FIC: The Business of Lies [Star Trek RPS, 1/1]
This may come as a shock, but this is the first piece of RPS I've ever written. @__@ Or to be more accurate: first to be finished, because I've started a few, but they always wander off from me. I'm really pleased that it's for Pinto, because I ♥ them so very very much.
Title: The Business of Lies
Fandom: Star Trek RPS
Disclaimer: This did not happen. This is not real. This is a piece of fiction.
Rating: PG
Length: ~3300 words
Pairing: Chris Pine/Zachary Quinto
Summary: Here's the thing: actors act.
Notes: Beta-ed by my awesome BFF, yesdrizella. Thank you, bb.
The Business of Lies
(The Following is a Dramatization)
Here's the thing: actors act.
They're in the business of lies.
*
So nothing they say is actually a lie. That would be dishonest. Chris has to admit that it's true enough that he and Zach do indeed live in the same neighborhood in L.A., that they do share the same personal trainer, that they do attend some of the same events. They've been in each other's peripheral awareness for years, but they didn't actually meet -- proper with a handshake, this-is-me sort of meet -- until Chris' audition.
It makes for a better story though, that they kind of knew each other before and now they've collaborated on this huge project. Like the stars aligning or some such. Or a meetcute.
Chris doesn't have a problem with it. Not really. His publicist does a great job at breaking things down for him.
It's not lying. It's dramatization.
So Chris rolls with it. He knows how to play the game. It could be worse. Much worse. Like pretending to like your co-star when you honestly can't stand them, and if you never see them again, it will be too soon. Chris likes Zach. They got on like gangbusters during the shoot. But everybody got along. There wasn't anything particularly special or unique. If anything, Chris spent more time chilling out with Karl than anybody else on set, catching smoke breaks together and shooting the shit while J.J. fussed with one thing or another.
It's afterwards, when the giant wheel of publicity begins to churn, that's the start of it all.
Chris expected it. No surprise. Kirk and Spock are legendary, truly a friendship that deserves "epic" as an adjective. Day in and day out, he's paired with Zach for the endless junket interviews. Trapped in the same room with a guy -- even if if it's a guy he likes, that he's friends with -- to answer the same set of questions over and over again isn't Chris' idea of a great time. In fact, he was pretty sure he's going to go mad.
But Zach is really good at it. Scary good. Almost startlingly so. Like a whole new side of Zach opening up to him. Zach was always so soft-spoken on set. Intense and focused. Not without his sense of humor, thank god, but... introspective, Chris' mom would have called it. Chris liked that about Zach, but sometimes it was a little too low-key for his taste.
On tour, though? Zach comes alive.
It's only fair that Chris plays along.
And bizarrely enough, the friendship they say they already have? It springs from the very embellishments they tell.
It's all very meta.
*
"I still can't believe you flirted with that girl." Zach's outrage is hilarious, mostly because it's more mock scandal than genuine indignation. Chris laughs.
"Would you rather I flirted with Steve from KXVW?"
Zach shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips now. "You're as shameless as Kirk."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Chris stops. They've reached his room, but he doesn't reach for his key. Not just yet.
"Hey, you wanna come in for a bit?"
Zach lifts a brow, very Spock-like. "We just spent eight hours together."
Chris shrugs, not having a good answer and not about to push. He watches Zach consider his options, finding himself doing that more and more often. Zach plays it close to the chest 99% of the time. There is a perverse pleasure in trying to interpret the subtle signals of Zach's thoughts, like they're playing poker and he's trying to figure out Zach's tell. Chris very nearly pumps his fist in victory when he figures out Zach's answer a second before Zach replies.
"Yeah, sure, why not?"
Once inside, they knock back little bottles of whiskey from the mini-bar and laugh about their day. It's funny, Chris thinks as he's lying on one of the beds, looking over to Zach sitting crosslegged on the other. They spent a whole day together, and now they're retelling that day to each other, and yet somehow it's still entertaining. Pretty soon, though, he's listening to the sound of Zach's voice and missing all the words. The cadence is lulling. Soothing.
"I'm pretty sure you've tuned me out for the last five minutes, so what're you smiling about?"
Chris swipes a hand across his eyes. He was already tired. Adding alcohol on top of that? He's drowsy as fuck. Thankfully, Zach doesn't sound annoyed.
