RPF: five minute checkpoints
five minute checkpoints rachel bilson/adam brody, pg13.
you are only sixteen once, and twice if they pay you to; it’s been years but there is such a thing as rusty contracts. 2,720 words.
notes: for captaincatapult! because Anna dared me to and usually, when someone tends to dare me, I really don’t know how to say no lol.
-
In New York there is a snowstorm.
Her flight has a two-hour delay. She finds the airport bar between gates.
It is too small to seem real. There is a man in the front having an argument with his phone. She passes him, and nods to the bartender. There seems to be no one else around when she steps inside.
There is a set of chairs by the window. They are split into fours, two facing the bar and the others facing away. There is a table that separates them as well. She takes the farthest chair from the man and his phone and the closest to the window. She puts her bag down and her shoulder throbs. Her coat is too heavy. It goes behind her seat.
She looks around again. She thinks about ordering a drink. There is a poster on the wall that says sunny skies! and makes Rachel think about set props. Her head is mostly full of working days. She loves New Yorkl, just not this trip.
It makes her remember her phone. She pulls it out of a pocket and turns it off. She lets her phone drops into the seat.
When she looks up, Adam is walking into the bar.
It takes her a moment to put two and two together. Adam is Adam and she can pick him out of a crowd like it’s habit. He doesn’t see her and it registers for her. She turns quickly, watching his reflection in the glass. She bites her lip and hopes he doesn’t see her either.
He pass the bar and moves straight to the chairs. “You too?” he asks behind her.
“Me too,” she sighs.
Their greeting is like a joke. She doesn’t acknowledge that she is hiding. The truth is the city is smaller than most people think. Actors are actors and most migrate in packs. She tries not to make it into another joke either. He was the one that used to make her laugh anyway.
“Can I sit?”
“Sure,” she says. She is still standing. Her hands slide into her pockets. “It’s just me,” she says. She is nervous too.
There is a crooked smile from him. He sits and his bag drops at his feet. There is a magazine tucked under the crook of his arm. He pulls it to the side and it disappears into his chair. The man at the bar gets louder in his argument.
“I’m going to get something.”
She makes an awkward gesture behind her. She means to point to the bar. She puts her hands down. They linger at her pockets again. In the window, the runways are blank and gray. The snow has started to fall faster in large, thick clumps. Some scatter into the glass.
“Do you want anything?” she asks.
“Sure,” he stands. “Let me.”
He steps forward. She steps back. She sits too and presses her hands over her knees. Her phone is digging into her thigh. She makes no move to pick it up. She still feels nervous and she tries to ignore it. Three years, she thinks. Or not, she thinks again, it’s been more than three years.
“Here.”
He comes back with her drink; soda water for her, a beer for him, and she turns to take it with both her hands as he bends closer to her. She says nothing but smiles and he sits in the chair next to her. She makes note that he remembers. Soda water is a small thing, insignificant at best but he remembers and it surprises her all the same.
They are quiet.
There is a television over their heads playing the news. She thinks about the magazine stand she passed on her way in. She avoids the coffee lines. She’s had enough coffee from work. There was a shoot this trip for her. There was talk of another project too. Things that she gets quietly excited about; she’s not jaded but she is careful and these are things that she has learned as an actress.
“How are you?” she presses then.
Her voice breaks over the silence. In the glass, she sees the reflection of the man and the bartender bent in a corner. The snow begins to blur what she can see and she pulls herself away to look at Adam.
“Fine,” he says. “Really awesome, actually.”
The corners of his mouth turn. She shakes her head. She used to be able to tell when he was mocking her. She thinks he’s waiting for one of those polite comments that she used throw his way when they ran into each other every now and then. It’s just the two of them here.
“Great,” she says. She doesn’t ask why he’s here. He doesn’t volunteer. It is already too awkward as it is.
He shrugs. “I guess.”
They are quiet again. The silence is uneasy and awkward. It is strange in an unnatural kind of way. She should be able to talk to him. She remembers when it felt harder to. There are things like beginnings and ends. Everything is in her head and surfacing.
She tries to ignore it too.
She balances her water on the arm of her chair. She shifts and pulls her phone out from underneath her. She holds it tightly in her hand and watches the water for a moment.
“No really,” she adds. “That’s great, really great. I’m happy for you.”
