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Fic: In Production (3/7)
Master Post | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
Previous
***
Gerard is not having a good day. Pete picked it up the moment the director walked on set, hair sticking out in disarray - which is not abnormal at all - it's the level of disarray that is telling for Pete. Then there is the sighing, the muttering, the complete inability to stand still. Again, all typical Gerard behavior, but it's more restless than usual, lacking focus.
These little notices to Gerard's mindset aren't obvious to every person on set. Mikey knows, of course. From the little sideways glances Pete's getting from Joe, the first AD has figured it out as well. The cast are clueless, except maybe for Kodi, who is way too switched on for a thirteen year old in Pete's opinion.
"Something's up," Patrick says to Pete, voice low even though there isn't anyone nearby paying any heed.
Pete should be surprised. Patrick hasn't been here long enough to tell a flustered Gerard from a normal everyday weird Gerard, but the fucker just did. He glances sideways at the executive, a little shocked that his first instinct isn't to dismiss it and end the conversation. This is too sensitive for Tom Meyer's guy and even if it wasn't, Pete's not going to be the one betraying Gerard to the studio.
He kind of wants to, though. Not the betraying part, just the talking part. Because he can't help thinking that between the two of them they might be able to figure it out.
Instead, he just hums noncommittally and fixes his eyes on the monitors. Patrick lets it drop.
Between setups Joe snags Pete for a quick word.
"We're falling behind. We're not going to get to scene eighty-four at this rate," Joe warns, referring to the last scene on the call sheet. It's nothing Pete wasn't expecting, but that doesn't mean he isn't hoping for a different answer.
"Even if we go into overtime?" Pete asks, wincing when he pushes the "O" word out. They've been keeping tight on the overtime since Patrick's arrival, and he knows he'll be in shit if he goes there; but if it has to be done, he'll do it.
"It's not worth it." Patrick's suddenly part of the conversation and Pete has to bite back a remark. This is not his business (except for how it is) but still, it isn't his place to just jump into conversations he's not invited to.
"I'm sorry?" Joe asks, glancing between Pete and Patrick.
Patrick just shakes his head, looking far too sure of himself. "Even if you go into overtime you won’t get it all. You'd be better off dropping scene seventeen and picking it up on Friday when you're back on this set. It's a one shot scene but it's got a lot of rigging time. You move that to first up on Friday and it'll buy you two hours today without having to go into overtime."
Pete has to concentrate pretty hard to keep his mouth from falling open, on two counts. Not only does it sound like a reasonable suggestion, and coming from an executive that's a surprise, but it's also completely out of line for Patrick to be making scheduling comments. This part shouldn't be a surprise - as a representative of the studio, traditionally, he should be making all kinds of completely inappropriate suggestions. Except that Patrick, so far, has not been a typical studio executive. He's been way less of an asshole.
Pete raises an eyebrow at Joe - it's his toes that Patrick is stepping all over so he should be the one to call foul. Joe just twitches his eyes upwards the way he does when he's mentally reshuffling the schedule and nods. "It'll work, Pete. At the very least it'll help."
"Check with Gerard, if he's fine then call it," Pete tells Joe, trying not to grin. Joe nods and seeks out Gerard, who's studying the bottom of his coffee cup like he's looking for the meaning of life.
Meanwhile, Pete studies Patrick, who’s looking less out of place since he’s had to top up his wardrobe with local purchases. He’s wearing cargoes and a t-shirt with his ever-present trucker’s cap, no tweed or argyle in sight. Pete is so curious what goes on under that hat, and not just hair-wise. Every time he starts thinking he’s got the guy pinned down he does something that goes outside Pete’s diagram.
"You know, you’re too useful to be an executive." The comment sneaks past Pete’s filter, but there’s no point worrying after it’s been said.
Patrick’s answering smile is wry. "You’ve been hanging out with the wrong executives, Wentz."
"They’re all the wrong executives." Pete means it. There’s way more to this guy than any other studio hack he’s had to deal with. All those assholes just pushing their opinion to feel like they’re contributing something, to prove they’re worthy of their enormous salaries despite being less useful than the lowliest runner.
Patrick doesn’t fit that description. He’s something else.
Pete’s not going to tell him that, though. Even if he thought Patrick wanted to hear it. He’s digging around for a change of subject when one presents itself to him perfectly.
Ryan wanders onto set, which is not news, except for how Bob Bryar is following behind him. This is the first time Pete has seen Bob on set for the entire shoot and they are halfway through principal photography. Well wow. Fucking, wow.
"What’s Bob doing on set?" Pete asks no one in particular.
"Looks like he’s... holding your assistant’s hand," Patrick observes drolly and Pete can hear the smile that’s threatening in Patrick’s voice.
