Proud of You
Summary: Pierce hits bottom. Not quite what you think.
A/N: I'm not sure what this is. I quickly wrote it tonight so I'd have something to share for Tumblr Community Appreciation Week 2018 Day One (Gen Fic). Apologies for errors; unbeta-ed.
Pierce sat on the steps outside the library, his head in his hands. He had really messed things up this time, and it wasn't really something he thought would happen again.
Okay, he supposed he should have known. He was always fucking things up.
But still. Things had been going so well this time. He had been making an effort, even taking an interest in others, trying to be considerate of their feelings. He had even asked Frankie about her sister, the living one. He hadn't made any inadvertent insulting statements. It had all been flowing seamlessly.
He thought everyone loved him.
But now, alas, he had the proof that everyone was against him. They had all turned their eyes on him when he had belched after Brittle's latest tirade against the man. Or something. He hadn't been paying that much attention, to be honest. He had been feeling more than a little woozy, lightheaded and almost carefree.
He liked those times.
Troy had immediately frowned and then shook his head in concern. Abed had merely cocked his head. Shirley had given a low um hmmm, and Annie had tightened her smile and then searched the table with her eyes for someone to intervene. Before Frankie could say anything, Brittles, bless her heart, had turned to her left and regarded him with a look he rarely saw from her.
Pity.
Well, fuck that.
He had found himself slamming his fist on the table and scowling. Even the Dean's attempt at comfort, his hand placed lightly on his shoulder, hadn't been of any solace.
Surely Jeffrey would understand. His eyes shot a glance across the table where he spied the empty chair. Ah, that's right. Jeffrey.
Jeffrey was gone. He had escaped Greendale. He had known that he was a mess and had made something of himself. He had gone back to lawyering and had turned out to be pretty damn successful.
He supposed he should have found it inspiring instead of going for the Scotch.
He was startled by Brittles plopping herself down next to him on the steps. She reached over, and as if by instinct, tapped the glass bottle he thought he had cleverly hidden underneath his overcoat.
"I know I'm in the business, being a bartender and all, but you have to stop."
Pierce found himself hiccupping as he replied, "I'm fine. I'm a big guy."
"You're drunk off your ass."
"You know what, you suck." He was annoyed by the sound of the slur in his voice. Damn Brittles with her bluntness. He briefly mused that Annie would have been more tactful. Where the fuck was Annie? She was his favorite.
Brittles now annoyingly thumped her head against his shoulder as she continued to almost absentmindedly tap the bottle. She let out a low sigh before she said, "We've been through a lot. I used to smoke a ton of weed, you know."
Pierce merely shrugged and did his best to keep his eyes semi-focused on the lower steps. Mostly he just wanted her to go away.
She persisted. "But I stopped. It wasn't getting me anywhere, and I knew I needed to make a change. If Troy could sail around the world and beat those pirates, I knew I could do something with my life, too."
"That's why you….?" his voice trailed off as he once again felt light headed.
He heard her voice in a whisper, "Yes. I'm sorry."
"Don't fucking be sorry. I'm proud of you." His words slurred even more as he added in a lower voice, "You have no idea."
He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised when he no longer felt the weight of her head against him. He turned to his left and spied the empty steps. He wondered when she had left. He should have known her concern wasn't genuine. She was probably lighting up in back of the gymnasium.
Like old times.
He was startled by Troy's humming of Daybreak as he joined him. Troy threw his backpack onto a lower step and announced, "Women, am I right?"
"Women?"
"Yeah, I used to date girls, but now I date women. And sometimes men. Please don't make a homophobic slur about that by the way. Not cool."
Pierce cracked a wry smile. "I've evolved. I don't care if you date men."
He caught sight of Troy's raised eyebrow and then shrug.
"Okay then, I guess we're cool." Troy stuffed his hands in his letterman jacket and relaxed his shoulders.
"Are we? We used to be friends. But then….?"
"But I came back."
"But then….?"
"Yes. I'm sorry."
"Don't fucking be sorry. I'm proud of you. You have no idea."