Her voice hitches and she hates herself for being nervous around him. She wonders if he notices but he only smiles a little and takes a sip of his beer.
She tries staring at the window in front of them to calm down.
The snow is getting heavier. Behind them, there is a distant scream and a giggle. She can’t see anything in the glass of the window. It is the echoes of the airport. She imagines a family but doesn’t think much of it. There is a separate memory too but she doesn’t touch it either.
“We used to talk about the snow,” she says absently. “Remember? You would talk about moving to New York too. We talked about Christmas and ice-skating and you called me a dork, which was then rectified by that collection of Spider Man comics that I found under your bed. It’s not the point though. We always talked about planning some kind of trip.”
“We would,” he corrects. There is a line somewhere that reads we were kids once. She doesn’t remember where it’s from.
She shrugs. “Same thing.”
He smirks in amusement but then it fades quickly. He takes a pause and she studies him. She tries to pinpoint the things that she does know, or remembers, but neither of them stands clearly in her mind.
He catches her gaze. She smiles shyly.
“Hear about Mischa?”
He asks and her smile fades.
They say you’re only sixteen once. Rachel had her moment. There is a scar over her eye to prove it. It seems the other girl has never really left her moment. This is the difference between them, all of them; you are defined in the business by cast and choice. She has tried to be smart. Most of them have. She feels sorry for Mischa and that is where it stays.
But this is also months later and Adam is filling conversation. He never does that, she thinks. She doesn’t remember him doing that either. It is odds and ends, the evening of here and there; she thinks about what she really remembers about him and her, about the two of them and how they sort of survived it all together.
“Who hasn’t,” she replies instead. She shrugs as if they are talking about something completely new, and shakes her head, “Nobody’s really surprised about it either, I guess.”
“I feel like I should do something.”
“Like?”
“I don’t know,” he snorts. “A card, flowers. Teddy bears? Lots of teddy bears - well, in a not-creepy capacity. I’m sure she’d appreciate someone, anyone - anyone other than her friends. Does she even have friends these days?”
She snorts too. “That was mean.”
He shrugs. “I’m tired,” he says. “How’s the other half?”
The change in conversation doesn’t faze her. She drops her phone into her bag. She smiles too. She is back to holding her water with a fist.
“You’re cranky,” she corrects.
“Isn’t that like sorta the same thing anyway?”
She laughs.
It comes sudden and too fast. She tries to bite it back but cannot seem to stop herself. The sound is full and genuine. At the bar, the man with phone looks over at them. The volume of the news is turned up and she is left watching Adam, now smiling too.
He grins back. She is suddenly too aware at how strange this feels. Maybe she’s tired. Maybe it’s more than that. But she laughs and it feels like she hasn’t laughed in a really long time.
“It’s the airport,” she says. She takes a breath, and calms down.
“True,” he agrees. “It has this way of sucking every last piece of a good mood. I mean, who knows if you had seen me three hours ago. I had coffee. I was smiling. I even had a pleasant conversation with security. It was like a spa vacation and - shit.”
His phone rings between them.
He stares at the screen and she cannot help but follow. She sees a number but no name. She doesn’t want to be curious but she can’t help it. It’s been three years, maybe longer since she’s last seen him. Somehow repeating this to herself makes her feel worse.
Her smile fades. She tries to remind herself that she has let him go.
It’s sort of impossible though; they have the same circle of friends, and similar approaches in decisions, but somehow they’ve managed to avoid each other this way. There have been events, sure. There are award shows too. Conversations are easy when they’re in passing and sitting here with him makes that feel harder.
“Sorry,” he says then.
She blinks and forces a smile. She feels embarrassed and looks away. There’s a flush on her cheeks, and her fingers tighten around her water. The ring of his phone dies then and she watches someone else enter the bar.
“No worries,” she shrugs. “I just turned mine off.”
He stares at her. She looks up again and shifts in her seat.
“Business,” she offers. “I was here for meetings,” she says. “It’s been one of those weeks where I haven’t stopped.”
“Got it.”
They’re back to that silence from earlier. She tries to ignore it. She takes another sip of her water. The ice has melted and it tastes flat. She finishes it and stares at the glass in her hand.
“He’s fine by the way,” she says.
