Far Beyond the Stars (5/6)
Perhaps it’s due to the late hour, but the ship is surprisingly empty. Spencer keeps expecting to round a corner and come face to face with some random crewman, or security, but all seven of them make it down to the cargo bay without incident.
The Cobra is just as garishly decorated on the inside as on the outside, but at least it’s darker, so Spencer can’t quite make out all the horrid details. The halls are mostly black, lined in purple and pink lights that make his fingernails glow.
“This is seriously creepy,” Ryan whispers.
“You were part of the crew here?” Pete asks, voice full of awe.
“We’re going to get caught before we even get anywhere,” Patrick mutters.
There is no rhyme or reason to the design of the ship. Spencer’s been inside hornet class ships before, but this one looks like it’s been gutted and entirely redone. There are random nooks and crannies filled with odds and ends that look like they belong in some Earth-That-Was museum.
Dance music is coming from somewhere-or maybe from everywhere. It sounds like the music Vicky listens to, and suddenly her whole dance party thing makes a lot more sense.
When they stumble onto the bridge, it isn’t at all what Spencer expects, like something from a science fiction movie from hundreds of years ago, before humans knew space travel was possible-lots of exposed wires and bulkheads, tubes of neon light framing the view screen, hundreds upon hundreds of switches, buttons, and gears that can’t possibly all have purposes.
The comm. station has been replaced by a dj’s table where a slender, Sihnon male is mixing. There are far more people on the bridge than could ever be necessary-men and women of various ages and in radically different dress-all dancing like Vicky taught the Nevada to.
“Victoria!” An exceedingly tall, slender man in a grey uniform sweeps her in a hug. Spencer’s surprised to see that she doesn’t resist or break something vital of his. Instead, she hugs him back just as tightly, eyes closing, lips curling in a grin.
“Ryland,” she says, when she parts, still smiling widely. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Where have you been? Where did you come from?” Ryland asks, blinking and looking around them. He spots Spencer and the others and gives them a blankly pleasant nod of greeting.
“There was a Reaver attack and a distress signal…” Vicky trails off when it’s obvious none of this is ringing any bells for Ryland. “You know what, it doesn’t really matter. This is my crew.” She introduces them and Ryland shakes their hands, effusively kind. “We’re gonna borrow the ship.”
Ryland’s brow furrows. “Gabe’s okay with that?”
“Gabe doesn’t need to know about that,” Vicky says, with just enough threat in her voice to make the hair on Spencer’s neck stand on end.
Ryland holds his hands out in front of his chest. “Good enough for me. Nate, baby, we’re going for a spin.”
The man in the pilot’s seat spins around. “When did you get here?” he asks Vicky. He has a red plastic cup in his hand and a sleepy smile on his face.
“Okay, Nate, get out of the seat,” Vicky says. Nate obliges her cheerfully, wandering off into the party. “Patrick, you’re up.”
Patrick looks at the helm, shaking his head. “I don’t-what did they do to this ship?”
Vicky leans over his shoulder, bringing up an interactive screen. “Lay in the course here, by touch. Nav-sat readings are here.” She taps a few buttons and there’s a scrolling list of posts on the right side of the screen. “I’ll have Tony keep an eye on it tonight, so you can get some rest.”
Patrick nods, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he settles into the seat. It won’t take him long to grow accustomed to the new system. That’s part of why Spencer chose him-Patrick’s adaptable, and a born flyer.
He sets the course and selects a medium speed. They don’t want to attract any undue attention, so until they have some distance between them and Beckett’s ship, they can’t seem like they’re in any hurry. Patrick hesitates before engaging the course. Spencer knows he feels bad about Marshall, but what Vicky said about someone on the crew recognising Ryan has filled him with a quiet urgency.
Pete leans over, squeezing his shoulder gently and leaning over to whisper, “Come on, Trick.” Patrick curses under his breath and engages.
For a moment, they’re all holding their breath, waiting for Beckett’s ship to react. But the seconds tick by and turn into minutes, and there’s not so much as a questioning hail.
“Told you,” Vicky says smugly. “It’s almost too easy.”
When Spencer is satisfied that things are taken care of on the bridge, and after they’ve been introduced to Tony, who seems at least marginally sober, and who will being keeping an eye on their course, Vicky leads them off to the guest quarters.
“Who were all those people?” Jon asks in wonder, when they’re in the much quieter hallway.
“Mostly love bots,” Vicky says. “Gabe likes to liberate them.”
Jon looks to Spencer as if he can somehow make sense of things. Spencer can only shrug helplessly in answer.
The quarters on the Cobra are much less lavish than those on Beckett’s ship, but Spencer prefers it this way, even if he could do without the leopard print sheets and orange shag rug in his room.
Once the door is closed behind Vicky, Spencer tumbles onto the bunk, not even bothering to turn down the sheets. It’s only five minutes before Ryan enters and Spencer’s already almost asleep. He manages to roll onto his side and lift an arm for Ryan to crawl beneath.
“Spence,” Ryan murmurs, lips brushing Spencer’s throat as he speaks.
“Hmm?”
Ryan sighs, and even in the dark, with his eyes closed, Spencer can see the sad expression that comes with it. “I don’t want to miss him,” he says. Spencer doesn’t know what to say, so he just holds on tighter.
*
William’s bed is the most comfortable Brendon has slept on since he left the Core, and lying with Gabe pressed warm and solid against his back is nice. The sex was very enjoyable and relaxing, and if Brendon thought of someone other than Gabe and William, well, he would not have been the first Companion to do so.
He is very tired and his muscles are loose, and yet sleep will not come to him. Beyond the window, the black of space is empty and unchanging, and it does not help distract Brendon’s mind from unpleasant thoughts. The thought, for example, that he cannot keep doing this.
