Chapter Text
Jet lag was a bitch. A vindictive, ornery, bitch.
There was no other way of putting it—or at least no way that his caffeine-deprived brain could muster. How was he supposed to think when he had already flown long enough for it to be two tomorrows and when the flight attendant had chosen to ignore his helpful note and not wake him for meals?
When a stunt team member, a newbie by the sounds of it, had handed him a Nomex suit without so much as two words of rushed explanation, he should have fled the set. Feld the whole damn continent.
Jody. Jody wanted him here, and that was all that mattered.
For Jody, he could put up with keeping his eyes open through the seemingly endless flashes of light as the machine scanned his face. He could ignore the slight twinge in his back that indicated that maybe he should have never gotten on a plane in the first place. He would do just about anything for her and the small—nay, infinitesimal—chance that she would take him back.
The flashes finally stopped, and he tried to make light of the whole ‘deep fake’ procedure with the VFX woman, but all his heart wasn’t in it, and the white blubs still seared into his eyelids every time he blinked.
There had to be coffee around here somewhere. Where was the helpful army of assistants who ran to and fro like hyperactive goats on every film set he had ever been on? Good God, at this point, he would grind the beans by hand if it could help him think straight.
As luck would have it, one of said army greeted him as he stepped back into the faint dawn light.
“Hey, welcome to Sydney. Are you Colt Seavers?” This young assistant was way too chill for his own good. Wait, was he young or had Colt finally gotten old?
Focus! This embodiment of calm was the key to getting him two things he needed: coffee and the chance to talk to Jody. Demanding coffee was a perfectly reasonable thing for someone who had just flown halfway around the world. So somehow, “Yeah. Hey. Do you know where I can get some coffee? This jet lag is really kicking in,” came out of his mouth.
“Yeah, no stress. I got you.” Stress? What did this twenty-something know about stress? Stress was having thrown away your one-and-only chance at love only to get one opportunity to get it all back.
“And does the director know I’m here? She asked for me.”
OK, so this conversation was getting him nowhere fast. It was time to move on and resume the caffeination quest.
At least he could be legitimately happy for “Dan Tucker. Big-time Hollywood stunt coordinator!”
It was nice to hug a friend, probably his best friend, before he broke his back and ghosted everyone from the pit of despair and self-loathing he had found himself in. Dan picked up most of the weight off his tired limbs, and even for a second, it was better. “It’s about time. Congratulations.”
“Thank you. Look at you.” Dan looked truly happy to see him, which stirred such an unusual feeling that he couldn’t stop the grin from engulfing his face.
“So do I call you ‘sir’ now, or how does that work?”
“Oh. Feel free to call me boss.”
Alright, that he could do, “Okay, boss.” Dan had earned the title free and clear.
But no stunt coordinator would put him into anything too hairy on his first day back, right? “I don’t think I should be in this Nomex, right? I mean, it’s like, we’re not doing anything crazy, are we?”
“I was just about to explain that.”
The only problem was that the explanation occurred in front of the entire stunt team, in the puzzlingly devoid-of-coffee stunt tent with no place to hide from the questioning looks. Not to mention that Dan laying out the mechanics of the stunt made it abundantly clear why he wore a flame-resistant boiler suit. Shit, he wasn’t ready for this.
Where was the coffee? With coffee, he could think. With coffee, he could bury his obvious continued love for Jody just a bit better below the surface so that Dan wouldn’t look at him with a combination of pity and exasperation as he carefully rehearsed every detail with the team like they had never done this before—which, come to think of it, they probably hadn’t.
The sun reflected off the metal brackets holding the tent's guy lines, meaning they had already been here for at least an hour. He had to figure out how to talk to Dan alone before things went too far down this road that he wasn’t prepared to trod.
Finally, things seemed to be wrapping up, and the team was going their separate ways. He pushed off the tent pole that had been bearing the brunt of his body weight and rushed to stay as close to Dan as possible. Luckily, Dan seemed to know that he needed to chat – or scream – and ushered to a waiting dune buggy.