“Who is?” he asks.
“Hayden.”
The corners of his mouth turn. She blushes then. Her fingers pick nervously at the rim of her glass. Both of her hands are bare but he doesn’t say anything. She’s glad that he doesn’t.
“Ah,” he shrugs. “I was saving all my Darth Vader jokes too.”
She reaches forward and smacks his arm. She falls into a quiet laugh and feels guilty. It’s all part of working things out, she thinks, or not.
“Ass,” she mutters. She’s good-natured, despite herself.
He shrugs. “Well, you’re engaged to him.”
Rachel is quiet.
She looks away. Her gaze falls on the window. Outside, the snow seems to have lightened its intensity. The runways are still covered. She can see a few planes peeking out from the odd corner. Her throat is tight.
“I’m not,” she says. “Engaged,” she adds.
She doesn’t look at him either. She isn’t talking to Hayden, but she doesn’t tell Adam that. Those are the kind of comments that lead to assumptions, and assumptions are the kind of things she can’t handle right now. It is simply this: she is not ready for another kind of commitment and wants to slow down.
But she starts talking despite herself.
“I’m not engaged to him,” she says again. “We broke it off a couple weeks ago. He’s in - with his family, I guess. I’ve been avoiding Los Angeles and god, I’m really, really not good at this. Funny, right?”
“You okay?”
Her surprise is evident. She meets his gaze. He shrugs and leans forward. He rests his elbows on his knees and she realizes that she could very well ask him why he is here. And she should, she thinks. She wonders about chances and consequence. She wonders about change.
“Yeah,” she answers. “I guess. It’s been hard.”
She doesn’t ask him though. He smiles a little and shakes his head. It’s like he expects her answer. The beer he was drinking seems to be abandoned too.
“Usually is.”
They stare at each other. She feels shy, and hates it. She tries smiling and the corners of her mouth tighten. It feels odd instead.
Her mouth opens too but she says nothing. She watches as he stands, brushing his hands against his hips. The sound of the news over their heads begins to soften. She tilts her gaze up and frowns. There is someone else at the bar, a woman talking to the man with the phone.
“I should head to my gate,” Adam says then.
“Okay.”
There is this need to ask him to stay. She could but she won’t. She feels herself wanting to say something but knowing full well that she’s sort of useless when it comes to starting these things. She does smile a little this time and nods as she watches him gather his things.
It feels like he is waiting for her.
“I -” she pauses, putting her glass down. “It was good to see you, you know. It’s been awhile and … yeah.”
He nods.
“We should hangout.”
“You have my number.”
He shrugs. “You have mine,” he replies.
“Fair enough.”
She stands then to be polite. Her fingers curl around the pockets of her jeans. She looks at him and he is watching her, as if he were still waiting for something. She tries to think of something else to say but her mind is completely blank. It unnerves her. She feels like she’s going backwards again.
“I’ll try and see if you’re free sometime,” she still says.
He shrugs again.
It’s funny, she’ll realize later, how much this business changes people and how most people really stay the same. Now she just wonders if she’ll be able to get past this awkwardness and be able to talk to him again. She misses him and that scares her. It really scares her.
Adam steps forward though. He bends over her, awkward and attempting to smile again. There is a laugh and she doesn’t know if it’s her or if it’s really him. His mouth presses against the side of her jaw. She exhales and he lingers.
“Good luck,” he murmurs. He stays in her space and she stares, wide-eyed into his shoulder. Her hand comes up and it presses against his chest. She doesn’t push him away and they just stand, leaning into each other, as if to hold the moment for a little while longer. She doesn’t know why.
The man at the bar starts another argument again.
Her hand slides over Adam’s jacket and she grips the lapels tightly. She turns her head and her mouth lingers closer to his.
“I -”
He stays close. She stays closer. She thinks about kissing him. The thought stands entirely on its own in her head. She could move forward but she cannot bring herself to. It is about extra steps and not having anything else left. She doesn’t know what she wants. She doesn’t know if she is ready.
She tries not to sigh instead. “Thanks,” she says softly.
Her lips press against his cheek. They are soft. His hand brushes against her hip. She catches the corner of his mouth. She feels him smile and then he pulls away.
“Later,” he waves. He says nothing about calling her or about her calling him. She doesn’t expect him to.