He’s so right though; Ryan’s got a loose grip on Bob’s fingers as he leads him past the mess of cable spaghetti and stacks of equipment to the viewing area. Bob looks vaguely out of place but otherwise not entirely unhappy about being on set. He and Ryan settle over by the monitors, chatting to the sound recordist and the script supervisor until Joe calls ‘camera set’ for another take.
There’s a rush of movement as the various crew prepare to roll. Gerard’s still not as on as he usually is, but Ray and his crew are, so they get through that scene and the next three on the call sheet without any trauma. They reschedule scene seventeen and wrap fifteen minutes early. It’s almost a miracle.
Or maybe, it’s just Patrick Stump.
***
Gerard folds himself onto Bob’s couch with a sigh, waving a vague hand to run the dailies. Bob doesn’t, just spins in his chair and waits for Gerard to talk. When Gerard scrapes his hair off his face to find Bob staring him down, the headache he’s been fighting with all day rears up again.
"What? What? Can we please just run the dailies?"
"You sure you want to do that?" Bob leans forward on his knees looking carefully expressionless.
"Why, is there something wrong with them? What did I fuck up?"
"Nothing, no they’re good." Bob shakes his head.
"What then?"
"Gerard, I was on set today."
"I know, I saw you, I said hello." Gerard leaps to the defensive, but that’s not what Bob was getting at and he knows it. Bob waits patiently for the silence to force Gerard’s words out. "Bob, what? Please just ask; I can’t do this today."
"Gee, I haven’t seen you that edgy since you were getting clean. What’s going on? And why is it coming to set with you?"
Gerard sighs and covers his eyes. He knows he’s off today. Mikey spent most of the day eyeing him with suspicion, asking careful questions and siphoning coffee down him so he should’ve figured Bob would notice, too.
"Bob. Can’t I just..."
"I don’t think you can just," Bob says in the careful tone he usually reserves for when he wants to cut something Gerard’s gotten attached to. "You’re bringing it to set. What is it?"
Gerard sighs and mashes his hands over his face. He sighs again, trying to make it sound more pathetic, but Bob just keeps on waiting. He has a ridiculous talent for patience.
Keeping his hands firmly over his over-tired eyes he forces the words out. "I like Brian." He can feel his skin burning under his hands.
"Yeah, I know Gee, its good you guys are getting along. Beats you yelling at him all the time."
"No, Bob." Gerard peels his hands away from his face, focusing on Bob’s shoes. "I don’t just like Brian. I like Brian."
"Yeah, I kind of figured that, too," Bob admits. Gerard glances up, catching the barest hint of a smile on his editor’s face and sort of wants to kill him for making him say it. Or at least hurt him. "So does he like you?"
"It doesn’t matter. It’s not going to happen."
"Gerard. Come on. You’re just gonna dismiss it?"
"It would be completely unprofessional to pursue something." Gerard flops back onto the couch and hides behind his elbow.
"Oh fuck off. It happens all the time. At least Brian is just a stuntie and not one of your lead cast, like Burton or Spielberg."
"I can’t believe you just compared me to Burton and Spielberg." The words mash into Gerard’s sleeve.
"You all have the same job." Bob waves the comment away with a careless hand. "So what, you’re just gonna re-live Revenge all over again and be an asshole to him to try and scare him off?"
Gerard just stares at him. Fucking mindreader.
"That’s a really shitty idea, Gee." Bob’s right. Of course he’s right, he’s alwaysright.
"So what then, Bob? I can’t get involved, I can’t do that again." Gerard stares at his hands, grimy with set-dust.
"Brian isn’t Bert-"
"Off limits!" Gerard shoots up off the couch at the name, shrieking and pointing, "Off limits, Bob, you know that." Bob’s well aware this is not a topic for discussion ever again. Ever.
"Whatever Gee, I’m not bringing him up to rag on you. Brian’s a professional, he’s top of his game and he’s not gonna think fucking the director is some kind of career move."
The words unlike Bert remain unspoken, hanging in the air between them. " How do you know so much?" Gerard asks, folding his arms tightly across his chest.
Bob shrugs. "So we kept in touch after Revenge. He’s a good guy, Gerard. He’s not looking for a free ride and he’s six years clean and sober."
"What are you, his publicist?" Gerard’s voice is undeservedly sharp, but he really can’t think about this right now. He can’t think about all of Brian’s box-ticking qualities.
"I’m just a friend okay? Your friend. His friend. Whatever. This isn’t worth killing the film over, Gee."
"I’m not..." Gerard starts to argue, but fuck he was so lost on set today, so completely distracted.
"You could." Bob says it plain and Gerard silently agrees.
