Redoing My Life (Modern Family)

There was a crisis well, not really a crisis, but definitely a problem.

It began about three months ago, when Scott Snyder and I started mapping out the plot details for the Justice League movie.

It was the first time we had sat down to talk about it—just the two of us. Scott and me. We were going to write the film together.

We began outlining every character: Diana, Clark, Barry, Arthur, both Johns, and Bruce.

That's where the problem started.

The Wonder Woman movie had done its job; it firmly established her her history and her presence in the modern day. She could appear in Justice League without another solo film.

The same was true for Superman. His movie had cemented who he was. It would be the same for Flash, Aquaman, and Green Lantern. All of them had a clear path into Justice League.

But Batman?

That was the issue.

Both Batman movies we had were set before the other films. The Batman took place nearly a decade before the events of Superman or Wonder Woman. The Dark Knight occurred maybe two or three years after the first Batman.

The Dark Knight's ending left Bruce in a place that felt unfinished. We couldn't just jump from that ending to Bruce showing up in Justice League as though nothing had happened.

It felt wrong, and Scott agreed.

"We might need a third one," I remember saying.

Scott nodded. "Yeah, we really need a third movie."

"Daniel. Daniel."

Margot's voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

I turned to see her standing there, frowning, a bottle of vodka in one hand, dressed in a festive outfit—red velvet trimmed with soft white, like Mrs. Claus.

"What the—?" I said, staring at her.

She planted her free hand on her hip. "Stop your weird brooding thing and help me," she commanded.

I squinted. "What weird brooding thing? And… what are you wearing?"

She tilted her head with a mock gasp. "What's wrong with it?"

"I'm not complaining," I said, my eyes very much not on her face, "but aren't we supposed to be hosting a party in, like, a few hours?"

Margot waved a hand. "And I'm dressed for it as the host."

I looked her up and down for a second, then nodded. "Good idea."

She grinned. "You have one too, you know."

I frowned. "I'm not wearing a Santa Claus costume."

She strolled toward me—boots clicking on the hardwood—until she was inches away. "I bought another one, you know," she said, leaning in. "If you want to see it, then…"

"Yes," I replied instantly, standing straighter. "I'll wear anything you want. Yes, ma'am."

"Good boy," she said, patting my cheek. "Now call that cake place. It's still not here."

She paused, raised an eyebrow. "Actually… maybe you should go get it yourself."

"Sure…" I said, already turning away. "Just after the meeting."

Margot's eyes narrowed. "What meeting? It's Christmas, Daniel."

"Yeah. In two days," I said quickly, gave her a quick kiss on the lips, and added, "I'll pick up the cake right after this," before practically running to my office.

=====

I slipped into my office and waited a few minutes before joining the conference call.

All the big names were there: Chris, the CEO of Stardust; Becky, our CFO; Victor and Dave; a few other execs; even Nolan.

After Scott and I realized we might need another Batman movie, I'd gone straight to Dave. To my surprise, he'd said the words I wasn't expecting: "That's a great idea."

Apparently the board had already been pressing him to fill the calendar with one more film. That push came right after Superman's roaring success—they were all smelling blood in the water, or rather, money in the air.

Dave had been mulling over how to approach me when I walked into his office with a fully formed pitch.

All the stars had aligned.

And if that wasn't enough, the universe threw one more card on the table: Christopher Nolan himself had reached out. The Dark Knight was already deep in post-production, and Nolan had come to the same realization we had. He wanted to delay Interstellar, the movie he planned to make with Stardust after The Dark Knight. He wanted to finish the trilogy first.

So, yeah—everyone wanted this to happen.

"Good, Daniel—you're here. We can begin," Dave said as I joined the call. Nolan's face already occupied one of the on-screen boxes.

"Hey, Chris," I greeted casually.

"Which one?" both Christophers—Nolan and our CEO—replied almost in unison.

I smirked. "Well… both of you."

That drew a few laughs. Even Becky cracked a smile which was rare. Maybe all the incoming money had loosened the old lady up a bit.

"Okay," Victor cut in, "let's finish this quickly; we all have plans."

He leaned closer to his camera. "There's a gap an eight-month window between Green Lantern and Justice League. March 2017 is open. We need something in that slot."

Murmurs rippled through the call.

I cleared my throat. "I have an idea I think is the best option unless anyone else wants to jump in first. I'll lay it out now, and we can make a final decision when we meet in person over the holidays."

Chris Henderson spoke first. "Seeing that Mr. Nolan is here and a very unhappy Sam" he nodded to the visibly tense Sam two tiles over "I think I know what you're about to suggest, Daniel."

I smiled slightly. "Gentlemen, ladies: I propose we fill November 2016 with another Batman movie. Green Lantern should move from July 2016 to March 2017 since the casting won't even begin until March, and the script still isn't finished soo...it will be easy for us to do that."

