Chapter Text
The silence holds for all of ten seconds.
“Maeve? Maeve! What the fuck—?” Adam’s voice is all rough edges as he reaches for the phone in Ben’s hand, scrambling, frantic and uncoordinated. Ben lets him have it.
Right now, he doesn’t want to touch his own phone anyway.
It feels sticky.
Metaphorically speaking, of course.
(somewhere in his backpack he has wet wipes and disinfectant)
(his bag’s on the backseat with Adam)
(Ben isn’t stupid enough to ask for it)
Instead, he tries to press his back against the window, half his butt hanging awkwardly over the edge of the seat. This isn’t road safe – then again, Adam’s desperation isn’t particularly road safe either.
(Sam’s drunk)
(Ben, at least, can feel the rum pulling at the edges of his awareness, can feel the heat of the alcohol in his gut, and the lack of restraint threatening to cut his tongue loose)
(he’s no longer so far gone that he’s out of control, but…)
(that doesn’t mean much, does it?)
“Why can’t I—?” Adam tries to redial Maeve’s number. It doesn’t work. Judging by the dark silhouettes of the trees framing the hills all around them and the suspicious lack of other cars on the road, Ben’s pretty sure he knows why it’s not working. Pennsylvania, here to cut your emotionally distressing phone calls short. “Shit, shit, shit— Why isn’t this—”
“No cell reception.” Sam saves Ben before he’s forced to open his mouth.
Without words, Sam has already understood that Ben’s in some deep shit. It’s kinda nice of the guy to buy him a few more minutes – fuck it, after that half-earnest job offer earlier, Ben might have to consider that Sam’s actually a pretty cool guy.
(Adam might be too, if he isn’t currently going through the five stages of grief)
(he seems to be permanently stuck somewhere between anger and despair)
(well, since he’s about to find out that Ben’s been— yeah)
“How can— we’re on a highway! There should be—”
“You’re from NC.” Sam continues, eyes firmly trained on the dark road winding up the first edges of the mountains. “You should be used to spotty cell service.”
“I– that doesn’t— I mean—” Still clutching Ben’s phone, Adam swipes right a few times. Because of the call, his phone was already unlocked when Adam reached for it.
Ben realizes what that means moments before Adam finds what he is looking for.
Adam asks, “You— You know Maeve?”
That’s probably the kindest way to describe their messaging history.
Yeah, Ben knows Maeve.
“We’re friends.” Ben says; his voice barely counts as such, small and quiet.
“Since when.”
It’s not a question. Adam continues scrolling up.
By now, it must be just another form of self-flagilation.
“Three years ago? Maybe a bit longer than that.” It’s the truth – after all the bullshit he’s spewed over the last few hours (days, months, years), it still tastes like a lie.
“How…?” Adam puts down the phone and closes his eyes. He exhales, the deep sigh shaking his entire body – the bony shoulders underneath the suit jacket he’s still wearing tremble, his white shirt stained with sweat. Ben tracks every movement through the rearview mirror, too afraid to actually turn around and look. “When did you figure it out?”
“Figure what out?”
“Stop it with the bullshit. When did you realize my Maeve was your Maeve?”
For a second, Ben considers lying – or he could bathe his sincerity in humor. It wouldn’t even be hard. Just a solid, “Now, man, I know you’re upset, but we’re both feminists here, Maeve belongs to no one” and Adam would be too distracted defending his honor, he’d forget all about the details.
But they are reaching the end of day two, Ben has seen Adam cry – Ben has seen what this man looks like when he breaks, and as much of an asshole as he can be, he doesn’t actually…
He doesn’t actually want to push Adam over the edge.
Hell, in a kinder world, Ben knows they’d be the best of friends.
Maybe.
Jury’s still out on that one.
(Adam has to quit his job first, though, for that to work)
“Chicago,” he says, instead. It’s basically a death sentence.
“That was—” Adam’s grasping for words. It’s obviously a struggle for him to make sense of it. “That was more than a day ago.”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve known for a day!?” Adam’s so loud, the explosive rage catching in his throat like broken glass.
