Work Text:
1.
“Sandra’s pretty good. Not as good as ME, of course, but she’s close.”
Those words were said by a certain Robert Grove, one of the actors of all time. Chris giggled—er, chuckled in a dignified fashion, and responded.
“If only she could keep her seductive gazes to herself,” Chris said, “Every time she gives one to Max, I can feel the room get hotter.”
“It’s their form of foreplay,” Robert explained, “She gives smoldering glances, and Max grins like an idiot. They’re made for each other.”
“At least they’re better than she was with Jonathan. The amount of times I walked in on them in the sound room…”
Chris sighed, reminiscing. He did not miss that, not even a little.
“Chris, I’ve got—oh, sorry, guys,” Max entered the room abruptly, then turned to leave, “Didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”
“Oh no!” Chris said, surprisingly relaxed for someone who had almost gotten caught gossiping, “Tell me. I’m not doing anything important.”
Max squeezed in, smiling at Robert. Robert was—Chris did a double take—glaring now. How could this be? He was just smiling and laughing a second ago.
“Well, fine, Chris. I’ll go rehearse my lines,” Robert grumbled, getting up quickly and storming off.
Chris instinctively reached for the Advil he kept in the second drawer of his desk, already sensing a migraine coming on.
“What’s his problem?” Chris asked to the room.
Max shrugged, “Beats me. Anyway, I have a new…”
His grin made it look like he was hiding something, but Chris pushed past it and listened carefully. Robert’s temper tantrum was NOT going to affect his work ethic, no sir.
Chris lied to himself sometimes.
2.
Chris sat alone in the dressing room, rubbing his side and wincing. He’d done a good job of hiding it, but Robert hitting him in today’s show hurt a lot.
Robert wasn’t even supposed to hit him! He was the bad guy, he was supposed to let Chris get him. But when had Robert ever listened to the script.
‘You’re weak, Chris.’
Robert’s voice echoed in his head and Chris pounded the desk. He often had an achy back, and falling to the ground hadn’t done him any favors. He was not having a good day tomorrow, Chris could already tell.
There was a knock at the door and Chris straightened. He couldn’t be seen without good posture. Chris wasn’t a slob.
“Come in,” he called, unable to hide the waver in his voice.
Chris looked up to see Robert, looking at his feet. He’d never seen him so… quiet before. Usually Robert would start yammering on and on by now, about something or other.
“Robert,” Chris asked, “What’s going on?”
Robert shuffled awkwardly in the doorway. He had changed out of his costume, now wearing his regular street clothes.
“I… ugh. IjustwantedtosaythatI’msorry,” he mumbled out.
“Pardon?” Chris asked, because there was no way he had just heard an apology come out of Robert’s mouth.
“Er… I’m sorry. For hitting you.”
Chris regarded his colleague with confusion. Never, in his many years of knowing the other man, did he ever hear Robert express remorse.
“Right,” Chris said, at a loss for words, “I assumed as such.”
“I just wanted to… you know… check if you were alright.”
“Well, I am. Don’t you worry.”
Chris tried to get up, but his hip bumped the desk and he yelped with pain. Every part of his body ached.
He glowered at Robert’s smug expression.
“Don’t say it,” he warned.
“Are you sure—“
Chris groaned. How did Robert always do it? Every time Chris thought the man was growing on him, Robert would prove once again that he was just a pompous prick.
In his first few months of knowing Robert, Chris had thought that he had some good parts buried deep under his general unpleasantness. But the more he came to know the man, Chris realized the bizarre truth. Robert wasn’t all bad. But there was nothing buried about him. Occasionally he would smile at Chris, or make him soup when he was sick, but that was just how he was. The good and the bad mixed together, and they made Robert Grove.
Chris thought about Robert often, usually late at night. In those moments, he supposed that Robert wasn’t unpleasant at all. Sure, he could be an egotistical, self-serving jerk, but Chris often found himself amused with his antics. Even when he was angry with Robert, Chris wouldn’t change a thing about him. They completed each other.
“—ou alright there, Chris? You blanked out for a second.”
Chris blinked and he was back in his dressing room, staring at a concerned Robert. As soon as Robert noticed that Chris was back, he looked away and the expression dropped off into comfortable neutrality.
“Well then. I brought you a… I brought you your pain medication. From your office.”
Chris took the container from Robert’s open palm, silently praising the man for his thoughtfulness. Chris was dreading the walk to his office. He could barely stand in this condition, after all.
