Fandom: Saving Mr. Banks (AU)
Description: AU take on the movie, exploring what might have happened if the author of the Mary Poppins books had been someone very different from P. L. Travers. For Carrie Schultz, the chance to collaborate with Walt Disney Studios to bring Mary Poppins from the page to the screen is a dream come true. However, matters grow complicated when animated penguins prove to be a point of contention, a friendly working relationship turns into more than she bargained for, and Carrie struggles to prevent Walt's team from discovering her own hidden afflictions.
Characters: Carolina "Carrie" Schultz (OC), Don DaGradi, Walt Disney, Richard M. Sherman, Robert B. Sherman, Ralph
Rating: T
Genre: Drama/Romance
To Laura, Amber, Brittany, and Dr. Riley: Thank you so much for beta-reading my work and providing constructive feedback. This story would not be what it is without your advice and encouragement.
To my mom: Thank you for always being there for me. Posting my work was a big step, and I am immensely grateful for your loving support.
A/N: Readers, please note that as this story is an AU, the first two chapters will focus entirely on OCs. That being said, if you as a reader are like me and prefer to jump straight to the parts involving canon characters, I will direct you to the middle of Chapter 3 (coming soon), in which my main OC meets Ralph at the airport. Either way, I hope you enjoy the story and, of course, leave reviews! :)
Disclaimer: I do not own Saving Mr. Banks, Mary Poppins, or any of the characters from those two movies.
Chapter 1
I am seated on a bench in the garden with a pencil held idle in my hand and my notebook lying on my lap, my eyes closed and my face turned upward to the summer sky. A smile curves my lips as a soft breeze comes up out of the west to dance through my hair. Somehow this all seems strangely familiar, yet I can't put my finger on why.
The breeze flutters around for half a minute, tickling my ear and stroking my hair, before leaving a parting kiss on my cheek and flying off toward the east. But no, wait—its farewell was only a playful trick; it has now doubled back around to greet me once more . . . only this time, instead of caressing me gently, it bites my nose and pinches my ears, twirling my hair into a tangle as it careens westward. And then, almost as soon as it returns, it is gone.
Strange, I muse. How odd for a steady west wind to suddenly stop like that and return from the east. Wind's in the east . . . I can't help smiling to myself as I gaze up at the clouds, half expecting a certain British nanny to come floating down out of them carrying a carpet-bag and a parasol. But my thoughts are interrupted by a sharp rapping noise.
Knock-knock-knock!
I glance around, perplexed as to the source of the sound until at last I glimpse a woodpecker hammering away at a nearby tree. I watch him with an inexplicable feeling that he doesn't belong here—that I have been here in this exact moment before, and he hasn't.
Knock-knock-knock!
His persistent tapping disturbs me. I wish he would stop.
Knock-knock-knock!
"Shoo!" I cry; but he carries on with his task, unperturbed and undistracted.
Knock-knock-knock!
I shout at him and wave my arms wildly, but he ignores me.
Knock-knock-knock!
The noise is exasperating. I press my hands over my ears, but it remains as loud and clear as ever. Why will he not cease?! Why can I still hear it?! Why is there no escape?!
Knock-knock-knock!
Knock-knock-knock!
Knock-knock-knock . . .
Knock-knock-knock!
I ascended out of dreamland long enough to wonder who was at the door, then promptly decided I was too tired to care. Just as I was drifting back to sleep, my sister burst into my bedroom. "Rise and shine, Carrie!"
"Mmph . . . what's going on?" I mumbled.
She threw the curtains open before coming over to kneel beside my bed. "Today's the day, sis. If you don't get up, you'll miss your plane."
"What plane?"
"You're going to Los Angeles, remember?"
At that moment it all came back to me—my book, Mary Poppins, Disney—and I sat up frantically, throwing the covers off. "Oh my gosh, I forgot! What time is it?!" I pressed my hand to my forehead, partly in panic and partly because the too-swift motion had given me a throbbing headache.
"Shh . . . relax, Carrie. It's only eight o'clock; you have plenty of time. But you need to get up and get ready now."
