Being interrupted is almost never as fun as whatever you were interrupted from. But, when Ron sees who rang, he can't stay mad for long.
Ducking out of work had been even easier than Ron had thought it would. After that little bit of thespian gold, it had been lickety-split to get themselves home and each into something a little more... comfortable. The surprisingly flattering, period accurate costumes Champ had cut, stitched, and on one memorable occasion, woven for them being switched out for their work clothes as soon as they had them out.
With the decent quality, curled, brunet wig on straight, Ron had barely recognized his lover. Especially under that non-ten-gallon hat brim.
From there it had been moments before the two found themselves in the bedroom, trading lines and facing off. Almost as if the old colonel's last stand was taking place for a second time. Only, this time, with far fewer casualties and absolutely no broken treaties.
Things were going great. Champ was like putty in his hands, and all that idol worship sparkling in the shorter man's eyes was doing wonders for Ron's ego. Which just so happened to be directly connected to his-
And then the doorbell rang.
At exactly the wrong moment too, because Ron was certain beyond the shadow of a doubt that Champ had been measly seconds from-
And with a second ring, all the excitement drained right out of... both of them.
So, as Ron reluctantly scraped himself off his rudely interrupted love session, he straightened his tunic and promised, "I will finish you later, Colonel. On that, you have my word."
The dazed, almost dopey smile he got was reassurance enough, so with a quick check to make sure he was decent, Ron Burgundy went to check who in the name of all that is holy had rung their doorbell in the middle of any decent person's workday.
"Whatever vacuum cleaner it is you're selling, we already own it!" He yelled as he yanked the door open. Hoping to discourage whatever scum had dared to interrupt his 'special' time with his special person; his afternoon delight.
"Hello, Ron. My, aren't you looking different today?"
"Brick?" He asked in pure puzzlement.
"Yes. It is I. Brick," the weatherman assured with a sharp snap of his heels.
"At ease," Ron allowed with a wave of one hand. "Uh, not that it isn't good to see you, Brick, but why the hell are you darkening our door in the middle of the news day?" Asked with all the authority due a network newscaster over all his subordinates.
"Who's there? Who's at the door, Ron?" Came an inquest from the open bedroom door. Back where Burgundy wished he still was. Squished on top of his warm, loving, compassionate-
"Is it the census?! Because I told them to never come 'round here again unless they wanted to go home with half their brains in their grubby little-"
"No, Champ, it's Brick!" The man in the expertly recreated, mid nineteenth century, Sioux war outfit hollered back into his shared house.
"...Why?" Came the responding question.
"Yes, Brick, why indeed?" Ron asked, turning back to their visitor.
"I have brought you the pink liquid," said visitor said, pulling something vaguely bottle shaped from a front pocket.
"'Pink liquid'?" Ron found himself blurting, befuddled beyond belief.
"Pepto-Bismol?" Asked a bewildered Champ, who chose that to be his introduction as he poked his entire body out of the foyer and into the doorway.
"What- Wait. How did you even find us?" Ron demanded of Brick as he tried not to be flustered by the up close reminder of what he'd so rudely been pulled away from. Or rather, who he'd been so rudely, maddeningly pulled off of.
"Remember in that alternate timeline when you had a housewarming party when you moved in here together?" Brick asked. Staring intently at the little bottle full of pink liquid he was holding out in front of himself. Like it might explode. Or maybe like he was offering an extremely revered person a gift.
"No, Brick, no one remembers alternate timelines; it's called science fiction for a reason!" Ron said with a stamp of one moccasined foot.
"Yeah," Champ agreed, "buncha gobbledygook created by Nazi scientists during the-"
"Nuh-uh," interrupted Brick, "It's existed longer than that," he said with a chuckle and shake of his head. Then, when no one countered his point, he added a smile.
"Well, I was invited to that party, so I know where you live. Is your living room still full of sand?"
"Sand? Like from the beach?"
"Yes, Ron," Brick said in a very 'of, course, where else?' sort of way. "It was a Florida Keys flavored party. Loved the alligator soup, Champ."
"Oh, thank you, Brick. It was my pleas-"
"No, no, don't encourage him, Champ. Remember? 'Alternate timeline'?" Ron said as he finally took pity on the Brick standing outside and accepted the thoughtful, though unnecessary, gift.
"Oh, right. Uh, sorry, Brick, but I've never cooked alligator in my life. Never even been to Florida," Champ informed, sounding rather deflated.
"Well, thank you for the Pepto-Bismol, Brick, but isn't it about time you toddled off back home?" Ron asked in the least 'get off my porch' tone he could.
"Home?" The only word Brick squeaked out.
"Yeah, the place you hang your hat?" Champ said, pointing at his ten-gallon example on their hatrack by the door. Put there specifically for that hat.
"I don't- hats aren't- don't like my- t-try to eat my head," Brick said, stumbling over his words as his eyes went big.
"No, Brick, what Champ means is that home is where you go when you're done with work and want to relax and maybe go to sleep for the night. Where you eat dinner. And breakfast," Ron explained.