"Just thinking."
"About?"
"Us."
Zach cocks his head, just the faintest tilt, a silent request for clarification. Another Spock-like expression bleeding through, but filming was months and months ago. It bothers Chris all of a sudden, good mood vanished like vapor. He has no idea if Zach's always lifted his brow and cocked his head like that, or if Zach is just channeling Spock.
"Nothing in particular," Chris answers, fudging it. But the thought won't leave him alone. He wants to think about this, mull it over, without Zach around, but at the same time, he doesn't really want Zach to go.
"You look like you're falling asleep. I should probably go."
Chris drops his head back onto the pillow, half a protest upon his lips, but he's already dozed off before he can register the click of the door closing behind Zach.
*
The thought sticks like a bug on the windshield.
Actors act.
And the bitter irony is that it's not like Chris hasn't been told to play it up. The friendship. Tell stories, make jokes, banter. Act like you're in a Judd Apatow movie. But Chris hasn't been acting. Maybe it was a little slow going at first, took some time for the camaraderie to fire up. They were friends, not friends, but that changed quickly.
Maybe too quickly.
Somehow it didn't occur to Chris that maybe Zach got the same instructions from his own people.
The suspicion makes something inside of Chris twinge.
*
Cultivated.
The word runs through Chris' mind as he watches Zach. Zach, who is soft-spoken again in this moment, as he talks about the responsibility inherent in updating a franchise as well-beloved as Trek.
Cultivated, but not artificial.
That's what makes Zach great, especially in these things. Sixtieth round of "what's it like to play Spock" and still Zach remains poised and never insincere, a consummate professional.
At least, it was great before. Now, Chris isn't so sure.
It's his turn with a question. Another expected and oft-asked request: funny incidents from the set, tell us about them. Chris doesn't bother searching his memory for a fresh tale, relies on one he's told before about toppling over in the Captain's chair. Zach laughs. The damn story can't be that funny anymore, but when Chris looks over at Zach, brightness is all he sees. Zach's laugh, the sound, it's too vibrant to be anything but real. In his eyes, there is fondness. Fondness for an old story, fondness for the teller of said story.
Chris' gut twists. Maybe he's wrong about all this.
*
"Hey, Chris! Wait up!"
One more second. Just one more and Chris would've been safe behind the door of his hotel room. He turns, plasters a smile to his face.
"Hey."
But Zach isn't fooled. He looks concerned, maybe even a little worried.
"You all right?"
"Yeah." The curt answer doesn't help any. Zach is shooting him a dubious look.
"You seemed... off today."
Chris rolls his shoulders in a vague shrug. "Tired, I guess."
"Yeah, yeah, I get you."
This is stilted, nothing at all like how they usually get on. Chris wonders, not for the first time, that while he's been busy figuring out Zach's tells, Zach's already got him all figured out. The awkardness in Zach, he's sure, is a mirror of what he's wearing from head to toe.
"Well. Good night," Zach says, but he lingers, hesitant to leave. He starts to lift a hand, aborts the attempt, then starts all over again. This time, he makes it. He reaches up and touches the side of Chris' neck. Fingertips on the curve where neck meets shoulder, thumb near a pulse point. It's intimate, all the more so for its lightness, nothing like a manly clasp of hand on shoulder. Chris inwardly shakes.
Zach's lips part. He's going to say something. But then he doesn't. There's an indecipherable look in his eyes. Then he's glancing down, hand retracted.
"If you need to talk. Whatever. You know."
Chris finds himself nodding, not even sure if Zach can see that, but Zach must have, because he nods once of his own, then he walks away.
Later, sprawled in bed, Chris stares up at the ceiling. Where Zach touched, his skin still burns. He's wrong, he thinks. He's really really wrong.
You don't touch someone like that unless you mean it.
You just don't.
*
Coming back home, it's almost anticlimatic, like a storm coming to an abrupt halt. Falling back to routine is comfortable though. Chris has missed waking up in his own bed, the familiar route for his morning jog, the barista who makes his coffee just right.
Things are a bit different now though. He practices his lines, relaxes with the Times, and quells the urge to flip off the paps.
The click of a shutter has now officially become Chris' least favorite sound in the world.