I nodded. "Okay." I slid forward to the edge of the bed and waited, gathering my strength. My sister watched for several minutes; and finally, when I made no move to stand up, she laid her hand on my back.
"Carrie . . . do you need help?"
"Maybe just a little," I said without meeting her eyes. I hated asking for help to complete such a simple task; yet at that moment I just didn't have the strength in me. Fortunately, she understood; and without another word, she wrapped her arm around my waist and supported me as I dragged myself to my feet. "Thank you," I whispered.
"What are sisters for?" she replied with a grin that somewhat alleviated my embarrassment.
She stayed there holding me up long enough to let me find my balance. At last I managed to take a few shaky steps over to my dresser and lean against it as I pulled open the door to my closet. She stood there watching me for several moments, and finally she spoke again.
"Are you okay now if I leave the room so you can get changed?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"All right. I'll be out here if you need anything." Just as she was opening the door to go out, she paused and turned back to me. "Carrie . . . are you sure you still want to do this? Because you know in Los Angeles I won't be there to help you out of bed."
Part of me resented her for saying that. I'm not an invalid yet! I wanted to scream. But deep down, I knew she was right. I sighed deeply. "I'll make it somehow. I have to do this, Sam. Otherwise I'll never get the chance. Anyway, it's just the first few minutes of the day that are always the hardest; once I get going, it's not so bad."
She nodded. "Yeah, okay. I'm going to head downstairs and make breakfast." But once again she paused and looked at me with soulful eyes. "I love you, sis."
"Love you too," I replied, trying and failing to muster a carefree smile. I turned away lest she see the tears in my eyes; and behind me I heard the door close as she exited, leaving me alone. Drawing a shaky breath, I chose a dress from the closet and changed out of my nightgown, noticing with dismay that my body was going through the motions a little more slowly than yesterday or the day before.
As I slipped my dress on over my head, I could hear the clanking of pots and pans down in the kitchen as Sam cooked. The noise made something tickle at the edge of my mind—clanking . . . banging . . . knocking. The woodpecker. The dream.
That dream—it haunted me at least three times a week. I couldn't escape. The sequence was always the same . . . except this time it had been interrupted by that blasted bird, which I now realized had sprung up as a dream-world manifestation of an actual sound—my sister's knocking on my door to wake me up. I paused for a moment, considering that I ought to be thankful, for I knew what would have happened in the dream if I hadn't woken up. Always the same, exactly as it had been on that first day . . .
No—I would not think about it, not on a day like this. Today, of all days, I should be happy. I am going to Los Angeles . . . the very thought sent a surge of energy through me, and I scurried off to the bathroom to finish getting ready.
Thirty minutes later, I descended the stairs, the smell of breakfast greeting me as I entered the main part of the house. I stepped into the kitchen just as my sister, who was facing the sink, called out loudly, "Carrie! Are you almost ready?!"
"Hey, Sam," I replied, amused. She whirled around in surprise.
"Carrie! I thought you were still upstairs! Oh, gosh, I must have blown your ears out."
"Well, at least they're still attached," I bantered, but for once she didn't laugh. Instead, she came over and wrapped her arms around me.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, her voice betraying that she was close to tears. I pulled away, unable to bear it.
"Sam, since when are you so concerned about my eardrums?" I teased.
"I'm sorry, it's just . . . I don't want to cause you any more pain than you're already . . ."
"It's okay, sis, nothing to worry about."
"But—"
"Sam, please. You promised you wouldn't do this, remember? I told you, I'm fine."
She nodded, turning back to the counter to wipe her eyes. "Well, anyway, breakfast's up."
"Ooh, yum!" I exclaimed, eager to change the subject. "What's on the menu this morning?"
"Bacon and pancakes," she replied. Her voice was still quiet and sad, but I could tell she was trying to conceal it for my sake. "Have a seat at the table, and I'll bring it in."
"Well, let me help."
"It's okay, I've got this. You go sit down."
"Sam . . ."
"You need to focus on getting ready, Carrie," she said firmly, looking me in the eye, and I knew better than to argue. With a sigh of resignation, I headed into the dining room.
