Chapter Text
As many things that have changed since his injury, one thing that remains is Tom Ryder's inability to show up to work.
Colt takes another swallow of his coffee, casting his eyes over the set. Hair and makeup is fluttering around Henry. Rigging is waiting impatiently to hook him up. There are set people yelling across the sand, saying more dust, which is just ridiculous because there's so much dust. Any more dust and not only will it be dangerous, but it will also render the cameras useless. Colt is pretty sure that the whole point of a movie is that the camera works.
“You're frowning,” Dan informs him. Colt side-eyes him. He's got a jovial, carefree smile that Colt is irritated with but only on principle. Dan has a great smile, and Colt likes seeing the man happy. Just not when it’s in direct opposition to himself. “What's going on, Seavers?”
“The dust,” Colt grumbles. “Bad dust.”
“Bad dust. Dude, I love you. You need a drink.” Dan points at the sky. “We're gonna take care of this guy from top to bottom, but I need you to remember how it gets when you're up there. Dust is never the thing that gets you.”
And theoretically, Dan is correct. Maybe the first time Colt was on a set, stuff like the dust in the air, or the smell of fresh paint, or the taste of bile in his throat, bothered him. The constant bustle and the feeling of lenses trained on him made his skin itch. He would end up having to do two or three passes at simple shit – a fight scene ending in a knock out, or a tearing through a foam wall at running speed – because he was so goddamn jittery.
Anxiety, Ryland's voice in his head – born from memories of this exact conversation – tells him. You have anxiety, Colt.
Not yet, he argues back. The Ryland in his head rolls his eyes. It all quickly devolves into the age-old debate of whether he can have anxiety without having been diagnosed. Ryland, of course, says yes. Colt, however, needs to save face.
And anyway, who's to really say it isn't the dust that gets you? Colt has a hard time remembering specific sensory details of his fall, so he has to rely on factual truths. They were indoors, yes, but dust exists indoors. It was a clean, tall, metal tube of a building, sure, but there were a million people stomping around both inside and out. Dust could have been a factor, nevermind the sunglasses he supposedly shattered from the impact.
Okay, so he picks and chooses what factual truths are factual and true, sue him. He broke his back, he gets to do whatever he wants.
“You know how to do this job,” Dan tells him. “So does he.”
Colt is annoyed, because Dan is correct. “Does Ryder?” he mumbles into his coffee cup as a peace offering.
Dan is delighted. “There you go! Focus on the real enemy. As long as he persists, all we are is dust in the wind, dude.”
Colt ponders for a moment. “Bill and Ted?”
Dan claps his shoulder. A gaggle of writers and the production team rounds the corner, which means –
“ – no, I'm not interested in the abstract right now,” Jody says. She's holding up her hands, then making them into fists, then smacking them together. “We need the physical. Once we have that, we'll know the stakes, the depths to which these characters will go for each other. Through the mud, through the filth, forget the love, maybe right now it's about the terrible things in the way of the love. Then when we flip the camera to the romance, it's like a breath of fresh air. Are you getting this, Carol? Are you writing it down?” Carol fumbles with her three big white binders and her single tiny black pen. “Oh, Aaron, tell the lighting crew to see me in five. This place is so dreary. I want the camera to see things. The dust is out of control, quite frankly.”
Colt bites back a smile.
Jody is so gorgeous like this. She's gorgeous always, but especially with her eyes bright with passion and confidence and joy. In her jean jumpsuit and cute little hat. It's – well, it's quite frankly hot how easily her brain switches from task to task. She was born to do this, clearly, and Colt could watch her do it all day. For the rest of his life, actually.
“Stunts,” Randel the assistant says, clicking a pen. “They're ready to go when –”
Jody ignores him to step up to Colt. Colt's lips pull upward. “Seavers,” she says, eyes glinting.
“Moreno.” It comes out as a happy sigh.
