Disclaimer: These characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and the masterpiece that is the 2006 television series Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip. I am not making any profit from this except for a little writing practice.

Warning: Episode-related gun violence and self-harm involved in this episode.


"You have a gun."

"It's Keith's," she parroted the memorised line to the actor in front of her. This was the real deal this time, the cameras were rolling with the intention of the takes being printed and making it into the movie. She had to give her best performance.

"What's it for?"

Harriet smiled, hoping it was a little sinister as well as romantically teasing the other character.

"Anita!" He shouted when she raised the prop gun and Harriet kept her face positive and grinning as she pushed the plastic against her temple and pulled the trigger until it clicked. "You scared the bloody hell out of me!"

Harriet made sure her voice was low and breathy, British. "Being scared is the fun of it."

Harriet handed the prop to her co-worker and straightened her posture. This was wrong.

She twisted her back to look right down the camera and address Luke. "We're just saying she's guilty of manslaughter?"

The director said her name like a warning. Harriet stood. She hated the way he said her name. Like he was holding something over her. It was cold and the warmth of her nickname dripped past his lips as though he was using it to purposefully assuage her.

Luke shouted for everyone to stop work when he saw her approach and Harriet could have sworn she saw him roll his eyes before he sipped his can of Red Bull and placed it on the table beside him.

"Thank God you're pretty," he told her, gripping her shoulders.

Harriet chose to ignore his patronising, turning her hurt into a joke: "I do every day." Then launched into her argument against the way Anita Pallenberg was being characterised by the scene. "I think Anita's culpability is unambiguous at this point."

"She's not pulling the trigger."

That wasn't the point. She may as well have been. The man was impressionable and attempting to impress her. She had him wrapped around her finger and she knew it and she was reducing him to a measure of masculinity that was unfounded and uncalled for. "If you're a man then screw me like my boyfriend."

She'd said something similar to Matthew not long ago.

Harriet blinked.

She'd said the exact same thing to Matt. His eyes had dimmed, a tumultuous sea of confusion peering back at her while he waited for her to rescind the comment.

Harriet hadn't been face to face with Matthew since that moment. She hadn't even been close enough to look him in the eyes since she'd said what she had to him at the Catholics dinner. That was Matt's doing. He rarely ever came out of his office anymore, he certainly didn't meander aimlessly down the hall of dressing rooms or knock on her door for no particular reason.

That had been fine for the first few days, her anger fueling her refusal to empathise with his perspective. But it didn't take Harriet long to glance over at him whenever she saw him.

He may have been distant, but Harry could read his expressions like she could read her favourite book - she didn't need to see the page to know the plot or the emotion of the narrative.

Harriet fount herself glancing at Matthew whenever he was near, hoping his facade would drop and he'd look at her, or smile in her direction.

Matt never did. Nor did he appear any different than usual during rehearsals he necessarily had to sit in on.

But sometimes, when no one was looking, a weariness darkened his features.

He hid it well, smiling when Danny looked at him and concentrating on his scripts when the spotlight was on him, nothing signalling any lapse in his professionalism. Only, Harriet couldn't shake the feeling something was wrong.

"In real life," Harriet's voice cracked, unsure who she was really defending. "She wasn't even in the house and a jury said she wasn't guilty."

"In this movie, she is," Luke shrugged.

Harriet tried to make his name sound as sour as hers did when he used it. "Luke."

"Harriet."

She almost laughed at the tone of his voice and the way it dropped insultingly. Matt had lowered his voice in that exact same way. He claimed he wasn't good with voices but Harriet couldn't help but remember tying Matt's bow tie for the Emmy's and him whispering hotly against her ear in a comical, but perfect, rendition of Luke's tenor. The condescension was unveiled.

"Just shoot the scene?"

Luke nodded. "Just shoot the scene."

Begrudgingly, Harriet moved back to her mark, pulling her knees up on the mattress and ran the scene from the top, handing the gun over to the actor across from her.

