Fic: Acceptance Part 2 (1/1)
Title: Acceptance Part 2
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: G, I think.
Spoilers: "Journey," if you squint.
Warnings: Character Death
Summary: Future!Fic. A tiny sequel to Acceptance. My fickle muse just wouldn't let go of this one.
Thank you - no, seriously, thank you. Thanks to the Academy, for this great honor, and all the fans who came out and made this movie what it was - I wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn’t for all of you. I’d like to thank David Cohen, my amazing producer, and Stephen for an amazing job directing, and our amazing scriptwriters - if you guys don’t win later, it’ll be a crime, seriously. I love all of you, and I couldn’t be happier to be standing here tonight.
It’s okay, everyone, the lights were supposed to go down - but if the guy running the spot could get it pointed at me, that’d be helpful. There we go, thanks. With the Academy’s very kind permission, and hopefully a little bit of indulgence from all of you, I’ve just got a few more words to say. If any of you own a television, and if you’ve seen any of the astounding number of advertisements for this awards show, you know that it was sixteen years ago tonight that I stood on this stage next to my Mama, Quinn Fabray, accepting my Mother’s posthumous Oscar. That was a harrowing experience for a ten year old girl who’d only just watched her Mother buried two days before, let me tell you. So that part, you all know. Here’s the part you don’t.
I grew up with a hatred of this business that was almost pathological. I refused to watch movies, I wouldn’t watch television, I pretty much cut myself off from any sort of entertainment that wasn’t a book. I blamed this industry for taking away valuable time I could have spent with my Mother, and I vowed that I would never contribute to it in any way. And for a long time, eight years in fact, I kept that promise to myself. And then, my senior year of high school, I got drafted into helping with the school production of Les Mis. And the acting bug bit me, hard. I fought it all the way - I tried to ignore that urge, to pretend it wasn’t there, but in the end I tearfully confessed to my Mama that I wanted to be an actor.
I don’t know exactly what I expected from her - anger, maybe? Disappointment? But whatever it was, I didn’t get it. She patted the couch beside her and I laid down with my head in her lap, just like I had when I was a little girl. She smiled down at me, running her hands through my hair, and she spoke quietly. She said she’d always known - or at least suspected - that I had way too much of my Mother in me to ever stay out of the business. That she’d been waiting for that day since they’d adopted me. And then she promised me - and I’ll never forget this, as long as I live - that every time I walked onto a stage, or stood in front of a camera or a microphone, my Mother would be standing beside me. And with that sort of guidance, I could never be anything but a success.
I don’t know that I ever appreciated how hard it was for Mama to be the wife of a star. How cruel the tabloids were, the sick insinuations they made about me being raised by two women. I was sheltered from so much of that, and I’m so grateful - I’d have wanted to hit people, all the time, if I’d heard. When I got my first big part, in the last Terminator film, I finally got a taste of it. I read horrific, insulting, deeply personal attacks on my Mama and I - that I was only getting into acting because the two of them had pushed me into it, that my personal life was a mess because I was raised in a “non-traditional” family - and can I say what a stupid phrase that is, anyway? - and I very nearly quit the industry because of it.
It was Mama that changed my mind about that. She sat me down and told me stories of the times that my Mother would come home crying, trying to deal with some horrible rumor on the internet or in the press, and how the two of them would sit up and talk for hours. Mama would tell her that if she gave in, if she let them drive her out of the business and out of the public eye, it would be letting them win. That she had millions of fans who loved her, and would be heartbroken to see her give up. And that she should never let the critics make her quit doing something that she’d dreamed of for her whole life. And then she looked at me, with that amazing warmth she could convey with only her eyes, and said that all of those things were true of me too. And so I stayed.
Last year, this amazing script came to me through my agent. I was feeling a bit burned out, honestly - guest spots on a few television shows and my book signing tour had taken a lot out of me. But - and I know a lot of people won’t believe this, but I swear it’s the truth - I reached out for something on my desk one night, and two things fell off onto the floor. One was the script, and the other was a picture of my Mother. The picture landed on top of the script. And so I gave it a read. I was blown away, and I called my agent right then and there. And the rest is history.
But all of this, as good a story as it is, isn’t why I wanted to speak to you a little bit longer tonight. To all of my friends from the tabloids, and to those of you here from the major news networks, I’m really sorry to scoop you on national television, but I have an announcement to make. This afternoon, at about five o’clock local time, my Mama passed away in her sleep, bringing her mercifully brief struggle against cancer to an end. I...
I asked for permission to speak tonight so that, one more time, I could stand here in front of the Academy, and all of you, and accept an award on behalf of a parent. Mama - this one is completely, unequivocally, for you. Sixteen years ago, I said that the awards that Mom won were the proof that she was amazing. The proof that you were amazing is me. The fact that I’m standing here tonight, accepting this - you were the best parents, both of you, that a girl could ever have asked for. I’m-
I’m devastated to lose you, but I can’t help but smile, just a little, knowing that you and Mom are back together now. I know you’ve missed her, even more than I have, and I’m a little grateful I won’t have to watch your inevitably sappy reunion, you know? You guys grossed me out as a kid with all your kissing.
...sorry. I’m sorry.
Thank you, again, to the Academy for permission to do this tonight. Thanks to all of you, for listening. And thank you, Mama. I’ll love you forever.