“Coffee,” she requests, and Colt hands her his cup. He watches her drink. She hands him back the empty cup. Colt's chest burns. “Okay. Tell me what you're thinking.”
“You're gorgeous,” Colt says.
There's the slightest pleasure and approval to Jody's glare. Colt feels tipsy from it. “Focus.”
Yes, ma’am.
“Things look good,” he reports. “We're looking at a zip-wire from that ledge,” he points, “to that ledge,” again, “at about five per. Rigging is setting up. Henry has good feelings. All good.”
“And you?” Her voice has quieted slightly.
“And me,” Colt says, “I say we're all good.”
Jody smiles. Her hand touches his shoulder, then does a gentle trail down his arm before pulling away. She turns, taking her gaggle with her. The sear of her single-focused attention made him forget everyone else on set. When the world comes back, Dan is looking at him with one of those looks.
“Yeah, Seavers?” Dan teases. “I say we're all good? That's how you feel? So the dust is – what? A non-issue?”
“I wish you were a non-issue,” he points over to where Jody now has her back to him. “If she needs me to be good, then I'm good, alright? That's it.”
“I'm starting to see why you and I never worked out,” he says. “You were never like this with me. I asked you to be good and then you'd go jump off of shit.”
“Yeah, well, my days of jumping off of shit are over, pal,” Colt flashes a big smile and a giant thumbs up when Jody and Henry turn to look at him for approval. It’s go time. “Cry about it.”
Gail hasn't changed one bit. She shows up once the party is all over and everything is broken down to bask in the glory of their work. Colt stayed because Jody stayed and he's worried about her pacing herself, but he guesses he should have been worried for himself because of Gail and her hands.
“We are blessed – blessed, I tell you – to have you back on set,” she coos, squishing Colt's face between her well manicured hands as if he's a baby or some sort of small dog. Colt is trying not to wince as he's shaken about, but –
“Gail,” Jody says, voice flat. “Off.”
Gail retreats immediately. She folds her hands to her chest in a sheepish but ultimately unapologetic way. Oh well, what can you do? Colt tries to smile. He thinks he almost convinces her.
“Exciting,” she says. She looks at Jody. “You're excited, aren't you? No one is more deserving of a big break like this. And this guy – this guy – at the helm of your big spectacle pieces will be simply –” she kisses her fingers and tosses them to the air.
“We're taking it slow,” Jody says, but she's looking at Colt more than she's looking at Gail. A reminder of what they discussed before all this began. I want you by my side, she whispered in the near dark of her hotel room when he first landed, I want the joy of being on set with you again.
Gail's eyebrows go way up. “Oh.” She smiles. “Oh. You two –” she points. “You two aren't–”
“We aren't anything,” Jody says quickly. Her cheeks are pink. Colt likes the color on her. Okay, Colt responded. I can be there with you. Wherever you want me. However you want me. I’m there. “At all."
“The movie is our priority, Gail,” Colt agrees. “Nothing else.”
“Well,” Jody starts. Colt looks at her. I want you to be comfortable and safe, Jody admitted. I know you don’t think you can be this – this coordinator – but you're so good at this stuff, Colt. They could all learn from you. They will learn from you. Whatever Ryder says, whatever your brain tells you, you are the best person for this.
“No?” Colt frowns. I can't get back in that suit, Jo. I'm not the same person that I was a year ago. Not just my body, but –
“I mean,” Jody shifts, “I mean –” I understand, love. I will never ever ask that of you. But I will want you. Do you understand what I'm telling you? That I still want you with both your feet flat on the ground?
“Very professional,” Colt repeats from before. He’s reminding her. He wants her success only a smidge more than he wants to distract her with his hands. She's swaying like she knows that she could convince him otherwise. I want you too, Jo. Always have. “We’re professionals, aren’t we?”
Jody stills. With a sigh, she goes, “yes, yes, we're very professional.”
Gail seems too gleeful. “So – there's nothing then? Jody, when you told me you were going to get our boy back, I was imagining fireworks and raindrops and all sorts of banal movie tropes.”
