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Alex sighed and settled back into his chair as he pressed play on his iPad to roll VT for one of the last tasks of the series. Normally the end of any series brought with it a certain relief just due to the end of five days of being almost constantly on, but between the move to Channel 4 and, of course, the pandemic that had threatened to shut them down entirely, he was even more exhausted than usual.
And grateful, of course, that even given everything, they still got to make this silly little show. Especially considering that it was a miracle they had pulled it all together at all with COVID filming restrictions.
But that didn’t mean there weren’t some things that Alex missed.
Like the studio audience, of course – that was the biggest one, with the most obvious effect. The change in atmosphere wasn’t necessarily bad, but it was certainly different, and took some getting used to for both him, Greg, and the contestants.
Harder for Alex to get used to was sitting six feet away from Greg.
He’d never have imagined when they started this five years prior that he could miss someone who was still in the same room as him. But sitting next to Greg had somehow become as second nature as breathing. He missed the dozens of little touches and glances he shared with Greg throughout the series recording, the way either man could communicate with just the slightest smile or brush of fingertips.
But what he missed, most unexpectedly, were Greg's cards.
Prior to recording every episode, Greg was handed a stack of Taskmaster branded notecards, some pre-printed with what was on the autocue in case there was an issue, some with just the contestants’ names, and some blank for him to make notes while watching the tasks. Alex wouldn’t normally concern himself with whatever Greg wrote down during tasks, but over the past few series, Greg had gotten in the habit of also using the cards to write notes to Alex that he would then show him during a VT or a break in filming.
They weren’t generally anything that important, and certainly nothing scandalous. Sometimes it was as simple as verification that they had a specific clip ready to go, sometimes just something Greg found particularly funny but not worth mentioning on the show, and sometimes just validation of his decision-making or scoring.
That probably came up most often, Greg jotting down a little, ‘I think I got that wrong’ or ‘That person’s really cross with me’. It was a little glimpse at the man behind the persona, a tiny moment only Alex and Greg got to share, and as silly as it likely was, those were some of the moments that Alex treasured most.
Not this series, though, and Alex wondered if things would have settled enough for the next series that—
His train of thought was abruptly cut off by a card very nearly hitting him in the face. He jerked back just in time and it hit his chest instead before sliding down to his lap. He glanced from the card to Greg, who had to have flung it at him for some reason, and he almost wished he had gotten to watch Greg try to frisbee a card at him.
Instead, he looked down at the card in his lap, his brow furrowing as he read what Greg had scrawled: Did I go too far with Katherine’s masks?
Alex glanced at Greg and pulled a face. Too far was always relative, especially in comedy, but Greg had definitely toed the line of being out and out mean rather than funny. Greg jerked a nod of understanding before turning his attention back to the VT. Alex looked down at the card once more before shaking his head, folding it in half, and tucking it in his pocket.
He wasn’t remotely surprised when Greg awarded Katherine a bonus point a few minutes later.
The man really was a big softie.
Still, Alex likely would’ve forgotten about it entirely if he hadn’t checked his pockets in his dressing room before changing into his street clothes after the recording had finished. He pulled the folded card out of his pocket and started toward the bin, fully intending to chuck it out.
But something stopped him before he could. Something caused him to pause, to rock back on his heels, to close his hand around the folded card.
Something made him instead cross to his rucksack, where he tucked the card away for—
Well, for something. Safekeeping, at the very least.
Even if he had no clue what he was keeping it safe for.
It became a weird sort of habit. Alex would gather up Greg’s cards after each recording and bring them back to his dressing room, where he added them to the veritable stack he’d accumulated. Even when the filming restrictions lifted and he was back to sitting right next to Greg as before, he still kept it up.
If anyone had ever asked why, he’d never have been able to explain it. They were bits of trash, really, with notes that, absent of any context, didn’t even make much sense. He should’ve chucked them in the bin, or, more responsibly, recycled them.
Instead, he hoarded them like treasure.
Most he relocated to an unlabelled box in his shed at the end of each series, but he always kept a decent number in his rucksack. And sometimes, when he’d had a particularly bad day, or something had gone off the rails during a recording, or even just when he was more tired than usual, he would flip through the stack of cards that had grown exponentially with each passing series until he found one that made him smile.
It was surprisingly easy to smile at Greg’s messy scrawl, even without the context of whatever had prompted the note in the first place. Pathetically easy, even.
