I Dream of Jensen (Prologue)
Title: I Dream of Jensen
Author: queeberquabbler
Fic Prompt: Disney's Aladdin
Pairing: J2
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for swearing. No warnings otherwise--it's your standard J2 :)
Disclaimer: See Master Post.
PROLOGUE
3:54 a.m.
Warner Brother Studios
Burbank, California
It’s very late Saturday night-or very early Sunday morning, depending on how you look at it-and the studios are completely still. There were no night shoots scheduled, and even the most stressed-out writers have taken the night off to give their overworked and underappreciated minds a rest…after downing a few shots of liquid inspiration, of course. The moon casts its glow over the lot, guiding shadows in a slow dance as it makes its way across the sky. Lengthen and lean. Stretch and shrivel. Lengthen and lean again. It’s a dark ballet, one that only stars and polluted clouds are privy to observe.
But behind a soundstage, one shadow breaks from the pattern. It darts around the building, ducking under lights and security cameras as it makes its way to its objective. One last jump around a corner and the shadow stops...and waits. The soft clap of approaching footsteps sound out from the darkness, and a tall man appears in the moonlight.
“You’re late.”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry about that. But hey, I brought coffee!” The shorter man offers up a travel cup to the tall man-who slaps it away. The shorter man then gulps as the other man steps forward and towers over him.
“You knew we had a ten minute window to do this,” he seethes. “Thanks to your stupid pit stop for coffee, we now have six minutes!” A big hand grabs the shorter man by his coat and shoves him forward.
“Dude, calm down, I GOT this!” He moves up to the keypad and punches in the code. “And I know exactly where it is. I’ll be in and out in two minutes, Dave.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“What, dude or Dave?”
“Either.”
The shorter man shrugs. “Whatever.” The heavy door to the prop warehouse slides open and he gives his cohort a grin. It is not returned.
“What if the old man is in there after all?” the tall man asks.
“I TOLD you, the schedule says he takes a coffee break from 3:50 to 4:00 a.m. every night! He won’t even know we’re here.”
No sooner are his words out than a bright flashlight shines out from within the building. The men shield their eyes as the light grows, bobbing up and down as its bearer jogs forward. A 50-something security guard steps up to them, dark piercing eyes narrowed as he studies the two intruders. Though he’s got a few years on him, he’s still quite fit: the shirt of his uniform sits taut against his firm chest and built arms, and no part of him is hunched over or shaking with arthritis. Perfectly polished shoes shine with the moon’s reflection, as does the hilt of the gun in its holster.
“Well?” he asks at length. “You gonna tell me what you’re doin’ here, or am I callin’ the police?”
The shorter man smiles and says, “Hey, there you are!” He puts an arm around the guard’s shoulders. “My man, all right! How are ya?”
The guard promptly shrugs him off. “I’m not your man,” he growls.
“Sure you are, Johnny!”
“It’s Jim.”
“Jim, yeah! Don’t you recognize me?” The shorter man holds his arms out to either side, and the guard narrows his eyes again and takes a long look. “Chris!” the man says. “Gopher for Modern Sorcery, remember?”
“No, I don’t remember. I never seen you before in my life. Now get!”
Chris laughs. “Dude, how can you forget a face like this?” He smoothes a hand over the stubble on his chin and into his hair, wagging his eyebrows as tries his best to look suave. The guard rolls his eyes.
“I didn’t forget yer face, ya idjit. I remember everybody that comes in here! It’s my JOB!” Jim takes his cell phone out and starts punching numbers. “You got two seconds to move your asses.”
“But-!”
“One second.”
“Wait!” Chris yells. Jim pauses with his thumb over the Send Button and gives the kid an eyebrow’s worth of interest. Chris turns around and pulls the tall man forward. “What about HIS face? He’s the star of the show! You know him, right?”
Jim’s scowl eases up just a little. “Mr. Boreanaz.” The guard gives a nod of respect. “Mind tellin’ me what you’re doing out here at…” he checks his watch, “four to four in the morning?”
“I…couldn’t sleep,” the actor replies. A smile creeps onto his face, and he adds, “I had a brainstorm about the episode we’re going to start filming on Monday.”
Jim’s scowl returns full force. “Uh-huh. Still doesn’t explain why you’re trying to sneak into the prop warehouse at Buttfuck A.M.”
“We’re not sneaking in!” Chris protests. “I know the entry code!”
“Lotsa people know the entry code,” Jim shoots back. “And not just the people that are s’posed to. You have any idea how many fans I’ve caught over the years? All of ‘em just itchin’ to get their hands on somethin’ from their favorite movie or show.” Jim leans into Chris’s face until their noses are nearly touching. “How do I know you ain’t one of ‘em?”
“Cos I’m here with Dave!” Chris gets a sharp look from the actor. “-id,” he addendums.
Jim shines the flashlight right into David’s face. “That true, Mr. Boreanaz? This ain’t some weird blackmail shit, is it?”
