Chapter Text
Josh shakes his head at Tim when they enter the airport together, “Well, there was supposed to be seven of us going on a jolly. Now it’s just me and you taking a 50-year-old man to Germany.”
Tim laughs at that, “Might as well show that 50-year-old man a good time, aye?”
The Taskmaster series 1 reunion wasn’t at all what they had expected. There were supposed to be seven (7) of them going to Cologne, and now they find that Roisin, Romesh, Alex, and Greg had dropped the trip, rather spontaneously, he might add, and then there were three.
Frank meets them at the door, arms up, “It’s almost time, where’s everyone?”
“They dropped,” Tim answers for Josh, who still seemed a bit annoyed that everyone had bailed on them. He leaves them to check in his bags.
“What do you mean they’ve dropped?”
“Well, my friend,” Tim puts a hand on his shoulder, turning him around, making him accompany him to the luggage check-ins, and smoothly replacing his hand with his arm around him as they walk together. “It’s just you, me, and an annoyed Josh Widdicombe.” He smiles down at him. Frank didn’t seem to be the most fond of the idea, but he still returned Tim’s smile.
“In that case,” Frank wraps an arm around his torso instead of awkwardly being dragged by Tim, who seemed to act like he was way taller than him. Momentarily pulled him closer than he already was. “I’m glad, then, it’s you.” They stop walking, a few millimeters away from the check-in counter, and he has to process Frank’s words for a second. He’s still smiling up at him.
Tim notes he doesn’t say Josh’s name.
A strange, warm feeling passes over him, swearing that when it happened in Taskmaster, it would go away once they were done with filming in those weeks.
It comes back to him, and he finds that he doesn’t really like it.
“Tim!” He lets go of Frank a second later when he hears his name, nearly forgetting that he still had bags on him. “Come on, mate. We’ll miss the plane.”
“Right,” he finds he was still holding his breath in. “Coming!”
“Hotel’s a nutjob,” Tim says when they enter the room. “What do you mean they’re full and don’t have any extra rooms or beds? How could they have fucked up our booking?” The two double beds in the room stare back at the three of them, still standing by the doorway.
“Should we… move hotels?” Frank tries to suggest.
He shakes his head, “They won’t refund us if we don’t take the room. And this is a bloody expensive room, I might add.”
“Miracle, innit?” Josh adds. “That the other four didn’t come with us.” Defeated, he steps foot in the room first before the other two older men.
“How should we settle this?” Frank asks when they finally close the door and sit on the beds. Clearly, no one was going to step out of the hotel room before the dispute was settled. If they were going to go out of the hotel room. Despite the flight only being 2 hours long, they were still exhausted.
Tim refuses to waste the day, “Rock, paper, scissors?”
There was no better idea at the moment, and waiting for any other better idea to come up would be frantic, and they would have wasted all their energy because of the beds. He nearly beams when they finally say a reluctant fine. “I don’t suppose you two could share?” Josh asks, sarcastically, still finding humor in it, and keeping the running joke in the show that they were the oldest cast members.
Frank, surprisingly, was the one who shrugged. As if to say there was no need to play the game, he could share a bed with him. With him, who is Tim Key. Tim wants to say that it isn’t a bad idea, that there was no need to; he was comfortable enough in Frank’s presence to sleep on the same bed. They’ve even held hands while making a bed before, this… this was not like that, but it was.
“Let’s just play the game,” he disappointingly says. Taking the risk and playing the game of luck instead.
Rules were simple: two losers would share the bed. Tim would just have to win twice, and he could get the bed to himself. Or, he could just lose.
It wasn’t even intentional when he was the first one out. Both of them went for scissors while he went for a rock. Tim was never very good at rock, paper, scissors. Each and every time, he would lose to Mark, and that was saying something. Ironic, really, that he was the one who suggested it.
He sits on the bed, watching two grown men intensely play a child’s game that was to determine who would be sleeping alone. It wasn’t bad-intentioned, he thinks, if he wanted Frank to lose. Was it? Maybe it was, and he wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with Josh, but under some peculiar feelings and situations, he hopes it was Frank who lost.
Tim doesn’t understand it. And part of him wanted to understand it, but he couldn’t. Perhaps didn’t even want to. Much like his time on Taskmaster, he swears the feelings would be swept away by being busy. Except, he would be busy with Frank. Frank and Josh. Josh and Frank. Frank Skinner and Josh Widdicombe.
Now, he wished Alex had just gone on the trip with him.
“Argh!” The sound snaps him out of his trance, and he looks up to see who won. Frank had his hands up in his hair, and Josh, a cheeky smile on his face. “Sorry, Tim, you have to share with me.”
He shakes his head when he goes to sit beside him on the bed. “Nah, don’t be sorry.” His companion breathes out, showing some disappointment. Not because he was sharing a bed with Tim, but something else that he couldn’t entirely make out. He would have asked.
