Matt called out of two days of filming. His previous film with Frank had set a new record for pre-sales and the day of release the fans were screaming for more. Foggy and Trish had worked almost around the clock to set up a new script. Jessica’s negotiations with their set designer nearly turned into a fistfight, but eventually Logan scowled and said that the carpentry work wouldn’t take him that long. When Luke put it out on Twitter that they were filming two weeks earlier than expected, the fandom’s reaction was impressive enough to merit a few mentions in the news.
Frank was a good sport about hearing that he wouldn’t be working that day after all, especially compared to some of the stars, but Trish was livid. She always worked in an extra five days’ grace onto her estimate of production times before any impact to her distribution schedule, but she liked to have all five days untouched at the end of filming and then pay everybody for the week anyway.
When Matt did make it in, Trish turned on her heel and stalked back to Jessica’s office and closed herself in with a loud thud. Gwen and Peter gasped, checked that Foggy was zeroing in on Matt, and then ran for their whiteboard and started intently discussing which scenes they could do in softer light. Nearly every film starring Matt and Frank ended up with harsher lights to show the many planes of muscles.
Luke and Frank both looked over Matt with nearly identical expressions of disapproval before turning their backs, clearly deciding he was Foggy’s problem.
“Matt. Buddy, I know you can’t see it, but you look like hell,” Foggy said, prodding Matt gently in the shoulder. That only provoked another wince. “Alright. You, me, locker room,” he said, putting a hand on each of Matt’s shoulders to turn him in the right direction and then frog-marching him toward the locker room. After a token protest, Matt dropped his head and stopped trying to guide himself along his usual path to the showers.
Inside the locker room, Foggy crossed his arms over his chest. “Put your bag down and take your shirt off,” he ordered curtly.
Matt huffed out a breath of air but complied. He fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, for once, giving Foggy all the more time to realize that his knuckles looked red and swollen even a little after two days of whatever Matt had been doing to recover. With his button-down shirt off, and the undershirt shed without need of another order, Foggy could appreciate that there were two separate places someone had actually stitched Matt back together.
“Matt. I might be good, but I am not a magician. People are going to think that we’re beating the shit out of a blind man to give a movie a little more edge,” Foggy said, fingers tracing the cut that crossed Matt’s upper arm. “I don’t suppose you have a good explanation for this.”
“You’re not my boss,” Matt said, head still bowed. It might have sounded more convincing if he had moved away from Foggy’s touch in any way.
“That would actually be Trish. Or Jessica, maybe. I’m your friend, Matt, or at least I try to be. Are you mixed up in something?”
“I…” Matt bit his lip.
“Because, you know, the last time I saw you in close proximity to knives, it was still Elektra co-starring in a sex tape,” Foggy said, using the hand on Matt’s bicep to turn the man around to let Foggy reach the cut across his lower back.
Matt flinched before Foggy touched two fingers near the deep cut.
“I don’t have any right, really, but Matt… this is going to interfere with work,” Foggy said, considering concealer and putty before giving up on the idea. Hiding the stitches would take too much thickness to let anyone get a close-up shot, and keeping Matt on his back all day wouldn’t work all that well either. Maybe if they tore a shirt just right…
“It’s not… I didn’t mean to let someone leave marks,” Matt said, turning his face slightly toward Foggy. “Sometimes it gets a little more intense than I thought.”
“Yeah, well, next time you want to get intense you pick out someone who isn’t going to leave you needing stitches.” Foggy stepped back. “Really, Matt. Not just because we’re filming and I try to be a makeup wizard. I don’t want to think that somebody’s hurting you.”
When Matt didn’t have a reply to that, Foggy curled his hand over the not-lacerated bicep. “Get yourself cleaned up. I’m going to convince Trish that we can sacrifice a shirt out of the wardrobe and do some partially dressed scenes. As of now, our movie-self was sleeping with someone kind of awful, just so you know. The fans love it when Frank gets all protective anyway.”
It took Matt almost a full minute to gather his thoughts.
Such a Crush 5/?
Frank was a good sport about hearing that he wouldn’t be working that day after all, especially compared to some of the stars, but Trish was livid. She always worked in an extra five days’ grace onto her estimate of production times before any impact to her distribution schedule, but she liked to have all five days untouched at the end of filming and then pay everybody for the week anyway.
When Matt did make it in, Trish turned on her heel and stalked back to Jessica’s office and closed herself in with a loud thud. Gwen and Peter gasped, checked that Foggy was zeroing in on Matt, and then ran for their whiteboard and started intently discussing which scenes they could do in softer light. Nearly every film starring Matt and Frank ended up with harsher lights to show the many planes of muscles.
Luke and Frank both looked over Matt with nearly identical expressions of disapproval before turning their backs, clearly deciding he was Foggy’s problem.
“Matt. Buddy, I know you can’t see it, but you look like hell,” Foggy said, prodding Matt gently in the shoulder. That only provoked another wince. “Alright. You, me, locker room,” he said, putting a hand on each of Matt’s shoulders to turn him in the right direction and then frog-marching him toward the locker room. After a token protest, Matt dropped his head and stopped trying to guide himself along his usual path to the showers.
Inside the locker room, Foggy crossed his arms over his chest. “Put your bag down and take your shirt off,” he ordered curtly.
Matt huffed out a breath of air but complied. He fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, for once, giving Foggy all the more time to realize that his knuckles looked red and swollen even a little after two days of whatever Matt had been doing to recover. With his button-down shirt off, and the undershirt shed without need of another order, Foggy could appreciate that there were two separate places someone had actually stitched Matt back together.
“Matt. I might be good, but I am not a magician. People are going to think that we’re beating the shit out of a blind man to give a movie a little more edge,” Foggy said, fingers tracing the cut that crossed Matt’s upper arm. “I don’t suppose you have a good explanation for this.”
“You’re not my boss,” Matt said, head still bowed. It might have sounded more convincing if he had moved away from Foggy’s touch in any way.
“That would actually be Trish. Or Jessica, maybe. I’m your friend, Matt, or at least I try to be. Are you mixed up in something?”
“I…” Matt bit his lip.
“Because, you know, the last time I saw you in close proximity to knives, it was still Elektra co-starring in a sex tape,” Foggy said, using the hand on Matt’s bicep to turn the man around to let Foggy reach the cut across his lower back.
Matt flinched before Foggy touched two fingers near the deep cut.
“I don’t have any right, really, but Matt… this is going to interfere with work,” Foggy said, considering concealer and putty before giving up on the idea. Hiding the stitches would take too much thickness to let anyone get a close-up shot, and keeping Matt on his back all day wouldn’t work all that well either. Maybe if they tore a shirt just right…
“It’s not… I didn’t mean to let someone leave marks,” Matt said, turning his face slightly toward Foggy. “Sometimes it gets a little more intense than I thought.”
“Yeah, well, next time you want to get intense you pick out someone who isn’t going to leave you needing stitches.” Foggy stepped back. “Really, Matt. Not just because we’re filming and I try to be a makeup wizard. I don’t want to think that somebody’s hurting you.”
When Matt didn’t have a reply to that, Foggy curled his hand over the not-lacerated bicep. “Get yourself cleaned up. I’m going to convince Trish that we can sacrifice a shirt out of the wardrobe and do some partially dressed scenes. As of now, our movie-self was sleeping with someone kind of awful, just so you know. The fans love it when Frank gets all protective anyway.”
It took Matt almost a full minute to gather his thoughts.
“Thank you, Foggy.”
“Anytime, buddy. I’m just glad I can help.”