𝕊𝕋𝔸ℝ ℚ𝕌𝔸𝕃𝕀𝕋𝕐

Barry wasn’t a TV producer so he didn’t have much room to argue, but in his mind it just didn’t make good sense. It also didn’t help that the way things were going down, Sally was going to be out of a job in a few short months, and that, more than anything, boiled his blood. What kinda production started filming the second season mere months after the first one ended, even when the first one didn’t air for a year? They must be very confident in their ratings, and before he could get bogged down in the knowledge of the new world he now lived in, Barry let himself linger a little in the past. Couldn’t help it, felt like it had a place here, at least. Even if he was slowly realizing going in and threatening the fucking lives of the people who gave Sally work probably wasn’t going to be the most productive way to go about it.

“It’s gonna work,” he reiterated to her as she turned to face him, brow furrowed in concern, searching her face as she worked to even her breathing, calm herself before she had to appear on set, pretend everything was fine. And one gigantic issue niggled in the back of his mind, one Barry couldn’t shake even as she lay there in his arms, eyes foggy with tears, lips pale and cheeks red. “You sure you’re not mad at me,” he breathed, pulling back to better see her even though he could feel all she wanted to do was disappear into him, hide her face in his chest and pretend it wasn’t all happening. But he’d been the one to fuck her against the shower wall, he’d been the one to suggest he come with her in the first place to Toronto, he’d been the one receiving the brunt of her initial shock when the tests came back, when it had become real at last that this was happening, that her belly showed what the both of them had kinda just pushed to the side and refused to dwell on until it was unavoidable.

He wanted to touch the place again, and wondered if that made him a fucking pervert for finding it so pretty. Maybe she hated it, maybe she hated him, and maybe she just clung to him not because it was him, but because there was no one else, and Barry just let his arm lay across her side then, not moving, not touching, not caressing, the question still in his eyes as a lump rose to his throat in spite of himself. “Because… like, this is kinda my fault, y’know, and... god, Sally, I just don’t want you to hate me.” He could stand anything in the world he figured so long as Sally didn’t hate him. “We don’t have to do this, you don’t have to do this, you can have your life -” And Barry couldn’t even believe the words that were falling from his mouth, reckless, as if he hadn’t dreamed of this since always, a quiet life, a pretty girlfriend, a kid - “I don’t want you to throw away your career because of something I want,” he finished hoarsely. “Because then you’ll hate me.”

There’s a moment in which Sally isn’t even aware that Barry’s talking – too busy trying to get close again. Trying to press them together so that she can just bury herself away for a while. So that she doesn’t have to think about the fact that she needs to go to set in just over an hour. That she needs to look better than she does now. She needs to look composed; ready for everything that they’re going to throw at her. The last few episodes were going to be the most intense. Barry probably wouldn’t be allowed to go on set again given his outburst from before. Not that Sally’s surprised – no, she’s not surprised at all, but that doesn’t mean she likes the fact. Not now that she needs him more than she did before. Feels too raw, too exposed. Too close to a nerve that is just her entire being. She doesn’t know if he understands that, if he gets how much she needs him.

He talks, though, and she blinks at him. Delayed. Lopsided, she feels. Everything just that bit too far on its axis that she can’t handle it. “What?” she asks, because she’s three paces down and her head hurts. Her throat is sore. She doesn’t want to go to set. She just wants to bury herself in him. Stay in bed and do nothing for the rest of the day. Not feel obligated to go back, when everyone knows. Everyone judges her. She doesn’t blame them – she’s sure that if the roles were reversed, if this were someone else in such a position, she’d be one to have an opinion on it. Perhaps it was karma. Perhaps she deserves it. She grips at him a bit tighter for a moment, a knot between her eyebrows and she breathes. In, out. In, out.

You’ll hate me. I don’t want you to hate me. We don’t have to do this.