She knew it was a squib. That the noise would pop and then red dye would splatter, the mechanism attached to the other actor's shoulder activating and creating a fairly graphic gush of wig, pink plasticine and dyed corn starch.

Still, the sound made her jump and the sight made her gag. And both made good excuses to stop filming.

"Props, let's reset the squib, roll back," Luke called.

"I'm so sorry," Harriet apologised to the man in front of her. She felt bad for him, having to film such a graphic scene over and over again. But Harriet was taking issue with the inaccuracy of the dialogue they were filming and he was going to be collateral damage in her dispute with Luke.

The man merely laughed. "Lying in bed with you, blowing my brains out over and over, is therapeutic."

"I've had other men say that to me," she joked sarcastically. Movement caught her eye and Harriet excused herself, careful not to wipe the speckles of red across her fingers on her white dress. "Luke, there's literally blood on my hands."

"It's looking good," he shrugged.

To who? She nearly asked. Harriet had a front-row seat for the devastation the scripted dialogue was causing the poor actor who was killing himself repeatedly for the sake of the shot.

"I'm supposed to be over there on Wednesdays," Harriet told Luke, knowing he was more intelligent than he pretended to be and knew exactly what she was talking about. She was smarter than he gave her credit for and she knew what he was doing.

Luke didn't even look at her. She wasn't important enough for eye contact anymore. She'd been fun, needy, a prize and an insult and now that she was questioning him she was no longer an enjoyable plaything. "We're going as fast as we can."

Harriet didn't doubt that. Meanwhile she couldn't stand by as a woman's name was disbaraged again. Too often, she'd been villainised and vilified by the media and Luke was perpetuating that toxicity, whether he realised it or not. Harriet had a feeling that he did.

"Explain to me how -"

He cut her off. "In coverage."

"Coverage isn't gonna change the scene, it's just gonna get it from other angles."

"Harry," he tried placating her. Except Harriet knew his game now, she wasn't going to stand by and let him play it.

"Why'd you say we'd get it in coverage?"

"I was hoping you wouldn't think too much about that."

Harriet scoffed. "This is a big deal."

"I agree."

Did he?

"She wasn't in the room when he shot himself," Harriet defended. The man had a break-down on his own, he'd let the words of the people around him muddy the waters and cloud his mind.

"According to her," Luke bit back.

"And every existing record of the event," Harriet informed him. "Everyone says she wasn't in the house."

Luke blew out a puff of air angrily. "No one else is alive."

If trying to win a debate with Matthew was frustrating, trying to hold a conversation with Luke was infuriating. He just could not open his mind to an idea that didn't align with his own. She and he were matched in that regard and the thought made her heart sink. She'd been so mad at Matthew for so long for being stagnant and steady in his convictions. Perhaps she was the one with the problem. Or half of it. "What if she went into the bathroom?"

"What's the difference?"

"We wouldn't be making her responsible," she whispered.

Luke raised his hands gruffly and threw them down in a huff, yelling, "Are you kidding me with this? She's responsible whether she's facing him or not. You want her to powder her nose while he shoots himself with the gun she told him to play with? You had two months with this script!"

But Harriet only heard some of what Luke shouted at her.

She's responsible whether she's facing him or not.

The sentence reverberated in her mind.

Matt had said something similar to her the other day. He'd been trying to discuss with her the way they communicated as a couple and that it didn't work, that she hurt him beyond repair with thoughtless actions and hurtful words.

To the extent you were responsible, Harriet? Whether it's with me or the next guy or after that, you may wanna consider taking it upon yourself to assume a little accountability. You're responsible for the words that come out of your mouth.

She's responsible whether she's facing him or not.

Harriet felt her throat constrict. Her lungs burnt as she held her breath, acid burning its way up her chest.

"I know," she told Luke.

"I wanna know why this is coming up tonight. You feel guilty about what?" He was angry, frustrated with her, and he wasn't even hiding it.

"Matthew and I had a terrible fight." If Luke wanted to be her priest, then she'd confess to him. At least that way she might be able to understand why she felt such a terrible dread every time she looked in Matthew's direction. "I said terrible things to him."