Sam flinches.
“And you didn’t—” Adam makes a choked-off noise. “How could you?”
“Well…” Ben sits up. It’s a farce, him playing pretend, but making himself smaller isn’t going to work here. No matter how pitiful he might look, big blue eyes aren’t going to save him from Adam’s hurt feelings. Maybe now’s the time to defuse the situation with a little bit of… “She’s her own woman. She doesn’t belong to you. And she doesn’t belong to me, so…”
It’s the truth.
Ben watches as his words hit Adam, as Adam’s mouth opens in an angry rebuttal only to be stopped short by the implications of what Ben just said. It’s self-defense and a little bit mean – it’s not as if Adam actually thinks Maeve belongs to him. But it’s enough to trip him up.
Dammit.Ben was supposed to be earnest. Was supposed to be nice. This was him making up for his deceit, but— it’s too late for him to take this lying down.
“Still, you, you, you—” Long fingers grip brown hair tightly, the grimace on Adam’s face a mixture of frustration and pain. “You should have— you can’t just—”
“You can’t evoke the bro-code.” Best intentions out the window (lost somewhere in the trees of Pleasant Valley Park) Ben keeps pushing. It’s a fierce ache in his chest, this inability to commit to being completely honest. “And we’re not even bros.”
“I don’t think we need to take this—” Sam tries his best, voice calm even if his lips are pinched tight, but it’s just not enough.
“Obviously, we’re not ‘bros’,” Adam spits, “considering you just fucking lied about knowing my girlfriend!”
Under his breath, Ben corrects, “Your ex-girlfriend.”
“Do you just get off on being cruel, you— Argh.” Adam pushes away from Ben’s seat, hard enough to shake Ben slightly. Leaning against the backseat, Adam rubs both hands over his face. Watching him from the corner of his eyes, it looks painful. Then again, just being Adam Chase seems to be quite the torturous experience. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Ben raises one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Therapists everywhere’ve been trying to figure that one out for close to a decade now.”
Nobody laughs at Ben’s joke.
He didn’t expect them to.
It wasn’t that funny anyway.
“Why did you– just tell me one thing, okay?” Adam’s trying to be an adult – take deep breaths and control his emotions, particularly to keep his temper in check. It seems to be easier for him now than it was yesterday, maybe because he already exorcised some of his demons. “Why the fuck did you keep it a secret?”
It’s a valid question.
Judging by the clench of Sam’s jaw, and the desperation with which he stares out the windshield instead of looking at Ben (instead of glancing back at Adam in the rearview mirror) Sam knows it as well.
(wants them to figure out their shit so peace can finally return to the car)
(didn’t they already do this?)
(why are they back here?)
“I knew you’d react like this– no, I was afraid you’d react the way you did after that whole job thingy.” In this at least, Ben can be honest. “Especially when your whole reason for getting back to New York as quickly as possible turned into some idiotic fantasy where you resign from the job you’ve had for five years to win back your girl like some hero from a 90s romcom. There’s a reason they’re outdated. Adam, you broke up a year ago.”
“Ouch.” Sam’s commentary is rather unwelcome, if accurate.
Adam starts, “That was—”
“That was the last thing you yapped on about before falling asleep!” Now he’s the one turning this ugly. Adam gave him a way out, and here Ben is— pushing. He hates it when his voice gets louder – it is a loss of control. He hates losing control. “So, sorry if I didn’t volunteer information that would make some guy I am forced to spend time with angry at me!”
“I’m not angry!”
“Yes, you are!” It’s not hard to argue Adam’s point, considering the red splotches crawling up Adam’s neck like some sort of spider infestation. That, and the increasing volume of their conversation. The jeep is not nearly big enough for either one of them right now. “You’re pissed because I am friends with a woman you didn’t deserve! And news flash: we’ve been friends for years. She tried to introduce us at least half a dozen times and you never managed to get your ass out of the office to actually—”
“Oh, now it’s all my fault that you’re a dirty little liar who can’t fess up when he commits a social blunder,” Adam says sarcastically. “Nepo baby as well, right? You’re only someone because other people turned you into—”
“Oh.” Ben didn’t expect any of Adam’s words to hit – he should have. This one actually smarts, his ribcage tight.