David waves him off. “No, it’s legit. We’re just here for a prop. It’s very important that we find it, so if you’ll excuse us…” He and Chris step past the guard, but Jim quickly puts his hands against their chests and blocks them.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re not goin’ in there.”
“But I’m the star of the show!” David protests.
“Tough shit, I’m the security guard, and I’m tellin’ you that no one gets in there after hours. Not even the head of the studio.” Jim pockets his cell phone again and looks at the men in turn. “Now I’m gonna let this one slide on account-a you, Mr. Boreanaz, but if you want a prop, you’ll have to get it the same way as everybody else: send somebody with proper clearance in on Monday. We’re open at 5:30.”
He turns around to go back inside, and David calls after him. “Who’s got clearance from my show?”
Jim grumbles something before he yells back, “Hang on” and jogs inside. A few moments later, he comes back out with a clipboard. David and Chris wait as the old man flips through the pages. “…K…L…M.” Jim reads. “Here we go. Modern Sorcery.” He turns the clipboard around and points at a square with a set of initials. David frowns.
“That’s all you’ve got? Initials?”
“No, that’s all I’m allowed to SHOW you,” Jim snaps back. “You want in? Find out who J.P. is and send him down on Monday!”
The guard whirls on his heel and pulls the heavy door shut behind him, leaving the two men alone and empty handed. David smacks Chris in the back of the head.
“OW! What the hell, man?”
“Takes a coffee break EVERY NIGHT, huh?” David hisses.
“So he changed his routine for the first time ever!” Chris yells back. “How was I supposed to know?”
David grabs the shorter man by his jacket, lifts him off the ground, and shoves him into the wall. “Because you SAID you knew EVERYthing about the prop warehouse,” David hisses. “THAT’S why.” He drops the man and twists the gold serpentine ring around his left index finger until the snake’s ruby eyes are facing up. “Now the old man knows I want something in there. Have to be careful.” He looks at the building across the way. “Have to find out who J.P. is. Probably a PA…”
“Yeah, well, good luck.” Chris stands up and brushes himself off. “You have any idea how many PAs work on our show?”
“MY show,” David corrects. “And the only PA I know is the one who just got fired.”
“Huh? Who’s that?”
David doesn’t reply, just starts walking away. Realization dawns on Chris at last, and he starts running after the actor. “You can’t do that! I NEED this job! PLEASE, Dave, don’t fire me!”
David snaps his fingers, and the begging man bursts into flames, going from human to ashes in two seconds flat. “Not a good listener,” David remarks without breaking his stride. His footsteps fade into the distance, and the studios fall silent once more.
On to Part One
Master Post
Author: queeberquabbler
Fic Prompt: Disney's Aladdin
Pairing: J2
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for swearing. No warnings otherwise--it's your standard J2 :)
Disclaimer: See Master Post.
PROLOGUE
3:54 a.m.
Warner Brother Studios
Burbank, California
It’s very late Saturday night-or very early Sunday morning, depending on how you look at it-and the studios are completely still. There were no night shoots scheduled, and even the most stressed-out writers have taken the night off to give their overworked and underappreciated minds a rest…after downing a few shots of liquid inspiration, of course. The moon casts its glow over the lot, guiding shadows in a slow dance as it makes its way across the sky. Lengthen and lean. Stretch and shrivel. Lengthen and lean again. It’s a dark ballet, one that only stars and polluted clouds are privy to observe.
But behind a soundstage, one shadow breaks from the pattern. It darts around the building, ducking under lights and security cameras as it makes its way to its objective. One last jump around a corner and the shadow stops...and waits. The soft clap of approaching footsteps sound out from the darkness, and a tall man appears in the moonlight.
“You’re late.”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry about that. But hey, I brought coffee!” The shorter man offers up a travel cup to the tall man-who slaps it away. The shorter man then gulps as the other man steps forward and towers over him.
“You knew we had a ten minute window to do this,” he seethes. “Thanks to your stupid pit stop for coffee, we now have six minutes!” A big hand grabs the shorter man by his coat and shoves him forward.
“Dude, calm down, I GOT this!” He moves up to the keypad and punches in the code. “And I know exactly where it is. I’ll be in and out in two minutes, Dave.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“What, dude or Dave?”
“Either.”
The shorter man shrugs. “Whatever.” The heavy door to the prop warehouse slides open and he gives his cohort a grin. It is not returned.
“What if the old man is in there after all?” the tall man asks.
“I TOLD you, the schedule says he takes a coffee break from 3:50 to 4:00 a.m. every night! He won’t even know we’re here.”
No sooner are his words out than a bright flashlight shines out from within the building. The men shield their eyes as the light grows, bobbing up and down as its bearer jogs forward. A 50-something security guard steps up to them, dark piercing eyes narrowed as he studies the two intruders. Though he’s got a few years on him, he’s still quite fit: the shirt of his uniform sits taut against his firm chest and built arms, and no part of him is hunched over or shaking with arthritis. Perfectly polished shoes shine with the moon’s reflection, as does the hilt of the gun in its holster.