He twists his hands together, trying to find a solution but there’s nothing there. This is too big to think about right now. He shouldn’t even be thinking about it at all. He’s keeping his name off the damn whiteboard. "Let’s just watch dailies. Okay? Can we just watch dailies, please?"
"Fine, Gerard, we’ll watch dailies. But one thing, okay? Just one." Bob’s tone has Gerard sitting up, fingers flexing as he waits for it. "Whatever you do, even if you choose to do nothing, will you please just fucking relax? The more you freak out, the more you freak everyone else out and that’s when things go south. So just, switch it off okay?"
"Switch it off?" Gerard repeats, voice hollow.
"The crazy. Switch off the fucking crazy already." Bob spins back to his Avid, clicking on a sequence and hitting play. He grabs his screening log and rolls his chair back, eyes fixed on the screen, all his concentration on the pictures in front of him.
Gerard doesn’t absorb the first two takes; he’s still rolling Bob’s advice around in his head. By take three it’s soaked in, a little puddle of resolve for him to dip his feet in when he needs it. He breathes in, focuses and lets go.
Relax. Relax? Okay. He can try that. He forces his concentration back onto the dailies and soon he's lost to everything but the footage on the monitor. By the time the screen flashes to black after the last shot is spent, Gerard feels like Bob's advice is already working.
He clambers up from the couch, thanks Bob and grabs his satchel, shoving his shotlist inside carelessly. The move dislodges a newspaper Mikey left out on his desk this morning, folded open to the film reviews page because Mikey is nothing if not subtle.
"You know, Bert's film opens this weekend." Gerard tries to keep his voice casual, his eyes tracing over the words on the page before he shoves it back into his bag. Just bringing up the name after his earlier tantrum is a peace offering.
Bob's well practiced at keeping his expression neutral, so Gerard's not surprised when he doesn't get a visible reaction. "You mean, the one he wanted you to-"
"Direct. Yeah, before..." Gerard waves a hand, not wanting to put words to the wreckage of that relationship.
"You going to go see it?" Bob asks, his monitor emitting a musical beep as he shuts it off.
"No." Gerard answers too quickly, shaking his head emphatically. When Bob glances up from his monitor, he's wearing one of his patented Bryar stares. This one says quite clearly that he's not buying whatever Gerard's selling, but he doesn't say anything out loud. For that, Gerard will remain eternally grateful.
***
"Travis!" Patrick's eyes light up as a very tired and bent figure shambles into the production office dragging a battered suitcase behind him. Pete watches, a warm feeling diffusing through him as Patrick leaps from behind his desk to envelop his fresh-off-the-plane assistant in a tight hug.
Patrick isn't usually much of a hugger. Pete's managed to get a couple of the one-armed, back-patting variety out of him (after a whole lot of effort) so he just put it down to the guy being all executive-like and shy. Which doesn't gel at all with the giant clutchy bear hug he's giving Travis, and Pete can't help the little twinge of envy he gets at the sight. Patrick barely comes up to the guy's shoulder and all Pete can see of the taller man is a rumpled hoodie and a mess of afro curls sticking out from under a battered baseball cap.
"They made me fly coach," Travis groans into Patrick's hat.
"I know, I'm sorry, I swear I tried - we tried." Patrick throws a glance over his shoulder toward Pete - because they did try, both of them, to get Travis' ticket upgraded to business class but Meyer was not budging on it. "Meyer was being stubborn."
"Meyer's an asshole."
"Say it a little louder Travis, I don't think they picked that up on the hidden microphone." Pete can't stop himself from chiming in; he's starting to like this Travis guy already. "I'm Pete, by the way." He steps forward, offering his hand and Travis disentangles himself from Patrick long enough to give it a firm shake.
"Pete Wentz, hey? Nice to meet you. Patrick here’s been going on and on about you. All good of course." Travis gives him a wide grin, flashing silver grills and Pete’s feeling a helluva lot less badass than he usually does. This guy is tattooed and punctured all over, not at all what Pete was expecting. He isn't sure exactly why he was expecting Patrick’s assistant to be... well, sort of a mini-Patrick complete with vest and hat, but he was quite mistaken.
"I hope so," Pete says with a smile, desperately curious to know exactly what Patrick’s been saying and this seems to twig Travis to his loose mouth.
"Sorry, man. You need to ignore me. I didn’t sleep at all on the flight; all twisted up like some damn pretzel." Travis scratches a hand up through his hair under the cap, swaying a little as he speaks. The guy looks even more wrecked than Patrick did when he was fresh off the plane.
"What are you even doing here? Why didn’t you just go straight to your place and crash?" There’s an edge of exasperation in Patrick’s voice.
"No way, Trick, you know the rules. I gotta stay conscious ‘til at least eight ‘o clock or my body clock will be messed up for weeks."
"Well at least go dump your stuff, take a shower, get some food, or something."
