Starring Role, a smash fanfic

Starring Role

Author: Lilylovett

Rating: T

Summary: Karen wants to simply apologize, but with Ivy, nothing is ever so simple.

Applause could be heard even before the curtain was drawn during the finale, and she is fully alive.

There is a huge celebration with the cast, and Karen Cartwright has never felt less like "Iowa" and more like she is actually a part of this, a part of the company, and more broadly, a representative of New York. Everyone is letting themselves go, getting drunker by the minute, because they have the realization that they haven't wasted their time and low wage on this arduous process of putting together a musical. The risk in every project is evident, but Bombshell was full of promise that surpassed every convoluted threat against its success.

The tiny, unsuspecting bar is full of slurred, but still on-pitch singing by the end of the night, and Karen is happy, but can't help but feel as if something is missing. Someone. Ivy Lynn. The thought surprises her, because aren't they supposed to be proclaimed enemies? And they are, but it doe not stop Karen from having this inkling of desire to make peace. Everything about Ivy is this dramatic, dark mess that Karen sees wrapped up in a perfectly manicured diva; it's so frustrating, but attractive.

From the beginning, Karen has wanted to understand Ivy, to be trusted enough to see her vulnerable side. She offered the other girl friendship multiple times, only to be returned with heated animosity. And Karen still resents Ivy for sleeping with Dev, maybe always will, but it was before Ivy that the inkling of doubt had existed. Dev was intelligent, handsome, successful—safe—and though Karen had always felt like safe was the optimal choice, Bombshell had taught her that risks could be worth taking. In some ways, Ivy's impassioned competition taught Karen more about herself than Dev ever did.

People are hooking up around her, flirting, and Karen is lost in thought about Ivy. It gives her an idea.

Hastily, she manages to find Tom and he lets her know that Ivy is probably okay, and definitely went back to her hotel room quite a while ago during the show. Karen is not sure why her brain is suddenly so insistent on finding Ivy and probably apologizing (even though it should probably the reverse), but for once in her life, Karen does not question herself—she runs with it.

The night air is cold Boston isn't quite as magical as New York, but it's still beautifully frigid. Karen sobers up enough to find her way to Ivy's room, but not enough to turn back.

"Ivy?" Karen knocks a third time, unaware of the hour. "You there? Look, I know this is uncalled for, but I just wanted to apologize. It's all that I could think of, please, I won't waste more than minute of your time." Karen turns to leave when the door is abruptly swung open, and standing before her is Ivy Lynn in her inebriated glory.

"What the fuck...do you?" Ivy trails off, and their faces are so close its almost burning Karen's insides, because she sees a desperately broken girl before her.

Her make-up is running and its not just alcohol, Karen quickly realizes. Now Ivy is stumbling trying to stand, slurring some incoherent slew of profanity or maybe confession for all that she knows—but Karen is suddenly wide awake as Ivy nearly collapses into her arms. That's when she sees into the hotel room: a tiny, abandoned pill bottle on the floor along with a shattered wine bottle that was, evidently, mostly empty.

The urgency of the moment seems to speed up time after that. Karen is ushering Ivy (the barely conscious, apparently suicidal Ivy) back into her apartment, guiding her to the bathroom, avoiding glass shards at all costs. With a gentle tone, Karen is murmuring that Ivy has to wake up. At first, she starts nicely with: "please, open your eyes." Then the more urgent, "it's important you wake up." And then with a more violent shake, "Damn it, Ivy!"

Karen, unfortunately, has experience with this part. When Ivy's finally got her eyes open, head bent over the toilet, she gathers the beautiful blonde locks in her hands, out of the way.

"I don't know what you took, but you're going to have to throw it back up."

Ivy is still half-delirious, but she starts to heave now that she realizes where she is. In a hope of calming her nerves, Karen starts to rub Ivy's back. Somehow this motion is calming to both women sharing the tiny space, and they make it through the next hour. Most of the contents of Ivy's stomach are relieved, and while Karen was usually nauseous herself by this point in college, at present, she has never felt more assuaged; Ivy will be okay, and that is all that matters.

It isn't as awkward as it should be when even the simple task of putting tooth paste on the brush is Karen's job. She stumbles through Ivy's make-up bag on the counter, to find these items, swiping two prescription bottles she also finds there. Ivy looks exhausted now, her eyelids seem heavy, but she's alert enough to brush her teeth, albeit still sitting on the floor. The tile is reflective and the bathroom is almost too bright for Karen, she can't imagine how Ivy must feel.

A mutual silence passes over them in their domesticity, and maybe that's for the better. Karen is helping Ivy up and into her bed. Quickly, she finds sleeping wear among Ivy's open luggage and is stripping the other girl. Ivy's demeanor on a normal day is erect, poised posture, and full of confidence; tonight she seems so fragile, haunched over. The image is disconcerting, and Karen is glad when she is finally able to get Ivy settled under her massive comforter.

Sitting on the opposite side of the bed lightly, Karen picks up the phone and promptly asks if it's "possible to borrow a broom and dust pan; a bottle broke, no we're not still drunk." She is about to go down to the check-in counter when a hand grabs her arm and Karen almost yells at this, because she had assumed Ivy was passed out. Instead, she makes a noise in between a gasp and a swallow, which the Ivy, still eyes closed and hair splayed about on the pillow, genuinely laughs at. It's not a hollow sarcastic snicker, but a perfect, crisp laugh and that makes Karen smile and laugh, too.

Ivy is so gorgeous like this, without make-up and uninhibited. But when an awkward silence grips the moment, Karen feels her cheeks flush at this thought. They are quiet for long that Karen repositions herself so she's sitting up, her dark curls pressed against the backboard; she's on top of the comforter, Ivy is still tucked beneath it, right beside her. Their body heat emanates, and it is as comfortable as two enemies could be.

"Why do you do this?" Ivy starts, "No one is your audience here for you to prove that you're the better person; I know that I am selfish..to a fault even. But you won't admit that you're just as ruthless as I am. Your precious doe eyes might suggest otherwise, but I see through that."

"I'm sorry for saving your life," Karen grins, because she knows she'll only piss off the other girl.

When Ivy proceeds to slap her on the cheek, Karen is only grinning wider. The visible anger is the most emotion that Ivy has expressed all evening, and well, it's a relief that she's returning to her usual dramatic self. Antics and all, Karen prefers this vivacious, diva aspect of her to the utterly broken Ivy.

"So maybe a bottle of sleeping pills was a little too...Marilyn of me," She almost cringes at her reference. "But that's only further proof that Derek is an idiot. Iowa, you're something, alright? You are talented, I don't deny that, I just think 'his gut' isn't good enough reason to choose you to be Marilyn. And why are you fucking smiling like that? Ugh, don't you see, this was all some fluke?!"

"I shouldn't have told the concierge we aren't still drunk. Obviously, one of us is still under the influence," Karen says this in a low tone, chuckling lightly to herself. "It's not like we haven't practically ripped each other to shreds over this. But I'm done playing your game."

In one motion, Karen manages to extract herself from the bed, gathers her purse from the dresser, and is at the doorway. Just over her shoulder, she manages the last word.

"This is my offer of truce. No matter what happens, Ivy, just know that I admire you. Please take better care of yourself. You are stunning, even now." Karen waits for a sarcastic remark, some sort of quip, maybe yelling, but is only met with the sound of the radiator.

"I'll ask them to bring up the broom tomorrow morning," she adds quietly as an after thought.

And then Karen is gone. Ivy feels the weight of her sentiments hang in the air.