Chapter Text
Chris hadn’t appeared yet. Trevor started to make his way back to the set where they’d just finished 90 Degrees . Chris had promised that as soon as filming was finished Trevor could take him to the hospital. And Trevor had believed him; Chris kept his promises and knew exactly why they were all worried about his health. It was doubly odd with Dennis and possibly Vanessa or Robert needing medical attention too. Whilst Chris could be inconsiderate of his own health, he tended to be more careful with injuries the rest of the cast had, and was a bit of a mother hen.
Chris not finding him, even though the play had been finished for at least five minutes, was concerning. What if Chris had tried and was unconscious somewhere? Rib injuries could easily lead to complications. Trevor had only been allowed a quick look before Chris had insisted on being present for the final scene. If he’d missed signs of shock or internal bleeding Chris could be in trouble.
Nobody greeted Trevor as he walked on set.
Chris wasn’t there.
Annie was holding a cold pack to Dennis’ head, the beard and moustache discarded with Vanessa’s wig on the table next to them. Vanessa was holding her own cold pack to the back of her head, whilst Max offered her a glass of water. Sandra and Jonathan were having an intense sounding discussion in low voices, looking stressed.
Trevor cleared his throat; “Has anyone seen Chris?”
There was a brief moment of silence.
—
“I’m here for Chris Bean.” Trevor said with his best charming smile. He suspected it fell somewhat short. It’d been a very tense drive to the Police Station; worrying all the while that he’d get there to find Chris gone in an ambulance, barely breathing. Thoughts of Chris, so pale in that hospital bed just months ago preying on his mind. And fury at Robert, for being so stupid to steal whilst still micced up, for not just paying the three quid and for blaming Chris at all.
“Arrested from Cornley’s BBC studio about a pack of wine gums” Trevor continued, when the man behind the desk just blinked at him.
“We’ve not finished with them yet, you’ll have to wait.” The Police Officer said in a bored tone.
Trevor did not have time for this, “I’m not here for Robert, just Chris. He’s injured, has he received medical attention yet?”
Trevor always found that if you entered a situation confidently enough, people would assume you knew what you were doing and had a right to be doing it. Though this was far from the Cornley Drama Society’s first brush with the law; it wasn’t even the first time he’d picked Chris up from a police station.
That made the police officer sit up, suddenly alert. “How injured?”
“He fell. His ribs are hurt at least. I was meant to take him to hospital once we’d finished filming-” and that had only been five minutes away, he’d thought it would be ok to let himself be persuaded by Chris “-but he got arrested instead.”
“He didn’t tell us.”
Of course Chris didn’t tell them. Getting Chris to admit to any injuries was a nightmare. Trevor suppressed the frustration at Chris’ poor self-care habits with the ease of long practice.
The police officer reached towards a phone, “I’m going to have to ask you to wait while I call the healthca-”
“If it makes it easier he didn’t do it” Trevor interrupted, and at the officer’s rolled eyes he continued, “The shoplifting was caught on film and” Trevor placed the disc he’d taken with him from the studio, “this is a copy.”
It really didn’t take long for them to release Chris after that. Trevor gathered he’d made something of a nuisance of himself on the way down to the station, arguing the entire way.
Chris did not look well. He was alarmingly much paler than when Trevor had last seen him less than an hour ago, and since then he’d been wearing stage makeup to look like a dying man that was saying something. A thin sheen of sweat on his forehead caught the glare of the station’s lights. He was taking shallow breaths and had clenched his jaw in the way he did when he was in pain and trying to hide it.
Trevor felt worry catch in his throat.
He was upright, they’d be at the hospital soon. Trevor hadn’t been too slow.
How had none of the Police Officers noticed? Why hadn’t Robert said anything? Why hadn’t Chris said anything?
“Come on,” Trevor grabbed Chris' arm to support him, Chris was here. He allowed his other hand to rest on Chris’ back, the contact soothing him.
Chris stopped, “What about Robert?” At least he wasn’t slurring.
“He’s staying.” Trevor cut Chris off when he looked like he might argue, “you need a hospital Chris, like you should have been at an hour ago!”
“We got arrested” Chris said defensively, as they made their way out of the police station, “I didn’t exactly expect that would happen!”
Nobody had. It really should have just been five minutes of watching the last scene. But Robert just had to steal a pack of wine gums. And then he just had to drag Chris into his mess, with no concern from either of them about Chris’ recent fall.
Trevor held the passenger door open for Chris.
“Thank you” said Chris, wincing as he bent his body to get in. Trevor mourned the loss of body contact, a way of reassuring himself Chris was here, that he wasn’t too late.
“How are you feeling?” Trevor asked, starting the car.
Chris took a shallow shaky breath, “breathing hurts” he admitted, “I might have overdone it yelling at the police. I’m still not sure why we were arrested actually.”
“Robert stole some wine gums.” Trevor said.
Chris blinked, then looked resigned. “Of course he did,” he said, running a hand over his face.
“It’s not far to the hospital, let me know if you start to feel worse” And he’d get them there quicker, it’d be worth the speeding ticket.
“Of course I will.”
There was no ‘of course’ about it. Chris hadn’t told the police he was injured. If Trevor hadn’t been waiting for Chris, if he hadn’t come straight away or had been less forceful at the desk; Chris could have been waiting hours for medical attention. Alone. Struggling to breathe.
And suddenly all he could think of was a few months ago. The bitter acrid smell. The red of the blood. Chris’ weight as Trevor tried in vain not to panic.
“What about the others?” Chris asked, “Any injuries apart from Dennis?”
