Disclaimer: I own nothing in relation to the show SMASH, nor do I claim any rights.
Author's Note: While I can't imagine this plotbunny not have been taken advantage of, I'm attempting to not spoil myself for the rest of the series so I haven't looked into this claim. Many apologies if this has been done to death or you've had your own take!
The music rains down as a singular muffled strain from the stage above. The audience's enthrallment rumbles through the open door past the orchestration. It drums in her head like a constant hammer to her subconscious releasing the thoughts she had vowed to bury away. Her long sought remedy was gone. Washed away by stupid mistakes and misplaced ambitions.
Marilyn wasn't just a role. It was Ivy's stance. It was her laughter in the face of all of those who would dote on her recitals in her youth only to pat her on the shoulder and fawn over her flamboyant mother who would swoop in under a mask of motherly pride. It was the reason she had turned her heart cold and her ears off to push down, scrape, and all but beg for every advancement regardless of whom she might claw on her war path. It was a way to turn the heads of every casting director who looked at her, blinked, and tossed her into the chorus. It was a thank you to Tom, who had seen through all of it and gave her a boost when she was stalling. At the moment it was a giant 'screw you' to a director that she had only meant to use as a playing piece. It was her territory.
But now, she was nothing. Ivy was back to being one in a thousand faces that pushed through the streets of New York City. The failure her mother always implied she'd be. Oh how she had hung her hopes on a woman who had gone from bursting to giving a twitch of a smile and heading back to Connecticut! Not that she had expected differently. Ivy knew what she was working with despite any touching speech that might have been given in a moment of self pity.
Ivy was old news to the scene. She was a rising star that fizzled out in the shadow of a fresh, new, face. Envy burned in Ivy's stomach. Karen didn't see how lucky she had it, did she? She was everything everyone wanted, even if they couldn't justify utilizing her for the longest time. She had a sweet passion that no one who mattered disliked, outweighing those of ambition who were framed with harsh angles.
Karen had a boyfriend most girls could only dream of—and fuck her, Ivy even felt guilty for what she had done. It pained Ivy to admit it, but Karen had even gotten to her. If it hadn't been for this show…Ivy wasn't so sure their relationship would be quite as it is.
Relationships. Ivy's head sank to her hand. She had slept with Dev. But at least she suffered for her transgression. They realized their mistake. But Karen…she didn't even see it.
She couldn't see how Derek looked at her. How of all the women in the room—maybe the world—maybe she could be the one to knock him out of his playboy ways. She lit up his mind, his eyes, unlike anything Ivy had been able to do no matter her insights at his most frustrated times. She may have had sex with Karen's partner, but Karen had been having an affair with hers since before the relationship began. The difference was, neither of them knew it.
Damn him. Derek damn fucking Wills. He wasn't supposed to matter. She wasn't supposed to fall in love. What a disgusting cliche. She knew the creature he was. She knew through the long vine what kind of man he was. She knew it would happen. Granted, she had expected it to be with her replacement. Not some starlit. She had thought maybe he had changed. Oh she couldn't have been more wrong.
In a twisted way she had appreciated his honesty so far. He was a brilliant director. Becoming the lead, fighting for it, would make no one doubt that she had won it despite sleeping with a member of the creative staff. Derek didn't show favoritism when it came down to the wire. But this…this went so far beyond that. Because she didn't have what it took. She didn't have the same spark Karen did. The words came from his own lips. They attached hooks into her shoulders, pulling her posture down.
What hurt more than the words, more than anything really, was that he was right. If Ivy didn't see it, if she could just be mad, she could make it through this. She wasn't, of all things, mad. Not at a false statement, an excuse, at least. Karen had magnetism. She didn't have the drive to survive on her own in this world yet. She hadn't raised her shield. But her heart was undeniable whenever she started to sing.
Derek. Was. Right.
Ivy looked down at the bottle in her hand. It was nearly negligible in weight. In her palm it felt like a brick. The music swelled above her. She should be backstage. She had one more shadow piece left. Sue could handle it. Tech would be told she wasn't backstage. They'd just switch the order of delivery. Derek would kill her later for this. She snorted, a sound unbecoming. Even now he was criticizing her. Not this time. This time they—her mother, the theatre community, the show, Karen, Derek—they didn't get a say. She was tired of them. She was sick of her own heart being smothered.
Stabbing her lower lip with her teeth she pressed down on the cap. In one hand she poured the contents of her fresh prescription. Little oval capsules shimmered in the mirror lights like diamonds. They had given her one sort a comfort before. Her eyes flickered to the second bottle. She had been Marilyn, hadn't she? Her eyes met the photomontage around the frame of glass. Marilyn had understood. Fame wasn't the picture everyone painted. It wasn't something you fell into. Maybe she had it right.
Or maybe this was Ivy's final chance to prove to them that she truly was the woman they had all been looking for. Well screw them all. They should have known better. They should have seen it. Gripping the bottle cap with her teeth she pressed down and in twisted off the second cap, pouring the contents in with the others. Ivy marched over to the reopening night champagne she knew Bobby had stored.
