![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
beansideTitle: Speaks Louder
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: CMM/JDM
Disclaimer: I don't know them, and this never happened.
A/N: This is the fourth (!?!) in my little cracked out Harlequin series. Previous parts can be found here.
The guy at the gate waved him through, and Chad offered him a faint smile and a nod. It was as good as anyone was getting right now. If he opened his mouth, he swore he’d puke. It was one thing to know that you had an audition. It was another to be pulling onto the lot, watching extras wandering around in Colonial Fleet uniforms.
He pulled into the Visitor’s spot and slipped from the car, straightening his clothes, and trying to look as though he owned the place. He had a feeling he was failing miserably, especially when the tall man detached himself from a group of people to wave him over. Ron Moore, his mind supplied.
Squaring his shoulders, Chad strolled over, trying for his best smile. “Nice to meet you,” he murmured.
“Pleasure’s all mine. Did you have any trouble finding us?”
“No sir. I have friends who work up this way. They gave me directions.”
“Good. So, you ready to get started?”
“Yes sir. And thank you again for the opportunity, Mr. Moore,” Chad said, doing his best to keep his voice pleasant, level. It wasn’t easy. Everything he had wanted to drop and beg for this job—for any job that didn’t require pretending to be a teenager.
“Please. Ron.” He opened the door to the soundstage, and Chad felt his eyes widen. Jesus. It was fucking enormous.
“Okay,” Chad murmured.
“So, did you get a chance to read over the script pages?”
Chad nodded. “I wasn’t sure which character you wanted me to read for, though.” He’d read the two pages religiously. Of the three bits on it, there was only a couple new characters that . And since there was no way in hell they were going to offer him the one part, even if he’d give his left nut for it, he’d resigned himself to be random crewman on the left.
“It wasn’t highlighted?”
“No sir.” He pulled out the pages. “I was kind of assuming I was reading for Crewman Harley.”
Ron blinked. “We were thinking Donegan, but if you’d really rather-“
“No. Oh hell no. Seriously? Donegan?”
“Yeah.”
Chad looked at the second sheet again. “I think they sent the wrong page on this one. He’s not on here.”
A gleeful grin creased Ron’s face. “Yeah, he is.” His finger came to rest on the page. “Right there.”
Chad felt his heart skip a beat, his tongue suddenly dry in his mouth. “Number nine? He’s a Cylon?”
“Yeah. Since we can’t get Callum very often, we decided to introduce a new model.” Ron hesitated for a moment. “There’s one other thing I should bring up right away.”
Here it comes, Chad thought. Here comes the ‘but you’ve got a rep as a douche, so no thanks’ speech.
“Donegal, the one in the fleet, is gay. We're planning an arc about the members of the fleet, especially military, who don't want to have children, and how the general populace treats them as less. So, he and Kara are going to be butting heads with Roslin’s whole procreate now thing.” Ron shrugged. “If that’s a problem-“
“No. No. It’s cool,” Chad said quickly. “I mean. I’m fine with that.”
The afternoon passed in a whirl of people and script pages, and reading with some of the most talented actors he’d had the privilege of being in a room with. By the time he stumbled back into the apartment Jared shared with Jensen, he felt like his head would explode from the jumble of sights and sounds.
“You all right?” Jared asked.
Chad slumped onto the couch, trying to force his brain to come up with words. “Uh.”
“Jesus, did it go that badly?” Jared sat next to him, forehead wrinkling in concern.
“I. Uh. I got it. They offered it to me on the spot.” Oh, fuck. I really got it, he thought.
“Great! How many eps?”
Chad swallowed hard. “Um. I’m going to be in seven this season. A minimum of nineteen next. Jay, they wanted me for Donegal. He’s a Cylon.”
Jared could be really fucking loud sometimes, Chad thought. And fucking strong. Cause yes, he did just get yanked off the couch like a rag doll and whooped at.
“Jensen! Chad’s gonna be a Cylon!”
For once, Jensen stowed the snark, smiling and pumping Chad’s hand. “Congrats, dude. We should go out and celebrate.”
“Yeah, I—“ Chad paused. “Could I borrow your phone? I should call Morgan. Say thank you.” He lowered his head a little. “Apologize.”
Jared stared at him for a moment like he’d grown a second head. “What?” Chad asked irritably.
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Jared said slowly.
Jensen flashed Jared a triumphant smile before turning back to Chad. “Sure, go ahead. Do you need his number?”
“Yeah. If you have it.” Chad took the phone and slip of paper and wandered into the spare room, dialing as he went.
