#anyways 'lov' is like. a small disconnection from it all.

[euclydya]

god i think it's really sweet when friends copy our like. ways of speaking and such. like yaaaay mirroring yaay ^_^!!!!!!!!!

[throwaway-key]

22. two miserable people meeting at a wedding au” jonjon or tommyjon (or anyone really, but grumpy Lovett is iconic)

honestly my first thoughts were of THESE FICS from pod save the wedding era, which I love dearly and reread often but:

Wedding season in DC is the most prime example of how incestuous the city really is. When your life is in a dome of homogenous people and faces, it’s only natural to invite that lobbyist you drink with, those people you work with every day, that republican staffer that you argue with all the time yet you like more than your cousin and you had to invite them so might as well. It ends in banquet halls and empty fields filled with faces that are either familiar because you’ve seen them every day, occupying the same space and nightlife, or familiar because they’re from the midwest and everyone from there looks kinda like someone you know anyway.

Breaking up a relationship and an engagement that Tommy saw his future in sucked for a lot of reasons, destroyed him in ways he’s still not quite sure he even understands, but grimley he wishes they could have postponed the split and separated later, at least for a couple of months so that other people still have the thought that it was too soon to invite him to their weddings. He could beg out of corny DJs and pretending to be happy for the couple that could succeed where he had failed so spectacularly. He hated the pity in people’s faces, but he would rather look at performative commiserating quirks of eyebrows then spend a whole night trying to ignore the jealousy festering in his gut, the feeling that still aches no matter how logically he tries to look at it- no matter how hard he tries to disconnect himself.

Favs had kept trying to get him to meet people, but after a late night of drinking that Tommy doesn’t really remember, he must have broken and said something about how it makes his chest feel tight in worst way, how he wasn’t even ready to look at other people, let alone talk to them, and he’d backed off. He’d been giving him sympathetic looks all day and Tommy loves him so much, would probably hide a body for him, but if he turned his big consoling bambi eyes on him one more time, Tommy might actually punch him (which Favs would take with an understanding stoicism, and would return the blow until it resulted in a scuffle of bro-solidarity and kinship, which would only make Tommy feel worse).

After about the tenth sappy love song that grates on Tommy’s nerves, he gives up any pretence of socializing among his assigned table and parks himself at the open bar. The only bourbon they have is some brand he’s never even heard of, so he ends up drinking it with coke and trying to block out the Beyonce song that’s come on over the loudspeakers.

He disappears into his fugue state for a bit until a demanding voice asks the bartender, “What is your strongest beer, and how fancy is it?” which is just… an absurd question.

It’s Jon’s new speechwriter, Lov*tt, the one who comes in on the scooter and makes Jon smile while his eyebrows contort themselves into a quizzical quirk when he’s relaying his day to Tommy, like he doesn’t quite know if he’s amused by him, or concerned. Lov*tt’s mouth is in such an exaggerated and cartoonish frown that Tommy almost thinks it’s mocking him, until he realizes that the guy hasn’t even looked Tommy’s way, doesn’t even seem to register he’s there at all.

Tommy feels hopeful that, maybe, there’s someone else who wants to be here even less then he does.

“You’re the scooter guy.” he says. He means it good-naturedly, but he feels it comes out wry and maybe a little judgey.

Lov*tt looks over, shooting a withering glance at him that seems both unsuiting but comfortable on a face so incredibly sweet and young. He knows the guy used to work for Clinton, but looking at him for himself, up close and personal, all he sees is a bad haircut and an ill-fitting light suit on a small frame that looks at tense and wired as Tommy feels. He looks like a mouse that just got turned into a human because of some fairy godmother and is pissed about it. Tommy could relate.

“You’re the guy sleeping on Favreau’s couch.” he bites back, not even looking at him anymore, and Tommy feels himself genuinely smile for the first time that evening. “Too bad you’re a dick, I have an extra room I need to fill.”

“Well let’s not be rash.” Tommy tries, “If you need a roommate then you should know I’m hardly ever home. I’m a perfect candidate that way.”

“I’m looking more for someone who won’t try and play friends.” Lov*tt replies, he tilts hs head consideringly. “Or complain about how much Diet Coke is in the fridge.”

Tommy doesn’t know about that second one, but… “I swear,” he takes another drink, not even knowing if he’s playing along with a bit or actually finding a place to stay that isn’t on his friend’s couch, “We could live together for years and still be complete strangers. You won’t even know anything about me.”

[storyknitter]

This scenario has been floating around in my head since I read the datamine for 5.4 and I can’t seem to get rid of it. Not sure the voicing is quite right and I’m concerned that it’s a little out of character, but... meh. Have some angst anyway and tell me if you think I’m off-base?

Clearly, 5.4 spoilers/theories below the cut. And angst. (Because I’m nothing if not predictable.)

Theron was working on decrypting a file for the Order -- an insulting waste of his talents if he really thought about it; he’d decrypted these kinds of files practically in his sleep before. His problem today was a lack of focus. All he could think about was her. Had it really only been a week since he’d left her and the Alliance? He sighed and refocused, remembering why he was pulling this crazy stunt in the first damn place. I have to keep her safe.

