rareslash | It Can Happen to You or Me (The Wiggles, PG)

Title: It Can Happen to You or Me
Fandom: The Wiggles (TV)
Author: Gigi Sinclair
Rating: PG
Pairing: Anthony/Greg, implied Murray/Jeff

Summary: "It was strange, and it did make Anthony's stomach turn over like he'd had one too many bowls of cold spaghetti, but it didn't feel uncomfortable. It felt amazing and, when Greg pulled him close and kissed him back, it was like nothing he'd ever experienced before."

Notes: What happens when a die-hard slasher has a two-year-old child. TV-verse, not RPF. I don't know how they handled Greg's departure in-canon, but I suspect they didn't. Apologies for any damaged childhoods, but I'm old enough to be immune.

Anything can happen in this special world/It can happen to you or me"-In the Wiggles World

The first time it happened, it was a day like any other. The sun was shining like it always did over Wiggle House. The stove was busy working on a beautiful chocolate cake Anthony planned to share with the other Wiggles at teatime, if he didn't eat it all himself the minute it was ready, and Greg was practicing his magic.

As Anthony sat on his blue chair, reading his very latest recipe book, he heard Greg say, "And now, without further ado, I present...the rabbit!" He looked up. Anthony loved all of Greg's magic tricks, but this one was particularly exciting. Inevitably, it failed, but every time, Anthony watched anyway. You never knew, this might be the time Greg actually succeeded in coaxing the rabbit out of the hat, and Anthony didn't want to miss that.

Like always, Greg reached into the hat. He rooted around until he seemed to grasp something. Then, with a big, happy smile, he pulled his arm back out. He was holding a sign that said, "Better luck next time, sucker." In smaller letters, someone had added, "Please send more carrots."

Greg's smile evaporated in an instant, replaced by a dark frown Anthony only ever remembered seeing when they walked along Gloomy Street. Walked quickly, of course. No one wanted to hang about there for long, which was probably why the property values were so low in that part of town.

"It's okay, Greg," Anthony soothed automatically.

"No, it's not.” Greg cast the sign to the ground. It bounced. “I'm sick to death of that stupid thing."

Anthony suppressed a gasp. That kind of language was never heard in Wiggle House, and he would certainly never have expected it from Greg. Greg was the calm one, the unflappable one. He didn't even get riled up when Dorothy sat on his best magician's hat, or when Wags lifted his leg against the mailbox for what had to be the hundred thousandth time, or when Henry the Octopus came in spinning and knocked all the ornaments from their shelves. They'd spent the better part of a day cleaning that up, and all Greg had done was sing cheerful cleaning-up songs until they all forgot it was a chore and they ended up tidying the whole house just for the fun of it.

Anthony stood up and went over to where Greg stood, at the kitchen counter. "You'll get it next time." He put a hand on Greg's shoulder.

"No, I won't." Greg looked at him. The anger had turned to misery, and Anthony's heart hurt to see another Wiggle so upset. If he was honest, it hurt even more that the Wiggle in such pain was Greg. Anthony loved them all, of course, but deep in his heart, there was a special spot he kept for Greg alone. "I'm a terrible magician, Anthony. I'm probably the worst magician there ever was. There's nothing I'm good at. Nothing. You're an amazing cook, Murray plays his guitar like a rock star, even Jeff's the best sleeper there ever was, but I'm completely useless."

No, you're not, Anthony wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat. Tears appeared in Greg's eyes. He shrugged off Anthony's hand. "Leave me alone. I'm going to my room."

Anthony couldn't let him go. He had to do something, anything, to show Greg he wasn't a failure, to let him know how important he was to everyone and especially how much he meant to Anthony.

"Greg..." Anthony grabbed Greg's arm. Greg moved as if to shake him off again, but Anthony stepped forward at the same time. The movement put them nose to nose, a breath apart. Anthony could hear his heart pounding in is ears. Greg swallowed, the sound inexplicably loud, and Anthony kissed him.

He couldn't explain why. There were plenty of hugs and high-fives and Wiggly handshakes in their world, but kissing was rare. They'd found Captain Feathersword at it once, when they showed up early on the SS Feathersword. They'd looked around the seemingly deserted ship, worried that the captain had been swept overboard or perhaps waylaid by less friendly pirates, only to find him fumbling in a corner with one of his deckhands. The captain had turned bright red and stammered something about mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but the deckhand—who didn't seem at all on the brink of death, as the captain was trying to explain—looked Anthony in the eye and winked. That made Anthony's stomach turn over in a strange, uncomfortable way, but he hadn't had time to examine it. They'd all gone off to meet Dorothy for tea, and they'd never spoken about the incident again.

