Just a Perfect Blendship
Title: Just a Perfect Blendship
Author: lennoxave
Pairing,Character(s): Will, Beiste
Rating: PG (there's like, one swear word)
Word Count: 3,493
Spoilers: Through 2.06, "Never Been Kissed"
Summary: Written for this prompt at the glee_fluff_meme . Will and Beiste become BFFs, and Will helps Beiste meet the perfect man for her.
Author's Note: I want these two to be best friends so badly I can't even tell you.
Just a Perfect Blendship
Will doesn’t remember how it started, exactly.
That’s a lie. He does. It started with that kiss in the locker room, that kiss that he realizes now could have gone horribly awry. With his luck, it probably should have. But he had offered it in a spirit of no-you-really-are-beautiful-and-even-if-you-never-find-someone-who-appreciates-you-at-least-you’ll-have-experienced-this-this-one-time, and she had taken it in exactly that way. As an act of friendship and nothing more. Given Will’s propensity for screwing things up, he feels pretty lucky that it turned out that way. But he knows that, despite the sometimes whack-a-doo metaphors she comes up with, Shannon Beiste is too smart and too emotionally observant to have ever taken it the wrong way.
But the kiss did change their relationship. It made them closer, somehow. In a friends-sharing-secrets kind of way. They spent more time together at school, taking coffee breaks and eating lunch together. Will was glad to have made a new friend. Sure, he talked to the other faculty at McKinley, but he didn’t have any meaningful connections with them. It seemed like he had lost all of his other friends. Things were still weird with Emma. Ken had quit (and . . . things between them would probably still have been weird, too). He couldn’t handle talking to Bryan Ryan for more than ten minutes. Terri was gone. He hadn’t really kept in touch with any of his college friends, at least not after he married Terri (which, in retrospect, her special brand of crazy might have had something to do with them not trying to keep in touch back). Frankly, Will was kind of lonely, and it was nice to have someone to talk to again, even if it was just at school.
A couple of weeks later, they got the chance to expand their friendship further.
"Schuester, are you a Bengals fan or a Browns fan?" Beiste asked as she sat down for lunch.
"Browns. My dad grew up in Cleveland," Will replied. "Why?"
"There’s a new bar opening up down the street from my apartment, and they’re offering twenty-five cent wings and three dollar pitchers during the Browns game on Sunday. You wanna go?"
"Sure," Will said. He hadn’t been out in ages, and it seemed like it could be a good time. "I wouldn’t have thought you’d be a fan of any Ohio sports teams, though."
"Oh, I’m not," Beiste grinned, and it was the first time Will thought he had ever seen any hint of mischief in her face. "I’m Buffalo, born and raised."
". . . and that’s who the Browns are playing on Sunday. So basically, you’re asking me to come out so you can have someone to talk trash at?"
"Basically," Beiste said, her grin widening.
Will grinned back. "With the way the Bills have been playing this season, I don’t think that’s the best idea you’ve ever had, Coach."
* * *
When Will walked into Hail Mary’s Sports Bar on Sunday, the place was packed. Three bartenders were frantically rushing around the horseshoe bar, filling pitchers and pouring shots. He looked around the bar until he saw Beiste wave at him from a booth over by the dartboard.
"Hey," she said as he slid in across from her. She already had a half-drunk glass of beer in front of her, and a clean glass and almost-full pitcher were waiting for Will.
"What’d you get?" he asked, pouring himself a beer.
"Bud," she said.
"Not light?"
She looked at him. "Light beer is for wimps. You don’t drink dog piss when the moon is full and the corn can’t grow, and you don’t drink light beer when you’re watching football."
Will decided not to try to untangle that metaphor and laughed instead. "Fine. Touché."
* * *
The Bills may have won that day (and oh, how Beiste would not let him forget that), but that wasn’t the end of their nights at Hail Mary’s. It somehow became their bar, and though they could never agree about football, Beiste was both accommodating enough and enough uninterested in professional basketball to adopt the Cavaliers as her team. So they would go, usually once or twice a week, to have a beer and bitch about what a tool LeBron James was.
They went enough, in fact, that they started to get to know the bartenders pretty well. The place was owned by a married couple, Tim and, unsurprisingly, Mary, and they tended bar on weeknights. Weekends, though, had their own set of barkeeps, including a man named Tony.