Pete has to smother a smile; this exactly the kind of talk he and Ryan would be having except it would be Ryan telling Pete what to do.
"You looking to get rid of me already? I just got here!"
"I’ve gotten by without you for weeks now, I can handle a few more hours." Patrick’s already manhandling Travis towards the door and shoving him out unceremoniously. "Go like, mess up your room, or something."
Pete gives the runner Brendon a wave and he’s already moving, catching up with Travis and taking his bag.
Patrick wanders back into the office, wearing a relaxed smile that looks unfamiliar on him.
"Better?" Pete asks, thinking he already knows the answer.
"Yeah," Patrick nods. "It’s just... more normal now."
"Good. We aim for normal." Pete can relate. There’s nothing like having one person around who knows you so well to make a foreign country feel more like home. Something about the looser set of Patrick’s shoulders and the remnant of a soft smile on his mouth makes all the arguing and budget-fucking they had to pull to find the money to bring Travis over worth it. It’s a scary thought that Pete’s taking so much joy from pleasing a studio exec.
"He’s gonna fucking hate the Gold Coast, though," Patrick states with a twist on his lip that’s nearly a smile and Pete knows he’s right.
"Don’t we all?" he counters, as Patrick flops back into his chair. He lets his head fall back and the movement dislodges his hat slightly. It doesn't come off, but a mess of strawberry blonde hair spills out, falling over his forehead. Pete's mouth goes suddenly dry at the sight, his entire body freezing into stillness. It barely lasts a moment, because Patrick shoves the hair back into his hat in a practiced way, hat never leaving his head.
There's a tightness in Pete's chest and he knows he's staring, that he should shift his gaze off Patrick now. But he can't move, can't force his eyes away.
Fuck, he knows that twinge, what that ache under his ribcage means and its bad news. This is not the way it's supposed to go. It's supposed to be Pete getting Patrick on side. He's supposed to be charming the executive into compliance, not the other way around. Sometimes his heart has no survival instinct at all.
"Pete? Earth to Pete?" Patrick finally notices that Pete's gone catatonic on him. Pete gives himself a shake and tries to disconnect from just how clear and intensely green Patrick's eyes look under the fluorescents.
"Sorry, I was on a neighboring planet."
"I noticed." Patrick's look is assessing, but he doesn't pry any further. "I was saying we should go back to that Thai place again tonight."
"You know you should just save yourself some money and propose to the chef already. Then you could just eat kailan forever." Pete pushes himself up from where he's perched on the edge of his desk and flops down into his chair. Their nightly dinners became habitual fast, a fact Pete’s pretty proud of.
"You're right; you can help me pick out a ring." Patrick shoots him a sideways smile across their shared office.
"Diamonds. It's gotta be diamonds," Pete decrees, settling at his computer and popping open a few items in his ever-full inbox. He needs something else to concentrate on right now; something to distract him from a whole lot of bad ideas involving Patrick Stump and his mouth.
***
Gerard doesn't tell anyone where he's going when he leaves Bob's cutting room at the end of day forty-two. He sends Mikey home without him, and drives himself off the lot in the rental car he hasn't used in weeks. Instead of heading straight to his apartment in Main Beach, he turns off at the Australia Fair shopping centre, parking his rental in the lot closest to the cinemas.
There's an uncomfortable twist in his stomach when he hands over the colorful plastic currency to the young girl at the ticket booth, purchasing his ticket for a film which, if things had gone differently two years ago, he might have directed. He's a little early for the nine o' clock session, but he heads into the dim theatre anyway. He takes a seat in the back third, slightly off centre, his usual spot for screenings. He's the first one in the cinema and as the minutes pass to a tinny soundtrack of songs he hasn't heard for at least a decade, not many other patrons join him. It's not surprising given the late hour and the scathing reviews the film has been receiving.
He sits through the previews with a sense of dread, wound tight by the time the Universal logo spins on the screen. When the opening credits start to roll and there are four names on the writer's card, Gerard sucks in a breath. When he read the script for In Love And Death two years ago, there was only one name on the cover, and in Gerard's opinion in needed a good script editor, but not the kind of rewrites three additional writers would indicate. Adding this many writers to the project has the stink of studio interference hanging heavy on it.
The rank smell of studio bullshit only grows stronger when the editing card flashes up and there are three names on it. Dan Whitesides is no surprise, he's Quinn Allman's usual editor, but the two names below his on the card are Benjamin and Joel Madden. Gerard recognizes those names instantly as Universal's "fixers", the hacks they send in when a film isn't going where they want it to and they want to steer it into a more studio and audience-friendly direction.
When the producers card fades up and Bert McCracken's name shares the screen with five others, all Universal guys, Gerard's fingers clench and dig into the worn material of the seat arms. This has all the markings of a studio coup.
