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moody-by-nature · 6 years

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Rescue Me|Chapter Eleven

Andrea wrapped on the front door of her parent's home three times and pushed the doorbell for good measure. A moment later, the door swung open and there stood her mother. Her small stature and olive skin, much different than Andrea's, as were her chocolate brown eyes. However, the placement of her hands upon her hips and the attitude she exuded reminded Jared of the first night he met Andie and he snickered.

"Hi Mom, surprise! Merry early Christmas!" Andrea smiled. "Andrea Leigh Bennett, get in this house," she yelled, pushing the screen door open, shock and excitement all over her face, "and hug my neck! Oh my gosh, is that Jared?"

Instead of hugging Andie, the petite woman wrapped her arms around Jared. "Mom, Jared. Jared, my mother, Katherine."

"My God, you're even more handsome in person than I imagined. Don't you dare call me Katherine. You can call me mom." She beamed at Jared. "Ok. It's nice to meet you, mom. You are too sweet, I see where Andie gets it." Jared replied.

Katherine finally pulled her eyes from Jared and turned to her daughter, "Come here angel," she said, squeezing her tightly, "six months feels like sixteen!"

"I missed you too, mom." Andie replied as Katherine pushed away from their embrace. "My goodness child, when's the last time you ate? You are skin and bones, get in this house so I can feed you a proper meal."

Andrea rolled her eyes and threw her head back, "Five minutes. We've been here five minutes and she's already started in. Jesus, take the wheel!" She sighed and glanced at Jared, "It isn't too late to run you know." Jared laughed and held the door open gesturing for her to enter. Andrea drug her feet, entered her old home and listened for her mother's voice. She was in the kitchen, waist deep in the refrigerator, digging for ingredients.

"Mom, please don't start in on how I look, what I eat, what I'm wearing, etc.," she sighed and plopped down on a bar stool, "My lifestyle is the very same it was when I lived here, it's only improved since I left."

"Katherine! What are you fussing about?" Jared watched a nervous Andrea rub her hands repeatedly along her thighs as he approached the bar, taking a seat next to her. She smiled and mouthed, "Save me." to which he chuckled.

"John, get in here. There's someone here to see us!" Andrea stood up, "Would you like some water?" She asked Jared. "Yes, please." He replied. "I'll get it. You sit." Katherine ordered, shuffling around the kitchen to pull two cups out of a cabinet and filled them with water from the refrigerator.

"Who is here?" John asked as he appeared, a big smile danced across his face as he saw his daughter. "Andrea, hi! Welcome home." She walked a couple feet over meeting her father for a hug, then introduced Jared.

"Jared, this is Jonathan, my dad. Dad, meet Jared." She said, returning to her bar stool, taking a sip of water and watched Jared interact with her father.

"It's so cute you are dating him. I just hope.." Andrea choked, but recovered quickly. "What? Mom, no. I never said we are dating. Where did you get that idea?"

"Well, honey, you've not mentioned a valid relationship title, so I just assumed. You have told me a couple times how handsome you think he is, so what was I supposed to think?"

Andrea's cheeks flushed crimson, "Ok. Well, he's my friend and soon to be boss." Katherine looked at Andrea with disbelief and smirked. She glanced to Jared and then back to Andrea, "We'll see about that."

Andrea reached down and grabbed Jared's hand, "How about I give you the grand tour." Jared grinned and nodded. "You two don't get too far, dinner will be ready in thirty!" Katherine yelled after them.

Her parents home was moderately sized, so it didn't take long for Andrea to show Jared around. She opened one last door revealing her old room. "Oh my, it's like I never left!" Jared followed behind her as they entered the room.

His eyes fell on her metal framed bed, perfect for tying her up and making her scream his name. He wrapped his hand around the headboard, looked at Andie and cleared his throat, "Nice bed."

"Thanks, it's really comfy, I liked it so much I bought one just like it for my house back home." Jared smirked, he found her innocence to his comment adorable. "That's great!" He replied.

The four of them sat around the dining table exchanging stories of Andrea's childhood and Jared sharing a few of his own. John took the opportunity to tell her how proud they were of her for chasing her dreams which made Andrea smile.

After dinner, Andrea helped her mother clear the table while Jared sat on the back porch with Jonathan.

"Are you sure he's just your friend? He looks at you like there's more to it." Katherine said. "Mom, yes, that's all it is. We've grown really close really fast, but that's it." Andrea dried the final plate and stacked it back in the cabinet.

"Well, you should let it become more, he wants it, I can see it." Andrea sighed, "There's no way a man like him would ever want me. Just stop it, ok? I'm going to take a shower."

