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orange-waterfalls · 4 years

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Cell Block Tango, Ft. One Wilford Warfstache

ty @executiveespressodepresso for the request

A/N: I KNOW, I know. It took a long time. A really long time. 2 weeks is actually not that long but I GET IT. I’m done though! I am finished, I have completed one(1) fic, and I can rest easy now. I’ve had a bit of trouble with these types of fics before, mainly I just didn’t know how to write them. But I figured it out! Maybe. Sorta. I dunno, I kinda like it... ANYWAYS uh song bumps the rating up to a T, but there’s not really much else. You perform a song for Wilford after a long day! That’s it. Also Talking about Feelings at the end because I was feeling Angsty and wanted some Plot. It’s a long one dhwukcgfeywf anyways enjoy!

Word Count: 3.0k

Performing the Cell Block Tango for Wilford

You plopped down onto the living room couch and sighed. What a day! What a great, awful, stressful day. You loved Wilford, absolutely, but the man could be a handful.

You weren’t sure how it was possible for someone to have so many bullets in one gun.

In any case, you had to stop him from KILLING PEOPLE for a while before getting to come home.

You didn’t have the emotional capacity to be mad at this point. You really needed to wind down.

First, you should make dinner. Last time Wilford stepped foot in the kitchen the whole house went up in flames. You grabbed your phone and called to order take out.

You rubbed your eyes, suddenly feeling very tired. You shook your head, knowing if you fell asleep Wilford might kill the delivery person. You went to the bathroom.

You turned the sink faucet on and splashed your face a few times. You looked in the mirror at your soaking-wet face. God Wilford was so difficult to deal with. Well… he’d gotten better… but he still had a long way to go before you could even consider taking him anywhere. If he wouldn’t pull a gun on all the therapists you took him to maybe he’d have gotten a little better in the time that you knew him.

Now that Wilford was back on your mind, you thought of a way you could maybe relax.

You walked back to the living room and looked down at the phone that you’d thrown on the chair beside the couch. You looked up, not seeing Wilford anywhere. You took a deep breath, and decided you deserved a little performing. As a treat.

You pressed play on the song when you found it, and you stood up. You stood with your back to the music, facing the wall.

"Pop. Six. Squish. Uh-uh. Cicero. Lipschitz," you said quietly. "And now, the six merry murderesses of the Crook County Jail, and their rendition of the Cell Block Tango…"

You began moving your arms in rhythm to the song. A smile twitched at your lips. This might’ve seemed a bit silly to anyone else, but luckily, you were alone. Right?

Yes, Wilford went to go see Dark. You were absolutely, 100% alone.

In fact, you were so sure that you were alone that you didn’t hear Wilford walk into the room. He saw you… dancing? Were you dancing? He didn’t think you danced. You didn’t seem like the type to dance. He tilted his head to the side a little, about to ask what was happening, before hearing the music play from the phone and closing his mouth. He decided to stay quiet and just… watch.

The music began speeding up and you started to get really into it, moving around a lot. As the chorus got close, you turned around, only to find Wilford staring at you. He was standing in front of the couch, near your phone. You stared back at him, the heat of embarrassment rising in your cheeks. You prepared to shamefully walk away, to avoid him by taking a shower or saying you had to run to the store, to make sure he said nothing about this to you or anyone else.

But, Wilford seemed to have other things in mind.

Seeing you watch him like a deer in headlights, he thought there was something he should do in this situation, something to make you more comfortable.

With that in mind, he plopped down onto the couch, respectfully folding his hands in his lap, and looked at you expectantly.

Was that the right decision? Too late to take it back now. Hopefully it was.

You blinked for a moment before you got the memo and started moving again. You felt your skin burn in the still-present embarrassment as you continued your… well, it wasn’t quite dancing. Something along those lines, maybe. You expected Wilford to talk, laugh, comment, make any noise at all. But he just sat, watching you. You looked at him, nervous. He smiled brightly at you and you remembered that this was Wilford, dammit! The man loved you and would never wish any harm on you, physically or emotionally. And that’s when you decided to put a little trust in your boyfriend, and started to sing right as the chorus started up.

“He had it comin', he had it comin', he only had himself to blame… If you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it, I betcha you would have done the same! Pop! Six! Squish! Uh-uh! Cicero! Lipschitz! Pop! Six! Squish! Uh-uh! Cicero! Lipschitz!”

Wilford nearly got whiplash when you started to sing. Since when? Could you do this? You had never? You were also quite good, so… why didn’t he know?

You started getting more exaggerated and “angry” with your movements, which made Wilford smile. You looked like you were having fun(which you were) and he was happy about that. He also appreciated the few lyrics he processed over the look of joy on your face taking full control of his mind. He could relate to it, at least a little. He wondered if that’s why you liked the song…

He then realized that it probably wasn’t, but he liked the thought nonetheless.

