(no subject)
Title: Change is Hard
Fandom:RPF
Characters/Pairings:Zooey Deschanel, M. Ward , Emily Deschanel.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Never happened, not even once, especially since Zooey seemed really happy last night.
Note: My heart hurts, and yet I wanna wrote more. Oh, and I freaking love Matt that is all.
Picking imaginary lint off ones tights is slightly therapeutic. Zooey realized this about five shows ago, and even Matt had started to take notice. There had been some good natured ribbing about it of course, but he knew that any stupid ritual was a good one if it kept the butterflies that seemed more like a few of those flying monkeys from the O.Z. at bay. Television only upped the stakes a little, and the fact that she was battling laryngitis the last time around make her even more eager to knock this one out of the park.
She's battling something else tonight, even worse than nerves or her voice. Part of her wants to climb right back into bed, pull the comforter over her head, and never come out, but she uses her acting skills, and puts on a brave face along with her make up. Matt notices, of course, yet another reason that Emily's theory that Matt was somehow lost to them at birth is seeming more likely by the day.
"You okay there, rock star? You're looking a little..." He pauses for a moment searching for a word that won't make him sound like an insensitive jerk like crappy, or horrible even though she knows they would be perfect, at least to describe her inner landscape.
If there's one thing she likes about Matt (and there are several, possibly even thousands) its that he chooses his words carefully, with attention to detail. He's fairly easygoing and the only heated arguments they've had were over whether Nina or Ella's version of Feelin' Good was well, any good. He knows when to tread lightly and she has a feeling he's on his tiptoes at the moment.
"M'not a rock star," she mumbles, the corners of her mouth nearly twitching into a smile as she adds: "That's your job, we've been over this."
"I'm the creepy guy in the corner leeching off the talent."
"Well, guy in the corner..." She turns to face him, uncrossing her legs and smoothing out her skirt. "Did you bring your slider this time? I don't want us using a beer bottle again. There are kids watching, you know."
"Kids up at nearly two in the morning?"
"It sounded good in my head!" she says with a laugh, swatting at him with a take out menu one of the interns had left back stage.
"You sure you're okay, Zo?"
His brows are knitted, and there's a frown on his face. Part of her wants to spill everything, get this weight lifted before it threatens to flatten her like a cartoon coyote, but she knows she can handle this. As cliche as it sounds the show has to go on and she doesn't want to drag him down with her.
"I'm fine," she chirps, and she knows she's being studied. There's a beat of silence before he literally backs off, heading over to the slide his guitar over his head.
"So... Change is Hard?" There's a nod and another pause before: "Not Black Hole or Test?"
"No," she says a little too softly. "Change is Hard."
There's another pause, something Zooey's not really used to between them, but it's soon filled with the rest of the band's excited chatter as they're ushered out on stage. For a moment Zo wonders how she'll get through it, and sways at the mic, gathering courage before taking a breath and letting the sound of Matt's guitar draw her in. Her mind drifts to him, of course. It's their song, and even though they have happier ones, she knows that they would only make tonight feel even worse. He's there when she closes her eyes, and the heartbreak sort of helps her hit those high notes, but that's not all that's there. How could she have forgotten? Lint picking was all well and good, but it wasn't the only thing that made her feel any better. She had this. She would always have this, and as long as she did she would never need anything else.
She would be fine if she could tell her stories. It didn't matter if they were on paper, film, or vinyl. Getting it all out of her head, feeling the emotions whether they were hers, her characters, or the music's. So yeah, she's stuck thinking about him. It's inevitable. She loves him. Even after all that he had done, what he was going to do, she loves him. Part of her knows that will never change, but as she sings, as the energy bounces off from her to the crowd and back again. The weight is lifted, and in the first time in what feels like days, she's happy.
Genuinely, not acting, honest to goodness happy. The smile doesn't leave her face even after she practically floats back stage. She can hear herself talking, feel herself blushing as the praise and congratulations start pouring in, but mostly she just feels that state of total, pure, almost orgasmic bliss that comes the moment you step off stage.
