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morelikesin · 4 years

Text

Morning

A small drabble on an emotional morning with Phoenix and Miles 💕 This takes place any time after Dual Destinies. I'm writing it where they're already married. This is just a quick bit I wanted to write when I had the idea :') I also drew a quick something at the end. The fic is under the cut!

Phoenix really wished he had more days off - everytime he was, there was always a great smell in the house from Miles' cooking. Being off work more often meant more of that, even if a little less bank coming in. It would definitely be worth it.

Lifting himself up from the cushioned mattress and tossing aside the velvety soft blankets atop of him, he stretches his limbs with a low groan - reaching his arms back before pulling them into his lap as he relaxed. Taking in a deep breath, he pulls his legs over the side of the bed and hoists himself over so he could see what was on the menu this morning.

Closing the lid of the cooking pot to steam the rice, Mr. Edgeworth hummed quietly to himself a peaceful little tune; one of which he'd seem to be making up as he went along. Turning his attention elsewhere as the grains cooked, he lowered the heat for another burner to medium, where he was cooking miso soup. Adding in a good few tablespoons of yellow miso paste, he whisked the substance into the already simmered broth before adding some previously cut up blocks of tofu. Raising the spoon to catch a quick taste, he found it was light, slightly sweet, and smooth in a way he quite enjoyed. Something was missing though, of course - turning towards the fridge to grab a few stalks of watercress to chop and throw in.

Stepping out from their bedroom and making his way downstairs into their kitchen, Phoenix paused a moment to simply watch his love candid from the steps. Miles, dressed in his soft, white robe like every morning accompanied by his perfect-as-always hair. Phoenix could nay say the same, given his own styling takes ten minutes on a good day.

Watching the way he so gracefully moved even without knowing eyes were on him was incredibly cute - though Miles would never let him say that, with how against that description he was when it was of himself. For now, Phoenix knew Miles was cute. Handsome, of course. Sexy, of course. Cute, of course.

Phoenix made his presence known by making a soft yawn as he walked down the last few steps, walking into the main kitchen and making sure to gently hold his hand against the small of Miles' back as he stood next to him. The latter shook his head slightly whilst quickly chopping up the watercress aforementioned - swiftly picking them up between his hand and the knife and tossing it into the soup.

"Good morning, Wright. How did you sleep?"

Phoenix made a darling little laugh that Miles loved so much - the type with a sort of deepness to it; a sort of breathlessness. "Well, I slept just fine with you by me, hun," he spoke prior to pressing his lips against the prosecutor's cheek, "with you being as warm as a radiator and all, ha..!"

Miles scoffed. "Very funny. Is that all I'm good for in bed? To keep you warm?"

"I was about to say no, but..'keeping me warm' sure has a lot of meanings. And I think you're good for all of them." Phoenix sighed, sporting a small smile as he pressed his face into the nape of Miles' neck contently - lips gently kissing his shoulder. It earned a sweet, if calm, sigh from the prosecutor.

"..I could say the same for you. But it's much too early for this, mm? We can work out our flirtations after we eat breakfast."

Phoenix kept his dorky smile splashed on his countenance as he pulled away, raising a hand to brush back some strands of hair from his eyes - finding himself not too annoyed today with his 'naturally-spiky-but-not-spiky-enough-and-more-messy' bedhead. "That works with me; everything smells so good!"

Miles looked flattered from that. "Thank you, Wright. It is certainly better than what you normally make yourself in the morning-"

"Hey- don't knock cup coodles! I could live off of those."

Miles furrowed his brows and gave a glance to Phoenix in exasperation. "This is why I'm the one who feeds us. Anyhow.." The former smiled to himself as he pulled a plastic package of soba noodles in front of him on the counter - removing the wrapper and slowly adding the noodle block into the miso broth. "Maya called me earlier. She asked me to tell you that she'll be unavailable all day."

With Phoenix opening the fridge door to grab something to drink, he paused to speak before grabbing the carton of orange juice - much like many of their groceries, an expensive brand that Phoenix wasn't used to, and Miles' choosing. "Oh? Was she planning on taking Trucy and Pearls somewhere?"

Miles shook his head as he wiped off his hands with a damp washcloth that he'd set beside him prior, "Sort of. She wanted to make a trip to Hazakura Temple - she and Pearl are to train while Trucy is their...how did she put it, ah.. 'hype-man'." He felt silly even recalling the term, but Phoenix's expression seemed to prove that he knew what he meant.

"Hah- well, she'll get no bother from me then. I'll just check up on them when they get back. We have the whole day to ourselves, for once.." Phoenix meekly spoke - pouring himself a glass of the aforementioned juice before guzzling it down in a post-sleep thirstiness. He wiped his upper lip with his wrist as he went back in to pour some more.

"It is rare, isn't it..?" The prosecutor seemed somewhat sorrowful in stating that. "I want to make the most of it. It's not often I'm not out travelling, or you're not on duty, or there's no emergencies."

Phoenix parted his lips to speak, before sighing and looking down to his cup solemnly. He set it down. "...Yeah. But..I still love you all the same." He looked back up to the love of his life; a carefree smile pulling at his lips and a special brightness glittering in his eyes, "We're a family. Things are..always going to come up, but our time spent away or together feel all the same to me. The only difference is that I get to actually kiss you, in times like now. Being apart..just reminds me of how much I trust you."