“What?” she asks again and then she pulls back a bit further. Sniffs, a hand finally uncoiling from her grip to wipe at her face. Her nose, her eyes. It’s a mess and any other time she’d grimace at the fact, but not now. Not yet. “You—— You don’t want to do this?” She doesn’t know if she’s misunderstanding. Is he trying to give her an out? What is he trying to tell her? “I thought— I thought that we were doing this together and…” And maybe he doesn’t want to now, because he knows that she’ll pull in money and she can be a star and this is going to prevent that. Her stomach drops. “If you— If you don’t want to, then you need to tell me,” There’s an edge to her voice. Maybe she’ll cry if he’s not careful. If he doesn’t pick the right words, doesn’t say the right things. She doesn’t want to say that, though. “I don’t hate you… I don’t hate you, Barry. Why— I don’t.”

From his position on the ground, clasping her knees, looking up into her downturned, tear-blotched face, Barry could feel the anger swell in him, his pulse speeding til he no longer heard her words, just the pound of his own blood in his veins, and his fast-running thoughts in a cycle that all centered on one thing; fix this. And since Sally was far from being in the wrong, basically infallible in this situation, Barry only had a few narrow scenarios flash through his mind, and all of them involved brandishing the nine, raised voices and terrified promises of fixing it, of reinstating Sally, of writing this into their fucking script so she could keep the part she’d gotten, the part she deserved -

Too late Barry’s gaze shifted focus back to her, sightless eyes bringing her face into his line of vision once again, grip tightening on her knees, hand reaching up to brush the hair back from her face, thumbing at the tears there. “Fucking assholes,” was all he breathed, in the most comforting tone he could muster, rising at last and sitting next to her on the bed, hand finding her thigh, resting there if only to keep them from clenching to his sides, or something worse. “It’s not your fault. It’s not like you planned this, it’s not like you knew they were gonna film again so soon, it’s not like -” Fuck. It’s not like she’d done this on her own, and a good portion of the anger coursing through his arteries was directed towards himself, for knocking her up, for thinking it was gonna be okay, that every morning could be like today, sleeping late and going to the grocery store together, arm in arm, discussing whether red or green peppers were better in fucking stir-fry.

She was shaking like a leaf, breath coming in ragged snatches, and Barry hadn’t seen her like this very often, only a few times before, and less regularly since she’d gotten this part, finally fulfilled, finally doing what she’d always wanted to do, and part of him couldn’t help but remember the last time she’d come completely undone was also his doing. When she’d told him about the baby, when they’d slept together and pushed the thoughts of it aside, worrying about tomorrow’s problems tomorrow. Who was to say that wasn’t the thing to do again, Barry’s arm coming around her heavy yet gentle, pulling her back on the bed and into his arms, eye on the clock which read 12:45. Time enough to get her to set by 2, and the producer could fuck himself if he expected anything more after coming in here and making her cry before a full day’s work.

“We’ll make it work,” was all he could manage at last, heeling his feet from his shoes and letting them clatter to the floor, drawing his legs up against her, cradling her to him, hands ghosting down to her waist, not daring to near the swell that had caused the turmoil of the past months. Not now. “It’s gonna work,” he breathed, resolve on his tone, “and we’ll do what we gotta do.” He would. Anything, for Sally, and this life they were trying to build.

Barry tries. He does. Sally can’t pretend otherwise; can’t help but appreciate that, because he tries to comfort her, in his own way. In the way that he’s able to – with soft touches that are rare, in words that are harsh but to the point. He doesn’t fuck around with dodging the point. Dodging what he thinks. He cuts to the chase, and Sally likes that. Likes that he cares. That he cares in his own way. It’s all that matters, as far as she’s concerned. It may not be conventional, but she appreciates it. More than he knows, she thinks.

“I – I thought that it’d be after, y’know? Sometimes it can take a year – and it needs to air in the fall and… and we haven’t even finished yet, if they’d delayed it by a month or even two… It’d be fine,” But the time they wanted, it wouldn’t be fine. She’d be in the final handful of weeks, a month away, if not less. It makes her nauseous. She wants to throw up. She remains sat there, though, with Barry’s hands on her face. Gripping her knees until he moves until he can sit beside her on the bed. She presses into his side, breathes. Reminds herself that she needs to breathe. That it’ll be okay. Even if she doesn’t get another season, she’ll be more likely to be able to pick up another role. They’ll want to hire her given that her first main role after being unknown was the lead. One of the leads. That has to count for something, right?

