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“Fancy meeting at the pub later?”
In retrospect, Greg should have known something was up from the moment that Rhod sent a text with a capital letter. It wasn’t that the other man was uneducated- far from it. But in the time that Greg had known Rhod Gilbert, the man had almost never had the time or attention span needed to add punctuation. To him, it wasn’t worth it, since Greg would know what he meant either way.
Unfortunately, Greg didn’t have the benefits of hindsight in the moments that led up to him responding to his best mate. At that point in the day, Greg would have responded to a Taskmaster text from Watson, if only for something to do. It was the last thing on his mind that Rhod, who he actually would enjoy being with, texted him in a slightly weird way.
“Sounds good. Normal place?”
No response from Rhod, which was the first normal occurrence of the conversation. Greg knew that Rhod had actually sent the text right before he left wherever he was, and assumed both that Greg would be able to go and that they would go to the place that they went often. In this case, of course, he was right. It had led to some interesting (and in Greg’s case, humorous) misunderstandings in the past, though.
The ‘normal place’ in question happened to be at the corner of Greg’s street. It was a decent pub, sure, but the preference had largely come down to convenience. When it was just the two of them, Rhod and Greg had a history of getting pissed and needing somewhere to crash, and as time continued and they had to suffer the ordeal of potentially being known if they went anywhere else- well, the drinks weren’t half bad and nobody was asking for them to be anyone except another patron.
There hadn’t been a time specified, which usually meant that now was already too late. As he’d gotten old, Greg had found himself planning more of his time, but Rhod still kept the spontaneous schedule of someone thirty years his junior. It wasn’t for lack of trying, though. Greg had had many conversations with Sian about Rhod’s time management skills. He had to keep track of the conversations- it wasn’t as if Rhod would show any difference himself.
As Greg shrugged on a jacket and grabbed his wallet, he wondered what had brought this on. The only thing that was more rare than sending a text with a capital letter was sending a text at all- Rhod much preferred to just show up. Greg couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed at this point- even though he hadn’t given the other man a key, he still had one, and it had come in handy one time too many when Greg had forgotten his own.
Just as he had expected, Rhod was already in their preferred corner when Greg finally walked in, phone in hand. The shorter man had a habit of hiding in corners or other places where he wouldn’t be seen as easily- even their preferred corner had shadows that meant that Greg hadn’t always been able to see his friend right away. It could have quite possibly been another sign that something was bothering Rhod Gilbert, but Greg just put it into a file somewhere in his mind that he’d long ago labeled ‘Rhodri’.
When Greg finally made his way over, he slid into a seat, eyes inspecting his friend more closely. Rhod initiated when he felt like hanging out- or at least when Greg asked him, that was what he’d say. What Greg knew is that about half the time, there was a deeper reason, and about half of THAT time, Rhod didn’t even know what the reason was himself.
They’d both gotten more gray over the years; even though Greg didn’t want to acknowledge it, his ‘gray-streaked’ hair had only become more gray and less streaked. That being said, it still surprised Greg when he was faced with how gray Rhod was now. They’d always joked that Greg was the old man out of the two of them, but Rhod was really only a few months younger- he hadn’t escaped the toll of time.
Greg saw Rhod often enough that it really shouldn’t be a shock- but it still was. The other man’s beard was all gray now, and the colour seemed to be spreading to his head like some kind of virus. Maybe it could be spread and Greg should stay away. Greg rarely knew what was good for him, though.
Someone who thought they knew Rhod would probably believe he was an enthusiastic person. If you *really* knew Rhod, as Greg did, you’d know better. Sure, when Rhod decided to do something, he jumped into it with his whole being. That could be misunderstood as enthusiasm, but the truth was that Rhod was pathologically unable to do anything else. Unfortunately, this phenomenon applied to both positive and negative pursuits, and thus Rhod Gilbert was also prone to brooding.
“Took you forever, that did.”
“Would have been faster if you hadn’t texted me as you were walking in here,” Greg pointed out, nodding at the woman who had just set down his glass.
Normally, this would be where Rhod took the jab and ran with it, becoming the blur of restless motion that lent itself to a reputation for cleverness. His eyes narrowing was almost always the first sign, and it was so common in their friendship that Greg’s lips had started to quirk up. In another world, one where Taskmaster hadn’t existed and Rhod was less of a lone wolf comedian, they’d have made a comedy duo to rival Mitchell and Webb.
Even in this world, Rhod would at least huff a chuckle if he didn’t want to play.
“Suppose it would.” He muttered, almost hidden by the accent.
It was hard for Greg to know how to react right away. Something was wrong, sure, but nothing could be effectively done without considering those damn personal dynamics. Rhod had told Greg when things were off before- they were more than close enough for that. However, the admissions always came after at least another pint, and whatever was actually wrong was wrapped up in the tales that Rhod could spin. The other man was infinitely more interested in other things, like what he could get past…
“Who are you, and what have you done with Rhod Gilbert?”
