wouldbedorothy | But We Won't, a Gale/Randy oneshot (Reply)

Title: But We Won't
Author: AHS
Fandom: Gale Harold/Randy Harrison
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Gale's pov. Mostly snippets of the phone calls that make up their relationship after the show ends. The things they talk about that will never be and the things that are but they won't talk about. 2055 words.
Disclaimer: I don't know these men and as far as I know this is not based on any real events! *Fiction* baby!

But We Won’t
by AHS

It took me and Randy about six months to realize we didn’t need a reason to call each other.

Once the long, strange trip of QAF was over, I think we both tried to distance ourselves for a while. Starting new phases of our professional lives, you know, and maybe we didn’t need the reminder of what we’d just left.

But that didn’t last more than a couple of weeks. ‘Cause, fuck that, he’s my best friend.

Still, for some reason I couldn’t just call my friend and be like, “Hey, miss you, what you up to?” No, I had to call with this full of shit…

“Hey… Rand… I miss that Canadian beer, man. You know, the one with the moose head on the label? The one that left no room for food in my fridge? I can’t find it out here.”
“Gale, hey… to you, too… um… So, you’re a beer snob now? Poor Michelob. Poor Heineken. Poor Pabst Blue Ribbon.”
“Yeah. I got used to things how I had ‘em, I guess… It’s just not the same.”
“…… I know.”

He didn’t know where to get the beer… could probably order it, he said… but like it fucking mattered. I don’t think beer was what either of us meant when we said it just wasn’t the same.

I’d missed his voice. I know he missed me, too, because he called me the next two times. Then I called, then him, then I fucking lost track. We were both pretty busy, especially him, so we never talked for long. But we always called equipped with some little question…

“What are you getting your mom for Mother’s Day? I’m out of ideas… I know it‘s two months away. So?”

Or excuse…

“I’m on the subway. Talk to me so I don’t fall asleep. Last time, I did, and when I woke up some smelly goth kid was poking through my bag.”

Or probably unnecessary advice…

“Promise me you will not pay money to see Constantine. Sucked. Have you seen Million Dollar Baby yet? What’s wrong with you, asshole? Go.”

Months of that… a few minutes every few days… until finally one night I called him and…

“Uh…”

Found myself completely out of bullshit.

I laughed awkwardly. “… How’s it going?”

Randy was silent for almost a minute, then he said, “You know you don’t need a reason to call me, right?”

Smart fucker always did pick up on things faster than I did.

“Yeah, well… same goes.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay.”

*****

After that, phone calls actually came a little less often. Once a week. Maybe three times a month. But instead of two minutes we might talk for two hours. A little about everything and a lot about nothing. Like we always did, at work or hanging out, back in Toronto.

But different.

“We should do a play together.”
“Or a movie.”
“Or a *play*.”
“‘Romeo and Juliet’?”
“I mean it, Gale. I want to get you on Broadway. You’d love it. And it would be so much fun to experience it with you.”
“Yeah, Rand, we should do that.”

But we won’t, I thought. At least, not yet. Doesn’t feel like we will. I know, as much as he means what he says, he is desperate to separate himself from the show, and especially from Justin. That means no hopping back to work with that guy who looks like Brian.

Also, I think he and I both know our acting partnership was something special… so much so it scared the shit out of me sometimes. It’s not like we can’t be good without each other (he’s fucking brilliant all on his own), but maybe we can’t ever be that good with anybody else. And while that would seem to be a reason to work together again, I think it’s going to be what makes us afraid to. Five years develops a deep comfort zone, and climbing out of it was tough. A dip back in there, well… we might get stuck.

That’s when I noticed a pattern start to emerge in our conversations.

*******

“We should write a book.”
“What would our book be about, Gale?”
“Fuck if I know… Atlanta? Rock ‘n’ roll? Politics? That new theory of relativity we developed? And how to simulate butt-fucking for fun and profit.”
“Okay, just so you know, you’re only allowed to use the word ‘butt-fucking’ once per conversation, so that’s your limit.”
“I’m just saying we could do it. We work together great, even with clothes on. We should write a book.”
“You’re right. We should.”

*******

“We should go on ‘Larry King’ again.”
“Rand, do you have a head injury you didn’t mention?”
“No, I’m serious.”
“Why the fuck would we want to do that?”
“To thank him, of course. For providing the forum in which our love at last dared speak its name.”
“………”
“Gale, I am incredibly kidding.”
“Christ… Well, in that case, I say we should.”

*******

“We should get high together.”
“What, over the phone? You’re a bad influence.”
“I am not.”
“You’re high right now.”
“Nah, only medium. But you do need to catch up.”
“My supplier lives on the other side of the country.”
“Right, ‘cause there’s no pot anywhere in New Jack City.”
“Yup. All I’ve got is coke and heroin.”
“Smartass. C’mon, Rand. I miss those days.”
“Me, too. Fuck, I guess we should.”

*******

“*giggle* We should go on a roller coaster!”
“Huh… yeah… I like roller coasters. Right now?”
“No, we should find one, like… halfway between New York and L.A.”
“And ride it?”
“Yeahh. And it’ll be scary but fun. And you’ll make funny faces.”
“Fuck yeah. And you’ll scream and I’ll hold your hand for the big drop.”
“I like that… But Gale, what about the fangirls? They’re everywhere.”
“I’ll protect you.”
“Nooo, you get protective you’ll just incite them. Better plan. We go in disguise. You can dye your hair red, and I’ll wear a nun’s habit.”
“We should so do that, Lucy. I mean, Ethel. Let’s do that now. Wait… I‘m hungry.”