Zach drops by eventually, nearly two weeks after the movie's been out in the States. Chris smiles big when he sees him, hasn't even realized he's missed Zach until Zach is there, in his living room, sprawled across his couch with a beer in hand. It seems right somehow, to be together.
"Hey." Chris is sprawled on the other end of the couch, but Zach isn't so far that Chris can't nudge Zach's knee with one foot.
"What?"
"You think we'd be friends if it weren't for all this?"
Zach seems to contemplate the answer. Chris likes that. A considered answer is always best.
"I'd like to think so. It says something that we can still hang out after living in each other's pockets for so long." Zach offers a smile. "I'm not sick of you yet."
Chris grins.
They play catch-up, watch a little TV, but mostly it's a late afternoon of companionable silence. It's a nice change of pace, from being hurried along during the press tour, darting around town, being fashionable and friendly to interviewers and fans. Chris is far from tipsy after a few beers, but he feels a pleasant warmth anyhow.
There's still light outside when Zach has to go, a promised dinner with Kristen, whom Zach hasn't seen in awhile. Chris walks Zach to the door. They slap hands, bump fists, and it's a good precursor to a man-hug, but somewhere between standing still and moving forward, Chris changes his mind. He locks an arm around Zach's shoulders, the other around his waist, pressing them chest to chest. Chris Pine is a liberal man of the new millennium. He can grab himself a real hug from another guy without shame.
Zach seems to agree, his arms coming around Chris, too. Chris settles into it, hangs on for maybe a little too long, but Zach isn't pulling away, and that's good enough for Chris. When they part, Zach doesn't let go of Chris entirely, one hand resting on Chris' shoulder.
"I'll see you later," Zach says with a smile, squeezes Chris' shoulder, then he's gone.
The next morning, Chris does a phone interview, Bluetooth in his ear as he chats with the woman on the line while he cleans up his place. Same old questions, different day, with bonus gushing about the movie and how well it's doing. Chris is on autopilot, but stops short as he's arranging bottles for recycling. They're beer bottles from the day before, and Chris smiles to himself.
"You build upon the chemistry you already have," Chris explains. "When you overthink, that's when you kill the momentum. So we didn't really think about it. Zach and I just went for it."
"I'm sure you've heard the term a thousand times now, but would you call your friendship a bromance?"
Chris laughs. Bottles clink in a crude musical chime as he sets them down in the recycling box on the driveway.
He echoes Zach's words, "Yeah, you can call it a bromance if you want to."
*
But the truth is, Chris hates the word. Bromance. How cheap and trivializing, like sentiments in a Hallmark card. Throw any two guys together, and suddenly, it's a bromance.
Chris can't wait until the fad is over.
*
The fad is over. At least where Trek is concerned. The movie is chugging along, the money-train still on course, but that's yesterday's news.
Chris lies low, the paps still take their pictures, but the talk turns to the future. His play, his next role, what does he think it's going to be like to work with Tony Scott and Denzel? What about that movie with Christian Bale? Is he really going to be the next Green Lantern?
Chris enjoys the down time, but he's got to admit that he misses the hectic buzz. Or to be more accurate, he misses his crew. He trades emails with Karl, plays phone tag with Zoe, and hangs out briefly once or twice with John.
Then there's Zach. They exchange a few texts, a couple of short calls. A far cry from the BFFs they supposedly are.
But that's Hollywood.
Chris finds himself antsy, without a word to put to this... thing in his gut. Something like disappointment, and he remembers thinking, somewhere between Sydney and Paris, that surely he and Zach are more than just two guys in the same boat of circumstance. But somewhere between New York and Tokyo, he had a doubt, too.
In the poker game between him and Zach, Chris is pretty sure he's losing.
*
"Audrina."
"What?"
"My name!" She laughs. "It's Audrina."
And the girl named Audrina sidles close. On his lap sort of close. Chris finds himself at a loss as to where to put his hands.
The music in the bar is loud, and the crowd is thick. Chris really hopes nobody snatches a pic.
"We've met, you know," Audrina tells him. In his ear. Loudly.
"Yeah, I think so." No, he doesn't.
Audrina slides a hand over Chris' arm, a slow stroke of his bicep. It's like a page out of the flirting handbook.
"They already think we've hooked up."