He turns.
She sits before she can watch him go.
you are only sixteen once, and twice if they pay you to; it’s been years but there is such a thing as rusty contracts. 2,720 words.
notes: for captaincatapult! because Anna dared me to and usually, when someone tends to dare me, I really don’t know how to say no lol.
-
In New York there is a snowstorm.
Her flight has a two-hour delay. She finds the airport bar between gates.
It is too small to seem real. There is a man in the front having an argument with his phone. She passes him, and nods to the bartender. There seems to be no one else around when she steps inside.
There is a set of chairs by the window. They are split into fours, two facing the bar and the others facing away. There is a table that separates them as well. She takes the farthest chair from the man and his phone and the closest to the window. She puts her bag down and her shoulder throbs. Her coat is too heavy. It goes behind her seat.
She looks around again. She thinks about ordering a drink. There is a poster on the wall that says sunny skies! and makes Rachel think about set props. Her head is mostly full of working days. She loves New Yorkl, just not this trip.
It makes her remember her phone. She pulls it out of a pocket and turns it off. She lets her phone drops into the seat.
When she looks up, Adam is walking into the bar.
It takes her a moment to put two and two together. Adam is Adam and she can pick him out of a crowd like it’s habit. He doesn’t see her and it registers for her. She turns quickly, watching his reflection in the glass. She bites her lip and hopes he doesn’t see her either.
He pass the bar and moves straight to the chairs. “You too?” he asks behind her.
“Me too,” she sighs.
Their greeting is like a joke. She doesn’t acknowledge that she is hiding. The truth is the city is smaller than most people think. Actors are actors and most migrate in packs. She tries not to make it into another joke either. He was the one that used to make her laugh anyway.
“Can I sit?”
“Sure,” she says. She is still standing. Her hands slide into her pockets. “It’s just me,” she says. She is nervous too.
There is a crooked smile from him. He sits and his bag drops at his feet. There is a magazine tucked under the crook of his arm. He pulls it to the side and it disappears into his chair. The man at the bar gets louder in his argument.
“I’m going to get something.”
She makes an awkward gesture behind her. She means to point to the bar. She puts her hands down. They linger at her pockets again. In the window, the runways are blank and gray. The snow has started to fall faster in large, thick clumps. Some scatter into the glass.
“Do you want anything?” she asks.
“Sure,” he stands. “Let me.”
He steps forward. She steps back. She sits too and presses her hands over her knees. Her phone is digging into her thigh. She makes no move to pick it up. She still feels nervous and she tries to ignore it. Three years, she thinks. Or not, she thinks again, it’s been more than three years.
“Here.”
He comes back with her drink; soda water for her, a beer for him, and she turns to take it with both her hands as he bends closer to her. She says nothing but smiles and he sits in the chair next to her. She makes note that he remembers. Soda water is a small thing, insignificant at best but he remembers and it surprises her all the same.
They are quiet.
There is a television over their heads playing the news. She thinks about the magazine stand she passed on her way in. She avoids the coffee lines. She’s had enough coffee from work. There was a shoot this trip for her. There was talk of another project too. Things that she gets quietly excited about; she’s not jaded but she is careful and these are things that she has learned as an actress.
“How are you?” she presses then.
Her voice breaks over the silence. In the glass, she sees the reflection of the man and the bartender bent in a corner. The snow begins to blur what she can see and she pulls herself away to look at Adam.
“Fine,” he says. “Really awesome, actually.”
The corners of his mouth turn. She shakes her head. She used to be able to tell when he was mocking her. She thinks he’s waiting for one of those polite comments that she used throw his way when they ran into each other every now and then. It’s just the two of them here.
“Great,” she says. She doesn’t ask why he’s here. He doesn’t volunteer. It is already too awkward as it is.
He shrugs. “I guess.”
They are quiet again. The silence is uneasy and awkward. It is strange in an unnatural kind of way. She should be able to talk to him. She remembers when it felt harder to. There are things like beginnings and ends. Everything is in her head and surfacing.
She tries to ignore it too.
She balances her water on the arm of her chair. She shifts and pulls her phone out from underneath her. She holds it tightly in her hand and watches the water for a moment.
“No really,” she adds. “That’s great, really great. I’m happy for you.”