The first few times he and Beiste had gone in on a Friday night, Will hadn’t given much notice to Tony, other than the fact that he was bald as a bowling ball and easily six-foot five, two hundred and fifty pounds. Granted, this meant that he’d noticed him a fair amount, but Tony seemed like a super-nice guy, so Will hadn’t paid him much more attention than his initial intimidated reaction.
It was about the fourth visit when something happened that caught Will’s eye.
"What can I get for you?" Tony asked him.
"I’ll have a Bud Light," Will answered, ignoring the snort from next to him.
"And the pretty lady?" Tony asked, turning to Beiste.
"I’ll, uh, I’ll have a Guinness," she stammered.
"Excellent choice," the bartender grinned at her, and went to pour their beers.
Will didn’t say anything until they had paid for their drinks and were in a booth safely out of ear shot of the bartender.
"So, pretty lady, huh?" he smirked, taking a sip of his beer.
Beiste laughed a little, but there was no humor in her voice when she spoke. "C’mon now, Will. He’s a bartender. They always say stuff like that. Gets them better tips."
"I dunno," Will said. "I’ve never heard him compliment a woman’s choice in beer before." He wasn’t trying to be teasing. He actually hadn’t ever seen Tony give another customer the same look he had just given Beiste. The guy was always friendly, sure, but he was never flirty with the girls like some of the other bartenders were.
"Will," Beiste said, deadly serious. "Don’t get my hopes up. Just . . . don’t."
"All right, sorry." Will turned the conversation to the latest ridiculous thing Sue Sylvester had done (and, really, it just wasn’t safe to have the Cheerios doing a trapeze act in the gym, even beyond the issue of how much it would cost), but he kept glancing over to observe Tony. Interestingly enough, he often caught Tony sneaking glances at Beiste.
"I’m going to get a glass of water, do you want another one?" Will gestured at his friend’s empty glass.
"Sure," she said, reaching to pull out her wallet.
"Stop. It’s on me. You bought on Tuesday," he said. Will picked up their empties and headed back to the bar, being careful to catch Tony’s eye.
"A water and another Guinness, please," he said. Tony started the pour for the Guinness, but he looked back up at Will.
"You two come in here a lot, don’t you?" he asked, his tone casual.
"Yeah," Will said. "I guess we’ve just sort of adopted the place."
"How long have you been together?" Another casual question as Tony stopped the pour and waited for the beer to settle.
"Oh, we’re not together," Will said. "Just friends."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Tony looked thoughtful as he finished pouring the Guinness. Will saw his chance to act as wingman.
"She’s single, you know," he said, and then stopped. "I mean, I think so. I haven’t asked lately. I guess I could find out for you?" He didn’t want to make her seem desperate.
"Yeah," Tony said in a dreamy voice. "Could you?"
"Sure," Will said. Tony laid the beer on the table and Will pulled a five out of his wallet. Tony just cleared his throat.
"Um, on the . . . on the house." He looked over at Beiste again. "You’re pretty sure she’s single, right?"
"Pretty sure," Will said, putting his money away. The two men stood across from each other awkwardly for a few moments until Will finally asked, "Uh, water?"
"Right. Sorry."
When Will returned to their table, Beiste was attentively watching the basketball game.
"You didn’t see any of that, did you?" Will said, setting down their drinks.
"That three-pointer Joey Graham just nailed?"
Will sighed. "Look, Tony the bartender? Just gave you a drink for free. You should at least, I don’t know, go talk to the guy or something." He saw Beiste blush, but she shook her head.
"Will, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, and maybe he really is interested, but . . . it never works out. Something happens, a guy finds out I’m tougher than he is, or know more about football than he does, or whatever, and I just . . . I don’t want to go through that again. Face it, you’re a lion barking up the wrong mineshaft here."
"Okay, one: the expression is ‘a dog barking up the wrong tree.’" Will had been trying to correct Beiste’s idiomatic phrases, although so far it hadn’t seemed to be sticking. "And two: you’re never going to find somebody if you aren’t willing to take a few risks." She just shook her head again.
"Then I guess I don’t find somebody," she said, and turned her attention back to the game.
Will felt dejected about his friend’s hopelessness, so as they were leaving that night, he made sure to lean over the bar and whisper to Tony, "Definitely single."
* * *
It hadn’t quite been part of Will’s nefarious plan to be running late the next Friday night. It had just sort of happened, and if Will hadn’t bothered to call Beiste about it until he knew she would already be at the bar, well, that was just an oversight on his part, right?