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: G, I think.
Spoilers: "Journey," if you squint.
Warnings: Character Death
Summary: Future!Fic. A tiny sequel to Acceptance. My fickle muse just wouldn't let go of this one.
Thank you - no, seriously, thank you. Thanks to the Academy, for this great honor, and all the fans who came out and made this movie what it was - I wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn’t for all of you. I’d like to thank David Cohen, my amazing producer, and Stephen for an amazing job directing, and our amazing scriptwriters - if you guys don’t win later, it’ll be a crime, seriously. I love all of you, and I couldn’t be happier to be standing here tonight.
It’s okay, everyone, the lights were supposed to go down - but if the guy running the spot could get it pointed at me, that’d be helpful. There we go, thanks. With the Academy’s very kind permission, and hopefully a little bit of indulgence from all of you, I’ve just got a few more words to say. If any of you own a television, and if you’ve seen any of the astounding number of advertisements for this awards show, you know that it was sixteen years ago tonight that I stood on this stage next to my Mama, Quinn Fabray, accepting my Mother’s posthumous Oscar. That was a harrowing experience for a ten year old girl who’d only just watched her Mother buried two days before, let me tell you. So that part, you all know. Here’s the part you don’t.
I grew up with a hatred of this business that was almost pathological. I refused to watch movies, I wouldn’t watch television, I pretty much cut myself off from any sort of entertainment that wasn’t a book. I blamed this industry for taking away valuable time I could have spent with my Mother, and I vowed that I would never contribute to it in any way. And for a long time, eight years in fact, I kept that promise to myself. And then, my senior year of high school, I got drafted into helping with the school production of Les Mis. And the acting bug bit me, hard. I fought it all the way - I tried to ignore that urge, to pretend it wasn’t there, but in the end I tearfully confessed to my Mama that I wanted to be an actor.
I don’t know exactly what I expected from her - anger, maybe? Disappointment? But whatever it was, I didn’t get it. She patted the couch beside her and I laid down with my head in her lap, just like I had when I was a little girl. She smiled down at me, running her hands through my hair, and she spoke quietly. She said she’d always known - or at least suspected - that I had way too much of my Mother in me to ever stay out of the business. That she’d been waiting for that day since they’d adopted me. And then she promised me - and I’ll never forget this, as long as I live - that every time I walked onto a stage, or stood in front of a camera or a microphone, my Mother would be standing beside me. And with that sort of guidance, I could never be anything but a success.
I don’t know that I ever appreciated how hard it was for Mama to be the wife of a star. How cruel the tabloids were, the sick insinuations they made about me being raised by two women. I was sheltered from so much of that, and I’m so grateful - I’d have wanted to hit people, all the time, if I’d heard. When I got my first big part, in the last Terminator film, I finally got a taste of it. I read horrific, insulting, deeply personal attacks on my Mama and I - that I was only getting into acting because the two of them had pushed me into it, that my personal life was a mess because I was raised in a “non-traditional” family - and can I say what a stupid phrase that is, anyway? - and I very nearly quit the industry because of it.
It was Mama that changed my mind about that. She sat me down and told me stories of the times that my Mother would come home crying, trying to deal with some horrible rumor on the internet or in the press, and how the two of them would sit up and talk for hours. Mama would tell her that if she gave in, if she let them drive her out of the business and out of the public eye, it would be letting them win. That she had millions of fans who loved her, and would be heartbroken to see her give up. And that she should never let the critics make her quit doing something that she’d dreamed of for her whole life. And then she looked at me, with that amazing warmth she could convey with only her eyes, and said that all of those things were true of me too. And so I stayed.
Last year, this amazing script came to me through my agent. I was feeling a bit burned out, honestly - guest spots on a few television shows and my book signing tour had taken a lot out of me. But - and I know a lot of people won’t believe this, but I swear it’s the truth - I reached out for something on my desk one night, and two things fell off onto the floor. One was the script, and the other was a picture of my Mother. The picture landed on top of the script. And so I gave it a read. I was blown away, and I called my agent right then and there. And the rest is history.
But all of this, as good a story as it is, isn’t why I wanted to speak to you a little bit longer tonight. To all of my friends from the tabloids, and to those of you here from the major news networks, I’m really sorry to scoop you on national television, but I have an announcement to make. This afternoon, at about five o’clock local time, my Mama passed away in her sleep, bringing her mercifully brief struggle against cancer to an end. I...
I asked for permission to speak tonight so that, one more time, I could stand here in front of the Academy, and all of you, and accept an award on behalf of a parent. Mama - this one is completely, unequivocally, for you. Sixteen years ago, I said that the awards that Mom won were the proof that she was amazing. The proof that you were amazing is me. The fact that I’m standing here tonight, accepting this - you were the best parents, both of you, that a girl could ever have asked for. I’m-
I’m devastated to lose you, but I can’t help but smile, just a little, knowing that you and Mom are back together now. I know you’ve missed her, even more than I have, and I’m a little grateful I won’t have to watch your inevitably sappy reunion, you know? You guys grossed me out as a kid with all your kissing.
...sorry. I’m sorry.
Thank you, again, to the Academy for permission to do this tonight. Thanks to all of you, for listening. And thank you, Mama. I’ll love you forever.