As Barry rearranges them, Sally moves. Presses up against his side as they lay back and, in the back of her mind, she’s fully aware of the fact that she should be getting ready for work. That she should be pulling herself together rather than allowing herself to mope in her emotion. To soak it in and dwell on the fact that she doesn’t know what the future will bring them. That she’ll have to save the money from this and make sure that it all goes on the baby. They’ve managed to get by so far – she doesn’t really know how, doesn’t ask. Hadn’t thought about it much because they were getting by. Even with medical bills. Even with everything else.

“It’s gonna work,” she agrees, quiet. She believes him. Wants to. Needs to. Is terrified of anything other than it working. She needs this, needs him. Her face pressed against his chest, sniffs loudly. Allows herself to soak in her mood for a moment longer. “It’s gonna work, Barry. ‘s gotta, right?”

Everything else the producer said was couched in vague legalese. Words like may, and possibly, and potentially, and contingent upon, and when he took his leave Barry scarcely waited for him to clear the tiny steps to the trailer before he was mounting them, pulling the door closed behind him and going to Sally who stood, frozen in the middle of the room, the groceries half-put away, and a dent in the comforter on the corner of the bed where the producer had sat.

Sally’s face alone was enough to fill him with an irrational sort of anger, and maybe it hadn’t been shouting, maybe it hadn’t been horrendous but it had upset her, her lips colorless, eyes distant, and Barry pulled her into his arms without saying a word, burying his nose in her hair and holding her close, arms wrapped around her as if he could physically keep whatever it was that had happened away.

“Fuck,” he breathed into her hair at last, pulling back and searching her eyes, hands coming up to cradle her face, thumbs smoothing there. “What did he say, did he fire you, did he -” Barry swallowed thickly. “Was he mad?” It was a stupid fucking thing to be mad at someone over, it was a good thing that was happening, for one, and none of his fucking business, for two, and also there was the very important fact that it upset Sally and therefore it was morally and unequivocally wrong in Barry’s book. He released her just long enough to pace a long turn the length of the trailer and too-hastily smooth out the wrinkle in the comforter, before returning to her, taking the enormous coat off her gently, revealing the jeans she’d donned that morning, the blouse that was pushed outward by the swell of her belly. He tore his eyes from the spot.

“Sally, what’d he say,” Barry murmured, grabbing her hands and pulling her to a seat on the bed, kneeling in front of her, hands finding her knees. “You gotta tell me so I know what to do, who to go after.”

The rest of it passes by in a blur, and Sally doesn’t say much. Doesn’t know what to say. What to do with herself. She feels… she feels so fucking stupid. Knows that she must be, too, for this to happen. To think that it’s a good idea in the first place, to allow it to carry on as long as she had without telling anyone. Having those that she did tell, due to necessity more than because she wanted to, to keep it a secret also. She’d fucked up and there was no way to reverse it. No chance to be able to change it now. She had to accept what she’d done, even though it was now going to fuck up any chance that she had in coming back in the future if there were more seasons. If it done as well as the studio executives expected it to. Her stomach twists and, for an entirely different reason, Sally thinks she may throw up.

Barry walks in and Sally hasn’t moved from where she’d been leant against the counter, a frown on her face. A sad look in her eyes. She knows what she’s done now. She knows the consequences are something she’ll have to live with – but that doesn’t mean she likes it. Barry hugs her immediately and she clearly looks like she needs it – but she does. She does. Arms wrap around his middle and her eyes close. She breathes. Breathes. Forces herself to.