Chris doesn't bother playing dumb. "So?"
She titters. Chris has to admit that it isn't an entirely unpleasant sound. "So? Why not, I say." She smiles, full lips glossed and pink. "Make some reality out of it."
It'd be easy. Really, really easy. The work has already been done for him, and there's nothing to lose. But this whole "making it real after the fact" thing doesn't settle with him as well as he thought it would. Which, by the way, isn't even the right term, because there is no fact. Just people making shit up.
Chris' publicist would call it dramatization, but goddammit, Chris' life is not a work of fiction.
He leaves. He leaves politely, but he leaves. There is a twinge in his chest, and Chris knows he's felt this before. He didn't want to ask the question then, but he has to know now.
Impulse leads him to Zach's door. Chris doesn't even know if Zach's home. He knocks, and he clings to what he knows. Chemistry can't be faked. That's just a fact. In the Make Your Own Volcano of human interaction, you can substitute lemon juice for vinegar, Alka-Seltzer for baking soda, but you're always going to need an acid and a base.
He and Zach, they're an acid and a base.
Chris is startled when Zach actually opens the door. He stands there, mute, like a fool, and Zach stares at him, the look on his face a cross between amused and puzzled.
"So, this is a pleasant surprise," Zach says, conversational. Chris licks his lips, which apparently conveyed a wealth of information that he isn't even aware of, because there is a quick change of expression on Zach's face, like he's taking something in. Then he settles on neutral, stepping from the doorway to let Chris inside. "C'mon."
Chris walks in, and he's barely in Zach's living room before he's turning around to face Zach coming up behind him.
"Bromance."
"Yes?" Zach appears a little wary, but Chris can't care less at this point.
"Is that all we are? A bromance?"
Under any other circumstance, the look on Zach's face would be funny. Hilarious even. Look up "flabbergasted" in the dictionary, and it would have a picture of Zach's face in this moment.
"I have to admit, I'm really confused right now." Zach speaks slowly, articulates his words. That's what he does when he isn't entirely sure what he wants to say but he wants to be careful about it.
"I think it's a pretty simple question."
"I think it's a loaded question."
"What?"
Zach exhales, a push of breath that's very close to being a sigh. "You are obviously talking about something that I haven't the faintest clue about, so no, I'm not walking into that trap. What is going on?"
Chris thinks: he can either lay it on the line and risk sounding like a complete idiot, or he can claw for a little dignity and maybe exit with some grace.
There's a reason why he was cast to play James T. Kirk.
"I just need to know, for sure, what this thing is between us. Because I'm tired of guessing. I keep thinking I'll figure it out. I'll figure you out, but I have no idea. I haven't the faintest clue."
Chris fights the urge to look away and keeps his eyes on Zach. He's all in. Let the chips fall where they may. Zach, damnable Zach, looks calm. He steps forward, closes the space between them, then he lays his hand on Chris' shoulder. It takes a moment, but then Zach is smiling. Not amused, not really. It's a strange little smile.
"No, Chris, we're not a bromance."
Chris starts to open his mouth to say something, but that's when Zach shuts him up by covering it with his own.
Oh.
There's no mistaking this as anything but a honest to god kiss. The hand on his shoulder becomes the hand on his face. The press of Zach's lips to his is soft but so very firm. This is a declaration.
"I was going to wait," Zach whispers. "Let you come to me. This isn't exactly what I had in mind, but you asked. You asked, and I can't lie."
If Zach was the definition of "flabbergasted" before, then Chris is the definition of "thunderstruck" now.
At Chris' silence, Zach pulls back, searches his face.
"This isn't at all what you were talking about, is it?"
Chris blinks. How can he be so wrong? How can he be so spectacularly wrong, and yet everything still be so fucking right?
"No, but I've never been so glad to be wrong in my whole life."
A flash of worried confusion crosses Zach's face, but Chris doesn't let it stay. He kisses it away, with the same certainty Zach gave him. When his mouth meets Zach's, it's like pieces falling into place. He doesn't hold back, not anymore.
He really should've known. From the first time Zach laughed with him, Chris should've known.
Chris breaks from the kiss, but only so he can hold Zach, wrap his arms around him and squeeze, as tightly as he wants, for as long as he wants.
