Chapter Text
"Dickie."
"You're a right tosser, Jimmy. You know that, yeah?"
"Dickie, we're here."
Richard snapped awake. He reflexively wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "I wasn't asleep," he muttered, and frowned as laughter rose from all around him.
"Oh, leave him alone," he heard Adam say from the seat to his far right, across the bus's aisle. "He's been up since 3 a.m."
"So have I!" James whined.
"You didn't have to sleep at midnight 'cause prosthetics needed two more casts of your mug," Martin said. In front of him and Richard were Mark and James, both kneeling on their seats so they could look over the backrest. Like kids in a school bus.
Mark reached past his seat's headrest and patted him on the shoulder. "Richard, you go to sleep if you want to."
Richard actually hadn't slept all night, but he was keeping that bit of info to himself. Prosthetics had finished at half past midnight, and he had a 3 a.m. call to be on set. Them being driven to location that day coupled with a security run of the barrel scene had been playing with his nerves, and he'd decided to just stay up and condition himself before morning came.
He'd felt the effects of his decision a while before boarding the bus. It was like trying to run with a giant, heavy blanket enveloping his head, with absolutely zero motivation to keep trying.
At least he wasn't nervous anymore.
The gentle rocking of the bus really wasn't helping him stay awake. He jolted into wakefulness from Martin's shoulder - when had he fallen asleep again? "God," he muttered, pressing fingers against his closed eyes. "Sorry."
"It's okay. Heard you had a late night and an early start."
Richard blinked, disoriented, and turned to face his new seatmate. "Martin was here," he slowly said. He felt - and sounded - utterly sluggish, and probably looked a great deal more confused. The person beside him was Lee, in half of his Elven battle gear. The smile he was wearing almost convinced Richard that he hadn't just made a fool of himself.
"Went up front. Made me switch." The smile turned apologetic. "He said my shoulder's higher."
No wonder there wasn't a crick in his neck anymore. He pulled himself up in his seat so his arse wasn't in danger of sliding off the upholstery. "Sorry. If I do that again, you have full license to kick me."
Lee just smiled and returned to fiddling with his phone. Like Richard, he had yet to put on his full costume and complete the rest of his prosthetics and beauty make-up. Well, beauty make-up for Lee, Richard fondly thought. Dwarves went through red sponges and airbrushed texture on their noses.
"You should go back to sleep." He found Lee looking at him again, concerned. "Stephen says it's still a long way off."
Richard gave him a wry smile. "Thanks. I'm all right." Just in case, he pressed himself firmly against the other side of his seat - if he toppled over again, at least he wouldn't be inconveniencing anyone. He rummaged in his satchel until he could feel the edges of his iPad. He drew it out, turned it on, opened his reading app and tried to concentrate on the words.
Someone was gently shaking his shoulder. Every slumbering muscle in his body wanted it to stop, but the nagging feeling that he was forgetting something important was too strong and he opened his eyes anyway.
Dwalin's face, gentled with a half-smile, swam into his line of sight. "Lad, time to get up."
Richard looked down and saw a thick, grey throw blanket covering him from shoulders to knees. He could feel a small pillow resting comfortably beneath his head. A quick exploration revealed that his iPad lay safely on top of his chest, beneath the blanket.
Graham was in complete Dwalin ensemble...which meant Richard was late. He hated being late. "Why didn't anyone wake me sooner?"
Graham shrugged. "We had time. Here," he handed Richard a couple of industrial-strength cables and straps, "ask Jed to show you how to put this on after your fat suit. Tami's waiting for you in our make-up trailer."
It took him an hour and a half in the trailer to get into full drowned-rat Thorin costume. They did have time - Peter was off with the main unit getting filler scenes and a few glamour shots of the Elves deep in the forest. The river was in full sight when he emerged from the trailer, and he was relieved to find that it didn't look as intimidating as he'd initially feared. There were wires and cables running up and down the borders, as well as a few dozen ropes and wooden planks at the very far end, before the river went wide, to catch the actors beyond the cameras' frames.
A few of them were already in their barrels and happily splashing around. Adam's laughter and Mark's vigorous paddling eased some of his fears.
