One Down!
Wow, I haven't written Sandra in...forever. I'm not even sure how much I like this, but it's been sitting half-finished on my hard-drive since December and it's about time I set it free. So here we go. Inspired, in part, by lotus0kid's Plaude dance fic but...well, lets just say more depressing and a bit more confusing because otherwise, it wouldn't be me writing.
Title: In Whose Arms You're Going to Be
Pairings/Characters: Sandra, Noah, and Claude. Assorted connections in between.
Rating: PG13 is my failsafe.
Disclaimer: Not mine in the least.
Warnings: Well, if you're offended by dancing and Christmas parties, don't read any further?
“We don’t have to do this.” He rushed out, under his breath, as he opened the car door and helped her out.
“Don’t have to do what, hon?”
“We…we could just go home. Watch It’s a Wonderful Life again. Just you and me.”
“Noah. Sweetheart,” she laughed, laying a hand on his chest. “We can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one,” she winked, “I hate It’s a Wonderful Life-“
“Whatever you want, then. Notorious? Charade? Whatever you want, Sandra.”
“Whatever I want?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Okay…I want…” she leaned up to give him a kiss, “To go inside…”
Noah gave a good natured groan, and put a hand over hers.
“To go inside, drink bad punch, eat stale cookies, meet all your…paper friends, and go home.”
“Or, we could just go home.”
“Noah Bennet. You spend forty hours a week with these people, sometimes more, when you’re off on your business trips and the only one I know is Claude.”
“Claude is the only one you’d like.”
“Mmm,” she murmured, looking off into the distance, “I do like Claude…”
“Hey,” he frowned, as Sandra started to giggle, “Just…don’t forget who’s driving you home.”
“Is it you?”
“Well, it’s not going to be Claude.”
“Why not?” She said, laying a hand on his arm as they walked toward the building, shoes crunching on the rough parking lot gravel.
“For one, he doesn’t drive.”
“Really?”
Noah nodded, opening the door for her.
“Really. Never learned, and now that he’s got me to drive him everywhere…”
“Huh,” she said, as they walked down a fairly boring looking hallway, footsteps echoing under florescent lights and along white walls, slowly meeting waves of holiday cheer coming in the opposite direction. “Wait.”
“What is it? Are you okay?”
“How do I look?” And she was nineteen again, dressed in her first real suit, about to meet his mother for the first time. “Do I…how’s my hair? Oh, I should’ve gotten it cut, I didn’t think-“
He took her face in his hands, and gave her a quick kiss.
“You look beautiful. You always look beautiful. And you don’t have to do this-“
“But I want to--“
“You don’t have to do this, but you’re doing it for me, and that makes you…beautiful.”
“I love you.”
“I lo-“
“Ah, it’s the rookie!” Claude called out, stumbling out against the door. “And wife. Hello, Sandra.”
“Hello, Claude,” they said together, and Sandra saw Noah blush a bit as he took her hand.
“Greek chorus. Very nice,” he slurred, “You two been practicin’?”
“Are you drunk?”
“Better question, rookie, ‘s why aren’t you?”
“We just got here-“
“No excuse! C’mon!” He barked, slinging an arm over Noah’s shoulder and another around Sandra’s waist.
“How you doin’, Sandra Dee?”
“I’m fine, Claude,” she smiled, taking in the thirty or so people, most of them a bit older, a couple that were probably secretaries but overall, nothing terribly intimidating.
“Fine enough to dance with me?”
“I don’t-“
“Nah, don’t look at him, love, I’m the one askin’.”
She looked at Noah anyway, saw him give as much of a shrug as he could, and mouth something along the lines of “if you want to.”
“It would be an honor to dance with you, Mr. Rains,” she smiled, as Noah pressed a kiss to her hair and threw Claude a look.
“The honor’d be all mine, Mrs. Bennet,” he winked, grabbing at her hand and bringing it to his lips. “All mine.”
She giggled, waving at Noah as she was led away, heels clacking crisply against linoleum floors.
“So,” Claude started, wrapping an arm around her back and taking her hand in his, “How’s our boy doin’?”