Andrea was curled up in bed reading when Jared entered her room with his bag. She smiled up at him, "Hey, you." Jared placed his bag on the edge of her bed and opened it, digging for a change of clothes. "Hey," he smiled, "I wondered where you went. I had a great chat with your dad, he's a cool guy."

He pulled his t-shirt over his head as he spoke, dropping it next to his bag. When Andrea didn't speak, he looked over to see she was staring at his chest and watched her tongue slowly drag along her bottom lip.

"Andrea, didn't your parents teach you it isn't polite to stare?" He teased.

"Hmm, what?" She mumbled, breaking her eyes away and up to his. "I'm sorry, it's just seeing you shirtless in my old bedroom made me think of all the times I've sat in here wishing I had someone to fool around with in this bed."

Jared's jaw dropped at her confession and he quickly slid into bed next to her. Giggling when he wiggled his eyebrows, followed by a gasp when he slowly leaned towards her. Andrea pulled her bottom lip through her teeth and watched Jared drop his gaze to her lips. Her heart raced as the distance between them became smaller.

"You kids behave in here tonight." Johnathan spoke as he headed down the hallway toward them. Jared pulled away from her and stood, quickly throwing his shirt on. He picked up his bag and placed it by the door. Andrea rubbed her hands down her face and sat back against the headboard catching her breath when he appeared at the door.

"Nothing is going to happen. I remember your rules. Good night, dad." She smiled "Good night, I'll see you both in the morning." Jared nodded and shut the door when Johnathan left. He stepped into Andrea's closet to change into his loose sleep pants before heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Andrea flopped over into her pillow and huffed, mumbling "You almost kissed him. You can't kiss him. You may WANT to kiss him, but you CAN'T kiss him, Andrea." She righted herself and placed her book on the nightstand as Jared came in.

"Do you always sleep on that side of the bed?" He asked. "Yes, is this the side you prefer? I can switch if you want?" Jared shook his head, "No, I was just thinking it was funny it naturally worked out that way." The bed dipped slightly as he lowered himself down and under the covers. "Sorry about earlier, I got a little wrapped up in the moment I guess."

His words made Andie's heart sink, "Yeah, sure. No problem." She pulled the covers up and slid her legs beneath them. With her back turned away, she shut off the lamp next to her, "Good night Jared."

"Good night Andrea." He answered as he turned to face her. The moonlight poured into her room, providing the perfect amount of light to watch her sleep. The slow rhythmic rise and fall of her chest nearly had him in a trance.

He was so mad at himself for lying to her, but felt it was best and hoped she wasn't upset with him. Needing to be closer to her, he scooted over, his body flush with hers. Arms wrapped snuggly around her, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, Andrea opened her eyes to see it was still dark. Blinking a couple of times before she realized she had turned toward Jared in her sleep and her face was buried in his long hair.

Careful not to wake him, she slipped out of his embrace, got dressed and made her way into the kitchen. No one else was up, so she made a pot of coffee and went out on the back porch. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear Jared approach. "Still mad at me?" He asked, sitting next to her on the swing.

Andrea kept her gaze on the sunrise and brought her coffee cup to her lips. "I'm not mad, just a little confused, but it's fine. Let's just eat breakfast and get on the road."

"Andrea, come back here."

"No. You're not my boss yet." She retorted and headed for the door.

"You're acting like a child, Andrea." Jared admonished. She stopped in her tracks and spun around, "I got a little wrapped up in the moment I guess." she spat back and then turned and went into the house. Jared sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Breakfast was awkwardly silent. Jared tried his best to make small talk with The Bennett's, however, failed miserably. They bid their fair well and loaded into the car. Andrea swiped the keys from Jared as he shook her father's hand and hugged her mother.

"Jared honey, I don't know what happened last night, but you've really pissed her off. Don't expect a word from her for at least the first five hundred miles." Katherine stated through a laugh.

"I hurt her feelings by trying to protect her. I tried to apologize, but only made it worse I'm afraid." Katherine nodded her head in understanding, "I'm sure you've noticed by now that girl is stubborn. It's best to leave her be. Let her cool off and she'll talk when she's ready. Most likely it'll be as if nothing happened once she's over it."

"I'm sorry to break up the party, but do you think you two could wrap it up? We're burning daylight!" Andrea yelled through the window.

"Oh hell, better make that about seven hundred miles, handsome." Katherine laughed, and tapped Jared on the shoulder. "Thanks, mom. It was lovely to meet you, thank you for having me in your home."

"You're welcome here anytime Jared. Now get yourself in that car before she has a fit." She encouraged.

Katherine was right, Andrea didn't say a word to Jared until they arrived in Albuquerque. She exited the highway and stopped in front of the Doubletree hotel. "I'm tired, so I'm stopping for the night."

"She speaks!"

