#Sherrie Weirdness

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls, Season 2, Episode 14, "It Should Have Been Lorelai"

Oh thank god! There's a Breather episode before the next Shitshow Circus episode, Lost and Found, which I still don't know if I'll even bother watching. Sure this episode has Christopher in it but I can tolerate him and I can tolerate his shitty annoying relationship with Lorelai because it's utterly meaningless to me. Someone rescue me from the back half of Season 2, it's a fucking nightmare. I didn't finish A Tisket A Tasket, because my blood pressure rises with each and every passive aggressive comment that comes out of Lorelai Gilmore's mouth and I just could not take it anymore. So anyhow, dk how it ended exactly, but it looks like Lor and Ror have made up after their "Jess is Bad News" fight. Whee. Phones and doorbells seem to ring constantly in this episode so throughout today's insane rambling I'm going to make a game out of guessing who's butting in to the Gilly Girl's lives. Feel free to play along. Rory: Let's sit at the counter. Lorelai: Oooh, we could sit at opposite ends and play bagel hockey! Luke: Just sit at a table. Lorelai: You're awfully rude to someone who only has two paying customers. Are those two paying customers in the bathroom right now? They're not you and Rory that's for sure. #PayLukeForYourFood RINGING PHONE OR DOORBELL: #1. The phone rings at the diner and someone is asking for Rory which is weird. Is it Jess or Christopher? LOL, that's silly, Jess lives there. I bet it's Christopher.

Oop, swing and a miss for TWWGG.

Having not seen the ending of the last episode ,I must assume Lane has been grounded for 25 years for Talking To A Boy. And I was correct.

Lane: It's the mother of all groundings. I'm being home schooled for two weeks. I only have 5 minutes a day to talk on the phone. She's done everything but slap a Dr.Dre ankle bracelet on me. I know who Dr. Dre is but that was a topical reference that whoosed right over my head and I had to Google it. #DeepCut Lane: Give me some news. Rory: Dean's been working extra hours to save up for a new motorcycle so I hardly see him. She wants to you to tell her something interesting, not give her the Butthead News and Weather Report. Count your blessings that you're in a Dean drought. It's all a girl could ever ask for. To not see Dean Forrester for weeks.

I'm placing money on them bringing back this Dean Rides a Motorcycle nonsense that they haven't mentioned in a literal forever only because Christopher is coming back to town and also rides a motorcycle and the two clowns are going to bond over it like they did over softball (Dean never plays softball again after Christopher left). Then it will be promptly forgotten about again, and Dean will be back to having the personality of an amorphous blob, just blobbing about with no real hobbies, interests or passions besides stacking cans of string beans for mininimum wage and yelling at Rory. I've seen this show several times, but when an episode is this unmemorable* I can just while away my time making predictions about what's going to happen.

*unmemorable=Little to No DALA (dean and lorelai affair) or Jess Involvement Rory segues from "Butthead has been working overtime for weeks” straight into "Mom and I haven't done laundry in weeks" and doesn't explain why, which makes it sound like Dean had been doing their laundry until he started working overtime. He probably pockets Lorelai's panties. Time for a Where's Jess break? Where's Jess? (I think this is one of those episodes where they just stick him on at the end wiping down counters or something. PLEASE let it be on those episodes. PLEASE let it be a Counter WIping episode. I need a fucking break). RINGING PHONE OR DOORBELL #2 (doorbell this time) I bet it's Dean Dean Stacks The Stringbeans.

YAY! It's just Rory's lover, looking like a lost puppy dog. Oh, so I forgot to mention Rory and Paris are going to be in a debate at school and participating on the same team. *inhales deeply* Smell that? That's the smell of sweet, sweet, low stakes, No-Boy filler plot. How I missed ye. Paris shows up at the Gilly Girls house to see Rory under the guise of "we need more preparation before the debate/you need to learn to speak faster" in the same way that Dean shows up to "Change Lorelai's water bottle" or "Do her laundry".

Out Of Context Gilly GIrls Time for An Ancient Technology break! (ATB) Paris: I was making CD recordings from the cassettes I made of our mock debates... Say no more Paris, say no more. *basks in the gentle glow of Early 2000's Technology references* RINGING PHONE OR DOORBELL #3 (phone rings for Lorelai) Definitely has to be Christopher this time.

*deep shudder* Everytime Christopher says "Lor" and Logan says "Ace" an angel stubs their toe.

HOW CONVENIENT.

I really wish she would, my girl needs a break. Anyway Crusty is in town on business and so Lorelai invites Crustypher to Rory's debate and he accepts and my sweet summer child RoryGil is excited that her dad will be there (or so he says...) RINGING PHONE OR DOORBELL #4. Prediction: Dean. Second Place Prediction:Lane Again Third Place Prediction: Jess (Why do I keep assuming Jess is going to call Rory? That's so silly).

Lane wants Rory to pick up a new CD for her when she couldn't get Amazon to overnight it to her and again I'm just floored whenever this show reminds me that Amazon was around in 2002. Describe The Fathers on Gilmore Girls in 6 Words or Less. Go. Lorelai: Do you see Christopher anywhere? Sookie: Uhhh.no.

Brad is me slogging through Season 2 torture.

This looks like something straight out of the opening credits of a corny sitcom. "...Special Guest, Christopher Hayden as Sperm Donor/ Buttclown #2" *sitcom music plays*

Oh, Sherrie. Another innocent lamb lost to the clutches of a Gilmore World Man. Let us pray.

Another snapshot of my Season 2 torture. No Lorelai! Stop! it's okay! Please! I don't need to hear how Dean is tall and pretty again! I GET IT! Waaah. Rory and Paris win the debate. Rory to Christopher in an innocent, chipper, cheerful chipmunk voice that belies the deep seated trauma of being a child with an absent father: Dad, you came to see me! I'm not used to that! Christopher, not so much as blinking at his child calling him a deadbeat dad to his face, while smiling goofily: This is Sherry!

.....?!

Lorelai invites Crusty and poor Sherrie back to their house, and Christopher seems excited to see the house his daughter lives in since he never visits.

Out of context Gilly Girls My dear readers, I hope you one day find someone who looks at you the way Paris looks at Rory. Paris is crushed when Rory tells her she has plans with her deadbeat father and she won't be able to hang out with her post-debate and compare WPMs, braid each others hair, practice kissing...

My dear readers, I hope you one day find your person, the special person like Paris, someone who feels a deep, crushing sorrow n their heart when you tell them you have other plans even though you'll see them at school again in less than 24 hours, causing them to lash out at you like they're fooling anybody with their Oh Whatever That's Just Fine'ing. Ror and Lor rush home and Lorelai says there is no food in the house again except leftover cheese & crackers and Halloween candy. Lorelai does not feed her child or do laundry. In addition to every character on this show needing the services of a competent therapist and accountant, The Hollow needs a visit from Child Protective Services. For pennies a day, you can sponsor a starving child, a poor innocent soul forced to subsist on crackers, candy, coffee and greasy diner food. Your donation will also go towards the purchase of laundry detergent for this smelly unwashed family. Jess’ mother never cooked either so I guess that’s another argument for Literati Soulmates! That special bond over shared Child Neglect!

