Scripted to Be

Chapter Twenty-Three: Interrogation Protocol

POV: Lauren

She should've known the moment she stepped out of her car and saw three people casually loitering near the trailers that it wasn't going to be a normal day.

"Look who's alive," Norman called from the steps of his trailer, taking a dramatic drag of a prop cigarette he didn't even light.

"Barely," added Christian from a camping chair she absolutely didn't belong to.

Danai appeared from inside craft services like she'd been summoned. "Do we have clearance from the CDC this time?"

Lauren sighed, backpack slung over one shoulder, sunglasses on despite the cloudy sky, and a coffee in her hand that Steven had handed her with a kiss on the cheek before disappearing to wardrobe.

"I'm fine," she said. "For the record. No fever. No stabbing stomach pain. No sudden collapses in the ER. Just... healed."

"You say that," Christian muttered, taking a loud sip of her iced tea, "but so did Glenn right before he ran into a revolving door and got shot."

"That wasn't even me—!"

"It's the energy, babe," Christian added with a wink.

Lauren shook her head, brushing past them, but they weren't done.

Danai followed, arms crossed. "We've already agreed: if you pass out again, we're not fighting over you. We're drawing straws."

"And if Steven wins, we riot," Norman added.

"Steven's not participating," Danai said calmly. "He's banned. He moves in instead of visiting. You give him thirty seconds and he's reorganizing her spice rack."

"Okay, I'm done with this conversation," Lauren laughed, halfway to her trailer. "Thank you for the warm welcome. I'll remember this when I'm famous and leave you all behind."

"You say that every time you get a fever," Christian called out. "But you always come crawling back!"

⸻

The jokes didn't stop.

On set, Scott did a dramatic double take when he saw her.

"You sure you're not a ghost?" he said. "You're glowing. Like... haunted-house glowing."

"Scott," she groaned.

He held up his hands. "Just saying. We all agreed if you showed up too healthy, it meant you were dead and haunting Steven."

"Guess I should've skipped the concealer."

"No, no. The concealer's good. Just... you're gonna have to prove you're real. Walk a straight line or something."

Steven, passing behind them in full costume, didn't help.

"She's real. She just threatened to bite me if I didn't give her the hotter coffee."

"You offered the cold one first!"

He smirked. "Exactly. A ghost would've politely sipped it and vanished."

Lauren stared at him. "Why do I like you?"

"You're sick in the head," Steven said, without missing a beat.

⸻

The teasing was relentless all morning.

Even Andy, usually the emotionally balanced one, came up behind her at a break and whispered, "Just blink twice if you're only here to say goodbye before you ascend."

"I swear to God," she said, stuffing a protein bar in her mouth.

But underneath it all—beneath the sarcasm and dramatic sighs and fake clipboard check-ins—was a thread of love she didn't miss.

They weren't annoying her because they doubted she'd recover.

They were annoying her because they missed her.

Because they'd worried.

And as frustrating as it was, it felt good to be back. To be teased. To be seen.

She made it through her scenes without falling over, vomiting, or snapping at anyone. She even nailed a stunt sequence without flinching, prompting a round of sarcastic applause from the crew.

Steven, of course, showed up mid-afternoon with a Tupperware container of soup.

"You realize there's a cafeteria here," she said, taking the spoon.

He shrugged. "Yeah, but there's not my soup."

"Are you trying to make me fall in love with you?"

"Trying?" he said, eyebrow raised. "That's adorable."

She grinned, dipping the spoon into the soup. "Steven?"

"Yeah?"

"I am better this time."

He looked at her quietly, then leaned in and kissed her temple.

"I know," he said. "But you still don't get to carry anything heavier than a hairbrush. That's an order."

They should've known better.

It was a break between takes, one of those short windows where the cast scattered for snacks, bathroom runs, or just five minutes of sitting somewhere that didn't smell like dirt and blood. Lauren had barely made it three steps from set before Steven grabbed her hand.

"Where are we going?" she asked, trying not to smile.

He glanced around like he was planning a heist. "To my trailer. You're looking way too good in that Maggie outfit and it's actually rude."

"Steven—"

But he didn't give her time to argue. He dragged her, laughing, toward his trailer and slipped inside, closing the door behind them with a quick click.

The moment it latched, he had her against it, kissing her before she could even process.

"Steven," she managed, breathless, "people are gonna hear us—"

"No one cares," he muttered against her throat, "and you keep saying that like it's gonna stop me."

She tried to push him back but melted when his lips found that spot behind her ear. Her body betrayed her with a sharp, unfiltered sound—a gasp so loud even she blushed.

Steven pulled back just long enough to grin. "There it is."

"Shut up," she whispered.

"Make me."

And then his hand slid between her thighs, still over her jeans but slow and deliberate. Her head tipped back.

"You're gonna kill me," she said, clutching his shirt.

"I'll give you a proper funeral," he whispered.

Right then—like a scene scripted by karma itself—the trailer door slammed open.

"NOPE," Norman announced, not even looking before throwing a hand in front of his eyes. "No, no, no! I don't even want to know what part I walked into, but I'm filing a report."

Steven froze.

Lauren squeaked and shoved him back, hiding behind a coat rack.

"For the record," Norman continued, "from now on, trailer doors STAY OPEN. That's a new rule. A cast safety protocol. Like helmets, but for innocent eyes."

Steven tried—and failed—to hold in a laugh.

"I hate everything," Lauren muttered.

"Not everything," Steven said, grinning, zipping up his jacket. "Just timing."

"Trailers have thin walls!" Norman called as he shut the door behind him again. "And I hear everything!"

Lauren groaned and dropped her forehead against Steven's shoulder.

"Think we'll survive this production?" she mumbled.

Steven kissed the top of her head. "Honestly? Not a chance."