Jared realized the 'go to hell' look he just received meant she was still in a mood so he raised his arms in surrender. They exited the car and walked inside. "I'd like a room, please," Andrea stated. She looked over her shoulder at Jared and turned back to the receptionist, "make that two rooms actually. Thanks."

"I'm sorry, miss, but we only have one room available for tonight; the honeymoon suite."

"Naturally." Andrea scoffed. "We'll take it." Jared said, pulling his credit card out of his wallet and handing it to the clerk. She passed him the room key, "Enjoy your stay, please let us know if there is anything you need, Mr. Leto." Jared nodded and walked to the elevator where Andrea stood waiting.

They reached the thirteenth floor and walked down the hall in silence. Jared unlocked the door, holding it open for Andrea. She stomped into the room and threw her bag on the floor with a huff.

"Thank you, Jared, that was kind of you to hold the door." Jared said mimicking her voice.

Andrea sauntered up to him, stood toe to toe, "Go fuck yourself!" She barked. Her slender finger poked into his chest with each enunciated word before she dramatically turned to walk away.

That was it, that was all he could take. Jared reached out and latched his fingers around her upper arm. He spun her around, his other hand coming up to grip Andrea's other arm. He slightly lifted her thin frame from the floor and took two large steps backwards, tossing her against the wall roughly.

Jared hovered over her and gently placed his hand on her throat. He searched her eyes for answers, fear, but only saw desire. Her eyes wide, she bit her lip as she looked down at his lips.

"Where's that sass at now? Hmm, Andrea? You and your mouth drive me fucking crazy. Do you realize that? I've tried for months to keep these thoughts to myself, but you make it impossible."

Andrea looked at him incredulously. Before she could respond, Jared seized her lips with his. In that moment, time ceased to exist. Andrea felt the hair on her arms stand on end. Her heartbeat thumped wildly at the base of her throat as Jared wrapped his arm around her waist and pushed himself up against her.

They both moaned at the contact. Andrea brought her hands up and around, placing one on his back and the other up into his hair deepening the kiss.

Breaking the kiss for air, they both panted. Andrea crashed her lips back on Jared's and wrapped her long legs around his waist. He pushed off the wall and walked toward the bed, kneeling, he gently laid her down.

#rescue me #jared leto fanfiction

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countryole · 6 years

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Rarely Given

Title: Rarely Given Rating: T, for language.

"Forgiveness was a gift, rarely deserved, and even more rarely given. It was never owed or expected, and Lorna didn’t deserve it, not from him." One mission gone awry and one temper gone astray leaves Lorna Dane with feelings she'd rather not face. Another pre-series glimpse at Eclaris. Read it here or at Archive Of Our Own.

There were two things Lorna Dane was exceptionally bad at; apologies and saving face.

In addition to her magnetism, there was also a time her peers would have said she mastered the art of being a major bitch. Seeing as the latter was more frowned upon, even by mutant standards, she hadn’t kept up the practice—at least not intentionally. However, as today would have it, it appeared she still possessed some skill level when it came to making people feel like complete shit.

Usually she wouldn’t care. A dozen ill-picked fights with John on her worst days and several years later, the mutants at the Atlanta station were used to her occasional fowl mood and permanent lack of tact. Polaris had little concern for things like other peoples feelings where keeping the underground safe was concerned. Her motto had always been something between the lines of I don’t give a fuck and I especially don’t give a fuck about what you think.

There was just one problem.

She actually did care this time.

“You’re so incredibly stupid.”

Lorna’s words were for herself, an angry accusation turned into a sliver of smoke as she exhales, rising into the night and disappearing. Her legs dangled off the edge of the rooftop, and she hunched into her too-large jacket, ignoring the chill of fall seeping into her skin. She should go inside, but pride kept her there, shivering and miserable, penance for her incredible act of utter idiocy just hours earlier.

The mission in Perry today had gone horribly awry. Their point of contact, a long time ally, was killed by Sentinel Services crossfire. She and Sonia had gotten caught in the middle of it, trying save a wounded refugee, and failing. They were outgunned and outnumbered, backed into an inescapable corner with no where to run. They should have died too. They would have, if it weren’t for him.

Marcos saved them.

Lorna had ordered him and John to evacuate when she realized she and Sonia had been trapped. It was too dangerous to risk their lives with so much at stake, and two lives sacrificed were better than four if it meant the underground would survive once she was gone. Lorna would rather die than let Sentinel Services take her alive, and she had resigned herself to just that. He wasn't supposed to come back.

But he did.

