Early Mornings and Late Nights Under Overcast Sky (Jensen/Jared RPS) -- 36/? (WIP)
Title: Early Mornings and Late Nights Under Overcast Sky
Characters/Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki; Jensen Ackles / Luanne (OFC); Jared Padalecki/Pete (OMC); Jared/Eric Kripke/JDM; stated Jared/Sandy; stated Jared/Rebecca (OFC) and stated Jared/Ryan (OMC)
POV: Jensen Ackles
Author's Notes: It’s fiction. That means it’s not real, folks. Jensen and Jared are real people. So is Eric Kripke. The show “Supernatural” is a real TV show on the WB11. If anything else in this is real, I wasn’t aware of it.
I'm not going to say when or if the next chapter will be posted...
I just now (after twenty-five chapters and nearly 60,000 words) admitted to even writing this. Yes, I am responsible for this epic debacle!
But really, it took on a mind/life of it's own... So... read at your own risk. I would enjoy feedback, but I'll understand if you don't want to start reading a WIP with no end in sight or in the works. I really have no idea what's coming next here.
Summary: Jared’s girl (Sandra) breaks up with him. Jensen tries to help. Things go (rapidly) downhill from there... then fester... then get better?
Come on! Hop in the handbasket! There be room here for everyone!
Spoilers: Overall there’s really nothing to see here… there are a few very vague spoilers for “Bugs” and some minor spoilers for “Faith” and “Bloody Mary”.
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Chapter Thirty-Six: Back to Work
Rating: PG-13 at best
Pairing: Jensen/Jared is on the horizon… not in this chapter, though
Word Count: 2,385
Chapter Thirty-Six: Back to Work
In the morning, Jared is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed compared to me. I let him drive, and close my eyes for the short time we’re on the road, not falling asleep but at least resting.
He stops at Starbucks and gets us both coffee, then drives directly to the set, which is already buzzing by the time we arrive. Eric’s shouting orders at cameramen and lighting crew to get things set up fast outside because he wants to get some of the morning on film. There are a handful of extras hanging around getting costumed and made up, and Jeff’s talking to one of the guys handling indoor set design about a spot. Cindy’s waiting with her trusty caboodle of makeup, takes one look at us and grabs my arm first.
“You need a lot less work than he does today, despite those circles under your eyes.” She says when I protest, and drags me off to her trailer, calling for costuming to bring my clothes to her trailer.
I drink my coffee-a large with an extra shot of espresso-and let them fuss over me without a word. I dress in jeans and an army-green tee, worn brown boots and the customary leather jacket while on autopilot, and stumble out to the warehouse-all before finishing my coffee.
Jared’s on his way in as I’m walking out, and lets his shoulder knock into mine. “Hey! Watch the coffee, man!” I lick at the spillage and Jared smiles and winks over his shoulder as he hops up the few steps into Cindy’s trailer.
“So what are we doing today?” He asks brightly.
I’m already out the door by the time she answers him.
Eric pulls me aside on my way into the warehouse, asks how Jared’s doing. “He’s better. Doc gave him some antibiotics. They seem to have done their job.” He seems to be waiting for more information, so I give it to him. “He still coughs a little, but it’s dry. No more blood.”
Eric nods, listening to me while all the while waving directions at cast and crew over my head. Our-mine and Jared’s-chairs are set up under a tree in the distance, wires and camera equipment strewn around them. I walk off when Eric starts talking to Jeff about a scene we’re filming today for a later-season episode, flop down in my chair and nurse the rest of my coffee.
Jared makes it over nearly an hour later, after Jeff and I have filmed a scene between John and Dean, after Jeff filmed a solo scene against some vampires. They’re trying for different camera angles, different lighting. Eric says we’re going to be filming a lot of the same scene today, which is not a problem with me. The less lines I have to remember the better-means I have less a chance of flubbing them.
“What the hell took you so long?” I ask as he flops down in the chair next to me. There’s no visible makeup on him, whereas I’ve got foundation caked around the dark circles under my eyes, lipstick to give my mouth some color-she said even my lips looked pale-and neutral eyeshadow-she swears it helps bring out the green in my eyes, but I can never tell the difference. I can see a little blush on his otherwise pale cheeks, but it’s nothing obvious like they’ve got on me.
He opens his mouth, and I can see traces of small tubing, and between his molars some elaborate contraption that holds several capsules of stage blood. “I guess you’re bleeding from the mouth today, huh?”