“They said— I really fucked up, Barry,” she murmurs, can’t look at him. Closes her eyes as he touches her face. Strokes his thumbs over her skin. She exhales, inhales. She trembles. “I—they said they could have worked it in, if I’d told them sooner and… and that I probably wouldn’t be able to be in the second season if they were renewed for one, as I wouldn’t be able to hide it with them filming in the new year and…” and he’s in front of her and Sally’s throat is closing up. She sniffs because she doesn’t want to cry. She doesn’t want to be upset. It’s her fault and she has to take responsibility for that. She is. She’s trying to. “I-- I don’t know, they just said they’d think it over and… and that they’ll have to see if we even get a second season.” She won’t be in it, she knows that already.

#or an oc ?#maybe ?#hm?#i need ideas but anyways !#𝕊ℍ𝕌𝕋 𝕌ℙ ℕ𝔸𝔻𝕀ℕ𝔼. ooc.

also my multimuse is @peaceprose bc i actually am writing there and i am tempted to add a barry character but idk who yet

i’ve said it like five times but i will do drafts today yikes

#i've been consumed by my multimuse and work #𝕊ℍ𝕌𝕋 𝕌ℙ ℕ𝔸𝔻𝕀ℕ𝔼. ooc.

guess who may do replies tonight ??

#finished work !#i’m working 9-5 again tomorrow #and then i have two days off #so if Not then definitely tomorrow

gonna be around to do drafts tomorrow , loves ! hope everyone has had a good last few days !

#<3 #𝕊ℍ𝕌𝕋 𝕌ℙ ℕ𝔸𝔻𝕀ℕ𝔼. ooc.

happy holidays ! i am gonna do my drafts on the 26th , i hope you all have a good day tomorrow regardless of whether you celerate !

#𝕊ℍ𝕌𝕋 𝕌ℙ ℕ𝔸𝔻𝕀ℕ𝔼. ooc.

wardo

#not to be.... thirsty on main #but i am .#𝕆ℙ𝔼ℕ ℍ𝔸ℕ𝔻 𝕆ℝ ℂ𝕃𝕆𝕊𝔼𝔻 𝔽𝕀𝕊𝕋 𝕎𝕆𝕌𝕃𝔻 𝔹𝔼 𝔽𝕀ℕ𝔼. barry berkman.#he looks so good wtf!!!!!!!!!!!1

brkmans‌:

when sally says he can turn off the light, he does so, stretching one long arm up to turn the switch before wrapping both arms back around her. he’s warm, he’s almost always warm. tries to give that warmth to her, but it’s not her body that’s cold, it’s her insides. they’re chilled from what she’s done; icy fear of what was sure to come. barry knew that there would be no consequences from outside forces- he’s neat and tidy in his cover up approach- but what she would have to worry about is the emotions she’d live with from now on out. the moral dilemma that would never fade. the grayness. so barry squeezes her tighter in hopes that he could give her some comfort. wants desperately to tell her she’s not alone, that he knows what she’s feeling, even though he can’t.

another kiss is given to her hair, and barry doesn’t know what to say. not surprising, as he doesn’t talk much in normal situations, but there should be something in his vocabulary that would make this better for her. it’s a long silence in the dark, the only worried muttered is just- an unfinished thought that barry believed he could finish. ‘i won’t,’ whispered into the dim room, eyes open and staring at the only slightly lit piece of the wall, opposite of them, illuminated by the streetlamp outside. ‘try to, um… try and sleep, i’ll… be here when you wake up,’ sally won’t be sleeping tonight, but barry would still be there in the morning.

she just feels so cold. can feel the ice to her bones, not sure how much longer it'll last. not sure how much longer she'll have to wait for it to go away. pressed against his side, her eyes still open even as he turns the lamp off. darkness consumes them, and she finds it ironic. she doesn't think about anything other than barry, pressed beside her ----- only she does. she thinks of the weight of the lamp in her hand. the sound it made as it connected to sam's head. as he dropped to the floor. it'd all been so fucking fast and now she can see it, all in slow motion. as though it was happening again and again and again. it makes her feel sick. she shouldn't be here. if she hadn't been so stupid as to go there, then maybe he'd still be alive. he would have left. he wouldn't have come back.