Chris should be mad at Robert. He really should. It was usually so EASY to be mad at him. But today was different. Instead of being loud and obnoxious Robert was all quiet and polite and soft. Chris didn’t know how to deal with it.
“See you later, Chris. Your performance was lackluster today as usual.”
As Robert left, Chris took everything he had just said back. Curse that stupid man and his stupid voice, and his stupid shoulders that Chris wanted desperately for Robert to carry him on…
Chris quickly swallowed two of the pills before his thoughts could go much farther. Robert was one of those unsolvable mysteries.
Chris was determined to figure him out.
3.
Their Christmas Special was… going…
Robert needed to be cut off from the ‘nips of sherry’ as soon as possible. Jonathan was trapped in the chimney, leaving Sandra stranded.
But Chris could save this. His song was starting, and—
He should not have gotten close to that god-forsaken machine. Chris felt pressure around his neck as the machine ate his scarf. He could do nothing but try and fumble through the lyrics as he was trapped in his costume.
Finally the bottom tore. Chris bit back a scream as he fell out of that infernal machine. His snowman costume was stripped away from him, leaving him nearly naked. Chris’s hair was askew, and his makeup…
God, he did not want to see himself right now.
“Did that lift your spirits, Belle?”
“N… no…” Vanessa stammered, genuinely horrified, “Not even that lifted my spirits…”
“Lifted mine,” Robert snorted.
Chris’s blood boiled. Who did Robert think he was? He had gotten drunk on live TV and he was looking at Chris like… like…
Chris flushed (although it was unnoticeable under his makeup) as he noticed where the man’s gaze was directed. Robert was staring, with interest, at Chris’s chest. Chris was aware that he was in pretty good shape, but the way Robert was looking…
It made him feel angrier. What a prick. Staring at Chris’s humiliation as if he wasn’t the drunk idiot here. He was clearly trying to mock Chris. Well, he wouldn’t stand for it! Chris turned up his nose and continued the play until the very end, only shaking a little when Vanessa ate the button of his pants.
Afterwards, Chris got dressed back into his street clothes, washing his makeup off, taking that stupid carrot nose off of his face, and fixing his hair. When he returned to the cast, Robert regarded him with an unreadable expression on his face.
“You… where did your muscles go?” he slurred, staggering towards Chris.
“Did—did we not cut him off?” Chris asked, sighing when Trevor shook his head.
“Alright, you’re all dismissed. Robert, come with me. I don’t think you should be driving.”
As the rest of the Cornley Polytechnic Drama Society left the studio, Robert threw his arms around Chris.
“Y’know… you’re really…” he mumbled something incomprehensible into Chris’s shoulder, “…when you’re mad…”
“You’re drunk, Robert. I know you hate me. Drunken words are sober thoughts,” Chris said, carrying Robert to his car.
“No… no… I don’t hate… not that much, usually… you just look at me sometimes, and… bloody hell. This isn’t my car.”
“I know, Robert. It’s mine. I’m driving you home.”
Chris set Robert in the passenger seat and leaned over to buckle his seatbelt for him. Robert mumbled something, and his breath felt warm against Chris’s neck. He smelled like sherry.
“Not even going to buy me dinner first? So forward, Chris.”
Chris jerked back and stumbled to his seat, off-balance and fuming. He started the car and frowned at the wheel.
“Don’t… don’t say things like that, Robert. It’s not funny.”
But Robert was already asleep, slumped against the side door. Chris sighed and took the route to Robert’s (and Dennis’s) house.
4.
Chris smirked triumphantly as the Cornley Polytechnic Drama Society came crawling back to him. He knew they would, eventually. Well, everyone except for Robert.
“We’re sorry, Chris!” Vanessa said, “I really like you as a director! Everyone else wanted Robert and I didn’t want to cause any arguments…”
“It’s alright,” Chris replied generously, “You just didn’t know any better.”
Robert pouted in the corner. He was still in his costume, smelling faintly of manure.
“You’re a way better director than Robert is,” Trevor admitted, crossing his arms over his Duran Duran shirt.
Chris nodded at the praise. It was rare coming from Trevor of all people.
“Yeah! Robert was terrible!” Annie chimed in.
Robert sulked. Chris walked over to him and smiled.
Now, Chris prided himself on being Not Like Robert. He didn’t brag, he didn’t preen, and he wasn’t smug. He only boasted when he deserved it.
But the humiliation Robert had put him through was worth throwing this rule away. Leaning against the wall, he smirked evilly at the defeated man.
“Come to relish in my misery?” Robert groused.
“No, Robert,” Chris said, in a scarily kind voice, “I’m here to thank you.”
