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BSG RPF: No Need For Definition for severuslovesme - tranquility... best achieved in chaos
BSG RPF: No Need For Definition for severuslovesme
Title: No Need For Definition
Rating: PG
Category: Jamie/Katee. Rpf (real person fiction).
Disclaimer: Fiction.
Author's Note: For severuslovesme in the prettylightsfic ficathon.


"So we must keep apart,
You there, I here.
With just the door ajar."
-- Emily Dickinson, 'In Vain'


She steps out of the trailer in a slinky, black dress that slits up to the thigh and clings in all the right places. She looks incredible, sleek and sexy, and he's going to have a hard time thinking of her as anyone other than Katee during the next scene.

He realizes he's been staring when her eyes meet his, her smile broad. She saunters to him, her hand catching on the edge of the cut. The smooth skin of her leg flashes and he can feel his stomach tighten.

She sidles up to him, stands too close. "Too much woman for you?"

He smirks. "Not enough dress?"

Matt stands off to the side watching their interaction with interest, and Katee gives him a little wave. "What do you think?"

"Trouble!" he answers with a laugh. He stands next to the stage door, plays with his visitor badge and waits for Katee to come to him.

She blows him a kiss.

When she turns around, Jamie catches her hand as she reaches up to play with the collar of his shirt.

She pouts. "Matt's much more fun."

He moves around her to walk away, presses into her briefly, his mouth by her ear.

"He would never know what to do with this," he says, and the skin of her thigh slides soft and warm over the tips of his fingers.


"Griffith!" she calls, and he knows he's in trouble.

It's not often she resorts to calling him Bamber, rarer still that she uses his real last name unless he's also calling her Kathryn Ann and they have matched too many drinks in too short a span to remember it properly.

He waits for her at the craft services table, glances at Tricia who offers a shrug.

Katee stops at his side, hands on hips and angry as hell. "What was that?"

"It was nothing," he lies, starts putting food on a plate.

She scoffs. "Nothing?"


She rolls her eyes, he's sure of it, hears her exasperated sigh and wonders if he's playing this right.

In the past, he had made it a point to stay out of her personal life; at least, the romantic side of her personal life. His earlier comment about Matt hadn't sounded as off-handed as he'd have liked.

He's going to have to apologize, isn't sure why he hasn't done so already, and turns to her.

Her lips are tight and she eyes him, thinks something that changes her mind. "This isn't over, Bamber."

He nods, offers his plate to her in a gesture of peace. "I'm sorry."

She ignores the apology but adds salad to his plate with a slight smile. They've been sharing food at work since he can remember, something to do with the same call times and pranks and the familiarity of being on set together for years.

"Don't spit in my food," he says.

She shakes her head, glances at him with an expression that quickens his pulse. He clears his throat and she smiles. "You okay?"

He doesn't answer the question, touches the small of her back. "The dress looks great."

"Yeah?" she asks softly.



They sit at the bar with glasses of beer, tucked in a corner and ignored although the restaurant closed a half an hour ago. Katee's bent over the bar, her forehead resting on the countertop.

"You know," she says, her voice muffled. "You're right about Matt."

He doesn't play dumb. "I shouldn't have said that."

"I appreciate that you did." She turns her head to look at him, her eyes shining in the dim light. "Not that I felt that way at first."

He nods and watches the hair that falls in front of her face when she shrugs.

"I usually have good taste," she says, but he reads what she won't say in the tone of her voice.

He leans down, rests his head on the counter beside her until he can look at her directly, their faces a few inches apart. She doesn't turn away or laugh, and he watches the color of her eyes change.

"You should go home." She accompanies this with a poke to his shoulder. "Early shoot tomorrow."

He reaches up, plays with the loose strands of her hair, and tucks them behind her ear. He means to take her advice and go home, leave before it gets later and he's run out of excuses. "I've got some time."

"Jamie-" She never gets farther than that, bites her lip and stops from saying the rest.

"Katee," he says, and waits.

A familiar silence falls; reasons and regrets always so loud.


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