“Well?” he asks at length. “You gonna tell me what you’re doin’ here, or am I callin’ the police?”
The shorter man smiles and says, “Hey, there you are!” He puts an arm around the guard’s shoulders. “My man, all right! How are ya?”
The guard promptly shrugs him off. “I’m not your man,” he growls.
“Sure you are, Johnny!”
“It’s Jim.”
“Jim, yeah! Don’t you recognize me?” The shorter man holds his arms out to either side, and the guard narrows his eyes again and takes a long look. “Chris!” the man says. “Gopher for Modern Sorcery, remember?”
“No, I don’t remember. I never seen you before in my life. Now get!”
Chris laughs. “Dude, how can you forget a face like this?” He smoothes a hand over the stubble on his chin and into his hair, wagging his eyebrows as tries his best to look suave. The guard rolls his eyes.
“I didn’t forget yer face, ya idjit. I remember everybody that comes in here! It’s my JOB!” Jim takes his cell phone out and starts punching numbers. “You got two seconds to move your asses.”
“But-!”
“One second.”
“Wait!” Chris yells. Jim pauses with his thumb over the Send Button and gives the kid an eyebrow’s worth of interest. Chris turns around and pulls the tall man forward. “What about HIS face? He’s the star of the show! You know him, right?”
Jim’s scowl eases up just a little. “Mr. Boreanaz.” The guard gives a nod of respect. “Mind tellin’ me what you’re doing out here at…” he checks his watch, “four to four in the morning?”
“I…couldn’t sleep,” the actor replies. A smile creeps onto his face, and he adds, “I had a brainstorm about the episode we’re going to start filming on Monday.”
Jim’s scowl returns full force. “Uh-huh. Still doesn’t explain why you’re trying to sneak into the prop warehouse at Buttfuck A.M.”
“We’re not sneaking in!” Chris protests. “I know the entry code!”
“Lotsa people know the entry code,” Jim shoots back. “And not just the people that are s’posed to. You have any idea how many fans I’ve caught over the years? All of ‘em just itchin’ to get their hands on somethin’ from their favorite movie or show.” Jim leans into Chris’s face until their noses are nearly touching. “How do I know you ain’t one of ‘em?”
“Cos I’m here with Dave!” Chris gets a sharp look from the actor. “-id,” he addendums.
Jim shines the flashlight right into David’s face. “That true, Mr. Boreanaz? This ain’t some weird blackmail shit, is it?”
David waves him off. “No, it’s legit. We’re just here for a prop. It’s very important that we find it, so if you’ll excuse us…” He and Chris step past the guard, but Jim quickly puts his hands against their chests and blocks them.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re not goin’ in there.”
“But I’m the star of the show!” David protests.
“Tough shit, I’m the security guard, and I’m tellin’ you that no one gets in there after hours. Not even the head of the studio.” Jim pockets his cell phone again and looks at the men in turn. “Now I’m gonna let this one slide on account-a you, Mr. Boreanaz, but if you want a prop, you’ll have to get it the same way as everybody else: send somebody with proper clearance in on Monday. We’re open at 5:30.”
He turns around to go back inside, and David calls after him. “Who’s got clearance from my show?”
Jim grumbles something before he yells back, “Hang on” and jogs inside. A few moments later, he comes back out with a clipboard. David and Chris wait as the old man flips through the pages. “…K…L…M.” Jim reads. “Here we go. Modern Sorcery.” He turns the clipboard around and points at a square with a set of initials. David frowns.
“That’s all you’ve got? Initials?”
“No, that’s all I’m allowed to SHOW you,” Jim snaps back. “You want in? Find out who J.P. is and send him down on Monday!”
The guard whirls on his heel and pulls the heavy door shut behind him, leaving the two men alone and empty handed. David smacks Chris in the back of the head.
“OW! What the hell, man?”
“Takes a coffee break EVERY NIGHT, huh?” David hisses.
“So he changed his routine for the first time ever!” Chris yells back. “How was I supposed to know?”
David grabs the shorter man by his jacket, lifts him off the ground, and shoves him into the wall. “Because you SAID you knew EVERYthing about the prop warehouse,” David hisses. “THAT’S why.” He drops the man and twists the gold serpentine ring around his left index finger until the snake’s ruby eyes are facing up. “Now the old man knows I want something in there. Have to be careful.” He looks at the building across the way. “Have to find out who J.P. is. Probably a PA…”
“Yeah, well, good luck.” Chris stands up and brushes himself off. “You have any idea how many PAs work on our show?”
“MY show,” David corrects. “And the only PA I know is the one who just got fired.”
“Huh? Who’s that?”
David doesn’t reply, just starts walking away. Realization dawns on Chris at last, and he starts running after the actor. “You can’t do that! I NEED this job! PLEASE, Dave, don’t fire me!”
David snaps his fingers, and the begging man bursts into flames, going from human to ashes in two seconds flat. “Not a good listener,” David remarks without breaking his stride. His footsteps fade into the distance, and the studios fall silent once more.
On to Part One
Master Post