“Adam—” Sam starts.
Before he can defend Ben’s honor – sweet guy, really – Ben gears up to return the favor. “At least I am not a cruel asshole getting people fired for costing the company exploiting them money.”
This is no longer about Maeve.
In many ways, it never was.
“You’re just taking cheap shots at me now—”
“And you’re just some incel who can’t–”
“Ben!” Sam again, trying to keep them from crashing the car.
“Okay! Fuck it!” Ben throws up his hands, “I’m sorry for not telling you, okay? And now I have the moral high ground because at least I’m not the guy who kicks someone while they’re already down!”
That is factually untrue.
Adam yells, “I’m not— I don’t want to be that guy!”
Silence reigns in the car.
Adam tries again, and this time he doesn’t even have the strength to really finish what he’s started. “I’m not— I don’t want to be him…”
Too much truth. It has gagged all of them.
‘I don’t want to be that guy’ – and isn’t that the crux?
Ben works his jaw, the echoes of Adam’s words deafening in his ears.
(Ben doesn’t particularly like the guy he’s turning into either)
(while stuck in Ohio Ben recognized something in Adam and now— now this might be it)
(it’s an ugly little truth)
Nature claims them as the night grows darker. The windshield wipers are silent for the first time since they met in Denver; the hum of the engine is a familiar backdrop by now. If Iowa was a place of lazy tranquility, and Illinois made them angry, then– well, it turns out Pennsylvania’s the place where the truth comes out.
“A liar, a fraud, and a failure walk into a bar—” Ben starts, for a third time. Only now, he’s finally found the punchline. “Turns out I’m all three of them.”
“That’s not–” Sam tries.
Ben won’t hear it. He steamrolls over Sam’s protests, “But isn’t it? I lied about knowing Maeve. I’m a fraud who can only claim to be a writer because their dad pulled some fucking strings. and now— fuck it, my next writing gig isn’t for another six months, so I’ll be waiting tables and doing shitty improv I think sucks while trying to survive, like some sort of— well, failure. There you have it. I solved the riddle.”
“Hey, buddy,” Adam says awkwardly, “this is no reason to have a breakdown–” After the past few hours (and fights and mental breakdowns) it’s almost funny to see Adam try and placate him. The angry flush is still coloring Adam’s cheeks, and yet he has his hands raised as if Ben had suddenly turned into a startled horse – or a fire breathing dragon.
Fuck it, it’s enough to make Ben laugh. “This isn’t me having a breakdown. Trust me, you couldn’t handle me at my actual worst.”
Finally that feeling building in his chest eases some – at least now Adam knows about Maeve, knows just how fucked up Ben is. Sam, too – it was getting bothersome constantly being viewed as the normal one. Just because Ben knows how to mask his issues, doesn’t mean he wants to be the emotionally intelligent one all the time.
Fucking hell.
“I think your joke is missing a few parts.” Sam’s surprisingly steadfast as he cuts through the tension in the car. Unlike Ben, he doesn’t seem to be under the influence of the rum they shared.
That’s just unfair.
“Is there?”
“Yeah.” Following the gentle curve of the road, Sam conveys a strangely confident air. It’s not that he appeared overly nervous before now, but somehow the close proximity to mountains is enough to draw him out of his shell. “Because I think it should go something like this… A liar, a fraud, and a failure walk into a bar… Turns out that there’s three of them.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then Adam speaks up, “I am not sure the joke works like that?”
“Huh.”
“Yeah.”
“I mean… but you get my drift, yeah?” Sam tries again. “About how we’re all—?”
“Frauds and liars and failures?” Ben finishes for him. He’s not quite sure whether he likes where Sam’s going with this.
“Yeah.”
