(no subject)
Title: Something Else
Author: cecism
Fandom: Private Practice
Characters: Cooper/Violet
Prompt: #16 - I want to break you @ un_love_you
Word Count: 1264
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
Author’s Notes: Set post-1x07, the day after the disintegration of their "pact". (Oh, and I had actually written it the week of the episode, I just suck at posting these things!)
Finally.
She collapsed on her couch - her comfy, familiar couch - and stretched out for the bottle of wine she’d opened ten minutes prior but had since simply stared at. Normally she reserved her prized red drops for celebrations; she wasn’t one to crack one open just because she’d had a bad day. Tonight, Violet dared only to fill the wine glass only a few inches deep, but wasn’t surprised when she drained it at once. She’d needed it; God, did she need it.
Repeating the pouring process, she instead simply held her glass between her hands, leaning back into the couch cushions and staring at the ceiling.
She needed to get this - this rage inside her into the wide open. The need to punch her pillow, or smash another six thousand dollar bicycle. She didn’t get the urge very often, but when she did, it usually ended with a phone call and her doorbell ringing fifteen minutes later: solace standing on her doorstep with movies he hated and greasy takeout she’d regret in the morning.
That wasn’t an option tonight, and it made Violet grimace, her stomach clenching.
Screw it, she thought as she swallowed more wine. She hated this.
Like she’d dreaded when she’d woken that morning, the day had been one she’d rather forget. Erased from her mind. Gone, completely.
He hadn’t made the morning meeting and she was glad.
According to Naomi - though she hadn’t really been questioning her, had she? - he had spent most of the day at St Ambrose with Sam. Violet herself had been scheduled with patients. It was busy, it was good. Violet liked being occupied. Focusing on other people’s problems was so much easier than her own.
The fact that her couch was the only reliable thing waiting for her at home was of no reassurance.
So what if she drank too much tonight, she reasoned as she poured herself yet another glass. She deserved it.
God damn it all. He’d seen her naked. By choice. She’d been fine with it at the time - or at least convinced herself of that - but in hindsight?
She didn’t know if she could look him in the eye again. Not in the same way. Not knowing that - Jesus, what he’d said. “You’re not some random girl from the Internet. With you it doesn’t mean nothing, it never will.” His voice rung through her head like it had been etched there.
He had no right, no right, to do that to her. They’d agreed. They’d made a pact: unemotional. Uncomplicated.
There was a succession of knocks on her front door that made her growl under her breath. If he even dared - no, not even Cooper would be that stupid. And she wasn’t in the mood for anyone else inviting themselves over for company.
The knocks came again, sharp and persistent.
She went up to answer it because her irritation was about to bubble over.
It was him, bar the takeout and DVDs that normally accompanied. He was looking at her imploringly, a Cooper face so familiar it ached.
She refused to back down, blocking him from coming inside. “I don’t think I want you here.”
His face tightened with realisation that she was going to be difficult. “I’m here, now. You might as well let me in.”
Violet bit her tongue and reluctantly stood back from the doorway, closing the door behind him.
“What do you want?” she said, turning to face him, her face resolute.
He hadn’t expected her to be so abrupt, and it made him gape like a fish for a moment. They were never like this. Other people fought, and while arguing was practically a weekly occurrence for them, all was forgiven by the end of the day. Having her look so sour seemed foreign. “You’ve avoided me all day.”
Violet scoffed. “I have not. You haven’t been in.”
“Right. Of course.”
“Look,” she sighed, crossing her arms, “if you’re not here with a real reason, maybe it’s just best if you go.”
“And be avoided again tomorrow?”
“I’m not avoiding you!” she exclaimed. Christ.
He rubbed his eye and shook his head. “Look, I know you’re freaked out -”
“Who says I am?”
“You’re freaked out,” he emphasised flatly. “And if you want space, fine, just say the word. Say it.” Now he was challenging her, and she hated that.
“I don’t want space,” she answered, sounding out the last word as though it was poisonous. “I just want - I want - damn it, Cooper, you don’t get to say what you said to me and then be patronising about it.”
“You want me to take it back, then?”
She shrugged. “Fine by me.”
“Newsflash, Violet: I can’t take it back.” His face had been gradually leaning closer and now it was no more than eight inches from hers. His eyes reached out for her to understand, and she wished that she didn’t.