The phone clicked a couple of times, then rang. Fuck, what time was it in Ireland. It was three in Vancouver, plus eight meant that it was probably way too late to be calling someone, and he should just hang up, and call tomorrow, and this was a bad idea-
“Hello?”
Chad’s hand tightened on the phone at that damned voice, scratchy and low. ‘Hey. It’s Chad.”
There was a long silence on the other line, and for a moment, Chad was sure that Jeff had hung up on him. Then, there was a soft rustle and Jeff cleared his throat. “Hey. How’re you doing?”
“I’m good. Real good, actually.”
“Glad to hear it,” Jeff murmured, voice careful, guarded.
Jeff fell silent, and Chad swallowed hard. “I got the part. On BSG. And I wanted to say thank you. And that I’m sorry I was a dick to you.”
“Congratulations,” Jeff said, voice softening. “That’s great. I’m glad it worked out.”
“It’s going to mean a lot of flying back and forth for the next few months, but I’ll make it work.”
“Good.”
“How’s Ireland?”
Jeff’s soft chuckle made him smile. “Wet. Cold. Pretty. Miss my girl, though.”
“Oh yeah, Britain has strict dog immigration laws, don’t they.”
“Yeah. Mom and Dad are keeping her while I’m here. And she’ll have fun, but I miss her, and I feel bad dumping it on them. She’s a good girl, but she’s a big dog, and she’s energetic. And they’re in their sixties. At least it’s only another two weeks, then I’ll fly into Seattle and pick her up.”
“Well, that’s good. I know she misses you, too.”
“Yeah. How’s Joe?”
“Good. Still picking up his paw and limping whenever he thinks he can get sympathy.” Chad bit his lip. “Seattle?”
“Yeah. That’s where I’m from, dude.”
“I knew that. Well, at least you’re both in the rain.” Chad heard Jeff stifle a yawn. “Look, it’s late over there. I’ll let you go. I just wanted to say thank you. And to apologize again. Seriously. I was an ass.”
“It’s okay. Really. And congratulations. I’m glad it worked out for you.”
“Night, Jeff.”
“Night,” Jeff rumbled.
Chad hung up the phone, a stupid smile touching his lips. He’d sounded so sleepy and comfortable, and that was something he had no right to even think about.
Jared gave him an approving smile as he slid out of the spare room. “How’s Jeff?”
“He’s good. I think I woke him, though.” Chad shifted his weight from foot to foot. “So, how far a drive is Seattle?”
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: CMM/JDM
Disclaimer: I don't know them, and this never happened.
A/N: This is the fourth (!?!) in my little cracked out Harlequin series. Previous parts can be found here.
The guy at the gate waved him through, and Chad offered him a faint smile and a nod. It was as good as anyone was getting right now. If he opened his mouth, he swore he’d puke. It was one thing to know that you had an audition. It was another to be pulling onto the lot, watching extras wandering around in Colonial Fleet uniforms.
He pulled into the Visitor’s spot and slipped from the car, straightening his clothes, and trying to look as though he owned the place. He had a feeling he was failing miserably, especially when the tall man detached himself from a group of people to wave him over. Ron Moore, his mind supplied.
Squaring his shoulders, Chad strolled over, trying for his best smile. “Nice to meet you,” he murmured.
“Pleasure’s all mine. Did you have any trouble finding us?”
“No sir. I have friends who work up this way. They gave me directions.”
“Good. So, you ready to get started?”
“Yes sir. And thank you again for the opportunity, Mr. Moore,” Chad said, doing his best to keep his voice pleasant, level. It wasn’t easy. Everything he had wanted to drop and beg for this job—for any job that didn’t require pretending to be a teenager.
“Please. Ron.” He opened the door to the soundstage, and Chad felt his eyes widen. Jesus. It was fucking enormous.
“Okay,” Chad murmured.
“So, did you get a chance to read over the script pages?”
Chad nodded. “I wasn’t sure which character you wanted me to read for, though.” He’d read the two pages religiously. Of the three bits on it, there was only a couple new characters that . And since there was no way in hell they were going to offer him the one part, even if he’d give his left nut for it, he’d resigned himself to be random crewman on the left.
“It wasn’t highlighted?”
“No sir.” He pulled out the pages. “I was kind of assuming I was reading for Crewman Harley.”
Ron blinked. “We were thinking Donegan, but if you’d really rather-“
“No. Oh hell no. Seriously? Donegan?”
“Yeah.”
Chad looked at the second sheet again. “I think they sent the wrong page on this one. He’s not on here.”
A gleeful grin creased Ron’s face. “Yeah, he is.” His finger came to rest on the page. “Right there.”
Chad felt his heart skip a beat, his tongue suddenly dry in his mouth. “Number nine? He’s a Cylon?”