There's no satisfaction in being proven right, but he is before the first reel change. Character names haven't changed, but large story elements have. Clunky new dialogue is wedged into scenes unnecessarily and there's large slabs of expositional voiceover that wasn't in the script Gerard read. The overall effect of all these changes, is to erode the tone of despair and gritty realism that was so evident in the script. Universal have taken a film that should have been another Requiem For A Dream and turned it into a Hallmark movie.
Gerard sits stiffly in his seat, fighting the urge to walk out of the cinema. There's still an echo of the script he read, but the studio has manhandled the story of one couple's spiral into addiction and tragedy into a moralist lecture on rehabilitation.
By the final reel, he knows to expect the worst, but he's not prepared for the ending. The original script had ended tragically and beautifully, the main female protagonist dying of an overdose and taking the couple's unborn child with her. As it was written, it had the potential to be a gutting and visceral cinematic experience, with the briefest hint of hope that the central male character would survive, go on to find his way on without her. It was challenging and heart-breaking and, in Gerard's opinion, one of best elements of the script.
Universal have played down the overdose scene dramatically and reefed out everything after it, replacing the death with a stilted hospital scene showing the female lead in full recovery. It's sickening to watch., Gerard can almost see the red studio pen slicing through the script pages and cutting away the heart of the film, only to replace it with formulaic tripe. It's all too obvious what's happened here. They've tried to squeeze a dangerous and challenging peg into a safe and audience-pleasing hole.
Gerard's the only one left in the cinema as the credits roll, white names blurring in front of him as he fights down rising bile in his throat. There's no love lost between him and Bert, not after what happened two years ago, but that doesn't mean it's easy to watch the wreckage that was once his project. Gerard wouldn’t wish this treatment on anyone.
As he unfolds his stiff body from the theatre seat, Gerard firms his resolve. This will not happen to The Umbrella Academy. No way. He won't let it.
He'll keep the studio away with his bare hands if he has to.
***
When Pete gets to his office a few minutes later than usual on day forty-five, he's a little surprised to find Gerard and Patrick already in residence, in the middle of a heated discussion. Pete juggles the two takeaway coffees he's carrying, checking to make sure Gerard is clutching his own cup before he enters with his and Patrick's. No point taunting the angry director with caffeine if he doesn't have any of his own.
He sucks in a breath before he steps into the fray, already fairly certain he knows the topic of discussion.
"It can just be a series of scenes, not even ten minutes worth." Patrick is saying as Pete slips in, carefully depositing Patrick's coffee on his desk before sliding into his own chair and acting politely disinterested. He pops open a series of emails on his computer as Gerard ploughs in.
"I don't see why Tom is so desperate to see cut footage. He's getting the dailies every day, he can see everything we're doing. Fuck, with the time difference he's getting to see dailies before I do." Gerard's voice is carefully level, and Pete knows he's projecting more calm than he's feeling.
Pete's been expecting this issue to come out soon, Tom's gone from dropping heavy hints to making very specific requests for cut footage and Gerard has been studiously ignoring them.
"Seeing raw footage doesn't give anywhere near as much of a feel for the film as seeing cut scenes, I don't have to tell you that." Patrick counters.
"He can wait 'til the Director's cut." Everything in Gerard's demeanor is stubborn. "He can see the whole thing then."
"By which time you'll no longer be shooting and you won't be able to address his feedback."
"He's already giving us plenty of feedback on the dailies." Gerard waves a hand, the tremble in his fingers a telling clue that he's fighting heavy frustration. "The lighting's too dark, the scene needs to be more colorful, he's worried about Maggie's performance - god Maggie, of anyone is the least of our problems! I'm already getting plenty of feedback here, I don't need more." Gerard plasters on a grin that doesn't reach his eyes. He dances his weight between his feet the way he always does when he's wound up. "I didn't show the studio a frame of cut footage on Bullets or Revenge before the Director's cut and it was not a big deal."
"Those two films had a fraction of this budget, and neither one of them had a big Christmas release date, going up against a Twilight film."
"We're going up against a Twilight film?" Pete jumps in, the words out of his mouth before he's even registered saying them.
The side of Patrick's mouth pulls up in a wry grin as he glances over at Pete. "Looks like it. Even if we don't share release dates, it'll be damn close."
"You know, the fact that the studio think we share more than the tiniest scrap of our audience with a 'tween vampire film shows just how little they know about Umbrella Academy." Gerard's trying, Pete can tell, but he's having trouble masking his disgust.
Pete opens his mouth to jump in before this degenerates into something ugly, but Patrick beats him to it.
"Look, Gerard, you and I both know you don't have to show him anything cut 'til the Director's Cut. You don't have to, but it could be really helpful to you and to the film."