The words hit harder than Miles expected them to. Even with the defense attorney's unorganized nature, and his less-than-articulate manner, it was somehow more meaningful to him. Phoenix was always emotional, and true to what he said - this was no different. Edgeworth's expression was strong; brows furrowed up and eyes purposefully lying low.

Phoenix paused, "..Come here."

He gestured for a hug after his gentle words; Miles all too eager for the embrace. Phoenix's arms draped over Miles' shoulders, wrapping around his neck as to pull himself closer. Vice versa was Miles wrapping his arms tightly around Phoenix's waist; both of their heads lay upon the other's shoulder, welcoming what warmth was available. They held each other for what felt like so long, and simultaneously not long enough; the only reason for their part was so they could meet at their lips, instead. Passionate, and yet soft - just a simple press without much else, yet it was all they needed. By the end of their embrace, their heads leaned forward to touch at their foreheads while holding each other's hands between their chests. Their thumbs occasionally brushed over each other's wedding rings.

"..You know how much you mean to me, Phoenix."

"I know, Miles." He huffed out a short breath before breaking into a smile, "..You could always just say 'I love you'."

And with that, the silver-haired Edgeworth broke into a laugh and slowly pulled away, "Alright, alright..I love you. You know that."

"I love you too, Miles."

Phoenix watched as his love went back to his work - Miles grabbing his wooden chopsticks as to stir the noodles. The more defensive of the two sat at the dining table, glass in hand.

"...I'm going to guess that you won't want onions in your serving of noodles."

Phoenix pretended to gag in response to Miles, "Ghk-! Absolutely-! Onions taint everything they touch..." He hesitated, "..Other than onion rings. But that's the only good thing with onions!"

Edgeworth rolled his eyes with a playful smile, chuckling to himself a bit at just how strongly Wright felt over such a thing as onions. "Of course. Though, you're missing out on their flavour, dear - I've never met someone other than you who has a distaste for them."

"You haven't met anyone with any tastebuds," Phoenix scoffed back - earning a snort from the other.

"Oh, have I? Dear, I think you're referring to yourself there."

The defense paused; his face lifting as his cocky court grin curled onto his lips. "Unfortunately, Edgeworth, I think you have some words to eat. Clearly my statement is right - anyone who's ever tasted an onion could tell you that it tastes like damn garbage."

The prosecution stifled a laugh, lolling his head to look over his shoulder at his rival. "Oh, Wright. I'm afraid you've buried your grave - onions obviously give any dish they're added to an excellent depth of flavor."

"Well obviously they do not- ow-!" Phoenix burst into a soft laugh as Miles leaned over to smack his arm with his chopsticks - ending their court imitations. "Hun-!"

Miles rolled his eyes and looked back down to his cooking. "My love. We don't need to argue over onions. Besides, I'm not about to settle a case over opinion."

"Ha-! Well then, baby doll, I'm prepared to settle a case of any kind. Maybe you just don't have that kind of determination?" Phoenix jested, taking another swig of his orange juice.

"Of course you would be, Feenie." Miles hesitated before chuckling to himself. Swirling the noodles inside the pot, he shook his head. "That's a new one. I don't know where that came from... It's sort of cute, no? Feenie. Hm."

When Miles went to look at Phoenix for his approval, he was numb; his husband's face suddenly not as lively as it once was. His eyes gazed low, gazed dryly. His hands tensed around the glass he held, knuckles bearing white. Worst of all, his countenance really held no expression at all - the fact that it was so stiff, so miserable looking was what'd caused Miles to choke back a breath.

What was it about that name that suddenly struck Miles as odd? Feenie. Feenie.

"It's.. uh.. not great, honestly, Miles. No offense or anything."

"I'm- sorry." Miles was admittedly stunned - a little ashamed, a little confused, very concerned. "..For some reason its.. ringing a bell-"

"Dahlia."

"I'm..sorry?"

"..Dahlia used to call me that. You know, before.."

The room was drenched in silence - Miles struggling to find any words to say. What could he say to that - what should he? Though, the look on Phoenix's pitiful face urged him to find something.

"...I didn't mean to hurt you, saying it. I-" Miles hummed to himself and turned his head to Phoenix, lip bitten and unsure how to word himself. He slowly looked back down to his cooking when words couldn't properly form in his throat.

"It's fine." Phoenix nodded - looking away and tapping his fingers on the table in a sort of anxiousness. "You didn't know."

"I didn't remember," Miles scolded himself, "I should have remembered such a thing like that."

Phoenix looked a little put off. "Don't feel guilty for that. It was so long ago - I.. I didn't expect you too."

The soft bubbling of the broth in the pot filled the silence between them; chopsticks occasionally hitting the sides of the pot, Pess jingling her collar as she scratched herself from the living room all the while. Phoenix tried to will Miles to turn around so he could assure him it was fine, without words - however when Miles never did he spoke up hesitantly.

"I didn't mean to ruin the mood."

Miles quickly scoffed and turned to look at Phoenix with a pained expression, "You didn't, Phoenix. You were just telling me of something that hurt you."

"It's just a nickname, though," Phoenix laughed at himself, seemingly ashamed, "It's a little stupid to hurt so much over a nickname, isn't it?"

"I don't think so," Miles replied, his tone hurt from his husband stuffing his emotions down - such a thing from Phoenix was rare, and it made this hurt just a little more than usual. Setting the chopsticks horizontally on the counter, he ushered himself away from the stove to lay a gentle, lithe hand on Phoenix's forearm, and leaning down so he could rest his chin atop his head.