Sherry showers Rory with compliments and invites her shopping, but then isolates Lorelai and says this...weirdness: Sherrie: I just want you to know you shouldn't feel like you have to get to know me. At all. Just because Christopher and I are close doesn't mean we need to be close, or friends, or anything for that matter. But i desperately want to get to know Rory. Ummm..the audacity to say something like that to the mother of your boyfriend's child 30 minutes after you meet her after she invited you into her home and offered you apple juice? And you "desperately" want to get know his child? This is shady. Sherrie: You know, if we didn't meet unexpectedly today, we'd probably never meet. Because your boyfriend never visits his daughter, right. Sherrie: Rory is so important to him. He is obsessive about his "call dates" to her! No matter where we are what we're doing he has to call her every Wednesday at 7pm! I like that about him! To be so blissfully ignorant and delusional and actually believe what Christopher says! Oh honey. It's like she's got the soft outer shell of Rory but also hangs on to whatever bullshit spews forth from the piehole of an immature worthless manboy pissbaby like Lorelai does whenever Dean speaks. Sad that the best Rory can expect from Crusty is one "call date" per week and I absolutely don't believe even he's even doing that, Sherrie's been brainwashed, but hey! At least he's better than Jimmy Mariano. I guess? #BattleOfTheDeadbeats

Sherry after Crusty happily admits to her that he was (is) a deadbeat dad:

First Rule of Gilmore World: Never trust a Gilmore World man when he says he's trying to change. Never ever. Lorelai says "he's been doing very well with it" just to placate Sherry when honestly she should be shoving this Sherrie woman out the door already and telling her to never come within 100 miles of her or her child again.

She goes on to say that she needs Rory for something very important, she needs her tonight, there is something so pressing and urgent that Rory needs to be excused from FND for this yet unknown Extremely Pressing Urgent Event and she needs her ALONE. This is verging into very concerning territory. Lorelai should be highly concerned. Lorelai, I am concerned that you don't seem more concerned and you agreed to let your teenage daughter go to an unknown place alone with this woman you just met. RINGING PHONE/DOORBELL #5 This call is recieved at the Gilly Girl house while they're with Christopher and Sherry. Okay, I'm clueless for this one. I have to say Lane again, there's no one else. Emily? Dean just because he hasn't shown up to ruin this respectable Breather episode yet?

LOL! That was fun. I chuckled. Rory is going to this unknown thing with Sherrie which is a setup Christopher to go with Lorelai to FND by themselves. Okay, before I conclude part 1 of this commentary (which has already taken several hours and I still have 20 minutes left) I am DYING to see why this Sherrie wants to isolate Rory and I hope it's not gruesome. Rory Gil, we hardly knew ye.

RoryGIl's about to become the hostage here. Blink twice if you need help. My only guess for why Sherry needs to isolate Rory so badly, will be something about asking her for blessing to marry Crusty or something. I really don't know. Neither Lor nor Rory has asked Sherry or Christopher where Rory will be going. RING RING! #6 (as the Gily Girls are getting dressed for FND/ for Rory to be lead to a gruesome end by a child kidnapper) Well it has to be Crusty or Sherry this time. Who else? LANE AGAIN!!! LOL.

THIS IS SO MUCH FUN. I need the phone to ring a seventh time! Sherry and Christopher arrive and finally mention that Sherry will be taking Rory to a movie (then buttering her up with popcorn before she meets a gruesome fate at the hands of a child kidnapper). With Rory out the door, Christopher and Lorelai are alone and Crusty attemps to gastlight Lorelai, probably hoping it'll get him into her pants. L: Was Sherrie with you when I called you? Crusty: She's been with me the whole time. L: You gave me no indication she was with you. C: I must have. L: No, singular pronouns all the way. C: Now I don't remember what I said. L: I do. You said, "I'll be there." Just you. C: I guess I may have said that but I wasn't making a point of saying that. Okay, I am pulling my very, very, very rare and worthless Christopher Card because he just said something not enough people say to Lorelai and it delighted me.

Bahahahaha you're such a prick but it's so true! Lorelai is such a judgemental bitch! More people should say it to her face! Bahahaha! For this one fleeting moment in time you're not so Crusty after all. I'm out of space for screen shots but I MUST KNOW WHERE RORY WENT and I will not cease or yield until we get there. Lorelai attempts to gain some clarity from Crusty on why Sherrie was acting like a fucking weirdo to her in the kitchen. Lorelai: Oh good, you weren't trying to have me killed or anything. Crusty: I was just going over my People To Kill list and you weren't on it.

Ha...ha? Lorelai, I am once again concerned by your lack of concern over certain comments that are very concering, WHERE IS RORY!!! IS SHE OK?! Christopher has a lot of F U C K I N G A U D A C I T Y to try and guilt Lorelai into feeling bad that she didn't consider Christopher's role in Rorys life while she was dating Max, um I'm sorry which one of you is the deadbat here? I tried to write "Deadbeat" but dead-bat has certain charm as well. Crusty wonders why Max was able to get closer to Rory but he should be made to feel bad that he wants Sherry to spend time with her. Doofus, it could be because Rory LIVES with Lorelai and also Max was also her English teacher that she saw 5 days a week? And you're just a dead-bat. Every other male in Rory's life including Kirk and Paul Anka have been better father figures to Rory than you have. WHERE IS RORY!!! WHAT IS SHERRY DOING WITH HER? I'm skipping past Judgy and Doofus at a Looooong and surely pointless FND Dinner scene and going straight to the next scene with Rory.

I...uhhhhh...Um. Surely Lorelai will be very concerned over this very concerning statement which should concern her. SURELY, you can put aside your little quips for just a moment when your daughter tells you she just spent the evening with a touchy feely adult stranger. Right, Dog Sweater? RIGHT?

Ugh. In addition, Sherrie confided in Rory (still a total stranger to her and a child who she took out alone hours after meeting her) a concerning amount of details about her personal life, including the details of all of her past relationships. Sherry was acting way too weird to not have some kind of ulterior motive but Rory is just not being very helpful at all in regards to what it is yet, and I want to shake her I'm so frustrated. But my eyes are bleary and my hands are cramping up and I can't continue. In part 2, I'll unpack this highly disturbing conversation some more and hopefully get to the bottom of this Sherrie Weirdness.. Goo night!

[crimescrimson]

Leon S. Kennedy in Resident Evil 6 (2012)

[strawberryicebreakers]

I need approximately five of these little guys sitting on my desk

[scringee]

"Maybe it's your blood they should be testing for vaccines."