His comm rang, startling him out of his reverie, and he answered without looking. Instead of his handler or his new bosses, there was a woman with a messy bun and chevron tattoos on her cheekbones. Someone he’d never expected to see on this new holocomm frequency. Someone who was biting her lip in concentration and focus in that way that always made him want to kiss her to distraction.

Vassanna looked up with a triumphant cry, brandishing a slicer’s spike and grinning. “Stars above, I can’t believe I actually got that to work! Theron-- no wait, please don’t hang up! Just give me a minute or two, please. Please.”

His hands fisted and he frowned at her, willing her to disconnect before he had to push her away. She had to leave him alone -- he was fairly sure he was still being observed -- or else the Order might think him suspect. Well, he was, but they didn’t need to know that yet. Wait, did she seriously just slice my holocomm? That’s impressive. How did she even-- No, stop. Focus, Shan.

“Theron. I... I don’t know what I did or what’s broken, and I don’t know how to fix it until I understand it. Please, I need your help to understand what went wrong and where. I want to fix it, but I don’t know...” She looked down for a moment and he saw her trying to maintain her composure.

Are those circles under her eyes darker than they were, or is it just the lighting? Please just be the lighting...

“Theron, please. I... I miss you,” she whispered. The way she looked at him made him want to drop everything and run back to her side, to take her in his arms and reassure her that everything would be okay. “Our quarters... the bed... it’s....” Now that she’d finally found him, she was having a hard time putting her feelings into words. “Umm, it-- it all just seems so... everything's just... it’s so empty without you here. I lov-- please, will you... we can fix this, I know we... please, just--. Theron, come home.” Her voice broke on the last word and he clenched his jaw tighter than he thought was possible. You can do this, Shan.

“I already told you. The Alliance is rotting away; it’s too far gone, and you can’t manage to bring peace. You failed at what you wanted for the galaxy, but I found something else that will succeed instead.”

“What I wanted?” A frown crossed her face and Theron thought he saw anger flash in her eyes, but it was hard to tell over the comm. “What I wanted? I never wanted any of this.” She threw her arms out in a gesture encompassing everything around her. “And you know that! I never wanted the Throne, or to be ‘Commander,’ or to lose most of my friends while slowly dying in carbonite!” She was shouting now, composure completely gone. “I most certainly never wanted Vitiate in my head for over seven years of my life. Seven years!” She paused, closed her eyes, took a deep breath. Two deep breaths. Three. Quietly, she continued, “The only thing I ever really wanted, in all my life, was you. Just you.”

His heart squeezed in his chest and he felt a lump starting in his throat, but he pushed past it. “And peace? Did you ever want that?”

“You bring me peace, Theron.”

Dammit, he thought. I can’t, I can’t do this to her. But then he thought about the Order’s plan to remove her from the Throne and the need to protect her -- to keep her alive -- at all cost kept him going.

“What about the rest of the galaxy, huh?” She looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears, arms wrapped around herself. He froze slightly, suddenly seeing the line in the sand she’d accidentally shown him, the line that meant going too far into unforgivable territory, the line that he should never, ever cross. Dammit, Sanna, I don’t want to hurt you... ugh, this is gonna kill us both, but I need you to give up on finding me. I’m so sorry. He forced himself to glare at her and took a breath.

“You know what I think, Vassanna? I think that maybe you got a little too comfortable with Vitiate in your head.” Her eyes widened with shock and Theron steeled himself to keep going. Shit, this is gonna hurt. Forgive me, Sanna. “I think that he hung out in your mind, in your psyche, a little too long and you got used to it.” She slowly shook her head in fear and denial. “That it numbed you to how you used to think, back when you actually gave a damn about saving the galaxy. That maybe, when he tried to take over your body on the Throne, you didn’t quite get rid of all of him. That he’d sunk his claws in too deep for you to ever be just yourself again. That you’ve become like him. You’re a benevolent dictator now, right?”

She jerked back as though he’d hit her and gasped out a small, shaky, “No...” 

Oh fuck, this hurts more than I thought. I’m so sorry.

“No, you don’t mean that Theron, you can’t...” Her voice trailed off and he watched her face slowly fill with horror at what he'd said, watched the tears stream from her eyes as he ‘confirmed’ her worst nightmare, hand pressed to her aching heart. He couldn’t, wouldn’t look away, though. He owed her that much, at least.

“I’m sorry it has to end this way, Commander.” I’m so, so sorry. Theron ended the call before he could see her face crumple and her shoulders heave with sobs. Coward! Trying to calm his shaking hands and ignore the lump in his throat, he attempted to file everything he’d just said under the “repugnant, but for The Greater Good” section of his memories and ran a program to erase all the information from the comm. As it finished running, he saw in his mind’s eye the broken look she’d given him just before he disconnected and he threw the holocomm across the room with all his might, smashing it into a million tiny pieces, before sinking back into his chair and hanging his head in his hands.