Chapter Text
Mornings felt different ever since the Hail Mary was launched thirteen years ago.
The world hasn’t ended. Cities were still bustling and loud, thank god. Colt doesn’t know if he’d be used to living somewhere that wasn’t constantly thrumming with noise. Traffic still clogged the streets every morning and kids still went to school, although their textbooks now had entire chapters dedicated to astrophage and solar output graphs. People still argued about trivial things like celebrity gossip and who said what online because it was the easiest way to cope with what was happening.
The entertainment industry had also slowed down, some. Apart from a select few major studios that managed to survive. These were the only studios that understood a basic fundamental of the new world post the launch of the Hail Mary, that if people were going to live under a dimming sun, they needed somewhere to look that wasn’t the sky.
So, films still got made. Film crews still showed up before dawn and stayed long after night time, while stuntmen still threw themselves off buildings and wrecked cars for a living.
Colt, however, had pulled away from it after his brother got launched into space.
At first, people thought it was temporary. Maybe Colt just needed time- it was his twin brother, who would be able to get over something like that happening to them? Anyone would need time after that. People couldn’t really understand how deep his connection with his brother had been. To Colt, it had felt like watching a vital organ get torn out of him in real time, sealed inside a machine, and sent somewhere so far away that even imagining it made his stomach sink. He would still reach for him instinctively sometimes. He’d reach for his phone to call or send something, only to remember halfway through that there was nowhere for it to go. It took a while to break that habit.
There wasn’t even a body to mourn, so the most people did was hold memorials and ceremonies to honor the astronauts. But Colt could never stomach attending those events. Colt tried to go once, but he didn’t make it past the entrance. It was hard seeing his brother being called an astronaut and a hero when to him, he had always just been Ryland, his little brother.
His little brother who talked too much when he was nervous, who would get this look on his face when he was about to explain something complicated, because he was probably already five steps ahead of whatever concept he was thinking about and he was just dragging you along with him anyway. His brother who left mugs everywhere and never remembered where he put them. His brother who he’d scold for always wearing his glasses weirdly because they’d fall from his face and he did not have the money to keep buying new ones. He couldn’t watch as people made a distant story of his brother when to him, he’s always been the realest, closest thing he had. Colt couldn’t reconcile those two things.
So he stopped trying.
Colt had stopped attending the ceremonies and he turned off the TV every time the news came on. When the Hail Mary anniversaries came around, he let them pass like any other day, even if he always knew exactly what date it was. And then eventually Colt stopped answering people’s calls altogether. He had rescinded himself into a long, arduous grieving period, with Jody being the only way for him to communicate with the outside world.
He couldn’t even think of work anymore. And just like how he tried to attend the ceremonies, he’d also tried to go back. But the first time he returned to set, he had found himself staring too long at the safety net below a rig. His hands had trembled and his entire body felt like it went rigid. He remembered asking himself, what the hell are you doing here, Colt? Your brother is dead. Why are you still flipping cars and getting beat up?
And he’d never thought about his job like that before, he’d never seen it as juvenile. It was never childish, even Ryland had once called it a science in and of itself because of how many calculations it took to make sure a stunt was safe. Knowing exactly how far a body could go before it suffered any permanent consequences, and stopping just short of it every single time. It was trust with multiple elements like the rigging, on the crew, on himself. It was a craft, his craft, one he’d spent years honing and one he’d been so proud of.
But things changed after Ryland left.
The first time someone joked about dying for the shot, instead of laughing about it, Colt felt… disturbed. When he walked past a monitor and caught the playback of a stunt that looked off, he felt nothing. He no longer had that itch to correct it, in the same way he would’ve called off a stunt for the trivial fact that the beach had bad sand.
Others kept throwing themselves into safe danger, but Colt couldn’t unsee the difference anymore. He couldn’t shake the thought that somewhere, far beyond any set or skyline, that his brother had been sent into something very, very real, and there would be no second take for his life. That was it. He was a man throwing himself into fake disasters while the real one was happening millions of miles away, beyond anyone’s reach and without any of the protection or assurances that he had.
It made everything at the studio feel so trivial. He would never admit it, but he developed some sort of resentment for it.
He still respected the work, and he understood why it mattered right now more than ever. People needed good stories. They needed the distraction and the illusion of it all. But he couldn’t be the one doing it anymore.
The only person he’d ever known who truly stepped into the unknown did it without cameras or an audience, and he couldn’t pretend like that didn’t affect him. He knew that the industry would move on, like it always did. There were eventually gonna be new faces, new stuntmen and actors that would fill the gaps. Colt just tried to build his life again, and he swore to himself that it would be a life that didn’t revolve around pretending to risk his life because he already knew what that actually looked like.
