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wl_fanfiction2012-11-24 04:20 pm
ocelotkitty.livejournal.com) wrote in wl_fanfiction2012-11-24 04:20 pm
Entry tags:
[FIC] Ever After (Chapter 7/11)
Title: Ever After
Main Pairing: Jeff/Greg, with background Chip/Wayne and Colin/Ryan
Rating: R for language
Total Word Count: 17,890
Chapter Word Count: 1,066
Summary: Jeff’s a directionally challenged actor who can’t seem to catch a break. Chip promises that Jeff’s new GPS will be the solution to all of his problems, but why does it seem to cause more problems than it solves? Will Chip turn out to be right in the end? (Spoiler alert: of course he will. This is, after all, a fairy tale.)
Special Thanks: to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sungreen70 for patiently (lol) championing this story from its humble beginnings in 2009, subtly (lol) suggesting I finish it while recovering at home from surgery, and going above and beyond as a beta reader despite all the other demands — including Hurricane Sandy and a presidential election! — on her time. You are amazing! ♥
The sun had set by the time Jeff slid behind the wheel of his car. He was exhausted. The rehearsal had been every bit as demanding as he’d anticipated, both physically and mentally. Drew had cast Wayne as Jeff’s love interest in the movie, and the fictional arc of their relationship ran the gamut from a sex act in the back of a car to a highly charged scene in which Jeff had to throw a strawberry milkshake in Wayne’s face. It was no wonder he felt like he was going to drop.
Jeff turned the key in the ignition and fastened his seatbelt. He pulled into the street, and, signaling right, headed toward the entrance to the 101 freeway. He was approaching the Cahuenga Pass when he tuned in to a rhythmic tapping noise coming from the glove compartment. Oh, shit, he thought. Keeping one eye on the traffic in his lane, Jeff leaned across the gearstick and flipped the glove compartment open.
“Oh, what a shame. I thought you were going to let me ride in here all night,” Greg said, sounding more than a little perturbed.
Quickly Jeff pulled the GPS out of the glove compartment and attached it to the holder mounted on the windshield. “Damn, Greg, I’m sorry,” he said. “I just... man, you have no idea. We just kept going and going all day with hardly any breaks. I don’t even know which way is up anymore.”
“Well, you certainly seem to know which way is south.”
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“What I mean,” Greg said, “is that I guess my job here is done, right? You got to the theatre this morning just fine, and now here you are heading home without needing any input from me whatsoever. You might as well just stuff me back into the glove compartment for all the use I am.”
“Come on, Greg, don’t be like that,” Jeff said placatingly. “You’ve helped me so much, don’t you get that? I never would’ve gotten through these last few weeks if it weren’t for you. Hell, I wouldn’t even be in the car right now if it weren’t for you helping me get up the courage to call Drew.”
Greg said nothing.
“Come on, Greg, don’t pout.”
“I’m not pouting,” Greg pouted.
“You are.” Jeff sighed. “And I have no idea how that’s even possible since as far as I know, you don’t even have a mouth.”
“Shows what you know,” Greg muttered.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
The Mini Cooper passed under an overhead sign that listed the next three upcoming exits: Highland, Cahuenga, Vine. Which one did he need? Jeff glanced at Greg, but his screen was blank, his voice silent. Come on, Greg, Jeff thought, willing Greg to tell him what to do. Nothing.
“Greg?”
He passed the Highland Avenue exit. Nothing.
“Come on, Greg, quit it,” Jeff said, an edge creeping into his voice. “I don’t know where I am.” Jeff rubbed his eyes. He was so tired that the oncoming headlights kept sliding out of focus.
He passed the Cahuenga Boulevard exit. Still nothing.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jeff muttered. “I’m the one who’s just put in a 12-hour day and now you’re acting like a prima donna?” Keeping his left hand on the steering wheel, Jeff reached down to the floor in front of the passenger seat and felt around for his Thomas Guide.
“Let me get this straight,” Greg said, coming to life in a flash of fierce green. “You’re an actor, and you’re calling me a prima donna? That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’ve seen Showgirls twice.”
Jeff didn’t respond. He tugged at the spiralbound map book, which was snagged on the underside of the seat. The Mini Cooper swerved to the right.
