He couldn't believe what he was looking at. All these months, years, of trying to convince Veronica that they could build a family together. That he had wanted it. That she wouldn't be alone with whatever scared her, and he had thought through all the logistics a thousand times, because it had always been like that in his dreams: movie world, wife, kids. He had always wanted to have exactly what his parents had and relive the reality he had grown up in, adopting the opposite role this time.
Whatever seemed merciful enough to finally bring this wish to him, it clearly had the strangest sense of humor. And not just because after years of Veronica changing her mind back and forth, it was nearly impossible to tell if she still wanted children or not. One day she would agree with him, only to say the opposite on another... And then she showed Eric a piece of plastic with two pink lines sticking out like a sore thumb. A positive pregnancy test. It should be an explosion of happiness, a moment of celebration for the tiniest-biggest dream he had ever wished to come true, yet, all Eric could think about was how the last time the two got close, it was make-up sex for the affair her merciful heart could no longer afford to keep secret.
His job made it so damn easy to track time, to check when he was home and when he left, and Eric couldn't help the feeling that this child wasn't the fruit of their perfect timing. The baby was going to look like his wife and the man who kept his side of the bed warm while Eric was away, on another set, so all he could feel was grief and disgust.
Who cared how Veronica felt when she spat out a hurt "How dare you" after Eric asked her if she thought there even was the thinnest chance the baby was his? This kind of pain hadn't crossed her mind when she invited someone else to their bedroom, so why should he regret any of the ugly aftermath of her infidelity?
"I can't stand being in the same room as you right now," closed the conversation, and he stormed out of the house, replaying every word that had been said.
Should I congratulate you, or are you trying to say I'm gonna be a father?
What?
I'm asking if the baby is mine. I wasn't home, you fucked another guy, I'm asking: is there a chance I should give a fuck about this test?
How dare you? I would never risk getting—
Oh, don't make me laugh...
There were no vases shattered into a million pieces, no glasses smashed against the wall, no bruised knuckles, and no tiny red dots left behind on the light wall.
I can't stand being in the same room as you right now.
And then there was silence.
It filled the luxurious detached house in New Jersey for a couple more days. Awfully long, bitter days when neither reached out. Cathartic silence. Eric had been staying at Zach's until it was time to return to work, and he had to do something about the news. Now the perspective was different, though. Everything was black and white, and there were no greys anymore.
If he wasn't the father he was going to leave Veronica.
**
"You want to do what?!"
Veronica chugged the glass of water she had poured herself to cool her nerves down, hoping she hadn't heard him right. A prenatal paternity test. That's how he perceived her. That's how determined he was to humiliate her and himself, seemingly taking the strangest revenge possible. She should have kept the affair to herself, and he wouldn't have noticed anything, but every time he left the house for long, his presence was like a truth serum. She couldn't stand lying to him when he was so caring, told her that he had missed her all that time. "You're being ridiculous. You're insane! I'm not doing that, you're embarrassing yourself." She snickered, holding onto the empty glass as if it anchored her right then and there. "If someone somehow finds out... What will they think about me? What will they think about you?" She waved her hand dismissively, leaving no room for any protests, but Eric wasn't backing off.
"No, you owe me a fucking paternity test. I deserve to know if the baby is mine, now."
"It is-"
"It is no one's now! If the test proves I'm the father, I will pretend I'd never heard about someone shoving his cock up where it doesn't belong. I will never say a word about how shit a wife you have been; not to you, nor myself, or any-fucking-body." He clenched his jaw in physical pain that looking at her in this uncertainty brought him. "But as soon as I learn those two lines have nothing to do with me, you're leaving my life." With his lips trembling and brows coming together as he focused on not breaking into angry tears, Eric shook his head a little. The sight of Veronica's eyes glistening with his own helplessness and pain nearly broke him.
"That's cruel," she whispered, voice breaking as she swallowed the tears she had been blocking from running down her cheeks. "You're cruel. The baby is yours."
Because you say so? asked his eyes. He had been drowning in the sea of lies he once thought was a life-giving spring. Her words and promises were empty, and so proved the list of things she once claimed were true. Eric had to bite down on his lip and escape her gaze, look away so he didn't succumb to the same kind of mercy he had been falling for for years.
"No one wants this test to support your words more than I do."
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//Rome, May 12 2026; a video posted on an Italian celebs & gossip website.
The video shows Eric Sanders leaving the hotel where he's staying. He's approached by the paparazzi; a couple of greetings can be heard in the background, but first, he stops to sign a few photos for the fans. The camera follows the actor to the car that's waiting for him.
Signore, si sta godendo il suo soggiorno a Roma?