Zach laughs, a breathless sound brushing over Chris' ear. "I've waited so long for this, you have no idea," he says.
And Chris knows, without a doubt, that it's no lie.
~end~
Title: The Business of Lies
Fandom: Star Trek RPS
Disclaimer: This did not happen. This is not real. This is a piece of fiction.
Rating: PG
Length: ~3300 words
Pairing: Chris Pine/Zachary Quinto
Summary: Here's the thing: actors act.
Notes: Beta-ed by my awesome BFF, yesdrizella. Thank you, bb.
The Business of Lies
(The Following is a Dramatization)
Here's the thing: actors act.
They're in the business of lies.
*
So nothing they say is actually a lie. That would be dishonest. Chris has to admit that it's true enough that he and Zach do indeed live in the same neighborhood in L.A., that they do share the same personal trainer, that they do attend some of the same events. They've been in each other's peripheral awareness for years, but they didn't actually meet -- proper with a handshake, this-is-me sort of meet -- until Chris' audition.
It makes for a better story though, that they kind of knew each other before and now they've collaborated on this huge project. Like the stars aligning or some such. Or a meetcute.
Chris doesn't have a problem with it. Not really. His publicist does a great job at breaking things down for him.
It's not lying. It's dramatization.
So Chris rolls with it. He knows how to play the game. It could be worse. Much worse. Like pretending to like your co-star when you honestly can't stand them, and if you never see them again, it will be too soon. Chris likes Zach. They got on like gangbusters during the shoot. But everybody got along. There wasn't anything particularly special or unique. If anything, Chris spent more time chilling out with Karl than anybody else on set, catching smoke breaks together and shooting the shit while J.J. fussed with one thing or another.
It's afterwards, when the giant wheel of publicity begins to churn, that's the start of it all.
Chris expected it. No surprise. Kirk and Spock are legendary, truly a friendship that deserves "epic" as an adjective. Day in and day out, he's paired with Zach for the endless junket interviews. Trapped in the same room with a guy -- even if if it's a guy he likes, that he's friends with -- to answer the same set of questions over and over again isn't Chris' idea of a great time. In fact, he was pretty sure he's going to go mad.
But Zach is really good at it. Scary good. Almost startlingly so. Like a whole new side of Zach opening up to him. Zach was always so soft-spoken on set. Intense and focused. Not without his sense of humor, thank god, but... introspective, Chris' mom would have called it. Chris liked that about Zach, but sometimes it was a little too low-key for his taste.
On tour, though? Zach comes alive.
It's only fair that Chris plays along.
And bizarrely enough, the friendship they say they already have? It springs from the very embellishments they tell.
It's all very meta.
*
"I still can't believe you flirted with that girl." Zach's outrage is hilarious, mostly because it's more mock scandal than genuine indignation. Chris laughs.
"Would you rather I flirted with Steve from KXVW?"
Zach shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips now. "You're as shameless as Kirk."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Chris stops. They've reached his room, but he doesn't reach for his key. Not just yet.
"Hey, you wanna come in for a bit?"
Zach lifts a brow, very Spock-like. "We just spent eight hours together."
Chris shrugs, not having a good answer and not about to push. He watches Zach consider his options, finding himself doing that more and more often. Zach plays it close to the chest 99% of the time. There is a perverse pleasure in trying to interpret the subtle signals of Zach's thoughts, like they're playing poker and he's trying to figure out Zach's tell. Chris very nearly pumps his fist in victory when he figures out Zach's answer a second before Zach replies.
"Yeah, sure, why not?"
Once inside, they knock back little bottles of whiskey from the mini-bar and laugh about their day. It's funny, Chris thinks as he's lying on one of the beds, looking over to Zach sitting crosslegged on the other. They spent a whole day together, and now they're retelling that day to each other, and yet somehow it's still entertaining. Pretty soon, though, he's listening to the sound of Zach's voice and missing all the words. The cadence is lulling. Soothing.
"I'm pretty sure you've tuned me out for the last five minutes, so what're you smiling about?"
Chris swipes a hand across his eyes. He was already tired. Adding alcohol on top of that? He's drowsy as fuck. Thankfully, Zach doesn't sound annoyed.
"Just thinking."
"About?"
"Us."
