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 watched Matt flounder. He exploded from the stands in an attempt to get his creative juices flowing.

"I don't think it's 'Bible,'" Matt stopped bouncing his tennis ball.

Briefly, Harriet wondered if it was the same ball he had clung to while he was writing his latest movie, the one he bounced anxiously while backstage on the Tonight Show and while he was biting his lip watching his television at home and holding his breath while she performed her latest single. Her last performance before she'd gone on the 700 Club. Or perhaps that ball was bald and this was a new one. Knowing Matthew and his penchant for metaphor and subtext, it was probably a new ball. Clean slate, new ball.

"I think I'm getting that wrong," he ran a hand over his shock of brown hair. "I think it's just Liberty College or University."

His hair was quite distracting. A lovely chocolate brown colour, shining golden in the yellow light of the theatre. Harriet knew first-hand how soft Matt's hair was. She had spent years running her fingers through his well-conditioned locks, passing her palm over his crown to calm him down, tugging on the ends of his hair to get him to moan deliciously, his chest rumbling against hers, pressing a kiss to his temple and burying her nose in his shampoo, thankful for him being in her life.

Harriet's gaze remained on Matthew even though Lucy retorted, trying to protect the sketch they must have worked on together. It was a brilliant sketch, even if it was aimed at picking apart the issues with her faith. The sketch was wonderful, teetering on the precarious tightrope-thin line between political incorrectness and conservativism. She'd read along to the end of the packet and the tone of the game show switched, the message shifting to a hilarious conclusion where faith-compliant responses became the expected rather than the scientific ones. It was a wonderful subversion.

"I don't want anything in the sketch that's even a little bit wrong. If it's not Liberty Bible College, find a sketch that has 'Bible' in it."

Harriet bit back a smile at the mistake. He did that whenever he was stressed.

"I mean, find a college that has 'Bible' in it," he corrected himself before gesturing for the troupe to continue. "Go ahead."

"From the top?" Tom asked.

"No," Matthew waved off the question, his shoulders tense as he sat back down, slouching in his chair. "No, just keep going."

Tom nodded and turned back to the other actors on the stage, reading from his script in an announcer's accent. "Our categories today are World History, Anthropology, Meteorology, Geology and Psychiatry."

Harriet watched as Matt turned to look at Cal as he explained something to the other department heads. His neck was stretched, a tendon making an attractive line between his strong jaw and his starched collar.

The white shirt with thin black pinstripes really was lovely on him. It seemed new. Crisp. It was definitely ironed. Then again, all of Matthew's shirts were ironed and fresh-looking early in the morning. Sure, he rolled his sleeves up almost as soon as he got in the car, but that pulled the rest of the shirt attractively tight around his chest and waist.

It was at around lunchtime that he'd undo the first few buttons, not wanting to spill food or drink on the button-up. A few hours later he would unbutton the rest, the business shirt would flutter around whatever t-shirt Matt would wear underneath. Sometimes he'd even take off the serious shirt and be left in the tee or skivvy beneath it. By the end of Matthew Albie's sixteen-hour day, his shirt would be wrinkled and creased, soft and comfortable-looking.

Because most of the day consisted of Matthew's shirt being open and rolled and crumpled from sitting and his constant shifting, it wasn't often that she caught Matthew in his uncrinkled shirts. But damn did it suit him.

Right now, his shirt was crisp and buttoned all the way except for the last two holes and he was showing a little bit of skin just beneath the divot at the base of Matthew's neck that always tasted like salt and a little soapy. It didn't look like he was wearing an undershirt today, normally a plain coloured fabric peaked out in a triangle at the base of his throat but there was nothing. Harriet almost let her mind wander why but her first thought was that he had a date and she didn't like that. The white shirt was untucked from loose-fitting jeans, but it hung nicely around his torso, promisingly. And his sleeves were still down at his wrists, unbuttoned and flapping as he gestured with the tennis ball in one hand, but accentuated the length of his strong arms.

Matt swivelled his head to look at the stage and Harriet quickly averted her eyes, looking down at the script on the sheet music stand in front of her. She was all for flirting with him and bantering playfully with him, but Harriet didn't want Matthew knowing she'd been studying the colour of his skin and the freckle on his cheek by his nose that he hated.

"Change 'Psychiatry' to 'Medicine,'" he instructed. The lithe fingers of his left hand were touching his Adam's apple, something Matthew only ever did when he was trying to perfect something but wasn't quite sure how to go about it.

"You're gonna get a laugh on 'Psychiatry.'"

Matthew pursed his thin top lip, biting it beneath his top row of teeth. It was clear to Harriet he was trying to articulate himself but wasn't sure how to do so without snapping or being offensive. It was also clear that Denny didn't realise the sketch was making fun of the actor. That Tom Cruise was the joke.