i won't, he tells her, and she believes him. she doesn't know if she'll sleep - knows, realistically, that she won't. if he does, then it's okay. she doesn't mind. she wants one of them to sleep at least, but she hums, quiet and sad. more to show that she heard him more than any other reason. “thank you,” she murmurs, tired. she's so fucking tired. she's still cold, but his arms are around her, and she's clinging onto him as tight as she's able to. a part of her waiting for him to tell her to ease up, that it's fine, but he can't handle it with her like this. she wouldn't blame him, either. he's done too much for her already. far more than he ever should have had to do.

#brkmans‌#v: brkmans. 𝕀'𝕄 ℕ𝕆𝕋 𝕋ℝ𝕐𝕀ℕ𝔾 𝕋𝕆 𝕄𝔸𝕂𝔼 𝔼𝕏ℂ𝕌𝕊𝔼𝕊 𝕀'𝕄 𝕁𝕌𝕊𝕋 𝕋ℝ𝕐𝕀ℕ𝔾 𝕋𝕆 ℙ𝕌𝕋 𝕄𝔼𝔸ℕ𝕀ℕ𝔾

brkmans‌:

she’s moving by herself, and that’s good. barry grabs for the towel he’s left in her bathroom nights before, folded neatly on the back of the counter, following sally’s every move, but giving her the space he thinks she needs. he’d be here, he’d stay, he’d hold her if she needed, but for now, barry watched sally move. take her clothes out, put them on, wrap up her hair, distract herself with finding something for him, too. ‘oh. thanks,’ said softly as he steps forward, reaching for a pair of his pajamas pants. the drawer is so tidy, barry wonders how his life could be such a mess compared to that, or his bedroom. drops the towel, slides on the pants, glances at sally with a gentle look, brows furrowed enough to show true concern.

he sees a glimpse of something in her that barry normally sees in the mirror- beyond regret and beyond guilt. it’s a change. something permanent. just a glimmer in the eye hidden by tears. sally reed was never going to be the same, and barry felt sorry for her. didn’t think she deserved to feel the way he did. the man takes a moment to lift the blankets so sally can get into her bed, waits until she does before he, too, crawls in. makes himself open in case she needed physical comfort; not too close in case she didn’t. ‘are you warm enough?’ questioned as he’s reaching up to turn the switch of the lamp, but his movements are paused. hand drops when barry realizes she might want to keep the lights on. it’s all up to her. what she wanted, what she needed. barry would give it to her. always.

everything feels like its running on autopilot. sally doesn’t know what she’s doing until she’s done it; doesn’t know what she’s meant to be doing until barry is moving, showing her without making it too obvious in case she doesn’t want that. she just wants... to sleep. there’s an ache in her bones that reminds her that, yes, she is tired. does she think she’ll get any sleep? no. she’s not going to fool herself into believing otherwise, as much as she wants it. as much as she needs it. has never felt so exhausted before in her life. how do people do this? how do they wake up every day and just go on with their lives as if something terrible hasn’t happened to them? how is she meant to go to class and smile and pretend that she hadn’t killed her ex-husband? that her boyfriend made sure that no one would find out? she doesn’t want to go to class anymore.

she stays in place as barry dresses; doesn’t quite know what to do with herself as she waits. as she dries her hair in her towel before letting it land on top of her drawers. she’ll deal with it in the morning. her shoulders ache as she climbs into bed, as she stays on her side until he gets in, too. are you warm enough? no, she realises immediately. is still cold. doesn’t know how he isn’t-- he took more of the brunt from cold water than she had. wasn’t the one that was numb to it all. how was he still even here? instead of answering, she just moves closer. wraps arms around his middle and presses her head into his shoulder. could almost convince herself that this was an ordinary night if she tried. “you can turn the light off,” she murmurs, quiet. tired. doesn’t want him to see her like this. knowing that she’s done this. sally doesn’t say that, though. doesn’t dare. “just ---- ” don’t leave me, she wants to say. doesn’t. feels too guilty.