"They already did... More than I could stand."

[delicatebluebirdruins]

Just thinking (again) that Jill not aging is a tragedy for her because she is super human. She has lost so many friends to this virus and fight against bioterrorism. And she became a puppet someone who looked completely different from who she was when under Weskers control. She cut her hair back to the bob because she can't bare it touching her shoulders possibly dyed it brown to not see the blonde any more

i change my mind constantly if she regains her hair normally or she dyes it back because both have their own merits for my angst loving heart like with getting it back normally realising she can be almost normal again until she notices no new grey hairs or notices the grey hairs she did have are gone.

Heck the relationship she has with Chris changes slightly because her blonde hair is a sign that he wasn't able to protect her to begin with. Yeah they got her back but it was at a cost.

Jill get's uncomfortable when hearing people talk about age. Their wrinkles, their grey hairs how much they wished it would disappear. Complaining about ordinary mundane things that she wishes would happen to her.

[galactic-glamour-girl-posts]

Headcanons Time!

--Civilian toons (like Flaxseed, Pa Bear, Josh Polar, etc) are all rejected pitches.

--Pinky thinks Slappy is Skippy's mum.

--Speaking of Skippy, ever since Slappy retired he's moved back in with his parents, who finally returned after their "trip".

--Pinky and The Brain are 2-3 years old physically, but because of their spliced genes they age at a slower rate than other mice, meaning they'll both live for far longer than the average mouse.

--I know the Warners don't age, but if they did I imagine that, in terms of their careers, Yakko would stay an actor but would mainly appear in musical theatre productions rather than TV. He'd also be a stand up comedian on the side.

--Wakko would quit acting. He never hated it, he just found that he was more passionate for other things and wanted to spend his time doing something else. He becomes a food critic (because duh) and is also a mechanic (all that time making gizmos turned out to be pretty useful), which is now what he usually uses his gag bag and mallet for after quitting acting.

--Dot would stay an actress but she'd mostly star in movies rather than TV. She'd also become a model and social activist who fights for women's (and toons') rights.

--When toons are coloured in with digital ink and paint rather than traditional ink and paint, they become part computer program. Although digital ink and paint is more convenient for the human artists, it puts toons in danger of being hacked or even deleted.

[leon-s-kennetitty]

OK GANG I GOTTA WRITE THIS ONE DOWN QUICK BEFORE THE MEMORY IS GONE FOREVER

K so i had a dream last night that was leon set in a post re2 world where he wasnt forced into the dso and instead settled down with claire and adopted sherry. Anyway so leon claire and sherry were just walking then all of a sudden zombies. Real train to busan type shit (go watch that movie rn then come back to this post)

Also sherry said something to leon idk what but she called him dad, then all of a sudden it was task master (british comedy show) (very funny) and leon was set up with mother Miranda and uhhh other people? And he had to use the witcher senses from tw3 to find stuff and he kept talking go this statue that was just being rude. And then like Miranda was actively tryna better heself like an absolute queen and her task was to cover a floor in sea weed.

Thats all i remember from that dream i remember also being just me and staying with a weird ass family who looked like science experiments?? Idk...

[highlifeboat]

She's so tragic. I love her.

Bonus:

I can explain....

I think they should kiss.

[ostensiblyfunctional]

The unofficial slogan of Lamia Scale is "METAPHORICAL!" shouted at the top of your lungs, because when people give you the side-eye for your guild being named after child-eating snake monsters, you start having fun with your response instead of explaining, for the nth time, that this guild is full of serial adopters and no, children do not get eaten here, they form into roving brat packs and pick a guildmate to terrorize for the day like a murder of crows eyeing up the fries you have in your hand

[weredice]

she likes girls :3

[coquettecowboy]

Lambchop!!

[crimescrimson]

Sherry Birkin in Resident Evil 2 (2019)

[jojossillywalk]

thinks about the fact that it's kind of rough that avdol has had to see so many stands kill their own users, but a bulk of the ones who did survive that he's aware of go on to murder other people in pretty horrible ways. in any context where he would fight someone like grey fly, he'd be at a severe environmental disadvantage unless he found his face and got him first.

thinks about how it's pretty fucked up that avdol knows his stand's weaknesses, yet his motivation for fighting dio was "some things in this world are too evil to allow to live." to extrapolate from both of those, i think it's very likely that avdol has wanted to do something about the tarot for some time now, but knew that he wouldn't succeed (thus needs time to set the board).

like, he says that "i did run. but that's why i believe we will win, and i know you'll lose." avdol's bad at gambling. he suggests outranging mariah. he strikes me as a person who waits and plans- that said, emotionally, that's not his impulse, and he's literally had to hold those feelings back. avdol isn't bad at restraining his emotions. polnareff was his fucking tipping point.

avdol admires and favors a fair/honorable fight, but that literally was not an option that was on the table for him unless he wanted a losing battle (he only attacks grey fly in the plane when tower kills 4 people, ie, The Murder Of Bystanders AKA The Thing That Sets Avdol Off The Most Consistently).

he literally watched polnareff do what avdol has never been able to do because avdol knows that it'll go poorly. polnareff is dealing with a kind of grief and rage that it is literally fucking insurmountable to turn off, and there's a huge source of both emotional tensions in that scene.

avdol's from a context where he's had to push his emotions underneath for shit knows how long because he knows it's a fight he'll likely lose. polnareff's dealing with an emotion that literally eats you. both sources of a lot of pain for both of them fucking burst out of them, like? UGH

thinks about how what set avdol off in that confrontation was being called a coward. thinks ab-

[sinisteryuri]

[strawberryicebreakers]

Hello, sorry to bother you but I'm a bit curious about the UHF fanfic you mentioned a while ago. Has it been updated since?

I haven't gotten around to it just yet; I got bit by the ted lasso bug, blinked, and now I'm nearly 40k into a fic with no signs of switching over to a different WIP :(

that being said, it is incredibly nice to see that people want to read my writing :') I do, eventually, want to finish the fic, but with the current WIP I'm working on and the semester starting up [yay college!], it doesn't look like I'll get to finish it anytime soon.

as a condolences/sneak peak, I'll put what I've got so far under the cut. it's about 7.1k, and it is a very, very rough draft, but again, I'm very thankful for the kind words I've gotten from people concerning the fic and want to show it! if you have any questions, feel free to hit me with them :)

Three months in, and Robert still couldn’t believe the station hadn’t crashed and burned. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust George, or Pamela, for that matter, but it seemed too good to be true. It made no sense to him that the same universe that let him flunk out of college and lose every minimum-wage job he’d ever held was the same universe that gave him a television station and said “hey, go nuts!”

