Timing

The Texts and the Fantasy

It took Murray a full week to recover from his fall and his concussion. Cece stayed in the apartment with him for most of the time, working on paperwork and things for the show. Every now and again, someone would pop by to check in on Murray and see how he was feeling, Joe with Bessy and Milania, Peter, Charlie and Mark all the way from LA, people from Murray's office, and Sal and Brian. The conversation would eventually stray over to Cece and they would ask, with concern, how she was handling the break-up. Sal confessed that he had mentioned it to Peter at the morning meeting and the news had spread around the office like wildfire.

Which was why, when she and Murray returned to the office the following Wednesday, she could feel everyone's eyes following her and the whispers trailing after her like steam off of a rocket. Murray could sense it too, glaring over his shoulder every now and again as they weaved their way through the cubicles. He patted her shoulder as she slumped down into her chair in the Impractical Jokers section of the office, walking by her to the editing room where Joe was already deep in conversation with Peter and Sal. She slid her computer onto its docking station, ready to print out her reports and have them on the proper desks before shooting began . As she began to write on the folders in front of her, a cup of coffee slid onto the desk.

"Large dark roast, two sugars, and a dash of cream. You're welcome."

"Thanks Jer," Cece sighed, leaning back and inhaling the smell of incoming caffeine. "You're the best."

"Don't have to tell me twice." Jeremy Graph was one of the production managers for the show and had been one of the first people to introduce himself to Cece when she came on board. He was the youngest crew member then, just a production assistant that was fresh out of college and eager to make a name for himself. Although he was no longer the youngest, he still had that youthful glow that Cece envied even though she only was five years his senior. "So Dr. Brains. Care to tell me about your week?"

"James is much better," Cece nodded, sipping her coffee and opening her documents. "Concussion symptoms are gone, stitches should- "

"That's not what I meant and you know it," he gave her a pointed look as he arched his eyebrow, pointedly.

"We're not having that conversation," she shook her head, turning back to her desk.

"Listen," Jeremy grabbed the back of her chair and spun it to face him. "I worry."

"You shouldn't worry about me."

"Please," he narrowed his eyes. "You can skip three grades, graduate from West Point early, save lives under enemy fire, and kick every man's ass that you meet. But you are absolute shit at talking about your feelings."

"You seriously need to get a new saying. That whole sentence is just a mouthful," she waved her hand at him, trying to turn back around. Jeremy's grip tightened on her chair and she looked up at him. "Listen. This isn't a conversation that we should have here. It should be over a beer."

"Or twelve."

"Can we talk about it over lunch?"

"We'll leave for White Horse at 10:30," Jeremy nodded, satisfied. "I have to see if they're willing to let us shoot there one night, anyway."

"It's already 8:30," she hollered after him as he made his way to the editing room.

"Well then you better get me that report," he winked, disappearing around the bend. Cece rolled her eyes and hit print on the document that held her report. She could hear the printer kick into gear at the end of the hall and went back to writing on the folders, her scratchy handwriting pressing into the paper.