Not Your Type (Chris Pine FanFic)

Late Night Phone Calls

At almost four o'clock in the morning, the bed never looked so comfortable. Chelsea didn't even change out of her work clothes, she simply kicked her shoes off and crawled under the covers. Though she had attempted napping earlier, she hadn't really slept since the day before. It was a matter of seconds before she was in a deep sleep. This was a deep, wrinkles in your skin from laying so heavily on the pillowcase, no dreaming kind of sleep. The sleep was reminiscent of Nyquil or jet-lag.

Four o'clock in the morning was noon in London. Chris had finished three rounds of questions at the press junket. Various journalists had rotated through the small room asking the same questions over and over again. Though it was tedious, he realized life could be a lot worse. This promotional tour was different that the major ones he had been on for Star Trek. On those tours he was always in a room with Zachary. They did well together, whether it was the hilarity with which they answered the questions directed at the other or the vocabulary battles they participated it they always did well together. All in all press was more enjoyable with co-stars. Yet, on this one he was alone.

"Lunch." A Disney PR employee traveling with them stuck his head in and informed Chris. He stretched and sighed. Downstairs in the restaurant of the hotel a large table was sat for the entire crew. Several were already there and already eating the first course. Chris hesitated at the door.

"Are you coming?" The older woman co-star called, the one who had suggested he discuss writing a screenplay about Chelsea's life.

Stepping into the hall, he replied, "In a moment, I need to make a call." Chris walked down the corridor and outside. The air was painfully brisk. He pulled his jacket tighter and slid the lower half of his face under a scarf. He walked about half of the block to a small coffee shop he'd noticed the night before. The door opened with a happy bell. A line weaved across the space. Chris didn't want coffee, he just didn't want anyone listening in on his phone conversation. Spotting a table with a single chair in the far corner of the room, he maneuvered through the crowd and sat.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and sat it directly in front of him. Touching it his lock screen lit up. A goofy picture, like one from an old photo booth, of Chelsea and Chris illuminated. His mouth was wide open and his eyes wild. Chelsea's eyes were crossed and her tongue protruded out of the side of her mouth. He stared at it a moment. They had been on a date at the Santa Monica Pier. He really hadn't wanted to on that date, so many tourists. Chelsea was adamant, talking about much fun silly carnivals were. She was a sucker for tourist traps, she told him. It was one of the reasons she loved Disney. And she had been right. They had a lot of fun. The photo booth photo on the phone came about because the line for the real photo booth had been too long. They leaned against the railing on the pier and took four photos in a row.

Chris keyed in his pass-code and went to his contacts. He didn't stop to think about what time it was in Los Angeles, he found her name and called.

The sound of the phone ringing startled Chelsea out of the deep sleep. Late night phonecalls were always terrifying, they almost always meant the worst. Adrenaline surged through her veins, increasing her heart-rate and causing her to answer the phone almost breathlessly, "Hello?! Is everything ok?"

It was obvious he had woken her up. Chris pulled the phone from his ear and glanced at the time. 12:30. That meant it was 4:30 am in Los Angeles.

"Hello?" She repeated. Chris waited for her to look at her own phone to see that it was him. He heard movement and waited for her to say his name.

Chelsea looked at the phone. It was an unknown number, it was strange she'd never seen anything like what her phone was telling her. Was it blocked? A weird strand of numbers appeared with the word "unknown" on top.

"Hello? Who is this?" She could hear sound in the background. Behind Chris the barista called out someone's coffee order, Chelsea clearly heard it. She looked at the clock, 4:31 am. What coffee shop was open at this time of the morning?

Chris didn't know what to say. After Walt had appeared the night before he knew he needed to talk to Chelsea, he'd sat in front of his phone for a good hour trying to make the call but he couldn't do it. Seeing his co-star had spurred all of those intense feelings again, he'd marched away to call but now here he sat and he couldn't formulate a sentence.

"Hello?" Chelsea said, softer. Her mind raced, but her pulse calmed. She looked at the screen again, it still didn't say anything but she secretly hoped she knew who it was. It would be around lunch time in England. Maybe, just maybe, "Chris?" She whispered.

His name, softly making its way from her lips across the ocean to his ear was magnificent. He closed his eyes, willing her to say it again.

"Please say something." Her voice was soft, but strong. She wanted to hear from him so much it hurt.

A knot grew in his throat.

"Who am I kidding?" Chelsea mumbled, flopping back down on to her pillow. Chelsea took a deep breath and readied herself to hangup.

The barista, in a thick English accent, called out a tea order with a scone. Chelsea heard the accent. Chris eyed the loud barista angrily, why did he have to yell? The place wasn't that large. Chelsea could tell that was a British accent, no matter how muffled it was. She felt slightly thrilled, it really could be Chris. But then she felt annoyed, it was why wasn't he talking?

"Chris, I don't understand. I don't know what was real and what wasn't. Just so you know, everything felt very real." Chelsea paused, the words agonizing, "Painfully real," she muttered.

Chris squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself not to cry in a random coffee shop in England.

"The worst part is, you could've just asked."

He couldn't fight it anymore, he covered his eyes with his free hand and felt the warm tears against his palm.

"All you had to do was ask." She whispered.

Chelsea could still hear the coffee shop sounds in the background. She didn't know what else to say. Telling him she missed him or loved him all seemed pointless now. So she ended the call.

"I'm sorry," Chris said at the same moment that his phone beeped to indicate the call had been disconnected. In disbelief, he looked at his phone. "I'm so sorry. It was all real, so real."