Gerard laughs, "Why, because his feedback is going to be so useful?"
Patrick doesn't even flinch at the remark. Pete's impressed. "It would be a show of faith." Patrick proposes, "A show of trust and you know, it could put him in a good frame of mind for the rest of the project." Patrick pushes up from where he's leaning on his desk to approach Gerard, "He just wants to feel involved. You give him some cut scenes, maybe he won't have to look at dailies so hard."
Pete has to catch his breath at the look of absolute sincerity Patrick is wearing. As the studio's representative, Patrick has no choice but to push Tom's agenda, but the way he's talking, Pete can't tell if this is a particularly good pitch, or if Patrick is truly trying to share some advice with Gerard. If he's bullshitting, he's doing a damn good job.
Pete can see Gerard falter. He chews his lip and for a long moment he looks like he's seriously considering sending the scenes. Then he shakes his head like a wet dog, his brow furrowed with resolve.
"No. Look, thanks for your advice Patrick, but I'm not ready for the studio to see cuts yet. They'll just have to wait."
"That's your call." Patrick says it with respect, but Pete can tell from pull of his mouth that Patrick thinks it's the wrong decision.
"Yeah, it is." Gerard agrees, putting some force behind his words.
Before the standoff can get any more uncomfortable, Brendon taps gently on the door, "Ah, Elizabeth from accounts needs some signatures for Purchase Orders. Should I tell her to wait?" Brendon's doing a light nervous shuffle in the doorway, his eyes dancing between Gerard, Pete and Patrick.
"It's alright, I'll do it." Patrick says, looking relieved at the excuse to leave the room. He grabs a pen from his desk and follows Brendon out. When he's well out of earshot, Gerard shoots a sideways look at Pete.
"Thanks for backing me up there." Gerard's voice is heavy with irony.
"What? You were doing fine." Pete gives Gerard his best smile. "Besides, I think you should hear him out. Patrick knows Tom, and he hasn't steered us wrong yet."
"I don't trust him, and you shouldn't either." Gerard flops down onto Pete's very comfortable couch. "Don’t forget whose side he's on. I mean, I know you share an office with him and you guys are besties now, but-"
"We're not besties, Gee. I'm just keeping him sweet." Pete crosses the office to sit beside Gerard, keeping his voice light. "You know, I think he might be more on our side than you think."
"That's what he wants you to think." Gerard grumbles, fisting a hand through his hair which is stressed-out-Gerard levels of fucked up.
"Why are you so against showing them stuff anyway? It's not like anything they say will be any worse than the notes you're getting on the dailies."
Gerard sighs, leaning back into the soft cushions and twirling a lock of hair around his finger. "I just want it to be mine for a little longer. Is that bad? You know, before the hacks start tearing it up?"
"Who says they're going to tear it up?" Pete quirks an eyebrow at Gerard. Gerard just shakes his head, picking at a loose thread in the couch.
"It's what they do. I've seen it before. Studios are great at destroying things. They rip apart good films all the time, trying to turn them into something they're not."
"That doesn't mean it's going to happen on this one."
"Give me one good reason why not." Gerard argues, dragging his eyes up from the couch to challenge Pete.
At that moment, Pete can only think of one good reason, and he left the room with Brendon just moments ago.
***
The next weeks pass in a blur of color and movement. Gerard holds tight to Bob's advice and tries to relax, concentrating every moment he's not sleeping, eating or jerking-off on making the film. Sometimes even those times as well, thoughts chasing through his mind every conscious moment. It can be surprising where and when a vision will suddenly crystallize.
He stops fighting his attraction to Brian. He doesn't do shit about it, but he makes a real effort to let go of the guilt and fear that he usually carries with it and just lets himself appreciate Brian for what he is - a good looking, personable guy who's really fucking good at his job. A member of his crew. The work he does on the carnival scenes is pretty much amazing, making Gerard shriek with delight while he's watching it back on the monitors with Pete, who just smiles wide and thankfully doesn't say "I told you so."
Tom's notes on the dailies continue to escalate in frequency and ridiculousness. He goes from inane script notes requesting heavily expository dialogue, to a screaming panic over a lighting set up that's, in his words, "too dark". There's a hissy fit over Bradley's facial hair and a full blown clusterfuck over the perceived homoerotic tension between Kraken and Spaceboy. Gerard is pretty sure he's being punished, but he still can't bring himself to part with any cuts. Patrick still brings the question of sending scenes to LA up from time to time; but it's always in a resigned fashion that tells Gerard he's not expecting a change of answer.