When Brendon made the choice to return to Sihnon and fix the situation at Blue Sun, he had known that he would have to resign from the Guild. Then, it was about priorities and practicalities. That line of reasoning was simple and acceptable.
This…this irrational guilt that’s making him feel ill is so far from acceptable Brendon doesn’t have words for it. Quitting the Guild was meant to be a consequence of his upward mobility, not because of some fleeting and unfulfilled romance.
Brendon rises silently from the bed, carefully lifting Gabe’s arm and lowering it again once he’s free. Gabe makes a face in his sleep, burrowing back into William’s embrace. Brendon can’t help a fond smile at the sight.
He borrows one of William’s dressing gowns. The sleeves are ridiculously long on him, but anything is better than his bloodstained pyjamas. He’d like to burn them, given the opportunity, or just jettison them out into space.
It’s early morning on the ship; no doubt Marshall and the others are asleep. Brendon curls up on the sofa in William’s lounge and wishes he had his music box. Most of his belongings from the Nevada are replaceable, but the box was a gift from the House Mistress at Madrassa.
She passed shortly after Brendon left for the Rim, and even if she hadn’t, Brendon is fairly certain she would not be pleased with the actions he plans on taking. Or with the fact that he has, apparently, developed inappropriate feelings for two men who aren’t even his clients.
Music has always helped sooth him, and he could use soothing now. The Reaver attack was frightening, and Brendon still can’t recall entirely what happened. His various trainings kicked in, and he ran on autopilot. He knows he should be more shaken up by the whole ordeal, but a small vicious voice in the back of his head is telling him it was better than he deserved. His family created those things.
There’s no doubt in Brendon’s mind that his father was involved in the creation of the Paxilon Hydroclorate, as well as in the cover up of what happened on Miranda. He only hopes that his siblings knew nothing of it.
Brendon wonders if perhaps it was this situation with their fathers that somehow drew him to Ryan. That maybe without knowing they saw something familiar within each other. But that doesn’t explain why Brendon feels equally drawn to Spencer.
Just thinking about it makes him angry, and the act of becoming angry only makes him angrier. He doesn’t allow himself to feel anger, but these two make him furious. He lied from necessity, just as they did, and he would expect understanding rather than condemnation, given that they are in a similar situation.
For over an hour, he stews in his feelings of anger and guilt and regret, and finally decides he’s had enough. It’s only just six in the morning, ship time, but he feels justified in interrupting their sleep, as they have interrupted his.
There’s no one in the halls, for which Brendon is thankful, when he belatedly realises he’s walking about in a robe. It’s unlike him not to pay attention to these things. Just another reason to be annoyed by Ryan and Spencer.
The room set aside for Ryan is empty and Brendon isn’t really surprised that Ryan is sleeping in Spencer’s room, but he is dismayed. He rings the chime to Spencer’s door twice before overriding the controls to open the door. If they are going to be hypocrites, he has no problem being self-righteous in turn.
The bed is empty and looks untouched, covers still tucked in place. Brendon frowns, ducking his head into the just as empty and unused bathroom. It’s possible they’ve moved to one of the other rooms.
Alex is sleeping fitfully in his room, when Brendon checks, but the room to his other side, set aside for Pete and Patrick, is empty. Heart beating quickly, Brendon dashes across the hall, overriding the controls to each of the rooms in the second suite.
He accesses the computer in the main lounge of the suite, stomach dropping as he reads through the reports of the evening. Seven hours ago, a shuttle was taken from the cargo bay to the Cobra. Brendon accesses the comm. to the bridge, asking about the Cobra, only to have his fears confirmed.
*
“They stole your ship,” Brendon says, standing over the bed.
Gabe gives him a bleary-eyed look before rolling over to bury his face in William’s hair. “Nah, they’ll be back. They do that shit all the time.”
“No,” Brendon says, impatient. “Spencer and Ryan. They took your ship. They’re all gone, and the Cobra is, according to long distant scans, heading at top speed for Persephone.”
Gabe rolls back over, giving him an uncomprehending look. William sits up, looking inexplicably smug for someone who’s just been woken and told his lover’s ship has been stolen. “You went to see them,” he says, and glances at his bedside table. “At six in the morning.” Brendon purses his lips, holding back on a retort.
“That little minx,” Gabe says, comprehension coming as he wakes up more fully. “She and I are going to have words.”
“I don’t know how that boy hopes to live long enough to reach the Core, let alone become Prime Minister,” William says around a yawn.
“You aren’t going to report him,” Brendon tells him, voice even.
“Tranquilo. No one’s reporting no one,” Gabe says. “Jesus, it’s too early. Can you come back to bed? Watching you be so awake is making my head hurt.”
At Brendon’s dark look, Gabe lets out a sigh, squeezing his eyes closed. “They’ll be fine.” William snorts and Gabe talks over him. “Ryland and Alex will make sure of it. They wouldn’t want to piss Vicky off.
Brendon leaves the room and goes to the Mess where the chef prepares him a bowl of sweet congee and honey glazed you tiao for dipping. The meal is delicious and reminds him of his home on Sihnon. He knows it should be comforting, but he inexplicably wishes for Jon’s overdone toast and cold egg product.
This ship is too large and too bright, and for all the numerous crewmembers, feels too empty.
*
Travelling on the Cobra is like being drunk and on hallucinogenic drugs twenty-four hours a day. Everyone is incredibly nice, if strange, and there’s always something interesting going on in one part of the ship or another. The cargo bay, for instance, has been turned into an old-fashioned cinema with velvet upholstered seats, where popcorn is served and where films from the past five hundred years are played constantly.
Under different circumstances, Ryan thinks he might enjoy it immensely, but right now he’s too anxious over what will happen when they reach Londinium to do anything but worry.