“A cannon roll?!” At least Dan had the grace to look a little sheepish about the whole thing.
“It’s time for you to start rolling cars again instead of parking them. You had an accident.”
Christ! Did everyone in LA know everyone else and everyone else’s business? Did they just plan on letting him slowly crawl his way out of his accident-induced depression until they needed him? Besides, it was more than just an accident.
“It was a massive miscalculation of the rig. I … I almost killed myself in front of the whole crew.” Come on Dan! Did he need to spell it out? “You know, I’d rather just not have my first stunt back be another epic failure, especially in front of Jody. I mean, you understand.”
God, he could still hear her scream. The crack as he landed too hard, too fast, on the crash pads that were nowhere near soft enough to cushion his fall – because he was never supposed to hit them – and then her ear-splitting scream. Her scream haunted him for months every time he closed his eyes. And now – now when he finally was ready to get over himself and see her again – Dan wanted him to catapult through the air in four tons of gas-powered, potentially explosive metal.
Dan seemed to be considering what he was asking him to do for a second, but then he said, “‘It’s not about how hard of a hit you can give’.”
“Oh.” So much for that glimmer of hope.
“‘It’s about how many times you can get hit and keep moving forward’.”
“Come on. That’s messed up. You can’t quote Rocky on me like that.”
This was their thing. It had been their thing since Colt and Dan met ten years ago on Fists and Fury, when he was doubling Ryder and Dan was doubling Ryder’s arch-enemy Max Riser. Dan could throw a punch like no one’s business, and you really didn’t want to get on his bad side, but between takes, they bonded through their shared love of movies. They tried to trip one another up with who could come up with more obscure references.
But did it have to be their thing today?
“I can’t do it, Dan. I can’t.” There was no bravado in his words, no doubt, either; it was just the truth. Doughnuts in front of El Cacatúa, speeding through empty parking garages with no one watching—that he could do, but not this.
“Yeah, Colt, you can.” Dan was just as direct. His words hung in the air, full of confidence and a sureness that Colt felt he would never again have cause to earn.
He could see the car in the distance, growing ever closer even as the big tires of the buggy slid through the sand. Just great. Even the sand wasn’t right for this.
Couldn’t he just have a coffee somewhere quiet and think this through? Run his hands through the grass of the dunes and imagine that he was touching his wheatgrass back in LA.
The sand flew up in clumps as Dan applied the brakes with too much force, and his suspicions were confirmed as he knelt to run his fingers through the grains. Fingers that glided through too easily for comfort.
“Bad sand.”
Dan was scowling over by the stunt car. “Bad sand.”
He took a breath. “Yeah, I think we gotta postpone.” There. It was out there twice: his doubts, fears, and lack of confidence.
Dan, what’s the delay, please? Despite the earwig, Dan still had a radio on loud enough for the 1st AD’s voice to filter through.
“Uh, we’re just doing a little safety check.” Which was true enough, though from the look Dan was tossing his way, he wanted to hurry the hell up.
“It’s the density. It’s bad density.” He reiterated.
Dan conveyed, “We’re looking at the density of the sand.”
“Seriously, we’re going to drift all over the place. What is that, a king tide? Here’s what you do: you wait till it comes in. It compacts the sand, then we shoot sunset for sunup.” It wasn’t a bad compromise. Sure, it might have been half a million dollars of lost set time, but it would give him time to process what this all meant.
But Dan knew him too well. “You’re stalling.”
“Maybe.” And really, so what? Just because he was stalling didn’t mean he wasn’t right.
“You’re stalling.”
“Two things can be true.”
Dan finally lost his calm demeanour, slapping his knees in exasperation. “Brother, I’ve got a tent full of rookie Australians out here.”
He knew that—of course, he knew that! Plus, working with a rookie director, even if that director was Jody, couldn’t have been easy for a first-time stunt coordinator.
