And then I wrote another one of these side ficlets
I keep on jumping around the timeline of this AU and doing snapshots. I prefer snapshots to plot fics. Plot is overrated
This morning I woke up and decided that there needed to be more Grell and Ronald BFF-ness. Unfortunately the circumstances are Will and Grell having a nasty breakup. and it's 1,234 words! 8D And it's partially based on a bunch of headcanons about Ronald that a few folks were throwing around on Tumblr. (Sadly, however, this installment does not involve motorboating)
I wonder if I'll ever actually, like, publish these stupid things.
(This is, once again, that modern AU, Grell is a couple years post-op, and is no longer on the squad.)
"Ronald... I think you're gay."
Ronald owns more hair products than Grell does. She gets lost in his bathroom cabinets just looking for some aspirin among the army of salon-brand bottles of scented gels and pomades. Usually she would be excited to try some, but she's not in the mood and this headache is distracting, so she keeps her hair wrapped in a wet towel and swallows a couple of aspirin dry. She checks her cell phone again. No new messages.
She sighs, pulls on the black undershirt and paisley boxer shorts that Ronald so kindly offered her, wonders if she should wash her bra in the sink before she goes back to work tomorrow instead of going back... 'home', to fetch a fresh one. She's already called in sick today; as far as she's concerned, lovesick is a very serious condition.
She shuffles out and down the hallway, avoiding her reflection in the oddly shaped mirrors hanging on the walls. Ronald's apartment is not like any bachelor pad she's ever seen, and she's seen quite a lot. It's nice, it's clean, it's trendy and well decorated, even though it doesn't fit her personal vision of aesthetically pleasing; too much Ikea furniture, too much white.
Will's apartment had been... neat and clean, but that was about all that was good about it; it was like an office, brown and gray and practical. She'd begun to make it livable early on, filling it with antiques and art and red everywhere. And apparently all of those additions she made over the year (One year, three months, five days) she lived there are now neatly packed in the offsite storage closet, and she is 'free to gather them when she goes to return her key'.
That's the message Will texted to her the other day. Will never texts. He claims its a childish and noncommittal form of communication. And yet, there it was; there it is, she's staring at it yet again, and there are very few words to glean meaningful subtext from.
He can't really mean it. He's clearly just playing hard to get. He probably did pack up all of her things because that's just how committed he is to the act, to test how far she'll go to get him back.
Except... she's begun to suspect that Will is actually, deep down, the kind of man who actually says exactly what he means.
What kind of game is that?
"Don't ever fall in love, Ronald," She says, flipping her phone closed, "It's horrible. It's not even fun to fight anymore. Everything just hurts and not even in a good way. Don't ever do it."
Ronald looks up from his laptop at the kitchen table. He's probably chatting with his 9000 friends on Facebook or something. She can't fathom why he's awake this early in the morning; he's supposed to work a night shift today, but from what she's seen over the past week, he apparently has boundless energy, unlimited social contacts, and very little need for down time.
"That bad, huh?"
She sits at the table and buries her face in her folded arms.
"The way he ignores me makes me wanna march right over to that office, grab him by his tie and just... fuck his brains out."
That's still a problem; his sexy cool indifference still makes her weak through and through. She still isn't certain if their last phone conversation had left her more sexually frustrated or just plain frustrated-
'Hey Will. Just calling to let you know that I don't miss you at all."
'Alright.'
'I'm having tons of fun with my friends and not thinking about you. It's the best!'
'Mmhmm.'
'And today I'm going to get on my Vespa and start driving recklessly, because I can.'
'Mmhmm.'
'And then I'm going to go out and get really really drunk!'
'Fascinating.'
'And then I'm going to have sex with like, a thousand people. All strangers.'
'Be certain to use protection.'
She had hung up then and, deprived of the satisfying effect of slamming the phone on the receiver (Cell phones have this among their top disadvantages), opted to throw it across the room instead.
"You guys have done this before. I wouldn't worry too much."
"I think it's serious this time. That's why it's not even fun. He packed my things! I wonder if he took me off the lease already. Oh god, where am I gonna go?"
Ronald shrugs while typing something.
"You can crash here as long as you need."
"You're sweet. My one beacon of altruistic light in a world of dark cruelty."
