Chapter Text
“Felicity! It's so great to see you! And you are looking amazing.”
With a small smile, Felicity returned the hug from Sebastian Blood, an assistant producer at Camelot Productions. A month ago, he wouldn't have known her name, let alone have called her for this meeting. Pretty amazing what happened when, after four years of playing best friend parts, the little indie movie you had starred in was nominated for a bunch of Golden Globes--including for your performance.
“Thanks, Sebastian. You look great, too--so . . . tan.”
Sebastian laughed. “Just back from Palm Springs. I've got a house down there--you should come stay some weekend.”
“I've never been to Palm Springs,” Felicity replied, doing her best to sound calm. She knew it wasn't a sincere invite: he was inviting her to put her at ease, or to be able to tell people that he had her at his house, since the invitation was enough to say she had visited him.
Oh, Hollywood.
“We’ll have to fix that,” Sebastian said as he turned to the other man in the room. “Felicity, this is Malcolm Merlyn, head of Camelot Productions.”
“Mr. Merlyn,” Felicity said, holding her hand out to him.
Malcolm Merlyn, now in his early sixties, looked younger than his years, like so many did in this town. His face was smooth and unlined, his hair dark and without a sign of gray. He stood up, shaking her hand. “Ms. Smoak. It’s a pleasure. Please, sit,” he said, gesturing to a chair.
“Would you like anything to drink? Water, smoothie, kale juice?” Sebastian offered as Felicity took a seat.
“No, I'm fine. Trying to cut back on green drinks,” Felicity said with a laugh. A laugh that Sebastian responded to, a beat too late, while Malcolm didn’t bother to respond. He only leaned back in his chair, watching her.
“Wanting to get down to business,” Sebastian said with a toothy smile. The smile dropped, Sebastian adopting his best attempt at a serious expression. “Felicity, I've been a fan of yours from the very beginning of your career. So the Golden Globe nomination--and the Oscar buzz--couldn't have happened to someone more deserving.”
Her cheeks flushed, as they did whenever anyone mentioned the nomination. “It's so great to be nominated, with so many other wonderful actresses. I'm sure I'm a long shot.”
“I'm hearing good things. ‘The next J. Law’ is getting thrown around about you,” Sebastian said. “Which is why your next project is so important. And I think I have just the ticket for you.”
Given that Camelot Productions produced big-budget action epics and soppy tear-jerkers, Felicity wasn't sure if Sebastian had just the ticket for her. But her agent was so thrilled to have producers calling to take meetings with her, rather than Tommy calling and begging for Felicity to be seen, she had let him take all the requests. Glancing over at Malcolm, Felicity shifted her eyes back to Sebastian.
“I know you've done a lot of romcoms, but this one is different, Felicity. A young woman, competing for a spot on the first mission to Mars. There's this guy she's competing with, but they both end up on the mission, spending months traveling to the red planet. It's perfect for you. You'll get to be the girl getting the guy!”
“It certainly sounds . . . interesting,” Felicity hedged. Because honestly, on the surface, it didn’t sound that different from any other romcom she had done or had ever been done.
Sebastian waved his hand in the air. “No, it sounds like crap, I bet you’re thinking. But it's being written by Lyla Michaels. The woman's voice is incredibly strong. And her husband, John Diggle, is directing.”
Felicity leaned back in her chair. That changed things. Because Lyla Michaels was an incredibly talented writer: insightful, empathetic, and ballsy. And John Diggle was reported as being an expert at getting strong performances from the actors he directed. His last two movies had been critical and commercial hits.
“When's the script going to be ready?” Felicity asked.
“Lyla is handing in her final draft by the end of the week. The woman is a workhorse, turns out pages so fast.” Sebastian tilted his head to the side. “So you're considering it?”
“I think just one of the Michaels-Diggle team is enough to make someone consider a project. You get both and . . . well, they're everyone’s dream team, aren't they?” Felicity replied, pushing up her glasses.
She looked over at Malcolm again, wondering if it meant anything that he was staying so quiet. Not that she minded. She could handle Sebastian. Malcolm, though?
Sebastian snapped his fingers. “Dream team, exactly! One behind the camera, to go with the one in front of it.”
Chuckling softly, Felicity said, “And I'd make up one half of this on-camera dream team?”
“You sure would. And opposite you, playing your love interest, we're targeting Ollie Queen.”
She felt the smile on her face freeze. Ollie Queen? Of Big Trouble in Little Hoboken and Commando of Death ?
“So you know him!” Sebastian said, making Felicity realize she had said that part out loud.
“I do . . . I mean, we have the same agent,” she said, scrambling for her composure. “We're friendly.”