“Hey, watch where you’re going,” Greg said.
“Watch where I’m going?” Jeff echoed. “You’re refusing to tell me which exit to take, forcing me to read a map book in the fucking dark, and you’re telling me to watch where I’m going?”
Greg’s screen glowed a poisonous yellow. “Well, someone has to. I can’t exactly see the road from your glove compart—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re not in the glove compartment anymore! How many times do you want me to apologize for a stupid mistake?” With a final pull, Jeff managed to wrench the Thomas Guide free. The map book snapped through the air, knocking the rearview mirror askew. Instinctively Jeff yanked his left hand off the steering wheel to stop the book from hitting him in the face. The Mini Cooper veered left, narrowly missing a BMW convertible in the centre lane. Horns blared. Jeff grabbed the steering wheel and overcorrected, swerving back across his lane. He finally came to a bumpy halt on the shoulder of the freeway.
Jeff had never fully understood how a heart could pound until that moment. He let out a long, shuddering breath and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. It seemed like hours before his pulse slowed, before his breathing became regular again. Slowly, Jeff sat up. His gaze fell on the lower left portion of the windshield, now empty. Greg, he thought frantically. He felt around between the driver’s seat and the door, and finally his hand closed over warm plastic. Jeff pressed the power button, but the screen remained dark. He turned on the Mini Cooper’s overhead light and examined the GPS more closely. A tiny hairline crack snaked across the screen. Oh, shit, Jeff thought. He pressed the power button once more, but the GPS was lifeless in his hands. “Shit!” he shouted, pounding the steering wheel with his fist. Jeff turned the overhead light off again. If Greg had to be in darkness, Jeff wanted to be in darkness, too.
Jeff stared out the windshield at the steady stream of red taillights moving southbound on the 101. Ridiculously, he remembered that he needed the Vine Street exit. A straight shot along Vine and a right on Santa Monica Boulevard, and he’d be as good as home. Greg was right, he thought sadly. If I can find my own way home, I guess I really don’t need him anymore. Jeff put the Mini Cooper in gear, signaled left, and melted into the freeway traffic. So why do I feel as though I’ve just lost my best friend?
Main Pairing: Jeff/Greg, with background Chip/Wayne and Colin/Ryan
Rating: R for language
Total Word Count: 17,890
Chapter Word Count: 1,066
Summary: Jeff’s a directionally challenged actor who can’t seem to catch a break. Chip promises that Jeff’s new GPS will be the solution to all of his problems, but why does it seem to cause more problems than it solves? Will Chip turn out to be right in the end? (Spoiler alert: of course he will. This is, after all, a fairy tale.)
Special Thanks: to
sungreen70 for patiently (lol) championing this story from its humble beginnings in 2009, subtly (lol) suggesting I finish it while recovering at home from surgery, and going above and beyond as a beta reader despite all the other demands — including Hurricane Sandy and a presidential election! — on her time. You are amazing! ♥The sun had set by the time Jeff slid behind the wheel of his car. He was exhausted. The rehearsal had been every bit as demanding as he’d anticipated, both physically and mentally. Drew had cast Wayne as Jeff’s love interest in the movie, and the fictional arc of their relationship ran the gamut from a sex act in the back of a car to a highly charged scene in which Jeff had to throw a strawberry milkshake in Wayne’s face. It was no wonder he felt like he was going to drop.
Jeff turned the key in the ignition and fastened his seatbelt. He pulled into the street, and, signaling right, headed toward the entrance to the 101 freeway. He was approaching the Cahuenga Pass when he tuned in to a rhythmic tapping noise coming from the glove compartment. Oh, shit, he thought. Keeping one eye on the traffic in his lane, Jeff leaned across the gearstick and flipped the glove compartment open.
“Oh, what a shame. I thought you were going to let me ride in here all night,” Greg said, sounding more than a little perturbed.
Quickly Jeff pulled the GPS out of the glove compartment and attached it to the holder mounted on the windshield. “Damn, Greg, I’m sorry,” he said. “I just... man, you have no idea. We just kept going and going all day with hardly any breaks. I don’t even know which way is up anymore.”