The first thing I noticed as I sat down was that Sam's husband, who always joined us for breakfast, was missing. "Sam," I called, "where's James?"
"Oh, I sent him outside to check on the car," she explained, bustling into the room with a plate of steaming pancakes and bacon.
"What's wrong with the car?" I asked as she set the plate down in front of me.
"Nothing, as far as I know," she replied, "but we can't have you being late to the airport because of car trouble."
I stared at her. "It's a twenty-minute drive to the airport, and your car is in perfect condition. What's there to worry about?"
"I'm not taking any chances, Carrie. This is your special day, and I won't let anything ruin it." With that, she marched off to the kitchen, chin held high. Once she left the room, I chuckled to myself and said a quick blessing before beginning to eat.
Just then, I heard the front door open. "Hey, honey, I'm all done!" James called as he shut the door behind him. From where I sat looking through the doorway, I could see him enter the kitchen and lean against the wall, inhaling deeply. "Mmm, what's for breakfast?"
"Pancakes and bacon," she replied. "How's the car looking?"
"Clean and healthy as always, just like I told you it would be," he reassured her.
"The tank is full?"
"Yep."
"You changed the oil?"
"Already did that yesterday."
"And you checked everything else?"
"Yes, yes, and yes." He moved to stand behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Sweet Samantha, haven't you learned by now to trust your husband?"
She turned to face him. "A better question is, haven't you learned by now to humor your wife?"
He laughed. "Touché." They stood there grinning at each other for several moments before he leaned in to kiss her, at which point I decided to remind them of my presence.
"A-he-hem!" I peered through the doorway at them. "Guys, I hate to interrupt, but we do have to be at the airport in an hour."
They pulled apart and looked over at me sheepishly. "Sorry, sis," Sam giggled.
I sighed and shook my head in mock exasperation; but truly, I was happy for them. They had something special, something I had always dreamt of . . . and something fate had chosen to deny me. I felt a little twinge of bitterness at the last thought, but I quickly suppressed it. It's not their fault, I reminded myself. It's not anyone's fault.
Before I could dwell any longer on this train of thought, James entered the dining room with a full plate for himself and one for Sam. "So, Carrie, are you excited to spend three weeks in Los Angeles?" he asked as he set them on the table.
"Excited? Yes . . ."
Detecting my slight hesitation, James caught my eye and smiled understandingly. "Nervous?"
"A little," I admitted.
Sam walked through the doorway just in time to catch the end of our conversation. "What are you nervous about, Carrie?" she asked, laying her hand on my shoulder.
I took a moment to swallow my bite of bacon before answering. "Well, meeting Walt Disney, for one thing. That man's a walking legend, and I'm just . . . me." A thirty-year-old author from Cedar Rapids, Iowa, flying halfway across the country to act as consultant for a movie adaptation of my book.
"So?" James asked through a mouthful of pancake.
Sam shot him one of her "you men can be so insensitive" looks before turning back to me. "Oh, Carrie, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about as far as that goes. Remember, underneath all that fame, he's just another human. Don't let yourself be intimidated."
I gave a half-smile, and she patted my back encouragingly before sitting down to eat. Easier said than done, I thought in regard to her advice. I only prayed everything would go smoothly; for if it didn't, I doubted I'd have what it took to face down the Mickey Mouse mogul himself.
The three of us finished breakfast with time to spare; and while Sam cleared the table, James headed upstairs and brought down my suitcase and carry-on bag to load in the car. I offered to help with the dishes, but Sam wouldn't hear of it; so instead I went up to fetch my purse and make one last trip to the bathroom.
After washing my hands, I leaned against the sink for a few minutes, staring into the mirror. There I was, about to spend three weeks in Los Angeles helping make my book into a movie, something many authors only dream of; and at that moment, the only thought in my head was—am I up to this? The Carrie in the mirror stared back at me, her eyes full of doubts and questions; but before I could give either of us a definitive answer, I heard Sam call from the bottom of the stairs. "Carrie! You ready to go?!"
Taking a deep breath, I stood up straight and squared my shoulders. "Coming!" I replied; and without further hesitation, I grabbed my purse and headed downstairs.