It made no sense, but in all honesty, nothing in his life seemed to make that much sense to him these days. Just the other day, he’d had a group of teenagers break into the building in the middle of the night, probably trying to find a place to smoke, and got chased out by some robotic behemoth Philo’d built in the back of his station control room-turned-laboratory, all while having not told anyone he’d come back to begin with. He’d come in the next morning to see the door off the hinges and a hunk of metal with a wagging tail getting behind-the-ear scratches from Pamela.  

Pamela, who was slowly becoming another tally in favor of his life turning upside down. 

Ever since the night Channel 8 went off the air, she’d started paying attention to him, and it was beginning to concern him. Before, she’d said “good morning” and “good night,” or even the occasional question about any plans he might have, but over the past weeks, she’d turned her charm on to the highest setting possible. Despite the weather turning cold, her skirts grew shorter, her heels taller, and she’d started lingering by his desk for much longer than it took to ask him where the Rolodex went. 

Privately, he’d thought that was more of a question for Stanley, not him, but he didn’t want to embarrass her by pointing it out.

All in all, though, he knew he’d have to mention it at some point, if only to soothe his own conscience. The last thing he needed was to find her doodling hearts and “Mrs. Pamela Steckler” in her broadcast notes.

He glanced up at the clock and saw that all of a single hour had passed since he’d arrived. He’d started coming in early, around eight in the morning, to make sure the morning rerun segments ran smoothly; if it had the added benefit of getting an hour to himself before anyone else showed up, well, he wasn’t complaining. 

-

The scrape of the door on the tile floor that pulled him out of his reverie told him that someone else had arrived, and the click of a heel announced who it was. 

“Good morning!”

“Hey, Pamela,” he called out. “Any trouble with the drive?”

“Nah,” she said, pulling her coat off and hanging it on the rack. “Just some awful fog. I could barely see the street!” 

Through the lattice, Robert watched her rifle through her desk drawers, pulling out a few pens and her notepad. At his desk, he did the same, and began to look through the show proposals for the spring schedule; not reading them, just counting the envelopes. “Anything interesting to cover today?”

“The uzhe,” she said. “The shelter’s doing a PSA for families looking to adopt a pet for Christmas and I get to go down and get fur all over my legs.”

“Look on the bright side, Pam,” he said. “You get to play with puppies, and George and I are stuck down here, puppy-less. You have to admit, one seems a lot more fun than the other.”

She turned, swiveling her chair over to look at him through the lattice. “You saying you want to come down with me, Bobby?”

“No,” he said, a bit too quick to be polite. “No, I -, uh, I’ve got to stay up here. Keep everything in line, you know?” He held up the papers to her with a shrug. “You really think George wants to read these?”

He sent a quick prayer up, hoping she hadn’t seen George all but club him over the head the other night when he’d mentioned splitting the proposals in half and reading them separately. Reading what the people of Tulsa wanted to see on the TV was half the alleged fun of the job, and reading them together, laughing about it, made it borderline bearable.

She stood, walking over to his desk and perching on the edge. “Come on,” she said, smiling. “It’s me, you, and a bunch of cute little animals. What’s not to love?”

“I said no, Pamela.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “You’d really rather be here?”

“I really would rather be here,” he said. “I can’t ditch work to hang out with you.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Pamela looked down at him, smiling. 

“What?”

“I mean,” she said, curling a lock of hair ‘round her finger, “if work’s the problem, we could always hang outside of work hours. Grab dinner, maybe a movie?”

“I -”

“I think Back to the Future two’s playing at the theater near my place. You ever see the first one? I always thought the guy who played Marty, the Fox guy, was pretty funny. He’s on Family Ties, too, and -”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just -,” he sighed. “I just can’t.”

She pushed herself off his desk, and he saw her face begin to flush. “I don’t get it,” she said. “I mean, I’ve got a job, I’m nice, and frankly, I’m not too bad to look at, so what’s your deal?”

 “Well, I’m your boss, Pamela,” he said. “Pretty sure that’s illegal.”

“Fine,” she said. “If you weren’t my boss, would you date me?”

“No, but -”

“You got a girlfriend?”

“No -”

“Then what gives?” She slunk down into George’s chair with a groan, threading her hand through her hair. “I mean, is it my voice? My makeup? Shit, do I wear too much makeup?”

“You’re beautiful,” Robert said. “And your voice is fine, Pam. We wouldn’t put you on the air if it wasn’t.”

She huffed. “If it’s none of that, then what is it?”

“He’s gay, Pamela.”

They both jumped, nearly falling out of their chairs.

“Fuck, Philo,” Robert cursed, “how long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” Philo mused. He hummed while he worked, some odd little tune Robert couldn’t place while sticking a screwdriver into what looked like three batteries taped to a piece of glass. “And Pamela has an uncle like you, Robert. She wouldn’t have been rude about it, had you told her yourself.”

“How do you know about my uncle?” Pamela asked. “I haven’t said anything about him to you, or anyone here.” She turned, looking back at him. “He’s right, though.”

“Philo, you can’t say stuff like that,” Robert wheezed. He felt his heart racing under his shirt as if he’d run from one end of the station to the next, and tried to get himself to calm down.

For what it was worth, the older man looked genuinely confused. “I can’t?”

“No, you can’t,” he said. “Some people wouldn’t take that information very well.”

He considered it for a minute, then nodded. “My apologies, Robert.”

“Just don’t do it again, okay?”

“You have my word.” He pressed a hand to the right side of his lab coat, and gave a slight bow. With that, Philo walked away, returning to the back of the station to do god knows what, and left Robert alone with Pamela, who stared straight at him.

He knew she’d have questions; hell, he still had questions, sometimes, and it would be better to get the awkward part over with. “Whatever it is you’re trying to figure out how to ask, just ask it.”

“If you liked girls, would you like me?”

“For God’s sake, Pam.”

She giggled. “I’m sorry, I had to ask!” 

“If I wake up tomorrow wanting to date a woman,” Robert said, smiling despite himself, “you’re the first on my list.”

“Yes!” She pumped a fist in the air. “I knew it!”

“Any man would be lucky to have you,” he said. “You could choose any man you’d ever met, and chances are, they’d treat you like a princess.” He picked up the papers that had fallen from his hand when Philo’d appeared. “Not me, though. Maybe not Stanley, either.”

“You think he’s gay?”

“No,” he said, unfolding the first proposal. “I just think you can do better.”

-

She stayed with him until other employees began to trickle in, and by half past noon, they nearly had a full house. They were still missing George and a few others, but he wasn’t too worried; he’d heard George come in late the night before, and figured he probably wouldn’t drag himself into the station until the last minute. Cameras wouldn’t go live until they started filming some of the upcoming week’s segments at two, but it was nice to hear people moving out and about, typing out a new script or whatever it was they got paid to do. They’d hired an entire new rotation of employees, a good chunk of which were people who wanted to see their shares in the station put to good use, and they had an entire team of high schoolers acting as interns, doing side work for some sort of class credit. Technically, he and George were supposed to give them assignments, grade them, the whole nine years, but if he was being honest with himself, unless one of the kids managed to break something that actually mattered, he’d give them all A’s and call it a day. 