He came back, and lit every single Sentinel patrol car on fire, turning the parking lot into a gasoline fueled supernova display for everyone within a mile radius to see. Even now the explosions echoed inside her head, the smell of smoke coating her lungs, still stuck in her throat. He’d materialized out of the billowing clouds like a ghost, eyes wild with worry until he found her, until he could pull her and Sonia up from the ground where they had huddled in preparation for their impending death.

At some point he’d been shot, but Marcos didn’t seem to notice the hole in his shoulder, or the way Sonia and she gaped at the glowing wound in horror. Despite Sonia’s very vocal suggestion that he let her look at it once they were safely in the getaway car with John, he didn’t seem the least bit concerned. He kept saying mundane things like I’m fine and Lorna, are you ok? all the while seemingly oblivious to the profuse amount of molten lava-like blood he was getting all over the backseat, burning holes through the fabric of both the car and Lorna’s leather jacket.

Lorna managed to get the bleeding stopped, at the expense of ruining said leather jacket entirely. Marcos still passed out on the way back to HQ, upon which she may or may not have began panicking and yelling profanities at John to drive faster.

Upon waking up, what did she do to thank him for his heroism? For risking his own life to save hers?

She screamed at him.

Loudly.

Loud enough for everyone on the lower level at head quarters to hear her, according to Sonia. Loud enough that even now, hours after the fact, her throat wasn’t just hoarse from smoke inhalation, but all the angry things she’d said. Propped up on coach, makeshift sling on his arm, stitches she gave him in his shoulder, Marcos weathered her legendary temper in stoic silence. She repeated several choice phrases through out her tirade, including but not limited to; you’re a god damn idiot and you could have died as well as I could have lost you.

It was after the last one that she couldn’t scream anymore.

The realization hit her as she said the words. They stole her breath from her lungs and robbed her of her rage. She felt small, deflated, and most of all ashamed. She wasn’t angry because he disobeyed a direct order. She was angry because he kissed her that night outside headquarters, because she couldn’t sleep without seeing those god damn aurora lights flooding her dreams. She was angry because of the way he smiled at her, like she was the only person in the room, because her mind inevitably—always—drifted back to him.

No one else had ever mattered before. She hated herself for it, for feeling.

She hated herself for being afraid to lose someone.

But what she hated most was look on his face after she tore him apart, because despite how well he might have hid it, his expressive eyes always gave him away. Her words caused more damage, more hurt, than any bullet ever would.

Of course, instead of apologizing like a normal person would, she ran away instead.

Now she was here, alone on the roof, contemplating doing everyone a favor and throwing herself off the side of the building.

Lorna knew she shouldn’t let those kinds of thoughts have any sort of space in her head, but she could feel them on the periphery, like an old friend you meet in passing—the kind you probably shouldn’t talk to. There was a time she might have listened to them, invited them in and let them make themselves at home. Hands in her lap, Lorna looked down—palms up, fingers trembling, the scars on her wrists hidden beneath the cuffs of metal that gleam in the dark. Her messy green strands of hair fall in front to her face, obscuring her view. Or maybe it was the tears.

“You’re going to catch a cold if you stay out here.”

Lorna startled, color draining from her face at the sound of the voice behind her. She wiped away stray tears furiously, cursing under her breath. She finally pulled herself away from the edge of the ledge, turning around, knees pulled to her chest, curled into herself. Green eyes met golden brown through the dark. Marcos stood in the open door to the stairwell, a silhouette against the flood of light tumbling out behind him, almost reaching where she sat.

“It’s not that cold,” Lorna lied, hugging her legs closer to her, her chin resting in the gap between her knees. She watched him carefully, noting he still wore his sling, the slight grimace that reached the edge of his eyes when he shifted his feet.

“Can I come sit wth you then?” Marcos gestured with his good hand, head tilted, offering her an olive branch smile, “if you’re not planning on going in.”

“I can’t really stop you.”

“Oh, I imagine you could.”

Marcos took her lack of resistance as an open invitation, and stepped forward, moving to sit beside her on the ledge. Lorna shivered again, but this time it wasn’t the cold, it was his arm brushing hers, his body close enough that she could feel his radiant warmth. Her mind betrayed her, images of leaning against him swirling in her head, visions of his arm around her instead of just out of reach—so close, yet so terribly far away.

Lorna chastised herself mentally, beating back the unwelcome thoughts, wishing she would have told him to leave.

She existed in a state of madness every day of her life, her mind constant chaos, but it was something she had learned to control, and manage, and live with. Mental disorders didn’t understand the concept of mercy, relentless in their attempt to rob you of a normal life. The variables might change, but she had learned to adjust, to evolve, to rework the wiring of her thoughts so that they didn’t trigger the worst parts of her.

Marcos was different though, he was something she hadn’t seen coming, an unaccounted for variable she couldn’t mitigate or compartmentalize away. She was different around him, she felt it in the dangerous spiral of her thoughts, in the way her heart beat frantically against the cage of her ribs when he was close, just like now.

