Work Text:
He's at a speakeasy when it happens. It's not really a speakeasy (“it’s not 20s, Greg, do you see me wearing a flapper dress, Greg”), but he’s supposed to call it a speakeasy so he seems “hip and cool.”
(Note: Greg did not bring up to Tom that calling anything ‘hip and cool’ would immediately negate the supposed hip-and-coolness of a place, kind of like a Pokémon stat-nullifying move.)
Before it happens, though, he has to wait a while. It’s a weird time to step into a bar, 4 am. He orders something sweet and sits in a tall chair by the door, checking Twitter between sips. By 4:30, he notices the sounds of soft chatter and smooth jazz in the room have almost evaporated, with only about 3 couples near the bar and a few college kids huddled in a booth remaining.
This leaves him in what he assumes looks like a somber painting of a too-tall man on a too-tall stool looking longingly at his half-drank bright pink cosmopolitan in a dimly lit corner. He decides that’s just too sad a way to spend your Wednesday evening (Thursday morning?) and stands to move closer to the bar. Maybe then he'd at least have the semblance of human companionship around with him, mirroring uh… it's something that sounds like that asshole Ravenhead’s name… Ravendark? God, no. Dark… knight… rises? Also no. Something with night, though, and ravens? Somehow? Definitely a bird. It's that painting he knows Tom would make fun of him for forgetting the name of, and that thought gets him upset enough to stop standing around looking at an empty martini glass trying to remember Nighthawks (got it!) and actually power walk to the bar.
Now moving, he completely forgets to look anywhere other than his destination because the second he starts walking, he completely smashes into the guy who just walked in. Given that Greg was, you know, sitting by the door, he should have been more careful, but right now he can’t think about that because he knows Tom’s going to be mad about the suit and tie getting stained, and now he can’t think about that because he gets mad when he thinks about Tom (boss, cousin’s husband once removed (he adds the addendum (especially when he’s been drinking) because he tends to forget and he shouldn’t be forgetting)) for extended periods of time and not for the reasons he should (namely, the terrible treatment). Instead of conveying any of this to the frazzled stranger who walked into the bar at quarter to 5,
(Note: Did he think about Nighthawks for half an hour?)
(Second note: He can’t judge, but why the hell is someone walking into a bar at almost 5 am? He’s pretty sure they close at 6)
(Third note: Its almost 5 am, dude, I’m not even going to be hungover, I’m just going to be hung cause I’ll probs change and head straight to the mailroom after this)
he frowns down at the offending splotch and says
“Aw, man.”
That is when he notices the guy who he ran into (by the way the guy’s wearing, like, LARP gear? Or something? He’s almost sure he felt a real-life wooden stake in the jacket’s inside pocket when they collided. Maybe fantasy hunter is the new vogue? Not like Greg would know, he only wears suits, these days, but at least they’re nice) is talking and (well, of course they’re nice) he’s saying that (yeah, Greg, they’re nice because Tom tailors them for you) okay, stop, you can’t do internal dialogue within internal dialogue, sort it out. (Sorry). Thanks. Anyways, back to noticing he didn’t notice what the guy was saying
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there, I- I just got off work, and I’m from Staten Island, so I had to take the ferry, it was a nightmare I’m so tired, and also my boss,” the guy falters then and his eyes flitter to Greg’s shirt and back, “Oh, no, your drink, I’m so sorry. I can’t get you a new shirt, but maybe I can buy you a drink?” the guy (Greg should really ask his name that’s getting annoying) kind of blushes when he says that and Greg almost turns him down (why, Greg, because you have a (he has a boss who he has a normal and standard relationship with)), but then again why would he refuse a free drink and honestly the cosmopolitans here are amazing, so instead he says,
“Oh, really? Thanks, dude.”
It’s only when he sits on the stool that Greg realizes that maybe the guy (get a name, damn it) just didn’t want to pay for the admittedly very expensive-looking suit’s drycleaning. Oh well. Free drink either way.
“I haven’t seen you in here before,” Greg starts, then takes a sip because, again, the drinks are seriously good, the head bartender is a genius, “What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking? I’m Greg, by the way.”
He doesn’t usually give out his name these days, not after congress, but the guy (you can’t call me out now, I’m actively trying to find out his name) still seems a bit jumpy from the incident, and Greg’s nice so he’s trying to ease tensions.
“I’m Guillermo. it’s nice to meet you, Greg.”