"Will?" Beiste answered her phone.
"Shannon, hey, look, I’m really sorry, but I’m gonna be about twenty minutes late. We had to re-choreograph all of ‘Night Fever,’ so rehearsal ran super-long tonight."
"Why’d you have to do that?"
"Artie kept running over Mike Chang’s feet. He says it was on accident, but I don’t really believe him. Anyway, we had to change it so they were never within five feet of each other, and it turned into a logistical nightmare. But we’re finally done, and I’m just going to grab a sandwich at Subway and meet you soon, okay?"
"Yeah, that’s fine. I’m already at the bar, so . . . I guess I’ll just play darts or something."
Will had to bite his lip to prevent himself from suggesting that she talk to Tony instead. He didn’t want to seem too obvious. "Okay. I’m really sorry. I’ll see you later."
"Bye, Will."
"Bye."
When Will finally got to Hail Mary’s, closer to half-an-hour late rather than his twenty minute estimate, he walked in to see Shannon Beiste sitting at the bar, laughing uproariously at something Tony was telling her. He briefly considered turning around and walking right back out the door, but Tony saw him and waved him over.
"Hey, buddy, what can I get for you tonight?" Tony asked.
"I’ll have a Sam Adams," Will answered.
"Shannon, would you like another?"
"Oh, heck, why not?" Beiste said, downing what was left in her glass. Tony poured them their drinks, and they went to sit in their usual booth.
"So . . . that looked promising," Will grinned as he took a long pull off his beer.
Beiste tried her best to glare at him, but her face broke into a huge smile instead.
"You set me up, Will Schuester," she said, again trying to sound angry but failing miserably. "I’m not sure if I can ever forgive you."
"I’ll take my chances on that." They sat for a few seconds, just looking at each other with stupid grins on their faces. "So?" Will finally asked. "What’d you find out about him?"
"Well," she started out hesitantly, but soon built to an eruption of information. "His full name is Tony Barzula. He’s a construction worker by day; he does this on the weekends because he likes being around people other than his crew. He’s divorced, but get this: he was a professional body-builder in his twenties. He married this chick he met on the circuit, but she left him for their trainer when he wouldn’t start doping to keep winning tourneys. That’s when he quit body-building and went into construction full-time."
"So he’s a fan of the strong ladies, is what you’re saying."
Beiste blushed. "I guess. Anyway, he’s only five years older than I am, and he’s funny and nice, and right before you came in . . . I kind of agreed to go on a date with him."
"That’s great!" Will said. "Congratulations!"
"Thanks," she said, but her face suddenly fell. "Oh, god. I agreed to go on a date." Beiste started to panic. "Will, I agreed to go on a date. I haven’t been on a date in ten years. What should--, what am I--, what--? Will, what am I going to wear?"
"Well, you could just . . ." Will faltered. Beiste was wearing her typical high school gym teacher get-up: polo shirt, wind pants, tennis shoes. It dawned on him that he had never seen her in anything else. "I mean, you do have other clothes, right?"
Beiste just looked at him.
"Okay. Uh . . . I’m not really good at this sort of thing, all I wear are vests and cardigans, as Sue is so fond of reminding me, but we could maybe . . . ask Emma? She’s a girl . . ." he finished lamely.
"Will, on what planet are you living that Emma Pillsbury and I would wear the same clothes?"
"Okay . . . well . . ."
Beiste sighed. "I’m a very hard person to shop for. There aren’t a lot of options for women over six feet tall."
"Okay. I’ll do some investigating, and I’ll get you the name of a store in the area that might have clothes for you."
"Will you come with me?"
"Shannon, I’m going to be the least helpful person--"
"I know. I just need a male opinion. Y’know, on if something looks good or not." Beiste looked so pleadingly at him that he couldn’t say no.
"Okay. I’ll find a store, and we’ll go shopping this weekend."
"Thank you."
"No problem."
They turned their attention to the basketball game, where Cleveland was getting clobbered by Boston. In a few minutes, Will had finished his beer.
"That was fast," said Beiste, looking over at him.
"Yeah," Will said, frowning slightly. "Rough day."
"You getting another?"
"Nah. I think I’ll get a Coke instead."
"Y’know, Will," she said, stopping him as he started to get up, "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you have more than one drink at a time."
"Well," he said, suddenly guarded, "I try not to. Not very often anyway. I’m driving and stuff. You know."