For a while, they sat in silence, neither willing to speak before the other. Marcos relented first with a tired sigh, and Lorna could see him scrub his face with his hand out of the corner of her eye. He looked haggard, his bad arm cradled against him in the makeshift sling, the slump of his shoulders exhausted.

Lorna’s fingers itched to reach out and touch him.

“What are we doing, Lorna?” When she looked up, Marcos’ sad eyes were staring back at her.

“Sitting on the roof.”

His dry, unamused laugh echoed around them. Marcos made a valiant effort not to scowl, but his resolve wavered just enough that she could see the exasperation pulling down at the corners of his mouth. His frustration with her cracked the edges of his usually unflappable good nature. Instead of patiently sitting on the sidelines of her volatile moods as he had done in the past when they first met, he fired back.

“Can you refrain from being a smart ass long enough to have an actual conversation, or is that just as impossible as controlling your temper?”

Lorna winced, because it was true. His words were sharp, his face a picture of vexation, and justifiably so. Yet despite the fact that Marcos had every right to be upset with her, his expression still fell after he said it. The irritation fled just as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with a somber look Lorna didn’t recognize or understand.

Something stabbed her, a dull ache in her chest she wasn’t used to feeling—regret.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were barely audible, but they were as real as the remorse that coated them.

Marcos did the very last thing she would have expected him to. He smiled.

“For yelling at me, or for getting me shot?” He mused, turning to her, eyes warm, “or for being a smart ass? Your list of grievances is rather long. I’m sure I’m forgetting something.”

Lorna found herself smiling back.

“At least I’m not just an ass.”

“Arguable.”

They both laughed, a quiet, happy sound that collided in the air between them. Lorna felt warmer, lighter. She felt braver too, and before she could let indecision stop her, she reached for Marcos’ hand. She prepared for him to push her away, to evade her touch, but he didn’t. He wove his fingers through hers, and held on tight, the distance between them bridged. For the first time in the last twelve hours, her world stopped spinning.

“You scared me today,” Lorna murmured, “but I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“Did you really expect me to leave you there?” He wondered aloud, brow knit in concern. “Did you really think I wouldn’t come back?”

Lorna shrugged, staring at their hands.

“People don’t usually stay.”

She realized as she spoke that she wasn’t just talking about today. The confession spanned Lorna’s lifetime, years and years of disappointment having taught her not to rely on anyone. She was used to people leaving. She expected it.

“I’m not planning on going anywhere. That is, as long as you don’t want me too.”

Lorna almost couldn’t believe the words that came out of the man’s mouth. She stared at Marcos, her own mouth nearly agape, her face a portrait of unadulterated disbelief. Had he lost his mind? Was the bullet wound already infected, a fever melting his brain and what little good sense he had to begin with? She had said every possible thing she could to insult him, she had showed him the worst part of herself—the part that hurt the people she cared about. He should be running as far away as possible. He shouldn’t be sitting here, forgiving her, telling her that he wants to stay.

“Lorna, look, you don’t have to answer that—”

Oh, she definitely had an answer.

She kissed him.

This kiss was different from the first one. Her mouth pressed against his, insistent, robbing Marcos of his words. He released her hand, only to tangle his in her hair, his teeth grazing her bottom lip. It was a collision of hungry mouths, and hungrier hearts. Fire—it made sense that his touch would feel that way. The burn was torturous, not because it hurt, but because she wanted more of it, more of him. The only thing that remained the same was the light show that surrounded them, their personal aurora, bright and vibrant as it danced and spun in the air.

“Do you always apologize like this?” Marcos murmured, relenting, no longer holding her mouth captive with his own. He rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing from the effort. “Because if this is a thing, I’m into it.”

Lorna laughed, both of her slender hands framing his face, before kissing him again.

“Was that a yes?” Marcos asked, grinning against her.

Instead of answering, Lorna pulled back, but not far. She kept her hands on him, grounding her. The light around them became a translucent glow, soft and nearly invisible. Her eyes flit to his shoulder, the sling, frowning. She reached out, carefully, touching the place where the stitches she had given him were hidden beneath the bandage below his shirt, “You asked me a question earlier. You asked what we were doing.”

Marcos gently reached up, his fingers lightly brushing her jaw, forcing her to face him again.

“You don’t have to justify anything to me,” he smiled, softly, “it might surprise you to know you’re not the only one who’s temper gets the best of them.”

“Can I give you my answer?”

“Only if you want too.”

Lorna closed her eyes, wishing she could burry herself against his chest. She sighed, heavily, and when her eyes opened again, Marcos was waiting for her.