“How so?” Adam asks, still clutching Ben’s phone – he manages to ask all the important questions. Or, well, the one question Ben himself wants answered right now.
“Because…” Shoulders rising, Sam looks uncertain for a moment. Ben knows he just told Sam that they’re all failures, and yet something tells him that’s not at all what Sam’s aiming for here. He’s scared to find out what he actually means. “Because we’re all lying to ourselves, aren’t we?”
“I don’t get it.” Oh right, Adam was asleep for that part of their conversation.
(Ben wishes Adam could have slept through Maeve calling him)
(fucking hell, his heart can’t take much more of this)
“It’s not about Maeve or your job, Adam, just as it’s not actually about the End of Year Party or— or Ben’s inability to take anything seriously. It’s about us— about how incredibly bad we are at being honest with ourselves.”
Ben didn’t know Sam had emotional intelligence.
Didn’t expect it to suit him this well, either.
Nothing’s solved, and yet…
“What are you lying about then, Sam?”
Adam’s words demand an answer.
Chewing on his lip, Ben waits. For what? For Sam to speak, maybe. Or for this storm to finally blow over (the clouds are already gone). Quite possibly, it’s the sunrise he is yearning for, an end to all his darkness.
Fuck it, he’s drunk.
It’s a bit fuzzy, how Adam ended up in this situation. He knows the outline of course (Denver, blizzard, meeting Ben, recognizing Sam, saying yes to sharing a car) but the last few hours have turned his world upside down, his understanding of reality barely holding on by a small tether.
Ben knows Maeve.
More than that – Their messaging history is seared into his memory, disjointed thanks to the lack of sleep and constant stress his body’s under. But that doesn’t negate the truth. Ben was flirting with her, keeping it a secret.
(Ben stopped responding to her texts the moment he realized who Adam was)
And— yeah, Ben’s right. It’s been a year. Adam has no claim to Maeve, no connection besides the past they shared, but—
But—
There has to be a but, right?
It doesn’t help that they’re still stuck in this jeep, the real world so far away. The emptiness of the road up ahead is a promise.
It’s just them.
And Adam just asked Sam for something he isn’t ready to give. Dammit, it’s not Adam’s place at all to demand the truth from someone he has constantly antagonized and fought with. It’s— Adam’s always known he has a temper, but never before has he realized just how ugly it makes him.
(during his short stint as a comedian/comedy writer, Adam liked to use his loud voice and overdrawn rage to make people laugh)
(it’s been a while since anyone’s really laughed at one of his jokes)
(well, Ben liked the Bigfoot one)
“I don’t think— I don’t think I like myself all that much.” Sam draws the words out – not because he doesn’t want to answer, but because he seems to struggle with how to phrase the truth.
“How so?” Ben asks, no longer defensive. Moments before anger painted deep lines on a face that usually has none; now, they slowly disappear. Ben just seems glad they are no longer talking about him. “Didn’t you claim you’re at the height of your career earlier?”
Adam still has questions (and guilt), but he holds his tongue.
(neither one of them has said sorry yet)
“Yeah,” Sam says, “and I am.” There’s no such thing as false humility for Sam – Adam hates that in other people (even himself). “That’s not it. It’s more that— hm, how do I say this? I’m— it feels as if I am lying every time I make a video and don’t show my face.”
Frankly, Ben says, “That makes no sense.”
Adam doesn’t get it – every time he closes his eyes, he can hear Sam’s voice haunting him. Who needs a face to match that voice to when the torture is complete just listening to Sam doing VO?
(then again, most people probably aren’t masochistic enough to repeatedly confront the future they could have had by watching YouTube videos about it)
“Hah.” Sam’s laugh is dry, sardonic. “I didn’t think you’d understand— You’re good about showing your faces, about going out there. But I— I hide behind stock footage. It’s—”
Sam falls silent.
Adam throws him a sympathetic look. Some things just can’t be put into words.
(but what is it Sam is haunted by?)