"Your parents?" Beiste asked quietly. Will gaped at her.
"How did you know?"
"You said the only thing that screws a person up more than high school is their parents. That’s the talk of somebody who either had it really good in high school, or had a really shitty go of it with their parents." Will sat back down.
"I kind of hate your flawless memory right now," he muttered.
"What can I say? A rhinoceros never forgets."
"My parents are both alcoholics," Will said. "My dad functionally so, my mom . . . not so much. They’re good people, I’d just . . . rather not emulate certain aspects of them."
"We could go to the bowling alley or something," Beiste said. "Or, uh . . . the batting cages? Maybe catch a movie some time? We don’t have to always come here."
"No, it’s fine." There was an emphatic quality to Will’s voice. "I can handle it. Besides," he smirked, "we don’t always come here. We have a shopping date this weekend, right?"
Beiste smiled back at him, but he could tell that she knew he was deflecting. "Okay, I’ll drop it. But if you ever want to talk about it with someone, or just vent or whatever, I’m here."
"I know," Will said, and he sort of couldn’t get over how nice it was to know the words he was saying were true. "And thanks."
* * *
The shopping trip happened on Sunday. They had started out at a dress store in Piqua ("Will, what made you think this was a good idea?"), but they finally found a nice store in Columbus. Granted, it was called The Amazonian Woman and had the tagline "big savings for big girls" (which had almost sent them running straight out of the store), but it ended up having a pretty nice selection of clothes. Beiste had picked out . . . a pair of black dress slacks and a nice red blouse. Will figured that Kurt or Mercedes might know the specifics of what she had gotten, but those descriptors were good enough for him. After a trip to the shoe section of the store to pick up some loafers, they had driven back to Lima.
"Thanks again, Will," Beiste said as she got out of the car.
"You’re welcome," Will replied. "And seriously? You’re going to look beautiful on Wednesday."
Beiste just smiled in return and closed the door. It was almost 6:00 pm, and Will hadn’t eaten all day, but there was still one stop he had to make before he could go home. Luckily, he was right in the neighborhood.
"Hey," Tony greeted him as he walked through the door. The bartender was with another customer, so Will waited until he had served her.
"Alone today?" Tony asked.
"Yeah, there was something I actually had to talk to you about in private," Will said.
"Sure, what’s up?"
Will motioned for Tony to lean in closer. He leaned in himself and spoke into Tony’s ear.
"Look, I care an awful lot about Shannon. But you’re a big, strong guy, and there’s no way I can take you on myself if you break her heart. But," he said, lowering his voice so that it sounded more menacing than it would have if he had shouted, "I direct a group of twelve kids. And those kids possess a myriad of ways of hurting you. Some of them could take you on physically, some of them could destroy your property, some of them could do a five minute Google search of you and find enough information to develop the most cutting insults you will ever hear in your life, and some of them could just annoy you to death. They are smart, and they can wreck your car, your job, your reputation, your sanity, your self-esteem, your life. Because these kids, they’re misfits, and they have a lot of repressed anger in their lives, and they’re also rather fond of Coach Beiste. And I am not afraid to use all of that to my advantage. So if you hurt her, so help me God, I will unleash the wrath of twelve angry, sexually frustrated teens into your life and you will never know what hit you." Will wasn’t sure if this tactic was going to work, but he saw Tony’s eyes go wide. Well, the story of Puck’s attempted ATM heist had gotten out to the community.
"I promise you, Will, I have no intention of hurting Shannon. Threats or no."
Will leaned back and grinned. "Good! Then we’ll get along just fine. Have fun on Wednesday!" He turned and left, leaving Tony somewhat shaken at the bar.
* * *
Of course, that had been a year ago, and now his kids are sitting in the back of the V.A. hall, waiting for the service to be over and the reception to begin so they can do their version of "Your Song." And Will’s standing at the front of the hall, looking at Tony nervously adjust his cufflinks, waiting for Shannon to walk through the doors. He feels a little ridiculous in his blue tuxedo, but she had insisted that her maid of honor ("Man of honor," he’d corrected her) match the other bridesmaids. Tony catches his eye and grins, and Will wonders if he’s been thinking back on how all of this started, too. Probably. Before he can think anything else, though, the door opens, and Shannon Beiste walks in, accompanied by her seventy-four-year-old father. She looks radiant in her dress, and Will can’t help but beam with pride as his closest friend walks down the aisle to start her new life with the man she loves.