Zach cocks his head, just the faintest tilt, a silent request for clarification. Another Spock-like expression bleeding through, but filming was months and months ago. It bothers Chris all of a sudden, good mood vanished like vapor. He has no idea if Zach's always lifted his brow and cocked his head like that, or if Zach is just channeling Spock.
"Nothing in particular," Chris answers, fudging it. But the thought won't leave him alone. He wants to think about this, mull it over, without Zach around, but at the same time, he doesn't really want Zach to go.
"You look like you're falling asleep. I should probably go."
Chris drops his head back onto the pillow, half a protest upon his lips, but he's already dozed off before he can register the click of the door closing behind Zach.
*
The thought sticks like a bug on the windshield.
Actors act.
And the bitter irony is that it's not like Chris hasn't been told to play it up. The friendship. Tell stories, make jokes, banter. Act like you're in a Judd Apatow movie. But Chris hasn't been acting. Maybe it was a little slow going at first, took some time for the camaraderie to fire up. They were friends, not friends, but that changed quickly.
Maybe too quickly.
Somehow it didn't occur to Chris that maybe Zach got the same instructions from his own people.
The suspicion makes something inside of Chris twinge.
*
Cultivated.
The word runs through Chris' mind as he watches Zach. Zach, who is soft-spoken again in this moment, as he talks about the responsibility inherent in updating a franchise as well-beloved as Trek.
Cultivated, but not artificial.
That's what makes Zach great, especially in these things. Sixtieth round of "what's it like to play Spock" and still Zach remains poised and never insincere, a consummate professional.
At least, it was great before. Now, Chris isn't so sure.
It's his turn with a question. Another expected and oft-asked request: funny incidents from the set, tell us about them. Chris doesn't bother searching his memory for a fresh tale, relies on one he's told before about toppling over in the Captain's chair. Zach laughs. The damn story can't be that funny anymore, but when Chris looks over at Zach, brightness is all he sees. Zach's laugh, the sound, it's too vibrant to be anything but real. In his eyes, there is fondness. Fondness for an old story, fondness for the teller of said story.
Chris' gut twists. Maybe he's wrong about all this.
*
"Hey, Chris! Wait up!"
One more second. Just one more and Chris would've been safe behind the door of his hotel room. He turns, plasters a smile to his face.
"Hey."
But Zach isn't fooled. He looks concerned, maybe even a little worried.
"You all right?"
"Yeah." The curt answer doesn't help any. Zach is shooting him a dubious look.
"You seemed... off today."
Chris rolls his shoulders in a vague shrug. "Tired, I guess."
"Yeah, yeah, I get you."
This is stilted, nothing at all like how they usually get on. Chris wonders, not for the first time, that while he's been busy figuring out Zach's tells, Zach's already got him all figured out. The awkardness in Zach, he's sure, is a mirror of what he's wearing from head to toe.
"Well. Good night," Zach says, but he lingers, hesitant to leave. He starts to lift a hand, aborts the attempt, then starts all over again. This time, he makes it. He reaches up and touches the side of Chris' neck. Fingertips on the curve where neck meets shoulder, thumb near a pulse point. It's intimate, all the more so for its lightness, nothing like a manly clasp of hand on shoulder. Chris inwardly shakes.
Zach's lips part. He's going to say something. But then he doesn't. There's an indecipherable look in his eyes. Then he's glancing down, hand retracted.
"If you need to talk. Whatever. You know."
Chris finds himself nodding, not even sure if Zach can see that, but Zach must have, because he nods once of his own, then he walks away.
Later, sprawled in bed, Chris stares up at the ceiling. Where Zach touched, his skin still burns. He's wrong, he thinks. He's really really wrong.
You don't touch someone like that unless you mean it.
You just don't.
*
Coming back home, it's almost anticlimatic, like a storm coming to an abrupt halt. Falling back to routine is comfortable though. Chris has missed waking up in his own bed, the familiar route for his morning jog, the barista who makes his coffee just right.
Things are a bit different now though. He practices his lines, relaxes with the Times, and quells the urge to flip off the paps.
The click of a shutter has now officially become Chris' least favorite sound in the world.
Zach drops by eventually, nearly two weeks after the movie's been out in the States. Chris smiles big when he sees him, hasn't even realized he's missed Zach until Zach is there, in his living room, sprawled across his couch with a beer in hand. It seems right somehow, to be together.
