Disclaimer: These characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and the masterpiece that is the 2006 television series Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip. I am not making any profit from this except for a little writing practice.


Harriet really wished she hadn't said yes to this. A party after the wrap party, she had heard. So she agreed to it. It looked like she'd be sticking around at Studio 60 for a little while, she'd been in a handful of sketches. It was probably a good time for her to get to know her co-workers a little better.

She knew some of them, but most overlooked her as being too new to bother with. One of the women on the cast actually seemed a little peeved that Harriet had "stolen" her time on camera. Harriet didn't want that drama, didn't want to make enemies, and certainly not for doing her job. Luke's sketch had been funny and it had made it on the air. She was talented, so they put her in sketches, just in the background most of the time, with lines like "may I take your order?" that would prompt some of the bigger players to make humorous remarks. She was working hard and trying hard. That shouldn't have been an issue.

Thankfully, Simon and Jeannie had been quite nice to her and even went out of their way to introduce themselves. Blessedly, Simon was even more of a rookie than herself and they'd been able to bond over their alienation from the rest of the group.

And Jeannie had been the one to invite her to this party, telling her it would be a good way to get to know the cast without the competition of their jobs. A few of the writers were here too, Ron and his bald friend and Luke. As well as a few faces Harriet recognised from magazines and movies.

She had to admit that she did find herself sneaking glances around the crowd for a man wearing sneakers and a baseball cap, hoping he was here.

The party was in full swing. Music blared and people were talking over each other. It was loud, a sensory overload. She wasn't naive, she'd been to parties before, her older brothers had hosted them. And Chicago had opened her eyes to the ways of the world. But this was something else. Straight out of a Hollywood coming-of-age movie, she couldn't help but think.

Drinks, while circumscribed as "bring your own," seemed to be flowing easily and had definitely gone to people's heads already. Harriet shouldn't have been surprised by that, most parties had alcohol bought in bulk. And these people had money.

A group seemed to form in the centre of the room, a bunch of people shouting for someone to "Chug!"

Harriet pursed her lips together. She picked up a sealed can of lemonade from the table under the window and tried to worm her way away from the rowdy crowd. Simon had been standing next to her moments ago, but had left to go flirt with a pretty brunette.

Simon was really nice. Funny in a sassy sort of way, his attitude both disarming and amusing, constantly making a political point in that low drawl of his. And he'd asked if she was okay on her own before he had left her holding her can in both hands in the corner by the window which was nice.

They were a good cast, she knew. Good people. But they all seemed quite occupied with the fray in the centre of the living room.

Harriet cracked her can open and let the effervescent drink deflate. She drew a fingernail around the rim of the aluminium and tried not to stare at any person in particular.

She really shouldn't be here.

Harriet took a step backward as a couple walked in front of her, giggling as they headed toward the door.

Her back hit the wall.

No one would notice if she slipped out the doorway. She could go home. Have a hot meal in her cramped apartment. So what if she was still buzzing with adrenaline from making 300 people laugh? She'd wind down eventually.

Harriet turned, pushing her left shoulder into the wall to propel her to move toward the door.

That's when she saw him.

Matthew Albie towered over the crowd as he entered the room, or at least, he seemed to, looking both confident and out of place as his eyes roved the sea of people.

Harriet felt her body melt into the wall, leaning into it as she watched him.

He wasn't wearing a faded baseball cap like Harriet was so used to him wearing, the colour of bluebells and her favourite cardigan that brought out the colour of his eyes beneath his long lashes. He had long, feathered brown hair that bounced as he moved and Harriet found herself lamenting that he hit it beneath a hat so often. She liked it.

Harriet was so used to seeing him in khakis and tee shirts or those long-sleeved sweaters he wore rolled up to his elbows, that even if he hadn't been taller than almost everyone in the room, she could have spotted him from a mile away.

He was wearing a slim fitting black suit, the blazer was tight around his neck with nice white collar wings flattened against his lapels. She couldn't tell in the dim light if his tie was a dark colour or black as well, but it was looped in a small knot at the bast of his neck and hung in a thin line down his chest.

He raised his arm at a goofy right angle, waving when he saw her, "Hi."

At least, she hoped he was waving at her.

Harriet whispered a "hey" knowing he couldn't hear her, but Matthew smiled as though he'd read her lips.