Colt’s nose wrinkles. He does not like being Gail’s boy.
Jody shrugs, pauses, then shrugs again. “Whatever, we kissed, it's whatever.”
Oh. Yeah. That part.
Colt groaned as Jody tipped into him. Her nails dug in at his cheeks in the most delicious way. He hadn't kissed anyone in an entire year, and the last person he kissed was her when they were so perfectly happy yet so terribly confused about what they were and what they wanted to be. This kiss is different. It's desperate and a little mad and, yes, still neither of them can fully express all the things they want to say to each other, but at least they have it in mind. At least they know what they really don't want. Colt doesn't know what to do with everything Jody is telling him with her hands and her gasps and her goddamn mouth. I hate what you did, and I need you so badly, and I am going to forgive you but God, I'm gonna make you work for it. And Colt, mouth barely keeping up, replied, yes ma'am, yes, yes, I can work. I can do anything you want.
Gail's mouth opens in delight. Colt startles. He can't stop himself from asking, “it was whatever?”
“No!” Jody is as close to frantic as she'll ever be. “It was just – like it was. Whatever.”
“Oh,” Colt nods, “oh, yeah, no. Whatever. Yeah.”
“Uh huh,” Gail reaches out to curl an arm around Colt. Jody's glare returns with a vengeance. “Hey, Seavers, can I walk you to your trailer?”
“You're pulling me, so –” he leans back to wave at Jody. “Bye, Jo.”
“Bye, Colt,” she waves. Gail pulls him harder.
“What – what?” Colt demands when they turn the corner. Set pieces roll by. Gail keeps pulling until they're in the trailer and the door is shut. Then, like a freak, she pulls at the shades. “Gail, you're doing that thing again.”
“What thing?” She peaks behind the blind one more time.
“The thing you do when you make me think you're about to kill me,” he says, “or tell me that you've killed someone else.
She spins around. There's a strangled look on her face. “This is about Ryder.”
“What isn't?" Colt juts his chin at the couch. “Can I sit?”
She waves blithely at him. He sits with a quiet groan. It's just – been a long day. He's gonna get back to one hundred percent soon. It's just not today. Which is fine. That's what he's telling himself anyway.
“I need a favor,” she says, clasping her hands together nervously.
Colt's eyes close for a brief allowance of weakness before they open again. “What did he do?”
“You know Henry,” Gail says. Colt nods tiredly. “Well – he's half as good as you. In everything.” He tries to protest, but she bowls right over him. “Don't turtle, I'm speaking from the heart here, Colt. You're better than him on camera, behind the camera, and with Ryder.”
“You mean I don't argue,” Colt corrects.
“Of course that's what I mean,” she's exasperated, “but that's not what you say, now is it?”
“What are they arguing about?”
“The specifics don't matter.” Colt would beg to differ. If he had the energy, anyway. “What matters is that there are whispers about Henry wanting to quit.”
And that – doesn't seem right. Not when Colt just talked to him today over the set's free brunch bagels and donuts and Henry was glowing with praise for Jody's vision of action. In fact, his excitement was making Colt a little uncomfortable. Yes, his girl is a genius. Yes, they're not necessarily together right now. Does he think Henry stands a chance? No. Does it bother him that Henry thinks he does? Also not really – Jody has standards. But either way, he was just too excited for the nine AM free brunch. He said Jody's name way too much. Like, it comes to a point, okay? Otherwise, as a stuntie, he’s great. He's full of the zeal that Colt used to have. He loves jumping off of things more than he thinks about hitting the ground, which is perfect. That’s what you want in a stuntman. More bravery than caution. More trust than nerves. Colt is – to be frank – soiled goods. He can't be better. In fact, they can't find better. Not on such short notice. If he quits –
“How much would production stall if he quits?”
