[FIC] Glory Days
Well, this is the fic that I never thought would happen :) It was inspired by a recent conversation in the journals about Mr. Sherwood. I hope I did him justice. Many thanks once again to my wonderful beta, ktnflag !
Title: Glory Days
Author: Sun Green
Pairing: None, it's all Brad
Rating: PG purely for some slight innuendo, if you know what I mean.
Word Count: 1560
Summary: A brief character sketch of Brad, then and now
Disclaimer: Please, if I did own 'em, do you think I'd have all this time on my hands to write fics about 'em?
1997
Brad Sherwood was on top of the world. Literally.
Champagne glass in hand, he gazed out at the brightly lit New York City skyline. With all the trips he’d made to this city for Whose Line tapings, he’d never really taken the time to appreciate its beauty. He supposed it was a combination of the incredible view afforded from the top of the World Trade Center and his ecstatic mood that made it especially breathtaking tonight.
From the empty observation deck, he could just make out the buzz of chatter from his fellow cast mates in the ballroom one floor below. The words were indistinguishable, but the excited energy seemed to penetrate the floor beneath his feet; a soundtrack to underscore his own exhilaration. Brad smiled out into the night. He knew he should get back to the party, but instead he lingered, savoring the moment.
Whose Line was moving to the US for good, and Brad was going with it. Not for every show. No, that honor was reserved for Ryan, and also for Colin, because Ryan’s status as both star and executive producer gave him the power to insist on it. Brad would be regulated to “recurring” cast. But that was okay. It was still steady work in a major network’s prime time slot. Brad wasn’t a star yet, but this was the closest he’d come in all his years of sub-par acting jobs that he knew would eventually get him there. And now he was close enough that he could almost reach out and touch it.
“What a view, huh?” The voice cut into Brad’s thoughts, and he turned to see Colin walking out onto the observation deck, his own champagne glass in hand. He looked over Brad’s shoulder as he approached, appearing as awed by the sight as Brad felt.
Brad smiled, a bit tentatively.
“Amazing.”
Colin’s expression was friendly as he shifted his eyes to Brad’s face. “You know, I’ve been meaning to congratulate you. I think Dan made a good decision. I’m looking forward to working with you more often.”
Brad swelled with pleasure. He’d always been somewhat intimidated by Colin, who was part of the elite circle of “regular” performers that included Ryan and Greg, and - before the move to Hollywood - an ever dwindling number of the original British cast. Off camera, the regulars didn’t have much interaction with the “guest” performers. But now here he was praising Brad and talking to him like an equal. It seemed the surest sign yet that he’d made it to the big leagues.
“Thanks, Colin.”
Colin grinned and lifted his champagne glass. Brad’s smile widened as he clinked his own against it. They fell into a companionable silence, both admiring the city lights.
“I don’t think anyone’s supposed to be up here now,” Colin said presently. “Maybe we’d better go down.”
Emboldened by the new-found camaraderie between them, Brad smirked. “Go down? Colin, I hardly know you!”
Colin laughed, and gave Brad’s shoulder a friendly poke. “Let‘s go.”
“May I have your attention?” Dan Patterson’s upper-crust British accent carried over the noise of the crowd as Brad and Colin re-entered the ballroom. The chatter died down, and the cast and crew obediently turned to face Dan, who had moved to the front of the ballroom to address his underlings.
“I know you all want to get back to the party, and damned if I’m going to see the money I spent on it go to waste” - polite laughter from the cast and crew here - “so I’ll be brief. I would just like to propose a toast to us all on the eve of Whose Line Is It Anyway’s new life as a sure to be smash hit US network show.”
Light applause scattered around the room as glasses were raised in salute. Dan continued. “It’s been a pleasure working with so many of you these past years, and I look forward to a continued partnership with you all, as well as with the newer members of our Whose Line family, as we pick up the ball of success that the show has already thrown and run with it to even bigger and better things.”
A broad grin spread across Brad’s face and he stepped forward to shout, “Yeah, Dan, let’s grab it by the balls!”
This time the laughter of the tipsy party goers was raucous and genuine. Brad basked in the attention, smirking at his cast mates as he sipped his champagne. His eyes moved to the ballroom’s floor to ceiling windows and his smile widened until he could feel it spread through his entire being. His future stretched before him, glowing as brightly as the bejeweled skyline.
2010
From the back door of the theater, it was only a couple hundred feet to the New Jersey waterfront. Brad zipped his jacket against the chill and watched a ferry boat chugging along the gray water of the harbor. Behind it, the New York skyline loomed dark and imposing, dwarfing everything below it to insignificance. Almost unwillingly, Brad shifted his eyes to the gap where the Twin Towers had once stood. He stared for a moment, thinking back to that long ago night when he’d stood looking down on the city from the top of the World Trade Center. But now the towers were gone, and a tall crane cut across the empty space. Brad couldn’t comprehend how something that had once seemed so invincible could vanish in the blink of an eye.
Brad sighed, his breath visible in the cold. The damp air that filled his lungs seemed to drag the gloom of the late autumn day in with it and lie heavily on his chest. Turning away from the harbor, he trudged to the theater with the wind at his back.
