Just Jump
Just Jump
Sports Night, Dana Whittaker, PG-13, ~1,000 words
For kudra2324. Thanks to octette and arsenicjade for the betas and for telling me that this could have been a much longer story and putting up with my stylistic weirdness when it comes to tense, respectively.
Posted for 14valentines, [Day 1] Body Image
Dana is sixteen, her heart in her throat and her feet curled around the cool metal of the railing below her feet. The water isn’t running fast, but it’s 20 feet down and it sounds like the loudest thing that Dana has ever heard. On one side, Lenny Viachetti’s grin is almost blinding and, on the other, her hand clutches a support beam.
Dana is terrified of heights.
*
Dana has never been like other girls. While her classmates were jonesing to pick up the music beat to meet rockstars or trying to focus on getting the biggest, most prominent features articles, she just wanted to write sports. Of course she learned other things - news reporting, opinion writing, all of the stock trades of newspaper journalism - but it was always the sports page that she read first thing on Sunday mornings, always ESPN that lulled her to sleep at night.
Her metaphors were too full of ninth inning rallies for most other people to understand, even in Iowa, so she kept quiet, kept her head down, and just learned to write.
Through college, she just became quietly competent, picking up stories that other writers wouldn’t touch. She did it at the beginning of her career, transitioning from print to television sports journalism in a world that didn’t want a woman doing either. She did it all so well with her head down that she somehow got through.
And it was when Isaac Jaffe asked her to come on as his assistant that she opened her mouth and put her head up.
At least he didn't mind when she didn't stop opening her mouth.
“You’re wrong.” Dana’s voice shakes the first time she says it. It's not the first time she's disagreed with him, but it's also not exactly her first week and she just. She can't not tell him that on this, he's just wrong. She’s not sure what she expects, what kind of vitriol that she thinks Isaac will direct her way, but she knows that she’s expecting something other than what she gets.
Isaac tilts his head to one side, his eyes narrowing. “Am I?”
“Yes.” Dana manages to not make it a question despite every inch of training she’s ever had. “Yes, you’re wrong and I know that you would see it if you would just take a step back and look at it for just one minute …”
“Hmm,” Isaac says, raising his eyebrows. He sits behind his desk, the “Executive Producer” nameplaque to his left. He taps his finger on the top of it absentmindedly and nods to a chair. “Sit down, Dana. Walk me through it.”
*
“It’s the best thing you’ll ever do,” Lenny says, leaning forward so that his hands brush against the blonde hair Dana has let flow over the pillows. His fingers tangle in her hair and she turns her head, raising an eyebrow. “Promise. It’s like … it’s like living.”
*
The first time that Dana kisses Casey isn’t exactly what she had hoped for.
It’s just … it was supposed to be magical. Or at least good. It’s not supposed to be drunken and sloppy, slumped on Casey’s roommate’s bed because he’s fighting with his girlfriend.
Dana jerks back, pushing against Casey’s chest at exactly the point she wants to be pulling in.
“No,” she gasps, scrambling quickly off the bed and shaking her head. “No.”
The problem, though, is that Casey heard that answering the wrong question.
“I understand,” he said, his stupid fucking sincere eyes locked on hers. “I understand, Dana.”
But he fucking didn’t and she couldn’t really explain it, so she gathered her shirt and slunk out the back door, feeling less stupid than she would have if she hadn’t said anything but more stupid than she thought was strictly necessary.
*
”It’s … big,” Dana says, her eyes widening as she tries to hide her fear. She hadn’t known, hadn’t been able to prepare for this. The bridge is so tall. “Are you … are you sure it’s …”
“Safe?” Lenny says, grinning again like he always does. Like he always does. “I’ve jumped off it a thousand times.”
Dana doesn’t know how to talk about the difference between what’s safe for him and for her, so she nods like that’s an answer and begins to climb.
*
Dana is the only female managing director of a prime time sports show in the history of televised sports journalism.
When she chooses Natalie as her assistant, people actually have the audacity to be shocked, like she has to justify her decisions to them. Of course, she does. Or they think she does, which is the same fucking thing.
Glen from the 3-5 slot actually has the gall to give her shit, to ask how she had decided who to promote.
“I picked the best man for the job,” she says flatly, emphasizing the world “man” just to be an asshole, just to prove a point.
He glares at her and walks away, probably slinking back to his editor to complain about the shiksa feminista who got her job from affirmative action.
“Too bad it wasn’t you,” she says, faking her sincerity but not her joy.
Fuck those guys. It wasn’t because Natalie was a woman. It’s because she was good. She was smart and clever, she was innovative and she cared what happened to the station as more than another rung on the career ladder.
She cared about CSC, about Sports Night, the way that few people other than Dana did. And, yeah, maybe that was helped by her being a woman, but mostly it was about her being right.
And fuck them for thinking differently.
*
“It’s easier to jump than to not jump at this point,” Lenny says, holding her hand tight. “Most people never get to this point, not ever.” He looks at her and she finally sees that his smile isn’t condescending. He’s just smiling. “So you might as well jump.”
*
“I’ll take it,” Dana says when they offer her the managing editor slot, swallowing against a lump in her throat that feels like betrayal. Isaac would never see it that way. He would never begrudge her a moment of this.
He wanted her to step up, to take a deep breathe, to take the change.
“I’ll take it,” she says , and it feels like victory. It’s almost like she can feel Isaac over her shoulder, his carefully modulated smirk.
It’s like she won, even if the win isn’t forever.
*
Might as well jump.
She trusts herself to the wind, to the water. She’s already too scared to walk away, she’s always done the scariest part. She climbed the bridge, she stood on the edge like she could do this.
It’s harder to go back than forward. So fuck it.