"It'll be the last laugh we get on that, 'cause if Tom Cruise is up there, I already got the joke," Matthew explained.

Harriet forced down a smile. A lot of this was fairly intuitive, but Alex was still fairly new to late-night sketch comedy and Harriet knew the maze of Matthew Albie's mind. he would learn. Maybe, probably, never to the extent she'd learnt, but he'd figure it out eventually.

"Not necessarily with my Tom Cruise," Alex explained.

Matthew furrowed his brow at the other man, his expression, even from the other side of the room, suggesting Alex explain himself.

"I can do Ben Stiller and Ben Stiller can do Cruise, so..." Alex trailed off.

Matt was picking at the cuticles around his nails while his hands were in his lap. A sure sign that Matthew Albie was feeling the pressure. And given last week's amazing numbers and the fact that had been a look-in audience and Ricky and Ron were the ones being told the results of the focus group data, Matthew was sure to be stressed.

She remembered how easily Matthew could get stressed.

It wasn't hard to see the warning signs. He'd lean forward, his elbows on his thighs. He was always quite active whenever he wrote, but if things weren't going the right way for him, he'd either get more agitated and agile or go completely still. You knew it was bad if Matthew Albie was still. And if he went quiet?

That was the first sign of the apocalypse.

He wasn't at the point where he was shutting out the world and shifting into panic mode, drowning out all sounds and folding in on himself, not letting anyone in. But Harriet could see that he was getting there. Last week had been amazing. But this week was going to set the standard for his time as showrunner.

It had to be good.

"Let me see your Ben Stiller."

Matthew Albie, for how gentle he was, made a compelling leader and a disciplined boss. He spoke strictly to Alex but also let him come to his own conclusion, trusting that Alex, and the rest of the cast, knew their capabilities and their limits. He had a high expectations of them, but he trusted them to meet them.

Alex was good but he wasn't there yet. His Stiller was much better than his Cruise and he knew it.

But he threw himself into showing off for Matt as though he was auditioning for a role for the first time, or in front of a live audience, trying all his best material. Alex knew he had a good Stiller impression and he showcased it, proving himself.

Alex hadn't known Matt when he'd been on the writing team last time. Tom had just started, but he and Matthew had grown close as Tom went to Matthew for older brotherly advice. And, as Tom came into his own, quickly becoming part of what the media dubbed 'The Big Three,' he had run into Matt on red carpets and at awards ceremonies and the two men had formed a bond. But Alex, Dylan, even Sam and a couple of the others didn't have a history with Matthew and they were eating up his attention. They recognised Matt as more than their boss but someone they wanted in their corner, a man they wanted to respect them, and it was obvious they tried their damned hardest to earn it.

So far, and it was only early days still, Matt had been great with them.

Danny had warned everyone that Matt would write for the guys he knows, so some of them need to be patient. They should also become one of the guys he knows. But so far, Matthew hadn't been that boss. He'd been fair and patient and keen to learn everybody's names. Those interpersonal relationships had always been important to him and he was keen to get to know everybody's skills and talents and utilise those strengths.

He really was born for this job.

Harriet wished she could ask him if the job that was so suited to him was everything he used to hope it would be. She hoped it was. She'd always wanted him to take over from Wes. Harriet had always thought he would, eventually. But she had never expected it would be under duress. This show, Wes, NBS, had broken his heart all those years ago and Harriet hadn't expected him to ever return to it.

And yet, here he was.

Harriet desperately wanted to be able to ask Matt if he loved it still or if it felt like a chore, a placeholder until time was up and Danny could be bonded. They may only be a week in, but she was dying to know if Matthew's dreams were coming true.

Once upon a time, she would have just asked him.

"Your Tom Cruise will get better?"

"Yes, sir."

Harriet's overly large witch's hat dipped low over her forehead, catching on the ridge of her eyebrow as she ducked her head to feign reading her script, trying not to look like she was grinning proudly.

She was glad Matt was being recognised as superior and talented, even if it was just by his employees. He deserved it.

"Matthew?" she called out, too late realising how her voice was lilted lustily. Not that that was a bad thing. She'd been enjoying working with him this week and last, finding increasingly conspicuous excuses to spend a moment with each other. Sure, they'd been a little tense before Matt's first show given the new revelations about him and Jeannie, but then she'd sought Matt out for a note after the dress and there'd been a look in his eyes that Harriet never wanted to see again.

Surprise.

His eyes had been soft and sad and lit up when she'd tugged his sleeve, turning around with such an expression on his face, a delicate shock, like he had resigned himself to her ignoring him and avoiding him. He had blinked at her with his mouth slack and his eyes desperately reining in his hope as she asked him what she had done wrong.