“I’m going to be sick.” He fought it down. Nerves were natural, but it felt like he hadn’t eaten in days.
But, of course, just when he was starting to sympathize with Dan’s position, Dan had to ruin it. “You got this. You’re the one.”
“Why you got to say that?”
“Okay?”
Didn’t he understand the stakes here? Colt’s body tingled with electricity just thinking about the ramifications of what he was about to do, without the douse of stuntman superstition to add to the mix.
“Why you got to say that?”
“You’ve done this a million times.” Yeah, three and a half years ago, when he felt on top of his game. Before Jody, before descender rigs that never stopped, before his world went to shit.
“And so have you. You know, you just jinxed it. You just jinxed it!”
Hey, Dan, I need the driver in the car now please. Ok, the tide’s coming up. Thank you so much. Appreciate you.
He didn’t hear Dan’s muffled reply. All his caffeine-deprived brain could focus on was the melodic tone of her voice. It was her, right? It had to be her.
“Is that Jody?” He could feel his shoulders relaxing. How could a woman’s radio-garbled voice have such an effect on him?
“Yes, it’s Jody.” Dan’s tone was still exasperated, but he couldn’t care less.
“She say something about me?” His voice hadn’t had this playful tone in what felt like forever, but he couldn’t stop the hope from filtering in.
“Stop with – your-your face. Stop it. Stop it. She didn’t say anything about you. Get in the car!”
Poor Dan was trying to do his job, and he was on board now. He’d do this. Defy death once more; then he was going to get a damn good cup of coffee and watch the dailies, hopefully in the editing bay with Jody and minimal crew around to gawk.
“This is really important to her.” They wouldn’t be putting this much effort into something that wasn’t crucial, but damn, it was helpful to know just how important.
“Yes, it’s important to her.”
“Is it Comic-Con or something?”
“Hall H.” Of course, only the biggest possible stage to showcase an action-shot-filled movie trailer.
Dan had relaxed slightly; Colt must have been broadcasting too well. “‘This is one of those times, whether it’s an inch or a mile, a win is a win.’”
“That’s easy. The Fast and the Furious.” Fitting quote for what they were about to do.
“Ah! Let’s go.” His hands met Dan’s like no time had passed. “You got this.” He was sure going to try, but that didn’t mean that all the doubts had left his mind.
He couldn’t help messing with Dan one last time. “Did you see the coffee lady? She was wearing, like, a hat.” Every woman on set seemed to be wearing a hat, so it wasn’t the best descriptor, and he picked up the helmet anyway.
“I see you in the car.”
"Okay.”
Let’s get the medics in place, please.
He didn’t need that reminder.
Luckily, before he could dwell too much on the ramifications of gurneys and medics rushing to ambulances, the woman in a hat he wanted to see again more than even the coffee lady walked by. She wasn’t looking at him—instead conferring with the first AD about how she would have control of the hero-shot camera—but it didn’t matter, because there she was.
He got in the car.
Stunts strapped him in tighter than he thought possible. It was a weird feeling to be like this again—to have full control of his limbs but not be able to move his back even a half inch off the stunt seat.
He gave the thumbs up with just the right amount of practice and confidence. No one would be able to tell how he truly felt.
His fingers splayed, curling around the steering wheel. Anticipation boiled low in his empty gut as the psi gauge rose to 2000—enough to launch the car ten feet in the air.
Doing this on an empty stomach was not the best idea. The jet lag was really kicking in, fighting for dominance with the adrenaline cursing through his veins.
He couldn’t hear anything over the buzzing in his ears, so he turned up the radio. It wouldn’t do to miss his cue now, would it?
Action, action, action.
He pulled the safety tab and pressed down on the gas with steady pressure. Muscle memory sure was a wonderful thing.
He didn’t flinch when the first pyro went off, but he knew he needed to track closer for the shot, so he tried to veer slightly to the left before the next explosion. But he was right about the sand, and his mild correction was more visible than intended as the car slid into the curve.
