Title: Duet
Fandom: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), modern AU
Length: 350 words
Characters: Grant, De Lancey
Content notes: no warnings apply
Author note: part of the AU-of-an-AU for the Medsoc Musical 'verse, and follows on from Good Luck Ritual; thanks to owl_by_night for encouraging me with this one. The duet in question is here.
Summary: Grant should be used to William's occasional diva tantrums by now, but this one still manages to take him by surprise.



Grant should be used to William's occasional diva tantrums by now, but this one still manages to take him by surprise.

"You could at least pretend it's me you're singing to!" William huffs.

"I was singing to you!" Grant protests. "Who else?"

"Oh, like it's not obvious you're thinking about Jonathan the whole time these days," William says. "It's just rude. And completely fucking unprofessional."

Grant refrains from pointing out that the Medsoc musical is a strictly amateur affair, even at the Edinburgh Fringe. As far as he's concerned, he's not singing The Best Thing That Ever Has Happened any differently from how he's done it all through the run. It's one of his favourite Sondheim numbers, and doing it less than justice would be a sin.

He'd been worried that this new thing with Jonathan would make it awkward doing scenes with him, and relieved when that didn't happen. But he'd never expected it to affect his love scenes with William, and he doesn't think it has. Arthur's the sort of director who'll still be giving you notes right up till the last night, and he hasn't said a word about Grant's performance.

"I'm supposed to be the best thing that ever has happened to you," William says. "Not him."

Grant sighs in exasperation. "Come here, you great pillock." He hugs William and smacks him on the arse for good measure. "You're still my best friend, OK? Nothing's going to change that."

William grumbles something inaudible into Grant's shoulder.

"Honestly," Grant says, giving him a shove. "You'd soon tell me where to get off if I threw a strop about you and Arthur."

"That's different," William says, with his mouth full of Grant's t-shirt.

"Bollocks," Grant says, and jabs him in the ribs.

A jar of cold cream gets knocked to the floor in the ensuing scuffle and William cuts his hand picking up the pieces, which at least gives him something else to moan about.

"Come on," Grant says, when he's mopped him up and raided the first aid kit. "Let's run it one more time for luck."