Work Text:
“Shit! What time is it?” Whizzer’s eyes pop open as he jolts up in bed. He turns to where Marvin should be, but the bed is empty. The clock reads 10:02. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” He jumps up, races to the closet and rushes to get dressed. Not that it really matters. He’s already four hours late. His head is pounding, pain splitting his temple with every panicked step and every blast of sunlight seeping in through the cracks between the curtains. He steadies himself on the counter with a groan. Today is going to be hell.
But there’s a notepad sitting beside his hand with his name on it. With bloodshot eyes (and the hungover notion that he’s some sort of classical novelist narrating his own life), he picks it up and squints at it (his vision is fine, but that hungover sense of poetic drama dictates a squint at this point). Whizzer- I called Cordelia and said you were sick and can’t come in today. You’re welcome. Eat a burger. Take an Advil. Make us dinner? See you tonight. -Marvin.
Whizzer lets out a relieved sigh and sinks into the couch. He looks down at the note with a smile. He’s sweet when he wants to be . He wants to call him to say thank you, but the only phone is on the kitchen island. He groans and pushes himself up, suddenly despising the simple action of walking. He picks up the phone, dialing Marvin’s work number.
“Hello, this is Marvin,” he answers. His voice sounds flat and bored, like even this early in the morning he’s ready to shoot himself in the head.
“You okay, babe?” Whizzer chuckles.
“Whizzer?” Marvin’s voice is suddenly far more lively. “I… yeah, I thought you were another client calling to complain.”
“Had a lot of that this morning?”
Marvin groans. “I swear to God, these people…”
“Talk to me.” Whizzer steadies the phone between his shoulder and ear and stretches the cord to reach the coffee maker as Marvin starts to rant. Whizzer pours himself a mug of coffee and pulls a chair over to the phone, slumping in the seat and rubbing his temples. Marvin’s voice hits a sudden crescendo and Whizzer feels another blast of pain in his temple. “Ow,” he complains. “Talk. Don’t yell.”
“Sorry,” Marvin says, continuing the rant in a whisper.
“You don’t have to-”
“Shhh, babe, I’m trying to be considerate here,” Marvin cuts him off.
“Alright,” Whizzer laughs, “whisper away.”
Marvin soon gets tired of whispering, but I doesn’t raise his voice again throughout the ten-minute rant. Whizzer laughs often, leading to allegations that he is amused by Marvin’s pain, which just makes him laugh even more until, eventually, Marvin’s frustration peters out and he takes a breath. “Anyway,” he says, “what are you calling about?”
“Just wanted to say thanks,” Whizzer says. “For calling Cordelia for me. Letting me sleep.”
“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” Marvin sounds oddly surprised at Whizzer’s reasoning. “You work yourself too hard anyway.”
“Maybe,” Whizzer agrees. “Don’t have much of a choice on that one, though.”
“Don’t you?” Marvin asks. “I make enough for the both of us.”
Whizzer scoffs. “Like you’d be okay with me leeching off of you even more than I do now.”
“I don’t think you’re leeching.”
“No?”
“No.”
Whizzer rolls his eyes, but doesn’t push it. He’s too hungover to fight. “Okay.” He takes a sip of his coffee, which is getting cold at this point. There’s silence on both sides of the line. “What do you want for dinner?” Whizzer asks, decisively changing the subject.
Marvin thinks for a second, before responding, “I haven’t had steak in a long time.”
Whizzer grimaces. “That’s advanced.”
Marvin laughs. “Just give it a shot.”
“Fine,” Whizzer agrees. “But only because I’m craving it as well. Don’t be surprised when it’s inedible.”
“I’ll be sure to set my expectations really low.”
“That’s good. Somehow, I’m sure you’ll still be disappointed.”
“Well, you’ll never get anywhere with that attitude, mister.”
Whizzer suppresses a laugh with an exaggerated groan. “You’re so cheesy, it’s disgusting.”
Marvin chuckles. “Alright, I should get back to work. See you tonight?”
“See you tonight.” Whizzer finds himself smiling as he hangs up, staring happily at the phone. Wanting to pick it back up and talk to him for hours. He shakes his head and downs the rest of his coffee. Time to figure out how to make a damn steak.