Her voice hitches and she hates herself for being nervous around him. She wonders if he notices but he only smiles a little and takes a sip of his beer.
She tries staring at the window in front of them to calm down.
The snow is getting heavier. Behind them, there is a distant scream and a giggle. She can’t see anything in the glass of the window. It is the echoes of the airport. She imagines a family but doesn’t think much of it. There is a separate memory too but she doesn’t touch it either.
“We used to talk about the snow,” she says absently. “Remember? You would talk about moving to New York too. We talked about Christmas and ice-skating and you called me a dork, which was then rectified by that collection of Spider Man comics that I found under your bed. It’s not the point though. We always talked about planning some kind of trip.”
“We would,” he corrects. There is a line somewhere that reads we were kids once. She doesn’t remember where it’s from.
She shrugs. “Same thing.”
He smirks in amusement but then it fades quickly. He takes a pause and she studies him. She tries to pinpoint the things that she does know, or remembers, but neither of them stands clearly in her mind.
He catches her gaze. She smiles shyly.
“Hear about Mischa?”
He asks and her smile fades.
They say you’re only sixteen once. Rachel had her moment. There is a scar over her eye to prove it. It seems the other girl has never really left her moment. This is the difference between them, all of them; you are defined in the business by cast and choice. She has tried to be smart. Most of them have. She feels sorry for Mischa and that is where it stays.
But this is also months later and Adam is filling conversation. He never does that, she thinks. She doesn’t remember him doing that either. It is odds and ends, the evening of here and there; she thinks about what she really remembers about him and her, about the two of them and how they sort of survived it all together.
“Who hasn’t,” she replies instead. She shrugs as if they are talking about something completely new, and shakes her head, “Nobody’s really surprised about it either, I guess.”
“I feel like I should do something.”
“Like?”
“I don’t know,” he snorts. “A card, flowers. Teddy bears? Lots of teddy bears - well, in a not-creepy capacity. I’m sure she’d appreciate someone, anyone - anyone other than her friends. Does she even have friends these days?”
She snorts too. “That was mean.”
He shrugs. “I’m tired,” he says. “How’s the other half?”
The change in conversation doesn’t faze her. She drops her phone into her bag. She smiles too. She is back to holding her water with a fist.
“You’re cranky,” she corrects.
“Isn’t that like sorta the same thing anyway?”
She laughs.
It comes sudden and too fast. She tries to bite it back but cannot seem to stop herself. The sound is full and genuine. At the bar, the man with phone looks over at them. The volume of the news is turned up and she is left watching Adam, now smiling too.
He grins back. She is suddenly too aware at how strange this feels. Maybe she’s tired. Maybe it’s more than that. But she laughs and it feels like she hasn’t laughed in a really long time.
“It’s the airport,” she says. She takes a breath, and calms down.
“True,” he agrees. “It has this way of sucking every last piece of a good mood. I mean, who knows if you had seen me three hours ago. I had coffee. I was smiling. I even had a pleasant conversation with security. It was like a spa vacation and - shit.”
His phone rings between them.
He stares at the screen and she cannot help but follow. She sees a number but no name. She doesn’t want to be curious but she can’t help it. It’s been three years, maybe longer since she’s last seen him. Somehow repeating this to herself makes her feel worse.
Her smile fades. She tries to remind herself that she has let him go.
It’s sort of impossible though; they have the same circle of friends, and similar approaches in decisions, but somehow they’ve managed to avoid each other this way. There have been events, sure. There are award shows too. Conversations are easy when they’re in passing and sitting here with him makes that feel harder.
“Sorry,” he says then.
She blinks and forces a smile. She feels embarrassed and looks away. There’s a flush on her cheeks, and her fingers tighten around her water. The ring of his phone dies then and she watches someone else enter the bar.
“No worries,” she shrugs. “I just turned mine off.”
He stares at her. She looks up again and shifts in her seat.
“Business,” she offers. “I was here for meetings,” she says. “It’s been one of those weeks where I haven’t stopped.”
“Got it.”
They’re back to that silence from earlier. She tries to ignore it. She takes another sip of her water. The ice has melted and it tastes flat. She finishes it and stares at the glass in her hand.
“He’s fine by the way,” she says.
“Who is?” he asks.
“Hayden.”
