Chapter Text
“So I was thinking, the entire set could be a giant picture book – like this one you see?”
Chris waved the children’s nativity book he had picked up at the local charity shop, almost catching Trevor on the nose as he leaned in to have a look.
“What, like, we copy the scenes from the illustrations and drop them in from the flies?”
Trevor surreptitiously crossed his fingers behind his back for what would be a relatively simple staging but the other man was already shaking his head rapidly and gesticulating excitedly with his free hand.
“No, no, better than that! You build it like the book itself but on its side; as I turn the pages here…” he demonstrated with embellished slowness, “the scene changes like someone was turning the pages there.”
Trevor braced himself. This time he was definitely going to tell him; there was no way he could get it sorted before the pre-Christmas performance, even less chance that it would be ready in time for the rest to practice blocking properly, meaning double the risk that something would go wrong on the night. He looked up just in time to catch Chris looking over towards the currently empty stage, eyes gleaming and a little half smile as if he could already see the finished production in his mind’s eye.
Dammit.
He stifled a sigh, already making a mental tally of the materials they would need and where he might be able to cut a few corners to keep things within his budget and skill level. At least he knew Chris would be putting in an equal amount of work, front of house and behind the scenes, to get everything to come together on time.
He pulled his phone out and snapped a quick reference picture of the book’s front cover, the shutter sound startling Chris out of his revery and causing him to jump round and clutch the book to his chest, looking endearingly flustered rather than the brittle stress that would edge in closer to show day.
On of these days Trevor figured he would either have to find a way to say no to his director or finally confess that what had started as a simple polytechnic crush had deepened into something that felt suspiciously like permanent affection. It both helped and didn’t that the other man seemed completely oblivious to flirting or sexual advances – even at that nearly-the-worst-ever Christmas party two years ago, Trevor would’ve bet money Chris hadn’t realised Robert’s sister was coming on to him until she got impatient enough to just snog him.
Didn’t stop him from dropping his own hint now and again though…
“As you wish.”
As Trevor turned to leave he thought he saw Chris open his mouth to speak and then pause, a puzzled look on his face. Surely this wasn’t the one hint that…nah, he’d probably just expected more of an argument.
“Thank you Trevor. Let me know if I can give you any extra help getting things set up.”
Sure enough, Chris sounded slightly confused but not like a man who’d just realised one of his oldest friends wanted to help him out of his shirt and tie of an evening. Trevor nodded and walked away, ruthlessly crushing the small hope that his lanky crush would get the reference at some point.
Both men failed to noticed Annie and Sandra at the stage door, hugging each other and bouncing delightedly.
…
As Trevor walked backstage, twin sets of footsteps approaching at speed gave him a second’s warning before he was nearly faceplanted by the two women, each grabbing an arm to march him towards the dressing rooms over his spluttered protests. Totally failing to stop Annie shoving him into the first room they all came to he instead spun to face them, best scowl in place.
“Did you just ‘Princess Bride’ Chris?”
Sandra sounded almost breathless with excitement and Annie looked like she’d just been told she never had to quick-change again.
Trevor opened and shut his mouth a few times, which oddly didn’t seem to help the situation. He settled for scrubbing a hand over his face and flopping into a nearby chair.
“I don’t know, kinda? I felt stupid as soon as I said it but it’s not like he’s ever going to notice.”
Annie made an exasperated noise as she gave him a surprisingly gentle pat on the arm.
“Why don’t you just say something direct?”
“Because I’ve known him for years and it could make things really awkward – it’s not like we don’t see each other all the time and could wait for things to stop being weird.” Another thought struck him and he groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “I’m not even really sure if he likes men; I don’t think I can drop any more obvious clues short of writing ‘kiss me Chris’ on my forehead with lipstick, which is hard to explain away if he turns out to be straight.”
“I think he had a boyfriend when he first started at Cornley,” Sandra threw out, though she looked deep in thought rather than paying full attention to the conversation.
“Yeah, I’m sure he’s bi,” Annie chimed in. “Remember when Robert spent that week teasing him that he had ‘double the options but still nothing to do on a Saturday night’, before he realised that Chris really had no idea what he was talking about?”
“That’s it!” Sandra suddenly clapped her hands, looking at the other two with a worryingly gleeful grin. “You just need to keep doing it.”
“Doing what?”
