Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Ugly Betty, Alton Brown, Lucasfilm, or The Philadelphia Story, from which I took a little drunken inspiration, thank you James Stewart. I'm not making any money and you know the rest...no copyright infringement intended.
Summary: The night after Betty's birthday, Henry is drunk and Gio is the only one to take care of him. What might ensue? G/B, H/G nonslash.
Rating: T. "That's right, that just happened, I said 'ass'."
It hadn't been an exceptional day, Gio's. Last night, he had found Betty alone at a Starbucks on her birthday and whisked her away on what he thought was a really fun night through the city. They had had such a good time, he didn't get her home until almost dawn and he hadn't fallen asleep until the sun was already bleeding through last night's blue. On what felt like muscle memory, he woke up early without the assistance of an alarm clock, he hopped into the shower before grabbing a t-shirt, last night's jeans, and his leather jacket.
This was the last moment of the day that was his. He was exhausted, having gotten only a couple hours of sleep, but his customers seemed unusually demanding and had arrived in droves. He looked at the clock just once during his 10-hour shift at the deli and his fingers actually ached from the amount of work he had done. He smiled to himself briefly, allowing just a moment's pride in his day's business successes, before locking the door and turning his cleaning rag back to the tables and putting up the chairs.
Henry's day was equally as eventful, but where Gio's day was all with his hands, Henry's was all in his head. Yesterday was Betty's birthday and he'd had a magical, romantic night planned but Charlie had shown up and seeing her belly kick like it had filled his heart and he couldn't leave Charlie alone, worrying over Braxton Hicks contractions. He'd apologized and apologized and swore to make it up to Betty, but he knew he'd really screwed things up. He tried that night to throw a party for her, but she was gone and he could get only her voicemail. He didn't want to imagine where she may have escaped to, but he did allow himself to fall into a kind of relaxation when she came home and fell asleep next to him.
The peace ended there, though. He woke up the next morning with a horribly stiff neck and a bad feeling and all day, he'd wanted to be anywhere not MODE. His head wasn't on the numbers today and even long division wouldn't relax him like it used to. The reality of Charlie's having the baby combined with his disappointing Betty really shook him. He'd already asked Betty to go out tonight for a romantic dinner, but she had plans to make dinner for Christina. Even Kenny, while always up for a drink and a night out, had plans with one of his "honies" which left Henry quite alone and quite in need of a drink—a real drink this time—nothing with a fruit in the title, antihistamines be damned.
In just thirty minutes at an embarrassingly fashionable bar a short walk from the MODE offices, Henry downed three double scotches (with soda) and his worries began to surface.
"The thing is…the thing is I can't leave my child! You know? It's my child and I didn't know my dad and I just can't, I won't be that guy, y'know? But I can't leave Betty either. Do you think…hey, pretzels! Sorry, do you think Betty wants to leave me? I don't think she does, but I think deep down, she would be happier if she did. If she left me, I'd..I couldn't..I don't know what I'd really do because I do screw up but I love her, y'know? I really do and if it weren't for Gio, she probably wouldn't…Gio. I hate that guy. He's always around. Gio." At this last mention of his rival's name, Henry's nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. "Do you know what I mean?" he earnestly asked the bartender.
The attractive, wide-shouldered man behind the counter looked at Henry for only the first time since he served his drinks. He'd stopped listening after an explanation of the antihistamines this guy was taking and why he thought scotch would be a good chaser. The guy evidently didn't understand or respect alcohol, had had a bit too much and the bartender was frustrated, having seen more of these kinds of situations than he could count.
"Hey, pal, what do you say I call you a cab? Where are you headed?"
Henry considered his options. Home? No, Charlie was there. Betty's? No, she was still out with Christina. The bar? No, wait, he was already there. The only option left seemed to be…
"Gio's Deli. Yes, yes, I think I'd like a cab. Thank you, kind sir."
Twenty minutes later, Henry stumbled into Gio's door and tried the handle three or four times before knocking forcefully.
"Gio?!" The glare from the street lamps prevented Henry from seeing Gio inside, so he yelled against his own reflection. "Gio…is not a noble name." Any insult would work at this point. "Where is he?!" He rapped his knuckles harder on the repaired glass.