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the throbbing in his forehead. He wasn't all that surprised when he heard the loud um hmmm. He moaned, "Shirley, please. Let me be."
"Now don't start with me, Pierce." Shirley sat down next to him, where Troy had sat, and slapped his thigh. He opened his eyes and regarded her somewhat sheepishly.
Staring at him with an intensity he had always found somewhat threatening/titillating, she added, "I will not have this. You need to stop."
"Stop what?"
"Don't make me spank you. And no cracks about me um, sexually."
"Can I talk about your crack?"
"Good Lord in Heaven!"
Pierce chuckled and then became more serious as he whispered, "I love you."
"I know, baby. But…."
-"I need you. I'm sorry if I never told you that. If I made you feel that I was making fun of you, of not taking you seriously. I admired you."
"Oh honey. I always knew. But you know I have some things I need to do…"
-"Right. I know. You're….?"
"Yes. I'm sorry."
"Don't fucking be sorry. I'm proud of you. You have no idea."
He blinked and stared ahead at the quad. He could feel his own heartbeat, which unnerved him. He was so damn old. He was a joke. No one cared.
Not even Annie.
"Pierce?"
He raised his head and spied her flowing dark brown hair and those big blue eyes. His princess. Maybe she did care after all. He patted the step where Shirley had sat and Annie carefully smoothed her skirt as she joined him, demurely placing her backpack to her left.
She studied him for a moment, her mouth opening slightly and then closing as if she were weighing her words, which given the context, was a fairly safe bet. She eventually said, "You've changed."
He shook his head and let out a low laugh. "I have not. You've just now noticed. I've always had a drinking problem."
"So you admit it then?"
"Sure, why not?"
Her face suddenly and annoyingly brightened, and she did that little bounce thing she did when she was starting a new project. Fuck, he was her knew project.
She chirped, "Let's go to AA! There's a great meeting near the rec center on the west side of town. I went to it a few times when I couldn't get into my NA meeting. It'll be fun!"
"Christ, Annie. You know I'm not going to join you at AA for a fun fucking field trip. I'm almost dead anyway. Please get on with your life and let me be."
She furrowed her brow and then swatted him on the shoulder. "What is wrong with you? You're not almost dead! We all care about you! I…um…we…love you!"
He felt a pang of guilt. Of course she would say she loved him. She was always the optimist, the cheerleader of the group. Annie could make anything sound enjoyable and anyone sound redeemable, but that doesn't mean she was right.
He sighed. "I know you think I have more life to lead, but I don't think so. You, on the other hand, have always held a special place in my heart. I know you will go on to great things."
Her stern look softened at this, and she tilted her head and said, "I know you've always believed in me. I was so grateful for that. Seeing you regard me as someone, well, I…you gave me the courage to…."
"So I inspired you to….?"
"Yes. I'm sorry."
"Don't fucking be sorry. I'm proud of you. You have no idea."
He closed his eyes once more until he could no longer smell her perfume. As if on cue, Abed's bony frame awkwardly butted against his. He opened his eyes and turned to face the unblinking yet, as Troy used to say, soulful brown eyes.
"Pierce. You are a cliché."
"I'm fully aware of that."
Abed cocked his head. "Are you? Because frankly, and I say this with no glee whatsoever, you have ruined my film."
"Enlighten me, A-bed."
The corners of Abed's mouth lifted almost imperceptivity. "You were supposed to be redeemed. The man with a million faults and no family. The jaded man who learns to see life as a series of opportunities. The man who believes he is unlovable who learns how to love."
"That sounds pretty cliché to me."
"Perhaps. But it's a better cliché than this one. Trust me. I've seen a lot of movies."
"Can't you just direct me into being redeemed? Go write your script or whatever…" Pierce found himself making a shooing motion off toward the quad.
Abed lightly placed a hand on his arm and he stilled.
"I am working on a script. It's for a lame sitcom, and I don't think anyone will appreciate my creative genius, but I still create. I don't let anyone push me down. I have a dream."
"That's why you went to LA?"
"Yes. I'm sorry."
"Don't fucking be sorry. I'm proud of you. You have no idea."