The corners of his mouth turn. She blushes then. Her fingers pick nervously at the rim of her glass. Both of her hands are bare but he doesn’t say anything. She’s glad that he doesn’t.
“Ah,” he shrugs. “I was saving all my Darth Vader jokes too.”
She reaches forward and smacks his arm. She falls into a quiet laugh and feels guilty. It’s all part of working things out, she thinks, or not.
“Ass,” she mutters. She’s good-natured, despite herself.
He shrugs. “Well, you’re engaged to him.”
Rachel is quiet.
She looks away. Her gaze falls on the window. Outside, the snow seems to have lightened its intensity. The runways are still covered. She can see a few planes peeking out from the odd corner. Her throat is tight.
“I’m not,” she says. “Engaged,” she adds.
She doesn’t look at him either. She isn’t talking to Hayden, but she doesn’t tell Adam that. Those are the kind of comments that lead to assumptions, and assumptions are the kind of things she can’t handle right now. It is simply this: she is not ready for another kind of commitment and wants to slow down.
But she starts talking despite herself.
“I’m not engaged to him,” she says again. “We broke it off a couple weeks ago. He’s in - with his family, I guess. I’ve been avoiding Los Angeles and god, I’m really, really not good at this. Funny, right?”
“You okay?”
Her surprise is evident. She meets his gaze. He shrugs and leans forward. He rests his elbows on his knees and she realizes that she could very well ask him why he is here. And she should, she thinks. She wonders about chances and consequence. She wonders about change.
“Yeah,” she answers. “I guess. It’s been hard.”
She doesn’t ask him though. He smiles a little and shakes his head. It’s like he expects her answer. The beer he was drinking seems to be abandoned too.
“Usually is.”
They stare at each other. She feels shy, and hates it. She tries smiling and the corners of her mouth tighten. It feels odd instead.
Her mouth opens too but she says nothing. She watches as he stands, brushing his hands against his hips. The sound of the news over their heads begins to soften. She tilts her gaze up and frowns. There is someone else at the bar, a woman talking to the man with the phone.
“I should head to my gate,” Adam says then.
“Okay.”
There is this need to ask him to stay. She could but she won’t. She feels herself wanting to say something but knowing full well that she’s sort of useless when it comes to starting these things. She does smile a little this time and nods as she watches him gather his things.
It feels like he is waiting for her.
“I -” she pauses, putting her glass down. “It was good to see you, you know. It’s been awhile and … yeah.”
He nods.
“We should hangout.”
“You have my number.”
He shrugs. “You have mine,” he replies.
“Fair enough.”
She stands then to be polite. Her fingers curl around the pockets of her jeans. She looks at him and he is watching her, as if he were still waiting for something. She tries to think of something else to say but her mind is completely blank. It unnerves her. She feels like she’s going backwards again.
“I’ll try and see if you’re free sometime,” she still says.
He shrugs again.
It’s funny, she’ll realize later, how much this business changes people and how most people really stay the same. Now she just wonders if she’ll be able to get past this awkwardness and be able to talk to him again. She misses him and that scares her. It really scares her.
Adam steps forward though. He bends over her, awkward and attempting to smile again. There is a laugh and she doesn’t know if it’s her or if it’s really him. His mouth presses against the side of her jaw. She exhales and he lingers.
“Good luck,” he murmurs. He stays in her space and she stares, wide-eyed into his shoulder. Her hand comes up and it presses against his chest. She doesn’t push him away and they just stand, leaning into each other, as if to hold the moment for a little while longer. She doesn’t know why.
The man at the bar starts another argument again.
Her hand slides over Adam’s jacket and she grips the lapels tightly. She turns her head and her mouth lingers closer to his.
“I -”
He stays close. She stays closer. She thinks about kissing him. The thought stands entirely on its own in her head. She could move forward but she cannot bring herself to. It is about extra steps and not having anything else left. She doesn’t know what she wants. She doesn’t know if she is ready.
She tries not to sigh instead. “Thanks,” she says softly.
Her lips press against his cheek. They are soft. His hand brushes against her hip. She catches the corner of his mouth. She feels him smile and then he pulls away.
“Later,” he waves. He says nothing about calling her or about her calling him. She doesn’t expect him to.
He turns.
She sits before she can watch him go.