Phoenix nearly melted into his touch, feeling comforted by Miles' body and his warmth. Finding solace in the safety of his arms, Phoenix allowed himself to exhale a deep breath and relax. Unsatisfied with the arrangements, however, he shook his head and gestured his head down. "Get in front of me a bit, Miles."

He wasn't about to complain, though as he moved in front of Phoenix to kneel, Miles was still a tad confused. Before he could ask why Phoenix wanted him to, the man placed his hands on the prosecutor's cheeks and leaned forward to kiss his forehead.

"I prefer looking at you, dear," Phoenix hummed. He moved his hands down to take Miles' own - raising them to place endearing kisses against flushed knuckles and fingertips, much to his husband's timidity. "..Thank you. For not minding putting up with me and all."

"Ah, yes," Miles started, smiling, "I married you because I simply 'didn't mind putting up with you'."

Phoenix laughed as he realized the hilarity of what he had said, "Hey! You know what I mean!"

"I married someone I just 'put up with'." Miles continued, chortling to himself, "Not in an act of pure love or anything."

Phoenix hushed Miles' teasing by leaning down and pressing his lips against the other's - the two humming against the warmth before falling into the quiet passion, then lingeringly pulling away. Their hands kept their doting hold still.

"..I love you, Phoenix. However, breakfast is due to overcook."

Phoenix shrugged and pressed his lips against Miles' cheek, unwilling to pull away as proven by how he spoke against his skin. "I don't mind."

"Suppose you wouldn't," Miles breathed out, amused.

Miles held himself in Phoenix's grasp before reluctantly pulling away to take charge of the stove again. Phoenix didn't seem to be happy with such an arrangement, so he took it upon himself to stand and wrap his arms around Miles' waist, head resting on his shoulder. The prosecutor pressed his palm against Phoenix's forearm in silent fondness - his other busy stirring food.

#ace attorney #narumistu #wrightworth #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #gyakuten saiban #aa #tw #trauma tw #finished #my art #don't steal #original #morelikesin #traditional art #mine #my work

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dcbicki · 7 years

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Chapters: 9/? Fandom: Veep (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Amy Brookheimer/Dan Egan Characters: Amy Brookheimer, Dan Egan, Selina Meyer, Gary Walsh, Richard Splett, Ben Cafferty, Kent Davison, Jonah Ryan, Sophie Brookheimer Additional Tags: Suggestive Themes, Rating May Change, Unplanned Pregnancy, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Angst, Hurt/Comfort Summary:

In which Amy’s pregnant, and Dan already has a plan mapped out for them. -

If she’s in this for the long haul, then he will be, too. If she’s keeping this baby (his baby), then he’s keeping her close by. If she’s ready for this, for change, for restless nights and shitty diapers at two o'clock in the fucking morning, then he’ll join her.

They fucked, and now they’re fucked.

Nothing major.

That’s what the doctor says, and Amy has a hard time believing her.

They hadn’t been waiting long in the emergency room before she got called in and checked over. Dan had explained what happened, carefully kept his hand from grazing her skin - because she kept pulling on her sleeves, because she didn’t look like she wanted him to touch her.

“It’s nothing to worry about?”

Try as he might to deny it, he’d be worried. Or, at least, he’d been experiencing what he assumes is concern. Not that he has much to go off. He’s never really been one for… sympathy or empathy or, you know, worry.

A tightening in his gut, as though something is wrenching his intestines too tight? His heartbeat speeding up, pounding away inside his chest, reminding him that he does in fact possess the organ? The uncontrollable urge to hold her hand, tell her something reassuring, even though he doesn’t do the latter because he can’t? That’s worry, right? That’s concern? Nothing less, nothing more?

That’s concern. Yeah. Obviously. What the fuck else could it be?

“Nothing major?” She sounds almost incredulous, as though some part of her might actually want things to be worse. It’s the tone in her voice that captures Dan’s full attention.

It’s subtle, but he catches it, knows how to unravel each and every layer of her being in a way that escapes her.

“No, just a little spotting.” The doctor folds her hands in her lap, swivels around to face them, “Never anything to worry about, usually. But I do want you to take it easy-”

“Easier.” Dan corrects before she can finish, eyes wide, gaze focused on the top of Amy’s head.

“Right. Yeah. Easier than usual. Maybe try and lighten your workload, if you can? I know I’m probably asking for a lot here, but you need to take better care of your health, Amy.” She practically sanctions with a nod, condescending, “Resting a lot more has never done anyone any harm.”

“So it was, like, what? Stress bleeding?” Amy sighs, puffing out her chest as she lies back down on the uncomfortable bed. The paper sheet rustles and she winds her shoulders back and forth, perched up on her elbows. “The kid can’t chill out for a second, huh?”

“I don’t, uh-” Her doctor stands, wipes her hands down her coat, “Anyway, since you don’t want to know the sex, I won’t just blurt it out.” She looks at Dan then, tilts her head toward the hallway, “You did.”

“Yeah.”

Of course he fucking did. Of course he wanted to know if he was gonna have a mini-me to model after himself, or a mini-Amy to fuck up just as he had her mother.

Leaving the room, he catches the faintest mumble slipping past Amy’s lips, something along the lines of “Narcissistic prick.”

Sure, Amy.

When the door’s closed behind him, he whips his head around to face the doctor, arms folded over her chest, face strict, and he honestly feels like she’s gonna dropkick his ass into next week.