“What do you mean? Of course you can take it back,” she argued, moving past him to head back to her living room. She couldn’t deal with this whilst standing at her front door.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back, and she stared with wide, almost panicked eyes.
Snap.
His mouth was on hers, and it was sudden and breathless and strange and almost familiar. His hands clutched at her face so she couldn’t move even if she’d wanted to, his fingertips weighing pressure against the contours of her cheekbones.
Two seconds later he’d stepped away and was staring back, though somewhat steadily as opposed to her own unguarded eyes.
“It was never going to be unemotional even if we’d tried.”
Her mouth opened to speak but no words come out. He took this as a good sign.
Daring to move forward so their bodies were frustratingly close but not quite touching, he hooked one hand behind her elbow and, without thinking, ran it down her forearm before trailing off at her wrist. Her arm was loose and hadn’t stiffened at his touch, although her unblinking eyes were still staring up at him and he wondered if she’d registered anything at all.
He glanced down and saw that her normally smooth skin had erupted into goosebumps along the invisible path of his fingers. He let out a humourless laugh, and she followed his eyes to her arm where, he saw, it was as though she’d been startled awake from her stunned reveries.
“Tell me it wouldn’t have been uncomplicated,” he murmured, because that’s all his voice can manage just then.
Violet looked away, her tongue in her cheek - her stance of great annoyance.
“You’re not correcting me, so I guess that’s a ‘yes’, then.”
“Go away, Cooper.”
He knew she only said it because she felt she had to.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Shut up.”
She looked back at him and her eyes had softened. She could pretend to look as furious as she had been when he’d first knocked on her door, but he knew better. He always did. She was won over.
He gave a tiny smile. “Just wanted to clear that up.” He made to move towards the door, when she interrupted, protesting.
“Cooper...”
He continued, opening her front door and almost disappearing through it. At the last moment he turned back, a wry look in his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She finally closed the door five minutes after he’d gone, remembering her wine sitting on the coffee table: the bottle she’d finish tomorrow night, when she wouldn’t be alone.
The wine marked a celebration, after all.
Author: cecism
Fandom: Private Practice
Characters: Cooper/Violet
Prompt: #16 - I want to break you @ un_love_you
Word Count: 1264
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
Author’s Notes: Set post-1x07, the day after the disintegration of their "pact". (Oh, and I had actually written it the week of the episode, I just suck at posting these things!)
Finally.
She collapsed on her couch - her comfy, familiar couch - and stretched out for the bottle of wine she’d opened ten minutes prior but had since simply stared at. Normally she reserved her prized red drops for celebrations; she wasn’t one to crack one open just because she’d had a bad day. Tonight, Violet dared only to fill the wine glass only a few inches deep, but wasn’t surprised when she drained it at once. She’d needed it; God, did she need it.
Repeating the pouring process, she instead simply held her glass between her hands, leaning back into the couch cushions and staring at the ceiling.
She needed to get this - this rage inside her into the wide open. The need to punch her pillow, or smash another six thousand dollar bicycle. She didn’t get the urge very often, but when she did, it usually ended with a phone call and her doorbell ringing fifteen minutes later: solace standing on her doorstep with movies he hated and greasy takeout she’d regret in the morning.
That wasn’t an option tonight, and it made Violet grimace, her stomach clenching.
Screw it, she thought as she swallowed more wine. She hated this.
Like she’d dreaded when she’d woken that morning, the day had been one she’d rather forget. Erased from her mind. Gone, completely.
He hadn’t made the morning meeting and she was glad.
According to Naomi - though she hadn’t really been questioning her, had she? - he had spent most of the day at St Ambrose with Sam. Violet herself had been scheduled with patients. It was busy, it was good. Violet liked being occupied. Focusing on other people’s problems was so much easier than her own.
The fact that her couch was the only reliable thing waiting for her at home was of no reassurance.
So what if she drank too much tonight, she reasoned as she poured herself yet another glass. She deserved it.
God damn it all. He’d seen her naked. By choice. She’d been fine with it at the time - or at least convinced herself of that - but in hindsight?