In four strong strides, he weaved around a cluster of people and stood in front of her, leaning his right shoulder into the wall in front of her.

Harriet let her arms drop, her drink dangling from her fingers and resting against her thigh.

"I didn't expect to see you here," he greeted her. "You did great tonight, by the way."

Harriet wasn't sure if his disbelief at her presence was more to do with the rumours going around that she was a good Christian girl or a comment on how well Matthew had gotten to know her over the last few weeks in fractured conversations as they sat beside each other during rehearsals. She figured she'd leave it for the minute. It didn't matter either way.

"Thanks."

"Why? he asked, shifting on his feet. "Are you here?"

Harriet snorted softly. "I thought Jeannie said takeout party," she admitted to Matthew.

She watched him purse his lips together, smiling beneath that tight line and unable to hold the expression for long. "What? We all gather around on the floor with pizza and Chinese food still in the boxes and talk?"

"Is that so weird?" Harriet defended herself but found that she was laughing at her blunder. "It's been a long night, we haven't eaten since the dress. A meal together might be nice."

Matt chuckled beside her, perusing the alcoholic drinks strewn across the tabletop and pouring himself cola into a red plastic cup.

"Why are you here?" She asked him. He didn't seem the type for parties. He was very driven and serious and Harriet had seen that he only ever spoke to a select few people at the studio, one of which was her.

Matthew shrugged. "Sketch ideas."

She believed that. Not only was there a myriad of things going on in the room around them that were both funny in their own right and something he could exaggerate or mock, but mingling with the cast like this was probably a really good way for him to get to know everyone's specific talents and skills.

"Go find Simon," she instructed. She didn't mean for him to embarrass one of her only friends, or ruin his chances with the brunette he'd been with, but maybe find an idea in dating blunders, or the way men spoke to women. Matthew was clearly talented linguistically and his understanding of verbal nuances leapt off the scripts she'd read him write, those sorts of sketches would suit him brilliantly. "He's around here somewhere."

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" he teased, his tongue pressed behind his top row of teeth. Harriet had learnt that Matthew Albie teased quite a bit. You could hardly tell he was doing it most of the time, it was so subtle. Certainly, his best friend Danny Tripp had a hard time spotting it sometimes. The two of them were funny together, and Harriet had had a blast the other day when Danny had come down to have lunch with Matthew.

"Are we having another fight?" she wasn't sure what else to call these little talks they had, full of ribbing and teasing and sarcasm.

"Do you want me to go?"

"No."

Something sparked in his eyes and he grinned at her, not salacious, just a bright smile like he'd caught her.

Matthew hummed in the back of his throat, an elongated, happy sound.

He made that noise quite a bit and Harriet had found herself desperate to make him repeat it.

Two weeks ago, when they'd met, they'd set up this rapid-fire back and forth, both political and personal, and unlike any way Harriet had ever spoken to another person. A lot of their first few interactions had been Matthew investigating her worldview and, in a weird way, solidifying it by enabling her to organise her thoughts on the matter.

It was magnetic, how often she would seek out his company for that intellectual discussion. She may have complained it felt like fighting, but it didn't. Harriet wasn't how to define their debates, but she loved them. No one spoke to her as plainly as Matthew did. People tended to see her as the pretty blonde or the ditzy actress, the mindless wannabe starlet. Sometimes her Christianity played into how little people thought of her, assuming she was soft and passive and quiet, turning the other cheek when someone offended her.

Matthew had never assumed anything about her, other than she'd appreciate a welcoming gift and a friendly face. Which probably explained why she enjoyed talking to him so much. He was so open. They could talk about anything.

Harriet watched Matthew's neck pulse against the knot of his tie. For someone who didn't seem to leave the studio, his skin was lovely and tanned. He looked like his skin was smooth too, not rough and stubbled like Luke or bearded like Denny.

She liked him in a tie. She liked all men in a tie, that wasn't any profoundly new revelation. But this was a new look for Matthew, very different from his usual casualwear.

"You should wear a suit more often," she risked saying. Harriet probably shouldn't have been so bold with a near stranger, but Matthew made her feel safe, somehow.