“You know how people have these little habits that get you down? Like Bernie. Bernie liked to chew gum. No, not chew: pop! So I came home this one day, and I am really irritated and I'm looking for a little bit of sympathy. And there's Bernie, laying on the couch drinking a beer and chewing. No, not chewing: popping!” You were waving your arms around while telling the story, and got this angry look on your face at certain points. While making the face, you pointed at Wilford accusingly. He frowned at first, before remembering you were acting. And, damn, you were good at it! "So, I said to him, I said, "You pop that gum one more time..." And he did. So I took the shotgun off the wall and I fired two warning shots... into his head.” You made a fake gun with your hands and fake-shot at Wilford. He leaned back on the couch, put on a surprised look, and laid a hand over his chest, playing along. You smiled at him joyfully before going back to singing.

He bit his lip to not laugh, as you might’ve taken it the wrong way. He was just very… happy. And entertained with what was happening.

“I met Ezekiel Young, from Salt Lake City, about two years ago, and he told me he was single, and we hit it off right away. So, we started living together. He'd go to work, he'd come home, I'd fix him a drink, we'd have dinner. And then I found out. "Single," he told me? Single, my ass. Not only was he married, oh, no, he had six wives. One of those mormons, you know? So that night, when he came home from work, I fixed him his drink, as usual.” Wilford got a bit distracted at this point, just by you. Everything you were doing. The dancing, the acting, the singing, the smiles… you looked so happy. He wondered why you didn’t look like this more often. He wondered how he could get you to look like this more often.

He’d heard someone talk about karaoke at the store one day.

Could he do that? Could he buy a karaoke machine? Would you want a karaoke machine?

“You know... some guys just can't hold their arsenic.” He was snapped back to reality,(ope, there goes gravity) when you ruffled his hair harshly at the last line. He looked up at you again and found you were still smiling. He automatically smiled back.

“Now, I'm standing in the kitchen, carving up the chicken for dinner, minding my own business. In storms my husband, Wilford, in jealous rage.” You accidentally said “Wilford” instead of “Wilbur”. Who could blame you, honestly. To save it, you started acting like you were talking directly to Wilford instead of just a make-believe audience. Wilford, on the other hand, panicked a little when you said his name. It wasn’t the same name as the song said, so… what? He then came to the conclusion that you just wanted to get him to pay more attention.

"You been screwing the milkman," he says. He was crazy and he kept on screaming "You been screwing the milkman." And then he ran into my knife. He ran into my knife ten times.” You leaned towards him, got up in his face, and grabbed and shook his shoulders. Wilford just kind of… sat there and took it, since he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He nodded a few times as well, seemingly a bit intimidated by you. It took much of your willpower to not break and start laughing at him.

His cheeks dusted a light pink because of how close you were getting to his face. He nearly leaned forward and kissed you, but caught himself. You were performing and he had no right to interrupt.

Still, your lips looked awfully kissable…

“If you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it, I betcha you would have done the same!”

You had to mentally prepare yourself for the Hungarian part. You took a breath to lower your heart rate and told yourself that even if you messed it up, it was fine. It was just Wilford.

“Mit keresek én itt? Azt mondják, a híres lakóm lefogta a férjem, én meg lecsaptam a fejét. De nem igaz. Én ártatlan vagyok. Nem tudom, miért mondja Uncle Sam, hogy én voltam. Próbáltam a rendõrségen megmagyarázni, de nem értették meg.” You had to suck in a breath and miss a few lines to get your brain back on track. “Uh-uh! Not guilty!”

Wilford was thrown completely off guard at the Hungarian and he stared at the phone. Where the hell did that come from? More confusingly, when he looked back at you, you seemed to be keeping up with the words, for the most part. Did you know Hungarian? Did you just know this part? You slipped up a few times but, hot damn, it was impressive.

You had this sad, innocent look on your face the whole time. One that made him wanna get up and hug you. But he didn’t because he knew that you were fine and you were acting and he was gonna let you finish this wonderful performance of yours even if it fucking killed him, goddammit!

Okay, he was being a little dramatic. Even so.

“My sister Veronica and I had this double act, and my husband Charlie traveled around with us. Now, for the last number in our act we did these twenty acrobatic tricks in a row. One, two, three, four, five, splits, spread eagles, back flips, flip flops, one right after the other. So this one night before the show, we're down at the hotel Cicero, the three of us boozing, having a few laughs. And we ran out of ice so I went out to get some. I come back, open the door, and there's Veronica and Charlie, doing number seventeen: the spread eagle! Well, I was in such a state of shock I completely blacked out, I can't remember a thing. It wasn't until later, when I was washing the blood off my hands, I even knew they were dead.” You decided you kick your leg up a little both times you mentioned spread eagles. Wilford shook his head, a little dumbfounded. He understood the implications in the song, and his face flushed darker. He wondered if you did too, because it just seemed like you did it for fun. In any case, he coughed into his hand quietly, as to not make you worry.

You look at Wilford, a bit confused, but he just gave you a thumbs up for you to continue. You smiled and kept doing what you were doing, not noticing how flushed he was.

