Fic: Two Hearts Are Better than One (2/4)
Title: Two Hearts Are Better than One (2/4)
Pairings/Characters: Ben/Leslie; Chris
Word Count: 2100
Rating: PG-13
Setting: Post-Jerry's Painting
Summary: Chris decides to interfere in Ben's love life. Shenanigans ensue.
A/n: Many, many thanks to stillscape for reading through this chapter for me. And also to those of you who commented on the previous chapter. I may just overcome my weird issues with AUs thanks to you all.
Part One
It turns out that there are pros and cons to sitting up.
Pro: That spot on his back that was beginning to burn in pain is reduced to a manageable ache.
Pro: Once he’s upright, he manages to take the aspirin and down the whole glass of water.
Con: Now he knows that he is way too old to crash on someone’s couch for the night.
Con: His head is probably going to explode.
Con: He still mostly feels like death.
Con: His head is definitely going to explode.
Okay, so maybe the cons are winning.
By the time the water is gone, Ben is slouched back on the couch, eyes shut again, but his brain is at least partly cooperating with his desire to think. His memories are sluggishly coming back, drifting through his mind in half-formed images and wisps of ideas. He and Chris were at a bar-that much he remembers clearly-and at some point, he knows they met up with Leslie and Ann. And Tom. Tom was there.
Tom was there feeding him drinks that clearly must have contained poison, and judging by how much of his memory seems to be gone, also possibly contained roofies.
And some mysterious thing happened with Leslie that they need to talk about.
God, he hopes he didn’t kiss her. If he kissed her and can’t remember, he’s going to kill Tom. And then himself. Twice, probably, if Chris happened to witness it. Although surely Leslie would be more panicked if Chris had seen them kissing.
None of that is a decent place to start.
What else? He’d been at a bar, and he’d been talking to Leslie. Texting Leslie. He distinctly remembers sitting there, waiting for Chris, and sending some carefully-planned-to-sound-casual text to her. And that, if nothing else, is something concrete. With effort, he extracts his phone from his pocket, blearily opening his eyes and unlocking the screen to bring up his last conversation with her. The last message he sent still sits unanswered.
Are you still here?
Well that’s useless. Slowly, he begins to scroll back through their conversation, bits and pieces of the early part of the night coming back to him. Surprisingly, none of it seems to have been typed when he was more than buzzed.
I saw your picture on Chris’ facebook update.
Chris was posting on Facebook?
It’s with a sense of dread that Ben brings up Facebook on his phone, finding Chris’ page and wincing at the discovery of a series of photos he’s labeled “Guys’ Night Out!” He could have-and probably would have if it wasn’t for the text-happily gone his entire life without knowing this existed. Now he’s stuck perusing poorly taken photos himself to try to piece together the previous evening.
(Poorly taken photos that already have forty-two likes. Good lord. How many friends does Chris have on Facebook?)
It turns out that Chris takes the kind of photos that Ben suspects most people snap when they’re intoxicated. They’d obviously ended up at the Snakehole, where apparently Chris had befriended as many people as possible in the bar, if the eighteen photos, each tagged, “My new best friend!” are any indication. By the time he realizes he should have started at the beginning of the album, he’s already through twenty-three pictures, and it takes another six until he finds one of himself. He’s not even looking at the camera, eyes focused on a laptop set on the table, but it’s the tag that makes him nauseous.
“Ben takes a chance on the power of love!”
They’re possibly the worst trigger words to incite a memory that Ben has ever heard.
Chris had decided to play matchmaker. And he’d pretended to go along with it for reasons he now strongly suspects had to do with the number of beers he’d ingested. But he hadn’t sent it. He was positive he hadn’t sent that email.
Right?
Quickly, Ben opens his email and clicks on his sent folder, sighing in relief when he sees he didn’t send anything to Leslie last night. But the email Chris wrote is still saved as a draft, basically a ticking time bomb waiting to be accidentally sent. He clicks on it, more than ready to delete it and pretend none of this ever happened, when his eyes catch the first line Chris typed.
And just like that, all the hazy memories come flooding back.
*****
“You know, tomato juice is the real liquid courage.”
Ben pulls the beer bottle away from his lips with a small smack, blinking across the table at Chris. His friend has an eyebrow tilted up, as if he thinks Ben is going to put down the beer and immediately follow his advice.