“The ‘as you wish’ thing!”
Trevor looked at Sandra like she was concussed again.
“Wasn’t the point of this conversation that dropping hints is never, ever going to work?”
“No but it’s perfect, don’t you see? Literally everyone has seen that film, even Chris has to get it eventually.”
Annie slowly grinned back, slapping Trevor on the back. “And if he’s not interested it’s easier to pretend you were just joking around…she’s right, it’s pretty good.”
“You really think this has a chance?”
Sandra’s grin turned into something more like a smirk. “If not, you can always borrow my lipstick?”
…
A few days later Trevor was beginning to think the girls were either onto something or sent from hell to destroy him, both being equally valid depending on the time of day.
He’d ‘as you wished’ Chris at least twelve times. At this point he was pretty sure even Max had cottoned on to what was happening as he kept giving little thumbs-up whenever he thought their director wasn’t looking. Unfortunately, his judgement of when to do it was flawed enough Chris now seemed to think Trevor was getting insecure about his ability to build the set; him fretting and trying to offer stilted but sincere encouragement by turns made it really hard to tell if the plan was working.
“Trevor, Robert was thinking he should have some sort of pyrotechnic gizmo on Gabriel’s wings. Apparently being a literal herald of God isn’t quite ‘flashy’ enough for him.”
Oh hell no, this was a terrible idea. “As you wish Chris.”
Damn, Chris had winced as he went back to the office. Was that because he agreed the idea was terrible and he now had to add another risk assessment to the growing pile, or was it that he’d worked out what Trevor was doing and was hoping he’d have stopped by now?
After he’d finished hammering the plywood clouds onto poles ready to be painted he followed the other man back-stage. Sure enough, he found Chris in the office with a phone jammed between ear and shoulder as he scribbled frantically in a notebook.
Trevor knocked on the open door and hovered. Chris gave a harried glance up, visibly relaxing as he realised it was Trevor rather than any of the others, something the stage manager tried not to read too much into. Trevor leaned on the doorframe, listening to a one-sided conversation that it sounded like Chris was losing. After a few minutes he hung up, raking a hand through his hair and looking pained. It didn’t escape Trevor’s notice that he left his forehead resting in his palm for a few seconds too long in the middle of the gesture.
“That was Brookshaw. Good news is they’ve agreed to drop ending every carol with the advert jingle, but I have to drop in some subtle references to their products in the dialogue instead.”
Trevor pulled a sympathetic face. He know how much Chris hated to compromise his vision and integrity; half the disasters happening on stage were because he wouldn’t let trivial things like cast size or technical limitations restrict his interpretation of a play.
“Anyway, did you have something you needed? Is everything working ok, the BBC aren’t making any trouble?” The director smile was firmly back in place if a little worn at the edges.
“Actually, I was going to pop to the canteen for coffee, did you want some?”
“God yes.”
The smile became a little less forced and Chris closed his eyes briefly. Trevor couldn’t imagine how tired the man actually was if he was letting even this little glimpse show. For a second he wondered about following Robert’s sister’s plan. Just for a second.
“I’ve also been thinking about Gabriel. I think I can rig some canisters to the wings and coat the insides with a flash-powder batter, a bit like a sparkler. Should look pretty but be fairly low risk, even attached to Robert. Do we still have those leftover fireworks from the end of James and the Peach?”
“Yes, why?”
“If I use some of them for the powder it’ll save us some money in the budget. I can cut the mix with something so it doesn’t burn too hot.”
Chris frowned over the BBC guidelines he always kept close to hand.
“That should be fine, just please keep the rest of the fireworks locked away somewhere safe back-stage. The last thing we need is someone deciding to improvise for a big finish like last time.”
Chris’s mobile buzzed. He glanced at it before sighing, standing and shoving it into a back pocket.
“No time for coffee I’m afraid, apparently Dennis is being held at the front gate by security because he ‘looked suspicious and wouldn’t tell us which production he was attached to’. Hopefully that’s all the guards on rotation this week, so it won’t happen again when they realise it’s not won’t but can’t.”
By now Trevor thought Chris should claim coffee under legitimate medical expenses
“No worries boss, I’ll wait and go in 15 minutes. I’ll leave it on the desk and it should still be hot when you get back.”
Chris paused on his way out the door then, in defiance of his usual reserve, gave Trevor’s shoulder a brief squeeze.
