Chapter Text
"company! company! company!
lots of company!
life is company!
love is company!
company!"
Abed is 30 years old today.
He doesn’t really think about it. Not nearly as much as he should, probably.
His dad calls him in the morning. His mother doesn’t call at all.
It’s not that surprising; he stopped getting birthday cards from her when he was thirteen. “You’re a man now, Abed.” The greeting inside the card had said. “I’m so proud of you.” Inside were thirteen crisp dollar bills. He rented The Princess Bride and kept it for two weeks.
It wasn’t until much, much later that Gobi admitted that he had been sending the cards himself. Abed knew, of course, but he never told him. Abed’s mother had sent the occasional letter and Christmas card throughout the years, but they were always written in pen -- so sure of herself when ripping her son’s heart to pieces. Gobi wrote with pencil, unsure of what to say, always.
After his mother doesn’t call, (he’s 30 years old, so he gives up hope at around 11am) he turns his phone on airplane mode and goes for a run. He plays the Indiana Jones soundtrack and pretends he’s running away from the huge boulder and mustache twirling bad guys because he’s 30 years old but he’s still Abed.
No, Abed isn’t really thinking about it. He isn’t thinking about that number, anyhow; it’s arbitrary. He thinks of another number entirely, one so much more important and life-shattering.
Four.
Today is his fourth birthday without Troy.
Abed has now spent more birthdays without Troy than with him.
Troy doesn’t call either -- Abed gave up hope for that at 28 -- and he has never sent him a birthday card. He thinks maybe that’s for the best. After all, how do you miss something you’ve never had?
He runs until his lungs start to ache, his muscles are jelly, and the soundtrack comes to a close. Then… he turns around.
Abed runs up the stairs to Apartment 303 in Greendale, Colorado and pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket. He slips it under the door and runs back down the stairs and to his actual apartment in Riverside.
Two years ago, when he moved back to Colorado from LA, he tried everything in his power to get back into Apartment 303, but someone moved in right after he and Annie left. Then another someone and their someone moved in after that. He begged their old landlord to move back in on multiple occasions and when that didn’t work, he tried to blackmail him with the shoe thing. Unfortunately, or, well... fortunately, the older man was one year shoe-sober by that point.
He almost broke into 303 as Batman for old time’s sake, but it didn’t seem as fun without having Troy and Annie there to freak out about it.
Last Halloween, he tried to pull a... well, any ghost movie, at his old place. Nothing crazy, just enough to convince the tenants that the place was haunted and spook them so bad they’d move out, but not have a psychotic break. Turns out they weren’t even home that night.
Now he just leaves notes under the door that range from vaguely threatening to desperate. Today’s is the latter:
Today is my 30th birthday. I spent the best years of my life (all of them, every timeline) in that apartment and I want it back. Please, give it back. As a present.
Not his finest work, but what can you do?
When he gets back to Riverside, he turns airplane mode off and finds that his voicemail is flooded. His heart starts pounding wildly in his chest, imagining the worst. His eyes lose focus and his vision swims in his panic before he forces himself to blink and take a breath. All of the messages are from his friends, and nobody leaves more than one message, or follow-up "ANSWER YOUR PHONE" texts, so he relaxes.
Abed goes to the fridge and grabs himself a Cool Blue Gatorade. After every run he considers dousing himself with the sports drink, but always decides against it. Who says you need to be in your 30s to be boring when he was 29 and still wasn't doing the cool thing?
He shakes the thought away and sits up on his counter. He opens the first voicemail, puts it on speaker as he drinks.
“Hi, this is a dirty phone call,” The voice of Craig Pelton purrs. Years ago, Abed would have thought that they had meant to call Jeff, but he knows that it’s for him this time.
“Frankie and I are going to be out of town so we’ll miss any... birthday celebrations.” Abed smirks. Craig has always been a terrible liar.
“Anyway, you’re thirty years old. Who wants to celebrate being that old?” Abed makes a cheers motion with his bottle at that, taking a swig. “Well, I only hope I look as good as you when I’m your age. Talk soon.”
Beep!
“Hey, Abed. It’s Jeff. Get those girls out of your bed and pick up the phone, will ya? God, I am so envious I can’t even speak. Call me.”
Beep!
“Hello, Abed. It’s Robin. Agent Robin Vohlers.” She pauses. For a long time. “I forgot what I was going to say. Message self-destruct.”
Beep!