“She needs to fucking rest.”

The hall-side manner on this one-

“I know that.” He frowns, keeps his hand wrapped around the handle because standing in a hospital corridor without Amy is a little unnerving. There’s, like, sick people down the hall, and like-

“It’s good that you know that, but you need to actually help her.” She nods, informing and clear, “You two seem very co-dependant, and that’s great, but it’s also a risk factor. Because she’s relying on you to be there, and you need to support her.”

We were like five minutes away from fucking before we had to rush here, lady. I think that means I’m pretty fuckin’ reliant?

“I bought us a fucking apartment, for fuck’s sake. What, is there some kind of etiquette for expectant parents I’m not aware of?” He slides his free hand in his pocket, ignores his phone when it vibrates, distracting him.

He’s pretty sure that answering a text or a call right now is gonna go against everything this chick is rambling on about. He has to at least make it look like he gives half a crap.

She sighs, heavier than he thinks she needs to, and then her voice lowers and she glances down the hallway and back to his face, “If she keeps depriving herself of sleep, or if she overexerts herself, it’s not gonna be good for her or the baby.”

“Okay?” He’d shrug, but maybe that’d be a little too douchey- “You can spare me the fuckin’ lecture though, doc. If you think she’s gonna prioritise the kid over her job, you’ve clearly know jack about her. She’s all work. She breathes in responsibility like it’s fuckin’ oxygen, all right?”

“Look, it’s great that you’re involved, and it’s great that you’re meeting all her needs, but you need to remember that she chose you.”

She didn’t though, did she? She didn’t choose me. She got stuck with me. We got tied together by some kind of ridiculously thick, incredibly knotted, tar-soaked tether.

“She chose you, which means you have to be her fucking compass. You have to remind her to sleep. You have to remind her to eat - because, oh, she’s underweight, by the way. Crush those vitamins into her meals if you have to. She needs to be healthy, and stay healthy.”

“She’s not, like… dying though, right?” Because, you know… That’d just be the cherry on top of the sundae that is this last year. Jesus!

“Would she have to be dying for you to pull your head out of your ass?”

Dan grunts, leans his head back against the window of the door, forcing himself to not turn around and stare at Amy through the glass. She’s probably on her phone, texting Selina or Ben, bitching about him.

“No.” He clears his throat, shoots the doctor a look from above, eyes heavy - because, you know, it’s still the middle of the fucking night and they’re still in the hospital - “What if she doesn’t want the kid?”

“What?” Her shoulders lower, and her nose crinkles and Dan’s not blind - she’s actually kind of cute, in a nerdy way. But that’s- “Are you saying she’s trying to harm the baby?”

“What, no! Fuck no.” He shakes his head, chews at his lip for a second, hands shifting along the doorframe, “No, she’s not that batshit. She’s just a little-”

“Neurotic? Shrill?”

“Tense.” He’s never liked it when people say she’s shrill, because she’s not. She’s just- “And because she’s tense, she’s kind of a fuckin’ mess. And because she’s a mess, she’s a little… You know.”

He shrugs now, nonchalant because he’s calm despite his nerves, because he’s mastered the art of feigning calmness when he needs to.

“A little tense.” His brown eyes damn near bulge, and his neck stretches and this fucking doctor looks like she wants to bitch-slap him.

“She’s pregnant with your child.”

“Yeah, and she didn’t wanna be.”

“You both- She made the decision to keep it. If she has questions, or if she needs help taking care of her situation, then she can come see me. But in the meantime, you’re her fucking lifeline. Go and buy her a burger and fries or something.”

“Pizza.”

“What?”

“Pizza. If we’re talking junk food, she prefers pizza.”

“I don’t give a shit.” The doctor shrugs, brushes past him and pushing his hand from the handle.

She’s staring up at him, and Dan realises that he’s stood still with his mouth open, as though he’s on the verge of saying something.

Oh.

He blinks, lifts one shoulder - because he's chill, and he’s calm, obviously - and he raises both brows curiously, the smallest traces of a smirk forming on his lip because, well…

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Christ, that thing again.”

It’s more observation than question, but he shoots her an inquisitive look all the same, because he knows it’ll piss her off - but mainly because he fucking loathes that particular piece of clothing.

It’s just so grey, and so bland, and so blah! and unlike anything else she owns. He doesn’t understand why she owns it, much less chooses to actually wear it. It’s not exactly flattering-

“What?” Amy shakes her head, keeps her gaze focused on the television screen across the room. “Nobody’s asking you to give a shit.”

She brushes her hair behind her ears, pulls her legs up beneath her on the couch, almost like a child. She tugs the nightgown down her thighs, pulling the material around her knees until her legs are tucked in, warmer.

“You’re not asking me to give a shit but I’m still free to give a shit.” He shrugs, uselessly as she doesn’t pay him any attention.

Noticing her refusal to even look at him, Dan rolls his eyes, swipes his beer from the countertop and makes his way over to her.

They’d bought takeaway and he’d practically have to shove three slices of pizza down her throat. She hadn’t spoken to him at all, and he hadn’t tried to speak to her after one or two failed attempts.

You’re her fucking lifeline.

Her lifeline.

Yeah, because that wasn’t putting a lot of pressure on him. Jesus. Should he just serve up his balls on a platter right now and get it over with?

He questions his decision sometimes; wonders how he ever agreed to this, or rather, how he was the one to suggest this in the first place.