He nods. “Makes me wish I hadn’t stopped coughing up blood.”
“That’s not funny.”
He shrugs. “But yeah… Sam’s bleeding today. More than once. Hence the…” He opens his mouth and points around at the thin metal wires and tubing. “I guess they can just put in more blood capsules if they need to.”
“Amazing you can still talk.” I say jokingly.
“You’re not kidding.” He grumbles. “Thing’s damned uncomfortable. And I can’t eat or drink with it in. No lunch for me today.” He pauses. “Hey, you know Cindy took the rest of my latte? Sacrilege!”
“You dumped my coffee down the drain, or don’t you remember?”
“That was for your own good.” Jared says quietly, reaching into his mouth to poke at and play with the wiring. “Besides…” He mumbles around his fingers, “you just got yourself another cup.”
I bat at his hand. “Stop it.”
He takes his fingers from his mouth, looks thoughtful, and glances at me. “You had another nightmare last night.”
It’s really not a question, but I answer anyway. He knows I did. “Yeah.”
“More after you went to bed?”
I yawn and finish off my coffee. “All night.” Which is a bit of a lie. I didn’t even lie down until 3:30. There wasn’t much of ‘all night’ remaining at that point before the alarm went off at seven. Between waking up from nightmares and tossing and turning, I probably got an hour of sleep, and a good portion of that came right before the alarm sounded.
“Did you sleep at all?” He turns questioning eyes on me.
“Not much.” I admit, push off the wooden armrests of the chair when I see Eric waving us over. “C’mon.” I call to Jared as I walk off towards our director.
“Didn’t you pick up a prescription for a sleeping pill the other day, or just the Xanax?” He falls into step beside me, early morning dew dampening the low-hanging cuffed edges of his jeans. I don’t know where he finds jeans as long as he needs, but he manages.
“I did.”
He takes my arm, stopping me mid-stride. “You should use it.”
I shake my arm free of his grasp and keep walking. “I’ll think about it. You know I hate that stuff, Jared.” Which essentially means ‘no’, and I think he knows it.
I take my position on set, glance towards Eric for guidance and direction. He motions to the left, to the right, makes some other strange stage gestures I haven’t quite figured out the meaning to yet, and Cindy comes over to make a few touch-ups on my makeup.
Jared joins me, and we start our day of filming.
After running through the same scene twenty times, Eric decides he’s had enough, and moves on to the next scene. They check the blood capsule thing in Jared’s mouth, give him some last-minute directions on what he needs to do to make it work, makes sure they have ten of the same shirt (some cheap Fruit of the Loom shirt they bought in bulk-don’t want to ruin the good stuff) off to the side in case we need to re-film the scene.
The first take, when Jared-Sam-keels over, spits blood, and looks up, a mix of (stage) blood and saliva trickling down his jaw, thin trails from the corner of his mouth, I break position, hear Eric screaming “Cut! Cut!” when I’m halfway to Jared’s side.
“Sorry…” I mutter. “Just… looks so damn real.”
“That’s kinda the point, Jen.” That’s Jared.
Cindy’s scowling at me while she wipes the blood from Jared’s skin, fiddles in her waistpack for new blood capsules and gets them into Jared’s mouth. “Ok… change your shirt and we’ll be all set to try again.”
Jared peels off the ruined shirt, pulls another over his head. I casually check for the scar he’d let me feel last night, but his back is to me, and the most I can see is a few discolored marks near his side, over his kidneys which I’d previously chalked up to the sun or too much tanning or birthmarks. I know better now.
We film straight through lunchtime and break at two so Eric can get his twelfth cup of coffee from the grease trailer. Jared gets the wires and tubes pulled from his mouth, and I watch as he rinses his mouth with water, spitting on the ground outside the filming warehouse.
Eric’s back before I can approach Jared, calling directions, pointing, yelling… it’s like we never had the week off, like Jared was never sick. They expect too much. Jared’s hunched over outside the door, I can see him in the cold but glaring sunlight from the darkness inside, still swirling water in his mouth and spitting on the dirt. He’s bent over, hands on his knees, I can see his shoulders heaving-he’s breathing is rough and coming fast and stilted. He’s weak, tired.
I’m surprised it’s not obvious to Eric or Cindy, especially when it’s so obvious to me, and I’ve seen him slowly getting worse. They just saw him fine, and now like this… the difference should be glaring to them. But it’s not.