And that was so very like Chris, possibly suffering from rib fractures and still trying to wrangle the aftermath of another CDS disaster.
“Vanessa hit her head, Annie took her and Dennis to the Walk-in centre.”
Chris hummed, “Robert took a fall too, has he-”
Trevor interrupted, “I let the police know, they’re gonna get someone to look at him.”
His own anger at Robert was no reason to leave him without the medical attention. Though Robert had a lucky tendency to escape most accidents without the expected injury, the jammy sod.
“We could have waited for Robert to be released, they won’t hold him long on shoplifting charges. It didn’t take them long to release me.”
Trevor couldn’t believe him. Chris was a very smart man, so Trevor couldn’t understand how he didn’t seem to register the urgency of the situation. Why was Chris’ own health always his lowest priority? For once could this not be a battle?
“You need a hospital Chris. Don’t you dare say you're fine, cause you’re not. You would still be in the police station if I hadn’t given them the studio recording.”
Chris’ head whipped around, “What does the studio recording have to do with it?”
Even an hour later, Trevor still couldn’t believe how stupid Robert had been. “He still had his mic on when shoplifting, it’s all caught in the broadcast.”
Chris looked gobsmacked at the sheer stupidity of it.
And then he frowned, “You gave the police proof of Robert committing a crime?”
Trevor could feel himself bristle at the open accusation, “I gave the police what they needed to prove you were innocent.”
“By condemning Robert!” Chris’ voice was pitched high with indignant disbelief.
Trevor thought Chris was missing the point, “Robert’s guilty!”
“I know, I know! But-” Chris sighed, looking tired, “- he’s going through a difficult time at the moment, you giving the police irrefutable evidence of his guilt won't help!”
Robert’s recent difficulties only excused him so much, in Trevor’s opinion. He was sympathetic, but there were limits. And Robert had crossed Trevor’s limit about three weeks ago when he’d casually smacked Chris down the stairs on stage.
“He did it! You’re badly hurt and you didn’t do it. I’d do it again if it got you to hospital on time!” How could he get it into Chris’ thick head that they cared about him. That they couldn’t lose him, that Trevor couldn’t lose him.
“I’m fine!” Chris was utterly predictable sometimes.
“You’re not fine Chris, stop saying you’re fine. Why do you al-”
“Just take me back to the station, I’m sure I can sort something out.”
“You’re not going back to the fucking station. You need a hospital so you’re going. End of discussion”
“I can’t just abandon Robert! I’m the directo-”
“He’d abandon you in a heartbeat.”
“I wouldn’t even need to go back to the station if you hadn’t handed them the holy grail of evidence!”
Chris should have let Trevor tie him to the bed. But he’d vetoed it; it apparently looked ‘too obvious’ for the audience. How many times now had Chris been injured just to keep up appearances? Why couldn’t he put his own safety first just once. His rib injury was very, very avoidable. So many of his injuries were. Chris was his own worst enemy. Trevor felt fury tighten his throat, the heat of it blazing up his cheeks.
“If you actually cared about your health for once in your life and didn’t force the rest of us to constantly panic about you killing yourself acting then I wouldn’t have had to-”
“You didn’t have to! Nobody asked you to worry about my health. Nobody asked you to get Robert locked-”
“I’m your stage manager, Chris. I’m your friend. Nobody has to ask me”
“You should have just left it alone”
“I ca-”
“It’s not your job, Trevor! It’s not your job to shepherd me to hospital or nag me into first aid. And it’s certainly not your job to take BBC property and give it to the police”
That hurt.
Barely a day had gone by in the last half-decade without talking to Chris in some form or the other. Knowing that he was Chris’ emergency contact, Chris’ one phone call from police stations and the person Chris confided in most about new productions was something Trevor treasured.
It was trust. It was years of working with the same person and caring that you did a good job simply because it pleased them. Trevor may not have originally wanted to be stage manager but now he was the role defined him. He was Chris’ stage manager.
Even though stage manager for CDS mostly translated as ‘everything that needs doing that isn’t being done by Chris’. And he did a good job, he’d spent the last week planning with Chris how the affected scenes were going to be performed and stuffing the walls and ceilings with any available padding; the only reason that Chris had only injured his ribs and not broken half his body in his stupid, stubborn insistence on half killing himself at every opportunity.
For Chris, whose opinion Trevor admitted to himself mattered more than anyone else, to disregard that. His face felt funny. There was now an unpleasant stone in his stomach as he tried to swallow the bitter, despondent hurt.
Chris didn’t mean it. Chris couldn’t mean it.
But what if he did?
How dare Chris not only disregard his own health but also have a go at Trevor just for caring. How dare he. Trevor hadn’t done anything wrong, Chris might not care if he killed himself acting but Trevor was allowed to.
Through the bleary sheen of tears, Trevor saw the sign for the hospital car park.
Next to him Chris had gone still, breathing rapidly, either from anger or a rib related symptom. He opened his mouth but Trevor, hearing the rush of his heart in his ears, beat him to it.
“Seeing as you can’t take care of yourself: it is my job. And at least I do care, cause Robert doesn’t. You can make excuses for him all you want, but you're just kidding yourself. You’re nothing but a convenient patsy to him, still scurrying around to clean up his mess.”
Trevor stopped the car and got out before he could continue. The cold air hit him, soothing down anymore words he wanted to spit out and would deeply regret.
Fine.
Fine.
If Chris wanted him to just stick to his job, he would. Let’s see how long it takes him to regret it.
Not his job.
He’d start once Chris was cleared from the hospital: just in case.