“Trevor I… can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help over this last couple of weeks. Thank you.”
Trevor, fighting the urge to beam like a Max, risked his luck, bumping Chris’s bony shoulder with his own as they walked together down the corridor.
“If you don’t mind returning the favour, could you ask the others if anyone is free to stay after rehearsal today to help me with some set-up? That rotating throne you want for Herod’s throne room is going to be a real pain otherwise.”
Chris paused on his way out of the studio and sketched out a brief but theatrical bow.
“Whatever you wish.”
As the door closed between them Trevor resisted the urge to bang his head against it. Looking back at the stage he could see his own version of a Greek chorus; Annie bouncing with her thumbs up, Sandra with thumbs down shaking her head and Vanessa in the middle just looking confused. Throwing his own hands up in exasperation he stomped off. Maybe he could work out how to suspend Robert over the set for his opening scene. That last comment meant nothing…or was the misquoted sign the plan was finally working. Simple as that.
Trevor had a headache.
…
Later on, after Trevor had popped out to grab an early supper, he returned to a seemingly empty studio and the lingering disappointment that everyone must have forgotten. He almost dropped his chips when he saw Chris sitting alone, sorting through sheet music by the piano.
“Sorry Trevor, either I wasn’t very persuasive or they genuinely all have things to do tonight. Can you do anything with just me?”
Trevor hastily squashed any thoughts that wouldn’t help put the set together.
“You could help me program the length of the turn cycle into the automatic switch? I can’t see the throne from backstage, so you shout out when I need to stop it.” He waggled the slightly greasy bag in Chris’s direction. “There’s a chip in it for you, maybe two.”
“Ah the dizzy heights of stardom,” Chris said wryly, shaking his head at the proffered food. “You don’t need to bribe me for my help, though perhaps if I’d tried that earlier you’d have more people here.”
“Perhaps if you have a chip I won’t bring up how you’ve not eaten since this morning, unless you’re hiding peanuts in that piano. If you keel over Robert will probably end up as director, then where will we be?”
Chris mumbled something about a sandwich waiting at home but still took a couple of chips, ducking his head to hide what looked suspiciously like a blush and allowing Trevor the fond smile he would’ve had to supress otherwise.
Both of them startled as Chris’s mobile buzzed loudly in his pocket. Glancing at the screen he visibly blanched.
“It’s BBC health and safety, can’t be good if they’re calling this late.”
Mouthing a brief apology he strode out of earshot. Trevor had barely had time to finish his chips when Chris came back, jaw clenched and lips pressed together.
“Everything alright mate?”
“Fine.” Chris bit out, looking anything but. “Just a little fire safety issue can be ironed out in the morning, nothing to worry about.”
“Are you sure? You don’t look very…”
“I said it’s fine. Maybe if everyone can just trust me for five seconds I’ll get it sorted.”
Chris’s clenched hands were actually trembling slightly.
“I trust you.” Trevor raised his hands placatingly. “I just think you need a little help now and again, it’s too much for one person to handle all of the time.”
He paused as the other man bristled and somehow managed to draw himself up tighter.
To hell with it.
“I worry about you Chris.”
This did not have the desired effect.
“Who said it was your job to worry about me! Maybe if you concentrated more on this stage and less on my personal habits we wouldn’t be scrambling around this late trying to finish things.”
“Hey, whoa, that’s unfair. You said it would be one page per scene, it’s not my fault you started adding scrolling backgrounds and revolving parts. That stuff takes time.”
“I didn’t realise I had to apologise for having artistic standards. Maybe we should strike the set now and tell everyone to forget the play? Or maybe you could stop picking holes in how I do things and just do what I say for once!”
Sometimes Trevor felt he had very little control over what his mouth was doing, especially when smarting from being the target of Chris’s misdirected snit.
“As you wish.”
Chris actually glared at him.
“What I wish has nothing to do with it; it’s about whether you are really, genuinely capable of doing your bloody job.”
Chris turned on his heel and stalked into the empty stalls, leaving Trevor to storm off towards the rear exit; he definitely wasn’t putting in any extra work tonight. Let Chris see how well things went when he only did his actual job and nothing else, given that apparently he didn’t appreciate Trevor for anything else except a pair of hands for assembling scenery.
Fuck the plan, fuck the play and most importantly (though apparently never literally) fuck Chris.