I talk to Eric. “Jared can’t go until seven. He’s not ready for a full day, Eric. Just look at him.”
Eric looks where I’m pointing, nods when Jared stumbles down to one knee, pushing off the ground to stand after a minute and looking around to make sure no one saw. He doesn’t see me and Eric.
“Four. Give me another two hours.” Eric says. “And make sure he gets some rest, huh? And you too. You look exhausted, Jensen.”
“Yeah. I’m dragging.”
He grunts in reply, flipping pages on a clipboard, calling out more directions.
Jared stumbles in, fingering a red mark on the left side of his mouth. “Cut myself on those wires.” He mumbles to me.
We say nothing else to each other, just fall easily back into our roles as brothers, filming scene after scene until Eric finally yells “Cut! Cut! Okay, folks! That’s a wrap!”
It’s four-fifteen when Eric finally lets us go, after giving us a pep talk, telling us both to get a good dinner and some shut-eye. “You looked good after a week away, Jare. Keep it up.”
He smiles halfheartedly, slumps slightly and makes his way past us towards his trailer to change. “Get me at my trailer?” He asks me.
“Yeah. Twenty.” I reply, and watch as his limp becomes more and more pronounced. For the first time I wonder if he was telling the truth about it being a rodeo/ranching injury, or if it’s remnant of the beating he took the night of his high school prom.
Eric talks my ear off for the next half hour, about future episodes we’re filming, whether Jared’s still taking any medication for his pneumonia, sports, other things that I find no interest or importance in. I find myself hoping Jared’s not mad when I’m late. I shower quickly, dress casually, with no intentions of going out to a bar or a restaurant with Jared or Jeff (funny, we’re a set of J-people) or any other cast member tonight. I just want to get home.
I knock on the door to Jared’s trailer to announce myself, and walk in without waiting for an invitation. Jared’s asleep on the cot, curled under a blanket in the fetal position. His feet hang off one edge of the cot that’s too short to fit his six feet six inches comfortably, and his head rests on his hands. The pillow is untouched at the top of the cot.
For a minute or two I stand there, watch him sleep. I can only wish my sleep were half as peaceful as his appears to be.
I sit at the edge of the cot and reach to shake him, but when the blanket falls aside, revealing his bare chest, I give pause, refrain from even touching his shoulder, instead moving my hand to his side, reaching to touch the scar I’d only felt prior. I trace it again, this time watching as my fingertips trail along whitened and raised scar tissue. There’s an outline of red around it, fading to blend with unblemished flesh. He rolls to his back, waking with a groan as I move my fingers over it a second time.
I yank my hand back. “Jare?”
He smiles, rubs his eyes. “Hey…”
“Tired, huh?” I reach for a shirt and hand it to him. “Here… put this on. We’ll pick up food on the way home.”
“Want to go anywhere?” He buttons up the shirt, one of his many hideous pink paisley patterned dress shirts that I’ve been teasing him about since I’ve known him.
“To bed.”
“I thought you’d never ask.” He winks lecherously.
“Jared.” I eye him reproachfully, watch as he reaches with long legs for his leather flip-flops, slides his feet into them. I don’t understand how he can still wear those things when it’s forty degrees outside. I’m wearing socks and moccasins, and I’m pretty sure my toes might still be cold when I set foot outside his trailer.
Admittedly, he does keep his trailer warmer than any of the rest of us. I think my trailer’s kept at around sixty-five/seventy, as are most of the rest of the cast and crew who have their own… Jared’s hovers at around eighty on a good day, eighty-five when there’s snow on the ground. It’s like a private little tropical island inside his trailer.
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He grabs his duffel, slings it over one shoulder, and pushes past me. “Lock it?”
I do, follow him to my car. I drive home, stopping at a Thai place he knows that’s close to the set but far away from home. With traffic at five-thirty, it takes us almost forty minutes to get back to my apartment complex. The food is lukewarm when we get inside, and Jared heats it up in the microwave, grabs us both beers and frosted mugs from my freezer.
I’m not sure about the alcohol, but I figure if anything it’s a good excuse for me not to take the Lunesta. We cheer being back on set, clink our mugs and take hefty swallows.
The food is good, the beer is better, and it barely makes up for the fact that there’s nothing good on the news, and we can’t even find a movie to watch on cable. We’re left to talk. Which is something we’ve done a lot of the last couple days.