Backstage, he watched as two stagehands opened the cardboard box containing dozens of mousetraps for one of their most frequently played games. His toes curled reflexively in his shoes as he imagined the painful snap on his bare feet. They’d been doing Mousetrap for years and Brad still dreaded it every night. The younger of the two workers, a pimply-faced twenty something, took a trap out of the box and gave it an experimental snap, glancing over at his buddy with a smirk as he replaced it.
Brad looked away, and his gaze fell on Colin, who was leaning against the exposed brick wall with his eyes glued to his Blackberry. Brad sighed. “I’m getting sick of this,” he remarked, not really expecting a response.
Colin glanced up distractedly. “What?”
Brad nudged the box of mousetraps with his foot. It thumped heavily against the wall. “This,” he repeated vaguely. “It’s getting old. And it’s really kind of lame.”
Colin shrugged. “It pays the bills,” he replied, and went back to texting. Brad rolled his eyes. He’d heard the stories thousands of times - not from Colin, because Colin didn’t talk to him about stuff like that - but quoted from interviews. All about how Colin once had to sell his CDs to buy diapers. The struggling new father who finally made it in Hollywood… it was classic, and upped Colin’s appeal to the stratosphere. Brad sometimes wondered whether Colin had made the whole thing up.
Of course, he reflected, still eyeing Colin speculatively, money wasn’t an issue for Colin anymore. If it was, he’d do better teamed up with Ryan than with him. And that would defeat the whole purpose of their tours - it wouldn’t let Colin defy the notion that he’d made a career of riding Ryan’s coattails. He’d spent the last seven years trying to prove just that.
Seven years. No matter how many times Brad repeated that to himself, it never quite seemed real. He’d never had the same gig for seven years before. He had always been moving on, moving upward, to better things. The tour with Colin was supposed to be for a few months. An interlude until he landed his next big project after the cancellation of Whose Line. But that big project had never come.
He scowled at the box of mousetraps until the stagehand who had brought it out reappeared. “They’re about ready for you,” he told Brad and Colin.
Colin yawned and pocketed his Blackberry, pushing himself away from the wall with a grunt. He headed towards the side of the stage, glancing over his shoulder at Brad, who hadn’t moved. “You coming?”
Purely out of habit, Brad smirked. “Why, Colin! Aren’t you even going to buy me dinner first?”
Colin slid his eyes away from Brad and continued walking. Brad suddenly felt very tired. He forced his legs to move and trudged along behind him.
The lights dimmed in the not quite filled to capacity auditorium, hushing the audience’s chatter. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the recorded announcement boomed, too loudly for the size of the room, “Will you please welcome Colin Mochrie and Brad Sherwood!”
Brad pasted a smile on his face and stepped out on stage.
1997
Brad Sherwood was on top of the world. Literally.
Champagne glass in hand, he gazed out at the brightly lit New York City skyline. With all the trips he’d made to this city for Whose Line tapings, he’d never really taken the time to appreciate its beauty. He supposed it was a combination of the incredible view afforded from the top of the World Trade Center and his ecstatic mood that made it especially breathtaking tonight.
From the empty observation deck, he could just make out the buzz of chatter from his fellow cast mates in the ballroom one floor below. The words were indistinguishable, but the excited energy seemed to penetrate the floor beneath his feet; a soundtrack to underscore his own exhilaration. Brad smiled out into the night. He knew he should get back to the party, but instead he lingered, savoring the moment.
Whose Line was moving to the US for good, and Brad was going with it. Not for every show. No, that honor was reserved for Ryan, and also for Colin, because Ryan’s status as both star and executive producer gave him the power to insist on it. Brad would be regulated to “recurring” cast. But that was okay. It was still steady work in a major network’s prime time slot. Brad wasn’t a star yet, but this was the closest he’d come in all his years of sub-par acting jobs that he knew would eventually get him there. And now he was close enough that he could almost reach out and touch it.
“What a view, huh?” The voice cut into Brad’s thoughts, and he turned to see Colin walking out onto the observation deck, his own champagne glass in hand. He looked over Brad’s shoulder as he approached, appearing as awed by the sight as Brad felt.
Brad smiled, a bit tentatively.
“Amazing.”
Colin’s expression was friendly as he shifted his eyes to Brad’s face. “You know, I’ve been meaning to congratulate you. I think Dan made a good decision. I’m looking forward to working with you more often.”
Brad swelled with pleasure. He’d always been somewhat intimidated by Colin, who was part of the elite circle of “regular” performers that included Ryan and Greg, and - before the move to Hollywood - an ever dwindling number of the original British cast. Off camera, the regulars didn’t have much interaction with the “guest” performers. But now here he was praising Brad and talking to him like an equal. It seemed the surest sign yet that he’d made it to the big leagues.
“Thanks, Colin.”
Colin grinned and lifted his champagne glass. Brad’s smile widened as he clinked his own against it. They fell into a companionable silence, both admiring the city lights.