This didn't feel like that. It was strange, and it did make Anthony's stomach turn over like he'd had one too many bowls of cold spaghetti, but it didn't feel uncomfortable. It felt amazing and, when Greg pulled him close and kissed him back, it was like nothing he'd ever experienced before.

It was better than mashed bananas. It was better than crunchy munchy honey cakes. It was even better—and Anthony knew this was a very serious statement, but there was no doubt in his mind that it was true—than a nine-foot-long sandwich with sausage, ham, bacon, olives, extra cheese, tomato sauce and anchovies. His heart soared like they were flying through the sky on an airplane. He felt dizzy, like he was a bear and someone was rock-a-bye-ing him into oblivion. He couldn't imagine ever feeling this wonderful, not even if he spent a whole day on Happy Street.

Then he felt something poke him in the hip.

"Anthony." Greg pulled back suddenly. His face was flushed and he sounded breathless. But he didn't sound angry, or even annoyed, and Anthony was so relieved at that, he wanted to kiss Greg again.

He leaned forward, but this time Greg held him back. "Anthony," Greg repeated. His voice was soft and calm, like the old Greg. "We can't tell the others."

"No." Anthony knew that, although he couldn't have said why. This was wonderful, but it also felt slightly naughty, like reaching over and quietly eating the last of Jeff's breakfast when he fell asleep at the table. Naughty, but nice at the same time. The thought of having this secret from Murray and Jeff sent a thrill up Anthony's spine.

"Right." Greg smiled and took Anthony's hand, as if they were about to cross the road. "Come on." He led him across the living room to the yellow bedroom door.

They never breathed a word of it to Murray or Jeff, or to Dorothy or Wags or Henry or Captain Feathersword for that matter. Sometimes, especially after they got busy with Network Wiggles, they went weeks without finding time for it. But then, usually just as Anthony was getting increasingly anxious, Greg would give him a meaningful glance over the breakfast table or brush a hand deliberately against Anthony's leg as he changed gears in the Big Red Car, and Anthony knew he hadn't forgotten.

They tried to be sensible, controlled, but there were occasional close calls. Once, they sneaked into a closet at the studio and collided with Murray and Jeff, in there doing inventory of the toilet rolls. Another time, they crept off behind a thick rosebush in Dorothy's garden to find Jeff and Murray on the ground, looking for Murray's lost guitar pick. But most of the time, they managed to find moments to themselves, and Anthony had never been happier.

Until his world came crashing down.

Anthony would remember it forever. He was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a peanut butter and marmalade sandwich, a combination which would be forever marred in his mind, when Greg came in. He hesitated for a moment, looking around as if he expected to see Murray fiddling with his guitar or Jeff asleep in a corner.

"They said they were going to visit Captain Feathersword," Anthony explained. "Which is a bit odd, because I thought he wasn't due back until tomorrow, but maybe he came home early. Also, they really didn't want me to go with them. Maybe they're planning a surprise. Whatever they're up to, we've probably got at least half an hour." Anthony licked peanut butter off his finger and let a little nice naughtiness creep into his smile.

Greg didn't seem too excited by it. In any case, he didn't lunge toward Anthony and drag him off to his bedroom which, Anthony had to admit, was a little disappointing. He knew he'd put on a little weight lately, those crunchy munchy honey cakes were just too enticing sometimes, but that didn't mean...

"Anthony, I'm going away."

"What?"

Greg crossed the distance between them and sat beside Anthony, even though it wasn't his yellow chair. "I'm sorry. I don't have any choice." He took Anthony's hand. He looked truly sorry, his thick dark eyebrows furrowing in sadness. Anthony felt like someone had crumpled him up and tossed him in the appropriate recycling bin. "The house told me I need to go."

They all knew that time would come. Wiggle House looked after them, catered to their every need and protected them, but, one day, it would send them away, to make their own fortunes in a different world. Anthony had always assumed they'd be sent together. "Why you?"

"It's my time."

"I'll go with you."

"You can't. I'm sorry," he repeated. "Someone else will take my place."

"No one ever could." That was the truest statement Anthony had ever uttered. Tears sprang to his eyes, and his vision blurred. He put his arms around Greg and buried his head in Greg's neck, crying until the shoulder of the yellow skivvy was soaked. He didn't even pull away when he heard the door open, and Greg didn't make him.