Author: lennoxave
Pairing,Character(s): Will, Beiste
Rating: PG (there's like, one swear word)
Word Count: 3,493
Spoilers: Through 2.06, "Never Been Kissed"
Summary: Written for this prompt at the glee_fluff_meme . Will and Beiste become BFFs, and Will helps Beiste meet the perfect man for her.
Author's Note: I want these two to be best friends so badly I can't even tell you.
Just a Perfect Blendship
Will doesn’t remember how it started, exactly.
That’s a lie. He does. It started with that kiss in the locker room, that kiss that he realizes now could have gone horribly awry. With his luck, it probably should have. But he had offered it in a spirit of no-you-really-are-beautiful-and-even-if-you-never-find-someone-who-appreciates-you-at-least-you’ll-have-experienced-this-this-one-time, and she had taken it in exactly that way. As an act of friendship and nothing more. Given Will’s propensity for screwing things up, he feels pretty lucky that it turned out that way. But he knows that, despite the sometimes whack-a-doo metaphors she comes up with, Shannon Beiste is too smart and too emotionally observant to have ever taken it the wrong way.
But the kiss did change their relationship. It made them closer, somehow. In a friends-sharing-secrets kind of way. They spent more time together at school, taking coffee breaks and eating lunch together. Will was glad to have made a new friend. Sure, he talked to the other faculty at McKinley, but he didn’t have any meaningful connections with them. It seemed like he had lost all of his other friends. Things were still weird with Emma. Ken had quit (and . . . things between them would probably still have been weird, too). He couldn’t handle talking to Bryan Ryan for more than ten minutes. Terri was gone. He hadn’t really kept in touch with any of his college friends, at least not after he married Terri (which, in retrospect, her special brand of crazy might have had something to do with them not trying to keep in touch back). Frankly, Will was kind of lonely, and it was nice to have someone to talk to again, even if it was just at school.
A couple of weeks later, they got the chance to expand their friendship further.
"Schuester, are you a Bengals fan or a Browns fan?" Beiste asked as she sat down for lunch.
"Browns. My dad grew up in Cleveland," Will replied. "Why?"
"There’s a new bar opening up down the street from my apartment, and they’re offering twenty-five cent wings and three dollar pitchers during the Browns game on Sunday. You wanna go?"
"Sure," Will said. He hadn’t been out in ages, and it seemed like it could be a good time. "I wouldn’t have thought you’d be a fan of any Ohio sports teams, though."
"Oh, I’m not," Beiste grinned, and it was the first time Will thought he had ever seen any hint of mischief in her face. "I’m Buffalo, born and raised."
". . . and that’s who the Browns are playing on Sunday. So basically, you’re asking me to come out so you can have someone to talk trash at?"
"Basically," Beiste said, her grin widening.
Will grinned back. "With the way the Bills have been playing this season, I don’t think that’s the best idea you’ve ever had, Coach."
* * *
When Will walked into Hail Mary’s Sports Bar on Sunday, the place was packed. Three bartenders were frantically rushing around the horseshoe bar, filling pitchers and pouring shots. He looked around the bar until he saw Beiste wave at him from a booth over by the dartboard.
"Hey," she said as he slid in across from her. She already had a half-drunk glass of beer in front of her, and a clean glass and almost-full pitcher were waiting for Will.
"What’d you get?" he asked, pouring himself a beer.
"Bud," she said.
"Not light?"
She looked at him. "Light beer is for wimps. You don’t drink dog piss when the moon is full and the corn can’t grow, and you don’t drink light beer when you’re watching football."
Will decided not to try to untangle that metaphor and laughed instead. "Fine. Touché."
* * *
The Bills may have won that day (and oh, how Beiste would not let him forget that), but that wasn’t the end of their nights at Hail Mary’s. It somehow became their bar, and though they could never agree about football, Beiste was both accommodating enough and enough uninterested in professional basketball to adopt the Cavaliers as her team. So they would go, usually once or twice a week, to have a beer and bitch about what a tool LeBron James was.
They went enough, in fact, that they started to get to know the bartenders pretty well. The place was owned by a married couple, Tim and, unsurprisingly, Mary, and they tended bar on weeknights. Weekends, though, had their own set of barkeeps, including a man named Tony.