"All my heroes wore suits," he shrugged. Harriet assumed he meant the writers he aspired to be. That seemed to be typical behaviour for him. He wanted greatness, like everyone, but he didn't expect it, or crave it like some of the other writers. He seemed happy to still sit on the floor to write his sketches. Harriet suspected even when he did get a big office to himself, because he wrote that well she didn't expect it would take long, Matthew would remain sitting on the floor, or use the space to pace, rather than sit on the throne at the desk.

"In photographs."

He exhaled through his nostrils and bared his white teeth at the floor as he smiles. "Yeah, in photos. I just thought-"

"It's nice," she could see she was making him feel self-conscious and didn't want that.

"I just thought," he shrugged again. "It being show night."

There was something unsaid in his eyes. His sketch had meant to be on the air tonight. He'd been so proud. It was in the first half of the show, too. But it had been cut at the last minute, right before the cold open.

She'd almost cried at the expression that had crossed his face when Joe had given Matthew the news.

"Are you going to wear a suit every show night?"

"Every night I get a sketch on." His voice lifted upwards in the oddest of places, emphasising totally unique parts of a sentence. She'd love to record his voice and study it, listen to it on repeat until she understood the way he used it to create meanings that were different from his actual words. For comedic purposes, of course, studying it the way she did Julia Roberts and Juliette Lewis. Harriet smiled at the thought. His face would completely ignite with joy if he heard her impersonate him.

Harriet saw his face flash with disappointment. His blue eyes were so expressive. Wonderfully so. His tone was positive, or mostly optimistic, but also sort of bitter, frustrated even. His eyes gave him away. Matthew Albie was sad his sketch hadn't made it on the air yet again.

But then his eyes met hers and Harriet wondered if there was more to it than that.

"I can't believe they cut Neve Campbell again," she told him truthfully. "You worked so hard on that and I thought I did it pretty well."

"You did," he nodded. "I'm thinking next week, we try Juliette Lewis. How's her voice coming along?"

"I think I've got it," Harriet told him. She'd been practising. Not for him. But for anyone who wanted to write a sketch with her in it. Of course, Matthew was the only one who had any ideas for the character, but anyone could pip him to the post. "And if I don't, we could always make it a parody."

He scrunched his nose in distaste but smiled at her, opening his mouth to say something. But he was interrupted.

Jeannie popped up behind Matthew. She must have been standing on her toes, or in incredibly high stilettos, because her neck craned around him, her head above his shoulder, and she met Harriet's eyes. "Guys, we're playing party games. Luke thought it would be fun. You have to join in."

"Oh, I really don't think," Matt started, turning his head sideways to look at the woman standing behind him.

Harriet watched Jeannie squeeze Matthew's shoulders. "C'mon, Matt. Participate."

The man rolled his eyes and gave out a long-suffering sigh. His top lip quirked as though he was going to say something further, decline the offer again.

For a moment, Harriet wondered if she had missed something. It seemed as though this moment was a reference to something Matthew and Jeannie had discussed earlier. They appeared to be quite close, and very friendly. But Jeannie seemed to be like that with everyone, so perhaps it was nothing.

Then Matthew glanced at Harriet and rolled his eyes and her worry disappeared. It tended to do that when Matthew's eyes were on her. He was looking for her go-ahead.

"It can't hurt," Harriet shrugged. In fact, it was a perfect opportunity for her to interact with some of her new coworkers.

"That's the spirit," Jeannie cheered.

Harriet smiled at how important interacting with the group seemed to be for the woman. And she seemed to have no qualms about joining and fabricating a social interaction. Harriet couldn't help but think Jeannie might be a good influence on her.

"Come join us, Matty" Jeannie's hands pushed against Matthew's shoulders, walking him towards where the group stood.

Harriet followed closely behind.

Jeannie directed them to stand in a wide circle in the living room with everybody else, squeezing them between some familiar faces.

"We're playing spin the bottle," Jeannie said.

"Isn't that a little childish?" Matthew asked, slipping off his jacket, balling it up and holding it at his waist. Harriet had to agree with him. Although most of the people in the room were still quite young, they weren't teenagers anymore.

"Don't be a baby," Jeannie chided.

Harriet rolled her eyes at the comeback and bumped her shoulder into Matthew's arm to let him know she was on his side.