A minute after being assisted into his barrel, people were suddenly rushing about, taking down hooks and rolling ropes into coils. Mana Davis went over to him and said, with his hand reaching out for Richard's in an offer of assistance, "Officer over there just told us there's a storm warning. We have to pack up. Now."
It was probably a little embarrassing, how fast Richard got out of that barrel. But Mana said nothing of it, and everyone else was too busy hauling stuff to notice. Costume disrobed and fat suit unstrapped, he joined the rest of the cast in the actors' bus and returned to his seat from earlier.
He hoped he hadn't pissed Martin off by accidentally sleeping on him, because Lee was there in the seat next to his again, beside the window. It looked like his fellow actor hadn't been given a chance to get out of his battle gear at all.
"No barrel-riding today, gents." Richard looked past the seats and saw Peter standing near the front entrance of the bus. He looked utterly inconvenienced. There were some disappointed murmurings from some of the cast - Richard breathed a quiet sigh of relief to himself. "You little bastards can have half the day off while Weta creates a fun slide back at the studio. Elves and Hobbits, Set 18 when we get back, please."
The bus's engine revved as soon as Peter left. Richard leaned back in his seat, a little shameful of the relief he felt at the delay in the river scene.
"You look like you just dodged a bullet," Lee said, canting his head. "Not a fan of the rapids?"
It took a moment for Richard to answer. "Not particularly. Me and deep water, we don't really get along."
"Yeah. Me, too." At Richard's inquiring glance, he continued: "Ear trouble when I was a kid - can't go deeper than a few feet, or my head feels like it'll explode."
Richard gave a slight nod. "I can't really...submerge," he said, after an awkward pause. "Well, I can, but it's...it does a number on me."
He was skirting around specific words, but judging from Lee's worried frown, he had a feeling he was understood anyway. "Does Pete know?" Lee delicately asked.
Richard rubbed his hands over his thighs. He was already regretting having said anything. With a relaxed smile, he said, "They've all but bordered the whole river with ropes and wires, and we're in tough, buoyant barrels. It's not really an issue."
Lee didn't look very convinced. "I guess," he said. Still, he gave an encouraging, light-hearted shrug, which Richard was grateful for. "With any luck, Pete will be happy with all the filming you'll do in the studio and you won't have to go back."
Concentrating on the stinging pain from the tiny pebbles digging into his palms and knees kept Richard from throwing up his meagre lunch. He was vaguely aware of someone hovering and nattering around him - it sounded like Martin, frantic and in full fuss mode. A question was being repeated at him, but try as he might, he couldn't make it out. A tight nod and waving his right arm towards the others still on the river bank got it to stop, and bought him the time to himself that he needed.
There was great comfort in how Thorin's mane of hair shielded his face from view while he concentrated on not blacking out. The panic in his chest felt frozen there, and it was a chore to draw in one deep breath, then the next, until the light-headedness threatening to overwhelm him slowly dissipated.
He carefully stood, brushing off bits of rock and sediment from his arms as he did so. The pair of prosthetic hands, now useless, lay beside his empty barrel. He did a quick sweep of the area to see if anyone was watching him. Finding everyone else preoccupied with the other Dwarves (John and Adam had just been roped back to shore, and Stephen was still floating downriver), he quickly made his retreat towards the nearest tent.
It looked to be a makeshift break room for the crew - a few chairs, paper plates, and various finger foods and drinks lined up on a plastic table. There was laughter and commotion outside. He could just barely see Graham trying (and failing) to haul a soaked Adam out of his barrel.
He took a paper cup and moved to the back, pouring himself some coffee from one of the thermoses, and threw a brief prayer that no one would come in to check on him. Just a few more minutes to himself should do it. It never got easier, but he was no stranger to this.
The smell of coffee was at least staving off his nausea. He placed the half-filled cup back on the table (hating the way his hand shook), and braced his arm on the scratched, plastic surface. Eyes shut, he focused on the comforting scent of coffee and tried to swallow down the massive lump in his throat that refused to leave.