"What's going on?" Murray's voice was anxious. Greg shifted and Anthony looked up. Murray and Jeff were standing in the doorway with twigs and bits of leaves stuck to their clothes, as if they'd been rolling around on the grass rather than planning a surprise with Captain Feathersword. Anthony didn't care.

"Greg's leaving," he sobbed. Their friends' faces turned grave. Greg nodded, and Murray and Jeff came over, putting their arms around Anthony and Greg to make a big Wiggly hug.

When the moment came, they all watched from the window as Greg walked away. When he reached the end of the road, he turned and waved. Murray and Jeff waved back, but Anthony couldn't even raise his hand. He just watched, leaning on Murray, until Greg was out of sight, then he collapsed in a heap.

"Come on," Jeff said, pulling him up. "A little nap'll do you a world of good." Anthony doubted it. Nothing would help him now, not even a snack, but he was too unhappy to protest. He let Murray and Jeff drag him over to his bedroom and dump him on his blue bed. He lay there as the sun set and the day turned to night. He dimly heard voices—Murray's and Jeff's, and that of the stupid house, and he wasn't even going to regret that profanity—but he couldn't make out any words. When the stars came out and began to twinkle, Anthony let his eyes slide shut.

When he woke up, it was morning. The birds chirped in the trees and, for a moment, Anthony was blissfully forgetful of what had happened. He got up, his stomach rumbling like he hadn't eaten in hours. Smiling at the thought of breakfast, he reached for the door, and remembered.

His heart sank. Still, he had to eat. With a sigh, he pushed his feet into his blue slippers and left the bedroom.

It was still early. There was no sound from Murray's room or Jeff's, so Anthony trod lightly. No sense in waking them up. They'd only want to know how he was feeling, and he didn't want to discuss it.

He opened the fridge and filled a plate with fruit and slipped a slice of bread into the toaster.

"I was sorry to hear about Greg," the stove said, its tone more dour than usual.

"Shut up," Anthony replied. He'd never been so foul-mouthed before, but he couldn't help himself.

As the bread toasted, he sat at the table with his plate. He helped himself to a few strawberries, then some melon and then some grapes. The toaster popped. He turned to fetch the toast and, when he turned back, a figure stood on the other side of the table. It was dressed in a yellow nightshirt and a yellow nightcap, but it wasn't Greg.

Anthony opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"I'm Sam," the figure said. Anthony didn't reply. Sam looked at Anthony's pile of food. "Could I have a bite?"

"Help yourself. The fridge is full." The fridge was always full, the dishes were always clean, they had all day to sing and dance and make television shows and take trips to Wiggly Bay. But none of that mattered, because Greg was gone.

Sam went to the fridge. Anthony heard him filling a plate, but refused to look. He ate his breakfast, staring steadfastly at the table in front of him. When Sam came back, he sat in the yellow chair, and it took all of Anthony's self-control not to kick it out from under him.

"This food is great," he said, licking his lips as he bit into an apple. Anthony grunted. Sam sighed and set down the apple. He looked up, and despite himself, Anthony met his eye.

"You're using the wrong plate," he said, but there wasn't as much venom in his voice as he'd intended. "That's your Tuesday lunch plate."

"Oh." Sam looked taken aback. "How do I..."

"I'll get it for you." Anthony went over to the drawer. He handed the right plate to Sam, who smiled so warmly, Anthony couldn't help but feel a little less cold.

"I can't wait to figure everything out," Sam said, with so much aggressive enthusiasm Anthony began to feel a little chilly again. "What do you do, apart from singing?"

"I don't know," Anthony replied, airily. "I was thinking of taking up magic."

"Magic?"

"Yes." Now that he'd said it, it seemed perfectly sensible. It would be his way of remembering Greg, of memorializing him. "I've always wanted to pull a rabbit out of a hat."

"That sounds hard."

"It is." Nearly impossible, in fact.

"Maybe we could work on it together." Now, Sam looked anxious, and suddenly, Anthony's heart went out to him. Greg would expect him to be generous towards the newcomer, hospitable, and Anthony hoped that wherever he was, Greg was receiving the same kindness.

"Maybe," he said. He looked between their plates. Sam had stacked his with bananas and apples. Anthony hesitated, just for a moment, then said, "Do you want to make a fruit salad?"