“Hi, Abed! I just called to say that if I’m late for the party tonight please tell Jeff that I’m running -- oh, wait, you’re not supposed to know that there’s a…” Britta trails off. He chuckles to himself. He can’t wait to tell her that she wasn’t the only one to spill the beans; Britta doesn’t have many allies in this world.
“Annie? Annie, are you there?!” Britta yells, voice going up several octaves. “Oh God, I think I dialed the wrong number. Sorry. Just ignore this call.” Abed can hear that Britta’s pressed a button, presumably to hang up, yet the message continues.
“Jeff, you’re not gonna believe what I just did. I Britta’d it!”
There are ten more minutes left to the message. He can faintly hear the sounds of a fight between them. He stops the recording, figuring he’ll listen to it later. He opens the next voicemail.
“Yo, Abed! It’s Pavel! Long time, no hear, bro! Well, the doctor said false alarm, I’m not pregnant, so you can start returning my calls. April Fools! Double April Fools, it’s March!” Pavel giggles, adorably. It makes Abed smile. “Do you remember when you thought you got a girl pregnant sophomore year? That was wicked! Anyway, Happy Birthday, my friend. Call me soon!”
Beep!
No more messages.
Abed tosses his finished drink into the trashcan and stands up. He goes into his settings and starts to record a new voicemail message.
“Hey, this is Abed. Yes, today’s my birthday. And yes, you may leave a message about how happy you are that I’m turning thirty, though I don’t get why you don’t just text me. Maybe you’re the old ones, think about that. Anyway, whatever you’re calling about…” He trails off, lowering his voice. “The answer is yes.”
Leave your message after the tone.
Abed switches to the text app, draining the rest of his Gatorade.
TO BABA:
Surprise birthday party at my place tonight. Come if you feel up for it.
Abed hops down from the counter, tossing the empty bottle into the trashcan and heading into the bathroom. He's turning on the shower when his phone dings with a reply.
FROM BABA:
I will try.
And he will. Abed believes that.
TO BABA:
I’ll bring some cake by tomorrow after my shift.
Gobi got sick a year after Abed left for LA. As soon as his father ended the initial phone call telling him the news and urging him not to worry, Abed called his boss and put in his two weeks notice.
Abed loved LA. He loved his job and was starting to learn how to love his life there, but in the end it wasn’t all that hard to leave. He could always go back.
His dad told him during a particularly hard night of radiation that he was afraid that Abed resented him. He had been the one to keep him from film school in the first place and now he was taking him away from his dreams again.
Little did he know that Abed’s dreams were halfway across the world.
Abed had never resented his father. He was happy to finally be of use to him after so many years of running around Greendale and putting miles between himself and falafel at any given time. He had used the money from a screenplay he had sold to pay for some of the heftier hospital bills.
What he did resent was having to go back to his old job, which in turn made him start hating his father's signature dish just as soon as he was starting to get a taste for it again, but that was neither here nor there.
Abed hopes he comes to the party. Gobi’s been in remission for a few months now, but still has trouble getting out of bed some days. Abed can relate, though for slightly different reasons, and not so much anymore.
He putters around the apartment for a while after that, not really doing much of anything. Jeff and Britta know he has plans to see Logan this evening. He had asked them to join him, but they made their excuses and offered a rain-check. He knows they're both busy these days with their respective jobs and multitude of ailing cats, so it didn’t raise suspicions at the time. Now he knows about the party, so he makes sure to leave thirty minutes earlier than he had planned to to and gets to play all of the trivia questions.
After the movie is over he sits on a bench outside, figuring he should give them more time to set everything up at his place just in case they manage to Britta it. He opens the notes app on his phone and starts to draft up a review to post to his blog. It’s a hobby he’s picked up since moving back. He has a bit of a following. It’s nice.
When he gets back, he makes sure his keys jangle as loud as they can when he pulls them out of his pocket. He pretends to struggle with the lock, smiling to himself as he hears his friends shush each other and shuffle around inside. He sees the light go out under the crack of the door.
When Abed steps inside, he doesn’t turn light on immediately. He wants to mess with them a bit, see how long they can hold their breath. He takes off his shoes, puts his keys in the bowl by the door and hangs his jacket up on the coat rack. He walks into the kitchen, lights still off, and opens the fridge, spotting Craig standing right beside it.