To keep spirits up, he drags Frank down the bed, a play to get a feel of what it would feel like to share the bed. Friends, close friends, two men who were close friends, did play like this, right? They share a laugh when they land on their backs. “Oof!” Frank exclaims.
“If you two are done playing love-dovey, I’m going to change out of my attire, then let’s get out of here,” they hear Josh as he walks by, the bathroom door closing with a lock.
“You really don’t mind sharing the bed? Could just… I don’t know, buy a bed?” They both knew that wasn’t a good idea and would remain just an idea. Tim’s arm remains around his front, and he doesn’t make a move to remove it from him. Either he knew he was still holding him, or just unconsciously held him — he didn't dwell on it.
“I’ll tell you something, aye?” He starts, and when Frank turns to face him, their faces are closer than he realizes. He says, “I’d rather have you than Josh.”
Frank laughs quietly. He’ll think it’s a joke. That if it had been Josh in his position, he would do the same thing, say the same things, and act the same way. In truth, he wouldn’t, but he doesn’t tell him that. He only squeezed his arm as a way to reassure him that he wasn’t telling him a lie.
They finally stepped out of the hotel room after everyone had changed out of their clothes. It was Josh who suggested they should just visit some place today, maybe even get to a pub, get buzzed, and head back to the hotel and leave the adventure for the next three days.
Being the suggested and implied old men that they were (Tim wasn’t that much older, for God’s sake), they agreed. Also, because the initial tours that they were going to do as a group were off their plans, and the money was just not in their pockets at the moment.
They find themselves in Old Town, not as crowded as Tim would have predicted, but probably would have been better if they had gone out at night.
He’s dying to take a nap.
The place stays vibrant, with a short walk away to the Cologne Cathedral that they can see as they walk around the area. “Save that for another day?” Tim asks as he points at it when they pass by. They only nod, knowing the hours left for the day probably wouldn’t let them explore much of the Cathedral; it was big. He wasn’t a religious person, and even God knew that, but he was a poet. That much, he could at least understand.
Frank keeps bumping his shoulder, and he apologizes every time he does. Now and then, reaching out a hand to try and keep a distance away from him. It’s a wonder that he also doesn’t bump into Josh, who was shorter than him. Could have used him as a table if he wanted. He nearly suggests the idea before realizing he liked that it was him he was bumping into. The feel of his hand warming his arm.
A shiver runs down his spine. He still felt sleepy despite it all. “I’ll go take a seat in the grass.”
“There are so many shops here, also food, and you want to sit on the grass?” Josh complains, looking across Frank to him. It sounded just about in character for him. Besides, the whole point of Old Town was to hang out. And there, he would be, hanging out on the grass, while he waits for his friends. “You want anything?” He shakes his head no when he waves them off and tries to find a spot that is good enough for the three of them.
Tim lies down on his back, putting a foot on his knee, just about crossing it as he reaches for the phone in his pocket. Alex finally texted back.
Where r u!!!
Sorry. Just woke up.
Couldn’t come
Thus, bailing on us
I did say I wasn’t sure
Tim rolls his eyes.
Rachel also had work
Just bring her with, and a friend for her
He wasn’t all too upset about Alex not coming. The way he was texting him now suggested that he could just hop on a plane to Germany and still enjoy a trip with them. Well, technically, he could have, but it wasn’t happening.
Alex ignores his suggestion.
Where are you guys now?
Old Town
Nice place
Did you know we only had two beds in the room
What? You guys don’t have separate rooms?
Who’s sharing?
How many are you?
It was expected that Alex would already understand the logistics almost immediately. It wouldn’t have made sense for them to be sharing a bedroom that only had two beds, and that some two souls had to share a bed, whether or not they liked it, if something hadn’t happened to put them in those situations. Smart guy, went to Cambridge and all. Also annoyingly good at pissing people off on his show, even if they were the pilot cast.
Just me, Frank, and Josh
Frank and I are sharing
Rock, paper, scissors, was it?
He only sends a thumbs-up emoji. Years of friendship would have suggested Alex knew how things were going to play out. He doesn’t need to explain more than that.
You and Frank have good chemistry, you’re fine
The message stares back at him. He was about to tell a story about how there was a long line to the bathroom on the plane the moment it took off and stabilized — how he, basically, almost peed his own pants because everyone was taking too damn long in the bathroom. Instead, he thinks that he could agree that they did. He’s seen the last three episodes with the team tasks. Perhaps they would have had more opportunity had there been more episodes, but that was the extent of it.
Nobody would have guessed how much he liked Frank’s presence. At a glance, it just looked like they were playing it for the show. But here they were: in Cologne, Germany, where everyone else abandoned the trip (save for Josh). For a moment, he thinks that the entire thing was a setup.
No.