“I don’t know what we’re doing, Marcos. I don’t know, but if you don’t know either…” Lorna looked down, grabbing his hand again, hoping to anchor herself before fear swept her away, “maybe we can try and figure it out together.”

Lorna prayed, in the seconds between the breaths it took to say the words, that she wasn’t making a mistake. She hoped, more than anything, that the doubt in her head wouldn’t prove prophetic. She would never blame the people in her life for keeping their distance, for guarding themselves against her, and the hurt she was capable of. It was the very same hurt Marcos witnessed today, that he experienced first hand. It wasn’t caused by broken bones, or bullets, but words. The kind of words that can’t be taken back once they’re said. The kind of words that weren’t so easily forgiven.

Apologies were a principle, a manufactured way to repair something to minimal working order, but they were no guarantee. Forgiveness was different, and Marcos owed it least of all to her. Forgiveness was something one gave of themselves, willingly, to the person that had wronged them. Forgiveness was a gift, rarely deserved, and even more rarely given. It was never owed or expected, and Lorna didn’t deserve it, not from him.

“Together?” He repeated the word, testing it, his fingers brushing away the stray green hairs from her face. He leaned close, and Lorna held her breath, nodding, her fingers balling in his shirt.

“You and me.”

“I think I’d like that.”

He forgave her anyway, and kissed her again.

#Eclaris #Lorna Dane #Marcos Diaz #The Gifted #the gifted fanfic #fanfic: the gifted #fanfic: mine #writing #I really love writing preseries eclaris tbh #I hope y'all like it!!!

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maslany-news · 7 years

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Last month, the ever-twisting Orphan Black began its final season on BBC America. Soon, there will be no more clones—no more Sarah, Alison, Cosima, Rachel, Helena, and seestras—and no more sinister conspiracies to uncover. For die-hard fans of the show—which is, really, anyone who's watched more that one episode—it's an equally sad and exciting prospect. Of particular interest is what Tatiana Maslany, who plays every adult "Leda" clone on the show, will do next. Orphan Black has been a career-defining project for the Canadian actor, who finally won a well-deserved Emmy for her performance last year. She already has several films in the works: come September, she'll star opposite Jake Gyllenhaal in Stronger, David Gordon Green's retelling of the 2013 Boston Marathon bombing. Earlier this year, she screened a short, Apart From Everything, at the Palm Springs International Film Festival. Curently, she is working with her boyfriend Tom Cullen on a new collaboration with writer-director Joey Klein. Here, Maslany talks to another Emmy-winning (and, as of last week, 2017 Emmy-nominated) actor, Orange is the New Black's Uzo Aduba.

UZO ADUBA: Where are you right now? TATIANA MASLANY: I'm in L.A. We just moved here three weeks ago. I'm sitting on the floor in one of our rooms that's unfinished. Are you in New York? ADUBA: I am in New York. I'm chilling out because I'm tonight I'm seeing U2 for the first time. MASLANY: Are you a huge U2 fan? ADUBA: Huge. I love U2. I just got my wisdom teeth pulled and I look like a chipmunk, but I do not care. That's how much I love U2. [laughs] MASLANY: That's amazing. ADUBA: I'll be singing and it'll be fun. I'm really excited to do this; I've never done anything like this before. Before we talk about Orphan Black, I just saw the trailer for Stronger and it looks so good. MASLANY: That was intense. You're from Boston right?