“Too much,” Gail admits. “I say this lovingly, but with Ryder as finicky as he is, we need all the extra time we have for him.” Diva, Colt thinks. “Look. Ryder's having a thing tonight. Big bash with Iggy. Can you go and talk to him for me?”
“I'm not the Ryder whisperer.”
She gives him a look. Yes. Yes, you are. But – “I'm not talking about Tom. I'll handle Tom. I'm talking about Henry. Just plead to him as the stunt director, alright?” Noting Colt's hesitation, she adds, “come on. Big up, macho man. For Jody.”
Colt's nails dig into his palms. Since he woke up in the hospital he's been trying to tell himself to man up. Tears would spring to his eyes after a rough bout of pain, or a moment where he couldn't bend to reach something he had dropped, or when he would be tasked with something that used to be easy as breathing in PT that was now overwhelmingly hard. He would always swipe them away with something akin to hatred. Shame. How could he be who everyone expects him to be if he's broken like this?
But then everything happened with Ryland, and Colt suddenly remembered high-school. He remembered picking Ryland up from classrooms well after the end of the day, or picking fights to get back at people that messed with him, or just holding him when he needed to be held. He was a good brother then and it had nothing to do with whether he could smash through candy glass. Jody told him that.
Maybe manning up meant being vulnerable enough to accept help. To say no. To admit defeat. And maybe that was true with Ryland, but not here. Not with Jody's success on the line.
“Okay,” Colt says. “Alright. I'll talk to him.”
“Perfect,” Gail reaches over and pinches Colt's cheek. The touch bites. “So glad to have you back, dear.”
Jo (8:03 pm): do you want to come over to mine in an hour?
Colt (8:03 pm): hell yes
Colt has to hurry into the building elevator so his smile doesn't blind some random person in the lobby. Not that it would matter too much. All the people who live in or around Ryder's building wear sunglasses indoors. Colt is used to dealing with movie stars and their eccentricities, but when he comes to Ryder and Ryder's people it's extra irritating. He does his absolute best to avoid stuff like this – the after parties, club-hopping, hanging out with Ryder off the clock – for multiple reasons. One being that Ryder loves to insult him. It's his favorite thing behind big, sweeping monologs and sweeping during award season. Second being that Colt's idea of a good time involves an open-bed truck, a sky full of stars, and a good beer. Not exactly a Tom Ryder production. And three being –
“Oh my god,” Colt hears the second the elevator doors open, “is that the hot one or –”
There's noise and lights and people everywhere. But Ryder's head pops up from behind the large couch. His face is already bright red; his smile just a touch loose. Iggy pulls off of him in an exaggerated way, also looking at him eagerly, only for disappointment to filter over her face as she realizes, yes, it's Colt Seavers: the man that has been working for Ryder for years, and not Ryland Grace, a guy they have met a single handful of times. Who, by the way, has never been interested in the threesome that they keep trying to put together.
“Ugh, no,” Ryder groans. He disappears from view, likely collapsing back into the lap of the random investor next to him. “It's just my stuntman. Other stuntman. Former stuntman.” He audibly gives up. “The other guy.”
Colt does not take it personally. “Where's Henry?”
“Hopefully dead,” Tom says. Iggy giggle-snorts. He lifts back up to look at Colt. His eyes are big. “Did Dr. Grace get my invitation? I keep sending them, but he doesn't reply.”
“Oh,” Colt scratches the back of his neck, “yeah, he, uh – he's busy. End of the school year and all that.” The first three times Ryder asked for Ryland's number, Colt was able to pretend that he didn't have it memorized. He was doing stunts back then, so he could also lie and say his phone was way back in his trailer. The next four times he asked, Colt had to just give Ryder a fake number. All of Ryder's texts have been steadily going to an ex of Colt's that broke his heart. And stole his toaster. Never date a fellow stuntie, people.
Tom pouts. Honest to God pouts. Fucking hell.
“He'll come to the premiere,” he says to himself. “He wouldn't miss seeing me.”