"Sì, certo; ci sono già stato un paio di volte ed è sempre fantastico. Ma ora, essendo il nuovo Bond e tutto il resto… Come si fa a superare un'esperienza del genere, vero?" Eric holds out his hand to be pinched, and they all laugh. "Sono davvero qui, vero? Mi dia un pizzicotto?"
Sì, ci sei, ci sei…! Questo fine settimana è volato negli Stati Uniti: è vero che lei e Autumn Manchester non state più insieme?
He tries to make light of the situation; the smile on his face is something between the last warning and a genuine, joking expression. "Stiamo benissimo, sia insieme che separati."
La tua stazione radio locale—
"Ottima musica, pessime capacità di verifica dei fatti."
Aspen Reynolds è a Roma. È il vostro primo giorno insieme sul set?
"Sì, augurateci buona fortuna, o qualcosa del genere?!" He laughs, ready to get into the car, but waits to make sure they have asked all their questions.
Certo, in bocca al lupo! Un'ultima domanda, signore. Come si sente nei panni di James Bond in Italia?
"Fucking awesome." They all laugh. "Fucking awesome... È allo stesso tempo facilissimo e impossibile trovare quel 007 che c'è in me, e in una città come Roma, la città che conosco e amo, una città così affascinante, è come una pacca sulla spalla, capisci. Ce la puoi fare."
The video ends here, with a few Grazie! in the background as Eric climbs into the car.
//ENG version put under a read more bc it fucks up the aesthetic
The video shows Eric Sanders leaving the hotel where he's staying. He's approached by the paparazzi; a couple of greetings can be heard in the background, but first, he stops to sign a few photos for the fans. The camera follows the actor to the car that's waiting for him.
Sir, are you enjoying your stay in Rome?
"Yes, of course; I’ve been here a couple of times before, and it’s always fantastic. But now, being the new Bond and all that… How do you top an experience like that, right?" Eric holds out his hand to be pinched, and they all laugh. "I’m really here, aren’t I? Pinch me?"
Yeah, you’re here, you’re here…! You flew to the States this weekend: is it true that you and Autumn Manchester aren’t together anymore?
He tries to make light of the situation; the smile on his face is somewhere between a final warning and a genuine, joking expression. "We’re doing great, together and on our own."
Your local radio station—
"Good music, terrible fact-checking skills."
Aspen Reynolds is in Rome. Is this your first day together on set?
"Yeah, wish us good luck, or something?!" He laughs, ready to get into the car, but waits to make sure they have asked all their questions.
Of course, good luck! One last question, sir. How does it feel to be James Bond in Italy?
"Fucking awesome." They all laugh. "Fucking awesome... It’s both incredibly easy and impossible to find that 007 inside me, and in a city like Rome—the city I know and love, such a fascinating city—it’s like a pat on the back, you know. You can do it."
The video ends here, with a few Grazie! in the background as Eric climbs into the car.
//Port Carroll, Eric’s house. Before flying to Rome.
tw: alcohol abuse, addiction, vomiting, just gross
It never started with a set goal, a plan, or a horrible form of therapy that he had figured out worked for him. It always started with the first shot and ended with whichever happened first: he ran out of booze, or Zach came to the rescue.
With Zach on the opposite coast, too far to intervene, it was safe to assume that this night, Eric would end it with the former. Most things about his unhealthy coping mechanism (an euphemism for substance abuse) were predictable, repetitive, so it was a novelty that this time, it had been his plan all along. He had a set goal: he wanted to numb himself with alcohol. Get plastered, hammered, wasted. He didn't just lose count, or enjoyed the buzz a little too much, too hastily... He knew the enemy well, and he sent it after himself.
As a punishment? An escape? He wasn't so sure anymore; he hadn't been in a situation like this before. Maybe he just needed to disappear for a moment, or see how things ended when his brother wasn't there to come and save him from devastating his body and mind with liquor.
No wonder Eric only got mad when the amount that usually gave him double vision didn't phase his nervous system at all. Today, even his poison betrayed him. The only buzz filling his skull was the thoughts he wanted to get rid of. They started stinging painfully, and brought him to stifled sobs; he wanted them OUT, so he poured himself another glass and took a hearty drink that he nearly choked on. God fucking dammit, that morphed into an angry cry mixed with coughing and then crying some more, like a green light for losing it completely.
Get it out of the system, Sanders! Tomorrow, you will be so hungover that you will thank yourself for leaving water and some painkillers in the three spots you assume you might pass out. You probably won't eat anything except the soup Olivia would bring you, and then you'll pack your bags so you can leave this town earlier than the director asked. Not to escape anything or anyone, though. You just want to meet Vivienne, who's in Italy with her Mom, even though Veronica is the last person you wanna see. She's been invaluable in helping you master this kind of intoxicated escape, well, no shifting the blame for that, but fuck her too... But tonight... Tonight it's just you and a few months' worth of booze you might've never consumed had the things gone a different direction.
