Trying to talk my way out of this
Feb. 4th, 2012 09:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brilligspoonsI saw Chronicle and One for the Money today and enjoyed both, surprisingly. A fight nearly broke out right before the former started, which was exciting and annoying at the same time. Like, come on, guys. Save your rage for the football game tomorrow. Also, fuck off, it's fucking 10:45 in the morning.
Anyway. I'm apparently incapable of actually working on the stories I have deadlines for and started something new tonight. I have a thing for Rachel and Mike being BFFs, okay? And it's not finished, I just need to get it out before I write this angry scene in one of the BBMUs. Which I think is okay? So whatever, that's all that matters.
This is how this particular part of the story ends: Mike comes into work one morning only to be immediately called into Jessica's office. When he emerges approximately an hour later, it's with a smile on his face and a strange bounce in his step. He liberates a box from the recycling pile in the kitchen, goes back to his cubicle, puts all of his personal belongings into said box, and as he's marching down to the elevators, he shoots Rachel a grin and a nod.
And then he's gone - nothing said, no explanation or goodbyes given, and Jessica merely glares at everyone wandering by her office. The associates are useless for the rest of the day. Each time a partner goes to look for one of them, they're all huddled around one desk or another, whispering frantically and shaking their heads, or else they're hiding out in the copy room or in the stacks of the library. Rachel and the other paralegals keep their heads down the whole time, all in silent agreement that this is a matter best left for after work when they can find a quiet booth in a restaurant somewhere to speculate and gossip freely.
The worst part, Rachel thinks, is that Harvey hadn't even come in at all. She'd seen Louis approach Donna about his absence around lunch, and she had sent him packing with a simple, biting go away. It was jarring seeing her like that, to say the least, with barely any guard up whatsoever, and something about it makes Rachel shudder uncomfortably.
She sends Mike a text as Jane and Leslie are up at the bar ordering their drinks and a few plates of food to share. She types out What the hell happened?, but as she stares at those words on her phone, they seem - inappropriate. Not exactly what she wants to know, either, despite the curiosity clawing at her insides. She erases the message and taps a fingernail against the keyboard a few times while she thinks.
"All I'm saying is," Rachel hears Leslie say as they come back to the table with a vodka and cranberry for her, "is that there had to be something fishy going on. Remember when he first came here? He didn't know left from right, let alone a subpoena from a patent application. No way there wasn't something weird happening with that kid."
Rachel purses her lips and says nothing. She thanks Leslie for the drink and takes a sip of it, then sets it back down on the table and picks her phone back up.
Dinner this weekend, she types. You can help me cook at my place. Bring wine, nothing shitty.
The reply comes not even a full minute later.
Saturday around seven, I know. I'll be there with bells on and wine that cost more than $10.
She grins and settles into the latest gossip about Louis' newest assistant, poor thing.
Anyway. I'm apparently incapable of actually working on the stories I have deadlines for and started something new tonight. I have a thing for Rachel and Mike being BFFs, okay? And it's not finished, I just need to get it out before I write this angry scene in one of the BBMUs. Which I think is okay? So whatever, that's all that matters.
This is how this particular part of the story ends: Mike comes into work one morning only to be immediately called into Jessica's office. When he emerges approximately an hour later, it's with a smile on his face and a strange bounce in his step. He liberates a box from the recycling pile in the kitchen, goes back to his cubicle, puts all of his personal belongings into said box, and as he's marching down to the elevators, he shoots Rachel a grin and a nod.
And then he's gone - nothing said, no explanation or goodbyes given, and Jessica merely glares at everyone wandering by her office. The associates are useless for the rest of the day. Each time a partner goes to look for one of them, they're all huddled around one desk or another, whispering frantically and shaking their heads, or else they're hiding out in the copy room or in the stacks of the library. Rachel and the other paralegals keep their heads down the whole time, all in silent agreement that this is a matter best left for after work when they can find a quiet booth in a restaurant somewhere to speculate and gossip freely.
The worst part, Rachel thinks, is that Harvey hadn't even come in at all. She'd seen Louis approach Donna about his absence around lunch, and she had sent him packing with a simple, biting go away. It was jarring seeing her like that, to say the least, with barely any guard up whatsoever, and something about it makes Rachel shudder uncomfortably.
She sends Mike a text as Jane and Leslie are up at the bar ordering their drinks and a few plates of food to share. She types out What the hell happened?, but as she stares at those words on her phone, they seem - inappropriate. Not exactly what she wants to know, either, despite the curiosity clawing at her insides. She erases the message and taps a fingernail against the keyboard a few times while she thinks.
"All I'm saying is," Rachel hears Leslie say as they come back to the table with a vodka and cranberry for her, "is that there had to be something fishy going on. Remember when he first came here? He didn't know left from right, let alone a subpoena from a patent application. No way there wasn't something weird happening with that kid."
Rachel purses her lips and says nothing. She thanks Leslie for the drink and takes a sip of it, then sets it back down on the table and picks her phone back up.
Dinner this weekend, she types. You can help me cook at my place. Bring wine, nothing shitty.
The reply comes not even a full minute later.
Saturday around seven, I know. I'll be there with bells on and wine that cost more than $10.
She grins and settles into the latest gossip about Louis' newest assistant, poor thing.