Taking one look at Henry's disheveled hair, untucked shirt, and glazed eyes, Gio realized even from inside the deli that Henry was not only drunk, but an emotional drunk. He would have mused a sarcastic little jab if he were in the mood, but he was past the point of exhaustion and Henry was perhaps the last person he'd either care to answer to or see. He'd assumed Betty had told Henry about her birthday night and assumed Henry had donned his glistening chain mail and come to lecture Gio or at least to possibly get a punch in (laughable), but he had no sleep, a long day, Betty hadn't called or stopped by, and he really just wanted some sleep. Nevertheless, Henry was now leaning his forehead on the door in a rather pathetic display and so Gio breathed deeply and rubbed his hand vigorously over his head before walking slowly to the door.
"Henry, my man," He forced more friendly ease than he felt. "What can I do for you?"
"Sandwich Boy." Henry regained his anger, his intention for steering the cab driver to this address. Taking advantage of his height, he pushed his way past Gio, stumbling to maintain his footing. "Just the man I wanted to see."
Gio raised his eyebrows in a questioning half-smirk. "Eggy. How are things?"
"Things, as you say, are not especially good, as you say. I think you know that you went out with Betty last night?"
"I do know that."
"And what do you have to say for yourself, hmm? HMM?" Henry lost his footing and twirled around before coming to rest in one of the chairs Gio hadn't yet put up.
Quietly, Gio was thrilled about his night with Betty. Betty's smile was more radiant than he'd ever seen it and when she leaned her head into the crook of his neck, he had the odd sensation that he'd made it home. In short, he was exceptionally pleased, is what he had to say for himself. Now, however, was not the best time to confess to it. Instead, gathered his composure, reminded himself to be civil, and said:
"Henry, look, I had a nice time last night, but nothing happened, I swear. I found her sitting alone and as a friend, I couldn't leave her like that on her birthday. You're still her boyfriend" he reminded himself more than Henry. His voice dipped. "You're still her knight and shining armor…"
Without the bother of inhibition, Henry took off his glasses and grabbed Gio's wrist. "Gio, sit down will you? Can I talk to you? I need to ask you something."
Gio was beginning to get exasperated. He was so close to going home… "Henry," he began slowly and deliberately as if gritting his teeth while appealing to a frustrating child. "I told you, nothing happened."
"No, Gio, no. I wanted to ask you…okay, I know I'm her knight, I know that's why she liked me in the first place, I'm sort of stately? I think it's my posture. I've always been very cognizant of my posture. Chiropractors are some of the most prosecuted physicians for malpractice suits and I have always been cautious in avoiding chiropractic injuries. You know that good posture is the key to a healthy build, right? 'Cause I notice that you sometimes slouch. Anyway, what I mean is that you're...you catch her eye. I've seen it, you see it…I don't do that anymore." Henry's eyes began to moisten at this, sadness creeping into his voice. "She's sweet with me, but she has fun with you and what do you have that I don't? I'm really asking… I could learn to dance, I guess. I've never been good at it and I'm embarrassed in front of crowds, but I mean. I could get new clothes, could pull off a leather coat, right? I could learn to make sandwiches…"
Gio raised one eyebrow, trying to formulate a plan for getting Henry back home and for getting himself in bed. Any more of this and he'd end up saying something he could regret. Betty was alone last night, after all, and you do not leave a woman alone on her birthday. There would be some lecturing if he couldn't keep his restraint.
"Gio?…" Henry's eyes softened. And he paused. For a full minute.
"Henry?"
"Yes, Gio. Yes. Will you…will you teach me to make a sandwich?"
The dam restraining his confusion and exasperation burst and Gio gave into unrestrained laughter at the situation at hand. He was sitting in his deli after closing, across from Betty's boyfriend who was absolutely drunk and positively whining, asking him to teach him how to make a sandwich. He wasn't used to this kind of restraint with regard to his expression and being the "nice guy" to Henry's drunk was positively absurd.
"Henry, look man, I'm sensitive to your situation, but I don't think that's a good idea."
"Oh." Henry's face fell as he rose from his chair. "I'll just go, then. Thank you for your time. I'm sorry, I know this was inconvenient of me, you know, being drunk. I'll just call a…one of those, the yellow cars, you know, the cars? I will call a yellow car. Did you know that in Australia, more yellow cars get into accidents than cars of any other color? That doesn't seem good."
"Henry, stop. If you can't remember the word for 'cab—'"
"CAB! That's the word. Like Cab Calloway. Hi de ho."
"Yes, cab. If you can't remember the word for cab, then I can't let you leave." Gio put his hands on Henry's shoulders to stop him from advancing to the door. "I'll tell you what, we'll make one sandwich, which you'll eat with a large glass of water and an aspirin, and then we'll get you home."
As soon as he said it, he rolled his eyes. If It weren't for Betty, Gio would never be this noble toward Henry. He'd have called a cab immediately and sent his drunk ass home.