It made him nauseous – the amount of liquids in his stomach with no expected result that only added to the torture. Torsions had taken him straight to the only place that didn't have any emergency painkillers when it should have been counted as an impromptu bedroom. As he hung over the toilet, wiping the corners of his mouth and making sure he was done with the reversed process of chugging drinks, it still didn't mean that he was done drinking. Rather than interpreting this correctly, as a sign that it was time to go to bed, Eric was faster to return to his spot on the couch in the living room and apologize to the bottle for leaving it without company for a few minutes. It had his attention back now. It was all going to get better with another refill because this time, he also bribed his stomach with a banana.
Calm the fuck down, let me pass out in peace.
He had never missed anyone so badly, someone who was so close, and instead, he only had to make sure they wouldn't bump into each other. It was the most unjust breakup he had gone through, and he couldn't plead guilty even though he apologized with genuine sorrow.
He had never feared so much that he could lose a friend when everything had started going so well for them. A clean slate. Pure intentions. They finally knew what they wanted.
He missed Autumn. How could he fuck up their first confession of love? How could he let her down so much? How could he allow his friend to start her new life with a burden? How could he betray Vivienne like that? How could Autumn just dump him like some piece of ass? How could Lilith assume that the only way to ask him for a favor or help was seduction? How could his housekeeper just "tell him" that she had found a fucking positive test that could have been anyone other than Auttie's? How could Lilith keep that from him? How could the universe punish him with the only thing he had ever been so certain he had wanted in his life? How could he let a chance to be a respected artist like his father, or grandfather, slip and waste it like that...
Whichever was more embarrassing... That he had achieved his questionable goal of getting blackout drunk, or how he found out; woken up with sudden nausea, on the floor and in his own puke, before he inevitably added some more to the generous, watery puddle. He was lucky to have fallen asleep on his side, hair and cheek stuck to the gross banana-whiskey smoothie, and he barely managed to push himself upright. Staying in this position was impossible. Oh God... The voice of his savior only added to the humiliation – there was someone to witness this downfall. A sound of high heels rushing across the room and of someone else locking the door behind them. Familiar perfume enveloped Eric as they approached him. His eyes watered in an instant, and so did the woman's hovering above him. She was gentle as she tried to help him up, and yet, the commotion was overwhelmingly loud, and now he felt like his head could explode any second.
"Oh fuck...!" He cried, realizing that lying in his vomit wasn't the most humiliating thing he had done without even realizing it when he was blackout drunk. His parents had never seen what Zach had witnessed while protecting his brother from becoming another front-page scandal, and even then, it never got this bad. Wet and disgusting, he sat up on the floor as his mother kneeled down beside him, and despite all that, pulled him into a tight embrace. Then he imagined what picture his parents had stepped into. Only now did he realize that their first impression must have been something even worse than this, than Eric passed out on the floor... The worst part to wrap his mind around, however, was how close to being right they could have been, a single unfortunate roll onto his back away from making the worst-case scenario true. He wrapped his arms around Anne, sobbing uncontrollably, as she wept into his clean shoulder, holding her very alive son, which kept him from falling apart.
Despite voicing his concerns and better judgment, the man lets the petite brunette inside his house. She's handed a towel and a cup of freshly brewed tea with dried fruit, so it's easier to forget the nasty weather she had to face to get here. She's trembling, mostly because of the emotions bubbling inside her, with her fingers wrapped around the cup so tightly that one could think that her life depended on every sip. They sit in silence, unaware of someone watching them through the window, but that doesn't mean there is nothing that should be said. The words start flowing.
The air feels thick and heavy; it takes eons before one of them speaks, and that's when the woman decides that she would rather be back outside, facing the downpour rather than listen to him. He doesn't say anything she wants to hear, yet she can tell that the words feel strange in his mouth, like they don't belong there. They're not his words. They're all empty phrases, and his heart feels different, so she leaves the cup and the towel behind to walk over and listen to it instead.
He tries to stop her. There is no way he can keep up this facade if she comes any closer, so, for the love of God, can she please understand that what they're doing is wrong? Everyone is going to know, he's going to lose everything he has. She's his student; he's supposed to guide her mind, not body. He might- He will lose his job. Her parents are going to disown her for choosing him. Out of all the guys who are crushing on her? Really? He can see how they look at her in classes, in the hallways.
Why does it have to be him?!
In the depths of his mind, the last clear thought he has in that moment is "And why does it have to be you?" because he knows the feeling is mutual and she's the forbidden fruit he shouldn't have ever dreamed about reaching for.