Cool fingers slid into his right hand. He spun with a start, breath stopping, only to see Lee's large, worried eyes looking up at him from where he was sitting nearby.
He hadn't even heard him enter or pull up a chair. His hands were still shaking - the one in Lee's gentle grasp included, little tremors that he was sure the other man could feel, but made no mention of.
What Lee asked was, "What happened?" with a tentative sincerity that was undoing all of Richard's hard work.
His voice felt scratched, though he hadn't spoken, and that lump was still there. He didn't trust himself to speak.
"Richard?"
He must look quite the sight, he thought, and self-consciously tried to school his expression as best he could. "Barrel -" Fuck. His voice didn't sound right. He swallowed and tried again: "Barrel went under." Under all of the security lines and the safety ropes. And water had rushed in, and his harness had got tangled onto something, and there was nothing he could grab on to -
"Breathe." He felt Lee tightening his hold on his hand - he tightened his grip back, more to keep his hand from shaking. "You look like you're about to pass out. Here, you should sit-"
"No." The very thought of sitting down was bringing his nausea back in full force. He frowned at his own discomfort, at the sharpness of his tone. "Sorry."
"Jesus. Don't apologize. Okay, no sitting." An awkward pause fell while he tried to normalize his breathing (and not be too embarrassed about it). "Do you want me to get someone...?"
He shook his head.
"Okay." Lee's thumb slowly slid to and fro across his tense knuckles. "Okay. You just breathe."
It was a distressing amount of time before it occurred to Richard that he should let go. Lee's hold had loosened a while back, and he was probably causing the man undue embarrassment by keeping him here. Bad enough that he'd almost blubbered like a two-year-old - Lee really didn't need to be subjected to any more of this, and definitely not in the middle of work.
"Wanna know about a prank I played on one of my teachers in high school?"
Richard's gaze snapped to Lee's, but there was little he could read there. Just Lee, waiting for his answer, his eyes hazel, bright, and unassuming.
He opened his mouth to say yes, thought better of it and instead gave a curt nod. Lee launched into an eager retelling of something he and his friend Matt had planned and executed with deliberate precision back when they were rowdy teenagers. Richard just let Lee's voice flow through him at first, focused as he was on his own internal battle, with the odd thought or two thrown at their warm joined hands. But as the story progressed, he found himself suitably distracted, listening and chuckling- the prank itself struck him as a little mean-spirited (God, that poor woman), but Lee's retelling was so fond and involved, that he got rather engaged with the whole thing.
"I would never have pegged you for a prankster," he said, after their laughter had died down some.
"I wasn't! My friends were shit. Kept egging me on."
Richard gave a low chuckle. "Sure." He drew in a deep, experimental breath - not a single hitch.
There was an attentive quality to the way Lee was watching him. He waited until Richard released his second unimpeded exhalation. "Everything okay? You look better."
"Yeah." Richard gratefully squeezed the hand in his. "Yeah, thanks."
"Guys?" Dean's head peeked in from the tent's entrance. They released each other's hands. Richard leaned against the table and tried for nonchalance (he knew he was failing, but there was little else he could do).
"Oh. Sorry..." Dean cleared his throat. That tight little space under the table was looking more and more attractive as a hiding place. "Dwarves're setting up for another take."
Richard was about to reply that he'd be right there, when Dean seemed to be pushed out of their line of sight. Martin's annoyed hissing wafted in from the entrance. "What are you bothering them for?! Shoo!"
"I had to-" Dean's confused, fading voice said before he was interrupted by Martin again, though both were too far for Richard to hear any more.
Another take. He tried to ignore the way his heart raced at the thought of getting into that damned barrel again, and pushed himself away from the table.
"You really should tell Pete..." Lee said, still watching him with that concerned expression.
"It's fine." He wore what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Thank you."
Lee smiled back, though it was smaller and uncertain. Richard had a feeling that if that barrel went under again, Lee would be talking to Peter about it, Richard's blessing or no.
Though if that barrel did go under again, Richard wasn't quite sure he could remain conscious enough to give protest anyway.
"So, Dickie," James said, between mouthfuls of tenderloin and vegetables, "What's up with you and our resident American sweetheart?"