Wrap draws closer and closer and Gerard still can't quite believe it. They're down to their final days of bluescreen work and it looks likely they'll finish only three days over schedule. Three days - this is unheard of. Revenge went over by two weeks and it had less money to play with. Gerard knows he owes a lot to this to his crew being incredibly committed and dedicated. A lot of late nights, early mornings and lost weekends have gotten them where they are and Gerard wants something more than words to give back to his crew.
Something better than a cap or a t-shirt, too. When Pete suggests a hoodie he nearly slaps him. It needs to be more than some screen printed freebie, he wants the crew gift to really mean something, to really rock. He's starting to obsess over it too much when Frank suddenly displays his genius.
"What about your original character sketches? Do a limited print run of each of the characters, stamp 'em and sign 'em and give one to each member of the crew. Shit, Gerard if the film does well they could be worth something someday," Frank mutters around his cigarette and it takes all Gerard's will power not to kiss the man in front of his fiancée .
"You're a fucking genius."
"Yeah well, that's why they pay me the big bucks." Frank grins around the butt and the threaded needle crammed between his lips.
When the last day of shoot dawns, the prints are sitting in stacks on a couple of trestle tables in the production office, bagged and tagged and Gerard's wrist is still a little sore from signing all three hundred of them. They're a hit with the majority of the crew and Gerard hopes he won't see too many of them turn up on eBay, but whatever, they belong to the crew now, they can choose what to do with them. Vanya, Kraken and The Boy are proving the most popular characters since its first in first served.
Somehow the wrap shot ends up being of Kodi and it's not exactly the most exciting shot in the film, but it's needed. The last few days have all been in front of the bluescreen on Stage Nine and Kodi's dangling from wires in his harness, Brian watching on carefully. The kid's a natural at the anti-gravity stuff and Gerard's got what he needs by take three, but they're still half an hour ahead so he gives the kid his head and tells him to improvise. Take four is golden, with some fantastic emotions Bob will probably steal for a variety of scenes and Gerard's grinning so hard when he yells "cut" he's surprised the word doesn't come out slurred.
Ray gives him the nod that the footage is good and he tells Joe he's happy, he's got everything he needs.
"You want to do the honors?" Joe asks with a smile and Gerard can only nod happily, climbing up on a chair in front of the bluescreen.
"Ladies and gentlemen, you've been amazing. I couldn't have asked for a better crew. Every single one of you has a piece of The Umbrella Academy - and The Umbrella Academy has got a piece of you." Gerard glances around at the faces of his crew, sweaty, tired, smudged with set-grime, but they're all watching him and the excitement in the room is palpable. Even the off-set crew are here, production, post and art department faces scattered among the usual crew, all gathered for the traditional wrap shot. "Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart." He raises his arms above his head with possibly a little too much theatricality, "That, my friends, is a wrap!"
The gathered crew burst into applause, hooting with enthusiasm and laughter. Pete reaches up an arm and helps him down from the chair, grabbing him into a hug and Gerard feels like he might explode from happiness. He can't believe how far they've come, that all the shooting is done. It's a blur of faces, arms and bodies as he’s pulled from hug to handshake to hug. He sinks into every one, not even stiffening when it's Brian's arms folding around him, although his heartbeat shoots up and skitters. He squeezes the stunt coordinator back, letting his chin drop to rest on Brian's shoulder.
"Thanks. Really. You're amazing. I'm so glad you took a chance on this." He says it with complete sincerity and Brian's smile is blinding.
"It's a real pleasure Gerard. Don't worry, I told my agent to take you off the blacklist." Gerard snorts out a laugh before he's dragged away by more waiting hands, shouting, "See you at the wrap party!" before he loses Brian's face in the shuffle of bodies.
***
"Ryan, I could really care less about what you're wearing! I'm sure Bob will still want to fuck your br-, oh hi, Gerard." The squeak of the front door opening the rest of the way is the only sound as Pete realizes no, it wasn't Ryan knocking on his door but the fucking director. "You don't want any fashion advice do you? Because I'm still not sold on the fourth grade history professor look, though the tie is nice," Pete finishes with a bright smile.
"Don't make me second guess coming down here, Pete," Gerard warns, all business. By "down here" he means the three floors down from his twenty-first floor apartment to Pete's eighteenth floor apartment. Gerard's view is nicer. Pete's none too happy about what this says about production's priorities and where he lies in that hierarchy.
"What can I do for you? Run out of instant? Want a diet coke?" Pete wanders into the far-too-white apartment adorned with random paintings of dolphins and ocean views (like every other apartment on the Gold Coast, they are definitely working from the same Vacuous Shallow Holiday Apartments For Dummies Manual.) "You need to borrow a shirt for the wrap party? We're about the same size, I can lend you one."
