A/N don't own them, but do own the story. Just for those of you (if you even exist) who've read more of my other stuff-this is a revision off of a past story that's still posted here, no, I didn't steal it. Enjoy.
He shifted in his seat, waiting for the first moment that he could leave. The requisite scotch was in hand as he watched her dance. She looked so happy. He looked so happy. The required fake smile was plastered across his face, despite what he was really thinking at the moment. He wasn't enjoying this, not in the least. He wasn't liking all the happy, shining, smiling faces.
He couldn't picture himself ever looking like that. Like everything in the world was perfect. He supposed he did, once. He'd gotten married once too. He supposed he looked happy, carefree, and in love with the world. The problem was that too many years had passed from the last time he had that look on his face.
She looked so resplendent. He never pictured her as the type to have picked out the dress that she had. Memories of long fights with Danny over her ability to show up in jeans and a T shirt, and his insistance that everything be just so. Then again, Jordan had been married once. She'd already gone through the pomp and circumstance once. Although he would have forced her to go for a fancy wedding along with Danny. It was better publicity.
He looked over at Hallie, feeling the distaste eminating off of her. Honestly, he'd only taken her as a last minute swipe at Jordan. He took a long sip of his scotch, feeling-and ignoring-the glare attempting to burn a hole through his right arm. He opened his mouth to comment on it, but wisely shut it. Hallie was a bit of an unknown still, he tried to keep his contact with the woman to a minimum. And he didn't want to put himself in any sort of position where he would wind up with those fake nails connecting with his cheek.
He managed to force a smile back onto his face as the song ended, and she headed towards where he was sitting. He caught her passing glare at Hallie, and the smile that came back as she looked at him. And for a minute his heart skipped a beat. "Dance with the bride?" He looked at the hand pointing into his face, and was tempted to say "no" but he could feel cold eyes watching him the entire time, and took the offer.
"You look like you're at a funeral. That's no way for a groomsman to behave. If you're sore about not having anything to do, I should have brought this week's ratings with me." He managed a smile, but not much more.
"It's not work." He commented, knowing it was true. She was so graceful, so fluid as she danced.
"Then what is it? You look like you're about to shoot someone, namely yourself."
His snort gave away his thought of that comment. "I'm fine." He lied, not wanting to press the issue.
"Then smile, if only for the video. Or else everyone will remember you as the dour, bitter man that you are." The dusky smile on her face made him want to pull away and run all the way to Jersey, but he merely set the fake smile, held up only by the sheer amount of botox in his face, back into place.
As he circled the dance floor, his eyes landed on Danny, sitting and laughing with the rest of the cast. And he hated himself. Because he couldn't come up with the ability to hate him. Danny was a nice guy. He was a likeable guy. And that was the problem. He was the bohemian writer, the careless renegade who did what he wanted, and didn't let network execs tell him what to do.
"You're not going to tell me what's gotten into you, are you?" He snaps back to attention at her question.
"It's only going to ruin your wedding." Which is something he didn't need. A drunken Jordan causing a scene with him in the middle of her wedding. "I'll tell you when you get back from-wherever the hell you're spending your honeymoon."
"Cape Cod." She shifted slightly, and he found himself having to pull her to him, if only to keep her upright. "Wait til I'm good and plastered, and tell me then, when I won't remember it in the morning. Why I'm making you play nice for the camera, it's the only way I'll remember anything tonight. Between the booze and the stress, I don't even remember the date."
"The twelfth. Of August." The date is burned into his brain.
He smiled, genuinely this time. "Sounds like a deal. I'll tell you when you're on your way to the ladie's room to puke up all those martinis." He made his way back to his table, and his drink, forcibly reminding himself to keep up the happy appearance.
He finished it, and another, and a third before Hallie spoke. "Are you trying to drain LA county dry of scotch?" He managed to glare at her before pushing away from the table and walking out of the grand ballroom. The music, the booze, and most of all, the way she was dancing with everyone else-the way she was dancing with Danny-was getting to him.
The sight of a camera flash was the only thing that stopped him from walking out the door and heading home. He wasn't going to be the first one to leave the party, he wasn't going to deal with all the drama, all the press that would create. Instead, he sat on the couch in the lobby, loosening his tie, needing to be able to breathe just a little bit better.
He had lost track of how long he'd sat there, until Jordan appeared, taking up the spot on the couch next to her. "I'm good and drunk now Jack, spill."
"No." Was all he replied, as he opened the door, stepping out on to the porch, leaning against the railing. His hand instinctively went to his pocket, despite his mind reminding him that he had quit smoking five years previously. It just felt like something he needed.
"Need one of these?" He saw the pack dangling out of her hand, and raised an eyebrow, taking one in thanks. He didn't even need to ask the question before she replied. "Stress gets to you." He nodded his response. "Look, the chicken dance is coming up, and I'm not leaving this balcony until you tell me what's wrong. I am also not missing the chance to make a drunken fool of myself. Which means you will tell me, and we'll go in and look like royal idiots."
He shook his head, and took a long drag off the cigarette. He'd forgotten how good they tasted. "I told you, it's just going to ruin your day."
"Stop making me play twenty questions, because that's ruining my day, and just tell me. Out with it Jack, or I'll pry it out of you." He loved that about her, her tenacity. Her inability to let things drop.
He watched the stars in the sky for a long second, and he could feel her dangerously close to him. His eyes dropped to her, and found her watching him. He took a long, deep breath before leaning in, and gently pressing his lips to hers. He hadn't expected her to kiss back. He hadn't expected her hands in his hair, he hadn't expected the easy way that his arms wrapped perfectly around her. He'd expected it to be all wrong. No, he'd expected it to be all right, but kept telling himself it could never be right.
He pulled away just as impulsively as he'd started it, and looked at her. "Go back to your wedding. Danny's a great guy. You're perfect for each other." He watched her toss the cigarette over the balcony, and walk inside as the first notes of the Chicken Dance made their way from the dance floor. He stayed there a moment longer, cigarette burned down to the filter between his fingers.
He walked in after he realized it, to Harriet's questioning of how it was possible he miss the Chicken Dance. And he merely forced his plastic-surgery'd smile into place, took a sip of his drink, and shifted in his seat, waiting for the first moment he could leave.