Terrible things that are a lot like what this script says. That's why it's coming up now.

Harriet shook her head. This wasn't the right time to bring this up. Instead, she moved back to her position on the set.

"It's Kieth's gun," she described, handing the prop to the man across from her. "He does this all the time."

She pinched her eyes shut, desperate to drown out the sight in front of her. She had never seen anyone shoot themselves, she hoped she never had to, but Harriet couldn't imagine Luke was directing the scene wrong. He was a lot of things, not as meticulous as Matt, but detail oriented just the same. A perfectionist.

He was interpreting the facts as he understood them, speeding up events and having her present so his audience would understand her culpability.

Making certain that his audience understood her words directly influenced the self-destruction, a path that may not have been selected if not for her prompting, of the man before her.

Harriet hadn't had a problem with that plot prior to this week. In fact, she'd agreed with it. Now it shaved a little close to the bone.

"There was this charity online auction to take me to the dinner, he Catholics in Media dinner," she reiterated so that Luke had a frame of reference and understood what a huge things that was for Matthew to do for her. "Matt bid on me because he thought you were bidding on me. And we had a fight."

Harriet walked beside Luke, letting him lead her around the stage so they could have a little privacy while she explained why this scene in particular was making her insides turn and her throat clench.

"I mean, it got really bad." She shook her head at the memory. "He wasn't even provoking me but I just kept coming at him and pummeling him," she gestured wildly, trying not to think of Matt's waving hands as she mimicked his signature move. "And all he really did was give money to a charity he doesn't even like."

What Matthew had done for her was wonderful. He'd paid money to support people he disagreed with. He declined being her date so that he could go as her support rather than a gossip colomnist's headline and paycheck. Matt had barged through the paparazzi just to make sure she was surprised in the most charming way possible rather than finding his insufferably proud face already at her table. He'd happily agreed to fill in for Jordan's induction speech. And wasn't his arrival for the exact reason she'd invited Jordan with her - because they were both afraid some creep may have won the auction.

"I don't care."

Luke was so abrubt, not even looking at her, that Harriet stopped in her tracks.

Harriet blinked. "You asked me what happened."

"I thought it was about you and me."

"I hit him over the head with you." She'd been awful and vindictive and petty, calculated and cruel by bringing up Luke and exaggerating the way she felt about him.

"He's a big boy," Luke shrugged, taking a nonchalant sip of his Red Bull. "He'll get over it."

She's responsible whether she's facing him or not.

That wasn't the point. Matt hadn't deserved the way she treated him. It was only because Harriet and he had previously had the same fight and similar ones that Harriet almost agreed with Luke. She and Matt had both developed a thick skin over the years. The pair of them were good at lobbing insults and parrying barbs at one another. While it normally hurt for a while, they were also brilliantly versed in comforting each other and assuaging fears and kissing tbeir broken hearts better because they knew the insults were an attempt to protect themselves from furthering their relationship only to have it fall apart.

Matt would get over it. He always did. Some woman from Cars and Chicks quarterly or Miss America or, god forbid, Jeannie, would find him and embody everything he didn't want in a woman. Or he'd wallow for a little while, sulky and sullen for a time. When he had licked his wounds and she had found it in her to forgive him and forgive herself, they'd find their way back to that playful teasing and biting affection.

Admittedly, it was taking longer than Harriet was used to, but they'd have a fair few obstacles this time round. More so than usual. First the 700 Club. Then Jeannie, Darren, jealousy over Luke, two weeks of radio silence and then the horrible things she'd said to him.

"He never would've done that to me."

At least Harriet was secure in the knowledge Matthew had a whole team behind him, Danny and Jordan and Suzanne and Tom, that he could talk to if he felt he couldn't talk to her. She may have hit him over the head with Luke like her character was rubbing her co-stars nose in Kieth, but Matthew wouldn't let it get to him. He hardly ever did. And Danny was there for him when that happened.

If by some chance what she said broke Matthew, his best friend would be there to pick up the pieces until Matt could put himself back together.