Matt gives her a hug and smiles like he knows that for the moment, the coast is clear, the crisis is averted, and she’s back to being Zooey, whatever that means. Then purse starts having a seizure and she pounces on it. Fifteen calls, texts, and voicemails from Emily. Slightly higher than average, and she knows that her sister probably wants to know how the performance went, but there’s another voice telling her that she just might know, and Em is the one person she knows she can’t hide from. Not when it comes to this, not when she knows what’s in her heart and exactly what this will do to it.
She goes from being on top of the world to the place she thought she just left in a matter of seconds. She knows she can hold her off. Tell her that she was so exhausted after a long day with two shows that she just crashed and completely missed every last message. It wouldn’t be a lie. It’s what she was planning to do, but it was best to just get it over with. Quick and painful like a band aid, even though Zo had a feeling that all the Hello Kitty band aids in the world couldn’t cover this.
She excuses herself to the bathroom, making sure the door is locked and secure before pressing the two on her speed dial with shaking fingers.
The conversation is strained, and both of them know it. There are the demands for every last detail, even more demands to know when the show will actually air, but Emily’s heart just isn’t in it. Zooey’s known her long enough to know when she’s talking just for the sake of talking. She’s putting off the inevitable. Zooey wants nothing more than to do the same, to talk about chords and progressions, people she’s bumped into and what she had for breakfast, but after a while she just gives up and let’s Emily fill the silence with what she knows her sister doesn’t want to say.
“So,” she starts slowly, carefully, using that tone of voice you use when you want to tell someone you’ve run over their cat, slept with their boyfriend, or that you’re considering a sex change. “I… god, I don’t know how to say this. I talked to Chad, Zo. And he said that Jared, well, Jared’s-”
Zooey makes a sound before she can finish. It’s not quite a sob, but it’s all that it takes to make the tears come, and Emily swallows a lump in her throat, knowing she doesn’t need to say anything more.
“You knew,” she says softly and Zooey can picture her at exactly that moment, eyes downcast pretending to study the carpet. She always did that when she was trying not to cry, but to Emily’s credit, Zooey can’t tell if she is.
She simply listens as Zooey does enough for the both of them, pulling her knees up to her chin as she tries to keep herself, and her heart in one piece.
Fandom:RPF
Characters/Pairings:Zooey Deschanel, M. Ward , Emily Deschanel.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Never happened, not even once, especially since Zooey seemed really happy last night.
Note: My heart hurts, and yet I wanna wrote more. Oh, and I freaking love Matt that is all.
Picking imaginary lint off ones tights is slightly therapeutic. Zooey realized this about five shows ago, and even Matt had started to take notice. There had been some good natured ribbing about it of course, but he knew that any stupid ritual was a good one if it kept the butterflies that seemed more like a few of those flying monkeys from the O.Z. at bay. Television only upped the stakes a little, and the fact that she was battling laryngitis the last time around make her even more eager to knock this one out of the park.
She's battling something else tonight, even worse than nerves or her voice. Part of her wants to climb right back into bed, pull the comforter over her head, and never come out, but she uses her acting skills, and puts on a brave face along with her make up. Matt notices, of course, yet another reason that Emily's theory that Matt was somehow lost to them at birth is seeming more likely by the day.
"You okay there, rock star? You're looking a little..." He pauses for a moment searching for a word that won't make him sound like an insensitive jerk like crappy, or horrible even though she knows they would be perfect, at least to describe her inner landscape.
If there's one thing she likes about Matt (and there are several, possibly even thousands) its that he chooses his words carefully, with attention to detail. He's fairly easygoing and the only heated arguments they've had were over whether Nina or Ella's version of Feelin' Good was well, any good. He knows when to tread lightly and she has a feeling he's on his tiptoes at the moment.
"M'not a rock star," she mumbles, the corners of her mouth nearly twitching into a smile as she adds: "That's your job, we've been over this."
"I'm the creepy guy in the corner leeching off the talent."
"Well, guy in the corner..." She turns to face him, uncrossing her legs and smoothing out her skirt. "Did you bring your slider this time? I don't want us using a beer bottle again. There are kids watching, you know."
"Kids up at nearly two in the morning?"
"It sounded good in my head!" she says with a laugh, swatting at him with a take out menu one of the interns had left back stage.
