Chapter Text
The first time Troy sees Abed after three years abroad is on a film set, because of course it is.
He and LeVar had docked in Auckland late at night after a long week of travel from Melbourne, and not a second sooner. Troy could have sworn that there was no way that those seven days were only twenty-four hours each, each minute seeming to last forever. Once they departed Australia, an uncomfortable itch quickly settled under his skin that wouldn’t go away no matter how much he scratched, or rewatched his favorite episodes of Inspector Spacetime, or snoozed under the warmth of the sun, hoping to wake up somewhere that wasn’t the middle of the ocean.
You'd think that after so many years of this Troy would be used to the long stretches of time spent treading water — slowly forgetting what buildings and people other than beloved actor LeVar Burton looked like. You’d be right, of course.
The thing about this particular journey, however, the pin-prickly, antsy, stomach-twisting thing — is that it is going to be one of their last.
He's seen the rest of the world now, so New Zealand is the last stop before… The rest of his life. Sue a guy for feeling some type of way about it.
If LeVar hadn’t stopped him, hadn’t relayed the late hour, Troy would have started running the second they secured the Childish Tycoon to the dock. He would do anything to shake the nervous feeling that was making his chest uncomfortably tight. Instead, he went to bed with that feeling and like a kid on Christmas Eve (he assumes most movies are accurate about this, though he wouldn’t know himself), he had a restless sleep, plagued by visions of the promise of tomorrow. He tried to shake LeVar awake at the crack of dawn.
The older man didn't get up for two more hours, but it’s the thought that counts.
The anxious energy rattling in his ribs doesn’t leave him once they finally make contact with dry land, but it is softened a bit at the edges as he watches the world and its inhabitants wake up around him. Like them, the citizens of Auckland are searching for food and something to pass the time until it is time to start all over again.
After hitting the nearest currency exchange, he and LeVar find themselves at a farmer's market. Troy must be a real man now, because he finds himself quite excited at the prospect of fruit. After a week of eating nothing but perishables, processed and — because of Troy’s shopping habits when it’s his turn to stock up — sugary, he is craving something fresh.
LeVar is chatting with a merchant while Troy painstakingly searches for the perfect banana in the bunches in front of him. With a charming smile, the actor asks for suggestions of fun things to do in the area, as he is wont to do.
They usually make plans their plans to hit the big ticket tourist traps in the area well in advance, but on their first day in a new place they’ve found that they like experiencing it like they’re locals. They marvel at the large-scale beauties of the world, of course, but what they truly treasure are the hidden gems — quaint cafes, bookstores, community theatres. Troy knows that in twenty, thirty, fifty years time he will remember most fondly what he and LeVar found tucked away, hiding in plain sight. He hoards branded matchbooks and cocktail napkins and tickets, stows them away in a shoebox under his bed.
He hopes they’ll find something amazing today. Maybe it’ll allow him to finally stop thinking so obsessively about what’s to come.
“And, of course, there’s also… Oh, no. Nevermind,” The woman LeVar is talking to shakes her head. “Think the beach is closed today.” She says.
“How come?” LeVar asks.
“They’re making a film.” The man from a stall over answers. Troy inspects a banana that’s far too green for his liking and pretends like he isn’t massively interested, like his heart hasn’t just lurched in his chest at the mere thought of it. A film.
“I see. Well, thanks for your help. Have a good one.” LeVar says, flashing the woman a winning smile. Troy hands her a bill in exchange for a banana he chooses from random.
They wander over to a few more stalls before making their way back out onto the main street. They wander slowly, aimlessly, looking into shop windows and making mental notes of places they're interested in visiting. They pass a restaurant with cartoony pieces of sushi painted on the glass. On the sign that's flipped around to show that it's closed, a rice ball smiles and says, "We hope to sush-see you soon!"
"Dinner?" Troy asks when LeVar turns around, having not realized Troy had stopped.
“Sure,” LeVar replies, shifting the bag full of goodies he’d found from one hand to the other. “Anything else seem interesting?”
“All of it, I guess," He replies through a mouthful of his too-mushy, spontaneously chosen fruit. "I’m down for whatever.” Troy shrugs, feigning nonchalance.
“Nothing in particular?” His companion asks, giving him a knowing look.
“Well, I kinda wanted to swim, but… You know.” Troy shrugs, suppressing the urge to smile and blow his cover.
“Sure. Shame about that beach.”
“Yep.”