ADUBA: Yes. The accents are really good. MASLANY: Always a contentious point. ADUBA: For sure. It's hard to do, but you guys are doing it and it sounds authentic. The movie itself looks really good. MASLANY: We filmed last spring, kind of around the marathon. I'd never been to Boston before and being in the city at that time—being in the city in general—was a really incredible experience. To be telling that story so soon after it happened... people were so supportive of the film being made and really generous. When we were shooting the actual marathon scene there was this extra, who was an actor, but also a lot of his friends were affected by the tragedy and he was too, just being in the city. We shot that sequence of running over five hours, and he and I were the only ones who kept running the whole time. He just kept running to stay with me, and it was just the most beautiful gesture of commitment to being authentic. ADUBA: I was in Amsterdam when it happened, and it couldn't have been a more random place. I was visiting one of my hometown best friends, and we were watching the news and calling up family. I tried to explain that everybodycelebrates the marathon in Boston; it's Patriot's Day, but everybody calls it "Marathon Monday," and if you grow up there you know what that day symbolizes. What is it like be working on something that is history? This actually occurred, these people do exist; people are feeling it in a different way. What is it like playing a real person versus say, in Orphan Black where you're playing all these clones on clones? MASLANY: It's a daunting thing to be playing a real person and to have contact with her and meet her and be in her circle a little bit. It's an odd thing. There's so much responsibility to tell the story honestly and truthfully, and at the same time, you start to develop a friendship with this person—or I did. I felt a real kinship with her and just her generosity. Erin Hurley, who I play in the movie—who's boyfriend, Jeff Bauman, lost his legs in the bombing—was running and was a mile out from the very end [when it happened]. I think I still struggle with the concept that I was stepping in her footsteps. I took it extremely seriously, but the way I approached her was not like I was doing an imitation or an impression or a characterization of her, but more so what the conflict was that she was going through. I really focused on what she was going through more than her actual mannerisms because, for me, it wasn't about that. Have you ever played a real person who you've met in real life or read about? ADUBA: I never played anyone I've met. Suzanne [in Orange is the New Black] is a real person that Piper [Kerman] met in prison, but it's still told through the gaze of Piper. It's not Suzanne's account of her life, and I never met with her to be able to get my own personal take on who she is and to inject that into the performance. I like what you said about trying to latch onto the emotional journey of what she was going through at that point rather than do an impersonation of her. Is that typically your style of acting and how you come into characters? In Orphan Black, is that how you find a way into all of these women? When clones are playing other clones in the show, are they doing impersonations? MASLANY: Those moments are the greatest joy. I get to play with all of the things that we do as people where we see somebody a certain way, we judge somebody, we empathize with something in someone—all of the judgments, good and bad, that we have of people and how that makes us behave. If Sarah is playing Alison, Sarah's judgments about Alison, the impression that she gets and the impersonation that she does. I like playing with the artifice of it and letting the mistakes and the cracks seep through. When I do those scenes, we'll do the blocking and the rehearsal and, if I'm Sarah as Alison, I'll do it in Sarah's voice with Sarah's physicality. Once the camera starts rolling, I like to let Sarah play as Alison. It throws us all off. It's letting that character speak, letting Sarah have all of her judgments about Alison and whatever her physical and emotional experience is, which is really fun to do. ADUBA: I watch the show and it's genius, just strictly from the acting of it. Just the order and the ability to organize oneself, to have such a clear identity for each character so that Sarah doesn't become Alison and Cosima doesn't become Sarah. It needs to be super clear in the actor's mind in order for us to get it, which, I think, makes you exceptional. How did you come to find acting? I know you were a ballet dancer when you were younger. MASLANY: I've always loved performing in whatever capacity. From the age of 4, I was in hours of dance class—jazz and ballet—and loved it. I don't know exactly what drew me to it. I would force my parents to watch me and my brother Daniel perform Jesus Christ Superstar for hours in the living room. ADUBA: No way! Are you serious? MASLANY: Yeah. [laughs] I think I saw it when I was five. ADUBA: I could start singing it right now. [laughs] MASLANY: I would love to hear you do that! ADUBA: I'm not joking. One of my dream roles is Judas. MASLANY: How has that not happened? I feel like that's a no-brainer. [starts singing] ADUBA: I love that guitar. [makes guitar sounds] MASLANY: I was playing it for [my boyfriend] Tom [Cullen] the other day in the car. We were driving down the highway, and I was like, "I really need to hear the intro to Jesus Christ Superstar." He was like, "This is the nerdiest shit on the planet." But we used to dance around to that and make our parents buy tickets for our performances. ADUBA: At your house? MASLANY: At our house, in the living room. We'd cut out little tickets; we already had a business sense about it. We would have so much fun performing and making up dances. It was always part of us,. Then when I was nine, my mom saw this audition, a cattle call for kids to play orphans in Oliver at the local community theater. I auditioned for that and it was my first time singing in public. I got the part of "Orphan #43," or whatever, and that was the beginning of it. After that, I couldn't get enough of it. I loved the rush of being on stage and how fun it was to be around kids my age who were all getting to play make-believe and dress up in costumes. When you're a kid and are able to do that, it's the most fun. Before I moved to Toronto when I was 20, I'd done movies and been away filming in different provinces in Canada. I was really lucky to have fallen into it, but it was only when I turned 20 and a friend showed me [John] Cassavetes's films, that I was like, "Oh, shit. This is the possibility for what this art form can be and how it can transport people and transport actors." I really took