As I finished, I saw heads nodding in approval; the reaction was better than I'd expected.

Sam spoke then, tight-lipped. "That means the film we'd planned with Mr. Nolan under the Stardust studios will be delayed."

Nolan finally spoke, his voice calm and certain. "Yes, Sam unfortunately. I've had doubts about the two-picture deal for DC ever since we started filming The Dark Knight. The story isn't finished. I need to see it through."

Becky jumped in next. "I would've objected," she said, adjusting her glasses, "but considering how much we made from Superman… I think we can do it."

I grinned. "Ah, I miss begging you for money, Becky."

She smirked. "And you were so good at it, Mr. Adler."

Victor cleared his throat. "So Mr. Adler has presented a good idea. Anyone opposed?"

A low chorus of "No" and "Agreed" floated through the call. Not a single dissent.

Well, that was easy, I thought.

Chris leaned back, clapping his hands together once. "So it's settled. Let's reconvene next month and finalize things. Looks like this little crisis has been handled."

Dave blinked. "This was a crisis?"

Becky rolled her eyes. "The boss is being overdramatic."

Chris laughed, already reaching to disconnect. "Merry Christmas, everyone."

One by one, the tiles disappeared until only Dave, Victor, Nolan, and I remained.

Victor leaned forward, elbows on his desk. "So, you two will have to start working on the script."

Nolan nodded. "Daniel will be doing most of the heavy lifting—at least until I wrap post-production on The Dark Knight."

Dave turned to me. "You up for that, Danny?"

I shrugged. "Don't worry I have something in mind."

=====

After the meeting ended, I went straight out to do what Margot had asked: pick up the cake. The bakery's delivery van had broken down, so everything was running a few hours late.

Back at home I helped Margot finish setting up for the party—tables, lights, drinks, snacks. To be honest, I mostly just handed her things while she told me where they actually belonged. Soon enough our guests began to arrive. My friends, her friends—mostly hers, if I'm being honest.

"So it's true? You really scored the original Star Wars Y-wing Starfighter miniature?" John asked, wide-eyed as he stared at the newest addition to the display wall.

"Yep," I replied casually.

"Dude, that's, like… insanely rare. Super expensive," Matt said, squinting at it.

"I've been hunting for that one for three years," I said. What had begun with model plane jay had introduced to me all those years ago had turned to collecting other things as well.

"Has to be a fake," Max muttered.

Margot approached with Scarlett, both holding glasses of wine. "Oh, it's real," she said flatly, her tone sharp enough to cut glass.

"Ah, that's the gift from the stalker you mentioned?" Scarlett asked with a small laugh.

Matt blinked. "You got it for free?"

"She's being paranoid—there is no stalker," I said, waving it off. "Looks like I have a very wealthy secret admirer."

"I'm so jealous right now," John said. "Why can't I have one? I made a best-selling game."

Matt raised a hand. "And I draw a best-selling comic."

"Well, boys," I said with a grin, "I guess I'm just on another level."

Margot didn't smile.

"This isn't something to joke about," she said. "All your fan mail goes to another address—it's scanned before it even gets close to you. But this"she gestured at the model, then looked to Scarlett for backup "this came here. Directly. They had the nerve to send it to our actual address."

Scarlett turned to me. "That's… concerning, Danny."

Margot added, "He was about to open it before I stopped him. I had it checked first."

I rolled my eyes, still brushing it off. "Look, it's obviously just some very rich person who knows what I like and sen—"

I stopped mid-sentence and stared at the model again.

Directly here, Margot had said. Not to Midas. Not to the fan-mail address. Here.

And how did this person know I wanted that specific model?

My grin disappeared.

Margot's expression said, Thank you for finally catching up.

I studied the Y-wing like it might blink. Something about it suddenly felt wrong.

"Okay… maybe there are some concerns," I admitted at last, still eyeing the miniature. "We'll be careful from now on, alright?"

The doorbell rang, giving me an escape from the miniature interrogation.

"Ah a guest. I'll get that," I said, already halfway down the hall.

I opened it to find Grant Gustin standing there, bundled in a jacket, a sheepish smile on his face.

"Grant! Glad you made it," I said, pulling the door wider.

He shrugged. "Well, you did invite me, so… here I am." An awkward pause followed.

"Come in, come in," I urged, ushering him inside.

I knew he'd be alone until Christmas Eve—friends out of town, parents flying in tomorrow—so I'd insisted he come tonight.

He looked noticeably buffer than when we first met; he'd bulked up for Barry Allen. Flash had wrapped shooting quickly, and the only heavy lifting left was post-production, now well underway.

I led him through the living room, rattled off rapid-fire introductions to the swirl of guests, and then slipped away to play bartender for a while.

=====

"So this Nemesis System thing, what is it again?" John asked as I dropped ice into a tumbler behind the bar.