He wonders if Chris is actually surprised when he doesn’t.
“I think I’m good.”
“I’m just saying, you have nothing to fear. Trust me.”
Of course, Chris is mistaking fear for the equally fun combination of guilt and nerves Ben is actually feeling, not that all three can’t be cured by the pleasant buzz he’ll have by the end of this beer. In fact, considering he doesn’t protest when Chris snags the laptop the moment he signs into his email, insistent on completing the “translation” firsthand, maybe he’s already mostly there.
“Alright!” Chris claps his hands and then rubs them together, looking very much like some sort of evil genius. Then his fingers move to the keyboard. “Dear…”
Ben sips his beer. Chris continues to stare, par for the course when he’s typing. The silence is just stretching into awkward territory when Ben realizes what’s going on.
“Oh right. Her name.”
“It would help.”
“Yeah, of course.” He laughs shakily, mind whirring and unable to come up with a single name. “It’s, uh…” Pick something. “…Belinda.” What? “Her name is, um, Belinda.”
“How unusually lovely.”
“Isn’t it?”
Chris smiles, fingers clacking over the keyboard and then pausing again. “So I’m dying to know, where did you meet?”
“In the parks-Park. In the park.” He takes a deep breath. No big deal. It isn’t a slip up. The best lies have some truth in them anyway, right? Right. “We met in the park.”
“That is literally one of my top twenty-five favorite places to meet someone. Fellow runners, usually.”
“Belinda isn’t a runner.”
“Everyone can be a runner. It would be more correct to say she’s not a runner yet.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s funny how you never know where you’re going to meet someone, isn’t it? I mean, just a few weeks ago, you were convinced you’d never meet anyone outside of work, and now look at you.”
“Yeah.”
“I must admit, I’m surprised you haven’t asked her out yet already.”
Ben runs his fingernail along the edge of the label on his bottle, gently scraping at a corner. This is turning into a tightrope walk, and his only advantage is Chris’ utter lack of a suspicion. “Well, you know…the timing.”
“Oh. She just got out of a relationship?”
“Exactly,” he says, abandoning his picking to take another drink. “We-uh-you know, we talked in the park and then we went out as friends a few times, but it never seemed quite right to push for a relationship.”
“But they do say the best relationships grow from friendship, don’t they? I’m sure she’s been just waiting for you to ask her out! So my curiosity aside, you must tell me everything about why you like her.”
“Everything?” God, they’ll be here all night.
“Why of course. You talk and I’ll write. She’ll be in your arms before you know it.”
If only that were true.
“Come on, buddy. You already mentioned her eyes. What else do you like about her?”
“Just…Well…Everything. I mean, of course not everything, but kind of…yeah.” Ben takes another swig of his beer and frowns. Chris is right about him, isn’t he? He’s terrible at this.
If Chris agrees, he doesn’t say so. In fact, he’s grinning like he’s never been more delighted. “Ben Wyatt! You’re smitten.”
“Smitten? Really?”
“Absolutely. And it’s adorable!”
There’s that healthy dose of regret. Without hesitating, Ben flags down a waiter and orders another beer.
As it turns out, by the time that sixth beer is gone, the guilt-anxiety combination masquerading as fear is no longer an issue. Neither is his self-consciousness or his lingering resentment toward his friend. In fact, the only real problem Ben seems to have now is not slipping up, the chances of which seem to go up exponentially the more he talks. After all, he can’t actually trust Chris with any of this.
But, as it turns out, once he starts to talk about Leslie, it’s kind of hard to stop.
It just feels so damn good to say out loud.
“And she’s just like really funny, you know?” His eyes can’t seem to focus anymore, flitting from Chris to the laptop and back. “The other day she made this pun-“
“You do love puns.”
“I do,” Ben agrees. “I do love puns. And hers are so great. She’s so great. I just-I really want to kiss her.”
Chris types something without taking his eyes off of Ben. He looks so sympathetic, it’s almost hard to remember that he’s the sole reason Ben hasn’t kissed Leslie yet.
Actually, he’s having a hard time remembering much of why he’s mad at Chris at all.
“I had no idea you felt this strongly about someone,” says Chris amicably. He finishes his typing with a flourish, but doesn’t even bother to look down and reread the words. “No wonder you were so resistant to my attempts to set you up.”
“Yeah, well…”
“You should have told me. We could have brought you two together weeks ago.”
I did tell you, he thinks, but the accusation is less angry than it is melancholy, words he knows can’t be said and wouldn’t be received with any understanding even if they were. Chris may be keen enough to pick up on his feelings here, away from work, but it’s obvious he’s blind to it when it’s right in front of his eyes. Ben can only assume it’s a case of utterly misplaced faith; of Chris’ assumption that everyone can pick and choose their feelings, just like he does.
He’s not sure whether to pity him or envy him.
“What else?” asks Chris. “Is she pretty?”
“She’s beautiful.”
Chris is near tears again, watery eyes and brilliant smile, and Ben is grateful that he manages to hold himself together. “Okay,” he says, typing something and then swinging the laptop around to face Ben. “Send it.”
“Shouldn’t I read it first?” He glances at the email long enough to see “Dear Belinda,” and shakes his head. Of course it doesn’t matter; it’s not like this email is actually going to Leslie.
“No, no, no. Ben! No second guessing!” He leans across the table, patting Ben’s shoulder and then squeezing it reassuringly. “Trust me.”
Ben nods in what he hopes is a convincing manner, pretends he’s sending the email, and signs out of his account. Then he shuts the laptop and slides it back into his bag, trying to ignore Chris’ open weeping. The sight of his tears is making some of the guilt return.
“Just think-she could be reading it right now.”
“Maybe.”
“Can’t you picture it, Ben? Her opening her email, clicking on your message, not knowing that everything is about to change…”
“Uh-huh.” Ben slips his phone out of his pocket as Chris continues rambling, trying to sneakily check the messages he knows he missed earlier. There are three new ones from Leslie.
Are you still out with Chis?
Everyone is here.
You should come hang out with us.
After an hour of talking about Leslie, Ben can think of nothing he’d like more now than to actually see her.
“…and I would be proud to stand up with you at your wedding, Ben.”
Ben raises an eyebrow. That thought spiraled out of control, even for Chris. “I think it’s a little early for that.”
“Someday.”
“Sure. So I just got a message-“
“From Belinda?”
“-from Leslie. Everyone is over at the Snakehole. She asked if we wanted to join them.”
Chris’ eyes widen in excitement and Ben smiles.
On our way.
Pairings/Characters: Ben/Leslie; Chris
Word Count: 2100
Rating: PG-13
Setting: Post-Jerry's Painting
Summary: Chris decides to interfere in Ben's love life. Shenanigans ensue.
A/n: Many, many thanks to stillscape for reading through this chapter for me. And also to those of you who commented on the previous chapter. I may just overcome my weird issues with AUs thanks to you all.
Part One
It turns out that there are pros and cons to sitting up.
Pro: That spot on his back that was beginning to burn in pain is reduced to a manageable ache.
Pro: Once he’s upright, he manages to take the aspirin and down the whole glass of water.
Con: Now he knows that he is way too old to crash on someone’s couch for the night.
Con: His head is probably going to explode.
Con: He still mostly feels like death.
Con: His head is definitely going to explode.
Okay, so maybe the cons are winning.
By the time the water is gone, Ben is slouched back on the couch, eyes shut again, but his brain is at least partly cooperating with his desire to think. His memories are sluggishly coming back, drifting through his mind in half-formed images and wisps of ideas. He and Chris were at a bar-that much he remembers clearly-and at some point, he knows they met up with Leslie and Ann. And Tom. Tom was there.
Tom was there feeding him drinks that clearly must have contained poison, and judging by how much of his memory seems to be gone, also possibly contained roofies.
And some mysterious thing happened with Leslie that they need to talk about.
God, he hopes he didn’t kiss her. If he kissed her and can’t remember, he’s going to kill Tom. And then himself. Twice, probably, if Chris happened to witness it. Although surely Leslie would be more panicked if Chris had seen them kissing.
None of that is a decent place to start.
What else? He’d been at a bar, and he’d been talking to Leslie. Texting Leslie. He distinctly remembers sitting there, waiting for Chris, and sending some carefully-planned-to-sound-casual text to her. And that, if nothing else, is something concrete. With effort, he extracts his phone from his pocket, blearily opening his eyes and unlocking the screen to bring up his last conversation with her. The last message he sent still sits unanswered.
Are you still here?
Well that’s useless. Slowly, he begins to scroll back through their conversation, bits and pieces of the early part of the night coming back to him. Surprisingly, none of it seems to have been typed when he was more than buzzed.
I saw your picture on Chris’ facebook update.
Chris was posting on Facebook?
It’s with a sense of dread that Ben brings up Facebook on his phone, finding Chris’ page and wincing at the discovery of a series of photos he’s labeled “Guys’ Night Out!” He could have-and probably would have if it wasn’t for the text-happily gone his entire life without knowing this existed. Now he’s stuck perusing poorly taken photos himself to try to piece together the previous evening.
(Poorly taken photos that already have forty-two likes. Good lord. How many friends does Chris have on Facebook?)
It turns out that Chris takes the kind of photos that Ben suspects most people snap when they’re intoxicated. They’d obviously ended up at the Snakehole, where apparently Chris had befriended as many people as possible in the bar, if the eighteen photos, each tagged, “My new best friend!” are any indication. By the time he realizes he should have started at the beginning of the album, he’s already through twenty-three pictures, and it takes another six until he finds one of himself. He’s not even looking at the camera, eyes focused on a laptop set on the table, but it’s the tag that makes him nauseous.
“Ben takes a chance on the power of love!”
They’re possibly the worst trigger words to incite a memory that Ben has ever heard.
Chris had decided to play matchmaker. And he’d pretended to go along with it for reasons he now strongly suspects had to do with the number of beers he’d ingested. But he hadn’t sent it. He was positive he hadn’t sent that email.
Right?
Quickly, Ben opens his email and clicks on his sent folder, sighing in relief when he sees he didn’t send anything to Leslie last night. But the email Chris wrote is still saved as a draft, basically a ticking time bomb waiting to be accidentally sent. He clicks on it, more than ready to delete it and pretend none of this ever happened, when his eyes catch the first line Chris typed.
And just like that, all the hazy memories come flooding back.
*****
“You know, tomato juice is the real liquid courage.”
Ben pulls the beer bottle away from his lips with a small smack, blinking across the table at Chris. His friend has an eyebrow tilted up, as if he thinks Ben is going to put down the beer and immediately follow his advice.
He wonders if Chris is actually surprised when he doesn’t.
“I think I’m good.”
“I’m just saying, you have nothing to fear. Trust me.”
Of course, Chris is mistaking fear for the equally fun combination of guilt and nerves Ben is actually feeling, not that all three can’t be cured by the pleasant buzz he’ll have by the end of this beer. In fact, considering he doesn’t protest when Chris snags the laptop the moment he signs into his email, insistent on completing the “translation” firsthand, maybe he’s already mostly there.
“Alright!” Chris claps his hands and then rubs them together, looking very much like some sort of evil genius. Then his fingers move to the keyboard. “Dear…”
Ben sips his beer. Chris continues to stare, par for the course when he’s typing. The silence is just stretching into awkward territory when Ben realizes what’s going on.
“Oh right. Her name.”
“It would help.”
“Yeah, of course.” He laughs shakily, mind whirring and unable to come up with a single name. “It’s, uh…” Pick something. “…Belinda.” What? “Her name is, um, Belinda.”
“How unusually lovely.”
“Isn’t it?”
Chris smiles, fingers clacking over the keyboard and then pausing again. “So I’m dying to know, where did you meet?”
“In the parks-Park. In the park.” He takes a deep breath. No big deal. It isn’t a slip up. The best lies have some truth in them anyway, right? Right. “We met in the park.”
“That is literally one of my top twenty-five favorite places to meet someone. Fellow runners, usually.”
“Belinda isn’t a runner.”
“Everyone can be a runner. It would be more correct to say she’s not a runner yet.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s funny how you never know where you’re going to meet someone, isn’t it? I mean, just a few weeks ago, you were convinced you’d never meet anyone outside of work, and now look at you.”
“Yeah.”
“I must admit, I’m surprised you haven’t asked her out yet already.”
Ben runs his fingernail along the edge of the label on his bottle, gently scraping at a corner. This is turning into a tightrope walk, and his only advantage is Chris’ utter lack of a suspicion. “Well, you know…the timing.”
“Oh. She just got out of a relationship?”
“Exactly,” he says, abandoning his picking to take another drink. “We-uh-you know, we talked in the park and then we went out as friends a few times, but it never seemed quite right to push for a relationship.”
“But they do say the best relationships grow from friendship, don’t they? I’m sure she’s been just waiting for you to ask her out! So my curiosity aside, you must tell me everything about why you like her.”
“Everything?” God, they’ll be here all night.
“Why of course. You talk and I’ll write. She’ll be in your arms before you know it.”
If only that were true.
“Come on, buddy. You already mentioned her eyes. What else do you like about her?”
“Just…Well…Everything. I mean, of course not everything, but kind of…yeah.” Ben takes another swig of his beer and frowns. Chris is right about him, isn’t he? He’s terrible at this.
If Chris agrees, he doesn’t say so. In fact, he’s grinning like he’s never been more delighted. “Ben Wyatt! You’re smitten.”
“Smitten? Really?”
“Absolutely. And it’s adorable!”
There’s that healthy dose of regret. Without hesitating, Ben flags down a waiter and orders another beer.
As it turns out, by the time that sixth beer is gone, the guilt-anxiety combination masquerading as fear is no longer an issue. Neither is his self-consciousness or his lingering resentment toward his friend. In fact, the only real problem Ben seems to have now is not slipping up, the chances of which seem to go up exponentially the more he talks. After all, he can’t actually trust Chris with any of this.
But, as it turns out, once he starts to talk about Leslie, it’s kind of hard to stop.
It just feels so damn good to say out loud.
“And she’s just like really funny, you know?” His eyes can’t seem to focus anymore, flitting from Chris to the laptop and back. “The other day she made this pun-“
“You do love puns.”
“I do,” Ben agrees. “I do love puns. And hers are so great. She’s so great. I just-I really want to kiss her.”
Chris types something without taking his eyes off of Ben. He looks so sympathetic, it’s almost hard to remember that he’s the sole reason Ben hasn’t kissed Leslie yet.
Actually, he’s having a hard time remembering much of why he’s mad at Chris at all.
“I had no idea you felt this strongly about someone,” says Chris amicably. He finishes his typing with a flourish, but doesn’t even bother to look down and reread the words. “No wonder you were so resistant to my attempts to set you up.”
“Yeah, well…”
“You should have told me. We could have brought you two together weeks ago.”
I did tell you, he thinks, but the accusation is less angry than it is melancholy, words he knows can’t be said and wouldn’t be received with any understanding even if they were. Chris may be keen enough to pick up on his feelings here, away from work, but it’s obvious he’s blind to it when it’s right in front of his eyes. Ben can only assume it’s a case of utterly misplaced faith; of Chris’ assumption that everyone can pick and choose their feelings, just like he does.
He’s not sure whether to pity him or envy him.
“What else?” asks Chris. “Is she pretty?”
“She’s beautiful.”
Chris is near tears again, watery eyes and brilliant smile, and Ben is grateful that he manages to hold himself together. “Okay,” he says, typing something and then swinging the laptop around to face Ben. “Send it.”
“Shouldn’t I read it first?” He glances at the email long enough to see “Dear Belinda,” and shakes his head. Of course it doesn’t matter; it’s not like this email is actually going to Leslie.
“No, no, no. Ben! No second guessing!” He leans across the table, patting Ben’s shoulder and then squeezing it reassuringly. “Trust me.”
Ben nods in what he hopes is a convincing manner, pretends he’s sending the email, and signs out of his account. Then he shuts the laptop and slides it back into his bag, trying to ignore Chris’ open weeping. The sight of his tears is making some of the guilt return.
“Just think-she could be reading it right now.”
“Maybe.”
“Can’t you picture it, Ben? Her opening her email, clicking on your message, not knowing that everything is about to change…”
“Uh-huh.” Ben slips his phone out of his pocket as Chris continues rambling, trying to sneakily check the messages he knows he missed earlier. There are three new ones from Leslie.
Are you still out with Chis?
Everyone is here.
You should come hang out with us.
After an hour of talking about Leslie, Ben can think of nothing he’d like more now than to actually see her.
“…and I would be proud to stand up with you at your wedding, Ben.”
Ben raises an eyebrow. That thought spiraled out of control, even for Chris. “I think it’s a little early for that.”
“Someday.”
“Sure. So I just got a message-“
“From Belinda?”
“-from Leslie. Everyone is over at the Snakehole. She asked if we wanted to join them.”
Chris’ eyes widen in excitement and Ben smiles.
On our way.