Work Text:
"Dear God, the genius lives," Zimmer smiled into the phone's receiver.
He didn't mention the hour (one twenty-six in the morning) or the elephant of silence that stood broad between them. For one thing, calling Nolan out on his habits would only draw attention to his own-- he himself was awake, after all, sipping at scotch in front of his equipment in a dimly lit studio room. He wasn't sure whose bad habits had rubbed off on whom, but either way, it had never been uncommon for one of them to receive a call during even the most inconvenient hours.
He could hear Nolan scoff lightly on the other end of the line. "You know I hate when you do that. Still, thank you. You saw it, then?"
"A masterpiece," Zimmer said, meaning every word. "You've done it again."
"It wasn't just me," Nolan laughed.
The conversation quickly faded into silence, and once more they were left to face what remained past the easy talk of the film. Of, it wasn't just me, but it wasn't you, either, this time. Of Villeneuve and Göransson. Nolan understood, of course-- they both did. It was part of the business. They had taken equal steps in replacing one another, and the fairness of the whole ordeal made it impossible for Zimmer to feel any kind of resentment for his friend. In fact, the only thing he'd felt while watching Nolan's latest film had been pride.
Every time. Every time, he does it.
"Listen, Hans," Nolan continued. There was an uncharacteristic note of apprehension lacing his tone. "It's early, I know, especially given that your latest endeavor isn't truly finished until December. I'm not asking for your full time or attention. I'm just wondering what you think of the idea."
Zimmer sat back in his seat, baffled. He'd heard his friend say similar things before. Each new idea ended in another collaboration, another piece of art that they were both proud to call their own. Like children raised in the careful guidance of masters... but that was the point, wasn't it? He took another swallow from the glass, pushing his chair away from the keyboard stretched out before him. There were stacks of paper cluttering the area, drafts and re-drafts of concepts, crumpled papers marking those that hadn't managed to make the cut for Dune. He allowed his vision to linger on a small folder near the bottom. The label read Tenet.
"You're offering me a job," he clarified, oddly touched despite his light tone.
Nolan laughed. "No need for such formality, but yes. I've had this itch in my mind for the past three years and while we were completing the filming in these last few months it's finally come to me. Beginning stages only, of course, but I already have a vision, and that vision includes you."
He remembered the outline Nolan had given him for Interstellar. No title, no genre, a few words and bits of dialogue. He remembered the chord progressions he'd worked on as simple drafts, how he'd thought of his son and how the music had come to him like a revelation from a higher power. How he'd been brought to tears at the first draft, how he had called Nolan that morning with an unbreakable grin marking his face.
He remembered the overwhelming frustration as they worked on Dunkirk, how neither of them had been satisfied with the score until Zimmer had fallen asleep in their office to the sound of Nolan's ticking wristwatch. He remembered Nolan's face breaking out into admiration the next day when Zimmer's eureka moment led to the steady tick that echoed throughout the gorgeous frames Nolan set out. How they'd achieved something curiously close to greatness.
It was more than work. The film was his life, but it was Nolan who was a convicted enabler. He gave far too much freedom, far too much trust in the abilities of his hand-selected few. Zimmer always took it like the drug it was, and flourished from it. They were excellent together. Two parts of a machine. Two orbiting planets caught in the gravitational pull because it worked.
"So, what do you say?"
"For God's sake, Chris, you know what I say. The question is how much are you giving me to work with?"
The smile in Nolan's voice was infectious. "I'll send you a paragraph for now, tell me what you think. Nothing's set in stone quite yet."
"A paragraph?" Zimmer raised an eyebrow. His accent was thick across the words.
"Would a single word do the trick? No, I think you could manage without even that."
"I'm beginning to wonder if you build the story around my drafts, and not the other way around."
"You got me."
They both broke out chuckling. Hans set down his glass, reaching over to pick up the Tenet folder. It had been an incredibly difficult decision, being forced to choose between his own opportunity and another work with Nolan. Obviously his commitment to Villeneuve was already made, and he wasn't one for breaking such things. No-- Dune was where he needed to be, even if it meant turning down Nolan's request.
He'd still written up three pages of ideas for the film that morning, berating himself all the while. The folder remained unsent, untouched, unknown to Nolan. No, he couldn't send it. He couldn't pledge his heart to two projects at the same time-- both would end up rushed, neither with his full attention, and it would show.
"It's been far too long," he said, setting the file back down on his desk. "I'll get back to you before the end of October."
"Thank you, Hans."
"This isn't a favor," Zimmer reminded him firmly. "I only wish that my schedule had been more agreeable, this last year."
A non-committal hum came through the other end. "Talent is meant to be shared," Nolan replied. "I won't try to hide my own, ah-- selfish-- disappointment, but I do look forward to hearing your own work for myself this winter. I think I'm beginning to feel a sense of competition when it comes to hiring you... everyone else seems to have finally caught onto your own abilities."
You're the one who showed them, Zimmer thought wryly.
"Well then I'll have to reassure you, Chris; the films we have made together are my most precious. It would be my pleasure to work on another with you."
"Sentimental," Nolan teased, but Zimmer could hear the fondness in his tone.
"It makes for good music."
"I can't argue with the results." Nolan sighed. "Dear lord, I just realized the time-- I'm sorry to keep you up. I'll have it sent to you this week."
They said their goodbyes, leaving with a much more comfortable atmosphere than they'd begun with. Knowing that he shouldn't, Zimmer carefully cleared the Dune pages from his workspace and stacked them on another shelf. He placed his fingers along b-major and shut his eyes, testing out a few different runs.
It felt like a breath of fresh air.