“Noah?” she asked, a little surprised at the familiarity, falling into time with the music, trying to get used to the feel of a warm, unfamiliar palm pressed to hers. “He’s…he’s all right. A little tired, maybe, but…”
“He’s been here, what, three months now?”
“I…yes, I guess that’s right.”
“And…you’d say he likes it here, yeah? He’s…not said anythin’ about quittin’, or the like?”
“No, why would…no, he likes it here. He’s happy.”
“Good,” Claude nodded, eyes twinkling in the low light, “Spin?”
“I beg your par-“
And she laughed, a release of nervous energy, as Claude spun her under his arm a little too enthusiastically and she ended up bumping into his chest.
“Sorry,” he grinned, helping her back up, as a young brunette watching them from the corner narrowed her eyes at them and Noah, caught up in a conversation with a serious looking man, grimaced.
“You know,” she said, after a moment more of careful movement, the hand on her waist gentle and guiding and light, “You’re a pretty good dancer for someone…under the influence.”
Claude smirked, tossing his head back as a strand of hair fell over his eye.
“Can I tell you a secret, Miss Sandra?” He murmured, leaning closer.
“Can’t promise I’ll keep it,” she flirted.
“I’ll take my chances,” he whispered into her ear, “Thing is. I’m not really drunk.”
She laughed, as Claude pulled away and looked at her oddly.
“But you knew that.”
She shrugged, still laughing.
“You know,” Claude mused, “You’re a pretty good dancer, for someone married to a man who moves like a robot.”
“Hey, now,” she said, giving him a light slap on the shoulder, “He does not move like a…like a robot.”
Claude smiled down at her, softly, leading her into a more careful spin that didn’t result in any collisions.
“Well, not all the time.”
“Whatever you say, love.”
“He’s actually a pretty good dancer.”
Claude raised an eyebrow.
“Took classes and everything.”
“Really, now?”
“For the wedding,” she smiled, remembering. Could hear her tone softening. “All my sisters were jealous. Their husbands danced like robots.”
Claude got a very peculiar smirk on his face, and the hand on her waist pulled her in, just a little bit, nothing untoward, but still.
“So, Sandra,” he said, steering her closer to where Noah and a different, equally serious man was standing.
“Yes, Claude?”
“What’d it take, for you to leave that fool husband of yours, and run away with me?”
“Her husband being deaf might be a good start,”
“Ears like a bat, this one,” Claude grinned, leaning closer, whispering in her ear again. “It’s unhuman. It’s almost…super-human.”
“That’s enough, I think,” said Noah, in his gentle-but-firm voice. “May I have my wife back?”
“Dunno, rookie. Can you ask nicely?”
Noah grinned, that strange, dangerous grin he got with troublesome salesmen and mechanics, then leaned in to whisper something in Claude’s ear that she didn’t quite catch.
“You wouldn’t,” he gasped, mocking, more amused than threatened but loosening his hold on her anyway, pulling away with one last kiss to her cheek.
And Noah just smiled, at her, gently caught her hand in his, and swept her into his arms.
It was lovely, dancing with Claude, of course it was, but it wasn’t safe and thrilling and lose-your-head tender all at once, and even if it was a little slower than usual, and even if the chest she was so used to resting her cheek on felt a little bit tenser, and even if the hand on her hip was holding her just a little bit tighter, there wasn’t anywhere else she’d really rather be.
After a couple of hours (couldn’t have been more than that, though what it felt like, talking to women who’s eyes never really seemed to meet hers and being introduced to men whose smiles left her wanting to pull her sweater tighter over her shoulders…well, it felt like more than a couple of hours) she considered, maybe, amending that.
Because while there was a nice ratio of “In Noah’s arms” to “out of them,” the periods of “out of them,” were mostly spent waiting for Noah sitting in a couple of chairs set by the wall, recalling awkward middle school dances of years past.
Noah would’ve been sitting in them then, she figured; he hadn’t been much of a dancer when she met him, wasn’t much of one without her, which she’s perfectly all right with, thank you very much.
As for Claude…well, she wouldn’t have expected it, but there he was, dancing, besieged by the tiny brunette from before, then chasing down a quiet, nervous looking redhead that spent more time blushing than moving and it was all out charming to watch.