Abed smirks when he sees a cake chilling inside. Someone takes a sharp breath in behind him. Jeff, he presumes, huffs out a laugh in response. Someone -- probably Britta, possibly Shirley -- hits him. Abed straightens up, tenses his back. He wills the hairs on his neck to stick up, to really sell it. He closes the refrigerator door, slowly.
“Okay, come on. Say it and get it over with. It’s embarrassing," Silence. "Quick. I can’t stand it.”
He turns around just as someone turns the lights on. He is faced with his closest friends in the world, popping up from their hiding places behind his furniture. It’s endlessly endearing.
“Happy Birthday, Abed.” The group intones in unison. Deadpan, dead behind the eyes. No screaming. Thank God.
“I stood it," Abed quips. "Thank you for including me in your thoughts, your lives, your families. Yes, thank you for remembering. Thank you.” It sounds stilted and sarcastic, but it isn’t, not really. Deep down.
“You don’t look it.” They intone again, heads tilted 15 degrees to the left.
“Well, I feel it.” Abed plays along, allowing Normal Abed to slip in. It’s kind of fun. He hasn’t played a character in a hot minute. He imagines that this guy wears khakis and cares about turning thirty so, so much.
“It’s the birthday boy.” He has never seen the group this in sync before.
“You’ve rehearsed. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.” He sees Annie standing by the light switch, eyes filled with tears. God, he hasn’t seen her in person in what feels like forever. Not since her wedding day. He wants to run over there and hug her and maybe never let go, but holds back. He’s not sure it’ll be welcome.
“Ohhh, I love it when people are really sur-prised!” Shirley coos, throwing herself into his arms. He hugs her back.
“She loves it when people are really surprised.” Andre parrots, disbelieving. He still doesn’t get Abed. Abed has never got Andre, barely wants to get along with him three re-marriages later, so he supposes they’re even.
As he lets go of Shirley, Chang -- Kevin -- Ben (still weird) pushes past everyone and thrusts a badly wrapped gift into his hands.
“If you don’t like it, you can take it back.” Chang says with a wave of his hand. Abed quirks an eyebrow.
“I haven’t seen it yet.” He can already kind of see it. It looks like a loaf of bread. Wheat. How thoughtful.
“I mean, if you don’t like it--”
“Why don’t you let the man look at the thing?” Ian Duncan gripes, putting a hand on Ben’s lower back. He’s already drunk.
“I know I’ll like it.” That’s a lie. He much prefers white. Ben gives him a warm (read: creepy) smile and pats Duncan’s chest. His wedding ring shines in the light. It’s covered in saliva. It’s a Ring Pop.
“He finally proposed!” Chang had announced, strolling into the Greendale faculty lounge where Abed and Jeff were having lunch. He proudly sported a Watermelon Ring Pop on his finger. Duncan trailed in after him, bags under his eyes.
“He found that on the floor of a Chuck-E-Cheese.”
He wonders if Chang replaces his ring every time he finishes it, or if this is that same one from months ago. He prays for the former but knows in his heart that it’s the latter.
“Why don’t you just take it back?”
“For God’s sake, Chang, he just said he likes it!”
“Hey, Abed, take ours back too.” Jeff quips, tossing a small box towards him.
“Here’s from Frankie and me.” Craig steps forward, handing him another box. Abed puts the bread on top of the pile, as to not squish it. He’ll probably make a sandwich tomorrow: PB&J. “If I were you, I would take it back and get the money. It cost so much I fainted.”
“It did not.” Frankie chastises. “It’s a sweater.” She confides. Ever so practical, even in marriage.
He had been doing a homage to National Treasure. Not his first choice or his thousandth, but he lost a bet, so he had to. It was hell. Every moment of the day he prayed for Nicolas Cage’s demise. He wandered through the halls of Greendale, pulling various hijinks, before eventually landing in Dean Pelton’s office. Instead of finding the Declaration of Independence, he found four marriage certificates in one of their filing cabinets.
One for Jeff Winger and Craig Pelton. Photoshopped.
One for Jeffrey Winger and Craig Pelton. Stained.
One for Geoff Winger and Dr. Craig Pelton, DDS. On actual, legal State of Colorado documents, but null… for obvious reasons.
One for Craig Pelton and Francesca Dart. Real.
“Tax benefits.” Was all Frankie had said when Abed had confronted her about it later.
“You told him what it was!” Craig gasps, scandalized, hand to chest. “Well, when I saw the price tag, I thought it was a house.”