Harriet predicted it would take Matthew less than five seconds to grow irritated by the right cuffs at his wrists and she was correct. She watched up Indo the buttons of his right sleeve with nimble fingers and flip the fabric up once, twice, three times, repeating it on the other sleeve.

Then Jeannie left, standing in the centre of the circle like she was taking charge of the situation.

"Now, I've written everybody's name down and put it in this hat," Jeannie announced. A couple of girls in the corner twirled their hair and some of the boys hooted, everyone seeming pretty excited to play silly games.

"She better not have put mine in there," Matthew grumbled beside her.

The feeling was mutual. Harriet quirked her eyebrow at him, furrowing her brow as she looked up at him.

Matthew shook his head. "She's always trying to get me to come to these and set me up. This is where Danny met his wife. Or a party like this anyway."

"That's sweet," Harriet didn't know what else to say to that. wasn't sure how she felt about it.

"Is there some Bible passage you could invoke to get us out of this?" he whispered to her.

Harriet pressed her lips together. There probably was. But, she had to admit, she was a little curious. "Are we really about to play this?"

"Seems like," Matt's attention was on a woman directly opposite them who Harriet knew as Allison as she pulled out a name from the hat and pressed her lips against the man whose name she'd read. It was a nothing kiss, just an innocent press of lips that had both parties giggling when it was over.

Then Allison handed the hat to the next woman in the circle. Harriet wondered if Jeannie had only written men's names in the hat and was only passing the names to the girls. Why else would she not have turned to her immediate left and given the fedora to Denny?

It didn't matter, either way, the hat was on the other side of the room and would take a long while to get to her. She could leave before it did.

And for a billed "makeout party" the kisses weren't exactly making out. She wasn't really risking anything if she did participate.

"I feel overdressed," Matthew leant sideways as though sharing a secret with her.

That gave her an excuse to look him up and down, dragging her eyes easily over his long legs and thin forearms. With the rolled sleeves, he seemed far less formal than he had when he'd walked in, but he wasn't alone. Harriet was in a silver cocktail dress. Jeannie in a little black dress. Some people had unbuttoned their business shirts, taken their ties off, or pulled on a pair of jeans, but most of the crowd was in some form of formalwear.

Harriet released her drink so she was holding it in her right hand, and swished the fabric of her skirt with her left hand. "I think we're all a little overdressed."

Matt chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating warmly in the air around her. Harriet liked that sound. "Now there's a sketch."

Harriet craned her neck upwards to look at his face. She wasn't following. "You mean like a running character who dresses incorrectly for the occasion."

"Exactly," he grinned, blue eyes shining in the dim light. "Always dressed formally for casual events. Like a Society Gal at a Car Wash."

Laughter bubbled out of her, uncontrollable as it puffed out of her. She was just thankful she didn't snort. That would have been embarrassing. "Now there's an oxymoron."

Matt chuckled, raising his eyebrows proudly at her.

"Matt," Jeannie called out, getting Matthew's attention.

Harriet couldn't explain the feeling as the man looked away from her. Disappointment didn't quite cover it. Worse, was that she knew why his name had been called and she did not like it.

"Matt Mitchum," Jeannie called.

Harriet let out a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding.

"Not the Matt I was hoping to kiss tonight," Jeannie laughed.

Harriet watched as Matthew's lips twisted sourly, his shoulders tense and held tightly, hunched up by his ears. Then his face returned to its normal state and he turned back to her, releasing a relaxed breath.

Harriet didn't watch what happened next, but she imagined the other Matt was a little dejected. After all, Jeannie had said that pretty loud.

With the distraction of the game and the din of the cheers as the pair kissed, Harriet saw her opportunity to leave and turned to Matthew.

"Hey, how about we-?"

"Harriet," Jeannie cooed, catching her attention. "It's your turn."

"Oh no, thank you, Jeannie," Harriet waved her hand in the air, gesturing her decline. "I don't want to play."

"You have to," the woman scoffed, smiling. "Just pick a name. It doesn't have to be a good kiss."

Harriet could feel Matthew frowning down at her and half expected him to speak up about pressuring her to do this. But Harriet could make decisions for herself.

She stuck her left hand in the proffered hat. There wasn't that much paper in the hat but she rifled her hand in the hat to stall for a moment.

"Harry! Ha-rry!" Jeannie started up, the rest of the room chanting her name like a great party.