Life’s hard enough without some asshole in a tie trying to make it worse, he thought, watching one of them follow Stanley around as he mopped. 

Everything had grown to become so much more professional since they’d started revamping the station; between the new employees, broadcasting gear, and business cards that said “Robert” instead of “Bob,” he finally began to feel like an adult.

The phone at the front of the office gave out a short, shrill ring, and Pamela answered. After a moment, she held the receiver away from her mouth. “It’s for you, Bob!”

“Coming,” he said, halfway out of his desk already. There were only two types of calls they got: serious calls that required either him or George, and Pamela’s social calls from friends who realized that, unless she was on their television, she was available to talk. 

He lifted the receiver to his ear. “Robert Steckler, Channel 62.”

“I’m in hell, Bob.”

“George?”

Next to him, Pamela gave up any attempt she’d made at trying to look disinterested.

“Hell, Bob.” George repeated. He spoke slowly, as if he had to pull the words out of himself to say them loud enough to hear through the phone. “I’m in it.”

“What’s wrong?”

This time, Robert couldn’t hear the mumbled mess that came out of the speaker. 

“What?”

“My glasses broke.” George sighed, loud enough to be heard over the speaker, and despite the situation, Robert fought back a grin at the dramatics. 

“How’d that happen?”

“I didn’t put them in the drawer last night when I came in. Knocked them off the nightstand when I got out of bed since I didn’t remember they were there, and the second I put my foot down -”

Robert winced. “Crunch?”

“Crunch,” George echoed. “I just got off the phone with Visionworks. They’re doing a rush order for me ‘cause I might’ve mentioned I needed them for station work -”

“George -”

“which isn’t technically wrong, y’know, and they said the earliest they’d be in is Friday, so until then, I’m out of commission for anything that requires me behind the wheel of a car.”

“Got it,” he said. “I’ll be there in ten or so. You need me to help you down the stairs?”

A quiet chuckle came through the speaker. “I’m not your Grandma Ruth.”

“Yeah, but you’re both bordering on legally blind,” he replied, teasing, “so what’s the difference, really?” 

“Just for that, I’m throwing myself down the stairs. Have fun running U-62 on your own, Bob.”

“I will,” he said, and hung up the phone. He reached over, grabbing his coat out from underneath Pamerla’s and sliding it on. “I’ll be back in about half an hour,” he said, looking at her. “Try not to let the power get to your head.”

“You’ll come back, and they’ll be feeding me grapes,” she said. She lifted her legs, crossing them at the ankles atop her desk and leaning back like a queen on her throne. “His glasses broke?”

“Shattered, from what he told me.”

Pamela clicked her tongue. “Damn,” she said. “No spares?”

“Nah, neither of us have that kind of cash.”

“Well,” she said, flicking through the Rolodex, “at least we know his address.”

“Of course I know his address,” Robert said, feeling through his pockets for his keys. “We live together, Pam.” He found the keys, kept on an old keychain his dad had given him when he first came back to Tulsa.

Behind him, Pamela gasped. “Oh,” she said, eyes wide. “Oh, I get it now!”

He whipped around, hands up in alarm. “Not like that!”

“He’s not -,” she asked, then stopped herself. “You two aren’t -?”

“I don’t think,” he said, lowering his voice, “that George knows that being gay is an option, much less, well.” He waved a hand at himself. “So please, Pam, don’t mention it in front of him.”

She mimed zipping her lips shut, throwing an invisible key in the small garbage can by her feet. “My lips are sealed.”

-

The fog had grown stronger during the hours he’d spent in the station, and Robert quickly learned that Pamela wasn’t lying when she’d said that visibility was zero to none. His car was barely more than a lump of blue-gray, even though he’d parked in the closest line of spots to the building that morning. 

At least the roads were clear. The last of the lunch rush was still trickling back to their places of employment, but overall, the drive back home wasn’t too painful. He’d grown up around this type of weather in the winter, the days where you couldn’t see more than two feet in front of you followed by enough snow or ice to make it a hazard to anyone who didn’t know to look at the road when driving. Every year, car accidents littered the roads from December to mid-March, all because barely half of the town’s driving population consisted of Tulsa natives, and the other half was a combination of out-of-towners, the elderly, and teenagers that got their license that year. 

The very first winter they’d lived together, he’d had to go rescue George from a ditch eight miles from the apartment at ten o’clock at night; he’d tried driving home from his girlfriend’s house and lost control when his wheel hit the ice. It was the same winter where the heat went out, and George’s uncle Harvey managed to save their asses both times. He’d paid for the repairs on the car, and “had a guy” who came out to fix the heating, not just for their apartment, but for the whole building, at no cost. 

They’d met Kuni about a week later when he’d come by to give his thanks after he’d realized that the landlord hadn’t been the one to fix the heating, and he’d brought a Tupperware full of something his wife had made for them. Robert still didn’t know what it was; it’d been strawberries covered in some sort of soft, chewy coating that neither he nor George recognized. Whatever it was, though, was incredibly good, and after trying it, they had to count the individual pieces and divide them in half in order to make sure it was a fair split.

Whenever Kuni had a particularly loud class or a student who decided to try their luck punching through their walls, he brought the same dish over. It was partially apologetic, but mainly a “thank you for not reporting me to the landlord”-type gift, and with Harvey Bilchik’s various connections able to fix anything for free, neither young man ever even considered actually going legal with the various property damages they’d collected over the past four years. 

He parallel parked in his spot on the street, leaving the key in the ignition to keep the car warm while he was gone as he left the car. He took the stairs two at a time, reaching the door quickly and opening it, knowing George would’ve left it unlocked. 

At first glance, the apartment seemed empty. Both bedroom doors were shut, as was the bathroom, and the main room showed no signs of life. He stood still, not even breathing, and felt a small, irrational fear that someone had broken in and kidnapped his roommate creep into the back of his mind.

A small sigh coming from the couch gave him his second near-heart attack of the day.

Nearly camouflaged against the cushions sat George, hunched over with his head in his hands. If he’d worn anything else, he would’ve been visible, but the combination of the brown curls and light blue suit jacket made him a chameleon in their home. 

The sheer unhappiness that radiated from his friend, combined with the MAD poster above his head reading “what - me worry?” made him have to fight back a laugh. “You ready to head out?”

On the couch, George sighed, purposefully loud, and lifted his head. He stared forwards as he spoke, not even turning to face Robert. “I think you might actually need to help me down the stairs.”