Spencer makes a round of the ship after lunch, just to check that everything is in order and that they’re on course. Despite their appearance, the crew of the Cobra is actually very good at their job, and he returns with two red cups of rum and a splash of coke.
“From Jon,” he says, passing one to Ryan. “He says he can hear you thinking halfway across the ship.”
Ryan smiles and sets his cup aside untouched. Spencer watches him with pursed lips and sets his own cup down. “You know everything’s going to be okay now?” he asks.
Ryan shrugs. “Even if we get there fine, I still have no idea what I’m doing.”
“That’s why you have Mikey. And Pete. And me.” Spencer leans over the bed, bracing his hands on the mattress at either side of Ryan’s hips and Ryan goes back on his elbows, looking up from under his lashes. “You need to stop worrying.”
“Yeah?” Ryan asks. It’s as though all the air’s been sucked from the room, and just like that, he isn’t worrying any more.
Spencer hums in agreement and puts a knee up on the bed, leaning down. Ryan arches up to meet his mouth. It’s nothing more than a tease, Spencer’s lips brushing his lightly before moving away to dust kisses over his cheek and jaw. “So I’ve got an idea.”
“Yeah?” Ryan asks again, and can’t stop his moan of anticipation when Spencer settles more firmly over him, pressing him into the mattress.
“Yeah,” Spencer says, and sucks Ryan’s earlobe between his teeth. “We don’t leave this room for the next seven days.”
“Yes, Spence.” Ryan struggles between them to get out of his shirt and Spencer sits back on his heels, unbuttoning his own shirt and shrugging it off.
It should seem sudden, after all the years they’ve waited, but now that they’ve
touched, Ryan doesn’t ever want to stop. When Spencer sinks down to him, skin against skin, Ryan can’t touch him enough, hands all over his back, around his neck, in his hair.
Spencer kisses like it’s breathing; it’s desperate, but it still feels tender, Spencer touching Ryan as though he’s something fragile. Ryan doesn’t like being handled like he could break, but the way Spencer does it makes him tremble and hold tighter.
“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Spencer whispers. His lips burn the skin of Ryan’s throat, teeth scraping gently and then with more pressure at the juncture of his shoulder and neck.
Ryan swallows hard, head falling back against the mattress. “Me too, Spence,” he pants, arching up in search of more skin against his. He laces his hand through Spencer’s hair, holding his mouth in place.
It’s almost too much-Ryan’s neck is sensitive and it feels like there’s a line straight from the place Spencer’s sucking to his cock, making it throb. He’s so hard already that it hurts and he needs Spencer to touch him.
Spencer’s always been good at knowing just what Ryan needs, even before Ryan does sometimes. This is no exception, his hand sliding down Ryan’s chest, fingers tickling over his stomach. He makes quick work of the fastenings of Ryan’s borrowed pants, easing his hand inside.
The first touch makes Ryan bite his lip against crying out. Spencer’s fist closes around him, stroking slowly. He brushes his mouth over Ryan’s, easing his lip from between his teeth. “No one can hear you but me,” Spencer murmurs, eyes flicking over Ryan’s face.
“Spencer,” he whines, thrusting his hips up, trying to make Spencer go faster.
Spencer grins and licks his lips. “How did I know you wouldn’t have any patience in bed?” he asks.
Ryan opens his mouth to protest and Spencer tightens his grip, jerking up roughly. Ryan’s mouth closes on a groan, lids fluttering shut. He reaches out blindly, head spinning, and digs his fingers into Spencer’s arms, holding on.
“A week,” Spencer says, voice lower than Ryan’s ever heard it. “A week to do to you all the things I’ve thought about lying in the dark alone in my bunk.”
“Things?” Ryan echoes. He’s already embarrassingly close.
Spencer’s breath stirs Ryan’s hair as he leans closer to his ear. His stroke quickens and his voice is urgent when he speaks, “I’ve thought about sucking you off.” He presses his thumb just under the head of Ryan’s cock, where it’s most sensitive and Ryan draws a sharp breath through his teeth.
“About you fucking me,” Spencer says, with a moan in his voice. Ryan’s cock jumps at the suggestion and Spencer’s fingers trace over the head, smearing the precome, making everything slicker and better.
“Me fucking you,” Spencer says. “First with my fingers, spreading you open, making you beg me to fuck you, and then lining up, pushing inside of you, and you’re so tight-”
Ryan’s orgasm shudders through him, mouth falling open on a wordless cry. Spencer strokes him through it, lips pressing against his temple. Ryan can feel his smile, and the way Spencer is hard, erection tucked against Ryan’s thigh.
“That was pretty hot,” Spencer says. He trails kisses down Ryan’s cheek and catches his mouth in quick, happy kiss.
Ryan smiles and strains his neck up for another, longer kiss. He’s boneless with pleasure, and tired, but he manages to reach between them, unbuttoning Spencer’s pants and tugging down the zipper. Spencer’s cock is hot and so hard in his hand, and every time Ryan’s ever thought about this, he’s been terrified by the possibility. He still is, heart fluttering wildly and mind racing, but it feels exhilarating.
Spencer’s head drops to rest against Ryan’s shoulder. He thrusts into Ryan’s fist, and Ryan can feel him trembling with the effort to hold back. His imaginings have always been vague, but hearing Spencer put it into words makes Ryan want it all the more. He can’t help but think of Spencer thrusting into him. Spencer’s arms quaver where he’s holding himself up and he sets his teeth against Ryan’s skin, biting down when he comes over Ryan’s hand. Ryan wants to see his face, and it hits him that he will. He can have this whenever he wants.
Ryan wraps his arms around Spencer’s back, pulls him down until Spencer rests against him, pinning him down to the bed. He feels so full and safe, trapped under Spencer’s solid weight, and somehow, nothing feels as though it has changed between them.
