| Subject: Chapter 216 - Part 1 (16 and above) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Wednesday, November 16, 07:01:29am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark (203 > )" on Monday, October 03, 07:35:40am
Extra warning: There are some very mild curse words here. I'm rating it 16 and above, just to be careful.
Dreams in the Dark (216/?)
by Katherine Gilbert
It was a Tuesday, was less than halfway through the week--everything around him seemingly quite normal. One project was wrapping, the next apparently in pre-production, the world of studio life going on in its usual, pre-ordained way--nothing out of order. And yet, there was a chill in the air--one which seemed to bear no relation to the actual temperature. It would soon seem all too symbolic that it was Halloween night.
Still, this date meant little to Michael at the moment, was just another chance for staged photos at the studio. Or, rather, that chance had been nearly a month ago--the time between used to ready the pictures for the public. Nothing ever happened quite on schedule here, holidays never made for the stars. Or so the truth had been until today--but the actor had no knowledge of this terrible change quite yet.
There were only the usual sort of certainties that the man was aware of now, his life never half so settled as it seemed to the world at large. He only knew that he was close to going home, would be with his beloved once more soon. It had been so long. He had had to exist since early this morning without having her in his arms. That was far too much time for a man to have to live without his soul.
This separation alone was enough to kill him, any second spent without her far too long. His days at the studio were merely existence, whatever her distant presence here. Life had no meaning at all without having her all to himself.
He was a selfish sort of man, in these desires, but he had no wish to change. The public acknowledgment of his marriage to the one woman he loved meant that he finally had the right to love her in full--and it was a right he was going to take advantage of at every possible turn.
It was this sort of thought he was lost in--had been for weeks, concerns about the attack a constant worry, but not nearly so important. In truth, the waiting had lulled him just a bit, the time he had spent simply reveling in his wife allowing him to temporarily forget how much protection she required. Even if the truth of her constant peril never entirely left him, he was finding it much easier to focus on other, more pleasant diversions; his smile broadened. And this was exactly what he intended to share with her yet again tonight.
He was moving toward this goal at last, had waited for it so long. It had even been an hour since he had last seen her, Nikita having been summoned back to Wardrobe once again. This film had already seen a constant turnover of costumes--at least half a dozen scenes multiply reshot to include various, new outfits. Of course, it wasn't Rene who made these decisions but Madeline and Wolfe--but it was all quite normal. And the designer knew his role too well to question it now.
Nikita, then, was being refitted, Michael on his way to fetch her. He had spent the last hour reshooting a scene with Susan, trying his hardest to pretend that he cared--but he held out no hope for its credibility. How any audience could believe that he would want the young girl more than his beautiful wife was beyond him--but he supposed that his part in any movie wasn't to question its believability. If he did, he would soon end up questioning his way out of a job.
He made his way toward Wardrobe, as these random thoughts continued--just passing the time until he could be with his beloved again. Still, it wasn't so much that he disliked his work, was more that he simply rarely thought about it in depth anymore--never had, to a certain extent. That he was an actor was slightly akin to the fact that he was a man--a reality which had existed since his youth, an unquestioned part of who he was. Just like he breathed, he went to the studio. It might not have held the same sort of necessity for him, but it was every bit as routine.
The supposedly glamorous life of a Hollywood star, then, meant little to him--never had. Acting had, at the beginning, been a much-needed distraction from his multiple failings with Elena--the terrible mistake of conception he had somehow been part of. After that, it had simply paid his rent, then his mortgage. Now, it was a part of his definition of self--mostly by default; it was what he knew. At the ripe old age of 35, he wasn't exactly likely to suddenly start a new career.
All of this held true, as little as the job really meant to him, on any deeper level. Of course, it was possible that he had believed in it more, when he had been younger--when he had needed someplace to put his belief--but he couldn't really remember anymore. All he knew now was that Nikita was his true focus, was the reason he lived. Without her . . .
His footsteps sped up, his soul suddenly feeling a chill in the air--whether it existed physically or not; he tried not to focus on it, calming himself. True, this movie was reaching its end, but Petrosian seemed determined to reshoot as much of it as possible, to wipe out any hint of Francks' involvement, making Nikita's presence quite necessary, any attack unlikely; they had established a fairly set routine. Every day, the major focus was on shooting as much of Michael and Susan's love scenes as possible, while Nikita was trotted through what seemed to be a hundred different wardrobe choices for constant retakes of their earlier work. While he was often able to keep an eye on her himself, she was frequently called out to Wardrobe for yet another fitting. It hadn't been unusual to see Claire calling for her, bringing her off the set earlier this evening; his heart thumped. Or so he tried to tell himself very, very strongly.
The frightful feeling of premonition which was growing inside him was willfully held down--had been for the last hour, at least--having no outside reasons to confirm it, his thoughts comforting him. Partly, he probably felt this way because he had lived with the terror for so long, had to try not to panic every time she was out of his sight. Still, she had been followed today--as she had so often--by Peter, a mere look exchanged between himself and Sash's brother enough to make their pact quite clear. The other man would look after Nikita, would be certain she got to her destination safely, as Michael continued his work in the studio with Susan. It was an arrangement the men had silently made several weeks ago, and it was one which had protected both of these women quite well--up to now.
The actor was trying very hard not to feel the chill which rose through him with these doubts, but it was growing ever more difficult; he knew of no conscious reason why. Still, there was some feeling in the air today, was something which made him worry; he took a deep breath, calming himself. He was just going to have to keep himself together, until he could see her safe once again.
He tried to remind himself of this truth, forcing his thoughts in another direction--however much some small part of him feared that he was just finding excuses not to worry. He had been given a new script today, after all, some new bit of idiocy called, *Love Shadows*; he hadn't even bothered to read through it yet to see what it was about. Still, it would star himself and his beloved, yet again; he smiled--the happiness more forced than he would have liked. And all they had to do was make it through this upcoming test to have yet another excuse to be close at work.
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