She met Matthew's eyes, intending to roll hers and show she was playing along willingly despite the adolescence of the game. But he was actively avoiding her gaze, his eyes stoically on the jacket rolled up in his hands.

She plucked a name from the hat, gripping it between her thumb and forefinger. The paper wasn't folded, but it was facing the wrong way. Harriet flipped it over.

Her heart skipped and Harriet tried not to smile.

"Matthew Albie."

Jeannie "oohed." Harriet handy got the impression that Jeannie was normally this annoying or into drama, but she was definitely leaning into it now.

Harriet bit her tingling lips together. That wasn't such a bad name to pull out of the hat, after all.

Something akin to excitement buzzed in her veins. She felt warm and lightheaded at once.

Harriet felt her chest puff out and her cheeks flush. She was suddenly not feeling so silly about dabbing perfume beneath her jaw and her wrists.

Kissing Matthew Albie? Sure, this wasn't how Harriet had thought it would come about. She was kind of certain that it would at some point, given the way she couldn't stop looking over at him, even in a crowded room, and that he always knocked on her door even when it was open. In fact, Harriet hoped it would happen at some point.

Maybe this way wouldn't be as romantic as first kisses were in the movies, but the idea of pressing her lips against Matthew's and finding out how they tasted, even in this noisy room, in full view of everybody, made her toes curl and her heart race.

She couldn't fight the smile that split her face as she imagined his hair was as soft as it looked beneath her fingers.

Harriet turned to face Matthew, trying not to seem too keen. It was just a stupid kiss. But one she secretly wanted.

"No," he grumbled.

What?

Harriet fell from her toes to her flat feet, swaying backwards. As she rocked back on her heels, Harriet felt her smile drop and her heart sink.

He might have said goodnight or something, but Harriet felt woozy and unwell.

It felt as though all of her blood had drained from her blushing cheeks and puddled at her feet as Harriet watched Matthew turn his back on her. He shrugged his blazer back on. She observed his broad shoulders pinch and stretch as he moved while walking toward the door.

He was walking away from her.

Matthew Albie was walking away from her.

Why? Harriet genuinely thought they were heading in that direction.

Then again, this sure wasn't the atmosphere Harriet imagined it happening in. Not that she'd imagined it happening often, or anything.

As long as that's all it was. Harriet couldn't bear thinking that by folding to peer pressure and agreeing to play this game, she'd lost Matthew's respect.

"Aw, Matthew, come on!" Jeannie laughed. "We're just having a bit of fun."

Jeannie chuckled and a couple of other people joined her. Harriet winced. Matthew didn't deserve that. He was standing up for himself, he didn't deserve the teasing.

Matthew's leaving revealed Luke standing on his other side and Jeannie seemed to think that he'd be the perfect replacement.

"So, kiss Luke instead," Jeannie suggested.

Harriet shook her head and gathered her skirt in her hand to allow her better ease of movement. She found her way out of the circle and dropped her lemonade can on the edge of the drinks table as she chased after Matthew.

She was hit with the cold morning air as it prickled her skin. There were a couple of people gathered in clumps in the garden and at the basketball hoop at the top of the driveway.

Shivering, Harriet spotted Matthew in the darkness, the little solar powered driveway lights illuminating his frame.

Harriet wasn't sure what she was supposed to say to him now that she'd found him. She was never at a loss for words around him.

"Hey," she tugged his sleeve, breathless. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Matthew mumbled. "It was a dumb game. And a big crowd."

Harriet agreed, nodding idly. She wrapped the little black cardigan that came with the dress around her tightly.

"Are," she started, enunciating slowly, "we okay?"

Matthew let an amused breath out of his nose and waved his right foot across the ground between them with his hands deep in his pockets. His eyes followed the movement of his shoe. "Yeah, we're fine."

Harriet rocked forward, her left knee jiggling anxiously. She felt herself frown with her lips pressed together. "I'm glad you walked out."

She was. It was a bold move and one that probably alienated him from a group that already seemed to dislike him, or at least, think nothing of him. It was a sign of respect toward her, not wanting others to think less of her. More importantly, respecting the sexual tension between them and not pressuring her into feeling it too. At least, that's how Harriet interpreted it. A signal that he wanted to be serious about the romantic tension between them.

"Sorry for just storming out," Matthew apologised.