Dan, I need him closer to the camera now. Yeah, yeah. But damn it he was right, and this jumpy bastard of a car wouldn’t let him get that close without blowing the whole thing.
Copy that!
“Look, I don’t want to be that guy, but the sand’s a little loose. I can’t get any traction. When I do, it jumps, so if you get any closer, you’re gonna lose the camera.”
I know, I know, but get in there. You got this, baby! No, he most definitely did not have this as he pushed the car up to 67 mph, only for it to jump beneath him once more as another pyro went off to his left.
It was like watching a wreck happen in slow motion as the tires finally got enough grip on the sand to smooth out, only to nail the camera arm dead centre before he could back off on the peddle. Shit! Jody was behind that camera, and he had just ruined her shot for Hall H.
He deflated, or at least deflated as much as he could with his back strapped into the hard foam of the seat, but he didn’t let his foot up off the gas. There would be more cameras, and they likely wouldn’t get another shot at this, plus they were running out of beach.
Dan was back on the radio counting him down. In, 3, 2 … He slammed his visor down and used his right hand to turn the car toward the surf, feeling the back wheels start to skid as he held the line … 1. On autopilot, he smashed the button to launch the cannon. He didn’t bother watching the pressure gauge release, squeezing his eyes shut, and wrapping his arms tight against his chest, as his legs were forced up by the blast of compressed air that sent the car into the sky.
The buzzing of his ears filled the quiet as the car hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity before crashing back down to earth, the force sending him reeling in the direction of his car door. He had forgotten how much his body weight pulling against the straps hurt. No one was meant to do this on purpose, were they? But then why did he feel like this was where he belonged if that was the case?
Over and over, the car rolled, each impact jarring just a bit more as the fibreglass outside was torn away, leaving the metal frame to absorb the blows. Until it finally stopped, with him upside down.
The straps released easily under his deft fingers as he lowered himself as quickly as possible towards what was left of the vehicle's roof. No sound came over his radio, but he could hear the rush of the dune buggy’s engine and the grit of its tires against the sand as the stunt team sped his way.
Thrusting his left arm out the open window, he gave the thumbs-up sign and started to slither his way out. A fire extinguisher landed beside his shoulder, and helpful arms pulled him away from danger.
“Colt! You did it. Eight and a half rolls!” That had to be a record. Now, if only his mind and body would cooperate, he could revel in this moment. His lack of acknowledgement of this feat seemed to worry Dan as well. “You good? Hey, hey, hey?”
Finally, his body caught up with him, and he flung his arms around Dan, enjoying his friend's joyful laughter in his ear.
He had done it! It was more than just rolling a car; it was a return to who he was. Dan was right to guilt him into it. Well, maybe not guilt him, exactly, but force him to jump back in with both feet before he felt ready. Jody wouldn’t be pleased about the camera, hell, she might even be fuming, but at least she would come to congratulate him after a success like that.
He went to remove his helmet, but Dan’s words stopped him. “Jody’s coming. Hold on.”
“Okay.” Well, I guess it was time for him to make a bit of an entrance.
“So good, Dan! Is he good?” Her praise and concern was like a balm on his troubled soul.
“Yeah, of course.” Dan was as chill as the Aussie assistant from earlier; the worry from just moments ago had vanished.
“So good, so good. Loved it. Loved it!”
Now was the moment to remove his helmet. She was only feet from him when he turned to look over his shoulder.
“Incredible.” He didn’t know if Dan was still talking about the stunt or if he was referring to this moment. If you asked him, this moment was just as momentous as a record-breaking cannon roll.
For a second, it was magical to stare into her eyes again. To remap her face in his mind. But then it all went to hell as her forehead scrunched, tears pooled, and she drew in a haggard breath, her eyes snapping away from his like she had been burned.
Fuck. He hadn’t expected that.