Richard frowned. He took a quick drink from his water to clear his mouth. "What do you mean?"
"Lay off it, James," Graham said, with an edge of annoyance.
James ignored him. "Seems like you two are always chatting between takes."
"He's very friendly," Richard replied, a little confused.
"'Friendly,' he says." James laughed. He pointed his steak knife at Richard's face. "You know what happened on set today? Peter -"
"You mean apart from you fibbing your lines?" Aidan gleefully piped up.
James threw him a brief glare. "Peter said, 'Anyone seen Lee? We need him in Set 20.' When no one could find him, he actually said, 'Well, where's Richard? We find him, we'll find Lee.'"
A few of the people eating at their table laughed. Richard smiled and gave a light shrug. "Turns out we have a lot in common."
"Well, you just let your Dwarf family know when the wedding's on, all right?" James slapped him on the shoulder. Empty plate in hand, he called out to the rest of the table as he stood: "Anyone want more food, water? I'm off to get seconds."
Right after James left, Graham leaned in and said, "Tongues wagging." He drew back and uttered a dismissive noise. "People are bored. Don't worry about it."
Richard wondered if he should be bothered, like they seemed to expect him to be. "Lee and I don't really spend any more time together than Adam does with Jed, I don't think."
"Adam and Jed don't have Ian telling other people what an adorable couple they make," Aidan volunteered. "What?" he asked defensively, when both Graham and Richard stared at him.
Beside him, Dean was looking ten shades of guilty.
"Dean...?" Richard pointedly said.
The younger man winced. "Yeah...that's probably my fault. Ian maaaay have asked me if I thought something was going on between you two."
"Dean."
"Sorry! It's just that, what I saw at the river two weeks ago, and then the two of you being all joined at the hip after -"
"What happened at the river?" Graham looked from one to the other, wearing a deep frown. "Why don't I know about this?"
"He was just making sure I was all right," Richard explained, eyes earnestly fixed on Dean. "I panicked a little when my barrel tipped over and passed the security lines. That's all."
"Not what it looked like." Dean looked mildly apologetic and gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Sorry, Richard."
Graham wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and tossed it onto his plate. "Either way, not a big deal. Especially since you're going to clear this up with Ian," his tone turned mildly threatening, "right?"
"...Right."
Poor Dean. Richard had never heard him sound so reluctant before.
He felt Graham's elbow rib him, and he gave the man a smile. Since accidentally finding out about him not unpacking for three weeks, Graham had been displaying these protective impulses now and then. It was sweet, he supposed. He appreciated the brotherly affection most days, like now. Some days, he just wanted slap him upside the head with a table tennis paddle.
"Not that I think you two wouldn't make a great pair, mind." Graham's voice and expression lost the playfulness from earlier. "But false rumours can be harmful, and we can't prevent them from leaving these sets."
Richard was inclined to agree. The privacy he'd built around himself was too precious to lose, especially with such a high profile production under his belt now.
He hadn't factored in Ian choosing not to believe Dean, however. The morning after, he was waylaid by his on-screen nephew, given a baleful glare, and duly informed that further communication with Ian in the future would require a buffer.
"He's being stubborn. I dunno, you should probably talk to him instead."
"Just leave it," Richard urged. "Like Graham said, it's not a big deal."
Dean let out a loud breath. "Whatever, man. I mean...I'd talk to him, if I were you."
Something about the way Dean said it worried Richard for the better half of the day. As soon as he spotted Ian sitting alone with his laptop, he pulled up a chair beside him and asked about the earlier conversation.
Ian took his time, peering at Richard from above his reading glasses. He placed his copy of the script under his seat and took out his phone.
"You will forgive an old man his assumptions, Richard," Ian began, while tapping on and swiping across the screen, "but you'll understand why I find that a little hard to believe."
He leaned forward and offered the device. Richard took it with some trepidation.
The display was a gallery, fifty-two images total. From the thumbnails, Richard had a feeling they were all of him and Lee. The first image was innocuous enough, however (just he and Lee talking). So was the second. And the third. The seventh was of him resting slack-jawed on Lee's shoulder on the bus from a few weeks back. He frowned deeply and wondered what Ian's point was.