No, that was a ridiculous thing. A ridiculous accusation. A ridiculous thing that he hoped was true.
This confuses Tim.
Some part of him hoped he had explored more while in University. Women… maybe men. He was 40 years old, nearly 41, and still didn’t know what he wanted. It was tiresome. It shouldn’t be this tiresome, actually. If he just let it be, accept it as it is, whatever this is.
Shared meals during lunch while recording team tasks, sometimes even during breaks during studio recordings, when Tim would knock on his dressing room door and ask if he wanted to eat together. Nobody noticed that bit. If they had, nobody bothered to point it out, even if it was Alex who might have seen them come out of a single dressing room when returning to the recording.
The trip’s supposed to be fun, Tim thinks. It wasn’t supposed to be some ‘finding yourself’ self-reflection bullshit that people do when they have extra money on hand, but fucked up their entire life, somehow. He hasn’t fucked up his life, as far as he was concerned or aware of. He might be single, but hell.
Save it for another day. Preferably when they’re back in Britain.
Alex’s message gets left unanswered. He even sends another one that he doesn’t see. Tim doesn’t get to type a reply back when he feels someone tap his foot. At first, he was going to tell them off, rudely bumping into him when there was space all over, but that quickly deflates when he sees it was Frank who tapped him with his own foot. Holding a bag in one hand and two bottles of water.
“Where’s Josh?” He asks, sitting up.
“We both wanted something else, so we parted and would just find you when we got our orders.” Frank sits beside him, his shoulder bumping his again when he drops his bum on the grass with a groan. “Ordered for you.” He offers the bag to him, and Tim has to take a second to look between him and his offering. The words fail to register right away because Frank takes the food out of the bag for both of them.
“Oh,” he says when he finally understands what he said. “Right. You didn’t have to.”
“Well, you and I have not eaten, so might as well.” Josh is left out of the picture again, he notices. Or perhaps it just made sense for him not to because it was just the two of them.
“How much? I’ll pay you back.” Tim goes to grab his wallet from his pocket, but Frank’s hand finds his wrist, stopping him from moving any more. The grip on him surprises him; firm for a man his age. Maybe his age was the reason why his grip was firm; he wouldn’t know.
“No need,” his hand lets go right away. “My treat.”
“Aw, Frank. You don’t have to. I can pay for my own meals.”
“Well,” he shrugs, passing his own carton of food to him and a spoon and fork. “I want to. Can.”
“Want? Can what? Pay for meals?” He jokes.
“Can pay for your meals,” Frank… jokes. At least, he thinks he jokes. There’s something there that he can’t quite read, but the statement flusters him for some reason. Either because that implies he was willing to spend on him or was willing to be some pseudo-sugar daddy, that it would have made him laugh.
“Free food is free food!” Tim laughs nervously. Accepting the food, digging right into it.
He doesn’t realize how hungry he actually was until he takes a bite. Nearly choked on the food, practically breathing it down his throat. They sit in silence. Tim tries to slow down; actually savor the flavors that were in his mouth and on his tongue.
Mid-bite, he sees the way Frank steals a glance from him. Not bothering to look away when Tim catches him. He just smiles as he chews his food, and he nods back at him — words refusing to come out of his mouth.
Josh was taking his damn time, he thinks. He was willing to bet that he probably had abandoned them already; he took off to a different place, stayed in a pub, or rode back to their hotel because he had decided to choose sleep over exploring an unknown city where he was supposed to be exploring with six other people, but 4 out of 6 decided to bail.
That may have been Tim who was thinking that.
He highly doubts that Josh would have bailed, also, given that they were already here, but it was another thing that Tim wouldn’t have minded.
His knee bumps against Frank’s when he adjusts in his seat. Neither of them moves away or attempts to readjust.
“There you two are. Thought you’d have run away from me.” They both turn their heads to find him with his own takeout food and drink, walking around them to sit in front.
“Took you long enough,” Tim says. “We were going to leave you.”
“Yeah,” Josh nods his head. “I definitely believe you.” The sarcasm’s nowhere to be heard.
“Where’d you go?” Frank asks, his elbow nudges Tim’s as he offers him what’s on his plate. On autopilot, he gets a piece, murmuring a thank you before facing Josh.
“Nearly around the corner. Far walk. The moment I stepped into the restaurant, everyone just walked in, and somehow they forgot my order. So, I had to get a refund and go grab food elsewhere. That took a while, too. Now, I’m here.” He runs it down quickly. Clearly out of breath, probably about to pass out from the extra effort, but he just shakes his head as he gets to his food.
Tim and Frank share a glance — knowing they probably should leave him alone and not bother to ask any more questions than necessary. Josh wasn’t mad, he could tell. Just needed something to put into his system.
Josh dropped dead on his bed the moment they closed the hotel room door. Face planted, eyes closed, feet hanging off the edge of the bed.