"But..." started a confused Brick, "those are all different places."
"What? No, home, Brick. Everyone has a home," insisted Champ. Putting an arm around Ron's back to emphasize his assertion.
"Oh, right!" Said Ron with a nod of thanks to his boyfriend. "Chani! What about Chani? Where does your wife live, Brick?"
"Seattle sometimes. Candyland othertimes," the weatherman said, quite matter of factly.
"You mean you don't live together?" Asked Champ, arm tightening around Ron's back, like a lifeline.
"We're together every night in our dreams," Brick informed with a small smile. "She bakes pie and I bring the turkey and stuffing."
"To your dreams?" Ron asked. Eyebrows almost touching the black wig he'd all but forgotten he was wearing.
"It's a midnight potluck. We do it at least once a week."
The matter of fact delivery had Ron unsure whether he should be happy for his friend and his friend's wife, or very, very sad.
Then Brick's stomach growled. And Ron knew exactly how to feel. And what to say.
"Uh, say, Brick, When was the last 'potluck' you and Chani had?"
"Our next one is tomorrow night. This time I'm bringing sweet potato casserole and sauerkraut salad."
"In separate Tupperware I hope," Champ said with a shudder. One Ron could feel where he was practically being hugged by the man. The man still dressed as the historical figure Lieutenant Colonel George Armstrong Custer. Hugging Sitting Bull in their open front door.
Ron, being pretty sure it was a good time to not be seen by the neighbors, made a judgment call and decided slamming the door in Brick's face would definitely be one of the worse decisions of his life.
So instead, he leaned in close to his colonel's ear and asked his lover a question. "You still want a kid?"
With a shiver, Champ leaned an intimate amount more of his weight into Ron's side and turned his head to whisper into the wig covered ear. "Yes, more than anything, Ron."
"In that case, congratulations, Champ. You're a father now," Ron said with a Brickward sweep of one arm.
"Huh?" Came the noise of confusion from both the weatherman and the sports commentator.
"You're hungry, right, Brick?" Ron asked, with a small smirk.
"Oh yes, very much so," Brick admitted with a downcast sort of acceptance.
"And you don't have a place you go back to at night, right? Nothing like Champ's house here, right?" Ron asked in a leading way.
"No, I've never- this is nicer than anything in- my dreams aren't this nice," Brick insisted with a shake of his head.
"Well, we happen to have an extra bedroom and a live-in, world class cook who's tired of cooking for only two," Ron said, putting his own arm around Champ's back. Crisscrossing their limbs oh-so comfortably.
"Everything he's said is true, Brick," Champ insisted with a face that was brightening by the second. Aglow with paternal instincts kicked off by the opportunity standing right there on their porch.
"Well, what do you say, Brick? Want to live under Champ's roof, eat his food, be eternally ungrateful for all the sacrifices he makes for you and overall make his life a living-"
"Heaven?" Champ cut in. "I think you just described heaven," he said with a wistful sigh.
"Sure. Why not? What he said." Ron allowed with a perplexed twitch of his mustache.
"You mean, I'd get to live in heaven?" Brick asked with eyes that shone. "With my best friends?"
"If you'd like to," Champ said with an encouraging nod.
"Oh, I would. I would like that very much," Brick insisted with a matching nod. And wring of the hands.
"In that case, welcome home, Brick," Ron said with a warm 'get inside before the neighbors see us dressed like this' smile.
"Welcome to the family, Brick," Champ said with more happiness than Ron had thought possible.
Then, the two broke apart to make way for their equally ecstatic guest.
"Say, Brick, if you already knew where my house is, how come it took ya till now to get here?" Champ asked as they ushered their friend through the door and in a kitchenly direction.
"Oh, it took a while to find enough change on the sidewalk for the stomach potion," Brick explained.
"Oh. Well, thanks a bunch for that. I'm feelin' better already!" Champ assured.
To which, Brick stopped in the middle of his stride, one foot off the ground and gave Champ the most aghast expression Ron thought he'd ever seen on a human face.
"Brick?" Ron prompted.
"I- that's- The potion works even better than I thought." Brick's shocked face spoke in a way that compelled an answer.
"The miracles of modern medicine," Champ said with an uncomfortable shake of the unopened bottle. To which, Branch nodded. In awe.
Then, soon as the shock began to wear off, they continued toward the kitchen, all three walking side by side with their guest in the middle.
After a few more steps, said guest opened his mouth to speak again. "It sure is a good thing I found that giant bird bath full of pennies!"
At that, Ron and Champ glanced at each other across the top of Brick's head and smiled.
Champ was probably right. Not about the whole 'heaven' thing, but being a father for a second time might just not be so bad as it sounded. At least, so long as it made Champ that happy.
Besides, Brick needed a place to stay and they were all already besties. So, yeah, this whole thing was going to go swimmingly. Ron could feel it in his bones.
And it was all going to start with a delicious, home cooked, ever so slightly early dinner. Courtesy the new, first time dad of the house.