brkmans‌:

even when barry wasn’t doing the killing, there was death all around him. if sally hadn’t done it, barry would have. that’s what he’d went to sam’s hotel room for in the first place, with his gun raised, aimed at the woman when the door was opening, because barry hadn’t expected sally to be there. and he would have been angry- so angry- that she had ventured to see her abusive ex, had barry not seen the man lying face down in his own blood on the floor. let not the assassin say how beautiful the sight was; death plagues him, but if there was ever a man who deserved it, it was that one. sally may never believe it, but barry knows she did the right thing (was that coming from a genuine place, or simply the place of madness deep in his chest?). whatever sam was about to do to her, she’d stopped it from happening the only way she could. there was nothing evil about that.

‘there’s nothing to be sorry for,’ words are mumbled into golden hair as she holds him tight around the waist, sobbing frantically into his bare chest. she clings and doesn’t let go for a long, long time, and the silence stretches over sally’s cries. nothing needs to be said as the the cooling droplets of water pound mercilessly on barry’s back. he doesn’t care about the temperature change, continues to shield sally from the water, until she utters something painfully quiet into his skin. you’re staying, aren’t you? oh, sally- how could barry ever think of leaving you like this? wet, cold, alone, and saddened by your own consequences. ‘of course i’m staying,’ it’s nothing short of a coo down to her, another kiss placed to golden threads of hair. one arm reaches back to turn the water off, then out of the curtain for a towel, which he will wrap around sally’s shivering frame. ‘let’s get you dressed and in bed. okay?’

there’s nothing to be sorry for, he told her, and sally doesn’t know if she believes him. doesn’t know if she agrees. she shouldn’t have gone there in the first place; given sam any sort of reason to be around her. given herself any sort of reason or justification as to why she’d done this. if she’d avoided him, then he’d still be alive. there wouldn’t be a dead man on her conscious. there wouldn’t be any need for barry to help her and bury it, hide it away so that no one would ever know that she was there in the first place. she’s indebted to him now – will always be, she knows. barry won’t hold it against her, she knows that, too. but there’s still a fear in the pit of her stomach that maybe this isn’t enough. that there was something that he would have missed, someone that will figure it out when sam is noticed as missing. she should have just stayed away.

“thank you,” she’s murmuring, quiet and overwhelmed still. more than just a little foggy at the edges, blurry and out of focus. his lips press against her hair and sally feels like she can breathe finally, tears drying on her face, washing away with the last of the cold water as barry turns the shower off. she’s being wrapped in a towel, barely registering anything that’s happening until barry’s talking. telling her how the night will be; get dressed, get in bed. barry’s staying. barry’s going to be there with her. as long as she wants him. as long as she needs him. a part of her is overly aware of the fact that she never wants him to leave, doesn’t know what she’ll do when he does. she’s terrified. “okay,” she murmurs, quiet and tired. it only occurs to her now that she’s going to bed just how tired she is, and sally is tightening the towel around her shoulders and padding back out towards her bedroom. quiet as she pulls shorts and a vest out of her draws, towel being wrapped around her hair as she puts them on. “did you— i think i have some of your clothes… i think you left them here before…” she doesn’t remember fully when he left them there, but sally’s pulling open a drawer full of his clothes in case he wants any of them.

#brkmans #v: brkmans. 𝕀'𝕄 ℕ𝕆𝕋 𝕋ℝ𝕐𝕀ℕ𝔾 𝕋𝕆 𝕄𝔸𝕂𝔼 𝔼𝕏ℂ𝕌𝕊𝔼𝕊 𝕀'𝕄 𝕁𝕌𝕊𝕋 𝕋ℝ𝕐𝕀ℕ𝔾 𝕋𝕆 ℙ𝕌𝕋 𝕄𝔼𝔸ℕ𝕀ℕ𝔾

Barry just kind of heard a long high-pitched whirring sound in his head the entire time the producer was talking, but he figured it had something to do with don’t do that again, and you’re not totally kicked out but all it takes is one more time buster or something like that, because then the dude was patting his shoulder, shaking his head also, and saying, “I’m gonna go in and have a word with Sally.” Which meant Barry, in all his everlasting phobia of not ever doing the right thing in any situation, was standing outside in the fucking cold in just his hoodie, waiting in anxious silence.