Robert could count on one hand the amount of times he’d seen George without his glasses throughout the four and a half years he’d known him. He put them on first thing in the morning, and taking them off was the last thing he did before bed. Hell, he’s pretty sure he’s seen him leave the bathroom after a shower with them fogged up. The few times he’d seen him sans glasses were always temporary; despite the fact that he was a man in his twenties, he kept his glasses safer than his car, wallet,  and comics collection combined.

“That bad?”

George turned his head, lifting his bangs to reveal a bright red line going from his right eyebrow to his hairline. “I, uh, missed the bathroom door. Met the frame instead; turns out she’s a real mean lady.”

Curious, Robert lifted his hand in a Girl Scouts salute that would make his little sister proud. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

George glared at him. “You’re evil,” he said. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Robert said, smiling. He held out his arm, palm facing the ceiling, the same way he’d always done for his grandma. “Come on, we’ve got about half an hour before the station burns down.”

“Fine,” George said. He reached out a hand, but instead of taking him by the elbow like Robert expected, took his hand, lacing their fingers together. “If you lead me off the stairs, I’m dragging you down with me.”

“Got it,” Robert replied, hoping his voice didn’t sound as strained as it felt when the words came out. 

He could feel the other man’s pulse, a slow thrum, through his fingers as he led them out the front door and slowly to the stairs, with George clasping the railing with his free hand the entire way down. It seemed as though the weather had grown even colder while he’d been inside, making him all the more aware of how warm his hand was with another wrapped around it. 

Logistically, he knew it wasn’t anything, but he was human, and it had been nearly three years since he’d been in a relationship, let alone held hands with someone. The weight of it was comforting; it was solid and steady, only verging onto tight once they’d made it to the bottom few steps. 

Thankfully, they made it down without any event, and Robert led them to his car, stopping at the passenger door. “Your carriage, ma’am.”

“Oh, you’re such a polite young man,” George said, finally cracking a smile. “If I’d known you were here to help, I’d have brought a dollar with me to tip you!”

“I’m just glad to be here for you in such a trying time.”

George took his hand away, opening the door and sinking into the seat. Still in the cold outside, Robert wasted no time in making his way to the driver’s side and climbing inside. He looped his arm around the back of the passenger seat, checking the street for cars behind him before pulling out onto the main road. 

They made it out to the highway before either of them spoke.

“Can you still do the Town Talk segment tonight?” Robert asked. “”Cause if you need me to, I can do it.”

“I can deal with it,” George said. “I know how much you hate being in front of the camera.”

“I hate being in front of the camera as Bob-o the Clown,” Robert corrected. “I’m fine being on air as Robert.”

George shifted in his seat, looking over at him, or at least looking in his direction. “You’re really sticking with Robert, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” Robert said, popping the ‘p.’ “Sounds more professional, which means the other channels take us seriously.” George snickered. “Only if they haven’t seen the shows we’ve greenlit.”

“Speaking of,” he said, turning onto the side road leading to the station, “we’ve got a new batch of proposals for spring. The people of Tulsa have spoken, and they want more insanity in the writer’s room.”

“Don’t tell me you read them without me.” George whined.

“I didn’t,” he said. “Just counted them. We’ve got about twenty, give or take.”

“And how many slots do we have open on the schedule for next spring?”

“Like, two.”

“Phenomenal.”

-

A little while later, they pulled into the station’s parking lot, and Robert was glad to see that no one had taken his spot while he’d been gone. He parked, taking the keys out of the ignition and slipping them into his pocket. 

“You want my help again?” Robert asked.

“I think I’m good,” George said, “but thanks.”

“Alright,” he said, unconvinced. There were a few steps leading up to the door, and he didn’t want to see George eat concrete when he knew neither of them had dental insurance. They were still trying to get that all squared away, but the steps for registering a business with the various insurances wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, especially when neither of the bosses had ever had insurance to begin with.

They left the car, and Robert watched, wary, as George made his way to the front door, both hands splayed out in front of him. He followed close behind in case he managed to hit something and fall backwards, but to his pleasant surprise, neither of them hit the floor. 

“Good afternoon, Stevie Wonder,” Pamela said, seeing them stumble through the door. “Had a nice drive?”

“If he’d driven, we’d be wrapped around a tree right now.”

“Very funny,” George said. He’d narrowed his eyes, but it wasn’t exactly clear if it was out of annoyance or if he was just squinting. “Make fun of the blind guy when he can’t see you well enough to punch back.”

“With your gangly limbs? Honey,” Pamela said, “I don’t think you’d manage to land a hit. Even if you could, you’re too sweet to hit a lady. It’s a mystery how no one’s snapped you up yet.”

He looked over at George, who stayed quiet, fiddling with the cuff of his suit jacket. “Someone has,” Robert said, perplexed at the silence. “His girlfriend, Teri Campbell. And before you ask,” he said, cutting Pamela off, “yes, like the soup.”

“Must’ve been born under a lucky star,” Pamela mused. “Rich girlfriend and a steady job at what, twenty-two?”

“Twenty-five,” Robert clarified, then paused. With the chaos of the first weeks at the station, he realized he’d never actually asked her, or anyone at the station, something as basic as an age. “Wait, how old are you?”

Pamela hummed, setting her pen down. “How old do you think I am?”

Robert laughed. “I’m not dumb enough to fall -”

“Twenty-seven,” George answered. He looked at the other two, who stared back at him. “Her birthday’s in April.”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s on her paperwork, Bob.” George said, the way one would expect to hear “duh” tacked onto the end.

He cocked his head to the side, surprised. “You read that?”

George mimicked him, cocking his head to the other side. “You didn’t?”

“I’ve been meaning to get around to it,” he mumbled, feeling his face heat up. 

“Stanley’s thirty-two,” George continued, pointing at the janitor as he swept the floor near Robert’s desk. “Raul is forty-four -, no,” he corrected, “sorry, forty-eight. Kuni’s fifty-one, and Philo never actually filled out his papers to begin with.”

“Is he allowed to do that?”

A loud BANG! rang out from the back room. 

“I say we let him do what he wants, and in return, we get an on-site engineer who’s willing to host a show without extra pay.” 

He eyed the back room’s doors, taking note of the odd green glow that shone from the porthole windows. “That’s fair,” he said. 

Together, they made their way to their desks, sitting down just in time to avoid the crowd that pushed their way in seconds later. 

The live studio audience had arrived, and they were loud, almost overwhelmingly so. They couldn’t wait to see the people they usually saw on small boxes in real life, excited to participate in the shows they watched with family and friends. Parents with children they’d pulled out of school for the day as an early Christmas present were shown by Pamela to the largest spare room-turned-sound stage, the one with yellow walls and bleachers to fit all those coming to spend a day at Stanley Spadowski’s Clubhouse. A smaller, noticeably older crowd, directed by the interns, were ushered to Town Talk’s half-living room set-up, all the way across the building. 