They could celebrate this.
She whispered a singular apology. To Tom.
"Where the HELL is Ivy?" Derek hissed at the stage manager. They had barely evaded disaster when no one saw her. His blood boiled. This was it. They had bled to get this show out in one piece. And one foolish heart broken chorus girl had almost delivered an ending destroying blow. He would not put up with this. She was supposed to be a professional. His anger fueled his steps as he made his way through the cheers, scanning for any sign of her.
The joy came crashing to the ground when a screech emanated from the dressing room. It was pure terror. Something tickled at the back of his mind beyond the initial alarm. Something akin to dread. Somehow, though he couldn't say why, the scratching at his stomach told him what had happened even before his feet found him pushing through the gathering crowd.
Jessica was trembling, trying desperately to dial three simple numbers on her cell. He could hear Bobby behind her, snatching the device away from her and making the call to himself. The sounds around him filtered out like a bad audio mix along with the air from his lungs. His chest was compressed to breaking.
Ivy lay on the ground. A trail of makeup and broken glass decorated her decent. It had rained behind her, speckles on her costume, as she lay sprawled in a pool of shattered glass and cheap alcohol. Her eyes were closed, her skin whiter than makeup should allow. Loosing function, Derek fell to his knees, fingers outstretching to graze the stray curl that fell over her forehead. She was too still. This wasn't the sleeping face he had learned to know so well.
He was saying something. Demanding they call an ambulance, to get Eileen. His mouth was moving but his mind shut down.
"Ivy. Ivy can you hear me?" His voice was filled with fire even as it broke in its usual confidence. "Ivy."
He leaned in closer. He placed his hand under her nose. No breath. His fingers fell to the pulse point below her jaw. No gentle pump pushed back. His heart thundered through his ears as he gently rolled her into her back. First aide training was a requirement. Something he wasn't groaning at now. He channeled his aggression into compressions, lowering his mouth in proportion as he had been taught.
Ivy. IvyIvyIvy. His inner voice repeated. How could she be so stupid? How could she do something so ridiculous? He was the type of man who scoffed in disgust when he heard stories like this.
He wished for the ruin of those too weak to withstand the things they elected to do. For the first time, he was terrified that it might not just be a case of someone's personal strength. He had placed one of the hands on her throat that had strangled her. Not the only one, but one of them. He had been a part of this. His rational side, the 'right' side would talk to him later. That would be the time for anger. He could scream at her then.
Fuck. Would there be a later?
EMTS came flooding through the door. The theatre district always had them close by for patron's safety during performance and traffic hours. It was a small grace. Derek fell backwards, scuttling out of the way as they lifted her onto the gurney and continued the actions he had initiated.
"Damn it." He hissed.
Standing to his feet he found a gravel that he didn't realize he could tap into. "Listen up. If I see a single tweet, hear even a whisper of this anywhere I swear to all that you believe in that I WILL find out who the hell you are. I assure you I will hunt you down. I will make sure that you never work in this industry again. DO you understand me?" He paused for objection. "And if that isn't enough to satiate your social media fanatical minds, if you think this show can survive one more scandal and that you'll have a job in six months you go right ahead! Self preservation should give you enough dignity!"
The monitors beeped rhythmically. The pump from life support slurped as it expanded. Derek rested his forehead against the window to the room. They had been able to restart her heart and pump her stomach. They were working on flushing out her system. The sleeping aide had been a particular problem in the mixture. There wasn't a timetable for her recovery, or even a promise she'd wake up. They hadn't been able to tell precisely how long her brain had gone without oxygen. He pounded at the window in frustration.
He wasn't family. He wasn't allowed in. Technically, he had to charm his way this far. The information he had now came from Tom, who had acted as a proxy for Ivy's mother. A woman who nearly bit all their heads off.
Karen had accused him of being unfeeling. Of not understanding love.
Oh how wrong she was.
He knew exactly what love felt like. He just spent most of his life running from it. He pulled away and sprinted to safety the moment someone came too close. It wasn't comfort their former movie star Marilyn needed. It was his own fear that drove him to Rebecca's bed. It was the knowledge of what he had said, what Ivy was, and how all of this just didn't settle in with his life. It wasn't a part of his plan.
Derek rejected the emotion because it wasn't easy. He ignored love because, at the end of the day, he knew the nasty things whispered abbot him were true. At least on some level. He was a womanizer. He was harsh. He would look after himself first. He didn't deserve to be loved. He laughed at the irony. The great Derek Wills had finally found his own pathetic weakness. The trouble was, it wasn't him it was killing.
Derek's eyes wandered back to the body in the bed and the machines at her side. She'd remain like that until they were sure her heart and lungs were strong enough from the trauma of the overdose and of the efforts to revive her. Or until she woke up.
"Open your eyes, sweetheart." He whispered with a hint of desperation.
His wish wasn't granted.
Karen had been so very wrong. He knew everything about love. He just didn't want to recognize it. Now, he didn't have a choice.
Now it might be too late.