We’ll move in together, and it’ll be easy. We’ll get engaged - fake or real, who really cares? - and it’ll fun. We’ll have a kid, and we’ll be a family.

Maybe he was drunk when he thought this’d be a good idea. Because, really, who’s he kidding? This - being with her all the time, having to spend more time focusing on her and the kid than on himself? It’s fucking insane.

It’ll be easy, and it’ll be fun, and we’ll be a family. Okay. But what if he’s not ready for that? What if he fucks everything up because he jumped in while the sharks were still circling? What if he ruins everything because he’s in deeper than he wanted to be?

What if he ruins her life, and their kid by proxy, because he thought he could take care of something, of someone, he never deserved in the first place?

What if-

“Okay, fine.” He grumbles, pulls at the strings of his sweatpants until they loosen just the slightest. “You wanna play that game?” His brows raise, and he tosses himself down on the sofa, almost smacking into her head with his shoulder.

Amy grunts, shrugs him off when he purposely nudges her leg, knocks into her knee, “What the fuck?” She glares at him out of the corner of her eye, pulls a face when he sips (loud, too loud!) from his bottle. “Fucking hell.”

“What?” Dan asks, and she can tell he’s on the brink of fucking winking at her because he’s just that much of an ass. “You wanted to play.”

“I’m not playing a game, you fucking infant.” She says, “Just because I don’t feel like wearing something, fucking what, inviting, you think I’m trying to mess with you? Grow the hell up.”

“You wear that back in Nevada for the human beansprout?”

Choosing to ignore him - he did ignore her first, after all - she pushes at the buttons on the remote, flicks off C-Span to settle on some european channel airing one of those gritty old black and white movies.

She doesn’t even give a shit what it is or what it’s about, but she turns the volume up purely to spite him because he starts talking again as soon as she settles the remote down.

But his voice gets louder, and she’s never wanted to gag him more.

“What, you can’t find anything in colour? We’ve gotta watch this medieval shit?”

He whines, sighs, and she knows that he only does it to gauge a reaction, to make her react.

“Could’ve put on some porn, given at least one of us something fun to watch.”

“For fuck’s sake.” She mumbles the words below her breath, teeth grinding, but he hears her all the same.

Dan smirks down at her, nudges her bicep with his elbow, “What was that? Did you just say something?” Nudge. Nudge. “Ames? You have something to say?” Smirk. Nudge.

“No. And it’d be great if you could quit being an annoying weirdo.”

“I’m being weird?”

Again? Fuck her!

“I’m not the one who was offering to cook dinner, Dan.” She points out. “I just wanted to sit here, and see what latest fuckups our piss-stained country was dealing with tonight, but you- You keep… You keep talking and fucking asking me shit and I’m sick of it.”

“I’m trying to be comforting-”

“Well, don’t. Because it’s not fucking comforting, and it’s not reassuring. You don’t have a comforting bone in your fucking body so I don’t even know why you’re pretending you do. It’s just irritating. You’re irritating.”

She runs her fingers through her hair, focuses wide eyes on the coffee table, trying her hardest to ignore his movements, the way his Adam’s apple bobs and his right eye twitches just the slightest.

“God, I fucking hate this. I hate having your kid. I hate being pregnant with your kid. You- You’re fucking toxic, and this kid- It’s poisonous. It’s got your fucked-up DNA and it’s just gnawing at my insides like a fucking virus.”

His face seems to stiffen at that, all tired eyes and tightly-drawn lips, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you done?”

“No.” Amy says, turning to face him then. Her expression’s blank, her eyes clear. A strand of hair falls at the side of her face, but he won’t move it, move to touch her. “I should’ve just had an abortion.”

She means it, in all fairness. And he believes her, knows she means it.

Her life would be so much simpler if she wasn’t pregnant, if she wasn’t being put through the ringer every fucking day. Life would just run much smoother. She could just get up and she could do what she wanted and she could fucking drink.

She wouldn’t have other (happy) pregnant women smiling, or single women judging her. She wouldn’t have greasy old men ogling her breasts (even though they haven’t even fucking grown that much - but it’s not like she wasn’t already used to that). She wouldn’t have Dan following her around like a fucking puppy, shoving a ring on her finger, trying to turn her into his latest pet project.

She wouldn’t be Selina’s little bitch. Well, not as much. She wouldn’t be tired and cranky and horny and messy and bitchy all the time. Well-

“You really think that?”

“Yeah. And you know, it’d be easier for you, too. You could go back to fucking half of the East Coast. You could take that fucking ring back, or force someone else to wear it. I don’t really care.”

She shrugs, quickly, and she licks her lips. It’s petty, sure, but- fuck him and his fucking half-assed attempt at codling her. Her legs pull up, and she’s pulling at the bottom of her nightie.

“Think about it. You wouldn’t have to face me in this.” One brow hitches and then she laughs, a small chuckle, “I’m sure there are plenty of women out there right now, drunk out of their minds, wet enough that you just could glide right in.” She does the hand gesture, stares him down, watches as his face turns from pale to rose.

“You want to Dan, don’t you? You can go. Go fuck someone else. I know you want to. Hell, you know, I want you to. Maybe that way you can crawl out of my asshole for five seconds and I can fucking breathe.”

“You want me to leave?”

Maybe this would be better. Maybe he does want out. Maybe he’s had one foot out the door this whole time. Maybe she’s right.