"Keep going," Ian lazily uttered.
It was around the eleventh picture or so that Richard could see where Ian was coming from. A hand on a shoulder, arm, or thigh. Leaning in close to whisper while watching other people during rehearsals. Twenty-four was a picture of him with his hand on the small of Lee's back (his fault, he recognised - he had been trying to urge Lee onwards and he hadn't been looking where his hand had landed). Thirty-six was a photo of Lee using Richard's left side as a backrest while he read through a comic book.
"Did you take all of these...?"
"No. I have better things to do." He could hear the eyeroll in Ian's voice. "But Martin sent half of these. Well, Evangeline sent a few. Orlando might have sent one or two." As if on cue, the next swipe displayed a picture of them in costume, laughing while Richard was trying to wipe some fake blood that got stuck on Lee's chin (that was just a few days ago - he and Graham had been splashing Orc blood on each other under Weta's direction, and Lee had got caught in the crossfire). A caption in Comic Sans read: "HELP, DADDY IS FRATERNIZING WITH THE ENEMY!"
"Most of these don't really say anything." Apart from Lee being an openly affectionate man and having a lovely laugh.
"You might find images forty-eight to fifty of interest."
Forty-eight showed him sitting in his actor's chair, script in one hand, and his other hovering near his mouth, fingers grazing the corner of his lips. An idle habit he'd never quite broken out of. On the other side of the image was Lee.
His thumb slid across the phone's surface, trailing across brown hair and pale skin. He'd never had anyone look at him that way before. Not in real life, not from anyone he knew. And not from anyone he didn't expect it from.
"That is the face of a young man smitten," Ian said, and it took a while for Richard to grasp that he'd meant it of Lee and not himself. "If what you say is true, then I would do the kind thing and put him out of his misery before things get too complicated."
It felt odd, planning to shut something down before knowing for sure whether or not it actually existed. Although he very much doubted Lee was as taken with him as Ian was suggesting (photographs were so often taken out of context - and this was Lee; charming, affectionate, uncomplicated Lee), he couldn't really fault the man's logic if he turned out to be correct.
He managed to work something into casual conversation after lunch, while they were shoulder to shoulder and sharing ear buds to listen to a Gotye song Richard had never heard before. The light conversation had drifted to actor superstitions and habits during filming, and Richard slipped in his personal policy of not having romantic relationships during work.
Lee simply said, "Good policy," with his lips curved in an easy-going smile.
Ian's wrong. He bumped his shoulder against Lee's and asked him to change the station.
Peter's voice had barely bid them farewell for the night at 9 p.m. when James started yanking at his prosthetic arms (the wet splat accompanying it made several people wince) and called out "Some of us are hitting a bar down in Welly tonight, anyone's welcome to join." He looked over to where Lee and Richard were picking off twigs and cobwebs from each other's real hair. "You two lovebirds coming?"
Lee made a face. Richard laughed. "A drink sounds nice."
It was probably the exhaustion and the fact that there was no shoot the day after - Richard downed shot after shot of cognac, and, by the sixth, he knew his morning after was going to be absolutely miserable, so he might as well down some more. Lee had to be goaded into drinking more glasses of beer, but he didn't seem to go beyond tipsy levels of inebriation (despite collective Dwarven efforts).
"Richard," Aidan said in a mock-whisper, "there's a dance floor."
"Oh, piss off." Richard grinned as everyone else laughed. "None of you ever want to dance with me, anyway. You just like watching me wave my arms around."
"What about Lee here?" James snickered and nudged Lee, who looked like he was trying to make himself smaller. "Go make Dickie dance!"
"No, thank you!" Lee seemed embarrassed to be put on the spot. James's further nudging was met with a light shove and a laugh. "Believe me, you don't want to see this dancing. I'm too tall."
"'Too tall,'" Graham echoed with a snort. "You've not seen Richard in action, then."
Richard couldn't keep his eyes off the dance area, now. The conversation flowed around him as he watched more and more bodies joining in the semi-darkness. The strobe lights shut off for a few seconds as the music changed to something trance and electro-house, and fuck, but it was calling to him.