“Troy.”
“Yeah?”
“Should we go check out the filming?”
“If you insist.”
Levar laughs, rolling his eyes fondly (and isn’t that amazing — that his childhood hero thinks of him with affection. Troy still can’t get over that, isn’t sure he ever will) as he turns them in the right direction.
At the beach, they find a sizable crowd gathered around a series of barriers. Most seem to be dressed — or, in some very aggressive cases, un-dressed — for a day in the sun. A few people gripe and push their way through the crowd to leave, but most people have resigned themselves to sticking around and checking things out, since they're already here and all. Troy has to stand on his tip-toes to get a glimpse of anything remotely out of the ordinary.
“Well, this won’t do.” LeVar tuts.
“It’s okay, man.” Troy replies, trying his hardest not to feel put out. It’s still cool just to know that a major celebrity or maybe even a big explosion is only a short distance away.
Not for the first time, and probably not for the last, he thinks about how Abed would love this.
He can imagine his friend’s eyes lighting up, the gears turning in his head as he concocts a plan for the two of them to sneak onto the set and become background actors for the day. Or maybe Abed would simply waltz straight up to the director and start asking questions. Troy imagines they would be enchanted by Abed’s film knowledge, by his passion for the craft, and offer him a job on the spot. Afterwards the two of them would celebrate by getting some greasy street food and force themselves to stay awake to watch the sunrise, buzzing with excitement for what the future has to offer.
Troy’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice LeVar pushing himself through the crowd. When he comes back to reality, his companion has vanished.
“Shit. LeVar!” Troy calls. Over the sea of people, Troy sees the man’s hand shoot up. Troy apologizes profusely as he snakes his way through the crowd to meet him. “What are you doing, man?”
“Wanted to see if I knew anybody.” LeVar answers casually, continuing to make his way to the front. Troy follows, feeling eyes on them, some shooting daggers and some trying to make sure what — or rather, who — they’re seeing is true.
"Oh!" LeVar gasps beside him. "Andrew!" He calls, waving towards what Troy can see now is a large director's tent in the middle of the sand. The man in the director’s chair turns around at the unfamiliar voice. He searches the crowd, recognition dawning on his pink, freckled face as he locks eyes with LeVar.
“As I live and breathe!” Andrew laughs, a big-bellied thing, leaping up and jogging over towards them. “What are you doing here?” He opens his arms wide, giving LeVar a quick hug over the barriers.
“Doing some traveling.” He answers with a smile. Understatement of the century, Troy thinks, resisting the urge to chuckle. “How’s the wife?”
“Good, good. It’s so good to see you, mate!” He claps LeVar's shoulders. The director's eyes finally land on Troy at that moment, noting the way Troy's eyes dart from him to the beach where various crew members are setting up a shot. “Would you like to join us in the tent for a few takes?" He asks. "Don’t want to interrupt any plans you may have, of course.”
“Our schedule’s free.” LeVar says, smiling at Troy, whose eyes are as big as saucers.
“Alright, then! Hang tight.” Andrew scurries over to a security detail, who waves them over after a moment and lifts some tape for them to walk under.
Troy can’t count how many beaches he’s been to over the years, yet he is still terrible at walking in the sand. His feet immediately sink and he has to lift his knees high to make a few large strides. In front of him LeVar and Andrew chit-chat, easily gliding through the terrain. Troy stares down at his shoes, willing himself not to trip. He's incredibly relieved that he didn't choose the sneakers with holes in them to wear today.
“Welcome to the inner-sanctum,” Andrew quips as they step into the open tent, the bottom of it mercifully held down by wood and much easier to walk on. It’s not much to look at. Chairs are gathered around a few monitors, there’s a fold-up table with snacks, a cooler filled with drinks, a few of those fans with built-in misters. Troy still thinks it's awesome all the same.
“You ever been on a film set before?” Andrew asks Troy, smiling warmly as he offers the pair of travelers bottles of water.
“Not a professional one like this, but yeah. I helped my friend with a bunch of his film assignments back in college."
“God, I remember those days,” The Kiwi sighs, looking wistful. “They were the best.”
“You're telling me.” Troy chuckles, though his chest twists a bit. Bittersweet.
“Well, help yourself to anything we have, make yourself at home. I just have a few things to check on.” Andrew says before stepping outside. Troy, all fruited-out, grabs something called a MallowPuff. It looks like a chocolate covered marshmallow and, like, what’s better than that? Sugar covered sugar.