Amy nods, and her face gives off nothing but honesty. She’s learnt over the years. Well, no. She can control her emotions, sometimes. It’s just- He’s so annoying, and he’s always there, and she’s so fed up- “Yes. I want you to leave."

"Fine.”

He stands faster than she can look up, and he’s downing the rest of his beer so quickly that she’s almost positive he has a head rush. The green bottle slams on the coffee table - thankfully it isn’t glass because she is not up for cleaning that mess, and he definitely wouldn’t clear it if he smashed it - and he’s heading towards the front door no sooner than he’s rounded the couch.

“Don’t forget a condom. Wouldn’t want anybody else being burdened with your fucking offspring!” She shouts, screams almost, folding her arms over her chest, not even bothering to look over the back of the couch.

It’s not that she’s sulking, or even being dramatic. She’s just- Done. She’s done. With him, with the way he’s acting. There’s only so much Good Dan she can handle, and he’s pushed her to the breaking point.

He grumbles something, but she doesn’t give enough of a shit to ask him about it. He slips on his sneakers, pulls a jacket over his arm - it is still March - jangles his keys in one hand (rattles them, more like) as though the noise is going to get her to look at him.

“I’m leaving.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’ll bring you back that used condom, shall I?”

“Not if you get hit by a bus first.” She whispers to herself, looking down to her lap. Her fingers fidget, and she pulls her shoulders higher, broader.

The cushions of the couch do little to make her comfortable, and her neck tightens, throat dry, when the door opens and slams behind him.

“Asshole.”

Turns out, his mother had been in the guest room the whole time. She’d fallen asleep by the time they came home from the hospital, but the slamming of the front door had woken her up, made her walk into the living room with confusion clear on her face.

She’d joined Amy on the couch after unsuccessfully suggesting the blonde catch some sleep. She was headstrong, that was for sure.

“Danny is… He’s complicated.”

“Everyone’s complicated, that doesn’t make him special.” Amy says, “He’s just a shit.”

“Okay, yeah, he’s a shit.” Marie nods, offers the gentlest of smiles. “But he’s a lot less of a shit than he used to be. You know that.” She pats Amy’s arm, retracts it quickly when the blonde glances down at the gesture. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She shrugs, shaking her head twice. “I do know that.”

“I think you know why.”

“I just figured he was lobotomised as part of his CBS contract.” Amy smiles, or tries a smile at the very least.

Marie can’t help it if her son’s an absolute waste of space sometimes. She can’t help it if he’s a unbearable pain in Amy’s ass. She can’t help it if he’s the only one to ever make Amy at least consider ass- Then again, she did make him, so… Maybe she is to blame.

The older woman grins, keeps her arm thrown over the back of the couch. “He’s a lot to handle, I know. I raised him, Amy.” She reminds her with raised brows as though she’s read the blonde’s mind. “I didn’t raise him like that, but that’s- He grew into that.”

“You mean he hasn’t always had a moisturising routine and a groomed sack? That’s like music to my fucking ears.”

“I mean,” she starts, trying to ignore that last bit, “He’s not the boy I raised. We taught him well. We were good parents, in our own way.” She adds.

Amy frowns, chewing at the inside of her lip. “But?” They clearly fucked up as parents somewhere along the way.

“Then his dad cheated, and I stayed at first, and I think it took a toll on him. He started thinking he could get ahead in life by using women because that’s what his dad did, thought of himself as some kind of new age casanova. Bankers, all suits and assholes, I tell you. It was ridiculous really.” Her fingers thread through her fringe and she pulls it backwards with a slight shake of the head and a chuckle, “Should’ve kept him home until he was twenty-five.”

“He’s so awful, honestly. My dad fucking hates his guts, by the way. You can’t blame him.” Amy tells her, “He slept with my sister.” Why did she throw that out there? Fuck, why did she just-?

“What?” Marie’s voice dips then, and she seems to sit up straight. Amy would laugh if the memory wasn’t so- “That little fucker.”

“Yeah. We were- well, not in a good place because we’ve never been in a good place, but- Yeah.” She nods, confirms, smiles a genuine fucking smile when his mother groans aloud in some kind of understanding, “Not gonna lie, I haven’t entirely forgiven him.”

“You shouldn’t forgive him.” She shakes her head, and then her hand is on Amy’s shoulder again and it isn't not reassuring. “Don’t forgive him for that. Forgive him for being needy and clingy and melodramatic if you can, but, heck, don’t let him get away with that.”

“I didn’t. I got the fuck out of dodge first chance I got.”

“You mean that tall guy you got engaged, too?” She questions, “I saw your interview. It was painful, to say the least. But, well, at least you dodged a bullet with that one. He didn’t look like much.”

“He was just… Ah, I didn’t even know.” Amy waves a hand, blinks rapidly to force the memory out of her mind. “He was so bad at sex.”

“Compensating for the micro-penis with his height?”

“Something like that.” Marie nods, all wide brown eyes and curled-up corners of her mouth, and she has the exact same face Dan does when he’s intrigued, interested for all the wrong reasons, “Like, I didn’t even have to do anything. He just wanted me to lie there and then he had the nerve to bitch about it, saying I was boring?” She scoffs, “I don’t think I even came once.”

Marie gasps, and Amy’s so close to laughing at this entire situation. Is she fucking… gossiping with Dan’s mom? Lord fucking help her. Damn this fucking baby for making her un-Amy. Damn this fucking devil child for normalising her even just a little bit.

“Fucking hell.”