I smirked. "Alright, picture this. You're playing your average RPG—let's say Skyrim—and the game is outfitted with the Nemesis System."

John nodded.

"So the Dragonborn raids a bandit hideout, kills everyone, reaches the boss, beats him, and that's normally the end, right? Credits roll on that hideout.

"Except with a Nemesis System, the world remembers."

"Here's what would happen," I said, lining up three shot glasses like tiny NPCs. "Every noteworthy enemy—the chief bandit, his second-in-command, even that smug archer who almost got you at the gate—lives on a dynamic social ladder. Kill one, and the ladder reshuffles; somebody lower down steps up."

I flicked one glass aside and nudged another forward. "Now let's say you botch the fight and that archer actually finishes you off. You respawn, but he's still alive—and now he's got a new title, stronger than before. Next time you meet, he taunts you about the last encounter, maybe flaunts the ebony armor he looted from your corpse. He's leveled up because of you."

John whistled.

"Each encounter rewrites a bit of shared history. Imagine Skyrim's dragons obeying that logic. Fail to kill a dragon and it might return later, boasting about your earlier showdown."

"The Nemesis System," I finished, "turns disposable foes into recurring characters—some you'll grow to hate, a few you might even respect."

"Dude," John said, stunned. "That's genius. We have to add it to the RPG we're planning—the one based on your book. Imagine the possibilities!"

I clinked a spoon against a glass and handed him his drink. "You're thinking what I'm thinking."

He raised the glass. "So when are you buying the rights?"

I paused. "I'm working on it."

Just then Haley walked over, holding an empty glass and giving me a look that clearly said refill me.

I pointed at her. "No more drinks for you."

Haley frowned. "Hey—not fair."

"I think you've had enough, Haley."

"You're still hung up on that male nanny, aren't you?" I teased.

Her jaw dropped. "No, I am not!"

Grant reappeared just then.

"I'd like that drink you made me earlier," he said, smiling.

I glanced at Haley, then back at Grant, then at Haley again.

Grant, have you met Haley?" I asked.

Haley's expression shifted from annoyance with me to a bright smile.

Grant squinted at her. "I think I've seen you before…"

Haley tilted her head. "You're the Flasher guy, right? I helped make your suit with Caleb."

Grant and I corrected her in unison. "The Flash."

Haley gave him a once-over and gasped. "Oh my God… did you get bigger?"

Grant rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh… a bit."

I took that as my cue to step away from the bar and let whatever was about to happen unfold on its own.

The rest of the night blurred into chaotic snapshots. I teased Scarlett about her breakup with Ryan—she almost punched me, but it was worth it to say I'd been right about him for like the thousandth time. Joanna shadowed me, pitching the idea of co-writing a song for her next album. After drifting through more conversations and sampling the questionable Christmas cookies Matt had brought, I ended up beside Margot.

She stood silently by the glass display shelf, eyes fixed on the Y-wing miniature. I moved next to her.

"I think I know why you're so obsessed with it," I said.

"I'm not," Margot replied, a little too quickly.

"Listen," I murmured, lowering my voice. "Anything you give me means a million times more than that piece of plastic."

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

I glanced at the ship again. "I mean… it could be a guy."

Margot shook her head and narrowed her eyes. "No. It's a woman. I'm sure it's a woman."

She turned back to the party—then squinted. Haley was dancing. With Grant.

Margot blinked. "How did that happen?"

I shrugged innocently. "I might have done something."

.

.

.

"So, sweetheart," a woman said gently through the phone's speaker, "I still don't understand why you can't come home for Christmas."

The young woman holding the phone sighed as she sat on the edge of her neatly made bed. She was striking blonde waves spilling past her shoulders, plush lips, a sculpted jawline that lent a hint of edge to her otherwise soft features. She looked like the sort of person who turned heads without trying. But her eyes were tired, already weary of having this conversation.

"Mom," she replied, calm but firm, "I have a serious job. I can't just leave. He needs me—I have important work at the company."

A pause followed on the other end of the line.

Then: "Your father just asked me why you made him buy that expensive toy."

The young woman gave a faint laugh and tucked her hair behind one ear.

"It's not for me," she said, lowering her voice. "It's a gift."

"A gift?" her father's voice cut in sharply from the background—just loud enough to be annoying.

"Howard, hush," her mother snapped before returning to the call. "Well, I hope it's for someone special."

The young woman didn't answer right away. Instead, she turned toward the laptop on her desk. The screen had dimmed, showing her chosen background: a photo of Daniel Adler.

She smiled at the photo. Not just smiled—her expression melted. Her fingers brushed against the screen, slowly tracing the image like it was precious.

"Oh," she whispered, still gazing at the image, "it's for someone I love very much."

Her smile widened, and her eyes shone with quiet certainty.

.

.

The ending is a plot for side characters.