Which was a bit of an understatement. She had known Oliver ever since she had come to LA from Vegas, a young struggling actress looking for her big break. When she signed with Tommy Merlyn, he had introduced her to his best friend, Ollie Queen. Over the years, he had started calling himself Oliver, but little else had changed about him. Other than him getting even more handsome and ripped.
Oliver was . . . he wasn't a coworker, since they had never appeared in a movie together. They were kind of friends, since they had talked a lot at parties thrown by Tommy, and had even gone to a few industry functions together, usually with other clients of Tommy's. But Felicity didn't have his number and they certainly didn't talk much about their lives outside of their jobs. All she really knew about Oliver was that he had a younger sister he adored, he came from money, and he had been best friends with Tommy since practically birth.
So she didn't know what he was, really. Other than apparently a prospective co-star, in a movie that sounded really interesting thanks to the off-screen talent. But Oliver had done nothing but action movies for as long as she knew him. Could Oliver act will enough to not sink the movie? And could she be believable as a woman he was interested in?
“Oliver is looking to change up his image and Tommy is really pushing him for the male lead. We think you'd be the perfect complement to Oliver, and you'd bring something really special to this picture,” Malcolm said, leaning forward as he finally spoke.
“I'm interested . . .” Felicity said, her voice trailing off. She wasn't sure why she was playing coy: was it because she wanted them to want her more, or because she was too uncertain to know what to do next?
Because . . . this could be a good movie. The story and the people involved were the best combination she had seen so far. But there was something that was making her hesitate.
You're being ridiculous , Felicity told herself. She took her bag and stood up, holding her hand out to Malcolm and then Sebastian. “Send the script to me when it's ready, and then we'll talk. Thank you for thinking of me.”
A round of handshakes, hugs and cheek kisses completed, Felicity was walking out of the office, digging her keys out of her bright red tote. It was a really great opportunity--all of this was, really. So she should capitalize on it.
There was just something about working with Oliver . . .
And where were her keys?
Felicity opened her bag wider, searching for the missing keyring. Out of the corner of her eye, she suddenly realized that she was much too close to someone she hadn't realized was there.
“Oomph!” she said as she collided with a fabric-covered wall. “I'm sorry, I wasn't looking--”
And then her eyes registered who it was.
“Oliver.”
“Hey, Felicity,” he said, sheepishly smiling at her. “Sorry, I was trying to decode a text from Thea.” He took a step back from her, letting her see the cell phone he had in his hand. “ Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I'm--I'm fine,” she replied, feeling equally embarrassed. “Searching for my keys. That's my excuse for not looking where I was going. Which is always a bad idea, walking and doing something else at the same time, with my coordination or lack thereof.”
He chuckled quietly, ducking his head. She didn’t know why he was acting all shy, given that she was the one who had just babbled like an idiot. But it did allow her to take him in. In well-worn jeans, a Henley, and a pair of aviator sunglasses, he wasn't trying to hide who he was. Which made sense. After all, he was Oliver Queen, heartthrob and action hero. Even in Hollywood, he stood out. So trying to disguise his appearance was a waste of time.
“Were you just seeing Malcolm and Sebastian?” Oliver asked. “About the astronaut romcom?”
Felicity fidgeted with the strap of her bag. “Yeah, I was. They told me they were interested in you for the male lead.”
“Yeah . . . I think it's mostly a courtesy. Because of Digg. He was the second AD on a picture of mine three years ago. I put in a good word for him and he got to direct an indie. So he feels like he owes me one,” Oliver said, sounding casual, like it was no big deal.
But Felicity thought she heard something in his voice. Embarrassment that he was only getting the meeting as a favor? Or could it be self-doubt? Wondering if he was up for something more than action roles? He was four years older than her, which meant he must be nearly thirty by now.
“John's really made a name for himself as a director,” Felicity said. “At least, that's what I've heard. I’d live to work with him.”
Oliver's face brightened. “Digg's great. And Lyla is crazy-talented. A lot better than those CW shows she's worked on. You'd like her.”
Smiling a little, Felicity nodded. “Well, I won't keep you . . .”
“Oh, yeah, shit,” Oliver said, looking at the diver's watch in his wrist. “I'm late. Hey, before you go--you want to get a drink sometime? Not because of the Golden Globes thing, which, damn, I should have said congratulations . . .”
The only thing she could do was stare at him, wondering who was this man and what had happened to the confident, cocky Oliver Queen.
“Thank you,” Felicity said, reaching out and resting her hand on his firearm. “And yeah, let's get a drink. Tommy's got my number. Now scoot.”
She immediately winced at sounding like her bubbe. And it made Oliver grin at her.
“‘Scoot’? I'm sorry, you must have been hurrying home to watch The Golden Girls .”
“Hey, they should still be making The Golden Girls , even if half the cast is dead,” Felicity told him, pointing at him for good measure.
Oliver laughed. “I stand corrected. I'll call you, Felicity.”
And then he leaned down, brushed his lips against her cheek, and turned away, jogging into the office building.
It was a toss-up what had her more distracted: the sight of his ass in those jeans, or the fact that she could still feel his warm lips and the scratch of his stubble against her skin.
XXX
UNTITLED LYLA MICHAELS PROJECT
FADE IN. PROLOGUE.
NEWSPAPER HEADLINES: “Will Man Go to Mars?” “NASA Lobbies For Ambitious Exploration Program.” “Eugene Cernan, Last Man on Moon, Dies; Often Spoke of Desire to Walk on Mars.”
VIDEO CLIP: woman in her mid-fifties, in skirt suit and pearls, identified as President Michaela Kim. “Seventy-five years ago, President John F. Kennedy said, ‘We choose to go to the moon in this decade, not because it is easy, but because it is hard’. For too long, America has chosen to focus on the easy, the quick, the politically expedient. But I am here to say no more. Today, I am here to say, we choose to go to Mars in this decade, because what was once easy is no longer so easy. And what was hard is possibly the only solution for the survival of the human race.”
TEXT. In the near future, a group of astronauts will travel to Mars. The red planet, the site of so many science fiction novels and movies, is now the only real possibility to save humanity. Earth cannot be home for everyone anymore; overpopulation and climate change has seen to that. Now, two men and two women will take the first of what the world hopes will be many journeys to Mars, to begin building a new home. And what is a home without love?
MUSIC: Life on Mars?
ROLL CREDITS.
XXX
With a barely-restrained sigh, Oliver let himself into Tommy's bungalow, where he had been staying the last few weeks. He dropped his gym bag and went into the kitchen, looking for his best friend/agent and to throw out his coffee cup.
“Tommy?” he called out as he drank the last of his drip coffee. “Tommy, you awake?”
There was the sound of someone stumbling in the hallway, then Tommy cursed softly. “It's too damn bright,” be muttered as he walked into the kitchen, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Coffee.”
“I'll make some,” Oliver said, opening the cabinet where the supplies are located. “How was the party?”
Tommy had made the rounds last night, but Oliver had begged off. He had claimed he had an early training session this morning. Which, while true, had never stopped him from partying before. But the party scene was starting to lose its appeal for him. Not to mention that after the lackluster performance of his last two movies, most industry people studiously ignored him.
“Not that good, since I can remember all of it,” Tommy groused. “You should have come, Oll-iver.”
The catch in Tommy's voice was minor, but Oliver heard it. Tommy had nearly called him Ollie, but had stopped himself. Which was nice of him. It showed Tommy was doing his best to break a lifetime habit in order to support Oliver as he tried to become something new. Someone new, someone else than the party boy and action star he had always been.
“You know it's okay, Tommy,” Oliver said, looking at him. “If you call me Ollie. I mean, Thea's never going to stop.”
“She'd stop if you stopped calling her ‘Speedy’,” Tommy said with a lopsided grin. He took a seat on one of the bar stools at the island, leaning forward on his forearms. “I just need to get used to it. I don't want to call you Ollie when I'm trying to make a deal for you as Oliver Queen. Speaking of which . . .”
Oliver groaned and turned to fiddle with the coffee machine. “It was just a courtesy meeting, Tommy.”
“ Au contraire ,” Tommy said, eyeing him. “John Diggle called me yesterday to reiterate that he wants you.”
Too surprised to hide his reaction, Oliver turned around, two different Keurig pods in his hand, and stared at Tommy. “He did?”
“Yep. French Vanilla, by the way.” Tommy gestured to the pod in Oliver's right hand.
Rolling his eyes, he popped the pod in the machine and started it brewing. “You're such a girl, Merlyn.”
“Someone's feeling nervous,” Tommy observed. “They really are interested, Oliver. And it's a huge chance for you. To change your image, to really show what you’ve got, to work with great talent.”
“So, what, you're saying I shouldn't be nervous?” Oliver asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Hell, no. Nerves mean you care, and that is nice to see. It's been a while since you cared, Oliver,” Tommy said, pinning Oliver with one of those piercing, probing looks of his. Ones that he didn't pull out that often, but always when he had something to tell Oliver that he had been thinking for a while.
Oliver rolled his shoulders and looked at Tommy. “I'm not a kid anymore. I . . . I just want to do something . . .”
Breaking off, Oliver lowered his head. How could he put it into words? The strange new feelings that had started growing in him over the last year, as his thirtieth birthday approached. Maybe it was the mediocre performance of his recent movies. Maybe it was his sister wrinkling her nose when he told her about his next project: yet another action movie. Maybe it was all the extra time he had to spend in the gym to maintain the body that used to be easy to build. Maybe it was the time he had mixed up the line he was supposed to say with a line from another movie . . . and no one on set had noticed.
Or maybe it was seeing Felicity Smoak break out of her own place in Hollywood and get nominated for a Golden Globe.
The feel of Tommy's hand on his shoulder made Oliver raise his eyes from the floor. His best friend was looking at him sympathetically. “So how did the meeting go?” Tommy asked.
“Okay, I think,” Oliver said, running a hand over his hair. “You know how it is with Sebastian and your dad.”
Tommy made a face and nodded. The coffee maker beeped and he turned to pour himself a cup.
“Oh, and I ran into Felicity outside. Can I get her number from you?” Oliver asked, hoping he sounded like it was no big deal.
Unfortunately, Tommy hadn't gotten that message, because he spun around like a top. “You saw Felicity? You want her number? Wait, that means you were late to the meeting, because she was meeting with them before you.”
“I was barely late,” Oliver says, shifting on his feet. “I told them I was talking to Felicity and they got all excited about it.”
“They're really gunning for her, but also saying they want her to audition. But I think it's just a formality. If she wants the part, it's hers,” Tommy commented, still looking at him.
Oliver nodded, leaning against the counter. “She seemed interested. I asked if she wanted to get a drink with me.”
“And that's why you need her number?”
“Yeah, she told me to get it from you.” Oliver frowned. “Do you think it means something, that she didn't just give me her number?”
“My love of vanilla-flavored coffee aside, I lack the equipment to answer that question,” Tommy replied with annoyance. “Call your sister and ask her.”
Snorting, Oliver grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge. “Yeah, sure. So when do you think the script is going to be ready?”
“Any day now, they say,” Tommy replied, his phone ringing. He picked it up, looked at the display, and smirked. “Hey, Sebastian, how's it going?” he answered.
Ripples of anticipation and fear went through Oliver. And Tommy knew it, from the shit-eating grin on his face as he listened to Sebastian.
“So you guys really like Oliver for the male lead, huh? And you think Felicity Smoak is interested for the co-starring role?” Tommy sounded like he hadn’t doubted Oliver for a moment and that he was merely just confirming what had happened at the meeting. “That's great. Why don't you send the scripts over when Lyla is done, and I'll get them to my clients. What was that?”
Tommy looked over at Oliver. “You think it's a good sign that Oliver and Felicity are already talking? Well, they have known each other for years, but I couldn't agree more. In fact, they're going to keep talking.”
Making a quick slashing motion across his throat, Oliver silently warned Tommy not to say anything more. Picking up on the signal, Tommy wrapped up the phone call and looked at him.
“Feeling shy, Queen?” Tommy definitely was still wearing his agent hat, so Oliver stood his ground.
“Let's not act like this is a done deal,” Oliver cautioned. “And . . . so what if I'm getting a drink with Felicity? That's also not a done deal.”
“I suppose so . . . but man, you're really out of it, aren't you? ‘Cause this isn't like you.”
What was like him, though? What was normal for the new man he was becoming? Oliver wasn't sure, but he thought it would be best to keep some things, some feelings, to himself. So he just shrugged and put on a smile. “Just trying something new. So are you going to give me Felicity's number or not?”
“Sure,” Tommy said, lifting his phone and glancing at it before he rattled off her number.
Oliver put it into his phone and then picked up his bottle of water. “I'm going to shower.”
Before Tommy could say anything else, Oliver took off down the hall towards the room he had been using. He was sure Tommy thought he was going to calling Felicity right away, but he would be wrong. No, Oliver was going to wait. Find out if they both got the parts before he did anything.
It was true: he had known Felicity for a long time. Probably close to five years now. He had watched her go from a pretty, quirky actress into something closer to beautiful. And at the same time, her talent had grown, even as she kept playing the second banana parts that were all she had gotten since she arrived in Hollywood.
And then she appeared in High Tide . A quiet little indie movie, about a woman living in a dying harbor town knowing that she couldn't leave, it hadn't been the kind of movie that should have been a big success. But besides being critically acclaimed, High Tide had caught fire at the box office and was one of the top-ten grossing movies of the year. It had been nominated for a bunch of Golden Globes and was generating a lot of Oscar buzz.
Oliver had seen High Tide , but not at its premiere or an industry screening. No, he had seen it like a normal person. He had snuck into a theater and watched it, finding himself leaning forward as the movie played. He had been totally captivated by Felicity's performance. Most people who knew Felicity might be amazed and surprised that such a nuanced, quiet performance could come from the babbling, occasionally awkward blonde.
But not Oliver. There had been something about Felicity, from the first time he had met her, that made him think she was meant for more than ‘best friend of female lead’ in a bunch of so-so romcoms.
And it seemed like the world was figuring that out. So Oliver just had to hope that there was enough time for him to get to work with Felicity once. Long enough for some of that special something to maybe rub off on him.
End, Chapter 1