It was a bad joke, Greg knew that, but one that the two of them would historically at least acknowledge. The best comedians couldn’t spin it to be actually funny- but it usually got more of a reaction than Rhod staring at his pint glass like it held the secrets to life itself.
“I was in your wardrobe for a while.” Rhod picked up the soothsayer glass and took a sip like that made anything more understandable.
“Feel like that isn’t what you’re here to tell me,” Greg observed, cocking an eyebrow. “That story is on the internet innit?”
“Lots of us on the internet, mate,” Rhod pointed out, looking at least a shade less depressed. “Didn’t think you’d forget the helpful demonstration of what would happen if the world ended so quickly.”
Greg shivered at that memory. He’d spent longer than he’d like picking bits of rubbish off of his clothes and out of his hair, and he wouldn’t be forgetting that anytime soon. Looking at Rhod’s beard-obscured micro-expressions, Greg highly doubted that he was the only one with that memory lodged in his brain.
“I gave as good as I got- and I don’t know what else I should have expected for a programme named ‘Ask Rhod Gilbert’,” Greg acknowledged. “When you’re asked things, you rarely give a straight answer, you do.”
Rhod didn’t bother to fight against that, Greg noticed. Again, that was normal. There were so many normal occurrences in this conversation that the abnormal behaviour stood out more- and made Greg more on edge. He’d never been the best at reading people; Katherine Parkinson would most likely agree. He’d always left the people part to Alex, who was surprisingly good with it. It was made all the more entertaining that Alex was surprised by his ability in that area too.
The one person that Greg had learnt to read fairly well was Rhod. It had taken time and mishaps, but Greg felt fairly confident that he could understand his best mate a solid 75% of the time. This was not one of those times.
“One might argue there is too much of us on tele,” Rhod said eventually, face still not giving away anything. “Most of it is me being horrible to you.”
Greg supposed that was technically true. While he had given as good as he got on Taskmaster, it had been Rhod initiating most of the time. It didn’t affect their friendship either, but someone who didn’t know the both of them could have possibly taken it the wrong way. Greg wondered why Rhod was worried about that now, out of all times. His series had been years ago, and if there was any time to worry about what had been portrayed, Greg felt like it would have been when the series was filming or airing, not multiple years down the road.
“I gave as good as I got, Rhodri,” Greg replied, taking the time to try to make eye contact with his mate.
“And yet I’ve never been covered in baby food and force-fed a banana,” Rhod pointed out, avoiding Greg’s attempt at eye contact. “You play someone on Taskmaster- it isn’t all you. On my show, it’s just my name- not a character or a persona.”
“You insult me, Rhod,” Greg chided. “I’ve only been your mate for more than two decades, and you’re saying that I don’t actually know you.”
Rhod muttered something under his breath that Greg couldn’t catch. Greg waited a second, hoping that it had been for him, but it clearly wasn’t, so he moved on.
“I did helpfully let you live a day gravity-free,” Greg pointed out, unable to stop a smirk. “Didn’t seem like you enjoyed any of that.”
“You and Lloyd put me in a fucking chasity harness!” Rhod interjected, seeming to gain at least a little of his normal spark. “I didn’t have that planned!”
“It was a day *without* gravity, Rhodri,” Greg reminded him, raising his eyebrows. “Are you really telling me that you’d rather concuss that head of yours more with hanging fully upside down? I’m sure I could get Lloyd back from Australia to help with that.”
Rhod waved Greg off as if the taller man had the supplies with him for the threat. At least he was smiling now, something that Greg couldn’t help but notice.
“We’ve had some good times, aye?”
This was back in familiar territory for Greg, finally. It had taken quite a long time and followed quite a few abnormalities, but their friendship was something he understood. It was a familiar back and forth at this point- Greg and Rhod had both been horrible to each other, but they always seemed to come back for more.
“Only if we’re using a very warped definition of good,” Greg replied. It wasn’t that he actually minded the warping- if anything it made the friendship unique. But it would be hard for anyone who didn’t know them personally to see what Greg saw, and he knew that.
This was normally the point where Rhod would fire back, bringing up how Greg was warped or he was warped or how it was someone else’s fault that they hadn’t run away from each other yet. Even after all the weirdness earlier, Greg was still hoping for his best mate to resume this part of the song and dance, the part that was easier for them both to understand.
“Well, they weren’t all bad times, were they now,” Rhod said, bucking the trend and getting serious in about a second. It instantly put Greg on the back foot. Neither of them had drunk enough to be serious, and in their years of friendship, there had always been signs that they were going to go there. Greg had seen none of them, and it made him uncomfortable. As a comedian, there was only one thing he could do when backed into a corner- ‘yes, and’. Normally that didn’t happen with Rhod, but Greg was desperate to get back to something he understood.