Right, yes. He wouldn't miss seeing Tom Ryder and not Colt, his twin, or Jody, his future sister in law. (Not yet discussed, of course. Colt figures they should get back together before he proposes, but he has experienced life without Jody, and he's not very interested in what it has to offer.) Nevermind that it's her directorial debut. No, why would that matter when Tom Ryder's face is on the movie poster?
“Sure,” Colt says. He's already ready to get the hell out of here. “I'm gonna go find Henry.”
Ryder doesn't seem to care, too busy simpering about Ryland to reply. Colt maneuvers his way through the densely packed living room. Lights are strobing and music is blaring. There are famous people everywhere. He spots a few interns trying to talk up other actors, and even a few people from the writing team laughing together in little groups. It's way too early in the night for this many people to be drunk, so Colt figures this is part of the reason why Ryder wasn't on set today. He wants to be angry on Jody's behalf, but experience tells him that this, for some reason, is all part of Ryder's process. If you give him time to wander around on the yard, he will eventually come back inside and do the tricks that you're asking of him. And unfortunately, he's really fucking good at said tricks.
Colt is almost ready to give the hell up – he can’t stop imagining Jody in her cute little hat and a quiet room waiting – when he spots Henry on the couch. He’s with props, which is funny because props usually hates them, but Henry’s pretty magnetic. At least, that’s what Dan said when Colt first arrived on set.
“Oh! Colt,” Henry stands abruptly. The guy next to him that was kind-of feeling him up, slumps. “Hey. Wanna drink?”
“Nah,” Colt jerks his head. “Can we talk somewhere quieter?”
“You don’t want to join the party? It’s on Ryder’s dime.”
“I figured,” Colt eyes the thrum of people chugging liquor like it’s water. “Nah, I’ve had my share of Ryder. I’ve got somewhere to be, so –”
Henry takes the hint. He passes his drink off to a friend, then follows Colt into a less populated hall. “What’s up?” He asks, leaning against the wall. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”
“Actually, Gail sent me to make sure you were sticking around,” he explains. “You’re our lead in stunts, so –”
“Lead, period,” Henry interjects. Colt blinks. “I mean,” Henry explains furiously, “Ryder hardly shows up to work. You do realize that I’m one step away from recording lines to stand in for him? He’s making millions while he’s at home hungover. It’s fucked up, actually.”
Colt realizes his mistake then. Henry isn’t casual or excitable or eager about the stunts. He’s not naive. He’s not even brave. He’s hungry. He sees an empty space in the shape of Tom Ryder and he sees his empty wallet and he thinks he’s about to kill two birds with one stone. A stupid thought, but Colt can understand where it comes from.
“Sure,” Colt says slowly. “But this is how these things go, Henry.”
Henry opens his mouth.
“I’m not saying it’s right,” Colt hurries, “but the stars can miss days. We can’t. We’re easily replaced.”
Henry's expression slants. “What is this? You’re back now, so I’m about to be out of a job?”
“No. I’m not – I’m done with this stuff, man. I came here to see if you were gonna stay on.”
“Sure,” Henry sneers. “Colt Seavers. I know all about your legendary skill. Your broken records. Your rapport with Ryder. Everyone is all praises for you and your work. You’re good, I’ll give you that, but I’m better. I’ll break everything you did, and I won’t need to cling to Tom's coattails to do it.”
He turns and stomps away, though the effect is muted by the way he sways from alcohol.
“Hopefully you don’t break everything I broke,” Colt calls after him. He doesn’t turn around.
Oh well, he tried. Time to go see Jody.
“How is Claire?”
Colt wants to purr like a cat. He’s sitting against Jody’s special warming, massaging back pillow with a drink in hand and Jody curled up at his side. The living room TV is playing soft rock. Nineteen versions of the script are spread across the coffee table. The twentieth is in Jody’s hand, alongside a pen that can also turn into a highlighter. Colt decides that Ryland needs to know about this crazy invention.