The first few times he and Beiste had gone in on a Friday night, Will hadn’t given much notice to Tony, other than the fact that he was bald as a bowling ball and easily six-foot five, two hundred and fifty pounds. Granted, this meant that he’d noticed him a fair amount, but Tony seemed like a super-nice guy, so Will hadn’t paid him much more attention than his initial intimidated reaction.
It was about the fourth visit when something happened that caught Will’s eye.
"What can I get for you?" Tony asked him.
"I’ll have a Bud Light," Will answered, ignoring the snort from next to him.
"And the pretty lady?" Tony asked, turning to Beiste.
"I’ll, uh, I’ll have a Guinness," she stammered.
"Excellent choice," the bartender grinned at her, and went to pour their beers.
Will didn’t say anything until they had paid for their drinks and were in a booth safely out of ear shot of the bartender.
"So, pretty lady, huh?" he smirked, taking a sip of his beer.
Beiste laughed a little, but there was no humor in her voice when she spoke. "C’mon now, Will. He’s a bartender. They always say stuff like that. Gets them better tips."
"I dunno," Will said. "I’ve never heard him compliment a woman’s choice in beer before." He wasn’t trying to be teasing. He actually hadn’t ever seen Tony give another customer the same look he had just given Beiste. The guy was always friendly, sure, but he was never flirty with the girls like some of the other bartenders were.
"Will," Beiste said, deadly serious. "Don’t get my hopes up. Just . . . don’t."
"All right, sorry." Will turned the conversation to the latest ridiculous thing Sue Sylvester had done (and, really, it just wasn’t safe to have the Cheerios doing a trapeze act in the gym, even beyond the issue of how much it would cost), but he kept glancing over to observe Tony. Interestingly enough, he often caught Tony sneaking glances at Beiste.
"I’m going to get a glass of water, do you want another one?" Will gestured at his friend’s empty glass.
"Sure," she said, reaching to pull out her wallet.
"Stop. It’s on me. You bought on Tuesday," he said. Will picked up their empties and headed back to the bar, being careful to catch Tony’s eye.
"A water and another Guinness, please," he said. Tony started the pour for the Guinness, but he looked back up at Will.
"You two come in here a lot, don’t you?" he asked, his tone casual.
"Yeah," Will said. "I guess we’ve just sort of adopted the place."
"How long have you been together?" Another casual question as Tony stopped the pour and waited for the beer to settle.
"Oh, we’re not together," Will said. "Just friends."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Tony looked thoughtful as he finished pouring the Guinness. Will saw his chance to act as wingman.
"She’s single, you know," he said, and then stopped. "I mean, I think so. I haven’t asked lately. I guess I could find out for you?" He didn’t want to make her seem desperate.
"Yeah," Tony said in a dreamy voice. "Could you?"
"Sure," Will said. Tony laid the beer on the table and Will pulled a five out of his wallet. Tony just cleared his throat.
"Um, on the . . . on the house." He looked over at Beiste again. "You’re pretty sure she’s single, right?"
"Pretty sure," Will said, putting his money away. The two men stood across from each other awkwardly for a few moments until Will finally asked, "Uh, water?"
"Right. Sorry."
When Will returned to their table, Beiste was attentively watching the basketball game.
"You didn’t see any of that, did you?" Will said, setting down their drinks.
"That three-pointer Joey Graham just nailed?"
Will sighed. "Look, Tony the bartender? Just gave you a drink for free. You should at least, I don’t know, go talk to the guy or something." He saw Beiste blush, but she shook her head.
"Will, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, and maybe he really is interested, but . . . it never works out. Something happens, a guy finds out I’m tougher than he is, or know more about football than he does, or whatever, and I just . . . I don’t want to go through that again. Face it, you’re a lion barking up the wrong mineshaft here."
"Okay, one: the expression is ‘a dog barking up the wrong tree.’" Will had been trying to correct Beiste’s idiomatic phrases, although so far it hadn’t seemed to be sticking. "And two: you’re never going to find somebody if you aren’t willing to take a few risks." She just shook her head again.
"Then I guess I don’t find somebody," she said, and turned her attention back to the game.
Will felt dejected about his friend’s hopelessness, so as they were leaving that night, he made sure to lean over the bar and whisper to Tony, "Definitely single."
* * *
It hadn’t quite been part of Will’s nefarious plan to be running late the next Friday night. It had just sort of happened, and if Will hadn’t bothered to call Beiste about it until he knew she would already be at the bar, well, that was just an oversight on his part, right?