He couldn't remember now if he said anything before moving in. Soon, he was flush against two warm torsos, thrilled with the way his torn, sleeveless black top felt so thin compared to the encumbering bulk that was Thorin Oakenshield every. Damn. Day. His button down shirt that he'd left completely open and forgot to leave at their table flapped and fluttered as he moved, and would sometimes sink low on one shoulder, exposing patches of his thirsty skin to hot air.
There was no keeping track of the song changes anymore. He trusted his fellow cast to yank him out of there if it got too late (Graham had had to drive him home last time). The bodies surrounding him gradually thinned, at least enough for him to distinguish one from the other - and from the looks of it, he'd been dancing with this one other man for a good couple of minutes now.
As soon as the music slowed down and the lights went up for a moment's break, the man tugged at his shirt. "They're about to close," he said, voice husky and breathless. "Continue this at my place?"
Richard blinked away sweat. It was so very tempting. The man was pleasant enough, and Richard supposed he was handsome in the way that Lucy liked to joke about when referring to Jonas (but also in the way Richard didn't find especially attractive).
But damn, this man could move.
You're not on vacation, he told himself. And repeated it, just so it would sink in.
He could feel his loins screaming bloody murder and abuse at him. "I'm flattered, but..."
Not-so-tall, dark, and handsome's smile was riddled with missed opportunities. "Another time, then?"
"Yeah. Another time."
Richard didn't feel much like dancing after that. He wove his way through the dancers as the lights dropped and the music started again.
Half of their table was vacated when he eventually found it again, with the other half nursing their drinks or busy with their phones. A quick glance around revealed some of the younger ones at the bar.
"It's hot," Richard said after he took up his former seat. He grabbed the edges of his button-down and tried to flap the heat away.
"What did he want?"
Lee's voice sounded heavy. It pierced through Richard's alcohol/dance-induced giddiness and made him stare. "I'm sorry?"
"The man you were dancing with," Lee continued in that same tone of voice, though there was a slight, embarrassed quality to it now. As if he didn't want to be asking this but couldn't help himself. "Someone you know?"
"No." There was a pause, as Lee waited and Richard wondered if saying more would appease the sudden tension. "He invited me to his place, I...I said no."
"Oh. Of course."
"Lee..." Are you interested in me? The question hovered on his tongue, tasted of foolishness and a million terrible ideas, and died a quick death there. It was the alcohol, he decided. Too drunk to function, must get to bed. "We should probably call it a night."
"That...sounds good," Lee said. He looked relieved.
They wouldn't talk again for five days.
Graham muttered to himself as he tried to jam his "Dwarvicise" gear into his locker. Three ear-splitting thumps against the door, and it finally closed. "Bar-hopping with Andy tonight. Y'coming?"
Richard's own locker hinges were starting to give. He gave it an experimental swing. "I can't tonight. Tami will have my hide."
"Don't have to drink. I'm on car duty - stay sober and keep me honest. You haven't gone out with us in a while." There was a hint of accusation in Graham's voice.
"Some other time?"
He heard fabric being stowed away, and the sound of a sports bag's zipper being closed. "Would it make a difference if I said Lee wasn't coming along?"
The top hinge broke. Richard cursed under his breath and gathered up the screw and metal plate from the floor.
"I'm here, if you want to talk about it."
"I just really need to rest tonight," Richard said, after binning the screw and plate. He gave Graham a smile and turned his attention to his own bag.
"Offer's open." Richard waited out Graham's hesitant pause. "See you tomorrow, then."
Rearranging his things and being on hamper duty took another ten minutes. Lights off and sports bag in hand, he proceeded down the dimly-lit corridor towards the exit.
The gentle whistle of a bladed weapon being swung drew him towards a bright room. Lee stood in the centre among blue workout mattresses and abandoned green sticks, spinning his Elven blade three times in the air in graceful arcs, back straight, and ending the motion abruptly by anchoring the weapon near his left hip, as if into a scabbard. Exhale. Rinse and repeat.
During the fourth execution, he noticed Richard standing at the doorway.