Of course, that had been a couple of minutes ago, and now he was striding back over to her, a cheap plastic cup of something red in his hand, collapsing onto the chair beside her like the twelve-year-old his smile reminded her of.
“Mrs. Sandra Bennet,” he glanced over at her, dark blond hair gone darker with sweat, smelling vaguely of cinnamon and alcohol and something fruity. “That husband of yours didn’t leave you again, did he?”
“Something like that,” she frowned slightly, smoothed her skirt down with careful fingers, “That boss of yours said he needed a word with him and-“
“Which one?”
She thought back; didn’t believe she’d caught the name. Didn’t think he’d actually given it, thinking back. Which was on the odd side, really, but with Noah’s job you never really knew.
“Right, he wouldn’t’ve said,” Claude shook his head again, “Dark haired, smirkin’ son of a bitch, was he? Actin’ like he’d the biggest stick up his-“
She raised an eyebrow, and Claude coughed, chastised.
“Bum,” he finished, and looked so ashamed she just had to laugh helplessly as she nodded. “It was him, then? Right, that’d be Thompson.”
“Thompson?” she took a breath, letting laughter trickle to an occasional giggle.
“Mr. Thompson, to his friends,” Claude glanced sideways at her again, a smile itching at the edge of his mouth. “That’s assumin’ he has any. Just be sure to keep an eye on what his hands are doin’ at all times. I found out about that one the hard way.”
She couldn’t help it, she started laughing again, let her head fall onto Claude’s shoulder for a second, before pulling back.
“I’m tellin’ you, Sandy,” he murmured, staring off into the distance. “You and me. Paris, if you’d like. Could be there by tomorrow.”
“My my, Mr. Rains,” she batted her eyelashes, “You sure do know how to tempt a girl.”
“It’d be Paris, Texas, mind you,” he smiled back at her, “Never did like the French.”
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to say no, then,” she sighed in mock disappointment.
“I’d thought as much, yeah.” Claude sighed with equal disappointment, before laughing. Looked at her again, blue eyes bright, offered the half-full glass. “Thirsty?”
“I…” she took it, and gave a cautious smile. “Is there alcohol in this?”
“Bloody well better be,” the man snorted, “Or I’ve been makin’ a fool of myself for no reason….why?” he cocked his head, and leaned closer, fixing her with an expression of intensely focused surprise. “You haven’t turned demur on me, have you, Sandra Bennet?”
“No, it’s just-“
“You’re not…” he blinked for a moment, blue eyes confused, before he seemed to freeze and it wasn’t exactly a reaction she’d been expecting, not that she’d been expecting anything. “You’re not. Are you?”
“I’m not,” she shook her head, and couldn’t help the hand that settled on her stomach, automatically. “But we’ve been trying, and I just…I want to be…sure.”
“Right,” she could see him swallow obviously, fingers drumming nervously along his thigh, features blank and still, before he shook his head. Beamed, and it nearly made her fall out of her chair, it was so unexpected. “Brilliant. I think that’s…fantastic, you and Noah…you’ll be great. Congratulations. Best of luck to you.”
“Claude?” she couldn’t help but ask, without asking, as he pulled away from her.
“I’m fine,” he shook his head, and stood quickly. Smiling, still, and it was starting to worry her. “Thrilled. You two kids, you’ll be…it’ll be great. You’ll be up all night and burstin’ over with nappies and formula and…brilliant. It’ll be brilliant. Best of luck. Truly.”
“Are you-“
“I’m going to go…I’m going to go find Noah for you. Tell him you want to go home, right? Night’s still young, and all that.”
And he was gone, faster than she would’ve thought he could manage, and she tried to tell herself he hadn’t been running away.
She sees him later, after Noah comes back, after he gets her coat and kisses her forehead and leads her back outside, hand on her elbow and body warm against her side.
He’s standing, stiff and uncomfortable and glaring, but not at her.
And she has the name now, of the man next to him, who’s looking all too pleased with himself in the face of Claude’s discomfort for her to feel anything but angry at him, in that moment.
But Claude glances in her direction, gives a small smile and a wink, an apology that's better than the words would've been, and she feels…comforted.