"Hey." Chris is sprawled on the other end of the couch, but Zach isn't so far that Chris can't nudge Zach's knee with one foot.
"What?"
"You think we'd be friends if it weren't for all this?"
Zach seems to contemplate the answer. Chris likes that. A considered answer is always best.
"I'd like to think so. It says something that we can still hang out after living in each other's pockets for so long." Zach offers a smile. "I'm not sick of you yet."
Chris grins.
They play catch-up, watch a little TV, but mostly it's a late afternoon of companionable silence. It's a nice change of pace, from being hurried along during the press tour, darting around town, being fashionable and friendly to interviewers and fans. Chris is far from tipsy after a few beers, but he feels a pleasant warmth anyhow.
There's still light outside when Zach has to go, a promised dinner with Kristen, whom Zach hasn't seen in awhile. Chris walks Zach to the door. They slap hands, bump fists, and it's a good precursor to a man-hug, but somewhere between standing still and moving forward, Chris changes his mind. He locks an arm around Zach's shoulders, the other around his waist, pressing them chest to chest. Chris Pine is a liberal man of the new millennium. He can grab himself a real hug from another guy without shame.
Zach seems to agree, his arms coming around Chris, too. Chris settles into it, hangs on for maybe a little too long, but Zach isn't pulling away, and that's good enough for Chris. When they part, Zach doesn't let go of Chris entirely, one hand resting on Chris' shoulder.
"I'll see you later," Zach says with a smile, squeezes Chris' shoulder, then he's gone.
The next morning, Chris does a phone interview, Bluetooth in his ear as he chats with the woman on the line while he cleans up his place. Same old questions, different day, with bonus gushing about the movie and how well it's doing. Chris is on autopilot, but stops short as he's arranging bottles for recycling. They're beer bottles from the day before, and Chris smiles to himself.
"You build upon the chemistry you already have," Chris explains. "When you overthink, that's when you kill the momentum. So we didn't really think about it. Zach and I just went for it."
"I'm sure you've heard the term a thousand times now, but would you call your friendship a bromance?"
Chris laughs. Bottles clink in a crude musical chime as he sets them down in the recycling box on the driveway.
He echoes Zach's words, "Yeah, you can call it a bromance if you want to."
*
But the truth is, Chris hates the word. Bromance. How cheap and trivializing, like sentiments in a Hallmark card. Throw any two guys together, and suddenly, it's a bromance.
Chris can't wait until the fad is over.
*
The fad is over. At least where Trek is concerned. The movie is chugging along, the money-train still on course, but that's yesterday's news.
Chris lies low, the paps still take their pictures, but the talk turns to the future. His play, his next role, what does he think it's going to be like to work with Tony Scott and Denzel? What about that movie with Christian Bale? Is he really going to be the next Green Lantern?
Chris enjoys the down time, but he's got to admit that he misses the hectic buzz. Or to be more accurate, he misses his crew. He trades emails with Karl, plays phone tag with Zoe, and hangs out briefly once or twice with John.
Then there's Zach. They exchange a few texts, a couple of short calls. A far cry from the BFFs they supposedly are.
But that's Hollywood.
Chris finds himself antsy, without a word to put to this... thing in his gut. Something like disappointment, and he remembers thinking, somewhere between Sydney and Paris, that surely he and Zach are more than just two guys in the same boat of circumstance. But somewhere between New York and Tokyo, he had a doubt, too.
In the poker game between him and Zach, Chris is pretty sure he's losing.
*
"Audrina."
"What?"
"My name!" She laughs. "It's Audrina."
And the girl named Audrina sidles close. On his lap sort of close. Chris finds himself at a loss as to where to put his hands.
The music in the bar is loud, and the crowd is thick. Chris really hopes nobody snatches a pic.
"We've met, you know," Audrina tells him. In his ear. Loudly.
"Yeah, I think so." No, he doesn't.
Audrina slides a hand over Chris' arm, a slow stroke of his bicep. It's like a page out of the flirting handbook.
"They already think we've hooked up."
Chris doesn't bother playing dumb. "So?"
She titters. Chris has to admit that it isn't an entirely unpleasant sound. "So? Why not, I say." She smiles, full lips glossed and pink. "Make some reality out of it."
