Transcript -
Gabriel : *heavy breathing and grunting* Bastard.
Useless bucket of bolts. Yeah, you better run!
Load back to your- Ah shit, that was hard. Load back to your little checkpoint.
Yeah, go ahead. Go P rank the other levels.
Oh… I’m sorry. Can-can-can I? Excuse me, can I help you?
Columbo : Oh, uh, hi there. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.
Uh, I’m looking for somebody.
Uh, Gabriel is it? Is that you? Is that who I’m lookin for?
Listen, I just gotta say, you did an amazing job uh… Fighting off that uh.
What’d ya-what’d ya call it?
Uh, you called it a…
Gabriel : A mere object?
Columbo : That’s right. A mere object.
Phenomenal work.
I gotta tell ya. Robots, I don’t trust em myself.
Ya know, I had-I had this one episode where uh, there was this robot named Rob and uh-
Gabriel : Uh, yes.
That’s very fascinating, but could you perhaps get on with your introduction?
Columbo : Uh, certainly. So I’m, uh, I’m lieutenant Columbo. Uh, I’m with the LAPD. Uh, I'm in the homicide department.
Gabriel : Homicide? You can’t kill a machine.
Columbo : No no no! Of course not. But um… Well… Ya can certainly love one.
Gabriel : D-d-d-detective I- I don’t- I don’t know what you’re implying there with that statement!
As you can tell I… Despise machines and wouldn’t think about doing so- Loving them, I mean.
Columbo : Yes, of course uh. Absolutely, it’s completely unthinkable.
Except, well. While I was- while I was over here and I opened this door and uh fourteen- fourteen V1 body pillows fell out. Along with a buncha the plushies.
Uh, and I just can’t imagine how ya- how ya happened upon something like that by accident.
It’s a little ridiculous! Uh, frankly.
Gabriel : Uh, no no no, listen.
Detective. I can explain, okay?
Those belong to- uh! That guy over there!
*Filth-like scream*
Gabriel : Yeah! A real freak!
Some kinda pervert. I don’t know why we keep him around.
But uh, I-I have nothing to do with it.
Columbo : Well, ya see, I would believe- I would believe that, but uh.
It’s just that- Well we had the boys at the lab run these pillows and we found your cum- We found your DNA all over em, uh.
You’re-You’re under arrest, I’m killing you.
Gabriel : K-hah. Kill me? *laughs*
Oh detective.
Columbo : Oh. Aw fuck.
Gabriel : I’m afraid you’ve made a grave mistake.
Because, in fact… What is going to happen instead…
Is actually what I’m gonna- AHHHG MOTHERFUCKER
I’LL FUCKIN KILL YOU
SON OF A BITCH
AHHG YOU BASTARD
I’LL RIP YOU APART
PIECE OF SHIT
YOU FUCK
ASSHOLE
BITCH
*Grunting*
Oh Shit.
Oh. What have I done?
V1 : Bro, tell me you didn’t just kill a fucking cop.
Gabriel : The law will be here any second now…
Machine, flush the drugs.
V1 : No way, bro. Let’s smoke that.
Gabriel : All of it?!?
Hm… One last ride…
Well, alright.
*coughing his lungs out*
V1 : No Gabriel, holding it in doesn’t do anything!
*Gabriel continues to cough his lungs out*
End of transcription
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Okay another sad scenario I love to torment myself with is based on the idea that people are always sort of apologizing for Steve and he fucking hates it. Started with his parents saying shit to their friends like “oh you’ll have to excuse Steve, he’s never been much for academics” and other backhanded stuff like that. Or Tommy, “don’t worry about Steve, he never did have the balls to do some real damage, but he’s not afraid to take a punch”
Then he would hear Nancy say to Barb, “come on, I know he’s a bit of an idiot, but he’s sweet, you just have to get to know him.”
Or Dustin to Mike, “Dude, look, he can be a douchebag, I agree, but you gotta give him a chance, he can drive us everywhere.”
Or Robin to her fellow band nerds, “Sure he’s a loser prep but he’s cool, I promise.”
Then he starts dating Eddie. One day early on in the relationship, someone had said something that set Steve ranting to Eddie about how he doesn’t need people to make fucking excuses for him, he doesn’t give a shit what other people think (he gives so many shits) and he thinks he’s a pretty decent person when it comes down to it (he does not think this at all), so people need to stop apologizing for him. Eddie listens to him and the more he listens, the more he takes Steve seriously, the more he sees the hurt beneath the anger, the more Steve talks. And eventually the rant morphs into a quiet plea for Eddie to help him understand why his friends, people who are supposed to love him, feel the need to put all these caveats around him just to make their friends stand him. It makes him feel like shit.
Eddie is furious on his behalf, swears he’ll never do that to Steve, “I’m so proud to be with you, I’m so proud to be your friend, and anyone who doesn’t feel the same isn’t worth your time.” “Even Henderson?” “Even Henderson.” And because Eddie has only ever made him feel good, like he’s somebody worth loving, Steve believes him.