Guillermo speaks kindly, but his words have an edge to them, like a lilt that indicates murderous intent but not an active one, just the kill potential. It also could be the very prominent eye bags and general keyed-up attitude. Either or.
“Nice to meet you too, Guillermo,” Oh, God, he butchered the hell out of that. Anyways, “what bring’s you to Jacky with a Y’s?”
“The bar? I’m here on a… friend’s recommendation, he says it's pretty good which is weird because he doesn’t drink.” There’s a pause that is normal given a lot of people don’t drink alcohol so the pause makes sense right there but then Guillermo very hurriedly tacks on “Alcohol! He doesn’t drink alcohol, he definitely drinks other things.” Huh. Weird clarification, but okay, Greg guesses. He sees Guillermo look over to where the bartender is making a crimson drink and say, again, “Definitely other thighs.” Weird as hell! Guillermo needs a drink. Anyways, Greg is nothing but polite so,
“That’s a shame; he’d definitely want to try some of the head mixologist’s stuff. I actually met him a few times, he’s like, insanely good. He’s the Jacky with the Y! Full name is Jacky Taydona. He’s got a cowboy, like, thing going, maybe if you drop by here more often you’ll catch him.”
“That sounds nice”, replies Guillermo, and he does sound genuine, and this is the first time in a long time Greg has talked to anyone outside of the Roy circle without feeling pressure hang onto him like a lead balloon, so he flags down the waiter and asks for one of the red drinks his new friend was eyeing for him. “Oh, you didn’t have to do that!”
“It’s no biggie; I got your shirt dirty too so consider it a trade of sorts.” The word “trade” makes Greg want to crawl up and die, but before he can wallow in that too long, Guillermo is yawning so loud his jaw pops.
Rubbing his jaw, he says, "Oh, sorry. My boss makes me work these insanely late hours, especially now that he's been promoted."
Greg grimaces, “Tell me about it”, and takes the longest possible sip he can. Its more of a slurp by the end. Also he chokes on it and Guillermo has to forcefully pat his back a few times. “I’m one of the department head’s assistant so I’m always running around to fetch him stuff. I mean, Tom’s-” (Greg, c’mon, after you got turned into a meme so kind-of big that the SparkNotes twitter used it, you shouldn’t go around namedroping Tom like that, Gregg) “not that bad. He doesn’t keep me until 4 in the morning or anything but he is… a lot. In like his behavior, I guess? He’s not, like, inappropriate if that’s what you’re thinking" (except that he definitely is and that’s a Problem) “but we have a, like, strange? Relationship? I really do care about him but also work is tough and he’s mean to me sometimes? And on top of that we’re close outside of work because he’s a… family friend.” (You mean married to your cousin but also you heavily implied you like him as more than a friend so honestly, Greg, good on you for not sharing that detail, makes you sound less insane) “Anyways, it’s really weird and I’ve never had a job like that before so I’m kinda flying blind.” He doesn’t know why he’s telling a virtual stranger who could potentially tell the Pierces that the head of ATN (and he quotes) has a “weird” and “close” “relationship” with his assistant. It's fine, though, because Guillermo, who isn't a corporate spy but instead his new friend, goes
“Oh, tell me about that. My mas- boss is… similar. I’m his assistant and he’s my best friend? But also he’s above me and doesn't want to promote me, so that sucks.” The bartender arrives with the dark red drink and Guillermo glowers at the offending shade before downing like a shot. It wasn’t in a shot glass. The bartender’s choice of glassware was intentional because Guillermo immediately starts hacking afterward. Now it's Greg's turn to pat his back. Guillermo looks down at the empty glass’s red stain. “Yeah, the promotion thing really sucks. And he also treats me less than kindly a lot of the time but never owns up to it. Anyways, we’re alike in that, I guess. And," Guillermo coughs a bit before continuing, "I also have a… complicated relationship with mine.”
That gets Greg stammering quick. He’s not even sure what he’s stammering about exactly but the stammer is there and he can hear Tom say some dumbass shit about liar’s tongues on fire but that’s not how the saying goes and also the cosmopolitan here has chili pepper so like it's not his fault. To his credit, Guillermo also seems a bit embarrassed by it? Tom sees him look down at the glass again seeming almost shocked at what he just implied, but in the end also comes to the mutual understanding of “oh wow we both want our hands around our bosses’ necks but are not sure if the step after that is romantic or felony-worthy”.
Guillermo gives him a short laugh and raises the empty drink Greg’s way “To us and our bosses, I guess.”