The other shows filming — Secrets of the Universe, Raul’s Wild Kingdom, and You Bet Your Pink Slip — wouldn’t film until after the first two, and luckily required no such audience. Raul chose to film on-site at his apartment complex, Philo hated the idea of anyone in his lab space that didn’t explicitly have to be there, and Pink Slip was shot at whatever place of employment had someone willing to, as the show’s title suggested, bet their pink slip on something insane. 

One of the interns, a short, dark-skinned girl that was one of the first to sign up for the job, rushed over, the rubber soles of her Converse slapping against the linoleum. “Mr. Newman?”

George glanced up at her. “What do you need, Gloria?”

 “Mrs. Nichole wants you in make-up for your segment,” she said, rushing through the words. “She wants to try something new with your hair for the episode, and told me to tell you to,” she paused, focusing, “‘get your ass in the chair and don’t complain like you always do or she’ll shave your ‘stache next time.’” She grimaced, then added, “her words, not mine.”

“I’m not letting her put glitter on me again,” he muttered, standing up. He smoothed out the creases of his jacket, and straightened his tie. “I’m still picking pink flakes out of my sheets and it’s been a full month.”

“Last I saw, she had the eyeliner out,” Gloria said, “so I think you’re safe for today.”

“Don’t jinx it.”

Gloria left, spinning on her heel so fast it could’ve left a burnout, running back to Nicole’s hair and makeup station, operating out of a converted bathroom they’d found when planning out the station’s space, once they’d realized what was on the horizon. George followed her lead, not wanting to incur the wrath of Nicole, especially if his hair was at-risk of retaliation.

“Hey, George?” Robert said.

George stopped, and looked back at him. “Yeah?”

“Break a leg.”

George smiled back at him. “You know I will.” He turned back around, not wanting to lose Gloria in the hallway.

A moment later, after Robert had gone back to sorting through the bills they’d received for the upcoming week, a quiet thump! could be heard to those who knew to expect it.

“I didn’t mean it literally,” Robert called out.

“Oh, go to hell, Bob.”

-

Seven o’clock came quicker than he’d expected; between paying the bills, fielding calls from Raul’s suppliers, then having to speak to one very confused, very new-to-town police officer who’d seen Raul unloading a komodo dragon out of a van, and placing Philo’s order of calcite, dolomite, glass squares, and a bottle of hydrochloric acid, he didn’t have the time to, well, check the time.

“You planning on going home soon?” Pamela asked, packing up her purse. Around them, the station was nearly deserted; the camera crew left to film the next segments at four-thirty and the interns left at five, leaving only a skeleton crew at Station U-62. George had locked himself in the writer’s room, saying he needed the quiet to think of the next week’s Town Talk. “News segment finally wrapped, so I’m out of here.”

“Yeah,” he said, packing the last of his papers away into his desk drawer, “just waiting for George.”

“Mhm,” she said. She grabbed her coat off the rack, slipping it on and zipping it tight. “Can I ask you something?”

“Depends,” Robert replied. “Do you want to come closer and not shout it out?”

Pamela rolled her eyes as she made her way to his desk. “How long has George been dating that girl, Carrie?”

“Teri,” Robert corrected. “And, Christ, I don’t know. They’ve been on-and-off for as long as I’ve lived with him, why?”

“Just curious,” Pamela said. “How long have you two lived together?”

“Four years. Five this April, if that helps with whatever timeline you’re plotting out in your head.”

She pursed her lips. “Curious,” she repeated.

Robert sighed. “Fine, I’ll bite. What’s so curious about them?”

“They date for four, probably five years, and he still hasn’t popped the question?”

“With their breaks, they’ve probably only dated two years, to be honest.”

“And that! I mean,” she said, throwing a hand in the air, “if the guy I was with still didn’t know if he wanted to marry me after five years, even after seeing what life was like without me, I’d find myself someone who knew they wanted me.”

“Hey,” Robert interrupted, trying not to get upset, “he’s not leading her on, if that’s what you’re trying to imply. He’s a good guy, Pam.”

“I know, I know,” she reassured, “but it’s weird, right? I mean, is he breaking up with her every time they have a spat, or what?”

“I never said he was the one breaking up with her. In fact, every time they’ve broken up, Teri breaks up with him, and he doesn’t ever see a new girl. Ever. He just mopes around and waits for her to take him back.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Robert confirmed. “It’s kind of sad.”

“Has he ever dated another woman?”

“I don’t know, I’d have to check his diary,” Robert said, half-kidding. It wouldn’t surprise him to find out his roommate had an actual diary. “Why do you suddenly care about George’s dating life?”

“Well, since you’re off the table -”

If someone had thrown a bucket of gasoline and a lit match onto him, Robert still would’ve felt the cold creeping up his spine. “Pamela, you can’t -” “I’m kidding!” Pamela laughed. “Sheesh, I wish I had my camera!” She wiped a tear from the side of her eye, taking care not to smudge her mascara. “I’m just trying to learn a little more about my bosses today, is that a crime or something?”

“Go home before you send me into a stroke, Pam.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” she said, gathering her purse under her arm. “Drive safe tonight, ‘kay? I don’t think the next managers will let me wear what I want on air like you two do.”

“I will,” he said, “and same to you; drive safe.”

She waved, then let herself out, closing the door quickly to keep any of the afternoon’s snow from floating in. 

With his papers safe and secure, he locked his drawer and walked down the hall to the writer’s room. It was the one of the only rooms they used that was actually created for the purpose they used it for, though without an official writing team, it was rarely occupied. George tended to flit inside when he needed the quiet, and any staff who doubled as writers would go in and out in pairs depending on what they were working on.

He knocked on the door, three quick beats. When he didn’t get a response, he inched the door open. “George?”

The man in question sat at the long cherrywood table, one hand twirling a pen, the other lost in his curls. “What’s better,” he said, not looking up, “local grocery stores already stocking Valentine’s Day merchandise before the month’s over, or the movie theater’s highest grossing films for this year and what they say about the people of Tulsa?”

“Movie theaters,” he said, leaning against the door frame. “You ready to head home?”

At the table, George scratched “TULSA MOVIE THEATERS” in large, blocky handwriting, making the lines thick enough to see, even without his glasses. “Definitely,” he said. 

He got up, but as he walked toward the door, Robert noticed something on his face. “You’ve still got eyeliner on,” he said, staring at his eyes. 

“Got to chat with the local punk scene,” George said. “They’re a pretty nice bunch, once you stop gawking at them.”

“Good to know,” he said. “It -, uh, it suits you.”

“The eyeliner?” George asked. “I’d agree with you, but I couldn’t see it when Nicole did it. She nearly put me in a headlock though; apparently, I’m squirmy.” He made air quotes with his fingers around the last word. 

“Pamela thinks you’re gangly, and Nicole calls you squirmy,” Robert said, tsk’ing. He opened the front door, holding it for George to exit first. “What does Teri say about you?”

