softness of your lips. You cup my face and I don't know who started it but your tongue is in my mouth and it tastes like cigarettes and brandy. You rest your forehead against mine and I know.