*
Over the past seven years, Spencer has travelled all throughout the Verse and visited almost every distant planet and moon. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed the Core until they pass Pelorum. Suddenly there are mass transports, taxis, and dozens upon dozens of private crafts zipping through space.
They touch down at Eavesdown Docks in mid-afternoon. It’s summer on the planet, dry and miserably hot in the slums. The crew of the Cobra part with them there, wishing them well, and Spencer is still slightly bemused by how easily they went along with having their ship absconded with, but they’ve more than proven themselves to him.
Mikey’s contact meets them in a dingy basement bar themed after a British pub. Bob Bryar is an intimidating looking guy, smart in his blue and grey uniform labelling him as a law enforcement official.
Not for the first time this week, Spencer thinks about what Brendon said, about having friends inside the Alliance. He thinks he could have been more sympathetic to Brendon about the whole thing.
“Minister Ross is having all vessels crossing the orbit of Santo searched for you two,” Bob tells them. “It’s all hush-hush, nothing official of course. But he’s got someone in the Privy feeding him intel, and they know that Mikey plans to present you at a special hearing of the Judicial Committee day after tomorrow.”
After all this time and the events of the past few weeks, it’s hard to believe this is finally happening, and so quickly.
Ryan was raised to be a politician and Spencer has no doubt he’ll be an excellent Prime Minister. Already he’s behaving differently, as if re-entering the Core has reminded him of who he is. His eyes are colder, posture straighter, and his face gives away nothing. He is polite to Bob and his crew, but distant.
The trip to Londinium is uneventful thanks to their cover. Bob keeps them locked in the Brig under false names, and no one looks twice at the prisoners on their way past Santo.
It’s a fourteen-hour trip and the others sleep most of the way. Ryan and Spencer stay awake, huddled together in a corner of their cell.
“I’m not sure they’ll like who I am, on Londinium,” Ryan says, looking at their sleeping crew. “I’m not sure I will. Who I was, before the war-I was spoiled and arrogant, and I wasn’t really that different from my father.”
“Hey,” Spencer says, shaking his knee. “You’re talking about my best friend.”
Ryan cracks a sad smile and lays his hand over Spencer’s. “Don’t leave me.”
“Yeah,” Spencer says, and leans over to kiss him. Ryan makes a soft sound against his mouth. “That’s never gonna happen.”
Ryan rests their foreheads together and takes a deep breath. “I know you’re angry at him-I mean, I am too-but I miss Brendon,” he whispers. “I know he lied about being a Companion, but I don’t think he was lying about the other stuff. About all his siblings, or the way he grew up, or how he felt about the Alliance. And you know, a lot of lords do give their youngest to the Guild for the reason he said.”
Spencer knows, and it still makes his stomach turn to think of Brendon, twelve-years-old and never having gotten into any mischief, being sent off to the training house.
If not for him, Spencer isn’t sure he and Ryan would be where they are now with one another. Ryan isn’t saying it, but Spencer knows what he’s thinking. Once things have settled down, it wouldn’t be too difficult to track Brendon down on Sihnon.
Spencer knows Companions are taught to entice their clients. He knows it’s possible that Brendon was just using their attraction towards him to keep them blind to his charade. But Spencer saw the honest fear in Brendon’s eyes that night in bed, like he was close to losing himself. Spencer’s never been one to believe in fate and he doesn’t trust easily, but something about Brendon felt familiar. It made Spencer want to know him. Even now he still does.
“I am angry,” Spencer says. “But I miss him too.”
*
The Way Manor was modelled after the Tudor-style Montacute House of Earth-That-Was, complete with stone animals and mullioned windows, and the statues of the Nine Worthies. It sits on several hundred acres of beautifully manicured and maintained gardens and forest.
Spencer’s family’s land abuts the Way land in the south, and when they were children, Ryan and Spencer liked to play in the woods. Oftentimes, Gerard would join them and tell them stories that were probably too old for them, but Gerard never discriminated against them for being so much younger than him.
Back then, the manor had been a welcome sight, a place where they could escape their parents. Now, walking through the great hall, Spencer is filled with a curious sensation of dread. It’s plain ridiculous given all that he’s seen and experienced in the past seven years, but this moment feels like the turning point he’s been waiting for his entire life.
The rest of the crew is shown to their rooms and Spencer and Ryan are led to Mikey’s home office. Mikey’s mouth quirks up at one side when he sees them, and he rises to give them both quick, perfunctory hugs. “Glad you made it,” he says, like they’ve come for afternoon tea rather than crossing half the system to stage a coup.
“Your father hasn’t learned of your arrival, yet,” Mikey tells Ryan, cutting straight to business. “Apparently some Magistrate’s vessel reported a Reaver attack on a trading ship outside of station five, which, according to General Valdés of the Regan, was the last place you were known to be alive. I think the Minister is taking it as some sort of divine intervention on his behalf. But as soon as I present you to the Judicial Committee, he’s going to know.
“After speaking to you, the Committee is going to go into deliberation. The House of Commons has already moved for impeachment, but it’s up to the Lords, now. Gee, Frank, and Ray are working on securing the necessary votes, but there are a number of peers in the Minister’s pocket, and quite a few others who are afraid of what will happen if they vote against him and he isn’t impeached.”
Ryan nods, all cool, easy confidence. This is the Ryan that Spencer knew would come out to play, even when Ryan doubted himself. “The Lords will convict him,” he says, as though the vote has already been passed.
Mikey looks as pleased as he ever does with his mouth set in a straight line. “There are going to be a lot of questions about where you’ve been, and your participation in the war, on the side of the Independents.”
“Yes. And if Parliament wishes to avoid another war, I’m certain they’ll see the appeal of having a Prime Minister with whom all the angry Independents can identify,” Ryan says. “You don’t need to test me, Mikey. I’m ready.”