“Bad things, probably,” he muttered, reaching for Robert’s car. He laid a hand on the hood, trailing his fingers on the metal as he found his way to the passenger door. It was quiet outside; Philo usually took care of the station’s graveyard shift, which let the rest of the crew go home at a semi-normal hour. There were only two other cars in the lot aside from his, and he knew one belonged to Stanley while the other was probably Philo’s, though he’d never actually seen the man leave the property line.

Robert came up behind him, unlocking the door, then went to his own side, quickly getting inside and turning on the ignition. He turned the wipers on, clearing out the light dusting of snow they’d accumulated during the day, then reversed, clearing out of the lot before the car had begun to warm up. He reached over, clicking on the radio, and for a few minutes, they drove in silence, only broken up by the soft sounds of Sinatra’s Christmas album.

They made it all the way to the main road before Robert’s concern won out. “Hey, is everything okay with you? Between the glasses and -,” he didn’t want to say “not mentioning your girlfriend to Pam” out loud, so he settled on, “your general demeanor, you’ve been really off today.”

George hunched deeper into the seat, shoulders ‘round his ears. “I’m fine,” he said.

From the driver’s seat, Robert felt his hands grip the wheel a bit tighter than they usually did. He was well-accustomed to George’s moods; he knew everything from the giddy delight he had when the newest issue of MAD came in the mail to the slightly self-destructive depressive tendencies that came with Teri calling it quits, but the quiet sadness, the quiet anything, was never a sign of something good to come. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” George said. He stared straight forwards into the empty night, deliberately avoiding Robert’s gaze. In all their years of living together, he knew George only did that when he was hiding something. He had a shit poker face, mainly because whenever he lied, as rare as it was, he did so while refusing to look at the person he was lying to. 

Robert knew he wouldn’t talk about it on his own, but he’d wanted to give him the chance. Now was the time for him to take out the pliers and pull it out of him. 

He decided to try for the most obvious cause first, then work his way down. “Is it about Teri?”

The thud of George’s head hitting the headrest told him he’d struck gold on his first try. “She wants me to spend Christmas with her family.”

“And that’s -?” Robert trailed off, waiting for George to fill in the gap.

“Not good,” he said. “It’s not bad, either, but I -,” he groaned, threading a hand into the tuft of hair that’d started hanging loose from the rest as months went by with no haircut, “I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to go.”

“Well, why not?”

George scoffed. “Her family hates me, Bob,” he said, voice thick. “All they see me as is the guy that’s terrorized their only daughter for five years. One Christmas isn’t going to change that.”

“It could.” Robert turned off of the main road, pulling onto the side street they lived on. “People are weird about the holidays, especially people like Teri’s parents. They get all holy ‘bout it, wanting to forgive those who trespassed against them,” he said. 

It surprised him; it’d been years since he’d said the Lord’s Prayer, but he still remembered it, at least partially.

“They’re going to want me to go to church with them, and I’m going to embarrass her, again, in front of her parents. I don’t know the words, or the customs, or -,” he spiraled, waving his hands as he spoke, “when to stand up and sit down, and I -”

“George, relax,” Robert said, keeping his voice calm. “Half of the entire Christian population only goes to church on Christmas, Easter, and for, like, funerals and weddings, if they go at all. You’re not going to be the only one there who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“Teri’s parents are Catholic,” he said. “Not Christian, I think.”

“It’s basically the same thing.” He swung into his spot, and turned the car off. “Just mumble through the prayers, don’t take the wafer or wine, and you’re good to go.”

“I don’t think I’m even supposed to go into a church,” George mumbled. 

“Why,” Robert asked, “afraid you’ll burst into flames?”

He knew it was stupid, but it got a laugh out of George, and that’s what he was aiming for. 

“Very funny,” he said, monotone. He reached for the door handle as the car’s engine died.

Together, they left the car, standing in the cold. It was nearly pitch-black outside, save for the streetlights, which cast a warm amber glow onto the pavement below. A few patches of ice remained solid, mostly on the road, but a few scattered on the sidewalk, one of which was too close to George for Robert’s comfort.

“Hey,” he said, stepping over the ice to the other man. He held out a hand close enough for George to see. “Grab on.”

He expected some form of protest, whether it be outright refusal or stubbornness, with or without a comment mentioning how he was a grown man, but like that morning, he said nothing, just stretched his hand out, wrapping his fingers around Robert’s.

Carefully, he guided George up the stairs, taking his time after seeing more patches of ice hiding on the steps. He waited until the front door was open to let go, putting the hand that had held George’s against the small of his back instead, ushering him inside. 

“You can get first shower,” Robert said. “If I make Kraft, do you want any?”

“Yeah, I’ll take some,” he said.

“Try not to slip and break your head open.”

Robert watched as George stretched out his arms, making sure he didn’t run into any door frames again, and kept his eyes on him until he saw the bathroom door shut. Satisfied with the knowledge he wouldn’t have to hunt around for the first aid kit, he reached up to the wire shelves, grabbing one of the twenty-odd remaining boxes of Kraft mac ‘n’ cheese he’d bought at Costco a few months back, and turned on the burner.

-

He’d just finished divvying up the pasta into two bowls when he heard the water turn off in the bathroom. He hunted around for a minute, searching through the drawers, then the dishwasher, until he came up with two clean forks, and set them in either bowl. He brought both bowls to the small hunk of wood they called a coffee table, sitting down on the couch and turning the television on. 

“CBS is doing a M*A*S*H marathon!” Robert yelled. “You down?”

The bathroom door opened, and George shuffled out. From the corner of his eye, all Robert saw was a mass of light gray; after all the times he’d seen the other man do laundry, he knew that George had a tendency to buy his sweatpants and hoodies in matching colors, so seeing just one hue wasn’t out of character. 

Robert patted the cushion next to his. “Come on, it’s dinner and a show.” He shoveled a forkful of macaroni into his mouth and cranked up the volume.

The couch groaned as George dropped down beside him. “Which ep’?”

He watched for a minute, trying to place it. “Think it’s the one where the guy gets the Dear John letter,” Robert said. “God, imagine how much that would suck. You’re fighting a war, the only thing keeping you together is knowing you’ve got someone to go home to, then -” he turned, looking over to George, and - “oh my God, George.”

“What?” George asked, confused. 

He couldn’t help the snort of laughter that came out, but he tried to smother it as best as he could. “I’m sorry,” he said, chuckling. “I’m sorry, it’s just -, you look like a raccoon, dude. Did you use anything to remove the stuff Nicole put on?”

[pawsimses]

Might have started a little AU in Sims with an old OC (baby brother of Sherry named George) where instead of being separated from Sherry, he gains joint custody and both kids are unfortunately used as leverage to get him to work for the government (because Simmons still has his grubby mitts in this mess and he sucks). So Accidental Dad!Leon AU  His kids are what keep him going