Walking around the market took more energy from them than they had originally anticipated. More squeezing into stalls than actually buying anything. Nobody complained, though. It was just them, three of them, alone together in a foreign country, and they found enjoyment in it all together.
“Should we help him?” Frank asks when Tim turns to hang his jacket up, toeing off his shoes as well.
He glances over to their sleeping friend, “Nah. He’ll be fine. Sore, but fine.” He hears him laugh over that, and he can’t help the smile that tugs on the corner of his lips. It almost makes him forget that they were going to share the bed.
“You go ahead, Tim. I’ll finish some things.” He hears him say, watching him bring out his laptop from the bag and moving over to the desk. Dodging over Josh’s hanging legs and taking a seat. The lamp turns on, and Tim moves to shut off all the rest of the lights.
“You’re fine on your own?” Frank turns to him, squinting at him through the darkness. “I could accompany you.”
He shakes his head, “Go ahead. I won’t be long.” Tim notes that his tone suggests a form of reassurance that a man would have for his wife. Nothing to worry about. I’ll be in bed soon. Keep the bed warm for me. Tim had never been married; he wouldn’t know if what he was thinking was anywhere near the truth. It was almost… romantic, really. That Frank would think he was worried. He was, though.
They stare at each other through the darkness, almost afraid to look away, like once they do, the other would disappear. That may be the case. Not nearly the case. Nobody was going anywhere, and they both knew that. Tim, at least, knew that. What he knew of Frank was very little, and he was afraid to know what he was thinking.
Three more days of whatever this was-
“You know,” Frank says to the darkness, a tap of his finger on the base of the laptop; fidgeting over his words. “I wasn’t supposed to go.” The statement surprises him. In other words, it was supposed to be just him and Josh in Germany. “But then I remembered you were coming.” The words hang in the air for longer than he should have. He didn’t know what to say.
Before he could give a proper response, Frank had already turned his head away from him.
No. Right. Yeah. He was teamed up with him; of course, he would be glad to come along. Making the trip more comfortable if he had a familiar face in an unfamiliar place. It wouldn’t be so bad if it had been Roisin or Romesh or even Greg or Alex. But… but. Tim leaves it at that. Resigning his thoughts and going to pick his side of the bed.
He turns his phone on first to check the messages that were inbox for the entire day, forgetting that there were people still messaging him. Strangely, he feels the need to go to Alex’s messages first.
You and Frank have good chemistry, you’re fine
Have fun. Send pictures
Tim wasn’t someone who frequently took pictures. It was always someone, a friend, some stranger, a fan, who would take pictures, and he would say yes. Very rarely did he have selfies or pictures of other things. Not that he didn’t want to keep some form of memory, he just wanted to live through it. Also, because he was very, very lazy and handed it to other people to take the pictures – photographers, for example. Or, on this trip, it was Josh who took the pictures.
He opens up his gallery anyway to check if he took any pictures that he had forgotten he took a picture of.
There was.
Some pictures of the sun setting in an alleyway. The market that they had gone to. Their feet were lying on the grass together when they ate their first meal of the day. A river (though he can’t remember which river that was). There was a single selfie there that he vaguely remembers taking. It was when they were on the elevator ride up that he decided to call the two to take a picture at a rather unflattering angle. Josh was slightly blurred, disheveled at the sudden picture, so it looked like it was him and Frank who were just in the picture. Their heads close together, tilted to the other.
Tim sends that and a few other landscape pictures. When Alex doesn’t respond, he assumes he’s found himself busy doing other things for the rest of the night. He resigns to writing some poetry. At least, attempt to write some poetry. It was strange; his mind worked better at night, but his head was too overwhelmed with thoughts that not a single thought wanted to come out.
Or was it that a single thought occupied his mind that he couldn’t think any more than that?
I was ill, the doctor said.
He knows he’s already created a poem about a doctor and being sick before, so he deletes the words.
Pig-brained. They call it.
What the teacher had called it.
I didn’t know what to say.
I asked for a cure.
There was none, he said.
This didn’t even make sense. Inspiration was far from him at this moment, but he still wanted to write something meaningful. Was this meaningful enough for him? Would people even understand it? Probably not. Most poems were up to interpretation, anyway, he would think. Except, he didn’t want to write one for once that was up to interpretation.
Tim gives up. He sends the poem to Alex and Mark, asking for an opinion, any thoughts about it that would help him. He knows that they’ll question it – what was so special about this poem that he needed an opinion? Not the first time he asked, he asks them frequently, but if they ever asked why he was writing about pig brains and a teacher in the middle of the night, he wouldn’t be able to give them an answer. At least, not an answer that he wants to give out. Not just yet.
The phone shuts off, and he lies on his side, facing away from Josh’s bed, and away from where he could see Frank working with the light on.
The clicking of Frank’s keyboard lulls him to sleep.