"Sounds like you need to get out," he says, "Listen, I gotta work tonight, but tomorrow, I'm calling up a bunch of friends and we're going to take you out dancing. So you can go back to work tomorrow knowing that you're about to have the time of your life."
"I don't want to go; my new job blows dick for skittles. I miss carrying a gun. I miss the action. I miss Will being there to lecture me for breaking the rules when he's really thanking me for taking the risks nobody else has the guts to take. ... I miss Will! I miss my life!"
She drops her forehead on the table.
"Do you want me to go down on you?"
Ronald asks this like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"What?"
She lifts her head and just stares at him.
"Nothing weird, just- offering, you know, as a friend. It could help you feel better."
"Do you offer this service to all of your friends?"
He shrugs.
"Some of them. They say there's nothing like a little face time to fix a broken heart or a shitty day at work."
He just casually keeps typing as if this is a normal conversation to have. She just stares.
"Ronald," she says, "I think you're gay."
The click of the keys stops and he looks up at her, puzzled.
"Uh, I only do it for girls."
"Straight guys don't have this many girl-friends, aren't this nice, this neat, this well dressed, and they definitely don't go down without collateral."
"... I do."
"Just give it a couple of years; you'll figure it out."
"You could just say 'no thank you'."
"No thank you then; you and I are just friends. I fear it would change things between us."
"I've done it with plenty of friends and we still keep it cool."
"Gaaaaaaay."
"Sutcliffe, you have... a really weird definition of gay." Ronald shakes his head and resumes typing, "Listen, I already invited a couple of friends out for tomorrow night. I didn't tell them it was you specifically, but I let them know that a few of us have some woes we'd like to forget, so they're all ready to party and maybe have some no-strings-attached rebound fun."
"I don't know if I could handle a new guy so soon..."
"Good, because I haven't invited any guys. You said you swing both ways, right?"
"... it's been a while."
"All the more reason to let loose. If not, you can just dance all night with some awesome girls and that's good enough sometimes."
"Ronald, you're so-"
"Call me gay one more time and I will take measures to ensure that nobody goes down on you at all."
She flips her phone absently. No new messages. Her head drops back on the table.
"You're such a good friend."
This morning I woke up and decided that there needed to be more Grell and Ronald BFF-ness. Unfortunately the circumstances are Will and Grell having a nasty breakup. and it's 1,234 words! 8D And it's partially based on a bunch of headcanons about Ronald that a few folks were throwing around on Tumblr. (Sadly, however, this installment does not involve motorboating)
I wonder if I'll ever actually, like, publish these stupid things.
(This is, once again, that modern AU, Grell is a couple years post-op, and is no longer on the squad.)
"Ronald... I think you're gay."
Ronald owns more hair products than Grell does. She gets lost in his bathroom cabinets just looking for some aspirin among the army of salon-brand bottles of scented gels and pomades. Usually she would be excited to try some, but she's not in the mood and this headache is distracting, so she keeps her hair wrapped in a wet towel and swallows a couple of aspirin dry. She checks her cell phone again. No new messages.
She sighs, pulls on the black undershirt and paisley boxer shorts that Ronald so kindly offered her, wonders if she should wash her bra in the sink before she goes back to work tomorrow instead of going back... 'home', to fetch a fresh one. She's already called in sick today; as far as she's concerned, lovesick is a very serious condition.
She shuffles out and down the hallway, avoiding her reflection in the oddly shaped mirrors hanging on the walls. Ronald's apartment is not like any bachelor pad she's ever seen, and she's seen quite a lot. It's nice, it's clean, it's trendy and well decorated, even though it doesn't fit her personal vision of aesthetically pleasing; too much Ikea furniture, too much white.
Will's apartment had been... neat and clean, but that was about all that was good about it; it was like an office, brown and gray and practical. She'd begun to make it livable early on, filling it with antiques and art and red everywhere. And apparently all of those additions she made over the year (One year, three months, five days) she lived there are now neatly packed in the offsite storage closet, and she is 'free to gather them when she goes to return her key'.
That's the message Will texted to her the other day. Will never texts. He claims its a childish and noncommittal form of communication. And yet, there it was; there it is, she's staring at it yet again, and there are very few words to glean meaningful subtext from.