He opens the package and pops one in his mouth, reveling in the way that it melts on his tongue. He's twisting the cap off of his water bottle to wash it down when he hears it. Four words that he hasn’t heard in three years, so familiar and yet so distant in his memory…
“Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”
If this were a horror movie, this would be the moment where the killer would raise their knife right above the protagonist’s back, intent to strike. Intent to kill. Troy feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise, goosebumps shooting up all over his body. He turns, slowly, and sees not a murderous psychopath, but his best friend in the entire world.
Abed Nadir. That ol’ so-and-so.
To Troy’s insane relief, Abed isn’t looking at him when he turns around. He allows himself a precious few seconds to gather himself, to stare without judgment.
Abed doesn’t look much different, which is surprising and unsurprising in equal measures. For some reason he’d been expecting a beard and some wrinkles, gnarled knuckles and a cane. But he’s only 30 — in the prime of his life.
The first thing that Troy notices is that his hair is longer. Not by much, but the way it curls at the ends cuts right through Troy’s chest for some reason. He notices, too, that Abed is wearing short sleeves. It makes sense, obviously, it’s the middle of summer, but it’s still a shock to the system.
It thrusts him immediately back into their first year at Greendale, back before Abed had adopted soft flannels and colorful zip-up hoodies into his main wardrobe rotation. Troy remembers seeing those button ups and polos, and thinking about how skinny he was. He thought about how he could probably snap Abed like a twig if he wanted to, back when he always felt like he needed to compete with other men, to defend some invisible thing that was always bubbling just under the surface.
Abed is still skinny, but his arms have more definition — brown skin stretched over wirey muscle. His sleeves are tight on him. Troy watches Abed's muscles shift as he hands someone something, then shoots finger guns at them in a move that is so achingly Abed it hurts.
Maybe it’s the gun imagery that makes Troy feel like he’s been shot in the stomach when Abed finally makes eye contact, or maybe it’s a million different things leading to this very moment — he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he feels like he’s about to fall into a heap on the floor, maybe bleed out, who knows.
The only indication of Abed’s feelings upon seeing Troy shows in a slight fumble in pulling his headset on. Troy watches his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows and adjusts it over his ears.
It doesn’t give Troy much to go off of, but even if it did, Troy doesn’t feel like he could process it. His brain is breaking, crying, rejoicing, short-circuiting, and whirring back to life all at once. A hard reset.
Without thinking, he takes a small step forward and Abed breaks eye contact, quickly turning on his heel and walking away. His thin ankles buckle a bit in the sand, but he keeps going.
“Alright, kiddies. Let’s get this show on the road!” Andrew booms. Troy blinks. When his eyelashes brush against his cheek he notes that they are slightly damp.
“Honored guests,” He turns to him and LeVar with a bright smile. “These are for you.” He says as he presents them with two chairs that managed to appear in the moments, minutes, hours Troy was caught in Abed’s orbit.
LeVar claps a hand on Troy's shoulder and Troy bends a little under it, all off-kilter now that the Earth’s axis has gone on vacation and left him flailing. The older man’s eyes narrow in concern before following Troy’s line of sight, watching as Abed chats with the camera operator, hands moving animatedly.
“Is that—?” LeVar asks under his breath as he leads Troy to their seats.
“Yep.”
“I see.”
Troy sinks into his chair and is absurdly proud that he hasn’t just slipped down and onto the floor. Someone hands him a headset of his own and he slides it onto his ears, hands shaking slightly.
He can’t even think about how cool this is, because Abed is thirty feet away and his curls are sticking out in a funny way under his headset in a way that makes him want to reach out and touch.
Out of the corner of his eye he can see an image of a man coming into focus on the monitors, darts his eyes over for a brief moment and thinks maybe it’s a Hemsworth, but honestly, he couldn’t care less because suddenly Andrew is yelling “ACTION!” and Abed is diving into motion.
He is positioned to the left of the camera operator, who sits on some kind of dolly. Abed’s long fingers splay out onto the middle of the man’s back. A woman flanks the other side of the operator, hand on his shoulder, and together they slowly guide him forward. The Hemsworth — or adjacent attractive white man — pushes closer into frame. As he looks to something slightly off camera, his face flicks through several emotions in just a few short seconds — awe, joy, terror, pain — and Troy can’t help but relate.