Noah kisses the top of her head and Claude mouths good night to them both and the New Year is right around the corner, and whatever else there is, in the future, there’ll always be this: Christmas and dancing and good friends.
She thinks she can live with that.
Title: In Whose Arms You're Going to Be
Pairings/Characters: Sandra, Noah, and Claude. Assorted connections in between.
Rating: PG13 is my failsafe.
Disclaimer: Not mine in the least.
Warnings: Well, if you're offended by dancing and Christmas parties, don't read any further?
“We don’t have to do this.” He rushed out, under his breath, as he opened the car door and helped her out.
“Don’t have to do what, hon?”
“We…we could just go home. Watch It’s a Wonderful Life again. Just you and me.”
“Noah. Sweetheart,” she laughed, laying a hand on his chest. “We can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one,” she winked, “I hate It’s a Wonderful Life-“
“Whatever you want, then. Notorious? Charade? Whatever you want, Sandra.”
“Whatever I want?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Okay…I want…” she leaned up to give him a kiss, “To go inside…”
Noah gave a good natured groan, and put a hand over hers.
“To go inside, drink bad punch, eat stale cookies, meet all your…paper friends, and go home.”
“Or, we could just go home.”
“Noah Bennet. You spend forty hours a week with these people, sometimes more, when you’re off on your business trips and the only one I know is Claude.”
“Claude is the only one you’d like.”
“Mmm,” she murmured, looking off into the distance, “I do like Claude…”
“Hey,” he frowned, as Sandra started to giggle, “Just…don’t forget who’s driving you home.”
“Is it you?”
“Well, it’s not going to be Claude.”
“Why not?” She said, laying a hand on his arm as they walked toward the building, shoes crunching on the rough parking lot gravel.
“For one, he doesn’t drive.”
“Really?”
Noah nodded, opening the door for her.
“Really. Never learned, and now that he’s got me to drive him everywhere…”
“Huh,” she said, as they walked down a fairly boring looking hallway, footsteps echoing under florescent lights and along white walls, slowly meeting waves of holiday cheer coming in the opposite direction. “Wait.”
“What is it? Are you okay?”
“How do I look?” And she was nineteen again, dressed in her first real suit, about to meet his mother for the first time. “Do I…how’s my hair? Oh, I should’ve gotten it cut, I didn’t think-“
He took her face in his hands, and gave her a quick kiss.
“You look beautiful. You always look beautiful. And you don’t have to do this-“
“But I want to--“
“You don’t have to do this, but you’re doing it for me, and that makes you…beautiful.”
“I love you.”
“I lo-“
“Ah, it’s the rookie!” Claude called out, stumbling out against the door. “And wife. Hello, Sandra.”
“Hello, Claude,” they said together, and Sandra saw Noah blush a bit as he took her hand.
“Greek chorus. Very nice,” he slurred, “You two been practicin’?”
“Are you drunk?”
“Better question, rookie, ‘s why aren’t you?”
“We just got here-“
“No excuse! C’mon!” He barked, slinging an arm over Noah’s shoulder and another around Sandra’s waist.
“How you doin’, Sandra Dee?”
“I’m fine, Claude,” she smiled, taking in the thirty or so people, most of them a bit older, a couple that were probably secretaries but overall, nothing terribly intimidating.
“Fine enough to dance with me?”
“I don’t-“
“Nah, don’t look at him, love, I’m the one askin’.”
She looked at Noah anyway, saw him give as much of a shrug as he could, and mouth something along the lines of “if you want to.”
“It would be an honor to dance with you, Mr. Rains,” she smiled, as Noah pressed a kiss to her hair and threw Claude a look.
“The honor’d be all mine, Mrs. Bennet,” he winked, grabbing at her hand and bringing it to his lips. “All mine.”
She giggled, waving at Noah as she was led away, heels clacking crisply against linoleum floors.
“So,” Claude started, wrapping an arm around her back and taking her hand in his, “How’s our boy doin’?”
“Noah?” she asked, a little surprised at the familiarity, falling into time with the music, trying to get used to the feel of a warm, unfamiliar palm pressed to hers. “He’s…he’s all right. A little tired, maybe, but…”
“He’s been here, what, three months now?”