Alex had long known that when it came to Greg, he was pathetic. A fact his wife loved teasing him about at any given opportunity as well. But since his wife wasn’t going to find out about his secret stash of Greg’s cards, since no one was likely to, he decided that it didn’t really matter.
Except that, as it turned out, it did.
“This series is going to be a great one,” Greg said, collapsing on the sofa in Alex’s dressing room. “I can already tell.”
“Mm,” Alex agreed, bending to retrieve two beers from the bar fridge. He passed one to Greg before joining him on the sofa, tipping his head back and sighing contentedly. “Chaos already, and it’s only been two episodes. That always bodes well.”
Greg, however, had stopped listening, instead scowling as he tried in vain to pop the cap off the beer bottle. “Fuck’s sake, mate, is there a reason you took a can and gave me a bottle?” he complained.
Alex giggled. “Not deliberately,” he said, and Greg just scowled as he slowly got to his feet, groaning the entire time. “Going somewhere?”
“Yeah, to get fucking bottle opener,” Greg said grumpily.
“There’s one on my keys,” Alex told him.
Greg gave him a look. “And where the fuck are your keys?”
Alex shrugged. “Pocket of my rucksack,” he said, digging his mobile out of his jeans pocket. It was only when Greg had already bent to pick up his rucksack that he realised his error, and he sat bolt upright, panicked. “Wait, sorry, not my rucksack—”
It was too late. Greg straightened, his expression curiously blank as he stared down the handful of old cards that he’d just pulled out of Alex’s rucksack. Alex had never wanted to die on the spot as much as he did in that moment, and even though he wasn’t religious by any stretch, he still fervently prayed for some kind of natural disaster to strike just so that he could avoid answering any of the questions that were inevitably going to follow.
Sure enough, Greg arched an eyebrow as he looked back at him. “What are these?” he asked.
“They’re– nothing,” Alex said, his heart racing in his chest. “I was just, erm, going to bin them.”
Greg looked down at the cards again. “This one’s got contestants from four series ago on it,” he said. “Seems a bit of a long time to hold onto something you were planning on binning.”
Alex winced. “You know me,” he said weakly. “Memory like a sieve.”
The look Greg gave him was unamused and he crossed his arms in front of his chest as he peered down at him. “Why’d you really keep them?”
Alex jerked a shrug. “They make me laugh,” he said, wincing at how pathetic it sounded to hear it aloud.
But something in Greg’s face seemed to soften at that. “And?” he prompted, and Alex blinked.
“And what?”
“We’re professional comedians, mate,” Greg said patiently. “We’re practically surrounded by things and people to make us laugh. So what made you save these in particular?”
He waved the stack of cards and Alex winced again. “And it’s– I dunno,” he muttered, staring down at the carpet. “It’s us.”
He chanced a look up at Greg, whose brow had creased with a frown. “Sorry?” he said and Alex sighed, scrubbing both hands across his face.
“It’s not so much the cards themselves,” he said finally. “It’s– obviously we’ll always have the show and that’s lovely, of course, but you and I– the cards are something that we share, just the two of us…”
He braced himself as he trailed off, certain that Greg was going to mock him for the rest of however long they worked together. Instead, Greg just nodded slowly. “So you kept them to remember us.”
Greg didn’t state it as a question but Alex still nodded. “Something like that,” he mumbled, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Pen.”
Alex looked up, startled. “Pardon?” he said.
Greg held his hand out, something almost impatient in the gesture. “I need a pen,” he said, and the request was so unexpected that it somehow startled Alex into moving.
He set his beer down and stood, crossing to the vanity to grab the biro he’d been using earlier that day, hesitating for only a moment before holding it wordlessly out to Greg, who nodded his thanks as he took it.
Greg turned away from Alex to hold the cards against the wall and Alex felt like his heart had lodged in his throat as he watched the broad planes of Greg’s back shift as he scribbled something on the cards.
Then, after what could have been a minute, a year, or any stretch of time in between, Greg turned back around, pen cap tucked in the corner of his mouth. “Here,” he mumbled gruffly, holding the cards out to Alex, who took them with trembling fingers.
He gulped before glancing down at the first one. You are so fucking weird, Greg had written, and despite himself, Alex felt a smile twitch on his lips. “Well, you’re not wrong there,” he murmured, chancing a glance up at Greg, who just nodded at him to continue as he recapped the pen.