She jumps.
Sports Night, Dana Whittaker, PG-13, ~1,000 words
For kudra2324. Thanks to octette and arsenicjade for the betas and for telling me that this could have been a much longer story and putting up with my stylistic weirdness when it comes to tense, respectively.
Posted for 14valentines, [Day 1] Body Image
Dana is sixteen, her heart in her throat and her feet curled around the cool metal of the railing below her feet. The water isn’t running fast, but it’s 20 feet down and it sounds like the loudest thing that Dana has ever heard. On one side, Lenny Viachetti’s grin is almost blinding and, on the other, her hand clutches a support beam.
Dana is terrified of heights.
*
Dana has never been like other girls. While her classmates were jonesing to pick up the music beat to meet rockstars or trying to focus on getting the biggest, most prominent features articles, she just wanted to write sports. Of course she learned other things - news reporting, opinion writing, all of the stock trades of newspaper journalism - but it was always the sports page that she read first thing on Sunday mornings, always ESPN that lulled her to sleep at night.
Her metaphors were too full of ninth inning rallies for most other people to understand, even in Iowa, so she kept quiet, kept her head down, and just learned to write.
Through college, she just became quietly competent, picking up stories that other writers wouldn’t touch. She did it at the beginning of her career, transitioning from print to television sports journalism in a world that didn’t want a woman doing either. She did it all so well with her head down that she somehow got through.
And it was when Isaac Jaffe asked her to come on as his assistant that she opened her mouth and put her head up.
At least he didn't mind when she didn't stop opening her mouth.
“You’re wrong.” Dana’s voice shakes the first time she says it. It's not the first time she's disagreed with him, but it's also not exactly her first week and she just. She can't not tell him that on this, he's just wrong. She’s not sure what she expects, what kind of vitriol that she thinks Isaac will direct her way, but she knows that she’s expecting something other than what she gets.
Isaac tilts his head to one side, his eyes narrowing. “Am I?”
“Yes.” Dana manages to not make it a question despite every inch of training she’s ever had. “Yes, you’re wrong and I know that you would see it if you would just take a step back and look at it for just one minute …”
“Hmm,” Isaac says, raising his eyebrows. He sits behind his desk, the “Executive Producer” nameplaque to his left. He taps his finger on the top of it absentmindedly and nods to a chair. “Sit down, Dana. Walk me through it.”
*
“It’s the best thing you’ll ever do,” Lenny says, leaning forward so that his hands brush against the blonde hair Dana has let flow over the pillows. His fingers tangle in her hair and she turns her head, raising an eyebrow. “Promise. It’s like … it’s like living.”
*
The first time that Dana kisses Casey isn’t exactly what she had hoped for.
It’s just … it was supposed to be magical. Or at least good. It’s not supposed to be drunken and sloppy, slumped on Casey’s roommate’s bed because he’s fighting with his girlfriend.
Dana jerks back, pushing against Casey’s chest at exactly the point she wants to be pulling in.
“No,” she gasps, scrambling quickly off the bed and shaking her head. “No.”
The problem, though, is that Casey heard that answering the wrong question.
“I understand,” he said, his stupid fucking sincere eyes locked on hers. “I understand, Dana.”
But he fucking didn’t and she couldn’t really explain it, so she gathered her shirt and slunk out the back door, feeling less stupid than she would have if she hadn’t said anything but more stupid than she thought was strictly necessary.
*
”It’s … big,” Dana says, her eyes widening as she tries to hide her fear. She hadn’t known, hadn’t been able to prepare for this. The bridge is so tall. “Are you … are you sure it’s …”
“Safe?” Lenny says, grinning again like he always does. Like he always does. “I’ve jumped off it a thousand times.”
Dana doesn’t know how to talk about the difference between what’s safe for him and for her, so she nods like that’s an answer and begins to climb.
*
Dana is the only female managing director of a prime time sports show in the history of televised sports journalism.
When she chooses Natalie as her assistant, people actually have the audacity to be shocked, like she has to justify her decisions to them. Of course, she does. Or they think she does, which is the same fucking thing.
Glen from the 3-5 slot actually has the gall to give her shit, to ask how she had decided who to promote.
“I picked the best man for the job,” she says flatly, emphasizing the world “man” just to be an asshole, just to prove a point.
He glares at her and walks away, probably slinking back to his editor to complain about the shiksa feminista who got her job from affirmative action.
“Too bad it wasn’t you,” she says, faking her sincerity but not her joy.
Fuck those guys. It wasn’t because Natalie was a woman. It’s because she was good. She was smart and clever, she was innovative and she cared what happened to the station as more than another rung on the career ladder.
She cared about CSC, about Sports Night, the way that few people other than Dana did. And, yeah, maybe that was helped by her being a woman, but mostly it was about her being right.
And fuck them for thinking differently.
*
“It’s easier to jump than to not jump at this point,” Lenny says, holding her hand tight. “Most people never get to this point, not ever.” He looks at her and she finally sees that his smile isn’t condescending. He’s just smiling. “So you might as well jump.”
*
“I’ll take it,” Dana says when they offer her the managing editor slot, swallowing against a lump in her throat that feels like betrayal. Isaac would never see it that way. He would never begrudge her a moment of this.
He wanted her to step up, to take a deep breathe, to take the change.
“I’ll take it,” she says , and it feels like victory. It’s almost like she can feel Isaac over her shoulder, his carefully modulated smirk.
It’s like she won, even if the win isn’t forever.
*
Might as well jump.
She trusts herself to the wind, to the water. She’s already too scared to walk away, she’s always done the scariest part. She climbed the bridge, she stood on the edge like she could do this.
It’s harder to go back than forward. So fuck it.
She jumps.