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Characters/Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki; Jensen Ackles / Luanne (OFC); Jared Padalecki/Pete (OMC); Jared/Eric Kripke/JDM; stated Jared/Sandy; stated Jared/Rebecca (OFC) and stated Jared/Ryan (OMC)
POV: Jensen Ackles
Author's Notes: It’s fiction. That means it’s not real, folks. Jensen and Jared are real people. So is Eric Kripke. The show “Supernatural” is a real TV show on the WB11. If anything else in this is real, I wasn’t aware of it.
I'm not going to say when or if the next chapter will be posted...
I just now (after twenty-five chapters and nearly 60,000 words) admitted to even writing this. Yes, I am responsible for this epic debacle!
But really, it took on a mind/life of it's own... So... read at your own risk. I would enjoy feedback, but I'll understand if you don't want to start reading a WIP with no end in sight or in the works. I really have no idea what's coming next here.
Summary: Jared’s girl (Sandra) breaks up with him. Jensen tries to help. Things go (rapidly) downhill from there... then fester... then get better?
Come on! Hop in the handbasket! There be room here for everyone!
Spoilers: Overall there’s really nothing to see here… there are a few very vague spoilers for “Bugs” and some minor spoilers for “Faith” and “Bloody Mary”.
-------------------------
Chapter Thirty-Six: Back to Work
Rating: PG-13 at best
Pairing: Jensen/Jared is on the horizon… not in this chapter, though
Word Count: 2,385
Chapter Thirty-Six: Back to Work
In the morning, Jared is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed compared to me. I let him drive, and close my eyes for the short time we’re on the road, not falling asleep but at least resting.
He stops at Starbucks and gets us both coffee, then drives directly to the set, which is already buzzing by the time we arrive. Eric’s shouting orders at cameramen and lighting crew to get things set up fast outside because he wants to get some of the morning on film. There are a handful of extras hanging around getting costumed and made up, and Jeff’s talking to one of the guys handling indoor set design about a spot. Cindy’s waiting with her trusty caboodle of makeup, takes one look at us and grabs my arm first.
“You need a lot less work than he does today, despite those circles under your eyes.” She says when I protest, and drags me off to her trailer, calling for costuming to bring my clothes to her trailer.
I drink my coffee-a large with an extra shot of espresso-and let them fuss over me without a word. I dress in jeans and an army-green tee, worn brown boots and the customary leather jacket while on autopilot, and stumble out to the warehouse-all before finishing my coffee.
Jared’s on his way in as I’m walking out, and lets his shoulder knock into mine. “Hey! Watch the coffee, man!” I lick at the spillage and Jared smiles and winks over his shoulder as he hops up the few steps into Cindy’s trailer.
“So what are we doing today?” He asks brightly.
I’m already out the door by the time she answers him.
Eric pulls me aside on my way into the warehouse, asks how Jared’s doing. “He’s better. Doc gave him some antibiotics. They seem to have done their job.” He seems to be waiting for more information, so I give it to him. “He still coughs a little, but it’s dry. No more blood.”
Eric nods, listening to me while all the while waving directions at cast and crew over my head. Our-mine and Jared’s-chairs are set up under a tree in the distance, wires and camera equipment strewn around them. I walk off when Eric starts talking to Jeff about a scene we’re filming today for a later-season episode, flop down in my chair and nurse the rest of my coffee.
Jared makes it over nearly an hour later, after Jeff and I have filmed a scene between John and Dean, after Jeff filmed a solo scene against some vampires. They’re trying for different camera angles, different lighting. Eric says we’re going to be filming a lot of the same scene today, which is not a problem with me. The less lines I have to remember the better-means I have less a chance of flubbing them.
“What the hell took you so long?” I ask as he flops down in the chair next to me. There’s no visible makeup on him, whereas I’ve got foundation caked around the dark circles under my eyes, lipstick to give my mouth some color-she said even my lips looked pale-and neutral eyeshadow-she swears it helps bring out the green in my eyes, but I can never tell the difference. I can see a little blush on his otherwise pale cheeks, but it’s nothing obvious like they’ve got on me.
He opens his mouth, and I can see traces of small tubing, and between his molars some elaborate contraption that holds several capsules of stage blood. “I guess you’re bleeding from the mouth today, huh?”
