Spy Games
Fandom: Sports Night
Pairing: Dan/Natalie, Jeremy/Natalie
Rating: PG, angst
Word Count: 510
Notes: For the LiveJournal writer’s choice spy challenge.
He should not be doing this. Jeremy knows this. He should absolutely not be doing this.
(It’s not like he’s doing anything wrong. He’s just waiting outside Natalie’s apartment, waiting for her to come home.)
It’s not like he wants to see her about anything in particular. Just that he wants to see her. He misses her, misses her smile, the conversations they used to have.
(He broke up with her, not once, not twice, but three times, and the most recent time, she told him, with tears running down her face, that this time, if he walked out on her, it was over for good. He hadn’t looked back. Not until today.)
She looked good today, happy, a smile on her face that he hadn’t seen for far too long, and it made him remember how good things were between them, made him reconsider, think how hasty he was to throw what they had away. He’d commented on it, asked her how she was, but she hadn’t exactly been forthcoming in her answer.
(She’d told him that he had no right to ask those kind of questions, that he forfeited that claim when he broke her heart not once, not twice, but three times.)
He’s not doing anything wrong, sitting here in his car, waiting for her.
(Even if lurking here, in his car, on the street, in the dark, like some crazed stalker, could very well get him arrested.)
He sits up straight when he sees her walking down the street, sits up straighter still, heart quickening when he realises she’s not alone.
She’s with Dan.
(She’s looking up at the man at her side, her arms looped through his, and she’s staring at him like he hung the moon. What’s more, he’s looking at her the same way.)
As he watches, they reach the steps of Natalie’s apartment, and he waits for Dan to kiss her on the cheek, then turn and walk away.
(He kisses her all right, but not on the cheek.)
His lips on hers, his hands wander up and down Natalie’s back, her arms winding around his neck, and when she looks up at him, her smile is brighter than the street lamp they’re standing under.
(He remembers when she used to look at him that way.)
Dan says something that makes her laugh, swatting at his shoulder, but it mustn’t be too bad, because she extends her hand to him, tilting her head in unmistakeable invitation. Evidently, Dan accepts, slipping his hand into hers, and they walk into the apartment together.
(Once upon a time, he used to do that.)
He knows that he should leave, knows that this is not his place anymore. He shouldn’t torture himself by looking at her windows, watching the lights go on, watching the lights go off, imagining just what they’re doing behind those blinds.
(He shouldn’t, but he does.)
He shouldn’t be here, skulking around the shadows, keeping track of her every move.
He’s not that kind of man.
He’s not a spy.
(And this is not a game.)