“She has texted me at least eleven times today,” he reports. “Five of them were distorted images of Court that I will be printing out and putting up on a wall.”
Jody laughs. The soft twinkling sound that makes Colt feel like he swallowed the sun. “And he’s –”
“Adjusting,” Colt says. “I think Ryland is working on getting him a phone that isn’t meant to be thrown away, but there’s a lot on his plate right now.” Colt isn’t entirely sure about what all that consists of – Ryland’s been a little sketchy with replies as of late. In fact, in the other six texts from Claire, Colt could sense a weird undertone that he doesn’t know what to make of. He didn’t realize how far he would be from his family when he came back to work, both geographically and emotionally. He actually yearns for just a little bit ago when he could see Claire’s twisted up feelings and easily detangle and hold them for her. He misses being able to know how Ryland slept the night before by the curve of his mouth. He misses hearing about the kids while being able to see the shine in his brother’s eyes.
He misses seeing Court’s face, full stop.
This opportunity came at a weird time for Colt. In the midst of healing his body, yes, but he was just given the gift of his dreams not three months ago; his older brother came back from the dead. Leaving so abruptly means that there are times, in the really early morning on set, or walking to his car after a production meeting, that he forgets Court is there. It’s as if he dreamed everything. So yes, he hoards Claire’s blurred snapshots and stupid snapchat filters. He’ll take every bit of his brother that he can get.
“I haven’t heard much from Ryland,” Jody wonders. “Is that normal for this time of year?”
“Yeah,” Colt says, despite the wiggling feeling in his gut that tells him no. Twin instincts, he calls it. That dreadful pull that comes when something is wrong with his other half. It’s never been worse than the day that Court was taken away from them. Colt remembers falling to the dirt in the outfield of baseball practice, then sprinting home without a word to anyone because he knew. He knew. For now, he looks at the texts on his phone from Ryland – a quick sorry, doing my final grades, call this weekend? – with a forceful calming breath. He’s just stressed and busy. That’s all. Ryland is fine. “He has a million things to do and graduation and he gets all weepy saying bye to the kids.”
“That’s so sweet,” she smiles. “Then I guess I can be patient to hear from my favorite Grace brother.”
Colt balks. “Hey!”
“Kidding,” she tips her head onto his shoulder. “Hush now. I’m reading.”
“What are you working on now?”
“Mm – I was on a roll when they were fighting,” she says, “but now I don’t know. I think the feeling between these two is too hard to capture with words. If I throw them too quickly into a resolution, they’ll crash and burn. The audience will never believe it. But if I prolong it too much, it’s not realistic. These two are undeniably drawn to each other. They can’t help it.”
“Is that so bad?”
Jody’s eyes flicker up at him, then back at the paper. “The most important question to ask when you’re writing about a romantic couple is the why. Not why they love each other; two good characters will show you why they should be loved. But why not. Why can’t they love each other? Or why should they not? Why not now? What’s stopping them?”
“What is stopping them?” Colt whispers.
Jody sighs. The pages fall into her lap as she lets them go. Her cheek brushes Colt’s arm. The impossible softness of it makes him ache. “Dunno. I can admit it to you, but out there –” she trails off. “I’m just stalling so no one else asks me, if I’m being honest.”
Colt sets himself. “You’ll figure it out.” Jody makes a non-committal noise. “Hey,” he twists a little to cup her cheek. They lock eyes. The pout on her face formed by his hand is almost too cute to bear. “You will figure it out, Jo. You’re a goddamn genius. The answer is in here somewhere.” He shakes her head playfully. A huge smile spreads over her face.
She pulls back. His hands drop, but she takes them and scoots impossibly closer. She sighs, and her warm breath filters over him like summer heat. “I miss you,” she whispers.
“I’m here,” he swears. “I’m with you, wherever you are, remember? I’m not leaving again.”
Her eyes shine. “Okay,” and Colt can tell she doesn’t believe it. Not yet. That’s fine. He’s got all the time in the world to convince her otherwise.