“I…yes, I guess that’s right.”
“And…you’d say he likes it here, yeah? He’s…not said anythin’ about quittin’, or the like?”
“No, why would…no, he likes it here. He’s happy.”
“Good,” Claude nodded, eyes twinkling in the low light, “Spin?”
“I beg your par-“
And she laughed, a release of nervous energy, as Claude spun her under his arm a little too enthusiastically and she ended up bumping into his chest.
“Sorry,” he grinned, helping her back up, as a young brunette watching them from the corner narrowed her eyes at them and Noah, caught up in a conversation with a serious looking man, grimaced.
“You know,” she said, after a moment more of careful movement, the hand on her waist gentle and guiding and light, “You’re a pretty good dancer for someone…under the influence.”
Claude smirked, tossing his head back as a strand of hair fell over his eye.
“Can I tell you a secret, Miss Sandra?” He murmured, leaning closer.
“Can’t promise I’ll keep it,” she flirted.
“I’ll take my chances,” he whispered into her ear, “Thing is. I’m not really drunk.”
She laughed, as Claude pulled away and looked at her oddly.
“But you knew that.”
She shrugged, still laughing.
“You know,” Claude mused, “You’re a pretty good dancer, for someone married to a man who moves like a robot.”
“Hey, now,” she said, giving him a light slap on the shoulder, “He does not move like a…like a robot.”
Claude smiled down at her, softly, leading her into a more careful spin that didn’t result in any collisions.
“Well, not all the time.”
“Whatever you say, love.”
“He’s actually a pretty good dancer.”
Claude raised an eyebrow.
“Took classes and everything.”
“Really, now?”
“For the wedding,” she smiled, remembering. Could hear her tone softening. “All my sisters were jealous. Their husbands danced like robots.”
Claude got a very peculiar smirk on his face, and the hand on her waist pulled her in, just a little bit, nothing untoward, but still.
“So, Sandra,” he said, steering her closer to where Noah and a different, equally serious man was standing.
“Yes, Claude?”
“What’d it take, for you to leave that fool husband of yours, and run away with me?”
“Her husband being deaf might be a good start,”
“Ears like a bat, this one,” Claude grinned, leaning closer, whispering in her ear again. “It’s unhuman. It’s almost…super-human.”
“That’s enough, I think,” said Noah, in his gentle-but-firm voice. “May I have my wife back?”
“Dunno, rookie. Can you ask nicely?”
Noah grinned, that strange, dangerous grin he got with troublesome salesmen and mechanics, then leaned in to whisper something in Claude’s ear that she didn’t quite catch.
“You wouldn’t,” he gasped, mocking, more amused than threatened but loosening his hold on her anyway, pulling away with one last kiss to her cheek.
And Noah just smiled, at her, gently caught her hand in his, and swept her into his arms.
It was lovely, dancing with Claude, of course it was, but it wasn’t safe and thrilling and lose-your-head tender all at once, and even if it was a little slower than usual, and even if the chest she was so used to resting her cheek on felt a little bit tenser, and even if the hand on her hip was holding her just a little bit tighter, there wasn’t anywhere else she’d really rather be.
After a couple of hours (couldn’t have been more than that, though what it felt like, talking to women who’s eyes never really seemed to meet hers and being introduced to men whose smiles left her wanting to pull her sweater tighter over her shoulders…well, it felt like more than a couple of hours) she considered, maybe, amending that.
Because while there was a nice ratio of “In Noah’s arms” to “out of them,” the periods of “out of them,” were mostly spent waiting for Noah sitting in a couple of chairs set by the wall, recalling awkward middle school dances of years past.
Noah would’ve been sitting in them then, she figured; he hadn’t been much of a dancer when she met him, wasn’t much of one without her, which she’s perfectly all right with, thank you very much.
As for Claude…well, she wouldn’t have expected it, but there he was, dancing, besieged by the tiny brunette from before, then chasing down a quiet, nervous looking redhead that spent more time blushing than moving and it was all out charming to watch.
Of course, that had been a couple of minutes ago, and now he was striding back over to her, a cheap plastic cup of something red in his hand, collapsing onto the chair beside her like the twelve-year-old his smile reminded her of.