“I don’t think anyone’s supposed to be up here now,” Colin said presently. “Maybe we’d better go down.”
Emboldened by the new-found camaraderie between them, Brad smirked. “Go down? Colin, I hardly know you!”
Colin laughed, and gave Brad’s shoulder a friendly poke. “Let‘s go.”
“May I have your attention?” Dan Patterson’s upper-crust British accent carried over the noise of the crowd as Brad and Colin re-entered the ballroom. The chatter died down, and the cast and crew obediently turned to face Dan, who had moved to the front of the ballroom to address his underlings.
“I know you all want to get back to the party, and damned if I’m going to see the money I spent on it go to waste” - polite laughter from the cast and crew here - “so I’ll be brief. I would just like to propose a toast to us all on the eve of Whose Line Is It Anyway’s new life as a sure to be smash hit US network show.”
Light applause scattered around the room as glasses were raised in salute. Dan continued. “It’s been a pleasure working with so many of you these past years, and I look forward to a continued partnership with you all, as well as with the newer members of our Whose Line family, as we pick up the ball of success that the show has already thrown and run with it to even bigger and better things.”
A broad grin spread across Brad’s face and he stepped forward to shout, “Yeah, Dan, let’s grab it by the balls!”
This time the laughter of the tipsy party goers was raucous and genuine. Brad basked in the attention, smirking at his cast mates as he sipped his champagne. His eyes moved to the ballroom’s floor to ceiling windows and his smile widened until he could feel it spread through his entire being. His future stretched before him, glowing as brightly as the bejeweled skyline.
2010
From the back door of the theater, it was only a couple hundred feet to the New Jersey waterfront. Brad zipped his jacket against the chill and watched a ferry boat chugging along the gray water of the harbor. Behind it, the New York skyline loomed dark and imposing, dwarfing everything below it to insignificance. Almost unwillingly, Brad shifted his eyes to the gap where the Twin Towers had once stood. He stared for a moment, thinking back to that long ago night when he’d stood looking down on the city from the top of the World Trade Center. But now the towers were gone, and a tall crane cut across the empty space. Brad couldn’t comprehend how something that had once seemed so invincible could vanish in the blink of an eye.
Brad sighed, his breath visible in the cold. The damp air that filled his lungs seemed to drag the gloom of the late autumn day in with it and lie heavily on his chest. Turning away from the harbor, he trudged to the theater with the wind at his back.
Backstage, he watched as two stagehands opened the cardboard box containing dozens of mousetraps for one of their most frequently played games. His toes curled reflexively in his shoes as he imagined the painful snap on his bare feet. They’d been doing Mousetrap for years and Brad still dreaded it every night. The younger of the two workers, a pimply-faced twenty something, took a trap out of the box and gave it an experimental snap, glancing over at his buddy with a smirk as he replaced it.
Brad looked away, and his gaze fell on Colin, who was leaning against the exposed brick wall with his eyes glued to his Blackberry. Brad sighed. “I’m getting sick of this,” he remarked, not really expecting a response.
Colin glanced up distractedly. “What?”
Brad nudged the box of mousetraps with his foot. It thumped heavily against the wall. “This,” he repeated vaguely. “It’s getting old. And it’s really kind of lame.”
Colin shrugged. “It pays the bills,” he replied, and went back to texting. Brad rolled his eyes. He’d heard the stories thousands of times - not from Colin, because Colin didn’t talk to him about stuff like that - but quoted from interviews. All about how Colin once had to sell his CDs to buy diapers. The struggling new father who finally made it in Hollywood… it was classic, and upped Colin’s appeal to the stratosphere. Brad sometimes wondered whether Colin had made the whole thing up.
Of course, he reflected, still eyeing Colin speculatively, money wasn’t an issue for Colin anymore. If it was, he’d do better teamed up with Ryan than with him. And that would defeat the whole purpose of their tours - it wouldn’t let Colin defy the notion that he’d made a career of riding Ryan’s coattails. He’d spent the last seven years trying to prove just that.
Seven years. No matter how many times Brad repeated that to himself, it never quite seemed real. He’d never had the same gig for seven years before. He had always been moving on, moving upward, to better things. The tour with Colin was supposed to be for a few months. An interlude until he landed his next big project after the cancellation of Whose Line. But that big project had never come.
He scowled at the box of mousetraps until the stagehand who had brought it out reappeared. “They’re about ready for you,” he told Brad and Colin.
Colin yawned and pocketed his Blackberry, pushing himself away from the wall with a grunt. He headed towards the side of the stage, glancing over his shoulder at Brad, who hadn’t moved. “You coming?”
Purely out of habit, Brad smirked. “Why, Colin! Aren’t you even going to buy me dinner first?”
Colin slid his eyes away from Brad and continued walking. Brad suddenly felt very tired. He forced his legs to move and trudged along behind him.
The lights dimmed in the not quite filled to capacity auditorium, hushing the audience’s chatter. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the recorded announcement boomed, too loudly for the size of the room, “Will you please welcome Colin Mochrie and Brad Sherwood!”
Brad pasted a smile on his face and stepped out on stage.