Abed puts the so-called returnable presents onto the coffee table with the others that haven't been forced upon him. At this point they might as well just play White Elephant.
“Drinks, drinks, drinks?” Jeff points to each person and they give him their orders. He and Britta head into the kitchen to pour them.
When they’re away, Abed receives a hug and Happy Birthday greetings from the rest of the party. He saves Annie for last, hugging her tighter and longer than the rest. He revels in the fact that she still uses the same shampoo as she did when they lived together and isn’t pushing him away. He’s honestly surprised she came, with her schedule, after the wedding... and everything.
“I missed you.” He whispers.
“I missed you, too.” She whispers back, voice breaking.
“I’m starting to think I should be concerned.” Annie’s wife, Claire, pipes up after several long, blissful moments. Abed pulls away and for a moment he can’t tell if she’s serious or not but then... she smiles.
He’s always liked Claire. He liked her when he met her back at the Valentine’s dance in 2010. After watching Britta and Page awkwardly make out, before getting rejected by the cute librarian.
“I’m not a lesbian!” She had said.
He liked her when he met her again visiting Annie in D.C. years later.
“Actually, I am.” She revised, blushing prettily.
He can assume by the smile that she still likes him, and wonders if Annie told her what went down on the night of their wedding. He isn't sure she'd be here smiling at him if she knew.
“Sorry, honey, you’re stuck with me,” Annie coos, sidling up to her, kissing her cheek. “But that means you’re also stuck with Abed. We’re a package deal.” She flashes Abed a wink and he almost collapses with relief. They’re fine.
Jeff and Britta return moments later and hand everyone their drinks. When the blonde isn’t looking and finally has Abed in an embrace, several people switch cups with each other.
“A toast!” Jeff declares, raising his cup. “To Abed. May this year bring you fame, fortune and your first wife.”
“Here, here!” The performatively heteronormative bunch cheer.
“Alright,” Abed addresses the group, affecting the Normal Abed cadence. “Let’s cut out the many happy returns and that is enough about me.” Abed has talked about himself so much in the last two years he can hardly stand it. He adjusts a tie that he isn’t wearing.
“I am just indeed lucky to have all of you. I mean, when you’ve got friends like mine…”
How does he even begin to describe his friends?
Married. Annoying about it. Bound by law, the eyes of God, kids, love, etcetera, ad nauseum. Always onto him about why he isn’t married yet.
Even so, they’re still the best people on planet Earth.
Duncan and Chang. Jeff and Britta. Shirley and Andre. Annie and Claire. Craig and Frankie.
Abed, alone.
Sometimes Abed and Robin. Abed and Pavel. Abed and Rachel.
But even then...
He’s run the simulations. He doesn’t get married, he doesn’t invent a billion dollar website that helps people have sex, he doesn’t get into Sundance or Troy’s dance pants. When he tells people, they say, “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” but he can’t refute the facts.
Doesn’t mean he wishes it wasn't true.
Shirley interrupts his train of thought, entering the room holding a cake and leading in a soulful rendition of “Happy Birthday.” She has always taken every opportunity she can to upstage everyone with her singing ability and in the birthday circuit, she shines.
Thirty candles dominate the real estate of the square sheet cake in her hands. Is that really what thirty looks like? He’s never envisioned it before. It’s a lot.
“Blow out your candles and make a wish!” Shirley smiles.
“Don’t tell your wish, Abed, or else it won’t come true.” Britta prematurely chastises, looping his arm in hers.
“You have to close your eyes and blow them all out.” Craig advises.
“Be sure you make it a good one, Abed.” Annie says, grabbing his hand in both of hers, hooking her head over his shoulder, on her tip-toes.
Abed closes his eyes. He tries to think of a wish. He can’t believe he used to make a thousand wishes every single day at Greendale. Now, he can’t think of anything he wants. All he sees is Troy, clutching their jar of pennies, bouncing on the balls of his feet, smiling bright as the sun. He tries to will the image away. It blinds him.
Instead, he thinks of the different timelines, wondering what the other Abeds are wishing for. How many birthdays are they with or without their best friend?
After a moment he leans forward and blows. He opens his eyes and all of the candles are still lit. He closes his eyes again and blows out a longer puff of air, but again... Still lit. They dip wax onto the frosting and the smoke tickles his nose.
Everyone looks at him with sympathy.