He nods. “Makes me wish I hadn’t stopped coughing up blood.”
“That’s not funny.”
He shrugs. “But yeah… Sam’s bleeding today. More than once. Hence the…” He opens his mouth and points around at the thin metal wires and tubing. “I guess they can just put in more blood capsules if they need to.”
“Amazing you can still talk.” I say jokingly.
“You’re not kidding.” He grumbles. “Thing’s damned uncomfortable. And I can’t eat or drink with it in. No lunch for me today.” He pauses. “Hey, you know Cindy took the rest of my latte? Sacrilege!”
“You dumped my coffee down the drain, or don’t you remember?”
“That was for your own good.” Jared says quietly, reaching into his mouth to poke at and play with the wiring. “Besides…” He mumbles around his fingers, “you just got yourself another cup.”
I bat at his hand. “Stop it.”
He takes his fingers from his mouth, looks thoughtful, and glances at me. “You had another nightmare last night.”
It’s really not a question, but I answer anyway. He knows I did. “Yeah.”
“More after you went to bed?”
I yawn and finish off my coffee. “All night.” Which is a bit of a lie. I didn’t even lie down until 3:30. There wasn’t much of ‘all night’ remaining at that point before the alarm went off at seven. Between waking up from nightmares and tossing and turning, I probably got an hour of sleep, and a good portion of that came right before the alarm sounded.
“Did you sleep at all?” He turns questioning eyes on me.
“Not much.” I admit, push off the wooden armrests of the chair when I see Eric waving us over. “C’mon.” I call to Jared as I walk off towards our director.
“Didn’t you pick up a prescription for a sleeping pill the other day, or just the Xanax?” He falls into step beside me, early morning dew dampening the low-hanging cuffed edges of his jeans. I don’t know where he finds jeans as long as he needs, but he manages.
“I did.”
He takes my arm, stopping me mid-stride. “You should use it.”
I shake my arm free of his grasp and keep walking. “I’ll think about it. You know I hate that stuff, Jared.” Which essentially means ‘no’, and I think he knows it.
I take my position on set, glance towards Eric for guidance and direction. He motions to the left, to the right, makes some other strange stage gestures I haven’t quite figured out the meaning to yet, and Cindy comes over to make a few touch-ups on my makeup.
Jared joins me, and we start our day of filming.
After running through the same scene twenty times, Eric decides he’s had enough, and moves on to the next scene. They check the blood capsule thing in Jared’s mouth, give him some last-minute directions on what he needs to do to make it work, makes sure they have ten of the same shirt (some cheap Fruit of the Loom shirt they bought in bulk-don’t want to ruin the good stuff) off to the side in case we need to re-film the scene.
The first take, when Jared-Sam-keels over, spits blood, and looks up, a mix of (stage) blood and saliva trickling down his jaw, thin trails from the corner of his mouth, I break position, hear Eric screaming “Cut! Cut!” when I’m halfway to Jared’s side.
“Sorry…” I mutter. “Just… looks so damn real.”
“That’s kinda the point, Jen.” That’s Jared.
Cindy’s scowling at me while she wipes the blood from Jared’s skin, fiddles in her waistpack for new blood capsules and gets them into Jared’s mouth. “Ok… change your shirt and we’ll be all set to try again.”
Jared peels off the ruined shirt, pulls another over his head. I casually check for the scar he’d let me feel last night, but his back is to me, and the most I can see is a few discolored marks near his side, over his kidneys which I’d previously chalked up to the sun or too much tanning or birthmarks. I know better now.
We film straight through lunchtime and break at two so Eric can get his twelfth cup of coffee from the grease trailer. Jared gets the wires and tubes pulled from his mouth, and I watch as he rinses his mouth with water, spitting on the ground outside the filming warehouse.
Eric’s back before I can approach Jared, calling directions, pointing, yelling… it’s like we never had the week off, like Jared was never sick. They expect too much. Jared’s hunched over outside the door, I can see him in the cold but glaring sunlight from the darkness inside, still swirling water in his mouth and spitting on the dirt. He’s bent over, hands on his knees, I can see his shoulders heaving-he’s breathing is rough and coming fast and stilted. He’s weak, tired.
I’m surprised it’s not obvious to Eric or Cindy, especially when it’s so obvious to me, and I’ve seen him slowly getting worse. They just saw him fine, and now like this… the difference should be glaring to them. But it’s not.