“Fuck our bosses, they can hold their own, to us, dude.” Replies a weirdly confident and fired up Greg, clinking their drinks together.
Guillermo laughs again and says “Hey, I’m trying to do that first part, you know, no need to rub it in.”
“You’re trying to sleep with Tom?!”
In response, Guillermo dissolves into a pile of giggles, and Greg notices just then, so does he.
“Who the hell is that, Greg?”
“My boss, dude! You can’t sleep with him, that’s cheating.”
“...Cheating the game?”
“No, man, cheating on like… me? He’d be doing the cheating in this analogy but on me, methinks. I think.”
They’re looking placidly at each other and there’s this warm buzz in Greg’s chest like he just stepped into a parallel universe, away from all the Roy nonsense, from congress, from cruises, from Tom, never to be seen again. There’s finally someone removed from it all in his life, and that someone understands. He thinks the warmth is also friendship.
“Guillermo, you’re gonna need to give me your number because I think you’re the only sane person I’ve met in the last like half a year.”
“Oh my God, same, to think that when you bumped into me I strongly considered dragging you out back to-”
Greg knows this is a sexual innuendo in the making but also he doesn’t want to deal with it and make it awkward so he interrupts
“To what? String me up and sacrifice to your bossy overlord in hopes he gives you a promotion?”
This time Guillermo’s laugh is short and the smile doesn’t reach his eyes and he gets the murder look again but also Greg really doesn’t want to lose this new friend so he lets it slide.
From then on they just exchange stories. Greg edits their contents to be palatable and non-specific for a non-Royco audience. Unbeknownst to Greg, Guillermo is doing the exact same thing but his black tape is a bit more significant in terms of world-shattering information. Although Guillermo does share that he’s technically met Wesley Snipes, which is cool, Greg thinks.
By the time 6 rolls around, they’re both outside waiting for cabs, (one to the Ferry station, one uptown), and their numbers have been exchanged. In the way-too-harsh light of morning dawn, Guillermo catches the pink stain on Greg’s shirt and winces.
“Really sorry about the shirt, Greg.”
“Don’t worry about it! It got us to meet, right? And also Tom pays for my drycleaning, so.”
“Oh, Tom, does, does he?”
“Shut up, Mr. Heartguard.”
After a playful shoulder shove, Guillermo asks “This place is truly in the middle of nowhere, my lyft driver has no idea where I am. How’d you find it? I’m here cause of Laszlo but how’d you get all the way from FiDi to here?”
“Oh, Willa recommended it to me.”
Guillermo almost drops his phone. “Willa the Performer? Like, the Willa the Performer of the Upper East Side?”
Greg blinks at Guillermo because he’s said a lot of wild shit but this is probably the most bizarre. “Uh, yeah? I think that’s her Insta handle? Maybe? Why, d’you know her?”
“Yeah, I actually do. She was set to star in a play my boss and his friends got invited to see but she ended up not showing cause she had a thing with her boyfriend, I think? Like on a yacht or something? Ended up being a good thing because I did end up, uh-” he does the thing where he catches himself and restarts with a very unsubtle cough “I mean, the theatre… caught on fire… and there were many casualties.”
“Oh no, that’s horrible! Also, that’s crazy, I know Willa from work, she’s dating one of the siblings I told you about.”
“No way! Small world.”
“Yeah, wild.” Greg looks back at the street “Oh shit dude I think that’s my Uber, I gotta bounce. It was great meeting you! We should do this again soon.”
Guillermo beams and walks Greg to the car “Yes, totally! I had a blast. See you around, Greg!”
Greg does a little wave and the car zooms off, leaving Guillermo to wait in the cold.
Guillermo texts Greg while he waits in the cold, just to save Greg into his messages' history. This is of course so he can complain to someone about Nandor's antics at a moment's notice. Greg immediately responds so it seems he too had the same idea.
They chat a bit more for the next 15 minutes, each on their respective rides back, making the road back to the ol' employment ball and chain just the touch more bearable.
This is nice, Guillermo thinks. Greg says something about their bosses that's funny and Guillermo wants to say something like "Que sera, sera", but that's such an old song and he wants to be hip and cool. He's not really had the time to be hip and cool these last 10 years so he pulls one of the few memes he remembers from the recesses of his mind and texts back
Hahahahaha. If it is to be said, so it is so it be, am I right?
Greg blocks his number. They never speak again.