“Thank me?” Robert asked, disgruntled.
“Of course. Without you, my undeniable place as diii-RECT-orr has been permanently cast.”
“Well, er… you’re welcome,” Robert finally said, not one to pass up on feeling superior.
Dennis tugged on Chris’s sleeve.
“Chris, what are you going to put on next?” he asked.
“Why, I’m thinking of sampling the works of Shakespeare himself!”
Chris explained his next performance, ‘The Most Lamentable Tragedy…” to the cast.
“The most lamentable thing about it is that unfortunate name,” Trevor complained, being forced to type it all out on the adverts.
“Well, I think it’s a great idea!” Jonathan proclaimed, glad to be finally cast in an important role for the show.
“But we don’t really look alike, Chris,” Max worried, “How can we be twins?”
“It’s just theater, it doesn’t matter how close we look!” Chris pointed out, “Besides, you’re probably the most similar-looking to me, anyway.”
“The Narrator doesn’t seem very glamorous,” Sandra complained, “But at least I can look at the camera all the time.”
“What’s my role?” Robert demanded.
Chris grew a twisted smile. Now, Chris wasn’t a sadist, but tormenting Robert was one of the great joys in life. He didn’t even feel guilty, because Robert always fired right back.
“You’ll play the Court Trumpeter!” Chris exclaimed.
As he walked away with a determined jut of his chin, Chris heard Robert furiously scribbling on a piece of paper.
Chris didn’t question it at the time, but after the absolute catastrophe that was the show, he stumbled upon the paper. He was snooping just happened to be in Robert’s dressing room, and found it in one of the drawers.
“What’s this?” Chris said aloud, as if he didn’t know full well that it was Robert’s private affairs.
It wasn’t just a piece of paper, it was an entire journal. Notably the same one Dennis read aloud in Summer Once Again. Chris skimmed through it, wincing at the parts talking about Robert’s mother. That was one thing he could relate to Robert on. Mommy issues.
Ugh, that sounded so weird phrased that way. Chris shook his head to dislodge that train of thought and came to the second-most recent entry.
‘The Relevant Trumpeter.
A court trumpeter pacifist forced to go to war because his pay is not enough? What an interesting storyline!’
He planned this. That bastard planned it all along. Chris flipped back through the rest of the pages, determined to find out how Robert’s mind worked. It was a mystery, one Chris never could find out even after all the years they worked together.
The pages provided him no clues. Dejected, Chris flipped back to the earlier page. There was a small line at the bottom which he hadn’t read.
‘After-note: Chris was not too pleased. Perhaps Mother was right. I can’t woo someone to save my l—‘
Chris slammed the journal shut, feeling suddenly like he was reading something not meant for his eyes. What on earth could that have meant—
“Chris!” Robert said, suddenly in the doorway.
Chris jumped and threw the journal back into the open drawer and quickly shut it. Robert squinted at him but blessedly decided not to question it.
“What are you doing in my dressing room?” he questioned.
“I WAS JUST LEAVING, ROBERT,” Chris said loudly, marching out and keeping his gaze trained on his two feet.
“…alright, then…” Robert said, watching Chris’s ears burn beet red.
Chris resolved to get back to work and forget all that he had seen. However, he’d find that this particular thought was hard to shake.
5.
Chris steadied his breathing, trying not to think of all the legal trouble he’d be in after this was over.
Right now, he was waiting in the emergency room, after the majority of the cast had been accidentally given horse tranquilizers. Trevor was there with him, but he was busy sorting out the paperwork. Chris was left alone with his thoughts.
He felt responsible for it all. Sure, Sandra was the one who asked for the horse for her radio drama, and Trevor was the one in charge of her, and Chris has nothing to do with it…
But maybe if he’d worked harder. Been a better director. Now the CPDS was all passed out on several different hospital beds. And Chris—
“Mr. Bean?” a nurse called timidly, “Mr. Robert Grove is awake. He’s asking for you, sir.”
Chris stopped his pacing and turned to the nurse.
“Oh, thank god,” he breathed, “Where is he?”
Chris followed the nurse down a few hallways into a large room. The beds were separated by white curtains, and Chris could see the other members snoozing in them, still in costume.
“Here we are,” the nurse said, and beckoned Chris over with one hand.
“He’s probably going to be out of it. Don’t take anything he says seriously, and if something happens, call me.”
Chris nodded along to his explanation, wishing that the man would leave already so he could speak to Robert.
“I’m not really supposed to let non-family members visit, but he said something about you two being together, so I’ll let it slide. I have contacted his family, and they said they’d be here shortly.”