“And then I came back to a shitty job where my boss, who I’ve spent like a fucking decade of my life working for, back-burnered me in favour of Richard, and now look where I am.”

Knocked up with your evil son’s sadistic spawn and it’s fucking destroying me? Carrying Rosemary’s fucking baby, cranked up a notch or two?

The brunette pries, “At least tell me my boy gets you off? Please tell me Danny isn’t incompetent in every aspect of his life?”

What the fuck? So, he obviously inherited that from his fucking mother.

“He’s, uh… dedicated?”

“Yeah, he gets that from his dad.”

Amy’s so desperate for information, mainly so she can use it against him. She knows next to nothing about his father, and having something to use against Dan? Fucking score.

But her fatigue overpowers her curiosity, and she’s standing before she can contemplate the decision any longer.

“I’m gonna-” Amy nods her head towards the hallway, and she sniffles when the chill of the dimply-lit living room finally reaches her skin. Pulling at the sleeves of her nightgown, she shifts from one foot to the other, trying not to make the situation awkward.

“Right, yes.” Marie stands, copies her actions.

She runs her hands down her sides, and nods once, twice (in the slightest way). She smiles down at Amy because of course she’s just as tall as her son - or, well, he’s just as tall as his mom - “Goodnight, Amy."

The blonde offers the smallest of smiles, baring teeth and batting tired lashes, "Yeah. Uh, night.”

She waits until Marie’s down the hallway before glancing at the door one last time. It’s well past two o'clock, and he’s probably balls deep in some skanky college grad by now.

Fuck him.

“Are those flowers?”

It’s the crinkling of the plastic around the stems that has her half-awake eyes flickering open, in curious suspicion.

“Yeah.” He grumbles more than speaks, and she feels him say it, breathe it, more than she hears it. “We missed Valentine’s Day.”

Because it’s early March and we don’t do that.

“Are they for me or for your conscience?”

Dan grunts, and can hear his shoes hit the floor carelessly as he kicks them off, “Both.” He lies flat on his back, his shoulder pushing against her curved back, all bone digging into spine. “Mostly for you.”

He doesn’t smell of anything other than beer and tequila. He doesn’t smell of cheap perfume or expensive perfume or anything feminine.

She doesn’t want to be that person, that girl who checks his pocket and scrolls through his phone, but- He doesn’t- She isn’t that person, doesn’t need to be, won’t be.

“Was she good?”

“Fucking- really?” He’s facing her now, she can feel it. His breath runs over the back of her neck, and she pulls her legs up tighter into her body, knees to abdomen. “You’re really asking me that?”

“You know what, I don’t care.” She rolls her eyes behind closed lids, forcing her eyes open to stare at the dresser across the room. “Just don’t touch me. I don’t wanna catch anything.”

There’s a huff, a pant, from his side of the bed, and then he’s flipped over, facing her back completely. He curls both arms in front of himself, resting them between both of their bodies. “I didn’t need to sleep with anyone else, Amy.”

“How comforting.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“What, do you want a fucking medal?” She hopes to Christ he can’t see her reflection in the mirror on the wall, hopes he can’t see the look of anguish on her face right now. It’s not that she cares, it’s just- He’s- “Congratulations, Dan. You successfully kept your dick in your pants for one night. I’ll buy you a plaque tomorrow.”

“I don’t-” He starts, pauses to collect himself. His voice softens, and she doesn’t like it this time, “You know, I kept thinking of you.” He stops, seems to wait for her to spare him a glance over her shoulder before continuing, “I was just… picturing you. Sat on the couch, by yourself, watching that shitty old romcom as though it was gonna bring you any kind of comfort. I thought ‘I could do this. I could fuck that pretty redhead across the bar. And I’d probably enjoy every second of it’.”

“Then why the fuck didn’t you?” She sounds aggravated, she knows, but he’s riling her up on purpose and it’s infuriating. He’s smoothing circles around her itches, covering her in goosebumps when she’s already freezing.

Yes, I get it, you dick. You can go out and fuck whoever you like. You can go out and-

“Because I kept thinking of you. Okay? Because you sitting there looking all glum and fuckin’ miserable as I left the apartment earlier? That wasn’t- It wasn’t fun. I thought of you, and I felt guilty. And I don’t even know why because it’s not like you give a shit about me. I mean, fuckin’ hell, Amy, would it kill you to try being with me?”

Being, as in- What?

“I did try.”

She swallows, holds back a breath she isn’t sure she wants to set free. If he hears her sob, or hiccup, or fucking cry- If he-

God for-fucking-bid. She sits up, refuses to face him, “You made me try, so I tried, and I failed.”

“I don’t want you to try because it’s what I want. I want you to try because you want to. I want you to try because it matters to you, not because you think it’ll make things easier.”

Easier, because easy is impossible. They can minimise the pain. They can place boundaries where normal people don’t need them.

Dan copies her, moving to kneel behind her. His hands fall to the mattress, touching the edge of her fucking nightie, “You’re no fucking picnic and this is not easy, and it’s not gonna be fuckin’ easy because if I don’t want to kill you then you want to kill me, and we’re probably doomed for fucking failure anyway, but I want you to try.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.” She tells him, shooting him the briefest of looks over her shoulder (again), “What you want is the kid because you think it’ll give you some kind of fucking purpose, because you want to exploit it or something. What you want is this little fantasy that you’ve dreamt up where we have a family and you convince me to marry you after so many years and we live happily ever after in political fucking bliss. It won’t work. It never works.”

