For the openveinwriting comment fic party
His crew all wanted to hear stories about life on FYI. Was Frank as weird but cool as he seemed? Yes. Was Jim a stuffed shirt? Not as much as people seemed to think. Was Murphy utterly impossible? Well. She was, but not in the way they thought. He’d tell them yes to keep the mythos up anyway. And of course Corky was sexy. Of course. No, he hadn’t seen her in her bra yet and it was gross and disgusting to ask.
They didn’t want to hear the truth. That it wasn’t Corky who caught his attention every time she walked past. Yeah, Corky was sweet. But she couldn’t hold a candle to Murphy’s intellect, or her legs for that matter. They didn’t want to hear about the moment he realized that it was more than just playful flirting for him, about how he’d walked past her office one night. She was there, working on something, Avery asleep in the playpen she kept in her office for him. Usually she brought her work home with her, but for some reason there she was, after midnight, deep in research for a story. He’d stopped in the dim of the newsroom, only the late night intern there with him, and watched her work. Her suit jacket tossed over one of the chairs by her desk, the sleeves of her blouse rolled up to her elbows, her hair up in a messy ponytail. Dinner sat, unopened, on her secretary’s desk. She’d been there for hours. He’d just stared at her, for longer than at all appropriate, not wanting to walk away, sure she’d kill him for lurking.( Collapse )