His response had been candid and honest with no pretence. His smile was slow to return to his face. And when it did, Harriet swore to herself that the soft smile would be the expression she'd strive to make Matthew wear, not the shock and surprise.

"Yes?"

He'd told her something years ago, that her Holly Hunter impression was great at pacifying the masses. She hadn't been totally sold and Matt hadn't been able to explain himself but whenever Matthew Albie was stressed, if she broke out her Holly Hunter drawl, he was guaranteed to smile. He'd subscribed to that reasoning right after September Eleven, asking her to do Holly Hunter for a live television audience with the understanding that the comedic voice and the fiery persona would both comfort and distract. Harriet wasn't so sure if it worked on everyone, but it definitely placated Matthew.

She barely had to even think about it, her mouth slowing her words so they were like molasses pouring out of her mouth, her vowels enunciated through her nose. "I can do the whole thing as Holly Hunter if you want."

"I don't," he said seriously. But Harriet knew Matthew Albie. He may be disciplined and serious and meticulous when it came to the show, but bantering, even flirting, whatever this was with her was a different story. Harriet knew Matt well enough to know that while Matthew Albie could not lie to save a life, honesty bubbling out of him even if it would get him in trouble or ruin a romantic moment, he was incredibly sarcastic. She'd spent nearly eight years learning the skill and still hadn't perfected it. To decipher what Matt was really saying, you had to watch his body language as well as listen to his words. He was very good at deadpanning. But his cerulean irises gave him away. The upward quirk of his pink lips suggesting he was amused and the soft blush against his cheekbones signalling a compliment meant a lot to him. He'd turn away if he was ashamed, angling his body away from her even if he sounded blase and stubborn.

Sometimes Matt would reach for her in spite of his words, realising he'd said the wrong thing immediately and not let a snarky sentence turn into a full-fledged fight.

If she was lucky, and they were along enough to convince themselves they had some semblance of privacy, he'd reach for her anyway. It wouldn't matter what his words were, if they were together and vaguely alone, they'd stand inordinately close and find themselves touching each other on the elbow, her hand to his chest, his fingers threaded through hers, arm snaked around her waist regardless of what they were talking about.

His lips were quirked now, she could see that from across the room, and Harriet used that as evidence she should continue.

"Would you like it if I spent the rest of the day talking to you like Holly Hunter?"

She would, she used to do that. Harriet used to sit with him in his office while he was writing the movie, or periodically find him in the halls of the studio, just to parrot a silly line of anything in her Holly Hunter accent because she knew him laughing at it stopped the stress from encroaching in the edges of his vision. It worked every time and it looked like he needed it now.

"Not at all."

She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the long line. It had been the first one she had learnt and one she had repeated for weeks to try and get the accent just right. She'd practised it in her dressing room, sitting in the single chair in the tiny room with Matt stretching his long legs on the floor trying to get the sketch just right because he knew she was good with voices and he wanted to do a parody of Broadcast News. It had been one of their first sketches together and Harriet remembered working so damn hard to get the accent perfect just so she could see Matthew Albie's bright smile and hear that quiet, shy little laugh of his one more time.

She enunciated the famous line from the film easily now, all that practice paying off, and it had the desired effect. "It's hard for me to advise you since you personify something I truly think is dangerous."

"Stop it," Matt was grinning, nodding, even as he told her no. He was leaning on his elbows as though he wanted to be able to see her lips form the words in the half-light on the stage and beneath the shadow of her hat. He may not have been able to see her face, but Matthew's was shining brightly with his broad smile as it split his face. "Now."

His smile was intense and Harriet had to look away from it so that her fluttering heart didn't vibrate out of her chest. Everyone on the stage and in the stands seemed to laugh at the classic line, soft laughter detracting from the intense pull between her and Matthew.

"Can we get her a witch's hat that isn't two sizes too big?" Danny called out. Harriet tried not to sigh too audibly. Danny, despite being the first to push them together and berate Matt for being an idiot, was Matthew Albie's moribund defender. Even if it meant he was protecting Matt from her.

While opening a discussion with the costume department was certainly reasonable, she'd been wearing the hat for the last fifteen minutes and had no problem with it then. His words felt very much like he had witnessed the beaming smiles passed between her and Matthew and was aborting the situation before it could bear fruit.

She tried not to be too sassy with her retort, hoping she came across as amusing rather than temperamental. "This is how we're wearing them today."

Matt laughed at that. No one else laughed but Matthew did. Harriet saw it.

He was leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs but he was grinning. She could see where his cheeks were dimpled even though he was hiding his mouth behind his long, thin fingers.