"You ready to go back to work?" Luke asked.

"I'm sorry?" she was taken aback by Luke's indifference but shouldn't have been. She hadn't divulged her innermost feelings to him. How could she expect him to empathise with her unvoiced thoughts? Matt would get it though, she couldn't help but think. He could look at her from across a room and recognise exactly what was plaguing her. Or at least get a read on her emotions and recognise the appropriate way to broach a topic.

"How much longer is this going to take?" she asked Luke. She really should be over at the studio with Matt.

"As long as I feel like."

To the extent you're responsible for the words that come out of your mouth.

Whether it's with me or the next guy or after that, you may wanna consider taking it upon yourself to assume a little accountability.

"We're filming it this time with Anita out of the room," Harriet put her foot down.

Only, waiting in the bathroom for the gun to go off was worse than watching it happen. There was an anticipation, an uncertainty, a hope that it might not happen this time, ringing in her ears.

Harriet spoke her line, playing with the man's self-esteem, taunting him with her lover, and then left the set through a door to nowhere.

With the closed door between them, Harriet couldn't be sure of what was going on. The silence was deafening. She'd read the script, she knew the man in the other room was having a break-down, falling for her taunts and reacting to them in the most terminal way possible.

It took longer than Harriet expected it to, Luke probably filming the turmoil created by her words in a close-up shot.

Luke wants to date me again.

Harriet pressed her fingers to her lips.

And I start thinking about sleeping with him.

The gun went off.

Harriet was shaking like a leaf, her fingers trembling as she pulled open the door now that the scene was done.

Assume a little accountability.

"I'm sorry about before," she approached Luke. "I started talking about Matt. It was pretty insensitive."

Luke agreed.

Luke agreed that the mere mention of having an argument with Matthew Albie threw him off his game. The mere mention of the other man's name, even in anger, was enough to offend him.

I remembered what being with him was like. And I think about it during rehearsals and what being with him again would be like. And I start thinking about sleeping with him.

Harriet squeezed her eyes shut.

She felt her teeth clench, her fingernails biting into her palms as she held her hands in tight balls, desperate to take a little of the pain out of her heart and redirect it elsewhere.

"I think because of this scene, maybe I was starting to feel mystery guilt about -"

Luke snorted.

"Yeah, the guilt isn't a mystery to anyone capable of cognitive thought. You pummeled him so he'd fight back."

But Matt hadn't.

And now you're wondering what he's really feeling because of it. Because he's stopped talking to you, can't stomach the sight of you.

Anita Pallenberg? You're perfect casting for that.

He'd been smiling when he said that to her a few months ago, the pair of them laughing at the irony, the imagery. The good Christian girl playing the evil "it" girl. But Harriet couldn't help but wonder if he was implying something else.

"He's an arrogant, self-destructive, egomaniacal prick."

And then I stop out of an attachment to you.

She's responsible whether she's facing him or not.

You're perfect casting for that.

A jury said she wasn't guilty.

Anita.

You may wanna consider taking it upon yourself to assume a little accountability.

Matthew Albie was not Scott Cantrell, she was certain of that. Matthew let his emotions get the better of him and he bruised like a peach, but he also dealt with the vicious media on a daily basis. And her. Still.

"Luke. I can't let you talk about Matthew like that." Harriet said. I shouldn't have spoken to Matthew like that.

Then she squared her shoulders and raised her voice.

"I can't let you talk about Matthew like that." Because he doesn't deserve it. But, given that she was about to talk about Luke in that manner, it might be too cruel to say that to him. "Because he'd never let anybody talk about me like that."

"You're a sucker, Harriet."

"Maybe."

Maybe she was paranoid. Maybe Matthew wasn't dying inside at the things she'd said to him. Maybe he wasn't having a break-down. But she'd witnessed the light disappear from his eyes. She'd felt sadness roll off him during rehearsals.

She wasn't going to wait in a separate room with bated breath for a pin to drop. Whether Matthew wanted her there or not, she was going to stand by his side.

"I'm out of here."