When Andrew yells “CUT!" Troy has to resist the urge to jump to his feet and applaud. He wonders what the actor is supposed to be looking at to elicit such a response. Could it be that he too has found his other half again? Maybe it is actually an explosion.
Troy would kill to see something blow up right now.
After about an hour and a half of them shooting things that Troy can't bring himself to pay much attention to, the director claps his hands together. Every head in the vicinity turns to look at him, expectant. Abed, who hasn’t looked at Troy this entire time — though, to be fair, he was kind of busy — makes brief eye contact with him before quickly looking away.
“Alright, amazing work, folks! I think we’ve earned ourselves an early lunch!" The crew cheer and high-five before starting to make quick work of packing up.
“Well, thanks for inviting us, Andrew. That was great fun.” LeVar says, slowly standing from his chair.
“You got somewhere else to be?” Andrew asks, not unkindly.
“No, no. But, you know, we don’t want to intrude any more than we already have.”
“Oh, you’re fine! Come eat. We haven’t had a chance to properly catch up,” He claps his hand on LeVar’s shoulder. “Troy, was it?” The Kiwi asks, rounding on him. Troy doesn’t remember giving him his name. He nods, dumbly. “Convince your buddy here to stay for a bit. Trust me, our crafty is top-notch.”
“Well,” Troy smiles. “If he says it’s good…” He shrugs.
“Alright,” LeVar relents. “If you’re sure.” Troy's not sure who he's saying that to. Andrew responds, anyway.
“Of course. Here, there’s someone I want you to meet.” Andrew waves someone over. LeVar gives Troy a meaningful look.
“I’ll be right back.” He assures. Troy shrugs.
“You better. It’s your turn to fill up the tank.” Troy teases. LeVar nods once and heads off with Andrew.
Various members of the crew start invading the tent, putting their cases of equipment under the snack table for safe keeping. A few nod to him in a brief greeting, and he nods back, not really looking at any of them. His eyes search for Abed, and he finds him helping someone pack something away, crouched on the ground.
Troy shoots out of his seat, giving himself vertigo for a moment, before he confidently marches out of the tent. His knees feel like jelly, and he knows it’s not just because of the sand. He’s sure he looks like a baby deer taking their first steps, all wobbly and unsure, but he soldiers on. He comes to an abrupt stop in front of Abed, realizing that if he took one step further he’d knock right into him.
“Hey.” Troy says before he can talk himself out of it. Abed looks up, squinting at the sun in his eyes.
“Hi.” Abed replies, face blank.
“So,” Troy starts, his throat suddenly quite dry. He coughs. “This is cool.”
“Yeah.” He replies. His companion clicks the case shut and nods their thanks before walking away. Leaving them here. Alone.
“What’s your…”
“First AD.” Abed answers as he stands, filling in the gaps. Troy can’t help the grin that spreads across his face at the knowledge that even after all this time, Abed can still practically read his mind. Forget context clues — Troy will always believe that Abed is magic.
“That’s awesome!” Troy exclaims. Abed continues to keep his expression neutral, possibly even cool. But not cool, cool, cool. It makes Troy’s own smile fade a bit. “I always knew you’d make it.”
“I’m just the first AD.”
“Sure,” Troy says, though he’s not sure what the AD stands for. It’s first, though, so it must be important. “But… still. Think about it: You’re filming a whole ass movie, like with an actual budget, in a different country. With a Hemsworth no less!” This seems to melt Abed’s exterior a bit, his lips quirking up ever so slightly.
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool. It’s my first major studio production, too.” Abed says in a way that others would find quite neutral but to Troy, he’s practically gushing.
“Dude, that’s amazing! I’m so proud of you,” Troy reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. His friend immediately tenses, whatever semblance of a smile disappearing. Troy quickly drops his hand, his chest twisting uncomfortably.
“Anyway, how about I treat you to lunch and you can tell me all about it? I want to hear everything.”
“Lunch is free.” Abed points out.
“Even better.” Troy grins. Abed looks down at his shoes, shifting his weight back and forth on his heels.
“I can’t… today. Got lots of work to… You know how it is.”
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, Troy thinks with a start as Abed starts to take a step back. There was supposed to be hugs and tears and buying a huge house with Pierce’s money and living in it together forever. Abed was supposed to be on some dock somewhere with a beautiful sunset in the background, excited to see him, not… whatever he is now.