"I think I do. You email me once every few weeks. I think it's when you're drunk, but I appreciate it."
"Please stay. I miss you."
"But I'm not even here."
Pierce replaced his head in his hands once again, this time eliciting a series of barely audible moans.
"Well, this will not do at all."
He felt the steadiness of Frankie's grip on his arm and spied her pointy black boots next to his large feet. He let out a wearied sigh and slowly raised his aching head and turned to face her.
She was regarding him with a concern he saw her usually resolve for the Dean, and he felt more than a little irritated by that. He wasn't a stupid little man. He was a mess, sure, but not that kind of mess.
Okay, he was a pretty bad mess. The Dean had a lot going for him in some ways.
Pierce shook his head as he said, "It's no use, Frankie. I'm not worth it."
"Not worth what?"
"Caring. People have tried and failed. And they've left. Every single one of them."
Frankie smiled slightly and then clasped his hand in hers. "I know. Abed and Troy are in LA, Shirley's in Atlanta with her thriving bakery and detective business, Annie's moving from DC to Denver to work for the CBI, Britta's relocated to Arizona to get her masters and maybe even doctorate in psychology…"
He inwardly groaned as all the pain hit him.
She continued, "And Pierce remains dead."
At those words, he felt that lurching pang in his chest once again. This time, he couldn't hold anything back and began to sob. Luckily, Frankie was almost a robot, so he wasn't that embarrassed by it as she pulled him to her chest and began to expertly pat his head.
He supposed she had gotten a certification in soothing or something. Whatever.
He mumbled, "I'm just like Pierce. You never knew him, but he was an ass."
"Jeff, you are not an ass. Sure, you can sometimes be a bit of an egomaniac but anyone with half a brain can see right through that and conclude you are a ball of insecurity and someone who cares deeply about what others think of him. And someone who cares deeply about other people."
He slowly sat up and wiped the side of his face. "God, I don't even know anymore." He reached over and pulled out the bottle and pushed it down the steps, watching until it rolled to the bottom. The fact that it didn't break was somewhat disheartening, as he had an unnerving urge to run down there and grab it.
"I'm an alcoholic."
"I know. Are you ready to do something about it?"
He didn't answer. He really didn't need her to be like Annie and shuffle him off to an AA meeting. He didn't need her to wallow with him like Britta. He didn't need her to scold and threaten to whup his ass like Shirley. He didn't need her to talk about random stuff like Troy. He didn't need her to clinically lecture him about movies like Abed.
He could sort of see her trying to do all those things, and he briefly considered that Frankie Dart was kind of an odd and marvelous combination of all of his friends. He supposed she was least like Troy, but then again...
He snickered, "You play steel drums."
She rolled her eyes, which was kind of un-Frankie like. Crap, she got that from him.
She said, "I don't know why you always bring that up. Right now, you're drunk, so I'll let it go. But someday I want you to provide me with a straightforward answer about that."
"Deal."
"Deal? I don't recall making you a deal."
"I'll stop drinking, okay? I don't want to end up like Pierce. I was always afraid of that. I'd be old and alone, and miserable and homophobic and racist and sexist and …."
-"Jeff, you are none of those things besides miserable."
"Thank you."
She sighed once again and took out her phone. As she dialed, she explained, "I'm going to call my sister and tell her we're having a guest. You're coming home with me and taking a shower. I'll give you some alcohol tonight so that you don't go into complete withdrawal, but first thing tomorrow we're taking you in to see a doctor. We'll admit you for medical detox if we need to…"
-"I don't think it's that bad."
"I hope not, but you're not in a position to judge, especially not right now. And I'll talk to the Dean about you getting a leave of absence. And I'll call whomever else you want me to…." She stopped as her sister picked up, and they chatted for a minute before she hung up and then turned to back to face him.
He was kind of stunned by her efficiency, in his moment feeling she was an eerie mixture of Abed and Annie. He supposed tomorrow she'd be Britta and a little bit of Shirley.
He accepted her offer of assistance in standing, and they carefully made their way toward the parking lot. He leaned down and asked, "Can we play some steel drums tonight?"
He was answered with a swat, and he smiled.