"Tom?" Danny coaxed the boy to continue with the sketch. Harriet tried not to beam proudly that she had successfully distracted everyone, not just Matthew.

Harriet should probably have been paying attention to the rest of the sketch, listening for bits she could debate and rebut in a conversation with Matthew later, waiting for her cue. But Matt was still smiling, even if he was hiding it.

He didn't smile often, not in public and hardly ever at work. This was a serious place and they had a serious job to do, even if it was grounded in comedy. But when he did, that bright expression was a precious gift that Harriet kept tucked close to her chest.

She could his eyes on her. His gaze had always felt different to anybody else's and when Harriet peeked up from beneath the brim of her hat she found that no one was looking at her. The writers all had their heads ducked into their laptops or notebooks. The department heads were whispering. The other actors were sipping water or reading their next line. Cal was looking at Matt and Matt had his chin in his palm.

And then his eyes flicked over to her.

Harriet tilted her head so the floppy brim of the witch's hat covered her face. She could feel her fingers tingling, her heart racing.

She'd expected this. They probably all had. Last week's revelations hadn't seemed to put a damper on her feelings like Harriet thought they might have. At this rate, she'd be up in his office under the pretext of discussing a sketch and he'd walk into her dressing room to give her notes and by the wrap party, especially if the ratings weren't so good, they'd have a drink together. Maybe even a meal.

Given the fact her cheeks were aching from the width of her smile, Harriet didn't think it would take long at all for them to work their way back together. Sure, she hadn't totally forgiven him for never telling her about his relationship with Jeannie and he was still reconciling his new professional relationship with her and everyone else on the staff, but Harriet didn't expect it would take much to show Matthew that most of the people that worked here already considered them to be a couple.

Suddenly, the theatre lights were snuffed out, switching off with a whir and an industrial click.

"What the hell?" someone asked.

"We lost power."

For a group of grown adults, they certainly sounded freaked at a blackout.

"You think?" someone snapped sarcastically.

"Harriet," warned a familiar baritone.

She wished she could see him in the darkness, but she could hear his smile under his exasperated sigh and it was almost as good.

"You say a word," she loved how familiar he was with her, that Matt knew exactly what she was about to say before she said it and what she was likely to be thinking. Honestly, she hadn't been thinking about the irony of the situation. She'd actually been thinking about how the pair of them could make use of the darkness. She'd very much like to wrinkle that pristinely ironed shirt of his. "Any word at all about God not liking to be mocked..."'

"You know what?" Harriet grinned as she interrupted him. It was so easy to tease him. Easier because she knew he understood her sarcasm as well as she understood his. There were so many implications to her next words and it didn't bother her which thread Matt followed because all the inferences lead back to her. This was the man who could convince her to damn the world with that soft smile of his. "I think you're the devil."

"And that's lunch!" Danny announced, cutting off her banter with Matthew.

Cal looked between Harriet and Matt.

He wasn't sure what was going on between them, but something was. Matthew Albie, the playwright from New York who continued to work on his movie scripts on the floor outside the writer's room because his sketches weren't making it on the air, was hiding a smile behind his fingers. That man rarely smiled. But Harriet Hayes, the Christian hick who defied all the odds just had a knack for making it happen, cracking Matty's serious shell.

If he hadn't been watching, his keen director's eye following their gaze rather than the script, Cal may not have caught the look on Matt's face when Harriet called him the devil. He wasn't offended or upset, and didn't even return the comment with a sardonic smile.

Instead, Matt looked the same way Cal did when his wife teased him but the children were around. Like a man who was happy but couldn't act on it because of the audience.

Cal raised his eyebrows at Matt but the man's attention was stoically stagnant on Harriet.

Good for him.

For her part, Harriet appeared just as happy, grinning down at her script as though she'd realised the bold grin at the executive producer might be damning of their relationship status.

Cal slipped his gaze to see Danny roll his eyes and Cal had to wonder if Matt and Harriet were, in fact, back together and trying to keep it quiet. But Danny called for lunch, not even blinking at the behaviour of Matt and Harriet. That made sense, he was closer to the pair, he'd know what to expect from them.

But from what Cal could see, it seemed like they were together. Or very close to being that way.

It would be nice if they were, Cal thought. Really nice. Especially if they kept up this energy during rehearsal and table reads.

They were saccharine and undeniably obvious, their attraction evident in the way they looked at each other. Meanwhile, their words were playful. Biting and bickering but with such intimacy and affection hid beneath it all. It was quite fun to watch. Distracting.

Cal was actually quite glad when the lights went out. Matt and Harriet might not have gotten much work done in the darkness, but the rest of them wouldn't be distracted by them.