Then one day Steve’s leaving his house to meet Eddie and his friends at the Hideout. It’ll be the first time he’s met and hung out with Eddie’s friends and he wants it to go perfectly. He even borrows a shirt from Eddie since everything he owns would stand out like a sore thumb. But just as he’s about to go out the door, his parents’ car rolls in unexpectedly and they get out with two of their friends.
Steve’s caught. His parents usher their friends and Steve back inside and while his mom fixes them drinks, his dad discreetly drags him to the other room, grips his arm so hard Steve knows there will be bruises later. “Get your ass upstairs and get some presentable fucking clothes on, you look like a degenerate.” Steve doesn’t have a choice so he puts on some khakis and a navy polo shirt, checks that the sleeves cover the red spots his dad just left, scrubs off the eyeliner he’d been so excited to surprise Eddie with, and heads downstairs for a torturous half hour of socializing.
By the time they’re ready to release him, after he’s been thoroughly apologized for (“we tried and tried, but we never could get him to take school seriously, could we, Steven?” and “he’ll get his shit together eventually, right, Steve? Just needs to do a little time at these dead end jobs, work the laziness out of his system before he joins the firm”), he’s already late and he decides he’d rather look out of place than have Eddie think Steve stood him up. Eddie’s standing in the side parking lot outside the hideout smoking a cigarette and looking agitated, but he smiles wide when he spots Steve pulling up. He bounds over to the car and opens the door before Steve can. He laughs his head off when Steve gets out and Steve doesn’t mind the ribbing when it’s just Eddie, so he laughs a little too. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, you didn’t have to spend half an hour having forced to listen to the Michaelson’s talk about their perfect daughter and her four-point-oh first year at Wesleyan.”
“Aw, baby, did you have to act like a spoiled rich kid tonight?” Eddie leans against the car beside Steve to finish his cigarette. Steve hasn’t quite told Eddie about the reality of his parents, hasn’t wanted to spend their time together wallowing in his own misery when his life could be so much worse. So Steve smirks a little and puts on an exaggerated pout.
“Yeah and it sucked,” he says.
Eddie finishes his cigarette, checks that they’re sufficiently hidden from view, and gathers Steve up in his arms. “You better tuck that bottom lip away or you’re gonna trip on it,” he teases, and Steve smiles.
“Why don’t you tuck it away for me, Munson?” Eddie’s eyes light up the way they always do when Steve flirts with him, as if he’s still surprised about it, and obliges with a sharp little nip followed by soothing lick. Steve leans in and lets Eddie kiss away the misery of being around his parents, but he doesn’t let it go on too long, conscious that Eddie’s friends are waiting and their low impression of Steve is probably falling even more the longer they think he’s late. He gently disentangles himself with one last kiss and they head inside.
The guys are posted up at a high top table already. Eddie introduces everyone and Steve immediately forgets all their names, which doesn’t help his nerves. They’re all glaring at him. “You’re late,” the one Steve thinks is called Gary says.
Over Eddie’s “come on, man” Steve says, “yeah, sorry, had some family stuff.” He tugs at the sleeve of his polo, unconsciously making sure the finger marks are hidden. Then he does the only thing he knows to do to make people like him and throws his money at the situation. “You guys want anything to drink? I’ll get the next round.”
The drinks — beer for Eddie, Steve, and Jeff (maybe? Josh?), Cokes for the rest of them—ease the tension a smidgen, and the guys go from openly hostile to mostly pretending he’s not there as they talk about an upcoming campaign and the rival metal band playing later that night. Eddie tries to draw Steve in, and he does his best to look engaged, but he only cares about this shit when it’s Eddie talking about it. Gary going on about padawans or whatever can’t quite keep his attention.
Even so, Steve thinks it’s going okay. He’s laughing and nodding where it seems appropriate, making vaguely agreeable comments when Eddie prompts him. Eddie only shoots him a couple of weird looks so he’s probably not saying anything too stupid. It’s not the worst way to spend an evening, especially because Eddie keeps giving him little nudges and winks so Steve doesn’t feel ignored. But it’s not necessary, even though Steve appreciates it. He’s content to let them visit with each other and keep his conversational contributions to a minimum.
But of course it can never last. Steve excuses himself to the bathroom, partly because he has to go, partly because the din of the bar and the pressure of making a good impression and the lingering stress of being around his parents have exhausted him and he needs a minute. He does his business, splashes water on his face, and only grips the sink to gather his strength for a few seconds before heading back. Arriving at the table turns everyone’s attention to him. Eddie grins at him, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that Steve doesn’t understand, and the others are back to glaring. Uncomfortable, Steve gives them all a grimace of a smile, which apparently Jeff/Josh takes as a signal to address him directly for the first time that night. He eyes Steve up and down and says, “Harrington, man, I gotta ask. What the fuck are you wearing?”