“You still get your wish,” Shirley soothes. Duncan and Chang start to object. “He still gets his wish!” She snaps at them before turning on her heel and heading back to the kitchen to cut the cake.
“He does? Must be a new rule.” Britta says, off-handedly, not realizing she’s twisting a knife into his heart with that particular phrasing. She drops his arm and goes to help Shirley in the best way she can -- by supervising.
“Sure you do.” Chang rolls his eyes.
“Don’t believe a word of it.” Jeff claps him on the shoulder.
“Of course you do.” Annie squeezes his hand.
“Oh, I know it. I will,” Abed squeezes back. Annie smiles. “I actually didn’t wish for anything.”
“He’s kidding,” Andre’s eyes are wide. “You gotta be kidding.”
“Anyway, don’t tell it.” Duncan points. It feels like reverse psychology.
“Tell it if it’s dirty.” Craig elbows him, swirling his Diet Coke in his red solo cup like it’s a fine wine.
“They say you’re not supposed to tell.” Claire shrugs.
“Claire’s right. Don’t tell.” Frankie concurs.
“Anyway, Abed,” Britta plops down onto the couch after Shirley has shooed her away. “You’re in your prime -- thirty. ” She’s got her therapizing voice on; she wants him to talk about it.
“Britta, stop,” Jeff swoops in. “You don’t tell a person’s age at our ages.” Abed smiles and Jeff smiles right back.
Shirley announces that the cake is ready to be served and they divide the pieces among the group, leaving one piece for Gobi. He secretly wishes they had saved a tiny slice for... later. Not for anybody else. That would be ridiculous. A waste of a wish.
That he didn’t wish for.
Maybe he should have.
Shirley hands him the first piece. She gives him a slice where you can see his name written in swirly icing, and it makes him irrationally happy. He feels like a kid. He didn’t think they were doing an homage before, but now he wonders... Is this 13 Going on 30? Are he and his friends children trapped in adult bodies, play-acting the roles of what they assumed thirty-pluses would be? Who’s his Judy Greer?
No. If this was really 13 Going on 30, there’d be a long lost best friend, Razzles and magic wishing dust. There isn’t a dollhouse in sight. Troy is still on a boat.
Abed still enjoys his game, even if it isn’t a perfect homage. He pretends to be less excited by his gifts than he is, coming up with boring, adult uses for each item.
The knitted sweater from Craig and Frankie can be used for layering; there’s a cold snap coming soon, didn’t you hear?
The Cougar Town DVD box set with director’s commentary and never before seen bonus footage from Annie and Claire will be a great paperweight for the desk in his study.
A book called The Unofficial Film Bible from The Bennetts can be a coaster. Shirley smacks him at the suggestion, but still laughs and he hugs her for a whole minute before moving to the next gift.
The Batman Funko Pop from Jeff and Britta can be a toothbrush holder, after all, even Gotham’s most notorious superhero needs to maintain his dental hygiene.
The bread… avocado toast. Ben threatens to take it back.
After gifts, they talk. And talk. And talk. It’s a blur of:
Abed, baby. Abed, darling. Abed, buddy.
They pass him around the circle. He promises to to call more, to take Shirley’s kids to the zoo, to do them favors.
He and the couples make plans for dinner, just the three of them, since their schedules typically overlap too much for big group gatherings like this. Abed’s 30th birthday is special, though, and while Abed doesn’t think so, he’s glad for it. They haven’t been all together like this in a long time.
Abed pencils in dinners for Saturday night, and Thursday -- except no, Jeff has a class that evening, so Wednesday, instead -- eight o’clock on Monday and drinks afterwards, every other weekend over FaceTime.
As the night goes on, he feels like he didn’t actually need to wish for anything like had they said. Despite popular belief, he has everything he needs right here.
No strings, good times, just chums. Company. Like the TV show. Like the feeling.
It’s love. He’s felt it before, he isn’t as much of a robot as people think he is. He feels it now, it comes from seventy different directions, it fills his days.
It’s photos of himself on their walls and shelves.
It’s thinly-veiled worry for his well-being.
It’s not avoiding talking about Troy, but not really bringing him up, either.
It’s bringing up the fact that he’s not married or actively trying to get married, deciding it’s a problem, and trying to fix it in their own ways.
It’s typical Greendalian chaos and the "Thriller" dance and some "Roxanne" for old time’s sake.
It’s friendship. It’s the best thing he’s ever been part of.
And that’s what it’s really about, isn’t it?
Isn’t it?