She didn’t know if she could look him in the eye again. Not in the same way. Not knowing that - Jesus, what he’d said. “You’re not some random girl from the Internet. With you it doesn’t mean nothing, it never will.” His voice rung through her head like it had been etched there.
He had no right, no right, to do that to her. They’d agreed. They’d made a pact: unemotional. Uncomplicated.
There was a succession of knocks on her front door that made her growl under her breath. If he even dared - no, not even Cooper would be that stupid. And she wasn’t in the mood for anyone else inviting themselves over for company.
The knocks came again, sharp and persistent.
She went up to answer it because her irritation was about to bubble over.
It was him, bar the takeout and DVDs that normally accompanied. He was looking at her imploringly, a Cooper face so familiar it ached.
She refused to back down, blocking him from coming inside. “I don’t think I want you here.”
His face tightened with realisation that she was going to be difficult. “I’m here, now. You might as well let me in.”
Violet bit her tongue and reluctantly stood back from the doorway, closing the door behind him.
“What do you want?” she said, turning to face him, her face resolute.
He hadn’t expected her to be so abrupt, and it made him gape like a fish for a moment. They were never like this. Other people fought, and while arguing was practically a weekly occurrence for them, all was forgiven by the end of the day. Having her look so sour seemed foreign. “You’ve avoided me all day.”
Violet scoffed. “I have not. You haven’t been in.”
“Right. Of course.”
“Look,” she sighed, crossing her arms, “if you’re not here with a real reason, maybe it’s just best if you go.”
“And be avoided again tomorrow?”
“I’m not avoiding you!” she exclaimed. Christ.
He rubbed his eye and shook his head. “Look, I know you’re freaked out -”
“Who says I am?”
“You’re freaked out,” he emphasised flatly. “And if you want space, fine, just say the word. Say it.” Now he was challenging her, and she hated that.
“I don’t want space,” she answered, sounding out the last word as though it was poisonous. “I just want - I want - damn it, Cooper, you don’t get to say what you said to me and then be patronising about it.”
“You want me to take it back, then?”
She shrugged. “Fine by me.”
“Newsflash, Violet: I can’t take it back.” His face had been gradually leaning closer and now it was no more than eight inches from hers. His eyes reached out for her to understand, and she wished that she didn’t.
“What do you mean? Of course you can take it back,” she argued, moving past him to head back to her living room. She couldn’t deal with this whilst standing at her front door.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back, and she stared with wide, almost panicked eyes.
Snap.
His mouth was on hers, and it was sudden and breathless and strange and almost familiar. His hands clutched at her face so she couldn’t move even if she’d wanted to, his fingertips weighing pressure against the contours of her cheekbones.
Two seconds later he’d stepped away and was staring back, though somewhat steadily as opposed to her own unguarded eyes.
“It was never going to be unemotional even if we’d tried.”
Her mouth opened to speak but no words come out. He took this as a good sign.
Daring to move forward so their bodies were frustratingly close but not quite touching, he hooked one hand behind her elbow and, without thinking, ran it down her forearm before trailing off at her wrist. Her arm was loose and hadn’t stiffened at his touch, although her unblinking eyes were still staring up at him and he wondered if she’d registered anything at all.
He glanced down and saw that her normally smooth skin had erupted into goosebumps along the invisible path of his fingers. He let out a humourless laugh, and she followed his eyes to her arm where, he saw, it was as though she’d been startled awake from her stunned reveries.
“Tell me it wouldn’t have been uncomplicated,” he murmured, because that’s all his voice can manage just then.
Violet looked away, her tongue in her cheek - her stance of great annoyance.
“You’re not correcting me, so I guess that’s a ‘yes’, then.”
“Go away, Cooper.”
He knew she only said it because she felt she had to.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Shut up.”
She looked back at him and her eyes had softened. She could pretend to look as furious as she had been when he’d first knocked on her door, but he knew better. He always did. She was won over.
He gave a tiny smile. “Just wanted to clear that up.” He made to move towards the door, when she interrupted, protesting.
“Cooper...”
He continued, opening her front door and almost disappearing through it. At the last moment he turned back, a wry look in his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She finally closed the door five minutes after he’d gone, remembering her wine sitting on the coffee table: the bottle she’d finish tomorrow night, when she wouldn’t be alone.
The wine marked a celebration, after all.