“Sally,” the producer began, pulling open the door with too warm of a smile, mounting the steps and seeing her nonchalantly putting away produce, as if sitting in the floor in a coat ten sizes too big for her and cramming bell peppers into a tiny refrigerator were completely normal things to be doing on a Thursday morning when she was about to have to be on set. “I spoke with your, ah, what’s his name? I spoke to him about the screaming incident, he assures me it won’t happen again. And Tiatjah and Celine in makeup told me that they knew about this, have been working with wardrobe to keep it from affecting your character’s look?” His eyebrows knit in a pitying expression. “Honestly, bravo to them and solidarity and shit, but you should have come to me at once. There’s things we can do about this, we could have counselled you, given you access to medical services, there’s things that actors sometimes have to sacrifice for their craft.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, watching as she got up from the floor, and even if he hadn’t been rewatching all the footage from the past few days and scrutinizing it with this breaking news in mind, he could see it now beneath the coat in the way she moved. A gentleman would have offered her a hand to get up, but this was a reprimand, not a celebration. Sally should have known better, that guy with the forehead should have known better, and he was downright hurt that his lead actress who took any and all direction flawlessly would be keeping something this big from them all along. “They just wanted me to come and talk to you, see what your motive was in all this. You’re not fired, of course, you signed a contract and there’s only two more episodes, we can make it work. But if this gets picked up by the network, we’re shooting the next season in January. That’s only a few months from now, Sally, and you’ll be out of commission.” He shook his head. “If you’d told us sooner we at least could have written it in, that’s all I’m saying.”

She’s anxious. That feels like an understatement, honestly. She doesn’t know what will be said to Barr, what will end up being said to her. She doesn’t want to think about it, because she’s spent too long trying to hide it that she doesn’t know how to handle the fact that everyone will know now. That it won’t be a secret anymore and, despite trying to hide it from even herself, she won’t be able to for any longer. She’ll know. She’ll have to talk about it. She’ll have to acknowledge it. She’ll have to talk about it, and she’s barely even thought about it. Barely even spoken about it with Barry let alone anyone else. She doesn’t know how she’s going to handle it. It’s going to be real now.

She’s putting away peppers, anything that she can fit in the fridge, when the door opens and her producer appears. Her heart hammers in her chest and then she almost wants to laugh. They don’t even know Barry’s name. He’s not been on set much, admittedly – but he’s been around enough that they should know. She doesn’t say anything about it. Doesn’t dare to, because she knows she’s going to be told off. Or yelled at. Or something. She doesn’t say anything about that, either. Just waits. Teeth against her lower lip as she raises up from her feet and stands, wipes her hands down against her thighs and waits. Waits for the rest of it. To be told that she’s fired, that she’s—

Oh. “Oh,” comes the answer, delayed, surprised. Unable to stop it if she tried. She doesn’t know what to say for a long moment, because you’ll be out of commission. She can’t exactly deny it, can she? There’s not enough time to turn anything around. She just breathes. “Oh— yeah,” she answers, delayed. “I just… I thought that I’d be fired, because… because well, the girls didn’t know either and I thought that it’d be… better to,” She shrugs, because she doesn’t know what to say. She’s fucked it, hasn’t she? Sally guesses that’s karma. “Yeah— yeah. It’s okay. I get that. I shouldn’t have… I thought it’d be the better idea, and— and it was stupid, so I am sorry. Genuinely. I just… really wanted this job and it wasn’t— it wasn’t planned but I didn’t think I could have both and…” A pause. She breathes. Forces herself to. “I’m sorry.”