"They're all going to kill us, if-."
"Shh. Don't say anything. Just fuck me like you promised after the exam when I caught you staring," she breathes.
His dark eyes stay on hers as his jaw clenches, he swallows hard… And surrenders.
The person outside the house stays still and sees everything that follows.
*
Eric took off the glasses and tossed them onto the nearby table, where they joined the forgotten cup of tea and some book he would have probably finished but for the interruption. In a passionate embrace, the couple barely reached the couch, paying little attention to their surroundings as their kisses grew more desperate. The furniture looked cozy yet turned out only a little bit more comfortable than the floor; neither seemed to mind, though. His hands reached straight to the girl's back to unzip the flowery dress – the damp fabric that stuck to her skin made her lover jealous of every weave. His eyes showed that he would melt into her skin like that, too, if he only could. He muttered a compliment into her neck right before placing a hungry kiss there. It made a moan escape her lips, so he risked another one. Now her back pressed hard against the couch while he hurriedly exposed her breasts, and Eric was about to pull away just enough to admire her beauty, when a surprisingly loud clap startled them both.
"What the fuck is what?" Sanders arched a brow, unsure what was wrong, but the guy just pointed to the brunette on the couch and shrugged helplessly.
"No! What the fuck is that?!" Talk about mood killers. "Cut!"
Eric repositioned himself just enough to give his partner some privacy before she covered up as they both turned to the man who stopped them so violently.
"She's too fat for this angle; we need a different one. I've been thinking about fixing this problem for a while now, but this… This is unacceptable." The man went on and on, but none of what followed his initial complaint reached Eric's ears. He looked at the actress just as shocked and indignant as she was. That's also when he noticed her eyes started to water as she wriggled in a rush to free herself from beneath him so she could disappear from the set, now. Eric didn't try to stop her, for there was little he could do to shield her from the director's rude comments that had already been made. According to whispers that reached the cast and crew's ears throughout filming, it wasn't the first time this man had made the young, promising actress cry, and she wasn't the only one to experience it either. Even though Eric only joined the show for a guest appearance, he had already heard and observed enough. This guy couldn't be easy to work with. "Yeah, sure, because we've got time for this drama…" The director turned to another crew member, absolutely unfazed by the girl's sobs as they marked her way to her trailer.
"Sally!" Eric wasn't really meaning to stop her, and he definitely couldn't blame her for not wanting to spend a second longer in that man's presence. He stood up, fixing his shirt. "Wow, you're a fucking dick, man. She's in her twenties, she's just starting. And she's not fat, no matter the angle, she's stunning; don't you dare comment on her body like that…!"
"Excuse me?"
"I've joined this project, I'm not gonna pretend I don't see it when you treat like shit the people working on it."
"Careful, Sanders. It's your last week on the set, and I can't replace you, but I can and will make sure everyone knows how difficult you are to work with." He smirked. "The only reason this show has been so successful is that I pay attention to details, even when others are too soft to point out mistakes." With a dramatic sigh that expressed how tired he was of explaining such trivial things to people who would understand that better than anyone else, he continued. "There's real desire in your eyes, emotions I couldn't squeeze out of other actors who had auditioned, but all the viewers will see are those… thighs! Your talent and hard work are going to waste; we need a different angle." Now he even turned around to someone else and muttered something about planning some shots earlier, or Sally would ruin more of the episodes she's in. "Now go and talk to her; the clock is ticking, the money's running. We don't have time for anyone's insecurities to kick in, and maybe we can adjust the lighting just so she doesn't look like a seal sunbathing on the beach."
Eric licked his teeth, fighting with his anger to keep it from spilling outside his form, or else he would let this man get away with being a monumental asshole, ruining his own reputation in the process, but god, did he deserve a punch to the face.
So that's why so many people warned him about this project and why a few actresses had unexpectedly left the show. There had to be a way to teach him a lesson… And that's when he thought that not everything had to be fist-to-the-face straightforward. Didn't Nirvana fuck up their own concert when the crowd disrespected the opening band? If time and money were the language this dick spoke, Eric sure knew how to form a pretty clear, straightforward sentence.
"I'll see what I can do," he said flatly, leaving the set.
Sally's trailer wasn't the only one he was going to stop at; however, for now, it was fitting that the director thought so, confident in his victory. Eric earned the time necessary to become a leader of the Resistance, convincing every upset crew member to sabotage their scenes by performing poorly, forgetting lines, and missing their marks. Soon, the majority of the cast and crew would know what he was up to and what they should do to join him, eager to teach that nasty old prick a lesson.
If manners didn't make him apologize to Sally Drisdale, then the budget would.