Chris froze. Together? As in, working together in the theater? Or as in… significant others?
His head spun as the nurse left him. Chris sat down on an uncomfortable chair next to Robert, and tried to put on a smile. Both men were still in costume, and Chris shivered as the cold air brushed against his bare legs.
“Hhgg… ah, Chris. You’re in…” Robert squinted, “Your underwear.”
“It’s the costume for Annie’s farce, it’s not my actual—“
“What happened, Chris? Why am I in this weird white place?”
Ooh boy. Robert looked out of his mind. Droopy and confused. Chris took Robert’s hand and squeezed it, gently.
“You fell unconscious during the show, Robert,” he explained.
“Oh. Was I any good?”
“Of course you were, Robert. Amazing. As always.”
Chris hoped Robert wouldn’t remember. This was nice. Holding Robert’s hand was nice. He had surprisingly soft hands, big and smooth that completely wrapped around Chris’s.
“I kneww… I knew you appreciated my talent.”
“I do, Robert. I really do,” Chris said truthfully.
Robert tried to sit up, but Chris pushed him back down. Better not let the man exert himself.
“I… I think I told the nurse I was in love with you,” Robert said slowly, “I wasn’t supposed to say that. That’s—not in the script.”
“The script?” Chris asked curiously, shifting in his seat.
“Yeah, y’know—the script. We bicker with each other, and we fight, and then we work it out. Eventually.”
“There’s a script for that?”
“Uh-huh. And I’m not supposed to—to say all that stuff yet. It’s too early. It’s a slow burn, see. Keeps the audience… keeps the audience engaged.”
“Oh, really,” said Chris, extremely confused.
“It’s a great script, I pro—“
“Robert!”
Chris jerked his head around to see Robert’s sister. Chris was embarrassed to realize he didn’t remember her name, despite the brief relationship they’d had. He’d broken it off sometime after the Christmas Carol.
His sister noticed their connected hands and raised an eyebrow at Chris. He supposed it was an awkward affair, but he couldn’t quite decipher the look she was giving him.
“Ugh…” Robert groaned, “There’s too many people here…”
“It’s only us two,” his sister stated, “Grow up, Robert. What happened to him, Chris?”
“Horse tranquilizer.”
“Actually, I don’t need to know,” she responded, visibly shaken, “Is he going to be alright?”
The nurse that Chris had spoken to earlier popped up.
“He’ll be right as rain tomorrow morning. He just needs to wear off of the tranq and spend a night for observation. You can pick him up tomorrow, Mr. Bean.”
“Why does Chris get to…” Robert’s sister protested.
“Well, I think Robert said something about them living together. Also something about a script… are you guys actors? Is that why you’re dressed like that?” the nurse asked.
Robert’s sister chuckled a little. It was annoying, and also one of the reasons Chris broke up with her. At least, that’s what he told himself.
“I see how it is… you really want to bed all of the Grove family, don’tcha?”
“What—“
“Robert!” Lucy cried, dashing over to the side of the bed.
Robert was unconscious once more, snoring lightly and drooling on the pillow. It was an adorable sight, Chris had to admit, but his hand was getting tight around Chris’s.
“Don’t worry, Lucy,” Robert’s sister said, putting an arm around her niece, “He’s going to be alright.”
Chris looked down at Robert, feeling like he was left out of a joke somehow. He wondered faintly about all the decisions in his life that had led to this point.
Beside him, Robert rolled over, pulling Chris’s arm close to him. Chris stayed there all night.
+1
It was a rare break for the Cornley Polytechnic Drama Society. A mutual agreement with the BBC had the actors on a six week hiatus. Chris was taking the time to relax and finally let himself enjoy the simple pleasures in life.
“—so I told her, ‘If you think I’m paying 1.5k to attend your wedding, you can think again, my friend.’ And she got, like, weirdly upset about it. But I’m not paying to attend a wedding! It’s just one of my principles!”
Chris sipped at his coffee, listening to Annie ramble. The two of them were walking around the shopping center, just browsing. It was nice. Annie was funny, and she had good stories to tell.
“Ooh, can we stop at this bookstore?” she asked suddenly, “Sandra got me a gift card here for my birthday, and I still haven’t spent it.”
“Sure,” Chris agreed.
He was in an agreeable mood. Chris had desperately needed this vacation. He was, of course, still itching to direct. It was his calling. But sometimes he worked himself too hard.
The two friends entered the small bookstore. It was a locally-owned one. Chris could never remember the name. It wasn’t a particularly interesting name anyway.