It'd be easy. Really, really easy. The work has already been done for him, and there's nothing to lose. But this whole "making it real after the fact" thing doesn't settle with him as well as he thought it would. Which, by the way, isn't even the right term, because there is no fact. Just people making shit up.
Chris' publicist would call it dramatization, but goddammit, Chris' life is not a work of fiction.
He leaves. He leaves politely, but he leaves. There is a twinge in his chest, and Chris knows he's felt this before. He didn't want to ask the question then, but he has to know now.
Impulse leads him to Zach's door. Chris doesn't even know if Zach's home. He knocks, and he clings to what he knows. Chemistry can't be faked. That's just a fact. In the Make Your Own Volcano of human interaction, you can substitute lemon juice for vinegar, Alka-Seltzer for baking soda, but you're always going to need an acid and a base.
He and Zach, they're an acid and a base.
Chris is startled when Zach actually opens the door. He stands there, mute, like a fool, and Zach stares at him, the look on his face a cross between amused and puzzled.
"So, this is a pleasant surprise," Zach says, conversational. Chris licks his lips, which apparently conveyed a wealth of information that he isn't even aware of, because there is a quick change of expression on Zach's face, like he's taking something in. Then he settles on neutral, stepping from the doorway to let Chris inside. "C'mon."
Chris walks in, and he's barely in Zach's living room before he's turning around to face Zach coming up behind him.
"Bromance."
"Yes?" Zach appears a little wary, but Chris can't care less at this point.
"Is that all we are? A bromance?"
Under any other circumstance, the look on Zach's face would be funny. Hilarious even. Look up "flabbergasted" in the dictionary, and it would have a picture of Zach's face in this moment.
"I have to admit, I'm really confused right now." Zach speaks slowly, articulates his words. That's what he does when he isn't entirely sure what he wants to say but he wants to be careful about it.
"I think it's a pretty simple question."
"I think it's a loaded question."
"What?"
Zach exhales, a push of breath that's very close to being a sigh. "You are obviously talking about something that I haven't the faintest clue about, so no, I'm not walking into that trap. What is going on?"
Chris thinks: he can either lay it on the line and risk sounding like a complete idiot, or he can claw for a little dignity and maybe exit with some grace.
There's a reason why he was cast to play James T. Kirk.
"I just need to know, for sure, what this thing is between us. Because I'm tired of guessing. I keep thinking I'll figure it out. I'll figure you out, but I have no idea. I haven't the faintest clue."
Chris fights the urge to look away and keeps his eyes on Zach. He's all in. Let the chips fall where they may. Zach, damnable Zach, looks calm. He steps forward, closes the space between them, then he lays his hand on Chris' shoulder. It takes a moment, but then Zach is smiling. Not amused, not really. It's a strange little smile.
"No, Chris, we're not a bromance."
Chris starts to open his mouth to say something, but that's when Zach shuts him up by covering it with his own.
Oh.
There's no mistaking this as anything but a honest to god kiss. The hand on his shoulder becomes the hand on his face. The press of Zach's lips to his is soft but so very firm. This is a declaration.
"I was going to wait," Zach whispers. "Let you come to me. This isn't exactly what I had in mind, but you asked. You asked, and I can't lie."
If Zach was the definition of "flabbergasted" before, then Chris is the definition of "thunderstruck" now.
At Chris' silence, Zach pulls back, searches his face.
"This isn't at all what you were talking about, is it?"
Chris blinks. How can he be so wrong? How can he be so spectacularly wrong, and yet everything still be so fucking right?
"No, but I've never been so glad to be wrong in my whole life."
A flash of worried confusion crosses Zach's face, but Chris doesn't let it stay. He kisses it away, with the same certainty Zach gave him. When his mouth meets Zach's, it's like pieces falling into place. He doesn't hold back, not anymore.
He really should've known. From the first time Zach laughed with him, Chris should've known.
Chris breaks from the kiss, but only so he can hold Zach, wrap his arms around him and squeeze, as tightly as he wants, for as long as he wants.
Zach laughs, a breathless sound brushing over Chris' ear. "I've waited so long for this, you have no idea," he says.
And Chris knows, without a doubt, that it's no lie.
~end~