"Damnit. I'm getting soft. Come on, Henry, back behind the counter. Bring a chair."
The two men made their way behind the counter and Gio grabbed a pair of plastic gloves as Henry took a seat beside him.
"What sounds good, Eggy?" Gio scanned through his stash of the few types of bread that were left over from the day. "I have a baguette that's still fresh, but I wouldn't advise any of the softer breads this late. Sound okay?"
"Teach me, Obi Wan."
Still, Gio was unsure what would best absorb whatever ill-advised concoctions Henry drank. He refused to teach him the secrets of his chicken salad. It was petty and he knew it, but he liked that he was the only one able to make it precisely the way Betty liked it. If Henry had Betty, Gio could at least keep this. He looked at Henry. He looked remarkably like a child with his glasses crooked, his eyes wide and trusting beneath them.
"Eggy, my boy, tonight, I'll teach you the ways of the egg salad." He'd been so good, why shouldn't he enjoy himself just a little?
Gio spent the next ten minutes imparting a legitimate lesson to an attentive Henry. He explained what kinds of eggs made for the best egg salad, he told Henry exactly at what temperature to boil them and for how long to get the consistency exactly where it should be. He told him to be careful to finely dice, not to mash them. He demonstrated the correct way to properly dice an egg in order to avoid mashing. He delicately folded in homemade mayonnaise, finely chopped onions and celery, and added a blend of spices he showed Henry only because he was drunk and wouldn't remember what they were. He dipped a pinkie into his concoction and tasting it, added just a few more spices before grabbing the baguette and slicing four thin pieces. As he did each new step, he explained what he was doing and why with a combination of knowledge and ease that would make Alton Brown blush. Just as he was spreading a measured dollop of the egg salad onto the baguettes, Henry piped up for the first time.
"Y'know, you're really good at this."
The corner of Gio's mouth turned upward as he added two arugula leaves to each sandwich. "I ought to be. This is how I pay rent, remember?"
"No," Henry's forehead wrinkled in thought. "No, I mean this, teaching, showing me how to do this. You could teach."
Gio looked him squarely in the eye, trying to discern truth or sarcasm. All he found there was alcohol and earnestness, neither of which he had the energy to contend with.
"Hey, Henry? Let's keep it professional? We don't like each other and that makes my life a little easier right now, so if you could just focus. Here, grab that glass and I'll get you some water."
Gio assembled the two small sandwiches on a plate with a couple cherry tomatoes and filled the tall glass Henry passed to him with filtered water. He pulled a bottle of aspirin from under the cash register and motioned for Henry to hold out his palm.
"Take those first, then eat. You need to soak up whatever it is you drank."
Henry nodded, beginning to feel less courageous and more weak as the alcohol's course progressed. As he ate in silence, Gio cleaned up quickly, washing his knives delicately by hand and disinfecting his counter for the second time that night. The tick of the clock and the occasional sound of Henry putting his glass back on the table were the only sounds in the deli and Gio took the rare opportunity to lean against the wall and close his eyes. He didn't have time just now to understand quite what tonight meant and still, he couldn't help but wish he were taking care of Betty rather than Henry, but soon, soon he'd be able to sleep and that was the only thought he'd allow to stay.
Just as Gio's muscles began to relax against the wall, he heard Henry get up and begin to walk toward him. He didn't stop until he put his dish and glass in the large sink just in front of Gio. He took another step forward, taking full advantage of his near foot on the shorter man. His eyes, Gio noticed, were clearer than they had been.
"Do you love her?"
"Henry, seriously, let's not…"
"Tell me, Gio. Do you love her or is this just fun for you, bantering like you do."
"Henry, you're drunk."
"Not right now, I'm not. If you have feelings for her, I could handle that, you know I'm leaving soon, but if you're going to break her heart, I can't let that happen. I won't let that happen. So tell me, Gio. Do you love her?"
Gio looked up at Henry from under his eyebrows and took a deep sigh through his nose. He pursed his lips in thought, largely as a stalling tactic, and could suddenly hear his pulse thrashing in his ears.
He parted his lips and inhaled briefly before realizing that Henry had closed his eyes, either asleep or blacked out. He exhaled sharply, regaining his own balance before putting an arm around Henry's waist to steady him.
He leaned Henry's weight largely against his shoulder and gingerly led him outside to his van. "Come on, Eggy, time to get you home."
Gio felt as if his insides had been wrung, as if his eyes were on fire, as if his heart would explode—Henry could no longer feel anything.