Annie darted off to the fiction section, leaving Chris wandering in the nonfiction. He’d never been much of a reader of fiction. His mother never approved.
One book caught his eye and he picked it up off the shelf. ‘Anything You Can Act, I Can Act Even Louder’. Chris never planned to read any of Robert’s books, although he was intrigued as to what could possibly be inside. He never bought one out of spite.
But nobody was around. Nobody would know if he just took a quick peek…
‘Dedicated to Chris Bean. My rival actor and the light of my life.’
Chris almost dropped the book. He quickly shoved it back in its place, walking away quickly to escape the scene of the crime.
But he couldn’t escape his thoughts. It was like something finally clicked. The puzzle of Robert, big and confusing and unsolvable? Well, Chris had just put a few of the pieces together.
All those glances Robert gave him. The competition. Why Robert never left, no matter how upset he got with Chris. The small acts of kindness, when Chris was at his lowest. The—oh god—the bloody Christmas incident. Was Robert—checking him out??
It explained some mysteries surrounding Chris himself as well. That little funny flipping thing his stomach did around Robert occasionally, like he was about to throw up or explode. Or even all those late nights thinking about Robert, or—the more Chris examined this, the more simple it seemed.
Robert Grove was in love with Chris Bean. And Chris Bean loved him back.
“You alright, Chris?” Annie asked, startling him half to death.
“Fine. Just—I have to go,” he rushed out, stumbling over his words, “Robert—I—gotta go see him.”
“Ah, I see how it is,” Annie said wisely, already knowing about the book, “Go get your man, Chris.”
“Thanks. Er—sorry for, erg, leaving you…”
“Nah, it’s fine. I got the books I wanted, anyway,” Annie held up a book titled, ‘Working With Memory Loss: How to Act When Your Co-actor Can’t Remember Lines.’
An oddly specific title for an oddly specific scenario. Chris wondered for a brief moment if Robert had ghostwritten that book, then came to his senses as he realized that Robert would never not take credit for something. God, he loved that man.
Speaking of which…
“Bye, Annie!” Chris said, walking at a reasonable pace back to his car.
His feet may be slow, but his heart was racing a mile a minute. It seemed to take forever to drive to Robert’s (and Dennis’s) house, and in that time Chris nearly chickened out. Hands shaking, he made his way to the door.
Robert opened it after one knock, almost like he’d been expecting Chris to show up. The two men stared at each other for a long moment. Robert had a nice face, Chris realized.
“Er… can I help you?” Robert asked.
“I’m in love with you,” Chris blurted.
“Who’s at the door?” Dennis asked from inside.
“Shut up, Dennis,” Robert ordered, then stuck his head back outside to look at Chris.
“Er… are you going to s—“
“You love me?” Robert asked, in disbelief.
“I… yeah. Just thought, I’d… y’know, tell you.”
Robert didn’t say anything. Chris, not knowing what to do, turned and started walking towards his car. He got about halfway until—
“Wait!” Chris turned, looking at Robert in the doorway.
Somehow, the sun was shining perfectly on the other man, bathing him in a warm golden light. He looked like an angel on earth, even better than in the Nativity failure. Chris felt a lump in his throat as emotion rose for the other man.
“I love you too,” Robert told him.
And time stood still. Chris breathed in the crisp spring air, content. He could stand here and stare at Robert for the rest of his life, and die a happy man. Chris was right. Robert loved him. Oh, joy!
“Well, that’s nice of you to say, Robert,” Dennis said, completely ruining the moment.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Robert muttered, dropping the lovesick gaze from his eyes, “What are you doing out here?”
“I came to see who you were talking to. Hi, Chris! What are you—“
Robert shoved him away, beckoning for Chris to come inside.
“Go visit Vanessa or something. I need to be alone with Chris.”
“Oh, are you two finally dating? That’s nice. I’ll leave you two alone,” Dennis said, nodding sagely.
Chris groaned and stumbled inside. His heart was at risk of exploding if it kept beating this fast. He sat down on the couch, resisting the urge to cross his legs.
“So you love me, huh?” Robert said triumphantly, “My wooing worked!”
Chris felt his passion ignite at Robert’s goading. He grinned, engaged.
“And yet I was the one who had to confess, wasn’t I, Robert? I think it was ME who wooed YOU.”
“Oh, for god’s sake…”
Robert thumped down on the couch next to him, leaning against Chris. It was a comforting feeling. Chris felt warm, and safe. He snuggled into Robert as the other man turned on the television.
And that day, Chris Bean and Robert Grove finally began to understand each other.