His tone isn’t overly combative, could maybe even be (generously) interpreted as the same teasing that Eddie subjected him to outside, if Steve wants to be optimistic, so he lets out a nervous chuckle. He doesn’t know what to say, though. Doesn’t know how to explain about the expectations and the disapproval and the five fingerprints on his bicep already turning black and blue. He’s too drained, though, to come up with a joke or comeback. So he just stares at the guy, mute.
After a few seconds of awkward silence, Eddie swoops in with a sharp laugh. Steve cuts his eyes to him, and Eddie raises his eyebrows like what is going on? Uh oh. Maybe things weren’t going as well as he thought. With no answr from Steve, Eddie turns back to the guys. “You’ll have to excuse Stevie here, he didn’t get the memo about the dress code. No FBLA clones allowed.”
His tone is light, joking, but it catches Steve in the gut. There’s a roaring in his ears as Eddie’s friends crack up around him and all he can hear is “You’ll have to excuse...” Eddie promised. He promised.
Before Steve can say anything, the conversation’s moved on. He doesn’t even bother to try to join in now. That familiar burn of humiliation and rejection wells up in him, clogs his throat, makes him feel mean. Every time Eddie looks over at him, Steve blatantly ignores him. Bats his hand away the next time it nudges him. Someone, he won’t even pretend to remember their names now, asks him a question and he snaps back an answer. Doesn’t even flinch at Eddie’s harsh, “Steve!” Tension has crept back into the group and he can feel them all watching him like he’s a wild animal about to attack. They’re not wrong.
At one point he goes to the bar and orders a shot of whiskey. Downs it and orders another to take back to the table. Before he can toss that one back, Eddies snags it out of his hand and says, “Okay, we’re done here.” Steve doesn’t need the hand Eddie presses to his back to propel him out of the venue. He’s halfway to his car before Eddie catches up. Steve doesn’t slow down, but once he gets into his car and sees that Eddie’s rounded to the other side, he unlocks the door for him and sits sullenly as his furious boyfriend slams himself into the seat.
“What the fuck was that, Steve?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, don’t play that game. You were a fucking asshole in there. You’ve been an asshole the whole night.”
That slices through Steve’s rage, and he lets out a bewildered, “What?” He’d thought things were fine until the end. He’d been doing everything right - not intruding on their conversation, making benign comments to show he was listening without letting them know how lost he was, he’d bought them drinks...but apparently he was wrong.
“You couldn’t have looked more bored if you tried. You barely said a word, and when you did, it was clear you were barely paying attention. You called Jeff the wrong name--twice!” Fuck. He’d fucked up so bad.
“Eddie, I didn’t mean--”
But Eddie’s on a roll, gesturing theatrically in his anger. “I didn’t think you were like this anymore, man. I thought King Steve was no more. But apparently one annoying interaction with your parents is enough to bring him charging back in.”
Steve runs a hand over his upper arm as if trying to warm it. He thinks back over the earlier part of the night, reexamining every interaction under this new interpretation. Maybe he can see how Eddie, so used to everyone around him being loud and talking over each other, excited just to be together, would take Steve’s reticence tonight as boredom and disdain. But that’s not right, and Steve can’t have him thinking it. His heart pounds in his chest and it’s fear he’s feeling. Fear that he’s about to lose the single best thing (minus Robin) to ever happen to him if he doesn’t do something. “Eddie, that’s not what was happening, I swear. You have to believe--”
“Whatever, man.” Eddie shakes his head, looks away from Steve. Steve wants to reach out, tug him back so they’re facing, but every part of Eddie screams Don’t touch me. He shakes his head again, as if the first time wasn’t enough to convey his disgust. “This King Steve act, it’s such fucking bullshit.”
For the second time that night, Steve hears a roaring in his ears, an echo of slurred words slamming into him like bullets. No, you. You’re bullshit. It’s bullshit. It’s such fucking bullshit. He thinks he might throw up.
“Get out of the car.”
Eddie finally looks back, rolls his eyes. “I’m not getting out of the car, man. We’re going to talk about this.”
“Get out of the car, Eddie.” He starts the engine, puts the car in drive, waits.
“I’m not getting out of the car.” Eddie grabs at the seatbelt as if to prove it and Steve loses the small bit of control he was holding onto.
“I said get out of the goddamn car!” Eddie’s eyes widen and he lets go of the buckle, which clatters against the door.
“Steve--”
“Eddie, if you don’t get out of the car in the next two seconds, I am going to lose my goddamn mind.”
And whatever Eddie sees as he gapes at him must make him believe it because he opens the door and slides out. He stands holding the door, and Steve turns toward him.
“You’ll have to excuse me, I’ve always been bullshit, I guess I didn’t get the memo that wasn’t allowed.”
Whatever Eddie opens his mouth to respond is lost as Steve peels away, the passenger door slamming shut on its own.
He drives home in a confusing mix of rage and hurt and disappointment, embarrassment and self-hatred. He wants to cry, feels the tears burn at the backs of his eyes, but he pinches the bridge of his nose, breathes hard, and keeps it together.
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Part Two
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