"No," she reached a hand out to touch his arm, fingers brushing the exposed skin of his hand at the end of his sleeve. "I understand why you did. It's easier to walk away than stay strong against a group like that."

Matt shook his head. "That wasn't why."

Harriet cocked her head at him, trying not to let herself feel so exhilerated by the low timbre of his tone.

He touched his nose sharp nose with two long fingers. "Geez, Harry."

She shivered again but Harriet felt warm inside.

"I don't want to kiss you in front of everyone," he told her gently. Harriet blushed and smiled up at him. "And I certainly don't want to be forced to do it as part of some stupid game."

The feeling was mutual.

Harriet found herself taking a step towards Matthew and looking up at him daringly.

If he was worried about romancing her, now was a good moment. The moon was high in the sky, only a sliver, but a bright silver. It shone against Matthew's skin, bathing it in a soft light that highlighted his cheekbones. His blue eyes reflected the spackling of starlight, twinkling down at her. Music was playing softly in the distance. They were alone in the darkness and dressed formally.

All he had to do was bend down a little and press his smile to hers. It wouldn't take much effort at all.

He would dip his chin, his blue eyes silver in the moonlight, and his smile would disappear, painting him completely serious. Harriet would unwind her arms from around herself and grip onto his lapels, just to hold him close. His warm hands would cup her elbows or maybe dare to touch her waist and she'd tip her head pack as though she was giving him permission, her perfume enticing him closer.

Matthew stared at her, unblinking, a soft smile quirking his lips upwards as Harriet waited for him to move. Or speak.

He stayed still. So she remained quiet.

He exhaled through his nose, "That was... I mean-." He cut himself off with a laugh, waving a hand between them as though to strike his sentence from the record.

It was so compelling to watch him speak, to try and analyse his thought process. One moment he was suave and eloquent, and then it was as though he realised what he was doing or recognised their potential, and he would bumble his way through his next few sentences as though she flustered him.

Harriet had to admit, she liked flustering the normally impassive and impassioned Matthew Albie.

"I understand," she said.

He looked at her as though he wouldn't be surprised if she could actually read his mind. But she couldn't. She had a feeling they were on the same page about how they felt when they were together, and how they wanted to be in each other's presence when they were apart, but Harriet needed him to communicate that to her.

"You don't want to kiss me," she pretended the idea didn't bother her one way or the other and that she hadn't been reading his signals that said otherwise for the last few weeks.

He bent toward her and chuckled, whispering, "I want nothing more."

His voice was both soft and threatening, gentle and concupiscent and Harriet realised it may have been more than curiousity and the excitement of being desired that she was feeling.

"Matthew," she warned, her cheeks feeling feverish.

But Matthew was standing straight again, all lust vanished from his face, and he scratched his head, his eyes wide as though he'd surprised himself. "How many times to I have to tell you, you can call me 'Matt?'"

"Matthew's a name from the Bible, you know?" she told him. His name was a good strong, Biblical one. And the apostle who shared his name was one of the most engrossing and interesting. "Matthew was strong and sturdy. He respected women and thought women should hold positions in power. He was lively and witty and inspiring."

"Will you please call me 'Matt?'" he grinned. "That's a lot to live up to."

Harriet hadn't known him long but she suspected he would live up to his religious namesake. He certainly seemed to despite his misgivings about faith in general.

She almost told him as much, cited a time when he'd told her "there wasn't one ounch of quit in him," but Matthew shook his head at the ground self-consciously and she realsied that any compliment she gave would not be accepted by him. She'd have to show him.

"You still hungry?" Matthew peered up at her from under his long lashes.

Harriet nodded, "A little."

He grinned happily at her. "Would you like to get dinner with me?"

"I'd love to, Matt."


This one was inspired by a moment Llewyness pointed out to me. We talk about so many little Matt and Harriet headcanons, but this flew out of me. This is based on Sarah's account on Fallon of knowing Matthew (an undisclosed amount of years) before Studio 60 through a mutual friend and him refusing to kiss her when prompted by a party game. I love that story, not just because it seems like something very Matthew and utterly respectful, and for the implication that all of the Big Four in that show have such a rich history in and out of character as friends (except Brad and the girls as far as I know), but for the image of baby-faced Matt and Harriet.