"Will?" Beiste answered her phone.
"Shannon, hey, look, I’m really sorry, but I’m gonna be about twenty minutes late. We had to re-choreograph all of ‘Night Fever,’ so rehearsal ran super-long tonight."
"Why’d you have to do that?"
"Artie kept running over Mike Chang’s feet. He says it was on accident, but I don’t really believe him. Anyway, we had to change it so they were never within five feet of each other, and it turned into a logistical nightmare. But we’re finally done, and I’m just going to grab a sandwich at Subway and meet you soon, okay?"
"Yeah, that’s fine. I’m already at the bar, so . . . I guess I’ll just play darts or something."
Will had to bite his lip to prevent himself from suggesting that she talk to Tony instead. He didn’t want to seem too obvious. "Okay. I’m really sorry. I’ll see you later."
"Bye, Will."
"Bye."
When Will finally got to Hail Mary’s, closer to half-an-hour late rather than his twenty minute estimate, he walked in to see Shannon Beiste sitting at the bar, laughing uproariously at something Tony was telling her. He briefly considered turning around and walking right back out the door, but Tony saw him and waved him over.
"Hey, buddy, what can I get for you tonight?" Tony asked.
"I’ll have a Sam Adams," Will answered.
"Shannon, would you like another?"
"Oh, heck, why not?" Beiste said, downing what was left in her glass. Tony poured them their drinks, and they went to sit in their usual booth.
"So . . . that looked promising," Will grinned as he took a long pull off his beer.
Beiste tried her best to glare at him, but her face broke into a huge smile instead.
"You set me up, Will Schuester," she said, again trying to sound angry but failing miserably. "I’m not sure if I can ever forgive you."
"I’ll take my chances on that." They sat for a few seconds, just looking at each other with stupid grins on their faces. "So?" Will finally asked. "What’d you find out about him?"
"Well," she started out hesitantly, but soon built to an eruption of information. "His full name is Tony Barzula. He’s a construction worker by day; he does this on the weekends because he likes being around people other than his crew. He’s divorced, but get this: he was a professional body-builder in his twenties. He married this chick he met on the circuit, but she left him for their trainer when he wouldn’t start doping to keep winning tourneys. That’s when he quit body-building and went into construction full-time."
"So he’s a fan of the strong ladies, is what you’re saying."
Beiste blushed. "I guess. Anyway, he’s only five years older than I am, and he’s funny and nice, and right before you came in . . . I kind of agreed to go on a date with him."
"That’s great!" Will said. "Congratulations!"
"Thanks," she said, but her face suddenly fell. "Oh, god. I agreed to go on a date." Beiste started to panic. "Will, I agreed to go on a date. I haven’t been on a date in ten years. What should--, what am I--, what--? Will, what am I going to wear?"
"Well, you could just . . ." Will faltered. Beiste was wearing her typical high school gym teacher get-up: polo shirt, wind pants, tennis shoes. It dawned on him that he had never seen her in anything else. "I mean, you do have other clothes, right?"
Beiste just looked at him.
"Okay. Uh . . . I’m not really good at this sort of thing, all I wear are vests and cardigans, as Sue is so fond of reminding me, but we could maybe . . . ask Emma? She’s a girl . . ." he finished lamely.
"Will, on what planet are you living that Emma Pillsbury and I would wear the same clothes?"
"Okay . . . well . . ."
Beiste sighed. "I’m a very hard person to shop for. There aren’t a lot of options for women over six feet tall."
"Okay. I’ll do some investigating, and I’ll get you the name of a store in the area that might have clothes for you."
"Will you come with me?"
"Shannon, I’m going to be the least helpful person--"
"I know. I just need a male opinion. Y’know, on if something looks good or not." Beiste looked so pleadingly at him that he couldn’t say no.
"Okay. I’ll find a store, and we’ll go shopping this weekend."
"Thank you."
"No problem."
They turned their attention to the basketball game, where Cleveland was getting clobbered by Boston. In a few minutes, Will had finished his beer.
"That was fast," said Beiste, looking over at him.
"Yeah," Will said, frowning slightly. "Rough day."
"You getting another?"
"Nah. I think I’ll get a Coke instead."
"Y’know, Will," she said, stopping him as he started to get up, "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you have more than one drink at a time."
"Well," he said, suddenly guarded, "I try not to. Not very often anyway. I’m driving and stuff. You know."