Alex switched to the next card and very nearly dropped the entire stack. Kiss me.
He looked up at Greg. “Are you sure?” he asked, the question coming out a half-octave higher than usual.
Greg’s lips twitched and he looked pointedly at the cards once more.
So Alex flipped to the next card, something warm spreading throughout his chest as he read the last thing Greg had written. Yes, I’m sure.
He looked back up at Greg, his grin so wide that it almost made his cheeks hurt. “Okay,” he said simply, tossing the cards down on the sofa before closing the space between them to do just that.
Alex hummed happily to himself as he opened his dressing room door the next day. He knew he was smiling like a loon, but he couldn’t seem to find a reason to care.
He flipped the lights on and started to shrug out of his coat when he caught sight of the massive vase of red roses sitting on the vanity worktop. His smile widened as he crossed over to them and spotted the Taskmaster card tucked in amongst the flowers.
See you out there. xx
It wasn’t signed, but that didn’t matter.
Both he and Greg knew exactly who it was from.
And far more importantly, both of them finally knew exactly what it meant.
Greg tapped his cards against his knee as he waited for the applause and cheers to die down before turning to Alex for the banter section, sighing heavily. “I suppose you want me to ask about what you’re wearing,” he said in a resigned sort of way.
Alex smoothed a hand along the brightly coloured fabric tied around his waist. “Oh,” he said, widening his eyes. “I hadn’t thought there was really anything to say.”
“Really,” Greg said flatly.
Alex nodded innocently. “Yes, Greg.”
Greg sighed again and rubbed his forehead. “You’re wearing a sarong,” he pointed out, and the audience laughed loudly.
But Alex just frowned down at the sarong and shook his head. “N- no, that’s not what I would say.”
“Fucking hell.”
As if recognising where this was headed, Greg heaved another sigh, and Alex hid a smile. It was always a good sign when Greg was this irritated so early in the recording. “Don’t you, er, want to know what I would say?” he asked hopefully.
Greg looked like he would rather want to do literally anything else, but he still relented, “Yeah, go on,” in a tone rather reminiscent of someone about to receive a terminal diagnosis from a doctor.
Alex grinned at him. “I’d call it a so right.”
“Jesus Christ—”
“Because I just think it looks so right, not so wrong, don’t you?”
The audience laughed and applauded and Greg glared out at them. “Don’t applaud that,” he said waspishly. “Don’t—”
Alex schooled his expression into something he hoped resembled polite confusion. “What, Greg?”
Greg rolled his eyes so hard it looked almost painful. “Don’t fucking ‘what’ me,” he said sourly. “I mean, genuinely, what do you expect me to do with that?”
“I don’t know what you—”
Something shifted in Greg’s expression, something so minute that Alex thought that anyone else probably wouldn’t have recognised it for what it was. “But I’ll tell you what I will do,” he continued, as if Alex hadn’t spoken. “Because I don’t think you’re doing your little sarong—”
“So right,” Alex corrected in his usual obsequious tone.
“—justice by sitting here like this,” Greg finished, his smile sharpening into a smirk.
Alex knew in an instant where this was headed, and he scratched his ear. “Oh, er—”
Greg tapped his cards against his knee again. “So I think you should stand up and give everyone a little dance,” he said pleasantly. “Really show it off.”
Alex made a show of cowering against the back of his chair. “Must I?”
Greg just shrugged, scribbling something on his card. “You can do what you like, mate, but after that shit pun, this seems like the least you can do.”
Alex sighed and reluctantly stood up, doing an awkward little dance as the contestants and audience alike clapped a rough rhythm for him.
He wasn’t remotely surprised to see one of Greg’s cards on his iPad as he returned to his seat, and he seamlessly picked both up as Greg said, “Right, prize task time. What’s today’s category, Alex?”
As the first contestant introduced their prize, Alex glanced down at Greg’s card, unable to stop his smile. You’re a twerp.
He casually retrieved his own pen from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and carefully crossed out the apostrophe, e and a before sliding the card back to Greg, whose lips twitched as he read it. You’r e a twerp.
A moment later, Greg passed the card back to him, and Alex ducked his head to hide his grin. I love you.
He quickly changed the full stop to a comma, and added one little word before handing it back to Greg.
I love you, too.