“Oh. No, yeah, of course, man. I get it,” Troy nods, shoving his hands in his pockets so he doesn’t do something stupid like grab Abed’s hand and drag him to the boat and hold him captive there for the rest of their journey, or put his head in them and weep.
“How long are you guys in town for? Maybe we can catch dinner at some point while we’re both here.” Troy suggests, hope bubbling up in his stomach despite all odds. Abed’s mouth twists, and his eyes are darting around. If Troy didn’t know any better, it would seem like Abed was trying to come up with an excuse not to meet up with him, or searching for an escape route.
“Two more weeks.” Abed finally replies, looking back up at him.
“Great,” Troy smiles, a thin thing that feels wrong on his face that is usually aching with the size of his grin. “Not sure how long we’re staying, I’d have to ask LeVar, but we can figure something out,” Abed nods. “The pirates took my old phone a while back," He explains rather casually for having mentioned real life pirates in the year 2017. He doesn't look at Abed's face at that. He doesn't want to know what lies there, whether it be pity or horror or worst of all, complete apathy. He's not even sure if Abed knows about that whole thing, or if he thinks he's just making it a joke. Was it news in the states?
"Now I have this crappy one that goes on minutes just in case I need to call LeVar,” Troy pulls it out of his pocket to show it to Abed. It’s a flip phone, for no reason other than the novelty of being able to dramatically whip it open or flip it closed on a whim.
“So, if you wanna put your number in…” He trails off, opening the contacts page and handing it to Abed.
“Can you even text on this thing?” Abed asks, typing in his number.
“Yeah, but it’s like… impossible," Troy laughs. "Can you believe we used to text using numbers, like, all the time?”
“A dark spot in human history.” Abed nods solemnly, handing him back his phone.
“Yeah, for real.”
“I gotta go.”
“Sure.”
They both linger for a moment, like they’re waiting for something to happen, or for someone to make a move and break the weirdness that has creeped up on them. Abed is the first to move, a step back rather than a step forward much to Troy's disappointment. Troy wishes he could pull him into his chest, holding Abed for as long as he would allow, but he has a feeling it wouldn't be appreciated.
When Abed goes, Troy just waves and walks off in the opposite direction, feeling seasick from the rocking of his big emotions.
At craft services, Troy piles his plate in a daze, sitting down next to LeVar. He picks at his food, thankful that he isn’t the big name celebrity here and no one is paying him any attention.
Suddenly he yearns to be back out at sea, sailing far away from here — a sharp left turn from where he was only hours ago. He’d take months out in the middle of the ocean over being on dry land with the knowledge that your best friend in the whole world seems to want to have nothing to do with you.
He tries to shake the negative thoughts out of his head and instead attempts to put hopeful, reassuring words in their place.
Abed must have been just as caught off guard as Troy was, he rationalizes. There probably was an added tension knowing that he was at work, too. Not the ideal place to crack apart. Abed just needs time to think, which is okay because God knows Troy does, too.
Troy has always taken Abed so personally, though. He can't help it. Abed usually doesn’t think about how his actions affect other people, and Troy overanalyzes that what is not meant to harm. It’s one extreme or another with Troy: a personal affront, or complete indifference. He doesn’t know which he’d prefer at this moment.
He’s snaps back to reality when LeVar puts a hand on his arm.
“Where’s Abed?” The older man asks.
LeVar knows all about Abed, about Troy-and-Abed. Troy had sighed about how much Abed would love this, that or the other so many times that LeVar finally caved and asked Troy to tell him about him and their time together at Greendale. Troy had talked like he was performing a filibuster, afraid of what would happen if he stopped talking about his friend.
It poured out of him — years of friendship and affection and misadventures. He explained his fears of Abed finding a new best friend and forgetting him, his worries that maybe Abed hated Troy for not being able to communicate with him out at sea, was angry at him for being gone longer than they had anticipated. He told LeVar how he is scared shitless to one day have to admit to Abed that he avoided reaching out to anybody even when he started being able to with the laptop LeVar had bought him for his 26th birthday.
LeVar hadn’t said a word the entire time, he just listened. Once Troy had finally talked himself out, all the older man had said was,
“I understand all of that. I’ve been married for a long time.”
They never talked about Abed again.
“He said he has some work to do.” Troy replies, stabbing a piece of grilled chicken with a plastic fork. The prongs bend and twist. He'll have to get another one.
He's not really hungry.
“Mm.” LeVar hums, taking a bite of his burger, mercifully not pressing any further.
“I’ll see him soon.”