"That's a very generous offer, but no." Gerard's smiling his "I'm just humoring you" smile at Pete and Pete totally gets it. This isn't a recreational visit. Despite the fact that they've wrapped the shoot and the wrap party is in, oh, three hours, Gerard has decided to march business talk right into Pete's IKEA-furnished living room. "I've got something want to show you."
"Hmm?" Pete flops onto the not-really-terribly-comfortable sofa, waiting for the random sketches of the Eiffel Tower or a scrawly diagram of a titles design, when Gerard dumps a thick script in his lap.
"Dallas?" he asks, before even looking at the cover page. "The sequel? I thought you were only at treatment stage?"
"No." Gerard shakes his head, smile twitching at his lip. Pete looks down at the pile of bound white paper in his lap, reading the title in courier 12 point.
"The Black Parade? What is this?" Pete can't keep the confusion out of his voice. Printed beneath the script title is the text Screenplay by Gerard Way. "You changing plans for the sequel?"
"No." Gerard shakes his head, dropping into an armchair by Pete, "This is a different project. It's kind of my baby."
Pete stares at the script in his lap. He'd heard the odd murmur about Gerard's pet project, a new script he's been sitting on and waiting for some real monetary support to make, properly, with full creative control. He'd had hints from Gerard's agent, from Bob and even Ray, and if they know about it, it means their names are scrawled on the gilded invitation into Gerard's pet project. Pete looks down at the bound pages and knows this is his name being added to that very short list.
"Gerard-" It's not often that Pete runs out of words. Luckily Gerard cuts him off so no one needs to know this was going to be one of those times.
"I'd like you to read it. I want to hear your thoughts, opinions, constructive criticism. I'd also like to know if you'd be interested in coming on board as a producer. I don't have any financial backing yet, though I definitely have some interest. I need to be real careful who I go with though, I was hoping you could help me with that." Gerard's gaze is carefully measured, waiting for Pete's reaction.
"Of course. Of course," Pete waves the script at Gerard, feeling suddenly light. His mind is a scramble of thoughts, the first one being fuck, this isn't some studio hack handing him a film because he thinks Pete can get it in on time and under-budget. This is a director - an artist - recognizing and singling him out as someone who can help bring his vision to the screen. And fuck Pete sideways if he isn't that person. Hell, he already has the name picked out for his own production company, hypothetically speaking of course.
He lifts the script from his lap, feeling the weight of it in his fingers. "Gerard, I know how big this. So thanks. Thanks for trusting me with it."
"Don't get ahead of yourself - your name's watermarked on every page." Gerard grins, but the jibe is ironic. This is so much more than copyright, watermark or leaked pages, this is Gerard trusting him with his baby. Ideas, concepts, the big picture. "I don't want to see it on eBay."
Pete laughs stiffly, giving Gerard a small salute.
The white pages are heavy in his hands as he walks Gerard out, the paper warm under his fingers from his firm grip.
"See you at the wrap party."
"See you later, Pete." Gerard gives him a smile before spinning on his heel to head for the elevator.
Pete leans on the door as it closes, leafing through the script to check the page count and see if he has time enough time to burn through it before Ryan's due to pick him up for the party.
Fuck it, they can be late. He's reading this now .
***
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i like sleepy travis, i am not a travis person but i like the idea of him a)sleepy and b)he and patrick doting on one another
LOOK AT GEE AND PETE BEING ARTIST-PALS, LOOK AT THE TRUST, LOOK AT IT.
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i like travis too. WISH HE HAD BEEN IN IT MORE. *pokes foxxy*
GEE AND PETE ARE ADORABLE FRIENDS IN THIS FIC, I WISH THERE WERE MORE GEE/PETE FRIEND FICS
FOX FOX, I LOVE THE EXTRA SCENES, THEY FLOW SO WELL
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I love Gee and Pete friendship fics. I'm glad you like the new scenes! This fic got 10k longer between first draft submission and final posting. JFC.
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halfhighsleepy :-)*blinks* i have no travie icons? ... who's responsible this!?!?
(tis a shame about Travie... totally could've just had him answer the phone once when Pete was harassing Patrick. *sigh* oh wells.
curious... no one cares that Ray disappeared...)
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I feel sad for Bert. :( Sad for him and his film being turned into suck. He is a strange little gremlin man but I bet his movie would have been kickass disturbing awesome if he'd done it with Gerard.
as much as I love reading this, looking at text makes it even harder to keep in mind that Kraken is Diego and not Ben. Because when I see 'Kraken' I think 'tentacles' and obviously Ben is the one with the tentacles. This is what I think of when I see Tom complaining about homoerotic tension between Kraken and Spaceboy. LOL.
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I feel bad for Bert too. I really do think his film could have been amazing, but you know, it's a lesson for Gerard.
Oh man I love that you've managed to combine tentacles and homoerotic tension. Hahahaaa. Tentacles.