A/N: Hello, here with a venture into a new fandom, Rise. This fic is also cross posted on Ao3 under my penname MissTif. Anyway, Maashous is one of my favorite characters in Rise, I love all of the characters, but I really wanted to write something involving Maashous and this plot bunny was born. As usual, I don't own Rise it belongs to NBC and respective owners/creators. A quick note on the structure of this story, it's a bit different, not really a oneshot collection, but not entirely a traditionally chaptered story either, call it a hybrid with a common theme I guess. Most chapters will be from Maashous' point of view unless another point of view is requested. Due to the hybrid structure, I'm open to requests for scenarios under a common theme which will become clear soon enough. Due to this story being posted on Ao3 first, the first three (I'm working on the fourth) chapters are already completed and I will post them here as soon as I can.

Blown Fuses

Maashous has been staying with the Mazzuchellis for a certain amount of time now. His presence is accepted fact by most as Mr. Mazzu and his wife refuse to let him leave He thinks that he has an understanding of this family. When Gordy showed concern or rather vocal outrage about the air mattress in his room, Maashous gladly took the couch. The least he can do is minimize his imposition. Mr. Mazzu's family has done more than enough for him.

He enjoys the conversations, being taken seriously by his pseudo guardians. He's never really had that before.

But Maashous is used to noticing small fits and starts whether within the productions he works or the people around him. He's noticed Gordy Mazzuchelli before. He's not the most high profile member of Stanton's football team, no Robbie Thorne. Not the leading man. If Maashous remembers correctly, he's been riding the bench this season, and it almost appears that the role is something he's used to. He's the understudy.

Despite this, Maashous sees no resignation in his peer, rather a series of lightning strikes, blown fuses. Anger rolling as thunder.

So when the spotlights blow out during rehearsal, Maashous finds it oddly representative.

He knows there's something beyond the tech troubles. There's always something beyond technical trouble in a show when you are dealing with theatre people. If the music and the steps don't sync in a choreographed number, there's usually someone too hesitant to perform the combination, if blocking needs to be reset, it usually indicates a mental block. If someone asks for too much spotlight in one particular area over another, well…

"How's it look?" Mr. Mazzuchelli asks him.

"It's fried Mr. Mazzu."

"Gah-! It's fine, we'll...we'll fix it right?"

"I...I can try but…" Maashous fears disappointing his mentor, but the circuit board is completely shot.

"We'll try our best." Ends up basically the answer that the others can give. And his teacher seems resigned to this fact. Or he would, if it weren't for the way he rubbed his forehead leaning against the wall.

Maashous finds a certain kind of solace in working in the lighting booth, and not just because it was once a place where he made his bed. Did this really happen? He can remember exactly where his sleeping bag had been. There's something comfortable about the simplicity of working lights in a field of interest with actors whom are less than simple. He can read the mood on a stage that is six feet away. He knows how to set the scene before a single line is spoken or musical note played: the right amount of light to offset an awakening or a violent storm, create an environment intense enough for grandiose speeches or soft enough to elicit intimate confessions.

So he notices Mr. Mazzuchelli's irritation before he even appears in the booth.

"Hey Maashous…" A soft sigh, an automatic smile and clap on the shoulder. The man is acting. "How's the designing coming?"

Maashous nods, bringing out the plans. "So this is what I came up with...looks pretty cool right?" As he watches Mr. Mazzu examine the plans, the teen bites his lip, letting teeth graze skin for a brief moment. "Is...everything alright Mr. Mazzu?"

"Yeah." Mr. Mazzuchelli takes a drag from his coffee cup, snapping his fingers once, twice, thrice as he places it down on the stool and walks over. "So, I like this, but I think if we took the brightness down like…". He takes the controls, and Maashous feels his grip slipping, so Maashous steps back simply listening sensing that his teacher needs this moment of being heard. But he wonders, is there a way that he can set the scene to help this family who has helped him?

A/N: So as you can see, the common theme of sorts is fix-it, I guess you could call it, mostly of the family variety. This is also where the title comes from, tech week in theatre also sometimes called Hell Week. At least it was in my school. Anyway, share your thoughts friends. And the other completed chapters are coming soon.