I talk to Eric. “Jared can’t go until seven. He’s not ready for a full day, Eric. Just look at him.”
Eric looks where I’m pointing, nods when Jared stumbles down to one knee, pushing off the ground to stand after a minute and looking around to make sure no one saw. He doesn’t see me and Eric.
“Four. Give me another two hours.” Eric says. “And make sure he gets some rest, huh? And you too. You look exhausted, Jensen.”
“Yeah. I’m dragging.”
He grunts in reply, flipping pages on a clipboard, calling out more directions.
Jared stumbles in, fingering a red mark on the left side of his mouth. “Cut myself on those wires.” He mumbles to me.
We say nothing else to each other, just fall easily back into our roles as brothers, filming scene after scene until Eric finally yells “Cut! Cut! Okay, folks! That’s a wrap!”
It’s four-fifteen when Eric finally lets us go, after giving us a pep talk, telling us both to get a good dinner and some shut-eye. “You looked good after a week away, Jare. Keep it up.”
He smiles halfheartedly, slumps slightly and makes his way past us towards his trailer to change. “Get me at my trailer?” He asks me.
“Yeah. Twenty.” I reply, and watch as his limp becomes more and more pronounced. For the first time I wonder if he was telling the truth about it being a rodeo/ranching injury, or if it’s remnant of the beating he took the night of his high school prom.
Eric talks my ear off for the next half hour, about future episodes we’re filming, whether Jared’s still taking any medication for his pneumonia, sports, other things that I find no interest or importance in. I find myself hoping Jared’s not mad when I’m late. I shower quickly, dress casually, with no intentions of going out to a bar or a restaurant with Jared or Jeff (funny, we’re a set of J-people) or any other cast member tonight. I just want to get home.
I knock on the door to Jared’s trailer to announce myself, and walk in without waiting for an invitation. Jared’s asleep on the cot, curled under a blanket in the fetal position. His feet hang off one edge of the cot that’s too short to fit his six feet six inches comfortably, and his head rests on his hands. The pillow is untouched at the top of the cot.
For a minute or two I stand there, watch him sleep. I can only wish my sleep were half as peaceful as his appears to be.
I sit at the edge of the cot and reach to shake him, but when the blanket falls aside, revealing his bare chest, I give pause, refrain from even touching his shoulder, instead moving my hand to his side, reaching to touch the scar I’d only felt prior. I trace it again, this time watching as my fingertips trail along whitened and raised scar tissue. There’s an outline of red around it, fading to blend with unblemished flesh. He rolls to his back, waking with a groan as I move my fingers over it a second time.
I yank my hand back. “Jare?”
He smiles, rubs his eyes. “Hey…”
“Tired, huh?” I reach for a shirt and hand it to him. “Here… put this on. We’ll pick up food on the way home.”
“Want to go anywhere?” He buttons up the shirt, one of his many hideous pink paisley patterned dress shirts that I’ve been teasing him about since I’ve known him.
“To bed.”
“I thought you’d never ask.” He winks lecherously.
“Jared.” I eye him reproachfully, watch as he reaches with long legs for his leather flip-flops, slides his feet into them. I don’t understand how he can still wear those things when it’s forty degrees outside. I’m wearing socks and moccasins, and I’m pretty sure my toes might still be cold when I set foot outside his trailer.
Admittedly, he does keep his trailer warmer than any of the rest of us. I think my trailer’s kept at around sixty-five/seventy, as are most of the rest of the cast and crew who have their own… Jared’s hovers at around eighty on a good day, eighty-five when there’s snow on the ground. It’s like a private little tropical island inside his trailer.
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He grabs his duffel, slings it over one shoulder, and pushes past me. “Lock it?”
I do, follow him to my car. I drive home, stopping at a Thai place he knows that’s close to the set but far away from home. With traffic at five-thirty, it takes us almost forty minutes to get back to my apartment complex. The food is lukewarm when we get inside, and Jared heats it up in the microwave, grabs us both beers and frosted mugs from my freezer.
I’m not sure about the alcohol, but I figure if anything it’s a good excuse for me not to take the Lunesta. We cheer being back on set, clink our mugs and take hefty swallows.
The food is good, the beer is better, and it barely makes up for the fact that there’s nothing good on the news, and we can’t even find a movie to watch on cable. We’re left to talk. Which is something we’ve done a lot of the last couple days.
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