“I know,” Mikey says. “I wouldn’t be risking everything on you if I didn’t believe you could do it.”
*
Frank and Gerard’s penthouse on Sihnon overlooks an ocean of lights in the Great City. The sight is unlike any other Brendon has had the privilege of viewing, in all the Verse. A part of him would like to remain here, sipping tea on the balcony, removed from the bustle below.
Through Mikey, Brendon has learned of Spencer and Ryan’s safe arrival on Londinium, which allows him to sigh in relief. Still, there are many steps between now and Ryan’s appointment as Prime Minister, and it’s partially up to Brendon to ensure that everything goes smoothly.
Since arriving on Sihnon, Brendon has been inundated with requests for his company, invitations to grand parties, and offers for a role as Personal Companion. It’s as if he hasn’t been gone any time at all, let alone two whole years.
“You’re going to have to see them,” Gerard tells him gently, when Frank is busy distracting Alex in the game room.
“It’s no problem,” Brendon says dismissively. “I have other concerns to deal with, first.”
“Brendon,” Gerard says, with a fond look, “you aren’t fooling me. Two weeks ago you were eager about your return to Sihnon, and to companioning.”
“And I still am,” Brendon persists. “Only I have to deal with things at the company, first.”
“Well, I’ve spoken to Ray and to Mikey. They and Frank have transferred ownership to you. The transaction will be finalised in the morning. You’ve taken care of the others?”
“Lady Palmer and Baroness Ivarsson have transferred their shares as well, and Eric has been purchasing small amounts under various aliases.” Brendon should be pleased by this turn of events-he is, in fact, though distantly. Most of his thoughts are occupied with what Ryan is doing to prepare for his own appearance tomorrow, before the Privy.
“Honestly, Brendon, you must know that I wouldn’t judge you for falling in love,” Gerard says.
“Lo-who-what do you mean, falling in love?” Brendon sputters, standing and pacing to the edge of the balcony, staring, unseeing, at the sunset.
Gerard laughs his endearingly ridiculous laugh. “And everyone at the house thought my affair with Frank was so scandalous. What will they say when they learn you’ve fallen for some smuggler.”
“Don’t go spinning ridiculous yarns about me, Gerard Way,” Brendon warns. “I’ve not fallen in love with anyone. Least of all some smuggler.”
Brendon doesn’t like the knowing smirk on Gerard’s face. Even more, he doesn’t like the way he wonders what Ryan and Spencer are doing at this moment, mid-morning in London City.
*
Ryan doesn’t sleep for the two nights between their arrival and his presentation at Parliament. He spends every moment studying the court documents from his father’s hearing and working on his own speech.
Spencer tries to be supportive in the ways he knows how. He’s never had a head for politics, much to Jack’s dismay. Rather than attempting to keep up with what’s going on, he keeps everyone out of Ryan’s hair and makes sure he eats a couple of times a day, for which Ryan is stupidly grateful.
In the end, Ryan knows that the decision will have less to do with him than with all the bribery and behind-the-scenes machinations on Gerard’s part. No matter how much he prepares for this meeting, he can’t control the outcome.
It’s early morning on Monday when he finally gives up and goes to Spencer’s bedroom, climbing between the sheets. He’s done this a million times in search of comfort, but never before has Spencer searched out his mouth for a sleep-laced kiss.
Ryan tries to will his muscles to relax, but they only keep tensing back again. Spencer’s hand soothes up his arm, digging into his shoulder. “I’ve heard blow jobs do wonders for releasing tension,” he mutters sleepily.
It shocks a laugh out of Ryan. “I just might take you up on that, after,” he says. “Spence. I love you.”
“Love you too,” Spencer says immediately, like he always does, and things haven’t changed, except for how they have. Then Spencer draws him in for another, longer kiss, and Ryan’s heart is beating fast when they part. Spencer opens his eyes and he looks surprisingly alert and knowing.
“Good,” Ryan says, and nods. He kisses Spencer again, whispering good against his lips.
He still doesn’t sleep, but he’d much rather be awake in bed with Spencer spooned up behind him, breath puffing on Ryan’s shoulder with every exhalation than alone in the study, accomplishing nothing except the formation of an ulcer.
It is a suitably grey, rainy morning in London City when Mikey takes them to the Halls of Parliament. Ryan feels like an impostor stepping into the building, aware of the gazes falling on him, the whispers of the Peers. His stomach knots and sours, and he’s glad he had nothing other than tea for breakfast; he isn’t sure he could keep anything else down. Though Gerard had his tailor from Sihnon come to make Ryan’s suit, Ryan can’t help but feel like a little boy dressing in his father’s clothes.
Thinking of Gerard and Sihnon makes Ryan think of Brendon, which does nothing to settle his nerves for the meeting. No doubt Brendon would be much better at this sort of thing, with his charisma and skills at manipulation.
The waiting room off the main chamber of the Judicial Committee is overly ornate and the chairs are stiff and uncomfortable. Ryan can’t stay still anyway. His palms are sweaty, which he’s always before thought wasn’t something that actually happened to people.
Spencer catches him by the wrist as he paces and tugs him close. Mikey, thankfully, pays them no mind. Spencer keeps a hold on him until a knock comes at the door, and Mikey looks pointedly at Ryan.
For a moment, he’s paralysed and dumb, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Then Spencer shakes his hand until Ryan looks him in the eye. “Hey,” Spencer says, and Ryan knows he means I love you.
Ryan swallows and nods decisively. Straightening his back and squaring his shoulders, he follows Mikey into the chamber.
*
It’s been almost twenty minutes since Ryan went before the Privy that the door from the hall opens to admit George Ross. Spencer sits up straight in his seat, forcing his face into a blank mask.
“Spencer,” George greets, his smile sharp and dangerous and reminiscent of Ryan’s when he’s angry. He doesn’t look any different from how Spencer remembers him from seven years ago.