“Mrs. Sandra Bennet,” he glanced over at her, dark blond hair gone darker with sweat, smelling vaguely of cinnamon and alcohol and something fruity. “That husband of yours didn’t leave you again, did he?”
“Something like that,” she frowned slightly, smoothed her skirt down with careful fingers, “That boss of yours said he needed a word with him and-“
“Which one?”
She thought back; didn’t believe she’d caught the name. Didn’t think he’d actually given it, thinking back. Which was on the odd side, really, but with Noah’s job you never really knew.
“Right, he wouldn’t’ve said,” Claude shook his head again, “Dark haired, smirkin’ son of a bitch, was he? Actin’ like he’d the biggest stick up his-“
She raised an eyebrow, and Claude coughed, chastised.
“Bum,” he finished, and looked so ashamed she just had to laugh helplessly as she nodded. “It was him, then? Right, that’d be Thompson.”
“Thompson?” she took a breath, letting laughter trickle to an occasional giggle.
“Mr. Thompson, to his friends,” Claude glanced sideways at her again, a smile itching at the edge of his mouth. “That’s assumin’ he has any. Just be sure to keep an eye on what his hands are doin’ at all times. I found out about that one the hard way.”
She couldn’t help it, she started laughing again, let her head fall onto Claude’s shoulder for a second, before pulling back.
“I’m tellin’ you, Sandy,” he murmured, staring off into the distance. “You and me. Paris, if you’d like. Could be there by tomorrow.”
“My my, Mr. Rains,” she batted her eyelashes, “You sure do know how to tempt a girl.”
“It’d be Paris, Texas, mind you,” he smiled back at her, “Never did like the French.”
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to say no, then,” she sighed in mock disappointment.
“I’d thought as much, yeah.” Claude sighed with equal disappointment, before laughing. Looked at her again, blue eyes bright, offered the half-full glass. “Thirsty?”
“I…” she took it, and gave a cautious smile. “Is there alcohol in this?”
“Bloody well better be,” the man snorted, “Or I’ve been makin’ a fool of myself for no reason….why?” he cocked his head, and leaned closer, fixing her with an expression of intensely focused surprise. “You haven’t turned demur on me, have you, Sandra Bennet?”
“No, it’s just-“
“You’re not…” he blinked for a moment, blue eyes confused, before he seemed to freeze and it wasn’t exactly a reaction she’d been expecting, not that she’d been expecting anything. “You’re not. Are you?”
“I’m not,” she shook her head, and couldn’t help the hand that settled on her stomach, automatically. “But we’ve been trying, and I just…I want to be…sure.”
“Right,” she could see him swallow obviously, fingers drumming nervously along his thigh, features blank and still, before he shook his head. Beamed, and it nearly made her fall out of her chair, it was so unexpected. “Brilliant. I think that’s…fantastic, you and Noah…you’ll be great. Congratulations. Best of luck to you.”
“Claude?” she couldn’t help but ask, without asking, as he pulled away from her.
“I’m fine,” he shook his head, and stood quickly. Smiling, still, and it was starting to worry her. “Thrilled. You two kids, you’ll be…it’ll be great. You’ll be up all night and burstin’ over with nappies and formula and…brilliant. It’ll be brilliant. Best of luck. Truly.”
“Are you-“
“I’m going to go…I’m going to go find Noah for you. Tell him you want to go home, right? Night’s still young, and all that.”
And he was gone, faster than she would’ve thought he could manage, and she tried to tell herself he hadn’t been running away.
She sees him later, after Noah comes back, after he gets her coat and kisses her forehead and leads her back outside, hand on her elbow and body warm against her side.
He’s standing, stiff and uncomfortable and glaring, but not at her.
And she has the name now, of the man next to him, who’s looking all too pleased with himself in the face of Claude’s discomfort for her to feel anything but angry at him, in that moment.
But Claude glances in her direction, gives a small smile and a wink, an apology that's better than the words would've been, and she feels…comforted.
Noah kisses the top of her head and Claude mouths good night to them both and the New Year is right around the corner, and whatever else there is, in the future, there’ll always be this: Christmas and dancing and good friends.
She thinks she can live with that.