"Your parents?" Beiste asked quietly. Will gaped at her.
"How did you know?"
"You said the only thing that screws a person up more than high school is their parents. That’s the talk of somebody who either had it really good in high school, or had a really shitty go of it with their parents." Will sat back down.
"I kind of hate your flawless memory right now," he muttered.
"What can I say? A rhinoceros never forgets."
"My parents are both alcoholics," Will said. "My dad functionally so, my mom . . . not so much. They’re good people, I’d just . . . rather not emulate certain aspects of them."
"We could go to the bowling alley or something," Beiste said. "Or, uh . . . the batting cages? Maybe catch a movie some time? We don’t have to always come here."
"No, it’s fine." There was an emphatic quality to Will’s voice. "I can handle it. Besides," he smirked, "we don’t always come here. We have a shopping date this weekend, right?"
Beiste smiled back at him, but he could tell that she knew he was deflecting. "Okay, I’ll drop it. But if you ever want to talk about it with someone, or just vent or whatever, I’m here."
"I know," Will said, and he sort of couldn’t get over how nice it was to know the words he was saying were true. "And thanks."
* * *
The shopping trip happened on Sunday. They had started out at a dress store in Piqua ("Will, what made you think this was a good idea?"), but they finally found a nice store in Columbus. Granted, it was called The Amazonian Woman and had the tagline "big savings for big girls" (which had almost sent them running straight out of the store), but it ended up having a pretty nice selection of clothes. Beiste had picked out . . . a pair of black dress slacks and a nice red blouse. Will figured that Kurt or Mercedes might know the specifics of what she had gotten, but those descriptors were good enough for him. After a trip to the shoe section of the store to pick up some loafers, they had driven back to Lima.
"Thanks again, Will," Beiste said as she got out of the car.
"You’re welcome," Will replied. "And seriously? You’re going to look beautiful on Wednesday."
Beiste just smiled in return and closed the door. It was almost 6:00 pm, and Will hadn’t eaten all day, but there was still one stop he had to make before he could go home. Luckily, he was right in the neighborhood.
"Hey," Tony greeted him as he walked through the door. The bartender was with another customer, so Will waited until he had served her.
"Alone today?" Tony asked.
"Yeah, there was something I actually had to talk to you about in private," Will said.
"Sure, what’s up?"
Will motioned for Tony to lean in closer. He leaned in himself and spoke into Tony’s ear.
"Look, I care an awful lot about Shannon. But you’re a big, strong guy, and there’s no way I can take you on myself if you break her heart. But," he said, lowering his voice so that it sounded more menacing than it would have if he had shouted, "I direct a group of twelve kids. And those kids possess a myriad of ways of hurting you. Some of them could take you on physically, some of them could destroy your property, some of them could do a five minute Google search of you and find enough information to develop the most cutting insults you will ever hear in your life, and some of them could just annoy you to death. They are smart, and they can wreck your car, your job, your reputation, your sanity, your self-esteem, your life. Because these kids, they’re misfits, and they have a lot of repressed anger in their lives, and they’re also rather fond of Coach Beiste. And I am not afraid to use all of that to my advantage. So if you hurt her, so help me God, I will unleash the wrath of twelve angry, sexually frustrated teens into your life and you will never know what hit you." Will wasn’t sure if this tactic was going to work, but he saw Tony’s eyes go wide. Well, the story of Puck’s attempted ATM heist had gotten out to the community.
"I promise you, Will, I have no intention of hurting Shannon. Threats or no."
Will leaned back and grinned. "Good! Then we’ll get along just fine. Have fun on Wednesday!" He turned and left, leaving Tony somewhat shaken at the bar.
* * *
Of course, that had been a year ago, and now his kids are sitting in the back of the V.A. hall, waiting for the service to be over and the reception to begin so they can do their version of "Your Song." And Will’s standing at the front of the hall, looking at Tony nervously adjust his cufflinks, waiting for Shannon to walk through the doors. He feels a little ridiculous in his blue tuxedo, but she had insisted that her maid of honor ("Man of honor," he’d corrected her) match the other bridesmaids. Tony catches his eye and grins, and Will wonders if he’s been thinking back on how all of this started, too. Probably. Before he can think anything else, though, the door opens, and Shannon Beiste walks in, accompanied by her seventy-four-year-old father. She looks radiant in her dress, and Will can’t help but beam with pride as his closest friend walks down the aisle to start her new life with the man she loves.