“Prime Minister,” Spencer says, and nods his head. “For now.”
George doesn’t look impressed. “You think my son can take me on? This isn’t the two of you running off to play at being soldiers,” he spits.
“Yeah, because the war was so much fun. All the killing and watching your friends sick and wounded and dying, and practically starving on the Border worlds in the middle of winter.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before dragging my son into it,” George says.
Spencer can’t help the burst of laughter that startles from him. “If either of us drove him off to enlist, it wasn’t me,” he says, with honest amusement. “Though I will never be sorry for fighting for what I believed in, and neither will Ryan.”
George purses his lips and turns his back on Spencer, hands clasped behind his back. “You know, I think I envy your father. He didn’t have to live to see the day when his son returned to help destroy what he built.”
“The difference between my father and you is that he loved his son, no matter their differences,” Spencer says scornfully. “He might not have agreed with what I’d done, but he never would have sunk so low as to send assassins after me.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” George tells him pleasantly.
Spencer rolls his eyes. “And as for what you’ve built…I’m not sure that an empire that causes the death of thirty million of its citizens and covers the whole thing up without so much as blinking an eye is something to be proud of. Ryan couldn’t do more damage if he tried.”
“You shouldn’t talk about things you don’t understand,” George snaps, spinning on him. Spencer knows the look on his face, the one that scared Ryan as a child, made him come running to the Smith house. It doesn’t inspire nearly the same fear as it once did.
“I understand it perfectly,” Spencer says, rising. “You’re the same out there as you are with your private life-always having to control everyone, shape them into the docile puppets you want them to be, first by starting the war and then with Miranda. Just like you did raising Ryan. Only he saw you for what you are, and now so is everyone else in the Verse, and they’re going to turn against you like he did.”
George takes a step towards him, eyes narrowed. “I would watch your tone around me. I’m not out of office yet, boy.”
“You will be, soon enough.” They both turn to see Ryan in the doorway. Ryan steps between Spencer and his father. Mikey takes one look at them all and ducks into the hallway.
“And not just out of office,” Ryan continues. “You’re going to go to prison, and consider yourself lucky.”
“You’re as naïve as your friend,” George says. “You haven’t changed at all, have you? Still the same pathetic little boy who ran off and joined the war to get back at me for not showing you enough affection.”
“I am what you have made me, father,” Ryan says serenely. “And you raised me to be your successor.”
“Do you think you convinced them of anything in there? They’ve all had their minds made up from the moment the broadcast hit the Cortex and it isn’t going to be changed by any impassioned speech by an idealistic child.”
Ryan arches a brow at Spencer that makes some of the tension leave his shoulders. “Interesting, then, that you tried to have me killed,” Ryan remarks.
George looks back and forth between the two of them. “Such strange notions the two of you have. Too bad they have no basis in reality. Anyway, it hardly matters. When the votes are passed, you have no hope for a supermajority, and once this has all blown over, no one will care what the two of you have to say.”
“We’ll see,” Ryan says agreeably. He tosses a look at Spencer that says let’s get out of here, and Spencer agrees emphatically, grabbing his jacket from the chair and following him to the door without so much as a backwards glance.
Ryan pauses with his hand on the doorknob and turns to look over his shoulder. “Oh, and Dad, by the way? Go fuck yourself.”
They don’t wait to hear his response, Ryan closing the door silently behind them. As soon as George is out of sight, Ryan’s face changes from cool composure to panic bordering on terror. Mikey gives them a questioning look and Spencer just shakes his head, hooking his arm through Ryan’s and leading him down the hall.
“Mikey,” Ryan says, with a slight tremor in his determined tone. “We really have to win this.”
Next
The Cobra is just as garishly decorated on the inside as on the outside, but at least it’s darker, so Spencer can’t quite make out all the horrid details. The halls are mostly black, lined in purple and pink lights that make his fingernails glow.
“This is seriously creepy,” Ryan whispers.
“You were part of the crew here?” Pete asks, voice full of awe.
“We’re going to get caught before we even get anywhere,” Patrick mutters.
There is no rhyme or reason to the design of the ship. Spencer’s been inside hornet class ships before, but this one looks like it’s been gutted and entirely redone. There are random nooks and crannies filled with odds and ends that look like they belong in some Earth-That-Was museum.
Dance music is coming from somewhere-or maybe from everywhere. It sounds like the music Vicky listens to, and suddenly her whole dance party thing makes a lot more sense.
When they stumble onto the bridge, it isn’t at all what Spencer expects, like something from a science fiction movie from hundreds of years ago, before humans knew space travel was possible-lots of exposed wires and bulkheads, tubes of neon light framing the view screen, hundreds upon hundreds of switches, buttons, and gears that can’t possibly all have purposes.
The comm. station has been replaced by a dj’s table where a slender, Sihnon male is mixing. There are far more people on the bridge than could ever be necessary-men and women of various ages and in radically different dress-all dancing like Vicky taught the Nevada to.
“Victoria!” An exceedingly tall, slender man in a grey uniform sweeps her in a hug. Spencer’s surprised to see that she doesn’t resist or break something vital of his. Instead, she hugs him back just as tightly, eyes closing, lips curling in a grin.
“Ryland,” she says, when she parts, still smiling widely. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Where have you been? Where did you come from?” Ryland asks, blinking and looking around them. He spots Spencer and the others and gives them a blankly pleasant nod of greeting.
“There was a Reaver attack and a distress signal…” Vicky trails off when it’s obvious none of this is ringing any bells for Ryland. “You know what, it doesn’t really matter. This is my crew.” She introduces them and Ryland shakes their hands, effusively kind. “We’re gonna borrow the ship.”
Ryland’s brow furrows. “Gabe’s okay with that?”