"You sure you're okay, Zo?"
His brows are knitted, and there's a frown on his face. Part of her wants to spill everything, get this weight lifted before it threatens to flatten her like a cartoon coyote, but she knows she can handle this. As cliche as it sounds the show has to go on and she doesn't want to drag him down with her.
"I'm fine," she chirps, and she knows she's being studied. There's a beat of silence before he literally backs off, heading over to the slide his guitar over his head.
"So... Change is Hard?" There's a nod and another pause before: "Not Black Hole or Test?"
"No," she says a little too softly. "Change is Hard."
There's another pause, something Zooey's not really used to between them, but it's soon filled with the rest of the band's excited chatter as they're ushered out on stage. For a moment Zo wonders how she'll get through it, and sways at the mic, gathering courage before taking a breath and letting the sound of Matt's guitar draw her in. Her mind drifts to him, of course. It's their song, and even though they have happier ones, she knows that they would only make tonight feel even worse. He's there when she closes her eyes, and the heartbreak sort of helps her hit those high notes, but that's not all that's there. How could she have forgotten? Lint picking was all well and good, but it wasn't the only thing that made her feel any better. She had this. She would always have this, and as long as she did she would never need anything else.
She would be fine if she could tell her stories. It didn't matter if they were on paper, film, or vinyl. Getting it all out of her head, feeling the emotions whether they were hers, her characters, or the music's. So yeah, she's stuck thinking about him. It's inevitable. She loves him. Even after all that he had done, what he was going to do, she loves him. Part of her knows that will never change, but as she sings, as the energy bounces off from her to the crowd and back again. The weight is lifted, and in the first time in what feels like days, she's happy.
Genuinely, not acting, honest to goodness happy. The smile doesn't leave her face even after she practically floats back stage. She can hear herself talking, feel herself blushing as the praise and congratulations start pouring in, but mostly she just feels that state of total, pure, almost orgasmic bliss that comes the moment you step off stage.
Matt gives her a hug and smiles like he knows that for the moment, the coast is clear, the crisis is averted, and she’s back to being Zooey, whatever that means. Then purse starts having a seizure and she pounces on it. Fifteen calls, texts, and voicemails from Emily. Slightly higher than average, and she knows that her sister probably wants to know how the performance went, but there’s another voice telling her that she just might know, and Em is the one person she knows she can’t hide from. Not when it comes to this, not when she knows what’s in her heart and exactly what this will do to it.
She goes from being on top of the world to the place she thought she just left in a matter of seconds. She knows she can hold her off. Tell her that she was so exhausted after a long day with two shows that she just crashed and completely missed every last message. It wouldn’t be a lie. It’s what she was planning to do, but it was best to just get it over with. Quick and painful like a band aid, even though Zo had a feeling that all the Hello Kitty band aids in the world couldn’t cover this.
She excuses herself to the bathroom, making sure the door is locked and secure before pressing the two on her speed dial with shaking fingers.
The conversation is strained, and both of them know it. There are the demands for every last detail, even more demands to know when the show will actually air, but Emily’s heart just isn’t in it. Zooey’s known her long enough to know when she’s talking just for the sake of talking. She’s putting off the inevitable. Zooey wants nothing more than to do the same, to talk about chords and progressions, people she’s bumped into and what she had for breakfast, but after a while she just gives up and let’s Emily fill the silence with what she knows her sister doesn’t want to say.
“So,” she starts slowly, carefully, using that tone of voice you use when you want to tell someone you’ve run over their cat, slept with their boyfriend, or that you’re considering a sex change. “I… god, I don’t know how to say this. I talked to Chad, Zo. And he said that Jared, well, Jared’s-”
Zooey makes a sound before she can finish. It’s not quite a sob, but it’s all that it takes to make the tears come, and Emily swallows a lump in her throat, knowing she doesn’t need to say anything more.
“You knew,” she says softly and Zooey can picture her at exactly that moment, eyes downcast pretending to study the carpet. She always did that when she was trying not to cry, but to Emily’s credit, Zooey can’t tell if she is.
She simply listens as Zooey does enough for the both of them, pulling her knees up to her chin as she tries to keep herself, and her heart in one piece.