“They had it coming, they had it coming, they had it coming all along! I didn't do it, but if I'd done it, how could you tell me that I was wrong?”

Wilford watched in utter fascination at how you were moving. If he didn’t know better, he’d say you choreographed this.

Well… he didn’t know what you did when he wasn’t home.

But you moved fairly fluidly through dances and you seemed to be on-tempo, even if the dances seemed random.

Random does not mean unplanned, he reminded himself.

He was also a little distracted from your dancing by the song, because it was making him feel emotions he wasn’t sure existed. He was determined to memorize your every move, however, so that would just have to wait until another day.

“I loved Al Lipschitz more than I can possibly say. He was a real artistic guy, sensitive, a painter. But he was always trying to find himself. He'd go out every night looking for himself, and on the way he found Ruth, Gladys, Rosemary and Irving. I guess you can say we broke up because of artistic differences. He saw himself as alive... and I saw him dead…” You stood pretty still for this part, since the song was almost over and you were feeling pretty tired. 7 minutes didn’t seem like a long time, but it’s different when you’re working out.

You did pace a little bit, while keeping your arm movement to a minimum. You felt your heart beating due to the exercise and also the anxiety of your boyfriend watching you.

You did make a last-second decision to boop his nose when you got to the last word. This made Wilford blink harshly and look up at you with a pout. Before you went back to your original spot in the room, you gave him a little kiss on the nose. That made him grin from ear to ear and dig his fingers into his legs. You bit back a chuckle and started up again.

“They had it coming, they had it coming, they had it coming all along! 'Cause if they used us, and they abused us, how could you tell us that we were wrong? He had it coming, he had it coming, he only had himself to blame! If you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it, I betcha you would have done the same!” You kept dancing the same as you did before, even though your legs were starting to burn, and you were having trouble keeping the same fluid movements. Some of them became a little more jerky and forced than you wanted them to.

Wilford noticed this and brought his arms up a bit, leaning forward in case you needed help. He figured you wouldn’t, but he didn’t want you cracking your skull open or anything.

He’d be very upset if you did that…

“You pop that gum one more time! Single my ass. Ten times! Miert csukott Uncle Sam bortonbe! Number seventeen: the spread eagle. Artistic differences…” You did all your previous movements for each woman’s line. Which included: The shotgun, throwing both hands above your head, getting in Wilford’s face, wiping a fake tear, kicking your leg, and shrugging, in that order. You were very out of breath and a bit disoriented, but that was okay because there was only a little bit left!

“Pop. Six. Squish. Uh-uh. Cicero. Lipschitz…” You ended the song by walking directly in front of Wilford and falling to your knees in front of him once you were sure the song had ended. You breathed heavily, feeling the tiredness from the day and the dancing catching up to you. You were about to ask Wilford “So, how bad was it?” before he slid to the floor and wrapped his arms around you. You froze, not knowing what was happening.

“You were fantastic,” He whispered. Which you thought was very strange because Wilford couldn’t speak lower than a yell, in your experience. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Wil, what’s happening?” You asked, still out of breath. He squeezed you a little tighter.

“I just… wanted to show love to my partner?” He said hesitantly. You scoffed and hugged him back.

“Do you feel guilty because you embarrassed me?”

“Yes…”

“Wil, you’re fine, I promise.” You chuckled. He sighed and sat back. You looked at him and frowned.

“I…” He ran a hand through his hair and avoided looking at your face. “I… know I’m not the easiest to deal with and… I… I wanna… make you feel comfortable…”

“You do make me feel comfortable!” You took his hands in yours.

“But every time I’ve looked at you today you were always scared or angry!” He argued. You closed your mouth, not really having any argument.

“Mm…” You hummed.

“I… wanna… get better. I wanna be better. For you.” He grumbled. You smiled and twisted yourself around so you were sitting between his legs with your head resting on his chest. He laid his chin on top of your head.

“I think you’re perfectly fine.” You sighed.

“I don’t wanna be perfectly fine, I wanna be perfect!” He whined.

“Well, that’s an impossible goal.”

“Then… I wanna be perfect… for you.”

“That’s a better one.” You looked up at him and smiled. He smiled back, feeling a warmth spreading through his chest. You were listening. You understood.

And you loved him.

“Am I a good boyfriend?” He asked.

“Of course you are.” You snuggled into his chest.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked softly as he could. You squinted at him as he gave you his very best puppy eyes. You gave in, and gave him a peck. You could feel his arms waving around as he tried to decide what to do with them. Eventually, he placed them on the sides of your neck. You pulled back after a little and he stared at you adoringly.

“Don’t you look at me like that…” You warned.

“I love you…” He sighed and wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you tightly. You squirmed, trying to get out, but he didn’t move.

“Wilford…” You whined. “Lemme go! I ordered food!”

“Ok, I’ll let you go when the food shows up!” You huffed and let your body go limp as you succumbed to the hug.

You should’ve just cooked something.

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