“Gabe doesn’t need to know about that,” Vicky says, with just enough threat in her voice to make the hair on Spencer’s neck stand on end.
Ryland holds his hands out in front of his chest. “Good enough for me. Nate, baby, we’re going for a spin.”
The man in the pilot’s seat spins around. “When did you get here?” he asks Vicky. He has a red plastic cup in his hand and a sleepy smile on his face.
“Okay, Nate, get out of the seat,” Vicky says. Nate obliges her cheerfully, wandering off into the party. “Patrick, you’re up.”
Patrick looks at the helm, shaking his head. “I don’t-what did they do to this ship?”
Vicky leans over his shoulder, bringing up an interactive screen. “Lay in the course here, by touch. Nav-sat readings are here.” She taps a few buttons and there’s a scrolling list of posts on the right side of the screen. “I’ll have Tony keep an eye on it tonight, so you can get some rest.”
Patrick nods, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he settles into the seat. It won’t take him long to grow accustomed to the new system. That’s part of why Spencer chose him-Patrick’s adaptable, and a born flyer.
He sets the course and selects a medium speed. They don’t want to attract any undue attention, so until they have some distance between them and Beckett’s ship, they can’t seem like they’re in any hurry. Patrick hesitates before engaging the course. Spencer knows he feels bad about Marshall, but what Vicky said about someone on the crew recognising Ryan has filled him with a quiet urgency.
Pete leans over, squeezing his shoulder gently and leaning over to whisper, “Come on, Trick.” Patrick curses under his breath and engages.
For a moment, they’re all holding their breath, waiting for Beckett’s ship to react. But the seconds tick by and turn into minutes, and there’s not so much as a questioning hail.
“Told you,” Vicky says smugly. “It’s almost too easy.”
When Spencer is satisfied that things are taken care of on the bridge, and after they’ve been introduced to Tony, who seems at least marginally sober, and who will being keeping an eye on their course, Vicky leads them off to the guest quarters.
“Who were all those people?” Jon asks in wonder, when they’re in the much quieter hallway.
“Mostly love bots,” Vicky says. “Gabe likes to liberate them.”
Jon looks to Spencer as if he can somehow make sense of things. Spencer can only shrug helplessly in answer.
The quarters on the Cobra are much less lavish than those on Beckett’s ship, but Spencer prefers it this way, even if he could do without the leopard print sheets and orange shag rug in his room.
Once the door is closed behind Vicky, Spencer tumbles onto the bunk, not even bothering to turn down the sheets. It’s only five minutes before Ryan enters and Spencer’s already almost asleep. He manages to roll onto his side and lift an arm for Ryan to crawl beneath.
“Spence,” Ryan murmurs, lips brushing Spencer’s throat as he speaks.
“Hmm?”
Ryan sighs, and even in the dark, with his eyes closed, Spencer can see the sad expression that comes with it. “I don’t want to miss him,” he says. Spencer doesn’t know what to say, so he just holds on tighter.
*
William’s bed is the most comfortable Brendon has slept on since he left the Core, and lying with Gabe pressed warm and solid against his back is nice. The sex was very enjoyable and relaxing, and if Brendon thought of someone other than Gabe and William, well, he would not have been the first Companion to do so.
He is very tired and his muscles are loose, and yet sleep will not come to him. Beyond the window, the black of space is empty and unchanging, and it does not help distract Brendon’s mind from unpleasant thoughts. The thought, for example, that he cannot keep doing this.
When Brendon made the choice to return to Sihnon and fix the situation at Blue Sun, he had known that he would have to resign from the Guild. Then, it was about priorities and practicalities. That line of reasoning was simple and acceptable.
This…this irrational guilt that’s making him feel ill is so far from acceptable Brendon doesn’t have words for it. Quitting the Guild was meant to be a consequence of his upward mobility, not because of some fleeting and unfulfilled romance.
Brendon rises silently from the bed, carefully lifting Gabe’s arm and lowering it again once he’s free. Gabe makes a face in his sleep, burrowing back into William’s embrace. Brendon can’t help a fond smile at the sight.
He borrows one of William’s dressing gowns. The sleeves are ridiculously long on him, but anything is better than his bloodstained pyjamas. He’d like to burn them, given the opportunity, or just jettison them out into space.
It’s early morning on the ship; no doubt Marshall and the others are asleep. Brendon curls up on the sofa in William’s lounge and wishes he had his music box. Most of his belongings from the Nevada are replaceable, but the box was a gift from the House Mistress at Madrassa.
She passed shortly after Brendon left for the Rim, and even if she hadn’t, Brendon is fairly certain she would not be pleased with the actions he plans on taking. Or with the fact that he has, apparently, developed inappropriate feelings for two men who aren’t even his clients.
Music has always helped sooth him, and he could use soothing now. The Reaver attack was frightening, and Brendon still can’t recall entirely what happened. His various trainings kicked in, and he ran on autopilot. He knows he should be more shaken up by the whole ordeal, but a small vicious voice in the back of his head is telling him it was better than he deserved. His family created those things.
There’s no doubt in Brendon’s mind that his father was involved in the creation of the Paxilon Hydroclorate, as well as in the cover up of what happened on Miranda. He only hopes that his siblings knew nothing of it.
Brendon wonders if perhaps it was this situation with their fathers that somehow drew him to Ryan. That maybe without knowing they saw something familiar within each other. But that doesn’t explain why Brendon feels equally drawn to Spencer.
Just thinking about it makes him angry, and the act of becoming angry only makes him angrier. He doesn’t allow himself to feel anger, but these two make him furious. He lied from necessity, just as they did, and he would expect understanding rather than condemnation, given that they are in a similar situation.