“You don’t know that.” Dan says, like an overconfident little brat, like the eager frat boy he probably once was.

His tone frustrates her, and the way his knee digs into her lower back pisses her off, and the way his hand is so close to her leg makes her blood boil, and-

“Try me.”

“What if I don’t want to try?”

“I’m not asking you to put on a pretty white dress and walk down a fuckin’ aisle, Amy. Just, give me something here. Meet me halfway.”

“If I meet you halfway, then you’ll just grab on and drag me down your dark fucking path to hell.”

She moves her shoulders, lets the cold air running through the apartment blister her skin. It isn’t cold enough, doesn’t sting.

Placing one hand on her waist, Dan pulls at her side until she’s facing him. He cups her chin in his hand (forcefully) when she refuses to meet his eye, “Amy.”

“What?”

He tilts her head, waiting until her gaze falls on his mouth because it's enough. He’ll settle for that.

“We’re already going to hell.” He informs her as though it’s fact, “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re kind of already a package deal.”

“I don’t want to be.”

“If you didn’t, then you’d look me in the eye and calm the fuck down.”

She can’t do it, can’t force herself to stare right at him, stare him down and let him know that she-

Damn it. Damn him.

“Do you know why I want you to try?”

“Because you’re a fucking sociopath and you need constant validation?”

“Because this,” Dan waves his free hand back and forth between them, watching as she watches him, lets it wrap around her elbow, “it could work. We can work. We can be great.”

“Careful, Dan. You almost sound romantic.”

“Not so much romantic as pragmatic.”

Amy rolls her eyes, can’t help the faint smile that starts to form at the sheer thought, “Because you’ve got that sad little fantasy playing on a loop in that fucked-up head of yours and you're just about delusional enough to think it could it actually be real.”

“Because you’re the best thing for me.”

“Is this where you propose for real?”

“Would you wear a pretty white dress if I did?” His brows raise, his face teasing, so smug he may as well be chewing gum with his mouth open, sloppy. “You wanna take a trip down the aisle?”

She snorts, “Not even halfway. Besides, my dad would never let me marry you.”

“What are you, sixteen?” He asks, “You don’t need Daddy’s permission to marry me.”

“He’d fucking kill you. I’d probably be the one handing him the shovel to dig your grave in his backyard.”

“You wouldn’t even help out your poor husband?” His fingers crawl up her elbow, dance along her bicep, tugging at and riding up the sleeve of her shirt, “You wouldn’t wanna die with me?”

“And miss out on the funeral? No fucking way. I’ve got so many stories to tell people. Gonna piss all over your name and reputation. Maybe start a bonfire, burn all your fucking suits.”

“Yeah? You can wear this piece of shit to my funeral if you want. At least I won’t be around to see it.” He scrunches it up between his fingers, and she looks down when his face turns from amusement to astonishment, “Not gonna lie about it, it’s actually kind of soft.”

“See? Who needs lace panties…”

She nudges him this time, stretches her legs out and moves her body around so her back is resting against his chest. His left hand slips to her side when they’re both lay down, resting his arm beneath her pillow, and his right hand reaches around her front, fingers curling, threading through her hair, crook of his elbow comfortable around her neck.

“Well, I mean, you could still-”

“Shut up.”

Dan scratches his brow with the hand at her front, blinks, thinking. He can feel her breath on his skin, feel the hair of his forearm stick up at the sound of her voice, warm despite the broken radiator.

“D'you wanna know the sex?”

“No. Don’t care.”

“It’s a boy.”

She hits him, smacking his arm with the back of her hand, “You prick!”

“Amy?”

She doesn’t reply, only makes a little grunting noise, backs up into him as though that’ll suffice.

“This kid’s so fucked.”

“I know.” She agrees, grabs her pillow from his hand and pulls it closer, pressing her face into the cotton, pushing her backside further into him because he’s warm and his body is, she finds, a perfect harmony of softness and roughness. “Dan?”

“Yeah?”

“I hate roses.”

“I know.” There’s a low chuckle, and she feels his fingers tighten in her hair, gripping and grasping but not quite pulling, “I left the peonies in the kitchen.”

It’s subtle, the way he remembers everything about her - so subtle that he doesn’t even know he’s doing it most of the time. He knows how many layers she has, knows just how to unravel each and every one. He knows her inside and out, knows just how to calm her down, how to rile her up when he wants to.

He knows what she needs when she needs something, knows how to handle her when she spins, falls and loses herself. And, in some way, he think she’s come to rely on him. And he likes it, likes that she needs him sometimes. He kind of likes being her compass, her fucking lifeline.

Nobody else gets her; understands her when she needs it or possesses her when she wants it. Nobody else worries, has an aching feeling in the pit of their stomach when she’s even in some pain. Nobody else cares enough to try with her.

That’s concern, right? Nothing less, nothing more?

Maybe, maybe not.

It’s only when she kicks him in the shin and grabs his hand that he thinks it might be more than that, more than a little feeling.

It’s only when she falls asleep and he finds calmness in the steady rhythm of her breath that he thinks this might be more than a fleeting thing, than a passing emotion.

“Asshole.”

Fuck.

He’s never been good with emotions, identifying them or processing them, but- Shit, he didn’t ever want to feel this.

What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

That’s love, you fuckin’ idiot.

#veep #dan x amy #amy brookheimer #dan egan #veep fic #fic*#iaa*#ship: dan x amy #ch: dan egan #ch: amy brookheimer

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