Title: Perfect
Author: cherry vanilla
Fandom: The West Wing
Category: Josh, Vignette
Status: NEW, Complete 5/31/2001
Rating: R, possibly.
Spoilers: Small ones for "Noel" and "The Crackpots and These Women"
Series/sequel: No.
Summary: "With every wave of his hands, he imagines a punch."
Title and Lyrics by Alanis Morisette.
"Sometimes is never quite enough
If you're flawless, then you'll win my love."
Perfect
* * * * *
Breathing, he thinks, used to come much easier.
He remembers a time when it wasn't a hardship. Before 'The Night.' Before everything he did mattered.
Before he had to answer for his imperfections. His father would say 'try harder.' And he would. He never questioned, never fought back.
And so, he has to wonder if the battles he has these days are to make up for all the ones he'd never fought. �With each rise in octaves at Senators and Congressman, he stops sometimes and pictures his father.
Noah Lyman, the man that never accepted less than perfection.
With every wave of his hands, he imagines a punch. He can almost feel the exquisite impact of flesh meeting flesh, bones crushing against bones. His fingers itch at these moments, nails dig into the palm of his hands.
After the funeral, he thought the images would dissipate. But they only grew in intensity.
Lack of resolution was his justification. He wishes for more time with his father, but not to hug him or say 'I love you' one more time. He wants a last chance, a chance to scream and yell and wave his hands in the air at the right person; He wants to say 'look how far I've come!' He wants a chance to dissipate the anger.
With Mandy, he never won the battles either. But he didn't want to hit her or yell. No, he just fucked her raw, tried to ignore the lasting vengeance within him even after she fell asleep. He'd leave their hotel room and knock on Sam's door where he would walk around the room throwing punches. Sam needn't ever question him. Sam always knew.
After Mandy, after the win, he retreated back to his old ways of expression. And with every fight, every battle, Noah Lyman was there. Because his son was never good enough: he was a Fulbright Scholar.
He wasn't good enough.
He scored 760 on his verbal SAT's.
He wasn't good enough.
He rarely throws punches anymore. And the one time he did, the fist connected with a window.
He wishes The Night that changed his life never happened. And sometimes, he wishes it'd been him. But then he stops, and he reminds himself that she would've been cursed with a life full of imperfections. And after that, the thought comes quickly. He thinks she is better off dead. And then it leaves just as fast, and he lies there, hating himself. Because of the thought, or because he's alive, he doesn't know.
But he is alive. And so he gets up every morning, and fights for what he believes in, and tries to prove that there is more to him than what his father saw.
Sometimes, he believes it.
And at those moments, he can breathe. And the air lifts a little.
* * * * *
END
"Be a good boy
Try a little harder
You've got to measure up
And make me prouder.
How long before you screw it up?"