“Yeah. Since we can’t get Callum very often, we decided to introduce a new model.” Ron hesitated for a moment. “There’s one other thing I should bring up right away.”
Here it comes, Chad thought. Here comes the ‘but you’ve got a rep as a douche, so no thanks’ speech.
“Donegal, the one in the fleet, is gay. We're planning an arc about the members of the fleet, especially military, who don't want to have children, and how the general populace treats them as less. So, he and Kara are going to be butting heads with Roslin’s whole procreate now thing.” Ron shrugged. “If that’s a problem-“
“No. No. It’s cool,” Chad said quickly. “I mean. I’m fine with that.”
The afternoon passed in a whirl of people and script pages, and reading with some of the most talented actors he’d had the privilege of being in a room with. By the time he stumbled back into the apartment Jared shared with Jensen, he felt like his head would explode from the jumble of sights and sounds.
“You all right?” Jared asked.
Chad slumped onto the couch, trying to force his brain to come up with words. “Uh.”
“Jesus, did it go that badly?” Jared sat next to him, forehead wrinkling in concern.
“I. Uh. I got it. They offered it to me on the spot.” Oh, fuck. I really got it, he thought.
“Great! How many eps?”
Chad swallowed hard. “Um. I’m going to be in seven this season. A minimum of nineteen next. Jay, they wanted me for Donegal. He’s a Cylon.”
Jared could be really fucking loud sometimes, Chad thought. And fucking strong. Cause yes, he did just get yanked off the couch like a rag doll and whooped at.
“Jensen! Chad’s gonna be a Cylon!”
For once, Jensen stowed the snark, smiling and pumping Chad’s hand. “Congrats, dude. We should go out and celebrate.”
“Yeah, I—“ Chad paused. “Could I borrow your phone? I should call Morgan. Say thank you.” He lowered his head a little. “Apologize.”
Jared stared at him for a moment like he’d grown a second head. “What?” Chad asked irritably.
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Jared said slowly.
Jensen flashed Jared a triumphant smile before turning back to Chad. “Sure, go ahead. Do you need his number?”
“Yeah. If you have it.” Chad took the phone and slip of paper and wandered into the spare room, dialing as he went.
The phone clicked a couple of times, then rang. Fuck, what time was it in Ireland. It was three in Vancouver, plus eight meant that it was probably way too late to be calling someone, and he should just hang up, and call tomorrow, and this was a bad idea-
“Hello?”
Chad’s hand tightened on the phone at that damned voice, scratchy and low. ‘Hey. It’s Chad.”
There was a long silence on the other line, and for a moment, Chad was sure that Jeff had hung up on him. Then, there was a soft rustle and Jeff cleared his throat. “Hey. How’re you doing?”
“I’m good. Real good, actually.”
“Glad to hear it,” Jeff murmured, voice careful, guarded.
Jeff fell silent, and Chad swallowed hard. “I got the part. On BSG. And I wanted to say thank you. And that I’m sorry I was a dick to you.”
“Congratulations,” Jeff said, voice softening. “That’s great. I’m glad it worked out.”
“It’s going to mean a lot of flying back and forth for the next few months, but I’ll make it work.”
“Good.”
“How’s Ireland?”
Jeff’s soft chuckle made him smile. “Wet. Cold. Pretty. Miss my girl, though.”
“Oh yeah, Britain has strict dog immigration laws, don’t they.”
“Yeah. Mom and Dad are keeping her while I’m here. And she’ll have fun, but I miss her, and I feel bad dumping it on them. She’s a good girl, but she’s a big dog, and she’s energetic. And they’re in their sixties. At least it’s only another two weeks, then I’ll fly into Seattle and pick her up.”
“Well, that’s good. I know she misses you, too.”
“Yeah. How’s Joe?”
“Good. Still picking up his paw and limping whenever he thinks he can get sympathy.” Chad bit his lip. “Seattle?”
“Yeah. That’s where I’m from, dude.”
“I knew that. Well, at least you’re both in the rain.” Chad heard Jeff stifle a yawn. “Look, it’s late over there. I’ll let you go. I just wanted to say thank you. And to apologize again. Seriously. I was an ass.”
“It’s okay. Really. And congratulations. I’m glad it worked out for you.”
“Night, Jeff.”
“Night,” Jeff rumbled.
Chad hung up the phone, a stupid smile touching his lips. He’d sounded so sleepy and comfortable, and that was something he had no right to even think about.
Jared gave him an approving smile as he slid out of the spare room. “How’s Jeff?”
“He’s good. I think I woke him, though.” Chad shifted his weight from foot to foot. “So, how far a drive is Seattle?”
Tags:
