Archive of Our Own ^beta

 “Oh my God, Gavin, no. It's not happening.”

Michael ignored Gavin's disgruntled squawk and leaned back in his computer chair, feet up on his desk, hands behind his head. This was the third time—third!--in the last thirty minutes that Gavin's asked, nay, pleaded for the two main characters in his show to bone each other, but it was not gonna happen. No. No way in hell.

“But Michael,” Gavin whined, exaggerating the second syllable in that infuriatingly adorable way of his. “The fandom's practically begging for it, and everything you've written so far leads up to Alex and Salem being a thing!” He flailed his arms in his little Skype webcam window, eyes wide with conviction.

“Dude, I'm well aware the fandom's collectively pissing their pants over the idea of Alex and Salem touching balls, I've seen the fanart.” And wow, the fanart really was something else. Michael was lucky he had such a dedicated fan base for From Above, even if they kept making his characters gay for each other. Not like it was bad thing—he gave zero shits about what the fandom did with his characters—but it didn't mean he has to make it canon.

But Gavin was shaking his head like Michael just didn't get it, and maybe Michael didn't. He patiently waited for Gavin to enlighten him, watching as he opened and closed his mouth, scowled, and ran his hands through his hair. It was obvious his brain was about ten seconds from short circuiting.

“Oh my God, you donut. It's like this, okay?” And shit, Gav had his serious face on. “Something has to happen between them. Their friendship's been solid for, what, almost three years canon-wise? It's bloody well getting boring! They're best friends who've been through so much together, and the way they've been written this season thus far makes it seem like they want more, so why not give Alex and Salem what they want?” Gavin paused, rubbed at his chin. “And if you won't do that, you need to write in something catastrophic, something to test the strength of their friendship. But whatever it is you do, it's gotta be epic, else everyone's gonna get bored with them and move onto another show.”

Gavin stared long and hard at Michael through the webcam to send home his point. Michael understood perfectly, but that didn't make it an easier decision to make.

They said their goodbyes soon after that, Gavin heading off to bed since it was about 3AM in England. Michael ended up laying on his couch, staring at the ceiling, considering the fates of two of his favorite characters.

All this started when Michael got an idea stuck in his head in his second year of college. At the time he'd been working towards an Electrician Associate's Degree, about three months from graduating. Everything was on course for him to finish school, get a job wiring houses or something, and stick around in Jersey til he found some girl to marry and make babies with.

But then he had a dream about a guy falling from the sky and crashing through his roof, a fucking alien who was doing recon and got knocked out of the clouds by a thunderstorm, and he was completely screwed. Michael couldn't get the idea out of his head, kept wondering about why the alien was there, if there were more, if there was some crazy take-over-the-world plot, if he'd ever be friends with the guy. It constantly filled his mind, took over pretty much everything. It was a damn miracle when Michael managed to graduate on time, but when school was done he couldn't help but wonder if he should pursue this seed taking root in his head, or pull it like the weed it was and get a 9 to 5 job like a big boy.

Two days and sixteen consecutive hours of planning and writing later, Michael had the beginnings of something that could be, hands down, the coolest thing he'd ever done. But there was still one problem: Michael had no clue how to write a script. He could see the scenes in his head, hear the dialogue, but had zero experience in taking that and putting it to paper. Lucky for him, the internet was a limitless resource and, at that point, he was pretty fucking dedicated to getting this thing done.

The first draft was the roughest draft in the history of rough drafts. Reading through it, Michael knew he'd need some help cleaning it up before he sent it out. Once again he turned to the internet, spamming a few writers forums for help. Only one person replied with any seriousness—the rest were obviously people looking to steal his idea for their own. Gavin Free, guy from England who, after reading over what Michael had, instantly connected with the main characters. Together they worked their way through three or four episodes worth of scripts, ironed out a few issues in the overall story arc for the first season, and it was about a month later when Michael started sending it out.

It was five months, five agonizing months, before someone picked it up. Five months of working a job he had no interest in and five months of being pestered by Gavin every damn day about whether or not someone was gonna make his TV show a reality. Not that he complained about Gavin bothering him. He was actually a pretty awesome dude, even when he made up words and trolled him whenever they played games together. It was five months of the most solid friendship he'd had in years.

A small, okay, really small, independent company based in Austin picked up From Above, place called Rooster Teeth. His contact was Geoff Ramsey, a guy covered in tattoos with heavy lidded eyes that made him look perpetually sleepy. He saw something in the show, he told Michael, something that “most other shows on TV don't have.”

“Do you know what that is?” Geoff had asked.

Michael answered truthfully. “Not really, no.”

Geoff grinned, face transformed from tired and lazy to predatory with a flash of teeth. “Good.”

It wasn't long after that that Michael moved to Austin.

Two months later, they had a pilot up on YouTube. A month after that, Rooster Teeth got a call from the CW. And three years later, over 40 episodes under his belt, Michael's toughest decision was whether or not to make Salex canon.

“So, how're the next few episodes coming along?” Michael shot Geoff a glare and threw himself into the other seat in the office, sinking into the leather cushions.

“Okaaaay, how's it going with your British Situation?” Geoff ducked the pillow lobbed at his head and laughed. “Alright, asshole, let's talk about next month's schedule.”

Michael spent a lot of time thinking about his British Situation. That is, the fact that, for the last year or so he had been harboring the biggest, girliest crush on Gavin in the world. Every time he sat at his computer, he spent at least a quarter of his time checking Skype, making sure Gavin hadn't signed on without him noticing. And when the little notification saying he was online did pop up, Michael's heart fluttered and his stomach felt tight and he was almost always the first one to send a message. And the few times a week they used voice chat—or even webcam—were the best days of the week, getting to see that stupid face of his with it's big nose and silly hair, tan skin and slightly crooked grin.

Every time they talked, he wanted to tell Gavin how he felt, how he wanted to wax lyrical about the curves and angles of his body, about his voice and that stupidly attractive accent of his. The writer in him wanted to create stories about Gavin, his eccentric personality, his fake words and random noises. It became so bad that soon, to Michael, Alex and Salem turned into little fictional copies of Michael and Gavin.

But he tamped all of that down, pushed it far into the back of his mind, hoping it would go away.

Michael didn't want to risk their friendship for his stupid little crush, even if it really wasn't all that little.

“Alright, I've sent you my edits,” Gavin said over voice chat. Michael paused his game and signed into his email, opening the attached script to see just what Gavin changed. It was mostly dialogue things, smoothing out stilted conversation, adding little nuances that made each spoken line seem natural. Dialogue was definitely Gavin's thing; Michael was all about the setting, the scene, the action. Michael got lucky when he found Gavin. They complimented each other nicely, and Gavin having his name in the credits for the show helped him get more viewership for his Slow Mo Guys channel. Win win.

Michael was still reading when Gavin brought it up again.

“Is there a reason you're so against Alex and Salem getting together?” Gavin asked the question like it was no big deal, like he hadn't asked Michael about it literally a thousand times, like Michael wasn't hounded by fans on the daily about whether or not Alex was gonna go balls deep in Salem's virgin alien ass, like Michael didn't turn the idea over in his head every fucking time he opened up a new word document to start a new episode.

“Okay asshole, I'm going to lay it out for you since you won't leave me the fuck alone about this. What those two have is fucking perfect.” Gavin tried to talk but Michael bulldozed over him, refusing to be sidetracked. “They have one of the best friendships on television, one of those bromance things that's stronger than fucking titanium, and I don't wanna ruin that.

“What if they get together and it doesn't work? Or the fans end up hating it, and we gotta break them up and their friendship is just completely fucked, no turning back? What the hell am I going to do if it doesn't work out? They're perfect together, and there's nobody else for them, but I won't risk ruining a good thing just because everyone wants to see them suck each others dicks.”

He'd thought about it long and hard and knew what was best for Alex and Salem. Getting together could be the best thing in the world, but there was too high of a chance that it'd be literally the worst thing to happen to the show, and to the characters. They were his babies, damn it. He made them, shaped their personalities; he held their fictional lives in his hands.

Michael was met with silence from Gavin, heard nothing but the tak tak tak of him typing on his laptop. He frowned, wondered if he pissed him off, but shrugged and reached for his 360 controller, willing to wait it out.

But before he could un-pause his game, Gavin spoke.

“So you don't want to put them together because you don't wanna ruin their friendship?” he asked, calm and... thoughtful?

“Pretty much,yeah.”

Gavin hmm'd, but let it go for the night. They spent the rest of the evening playing videogames, dicking around in the Assassins Creed multiplayer. Gavin was fucking awful at it, which made it so much more fun.

It was a month later when Geoff called him. “We're hiring you a proper editor,” he said without preamble, “That way they're contracted and paid and we don't have to worry about any legal shit that may crop up if the scripts get out early. Had enough issues when the RvB movie came out and we are not dealing with that bullshit again if we can avoid it.”

Michael spluttered. “Do I not get any fucking say in this?” Seriously, what the fuck? How was this okay? He had no real warning, no chance to meet whoever it was, see if they were up to snuff.

“Nope!” He could hear the 'I give zero fucks about your issues with this, it's happening' in Geoff's voice; the only thing that kept Michael from flipping out over the phone was the fact that it was Achievement Hunter who paid him and got him the contract with the CW and he owed Geoff a shit ton from all the work he'd done over the last two years. “We're shipping him in to stay here in Austin and it's expensive as balls, so you better not break him in a childish fit of rage.”

Michael hung up on Geoff and threw his phone at the wall. He knew his Otterbox cell case would keep his precious iPhone safe, but the dent it made in the drywall was satisfying.

He spent the rest of the morning worrying about how he was going to tell Gavin the news, that the one thing that brought them together in the first place was gonna have to end once the new editor showed up. He worried about whether or not Gavin would stick around once he wasn't a part of the show anymore, or if From Above was the only thing that kept him coming back. And once Michael caught onto that train of thought, he let it drag him down until he was in a downright awful mood, moping around his apartment like a big fat baby.

Michael wasted the rest of the day laying around the living room, watching shitty movies on Netflix. The only time he left was to walk down the street to Taco Bell, and when he got back he stuffed himself full of shitty taco meat and refried beans, fake cheese and hot sauce. All he needed was a tub of Ben & Jerrys and he'd be a living breathing trope.

Once he was full of godawful 'Mexican' fast food, he grabbed the beers from his fridge and worked on getting himself properly drunk. And that's how he spent the night, surrounded by empty beer bottles, horror movies playing through the wee hours of the morning, his computer turned off so he could just spend one night not having to deal.

He could face reality tomorrow, he told himself. For now, he'd get properly wasted.

One night of avoidance turned into over a week. He ignored Gavin's emails, Geoff's calls and texts, didn't sign into Xbox Live so he wouldn't have to be bombarded by game invites and messages and chat invites. Michael knew it wasn't the right thing to do, knew it wasn't fair to ignore Gavin like this and keep him in the dark about what was going on, but... he just couldn't. He'd convinced himself that Gavin was only in his life for the TV show, that he had absolutely nothing else to offer the British cameraman, and the last thing he wanted to do was give him the chance to confirm his fears.

So he continued to hide in his apartment, continued to push reality aside and sulk and mope his way through the hours of the day.

Michael wasn't expecting the knock at the door Wednesday morning, nor was he expecting to find Geoff on the other side, looking like he was all out of fucks to give. Geoff eyed him and wrinkled his nose. “God damn, you look disgusting,” he said, pushing his way into the apartment.

“Nobody asked you,” Michael retorted, glaring at the man forcing his way into his place. “There a reason you're here? Or do you just show up at peoples places unannounced all the time?”

Geoff glared at him and poked him in the chest—hard. “Listen up, you little shit. I'm not dealing with your crybaby temper tantrum anymore. You've had your time to piss and moan, now it's time to be a big boy and get your ass back to work.” He grabbed Michael by the shoulders and turned him, pushing him towards the hallway. “Go take a shower and make yourself look human again, your new editor is at the office and I want you to meet him.”

“God damn it, I don't want to meet your fucking editor!” Michael yelled, throwing his arms up. “I--”

“I could care less about what you want and don't want to do, Michael Jones,” Geoff said, cutting him off with that stare of his that said 'I am the father of a child, I will put you in your place so help me God', the stare that always got Michael to do whatever he wanted.

Which was how he found himself in Geoff's car, hair still damp from his shower, on his way to the office to meet some asshole he was probably going to hate, who would probably be the shittiest editor in the world since he'd had no fucking say in who they hired.

Michael sulked in the passenger seat, arms crossed, eyes staring out the window resolutely. They were stuck in the usual Austin traffic; I-35 was backed up over a mile, the highway turned into a temporary parking lot. It didn't do anything to help Michael's mood. He wanted to get to the office, meet whoever the hell this editor was, then get his ass home and back to sulking, damn it.

Geoff, on the other hand, took the traffic as an excuse to draw Michael into conversation.

“So,” he started, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel while the car drifted forward at a crawl, “Everyone in the office thinks you need to stop dancing around the subject and make 'Salex' a thing.”

“Oh my fucking god, would you people leave me alone about that?” Michael couldn't believe Geoff was giving him shit about it too. “Why is it such a big fucking deal? Can Alex and Salem not just be friends? Is that such a fucking travesty?”

“It is if you're only doing it because your projecting your fears about your thing with Gavin on the show!” Geoff retorted and, shit, Michael had nothing to say to that, because, fuck, Geoff was right. Words died on his tongue and he was left with his mouth hanging open while Geoff sat at the wheel looking like a cat that finally got its cream.

“Just because you're head over heels for Gavin but refuse to do anything about it, doesn't mean you need to sacrifice all the potential and possibility between Alex and Salem. You remember when I told you this show had something special that most other shows didn't have?” Michael nodded. “It's their relationship. It's fucking natural, like they're two real people discovering their feelings for each other instead of two fictional characters following a written script of their lives. It's organic and it's fucking amazing, so don't you dare keep it from happening just because you're too scared to make a move in real life.”

And what the hell could Michael say to that? He had no rebuttal, no argument, so he settled for a muttered, “Fuck you.”

Geoff just grinned at him.

The rest of the drive was uneventful; once they got off the highway it was easy driving, and Geoff didn't try to draw Michael out of his thoughts as he stared at the passing scenery, brows furrowed in thought.

When the pulled into the parking lot Geoff turned off the car but didn't immediately get out. “Listen, Michael,” he started, and he waited until Michael turned to look at him before continuing. “I promise the new guy's awesome and I'm sure you're gonna love him.”

Oh god, yeah, the new guy. Michael had almost forgotten the reason he was going to the office to begin with, to meet Gavin's official replacement. Annoyance bubbled up in him and he grit his teeth. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I promise I won't throw him out a window or stab him with a pen,” he said, shooting Geoff a grin of barred teeth and barely hidden anger.

Geoff gave him a level look but let it slide.

Michael should have known something was up when, as soon as he walked through the front door, the secretary, Barbara, caught sight of him and grabbed the phone, whispering conspiratorially to whoever was on the other line. But he brushed it off, not really paying too much attention to what was going on around him. He was much more concerned with making it through meeting the new guy without maiming him, with schooling his temper to a simmer instead of a boil.

And he should have known something was up when he walked up the stairs to the second floor and heads started popping out of offices, watching as he walked by. He should have known something was up when Ray started following him with a God damn camera, when everyone—literally everyone—that worked in the building was staring at his back as he reached the door to Geoff's office, turned the doorknob, pushed the door open.

Someone was sitting in the only chair in the office that wasn't Geoff's, a guy with short buzzed hair and tan skin. When the door opened he jumped, squawked, flailed his arms in surprise and leapt up, spinning around like a fucking top and—

“Michael!”

“G-Gavin?”

And that was all it took for Michael to cross the distance between them and tackle Gavin in a bear hug, squeezing the other man until he squeaked. Gavin's arms were around him too, long and lanky and, God, what the hell was Gavin doing there?

“What the fuck happened to your hair?” was what came out of his mouth instead and Gavin pulled back, hands on Michael's shoulders while he looked down at him with his light brown eyes and his stupid crooked grin. “I got it cut, obviously!”

“What are you even doing here?” Michael asked, looking up at the British cameraman. Holy shit, he had to look up at Gavin. Gavin was taller than him. Michael always assumed he was shorter, wow.

Gavin stared at him like it was the dumbest question in the world. “I'm here to be your in-house editor, you idiot! Didn't you read any of my emails?”

No, of course he didn't read any of Gavin's emails, he was too busy shitting his pants at home for a week and being a fucking loser, freaking out about Gavin leaving his life forever when the answer to his existential crisis was sitting in his God damn inbox. Jesus Christ did he feel like the biggest idiot in the world.

Lucky for him Geoff saved him from having to respond, choosing that exact moment to come in—after he punched Ray in the shoulder and took his camera away—with Gavin's paperwork and contracts, dropping the massive stack of papers on his desk and placing a pen on top. “Alright Gavin, get to work.”

An hour, a sore wrist, and two pens later, Gavin was an official employee of Rooster Teeth Productions. To celebrate, Michael and Gavin walked down the block to Jersey Mikes for lunch, talking and generally being douchebags in public. The majority of the walk was spent making fun of each other, sliding into the relaxed rapport they had online, and Michael loved every minute of it. It was great being able to see Gavin's facial expressions change in person, see the cogs turn in his mind when he was thinking of something especially stupid to say, see the clumsy idiot trip over the air and flap his arms around when he lost his balance.

Once they got to Jersey Mikes, it didn't stop. They continued to be idiots, Gavin flicking onions into Michael's hair and Michael throwing vinegar-soaked napkins at Gavin's face. After a while though, their general tomfoolery settled down into easy conversation. They talked about Gavin's recent cameraman gigs for some pretty big feature films, about the next few episodes Michael was still working at, about everything and anything that popped up. Michael learned that Geoff was having Gavin over at his house until he could find his own place and promised to help Gavin find an apartment as soon as possible since living with Geoff was probably going to be hell on earth.

And then Michael came to a decision, one he should have come to ages ago.

“You know,” he said, picking at a tomato that had fallen from his sandwich, “I think I'm gonna make Salex canon.”

Gavin choked and coughed, swallowed the bite he'd taken of his sub and took a swig of his soda. “What, really? What made you change your mind?”

Michael ran a hand through his hair. “I dunno, I guess I just realized them being best bros doesn't have to end even if they get together, you know? Just because I'd be adding another element to their relationship doesn't mean all the other things about them are changing. And...” He trailed off and looked down at his hands picking at pieces of lettuce and onion nervously.

“And what, Michael?” Gavin prompted, nudging him under the table with his foot.

Michael shook his head. “Nah, screw it, it's stupid.”

“Mi-chaaaaeeel, tell me!” The nudging turned into kicking and Michael reached over the table to smack Gavin upside his head, ignoring his cries of indignation.

“Jesus Christ, fine. I was just gonna say that just because I'm afraid to go for it doesn't mean Alex has to be.”

And that drew Gavin up short, his eyes widening at the implication; his mouth formed a little 'o' of surprise and he leaned back in his seat. Michael could practically see his thoughts whirling as he figured out just what Michael was saying. He waited for the inevitable, the 'sorry, I only see us as friends' platitudes, but they never came.

Instead Gavin's face settled into a look of resolve and he opened his mouth to speak. “Michael--”

Michael's phone started vibrating like a pissed off bee in his pants, scaring the everloving shit out of him. He jumped, his knee knocking into the table and the two of them scrambled to keep their drinks from tipping over. With an annoyed growl, Michael dug his phone out. 'Geoff is a Great Big Bag of Dicks' flashed up at him from his screen and he sighed, answering it with a tap of his finger.

“What the hell do you want now?” he snapped, thoroughly exhausted with Geoff's meddling, even if said meddling that got Gavin to the US. It was still obnoxious as hell.

“Dude, you need to get our imported European twink's ass back to the office asap,” Geoff whispered into the phone. “Burnie was supposed to have a meeting with him at one and he's on a fuckin' warpath.”

“Shit, what time is it?” Michael asked, and Gavin glanced at his watch.

“Uh, half past one.”

“Oh God, oh shit, we'll be there soon Geoff.” Quick as that the phone was back in his pocket and he was on his feet, collecting their trash and heading for the nearest trash can. “Gavin, we gotta go, like, right now.”

“What's wrong?” Gavin stood up and followed Michael out the door, stepping fast to catch up.

“Why didn't you tell me you had a meeting at one? Burnie's gonna burn the place down if we don't get there in the next five minutes, shit.” Michael groaned and rubbed his face. “He's gonna be so pissed, oh my God.” He grabbed Gavin's hand and started running, dragging him behind him, ignoring his protests and his cries. They had to get back to the office, and fast.

And they did get back to the office quickly, though Michael practically carried Gavin most of the way since the idiot didn't seem to be able to run for more than a minute without whining about his lungs trying to explode out of his chest. They took a second outside the front door to catch their breath, Michael holding his side from a cramp.

“You ready?” he asked when he felt like he could breathe like a normal human being again.

“Yeah, I think I'm good,” Gavin answered, standing up straight and wiping sweat from his forehead.

Michael turned to open the door, mentally preparing himself for the verbal avalanche he was sure was coming, but stopped short when he felt fingers lacing with his, gripping tight. Blinking, he turned and looked over his shoulder at Gavin who simply wore an easy, confident smile like them holding hands wasn't a big deal, was just a natural thing, and maybe that's all it was. Just the natural progression in their story, in their character development.

So he didn't pull away, simply gave Gavin's hand a squeeze and they walked into the lobby together.

Geoff sat in his office, feet up on his desk, pen dangling from his mouth. In his hand was the final draft of the season three finale, and things were finally coming to a head. The UN was losing it's shit about the aliens, the aliens were losing their shit about Salem being lost on the planet so long, it was looking like all out war. He was at the final scene, the last thing that would air before the season three hiatus, the last bone Michael would leave for the fans to gnaw on.