(it’s not Adam’s place to know and yet he cannot help but wonder)
“Yeah,” Ben agrees.
“Yeah,” Sam exhales.
There’s a moment of nothing, as they all sit with it.
The things that cannot be said.
“I really am sorry for not telling you about Maeve.” Ben’s not looking at Adam – if anything, he’s turned to stare out the window almost aggressively. Ben’s reflection in the car window works its jaw, as if the words alone are painful to say.
The thing is? Adam believes him.
“I know,” Adam says honestly.
“You do?” Ben asks as he twists back around in his seat to stare at Adam.
The disbelief smarts even if it is fully warranted. Adam has done nothing to earn their trust, nothing to prove to them that once upon a time, he was an okay kinda guy. Then again, it helps that neither Ben nor Sam pull their punches. It makes the guilt a little bit easier to bear.
“Yeah.” It hurts to admit that his anger over Maeve, his desperation over his job, his flaring temper, and the endless horror pressing his insides down in a tighter and tighter ball… all of that’s just Adam’s shit-show. His problems and responsibilities, and his mess to clean up. “Once again… I’m sorry too.”
“For what this time?”
Adam knows he’s not imagining the small smile pulling at the edges of Ben’s mouth – it’s tentative, and barely a smudge in the reflection giving Adam access to the mirror of Ben’s emotions, but it is something.
Adam’ll take something.
He replies,“For hitting your sore spots on purpose.”
Adam’s always been prone to doing that, and he really needs to stop indulging himself.
(and he needs to call Maeve – not to win her back, but to say he’s sorry)
(and actually mean it this time)
There is nothing much to say after that. The road is endless up ahead, the car for once silent without it being stifling or wrong. Adam considers turning on the radio himself, only he’s stranded on the backseat, and their tentative equilibrium probably can’t withstand his grabby hands reaching forward in between Sam and Ben. For once, Adam doesn’t want to be the one who breaks the silence first.
So, he sits with it.
It’s a test of endurance. Especially once Ben wordlessly asks for his phone back – Adam complies. Their fingers brush against each other, and Adam is only tempted to keep it for a few seconds. The hard plastic casing clings to his fingers, sticky with sweat. It’d be easy enough to refuse, to pretend he didn’t understand Ben’s wiggling fingers. Then again— what use would that do? He couldn’t open the phone anyway, since he doesn’t actually know Ben’s pin. He doesn’t have to torture himself further by reading all their texts – that’s just needlessly cruel, even for him.
The ridges in the road catch in their tires, the noise one of empty nights alone on a highway, everything else impossibly far away.
His thoughts keep straying, wandering, dipping into crevices he doesn’t want to get lost in. It’s not just Maeve— it’s the truth he accidentally spit in Ben’s face. I don’t want to be that guy – he really, really doesn’t.
The thought of returning to the office to sit behind closed doors as Michael hunts down their boss to manipulate his way into getting that promotion while Adam feels bad for creating a business concept that’ll allow for a downsizing of 25% in the workforce of their current contractor— he can feel his stomach turn. Ulcers at 28 aren’t really a sign of good health. Or good conscience.
It is suffocating.
For years now, Adam has been ignoring just how much.He’s drowning, only like a frog slowly being boiled alive, he’s grown numb to the pain over time. But now— if nothing else, this road trip’s reminded him of what it feels like to be human.
And, fuck it, but it’s horribly painful.
As if he can sense the impending darkness of Adam’s thoughts, Sam cuts through them.“Do we still have rum left?”
It’s a non sequitur. Adam can’t wait to see where it leads next.
“Most of it, yeah,” Ben says as he actually turns to look at Adam, as if to ask ‘do you know what he’s on about?’ before returning his attention to Sam. “Uh, why?”
“I think we need to share a toast.”
“What is there to toast to?” Adam’s voice is heavy with all his unvoiced thoughts.
“Not having killed each other yet.” The set of Sam’s jaw leaves no room for argument – he’s pulling rank. What for? No idea. “I don’t know. Get creative. You’re the comedians, the both of you.”