He can't really mean it. He's clearly just playing hard to get. He probably did pack up all of her things because that's just how committed he is to the act, to test how far she'll go to get him back.
Except... she's begun to suspect that Will is actually, deep down, the kind of man who actually says exactly what he means.
What kind of game is that?
"Don't ever fall in love, Ronald," She says, flipping her phone closed, "It's horrible. It's not even fun to fight anymore. Everything just hurts and not even in a good way. Don't ever do it."
Ronald looks up from his laptop at the kitchen table. He's probably chatting with his 9000 friends on Facebook or something. She can't fathom why he's awake this early in the morning; he's supposed to work a night shift today, but from what she's seen over the past week, he apparently has boundless energy, unlimited social contacts, and very little need for down time.
"That bad, huh?"
She sits at the table and buries her face in her folded arms.
"The way he ignores me makes me wanna march right over to that office, grab him by his tie and just... fuck his brains out."
That's still a problem; his sexy cool indifference still makes her weak through and through. She still isn't certain if their last phone conversation had left her more sexually frustrated or just plain frustrated-
'Hey Will. Just calling to let you know that I don't miss you at all."
'Alright.'
'I'm having tons of fun with my friends and not thinking about you. It's the best!'
'Mmhmm.'
'And today I'm going to get on my Vespa and start driving recklessly, because I can.'
'Mmhmm.'
'And then I'm going to go out and get really really drunk!'
'Fascinating.'
'And then I'm going to have sex with like, a thousand people. All strangers.'
'Be certain to use protection.'
She had hung up then and, deprived of the satisfying effect of slamming the phone on the receiver (Cell phones have this among their top disadvantages), opted to throw it across the room instead.
"You guys have done this before. I wouldn't worry too much."
"I think it's serious this time. That's why it's not even fun. He packed my things! I wonder if he took me off the lease already. Oh god, where am I gonna go?"
Ronald shrugs while typing something.
"You can crash here as long as you need."
"You're sweet. My one beacon of altruistic light in a world of dark cruelty."
"Sounds like you need to get out," he says, "Listen, I gotta work tonight, but tomorrow, I'm calling up a bunch of friends and we're going to take you out dancing. So you can go back to work tomorrow knowing that you're about to have the time of your life."
"I don't want to go; my new job blows dick for skittles. I miss carrying a gun. I miss the action. I miss Will being there to lecture me for breaking the rules when he's really thanking me for taking the risks nobody else has the guts to take. ... I miss Will! I miss my life!"
She drops her forehead on the table.
"Do you want me to go down on you?"
Ronald asks this like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"What?"
She lifts her head and just stares at him.
"Nothing weird, just- offering, you know, as a friend. It could help you feel better."
"Do you offer this service to all of your friends?"
He shrugs.
"Some of them. They say there's nothing like a little face time to fix a broken heart or a shitty day at work."
He just casually keeps typing as if this is a normal conversation to have. She just stares.
"Ronald," she says, "I think you're gay."
The click of the keys stops and he looks up at her, puzzled.
"Uh, I only do it for girls."
"Straight guys don't have this many girl-friends, aren't this nice, this neat, this well dressed, and they definitely don't go down without collateral."
"... I do."
"Just give it a couple of years; you'll figure it out."
"You could just say 'no thank you'."
"No thank you then; you and I are just friends. I fear it would change things between us."
"I've done it with plenty of friends and we still keep it cool."
"Gaaaaaaay."
"Sutcliffe, you have... a really weird definition of gay." Ronald shakes his head and resumes typing, "Listen, I already invited a couple of friends out for tomorrow night. I didn't tell them it was you specifically, but I let them know that a few of us have some woes we'd like to forget, so they're all ready to party and maybe have some no-strings-attached rebound fun."
"I don't know if I could handle a new guy so soon..."
"Good, because I haven't invited any guys. You said you swing both ways, right?"
"... it's been a while."
"All the more reason to let loose. If not, you can just dance all night with some awesome girls and that's good enough sometimes."
"Ronald, you're so-"
"Call me gay one more time and I will take measures to ensure that nobody goes down on you at all."
She flips her phone absently. No new messages. Her head drops back on the table.
"You're such a good friend."