So this was his life now. He and Jody lived at her apartment, which they now co–owned. He’s a bit like a house husband in a way. He cooked for her and cleaned, and he supported her in her career as a director. He’d help bounce off ideas with her if she needed help with writing a script. He didn’t mind sitting around all day if it meant he got to spend time with Jody, uplifting her dreams. Sometimes he’d read drafts of a script and scribble his own notes in the margins, or sometimes he’d just sit nearby while she worked so she had someone to lean on whenever she needed it.
He didn’t mind it at all. That was the part that would’ve shocked him the most.
Before, a life like this would have felt like failure. It’s what he felt while he was suffering through recovery. He hated sitting around and doing nothing, it used to itch under his skin. He needed movement and momentum, activities that would thrill him. Hell, he’d gotten into stunts precisely because he had been a hyperactive kid who couldn't sit still. It’s what he did best.
But later on, he realized that waking up beside Jody, and listening to her talk through a scene while he chopped vegetables was the furthest thing from failure. He didn’t need to be the one jumping off buildings to feel like his life had purpose. He didn’t need the adrenaline, or the validation, or the constant proof that he could survive something dangerous because he’d already lived through the kind of loss that trumps all the pain he’s gotten from every stunt he’s ever done.
He’d become content with being the one who made sure things were okay on the ground while Jody reached for the skies. He saw it in her since the day they met, he knew she was special. She had drive and vision unlike anyone else, and she threw herself into her work with the same intensity he used to bring to his.
Supporting her became his passion, too.
Colt was already up that morning. He’s in the kitchen, cooking eggs on the stove that was done the way Jody likes them without her ever having to ask. Jody leans against the counter for a moment, just watching him. She looked gorgeous despite having just woken up twenty minutes ago.
Colt sets a plate down in front of her, nudging it slightly closer. “Eat before it gets cold.”
“You know, honey, this really suits you.” She smiles, sliding into her seat.
He huffs a quiet laugh and sits across from her, already halfway through his coffee.
“Suits me how?”
“Being my cute little house husband.”
“You know what? I agree. I make a kickass house husband.”
“You do. I mean, these eggs are just brilliant,” Jody says through a mouthful. “You were born for this.”
Colt laughs out loud. His shoulders are relaxed and his guard is down.
Jody steals a piece of his toast when she thinks he isn’t looking. He notices, of course, but lets it happen anyway. The second time she does it, he points it out.
“Hey,” He says after a second, pointing lazily with his fork. “That was mine.”
“You weren’t eating it.”
“I was about to.”
“Mm. Tragic.”
He shakes his head, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Unbelievable.”
Silence settles between the two of them again. Jody’s gaze drops to her plate, her thumb tracing the rim of her mug. She takes a breath, then another. It makes Colt look up with concern. He’s always been attuned to her.
“What?”
Jody looks up and meets his gaze.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” She says carefully.
“Whaaaaat… kind of something?” It needed to be prefaced? Usually they just told each other things. Why did she have to start like that? Now he was nervous.
She exhales, setting her mug down. “I didn’t want to bring it up in a meeting. Or… anywhere official.” A small, apologetic smile appears on her lips. “I wanted it to be here. So you could have the space to just sort of… react.”
That does it. A faint line forms between his brows. He didn’t feel very relaxed anymore.
“Jody.”
“A studio reached out,” She continued gently. “A major one. They want to make a biopic.”
Colt’s grip on his fork tightens. “About?”
She pauses. “…Ryland.”
Colt stares at her.
Colt leans back in his chair, the air in the room instantly changing. He shakes his head. “No,” He says firmly. “Absolutely not.”
Hell no.
He knows what biopics do to people from history. They take someone’s life and sand it down until it fits into two hours by reshaping parts of it so it feels right instead of being right. He remembered watching biopics and then looking up the real person's life only to find dozens of articles pointing out the differences between the real person and the movie version of them. Whole years would disappear and entire relationships get reduced to a few lines of dialogue.
And he knows how films get consumed. People were going to believe that version. Because Colt knew that once it’s on a screen and the story is framed just right with music swelling underneath, it stops being a story and starts becoming the story. Years of working in the movie industry means he’s seen it happen dozens of times. Real people’s flaws were often softened or exaggerated, depending on what makes the movie’s arc more satisfying.
And they want Ryland to become that. Absolutely fucking not.
“I knew you’d say that,” Jody replies softly.
“Then why are we talking about it?” He asks, glaring down at his breakfast.
“Because there’s more.”
He exhales. “Of course there is.”
Jody watches him, steady. “The director is a kid named Isaac. He was one of Ryland’s former students back at Grover Middle,” She says. “He reached out personally.”
Colt looks down at the table, jaw tight with agitation. “That doesn’t change anything.”
Colt doesn’t trust anyone to tell his brother’s story.
Not even someone who knew him once, because knowing someone as a student, or a colleague, or even a friend… isn’t the same as growing up with them. It isn’t the same as sharing a life so intertwined that you can’t separate where one of you ends and the other begins. No. He won’t do this.