Richard gave a hesitant smile. "That's going to look fantastic on screen."
"You mean it doesn't already?" Lee asked with a small laugh. He turned his back and busied himself with putting things away, sparing a brief glance at the clock on the far wall. "I didn't notice the time."
"We need to talk, don't we?"
Lee's back tensed. His tone remained light, however. "About what?"
"I don't..." Richard drew in a deep breath, annoyed with himself. "That is. You shouldn't -"
"Maybe later...?" The interruption was sharp, but not impolite. Lee chose to carry his bag by the hand straps. He stood and waited in front of Richard. "I have to go. Running lines with Orlando before it gets too late."
He'd intended to say "Don't change your schedule over me. You shouldn't have to." He wanted to try again, but something in Lee's expression told - begged - him not to.
Lee probably thought he'd been about to say something else. "I'm not -"
"It really is rather late."
That was it, then. Richard frowned to himself, nodded, and got out of Lee's way.
"Good night, Richard."
"Good night."
Someone was slapping his knee. He looked up from his script to find Martin offering him a cup of coffee from their local barista. "All right? You've been reading that for an hour."
Richard took the cup and popped off the lid. "Still trying to adjust to the script changes."
"Do what I do. Just have Andy yell my new lines to me if they change anything." They shared a brief laugh. The studio they were in was chaotic - everyone moving about, artists and actors alike. It was all Elves that day, but Peter wanted everyone ready and in costume in case they had enough time to shoot some extra scenes. Several feet ahead, Jason Docherty was yelling, "Anyone seen Lee? Lee Pa - oh, there you are."
Lee didn't look particularly eager, which would be odd, if Richard didn't know that today was his last day of filming before he had to fly back to America. "Poor bastard," Martin said, after taking a sip from his own cup. "He's been moping all afternoon." He side-eyed Richard, who, in turn, buried his face back into his script. "I don't suppose you can help out with that?"
Richard frowned. "I doubt anything I say can make him feel better. He has to fly off, either way."
"So you two are having a tiff, then? Jimmy mentioned something along those lines."
"We're not really together." Martin was looking more and more bewildered. "I'm guessing Ian didn't clear things up with you."
An accusing finger pointed at Richard, from the same hand holding the coffee cup. "You two were fucking holding hands just a month ago."
"It wasn't anything. You could have come in and said hi."
"I was going to! You bloody well had me worried sick when I saw you stumble out of your barrel. I didn't know you two were re-enacting bloody R&J. What the fuck was that, then?"
"I was having...I was a bit spooked when my barrel went under. He was just calming me down."
"By holding your hand. Yeah, that's convincing." Martin's tone held all the sarcasm of one who just didn't get panic attacks. Richard swallowed down his annoyance. "Go be a bloody human being and talk to him before he leaves, at least. Christ."
Martin finished his coffee before he wandered off. Ann Maskrey had just finished attaching Thranduil's crown. In the middle of the studio, Orlando was being filmed, a scaled version of Orcrist in his hand and slicing through the air. Looked like it was going to be a while. They'd set up the whole studio like a theatre stage, complete with raised wooden platforms and black curtains framing the green screen. Lee was watching from the wings, as it were, right side leaning against the wall, left hand idly twirling one of the many dangling bits of his robes.
He could only catch a portion of Lee's face from where he sat, and Lee didn't look as miserable as Martin let on. Melancholy, perhaps. A little pensive.
While they hadn't been talking as much as before, he did notice that Lee had barely said anything that day. Richard remembered him speaking about Lincoln and how excited he was to be part of it, so his current reticence didn't seem at all appropriate.
His approach went unnoticed, and slipping his hand through the idle fingers of Lee's left felt strangely natural. Their fingers twined loosely. He looked up from their joined hands to find Lee watching him with a guarded look, very unlike anything he'd ever given Richard before. It stung a little - he turned his gaze to the stage and tried not to miss the bright, guileless smile that came so easy to Lee in the past. Perhaps he'd never see it again.
He wasn't really sure whose fault it was. He felt guilty, and that was enough. Richard squeezed his hand. After a while, Lee squeezed back.