a second look at what I was doing, because I had been doing it to get attention and for the rush of performing. It was my career, but I was 9 years old to 20, and who actually knows what their career is at that age? For the last ten years, I've been deepening my training. The last class I did was a year ago in New York—Strasberg stuff. That's my favorite place to be, back in class and studying. ADUBA: It's about the learning of the thing. That's my experience, at least. There's nothing to be gained other than a deeper knowledge of how to pursue the craft of it. MASLANY: Have you found anything new since the success of Orange is the New Black and the specific accolades you've received? Has that changed your approach to work or the way you feel about it? You're so fearless in your work and your commitment to your character is massive. ADUBA: I don't know if this is going to make me sound more sane or crazy, but when I am working, it is the most alive place for me. That statement feels louder that I intend it to, but that's the only way I know how to frame it. It's the safest place I know and definitely the most honest place I know. Maybe it's that charge that you were talking about when you were a kid. When I'm in that space, that artistic, creative space of making something, I don't think about anything else. Whether it's the show or a play, all I'm thinking about is how do I get this person from stop A on this train to stop B? I'm still a person and I have my own life timeline happening simultaneously, [but] I love to act. It's my safe space. I turn off the noise and shut the door on the world. MASLANY: That's amazing, that protectiveness of the work. I totally relate to shutting out the noise. Same as you, I feel the safest, the most vulnerable, and the most excited and alive in work. ADUBA: We've seen each other in real life, and I've already gushed about Orphan Black, but I'll gush again. We don't get to see often, or often enough, what you do played in the female form. It's pretty fucking cool. What did you feel about that when you were stepping into those shoes? MASLANY: I was very excited to read female characters like these. I was excited even at the prospect of playing one of them; I was excited to be in the audition room and to get to play a few of the characters for an hour. I was dreaming, obviously, about getting the part, but just doing the audition was a thrill enough. Just to get to stretch and work like that in an audition space, where usually you do a scene and you're out. This was four different characters, changing in front of everyone, with the process being outed and without any preciousness. I couldn't step out of the room and be like, "Give me a moment." I just walked in with a bag of crap in my hands, and was like, "I'm going to put on these glasses now and play in front of you." The response that people have had to the show in terms of the questions of identity and the feminist rhetoric, it was really exciting and sort of a surprise to me. Weirdly, the most I was thinking about gender when I was playing these characters was when John Fawcett, the showrunner, said to me, "I think Alison is the most feminine." I was like "Okay. What does that mean?" I had this block in my head: "What does that mean that she's ‘feminine'?" I was watching videos to figure it out. For some reason, the characters defy gender to me in a way: Helena is this Ukrainian serial killer who is now domesticated. Gender wasn't even a concept to her; she was beyond that almost. My favorite actor on the planet is Gena Rowlands and she plays women who, to me, somehow defy gender. They are women, they are feminine, they are masculine, they are everything. There's something exciting about that. I don't know how to articulate it exactly. I guess it's busting out of the archetypes a little bit and not feeling restricted. With Suzanne, she encompasses so many things and is such a complex character, did you understand her when you first saw her? What was your thought? ADUBA: When I first saw her, I understood it as simply a love story: this is someone who is in pursuit of love. That's what I drafted out of what I read. It's funny, because you were saying you didn't think of it so much as identity, and I didn't think of it as so much as orientation. I knew she was in love with a woman, but that did not factor, somehow, into her expression for me. I've seen her now fall in love, or attempt love, with someone else, and it still doesn't hold firm for me. How we choose to define these terms has always been fascinating and curious to me—where that Webster's definition came from. I'm currently watching and reading and playing a woman for whom that point feels so inconsequential to the action that is being asked of her. When I started, for me it was just a love story, and what I've I learned about her over the years is that she falls hard. She is a lover. If she sets her sight on someone, she is committed and that was what I got out of her. She is in, most times to her detriment. That was the thing I latched onto. We've seen her play out love in an intimate way, in a maternal way. She's not a lover or a fighter; she's a lover and a fighter. She can be both very easily. Suzanne doesn't always get it right, but she knows she's trying to do the best she can with the tools she has to make sense of life, the world, the people who love her, and the people who she feels are attacking the people that she loves. MASLANY: The way you describe Suzanne is exactly the way I would describe Helena in our show—that lover-fighter thing. She hasn't necessarily been equipped in a way that everyone deserves to be, but she's doing the best with what she has and she's learning constantly. Her heart is opening as well as her capacity to fight; the two are growing at the exact same moment. She flips between wanting to be this very socialized, "normal" person, but her instincts are more base and animal, and she has the capacity for both in her. They are in conflict and are married in her at the same time. It's so much fun to play a character who carries two contrasting things inside of them, two polar opposite drives or instincts. ADUBA: Are any of the clones going to die? I'm just asking... [laughs] MASLANY: So, here's how it ends... ADUBA: Let me ask you this question: Would you sign up for it again, having now done it? MASLANY: I would never want to do a similar thing in terms of television. I don't know if you've ever done a one-woman show, but watching that on stage is my favorite thing on the planet. I'm so drawn to people who can do that and I would love to try it someday. I think that's the closest that I'd ever get. ADUBA: That would be so cool. I would love to see you do that.

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