“He asked me to co-direct.”
His eyes flick back up to hers.
“You?”
“Yeah.”
“And?” He presses. “You said yes?”
“I told him I’d talk to you first.”
If Jody directs it… then maybe…
Colt shakes his head.
“No.”
Jody nods once, like she expected that too. “He wants you,” She adds quietly. “To play him.”
Colt actually laughs out loud.
“That’s kind of a fucked up thing to ask me, isn’t it?” He says, huffing. He pushes his plate away, appetite gone in an instant. “I don’t know, you’d think he’d have some sort of empathy since I’m his twin brother.”
“The studio’s going to make it anyway. With or without us,” She says. “It’s… part of a contract they signed. If I don’t agree as co-director, Isaac told me he’d drop the project too out of respect for us. But then the film will be given to someone else. And you know who their second choice for director is? Rob Powers. And you know who his favorite actor is.”
Colt thinks about it for a moment and he curses under his breath.
“…Max Kingsley.”
“Max Kingsley. And he’s terrible,” Jody says, arms crossed.
Max Kingsley. Colt’s seen his work. He also knows what he was like as a person off screen. He was an arrogant bastard, to the point that he wouldn’t be surprised if him and Ryder were related.
So what did this mean, then?
If Colt refuses, Kingsley becomes Ryland.
“No.” He shakes his head, already standing, pacing a step before catching himself and stopping. He feels sick. “No, we’re not doing this. I’m not doing this.”
“Colt,” she says, firm, “Listen to me.”
“I am listening,” He shoots back, dragging a hand through his hair. “And I’m saying no.”
“I know this hurts, honey. I know that. I’m not ignoring that. But you’re not thinking this through.”
He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Thinking it through? You want me to think through playing my dead twin brother in a movie?”
“Don’t say it like that…”
“How else am I supposed to say it, Jody?!”
Jody takes a deep breath.
“As the only person in that room who actually knew him like you did,” She says, “You’re also the only one who can stop them from getting things wrong.”
Colt throws his hands in the air. “That’s not my job.”
“But it becomes your responsibility when the alternative is Max Kingsley. Colt, this… this is happening whether we like it or not.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to be part of it.”
“But it means you don’t get to control how they do it if you’re not.”
He buries his face in his hands.
“Fuck. Then we should just sue them! I don’t know! Why the hell are they making a movie about Ryland anyway? It’s only been thirteen years!”
“It’s been long enough… you know Ryland’s in the history books, now. People study about his life. His story is taught in classrooms, Colt. People want to know the lives of the astronauts that’re saving us.”
“…they’re making one for Ilyukhina and Yáo too?”
“Yes.” Jody nods. “Different studios and countries. But yeah.”
She leans back against the table now, arms crossed. “The Russian studio’s already in pre-production for Ilyukhina’s film.”
Colt stares at her. “Why are we even talking about them like they’re characters,” He exclaims. “They’re people who got sent out there to-!” He stops, jaw tightening. Thirteen years and it still hurts to say it.
“That’s how the industry works,” She says quietly when he’s done. “Especially now. People need something to hold onto, and… seeing heroes on the big screen might just lift people’s spirits.”
Jody gazes into his eyes. “Colt… the world is changing. You know that.”
He doesn’t answer.
“Temperatures have dropped across entire regions,” She continues. “Places that were humid and hot year round are getting cold snaps they’ve never had before. Parts of Southeast Asia are seeing frost in the early mornings. God, I didn’t even read about stuff like these before but you have to nowadays and I can’t ignore it. People are suffering.”
She sighs.
“These films are going to be shown everywhere. There’ll be government backed screenings and public showings, and streaming platforms will push them non stop. They’ll dub them and subtitle them and make sure anyone, anywhere, can watch. If we do this right… then it could be a good thing.”
He can’t believe this is happening. He seriously can’t.
“I’m not an actor.” Colt chokes out.
“I know you’re not.” She says gently. Colt wished he was anywhere else but here. “But you have plenty of experience in front of a camera already, and… Colt, you’re his twin. You knew him in a way no one else ever could. You hate what biopics do, right? You hate how they twist things and make real people out to be fictional characters?”
“...”
“Help me so we don’t hand Ryland over to people who are guaranteed to do exactly that. I think you’re the only one who even has a chance. I’m asking you to fight for him.”
Silence stretches between them.
He exhales, frustrated. “But you and I both know that studios don’t just let you rewrite a script because you feel strongly about it.”
“They listen to people who matter to the project,” She counters immediately. “Isaac wants you. He needs you on board to keep this grounded. And if I’m co-directing and we’re both in it, we have more control than anyone else is going to get.”
He stops pacing and looks at her.
“And if we don’t?”
Her expression hardens.
“Then it goes to Rob Powers,” She says. “And you already know what that means.”
Goddamn it.
He had no choice.