Greg put a hand on Rhod’s shoulder, leaning in to face the other man. “Now don’t get all mushy on me mate- it’s still too early and we’re still too sober for that.”
If Greg had learnt anything from this day, it was to expect for almost everything to be weird, but he was still surprised when Rhod all but slapped away his hand. Yes, Greg knew that Rhod wasn’t a big fan of touch unless he initiated it, but Greg also knew that he was normally exempt from that, especially when it was just the two of them and neither of them had to put up a persona.
“I’ll act as I damn well please, Greg. You think everything is a bloody joke, you do.”
It was loud, it was harsh, and Greg felt the teeth of it grip onto his chest. This was all wrong, wrong in about several thousand ways that he didn’t know how to fix. It wasn’t that it was new- Greg had seen Rhod doing stand-up more times than either of them could count. But the audience got the persona, that was always the rule. There were times where the audience got *both* of their personas, but there was never (at least there was never supposed to be) a time where the defence mechanism had been turned on the other.
The real Rhod was a bit of a nutcase, sure. But he was a quiet one, and a surprisingly good listener. He didn’t throw his weight around, and Greg really loved the sense of humour that emerged from Rhodri Gilbert, the man, not Rhod Gilbert, the comic.
There was no comedy crowd here, no set to rehearse for. There was no reason for Rhod to suddenly don his persona, and definitely no reason to aim it at Greg- but he was doing both of those things, and the suspicion from earlier came back as a certainty. Something was wrong, and Greg had just hit a nerve.
If it was anyone else, Greg would have apologised right then and there, and that would have been okay, and the friend would tell him whatever it was that made them act weird. But Rhod wasn’t anyone else, and Greg had never been more worried about that fact. He wasn’t good at calming people down, never had been. He was great at riling people up, but Greg had a sneaking suspicion that if he riled up Rhod more, he’d start punching things, and they’d be banned from the pub.
“We’re going outside.”
For all of Rhod’s clear…something, he still followed Greg out the door, which Greg was pathetically thankful for. He could wrangle Rhod, but he really didn’t want to, and it wouldn’t help the whole situation in the least.
Once they got into the cool night air, Rhod shook his head like he was trying to clear it and scrubbed his hand across his mouth. Greg watched as he fumbled in his pocket, emerging with something that Rhod hadn’t had with him in years.
“You know that’ll kill you.” It had been a while since that specific phrase had been used, but Greg didn’t know what else to say.
Rhod didn’t reply, fumbling again in his pocket for a lighter. He cupped the fag with practiced ease, not even bothering to look at Greg until it had caught and he’d exhaled the first cloud of smoke.
“Doesn’t really matter at this point, it does,” Rhod said eventually, exhaling another puff and seeming to have no interest in elaborating.
“Fucking hell mate. Can’t read your mind,” Greg probed, his tone getting slightly tighter.
“MRI tomorrow.” Rhod was clearly tense, his answer as clipped as Greg had heard it that night.
“Ah. And you think it’s going to show…?”
“Gonna show I’m dying, innit?” The sentence was accompanied by another puff of smoke, this one directly into Greg’s face. “You deserved to know.”
Greg was pretty sure that wasn’t how MRIs worked, but he knew better than to argue with Rhod in this state. He wouldn’t get anywhere, and it would become more and more likely that Rhod wouldn’t tell him the results of the scan, which of *course* he was interested in knowing.
“Scan’s early tomorrow. Should be getting home.”
It sounded abrupt, even for Rhod, but Greg didn’t question it. Thankfully, he knew how to get answers now, and he’d be doing that as soon as Rhod left, but right now he was just focused on being the friend that Rhod had expected him to be, even though Greg hadn’t been informed of that at any point.
He watched Rhod be driven away, a promise to tell the results of the scan received, before taking out his phone and tapping Sian’s contact.
“Sian speaking.” She answered on the first ring, which was both lucky and unnatural, but Greg couldn’t be arsed to be more suspicious about anyone today.
“Hey Sian,” Greg began, worry evident in his voice.
“He told you then, ay,” Sian realised. “Love, he’s going to be fine. It’s just a precaution, and you know how pessimistic he gets- that and dramatic. If he doesn’t text you tomorrow when he finds out, I will, okay? It’ll be alright.”
He’d known that Sian would be sensible, but hearing her calm and rational thoughts helped Greg’s racing brain slow down, at least a bit.
“Thank you.” Greg didn’t have the energy to have a long conversation, nor did Sian, so they hung up, Greg heading back inside to settle the tab.
If he needed another reminder of being old, everything, including Rhod’s scan, was less important than getting some sleep, so it was off to bed for Greg. He was worried, sure, but he couldn’t do anything if he wasn’t rested, and Rhod definitely would not benefit from actions governed by tired Greg.
There were two messages on Greg’s home screen when he woke up, both from Rhod. Grabbing his phone, Greg quickly opened the chain.
“rather me than sian”
“scan neg”