“Well, you certainly seem to know which way is south.”
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“What I mean,” Greg said, “is that I guess my job here is done, right? You got to the theatre this morning just fine, and now here you are heading home without needing any input from me whatsoever. You might as well just stuff me back into the glove compartment for all the use I am.”
“Come on, Greg, don’t be like that,” Jeff said placatingly. “You’ve helped me so much, don’t you get that? I never would’ve gotten through these last few weeks if it weren’t for you. Hell, I wouldn’t even be in the car right now if it weren’t for you helping me get up the courage to call Drew.”
Greg said nothing.
“Come on, Greg, don’t pout.”
“I’m not pouting,” Greg pouted.
“You are.” Jeff sighed. “And I have no idea how that’s even possible since as far as I know, you don’t even have a mouth.”
“Shows what you know,” Greg muttered.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
The Mini Cooper passed under an overhead sign that listed the next three upcoming exits: Highland, Cahuenga, Vine. Which one did he need? Jeff glanced at Greg, but his screen was blank, his voice silent. Come on, Greg, Jeff thought, willing Greg to tell him what to do. Nothing.
“Greg?”
He passed the Highland Avenue exit. Nothing.
“Come on, Greg, quit it,” Jeff said, an edge creeping into his voice. “I don’t know where I am.” Jeff rubbed his eyes. He was so tired that the oncoming headlights kept sliding out of focus.
He passed the Cahuenga Boulevard exit. Still nothing.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jeff muttered. “I’m the one who’s just put in a 12-hour day and now you’re acting like a prima donna?” Keeping his left hand on the steering wheel, Jeff reached down to the floor in front of the passenger seat and felt around for his Thomas Guide.
“Let me get this straight,” Greg said, coming to life in a flash of fierce green. “You’re an actor, and you’re calling me a prima donna? That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’ve seen Showgirls twice.”
Jeff didn’t respond. He tugged at the spiralbound map book, which was snagged on the underside of the seat. The Mini Cooper swerved to the right.
“Hey, watch where you’re going,” Greg said.
“Watch where I’m going?” Jeff echoed. “You’re refusing to tell me which exit to take, forcing me to read a map book in the fucking dark, and you’re telling me to watch where I’m going?”
Greg’s screen glowed a poisonous yellow. “Well, someone has to. I can’t exactly see the road from your glove compart—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re not in the glove compartment anymore! How many times do you want me to apologize for a stupid mistake?” With a final pull, Jeff managed to wrench the Thomas Guide free. The map book snapped through the air, knocking the rearview mirror askew. Instinctively Jeff yanked his left hand off the steering wheel to stop the book from hitting him in the face. The Mini Cooper veered left, narrowly missing a BMW convertible in the centre lane. Horns blared. Jeff grabbed the steering wheel and overcorrected, swerving back across his lane. He finally came to a bumpy halt on the shoulder of the freeway.
Jeff had never fully understood how a heart could pound until that moment. He let out a long, shuddering breath and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. It seemed like hours before his pulse slowed, before his breathing became regular again. Slowly, Jeff sat up. His gaze fell on the lower left portion of the windshield, now empty. Greg, he thought frantically. He felt around between the driver’s seat and the door, and finally his hand closed over warm plastic. Jeff pressed the power button, but the screen remained dark. He turned on the Mini Cooper’s overhead light and examined the GPS more closely. A tiny hairline crack snaked across the screen. Oh, shit, Jeff thought. He pressed the power button once more, but the GPS was lifeless in his hands. “Shit!” he shouted, pounding the steering wheel with his fist. Jeff turned the overhead light off again. If Greg had to be in darkness, Jeff wanted to be in darkness, too.
Jeff stared out the windshield at the steady stream of red taillights moving southbound on the 101. Ridiculously, he remembered that he needed the Vine Street exit. A straight shot along Vine and a right on Santa Monica Boulevard, and he’d be as good as home. Greg was right, he thought sadly. If I can find my own way home, I guess I really don’t need him anymore. Jeff put the Mini Cooper in gear, signaled left, and melted into the freeway traffic. So why do I feel as though I’ve just lost my best friend?
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