*******

We always came up with things we should do together. Every time. Tons of shit. But, with the exception of getting high… that one we managed, and from what I can recall it was a fucking blast… almost every spoken “We should” was followed by an unspoken, “But we won’t.” It was silent, but we heard it. We understood and it was okay, mostly.

Sometimes the sadder parts were what we actually did manage to say.

“When’s your meeting? We should get together and do something while you‘re in the city.”
“No shit, Rand. I thought I’d come to New York for three days and not even say hi… Soon.”
“I can’t wait! And Simon is really looking forward to it, too.”
“Simon, right… He is?”
“Yes, he wants to take us to dinner, some new place he’s discovered. Just the three of us.”
“Great… I mean, yeah, we should do that.”

But we won’t, I thought, and we didn’t. The meeting I was going to New York for got canceled, project fell through, so the same thing happened to my trip. Okay, I let it happen. I know I should have fucking gone, anyway. I know he was really disappointed, and so was I. But a tiny part of me was relieved. No making nice with Simon. No having to watch them together. Simon was all right, but that was something I had never enjoyed.

I wondered where Simon was all those hours Randy and I spent on the phone, often late at night. Somehow I couldn’t see him being around… quietly writing, smiling in acceptance.

*******

“You should tell me what’s going on with you.”
“What are you talking about, Rand?”
“Something’s going on. I’m leaving you messages more than I’m actually talking to you lately.”
“I am working, you know.”
“I know, and so am I. But it’s something else.”
“Oh. I guess it’s because… I’m kind of seeing somebody.”
“…Y-you are? Like, an actual girlfriend? Wow… that’s great.”
“Yeah, she’s great. Actress, but we won’t hold that against her. You should meet her. And you should rent this little indie film she was really good in…”

*******

Sometimes the saddest parts were what we actually would do.

“We should watch the show together.”
“Gale, that’s just weird.”
“No, it’s Queer.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not on Showtime right now. And I don’t have...”
“Yes, you do. They fucking sent us all the DVDs. You’ve got ‘em somewhere. And you’ve got alcohol, too. Time to break out both.”
***
“Stop it.”
“What?”
“Rolling your eyes at Justin.”
“How can you hear me rolling my eyes?”
“I just know ya.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“…… Look at us, Rand.”
“I’m looking.”
“We were fucking good together.”
“I know…… Gale, why’d you get drunk?”
“Tonight… was bad…”
“Bad how?”
“Kissed her… thought what I always think… but it was louder, dunno why…”
“What did… what was louder?”
“‘I like Randy’s lips better… miss his mouth…’”
“Fuck…”
“Think she knew this time.”
“Gale, I…… We should stop this. We… this has to stop.”

So we stopped.

*******

It takes me and Randy about six weeks to realize it isn’t going to stop. Isn’t going away, no matter how long we go without calling… if we fucking never talk to each other again. The things we said and didn’t say just keep getting louder.

Well, I knew before he even hung up on me. But it takes six weeks for my phone to ring again. When it does, I’m afraid to trust the caller ID.

“…Rand?”

“Hi… Gale, I’m…”

“You shouldn’t be calling.”

“…I’m sorry. I’m sorry I… didn’t know how to handle…”

“My fault. Drunk. Shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, it was good that you…”

“You were right, we gotta stop.”

“Gale, will you just let me…”

“Please don’t call me again, please.”

“I’m outside your door right now!”

I freeze, not quite believing until I hear Randy’s familiar knock, both through the phone and the door. Then his voice again…

“Are you going to let me in? I know I was an ass… but I did come all this way, and you know how much I fucking hate Los Angeles.”

I open the door… God, he’s beautiful. Haven’t seen him in so damn long. His hair, still blondish, is getting longer again. His ivory cheeks are flushed pink with the heat. His eyes sparkle with blue and fear and determination as he steps inside, making me back up. He hits “end” and slips his phone in his pocket. I fucking drop mine.

I get the feeling he had something practiced to say. But when he sees me, his mouth opens soundlessly. It starts to sink in that he’s really here, and I don’t need to hear whatever it was. I open my arms and suddenly Randy is leaning against me, his face resting in my neck, exhaling a long held in breath. I wrap myself around him, hands pressing his lower back. My body shudders to be touching him again. Breathing him again.

“Rand, why…?”

“Because,” he says into my skin, before looking up at me. “I miss your mouth, too. I miss everything. You and me and everything we should be doing together. Even the things we probably shouldn’t and the things we never will. I just… miss… this.”

I have to fucking hold myself back to keep from devouring him in this moment, I love him so much.

“What about… Simon?”

He shakes his head solemnly, kisses my throat reassuringly. “Over.”

I hold his face and really look at him. “Are you okay?”

“It was just a matter of time.” He starts a smile but it quickly stills. “What about Kate?”

“Please,” I almost laugh. “That was over six weeks ago.”

“So…”

I dip forward and capture those amazing, full lips (no one can compare) with my own. Sucking them, nibbling them. Fisting my hand in his hair as our mouths open for each other and the heat and the velvet and the sweetness so long missed makes everything make sense again.

We should probably stop. Talk a lot more first, before anything happens...

But we won’t.