Title: A Fist of Iron
Author: Michelle K. (CageyGrl@yahoo.com)
Site: http://glimmershine.tripod.com
Fandom: The West Wing
Pairing(s): Amy/Abbey, Amy/Donna, Amy/Josh
Spoilers: "Red Haven's on Fire" to "Constituency of One"
Rating: NC-17
Summary: If you can't be good, be careful.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue.
Notes: Written for the contrelamontre 'proverb' challenge in a little under two hours.


Abbey whispers words of congratulations into your ear as she slides in a third finger. You smile. Not because of the shiny new job, or the thought of spending time at her beck and call, but because you're momentarily free of thinking of Josh (the man you love), or Jed Bartlet (the President you adore). They're across the country now, and you can let her fuck you without all those bullshit complications.

The best thing, though, is that you can fuck her with the same freedom.

This, you know, will never be in your book.


Working for her is not as fun as you would've imagined. The bullshit complications are back full-force, as are new ones: things that make you feel like you're not doing your job, things that make you feel worthless in the shockingly cold light of day.

"No pleasure without pain."

You look up to see her in your doorway. You don't smile; you're a professional. You're both professionals.

You're both hypocrites.


You mutter her name as Abbey flicks her tongue against your clit; 'Ma'am' has never been a sexy title, even if eroticism isn't the biggest concern in the middle of a quick fuck during working hours. It's all hitching up skirts and pushing away panties and biting down on your knuckles to keep from coming too loud. Forgetting that you're involved in a potentially ruinous affair.


There's really no danger even here, with the locked door and protective agents on the outside. No one could find out. But there's no freedom, either.

You hunger for that.


When you hear the news about Zoey, your first thought is about all the work that will come. It makes you feel guilty, and you feel even guiltier when you see her: stricken with pain, haunted by the ghost of possible loss. You hate yourself. You want to cry (and that's something you never do). Most of all, you want to be with her. But you can't. You have no place in this grief. You have no place with her.

You have no place.

You call the doctor and watch as CJ ushers her away. It takes you a moment to notice Donna staring at you. She mutters something about how terrible all this is before taking your hand in hers.

You wouldn't smile for her under any circumstances.

But you will let her lead you away.


Donna doesn't protest as you push her head between your legs. You wonder if she really wants to prove to you that she doesn't love Josh, or if she just wants this. But, if it's the latter, then what is this? Does she actually like you? Does she just want to fuck you?

Do you really care?

She moves her tongue slowly inside you, drawing circles around your clit. You know this will only serve to make things more complicated. But at least this isn't bad sex. At least she comes quickly.

At least she leaves without saying anything.


Abbey thinks that God might be punishing her. You tell her that God would start with you if he was doling out pain to sinners. It's not a joke, but she greets it with a small, insincere smile. She touches your cheek.

"We all make mistakes."

You shake your head, because this isn't about you. This isn't even about you and her. Or about her and Jed, you and Josh, you and Donna. This is about a woman whose child may die. May already be dead. So you mutter words of apology. Words that must mean nothing to her, though she pretends differently.

Then, Zoey's back.

No one can pretend that everything's solved.


She leaves. You go back to Josh. It's strange that he's the easiest thing, but he's not easy for long. And you can't keep the job for any longer than you can hold onto him. You don't really want it (and him?) anymore, anyway. Not just because of her absence; you can't serve anyone but yourself. And you don't want to.

You should make a list of reasons to hate yourself. It would be *so* fun.

Donna stares at you with eyes filled with empathy, tinged with a hint of betrayal. You're surprised that this might have meant something, even to her.

You consider telling her that you blur the lines wherever you go; better she forget you and keep everything neat and clean.

Instead: "It's no use crying over spilt milk."

You smile. She doesn't.


You spend days doing nothing. Abbey calls on day six, wanting to know why you didn't give her notice that you were leaving.

"I wasn't any good at it, Ma'am, and I say: never put off until tomorrow what you can do today."

She's silent for a moment. Then, she's inviting you to Manchester.

And you're packing your bag.


Zoey looks great, and you tell her this until she finally urges you to stop. She kisses you on the cheek and leaves you alone with Abbey. You stare at her, wanting to know why she invited you. She doesn't give you any insight, choosing instead to ask you about Josh.

"Long absent, soon forgotten." You could mean anything by that, and she doesn't ask for explanation. "Though I often wish for absence making the heart grow fonder." You missed her, and you consider telling her that.

You don't.

She puts her hand over yours. Then, her lips on yours. You can't do this here, not when Zoey could walk in.

"Rules are made to be broken," she says with quiet desperation in her eyes.

If you were a girl with illusions, you'd pretend this means that Jed Bartlet is right; she would've chosen you. But this is just getting by. This is all you've ever done.

You kiss her back. And smile.


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