For over an hour, he stews in his feelings of anger and guilt and regret, and finally decides he’s had enough. It’s only just six in the morning, ship time, but he feels justified in interrupting their sleep, as they have interrupted his.
There’s no one in the halls, for which Brendon is thankful, when he belatedly realises he’s walking about in a robe. It’s unlike him not to pay attention to these things. Just another reason to be annoyed by Ryan and Spencer.
The room set aside for Ryan is empty and Brendon isn’t really surprised that Ryan is sleeping in Spencer’s room, but he is dismayed. He rings the chime to Spencer’s door twice before overriding the controls to open the door. If they are going to be hypocrites, he has no problem being self-righteous in turn.
The bed is empty and looks untouched, covers still tucked in place. Brendon frowns, ducking his head into the just as empty and unused bathroom. It’s possible they’ve moved to one of the other rooms.
Alex is sleeping fitfully in his room, when Brendon checks, but the room to his other side, set aside for Pete and Patrick, is empty. Heart beating quickly, Brendon dashes across the hall, overriding the controls to each of the rooms in the second suite.
He accesses the computer in the main lounge of the suite, stomach dropping as he reads through the reports of the evening. Seven hours ago, a shuttle was taken from the cargo bay to the Cobra. Brendon accesses the comm. to the bridge, asking about the Cobra, only to have his fears confirmed.
*
“They stole your ship,” Brendon says, standing over the bed.
Gabe gives him a bleary-eyed look before rolling over to bury his face in William’s hair. “Nah, they’ll be back. They do that shit all the time.”
“No,” Brendon says, impatient. “Spencer and Ryan. They took your ship. They’re all gone, and the Cobra is, according to long distant scans, heading at top speed for Persephone.”
Gabe rolls back over, giving him an uncomprehending look. William sits up, looking inexplicably smug for someone who’s just been woken and told his lover’s ship has been stolen. “You went to see them,” he says, and glances at his bedside table. “At six in the morning.” Brendon purses his lips, holding back on a retort.
“That little minx,” Gabe says, comprehension coming as he wakes up more fully. “She and I are going to have words.”
“I don’t know how that boy hopes to live long enough to reach the Core, let alone become Prime Minister,” William says around a yawn.
“You aren’t going to report him,” Brendon tells him, voice even.
“Tranquilo. No one’s reporting no one,” Gabe says. “Jesus, it’s too early. Can you come back to bed? Watching you be so awake is making my head hurt.”
At Brendon’s dark look, Gabe lets out a sigh, squeezing his eyes closed. “They’ll be fine.” William snorts and Gabe talks over him. “Ryland and Alex will make sure of it. They wouldn’t want to piss Vicky off.
Brendon leaves the room and goes to the Mess where the chef prepares him a bowl of sweet congee and honey glazed you tiao for dipping. The meal is delicious and reminds him of his home on Sihnon. He knows it should be comforting, but he inexplicably wishes for Jon’s overdone toast and cold egg product.
This ship is too large and too bright, and for all the numerous crewmembers, feels too empty.
*
Travelling on the Cobra is like being drunk and on hallucinogenic drugs twenty-four hours a day. Everyone is incredibly nice, if strange, and there’s always something interesting going on in one part of the ship or another. The cargo bay, for instance, has been turned into an old-fashioned cinema with velvet upholstered seats, where popcorn is served and where films from the past five hundred years are played constantly.
Under different circumstances, Ryan thinks he might enjoy it immensely, but right now he’s too anxious over what will happen when they reach Londinium to do anything but worry.
Spencer makes a round of the ship after lunch, just to check that everything is in order and that they’re on course. Despite their appearance, the crew of the Cobra is actually very good at their job, and he returns with two red cups of rum and a splash of coke.
“From Jon,” he says, passing one to Ryan. “He says he can hear you thinking halfway across the ship.”
Ryan smiles and sets his cup aside untouched. Spencer watches him with pursed lips and sets his own cup down. “You know everything’s going to be okay now?” he asks.
Ryan shrugs. “Even if we get there fine, I still have no idea what I’m doing.”
“That’s why you have Mikey. And Pete. And me.” Spencer leans over the bed, bracing his hands on the mattress at either side of Ryan’s hips and Ryan goes back on his elbows, looking up from under his lashes. “You need to stop worrying.”
“Yeah?” Ryan asks. It’s as though all the air’s been sucked from the room, and just like that, he isn’t worrying any more.
Spencer hums in agreement and puts a knee up on the bed, leaning down. Ryan arches up to meet his mouth. It’s nothing more than a tease, Spencer’s lips brushing his lightly before moving away to dust kisses over his cheek and jaw. “So I’ve got an idea.”
“Yeah?” Ryan asks again, and can’t stop his moan of anticipation when Spencer settles more firmly over him, pressing him into the mattress.
“Yeah,” Spencer says, and sucks Ryan’s earlobe between his teeth. “We don’t leave this room for the next seven days.”
“Yes, Spence.” Ryan struggles between them to get out of his shirt and Spencer sits back on his heels, unbuttoning his own shirt and shrugging it off.
It should seem sudden, after all the years they’ve waited, but now that they’ve
touched, Ryan doesn’t ever want to stop. When Spencer sinks down to him, skin against skin, Ryan can’t touch him enough, hands all over his back, around his neck, in his hair.
Spencer kisses like it’s breathing; it’s desperate, but it still feels tender, Spencer touching Ryan as though he’s something fragile. Ryan doesn’t like being handled like he could break, but the way Spencer does it makes him tremble and hold tighter.
“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Spencer whispers. His lips burn the skin of Ryan’s throat, teeth scraping gently and then with more pressure at the juncture of his shoulder and neck.
Ryan swallows hard, head falling back against the mattress. “Me too, Spence,” he pants, arching up in search of more skin against his. He laces his hand through Spencer’s hair, holding his mouth in place.
It’s almost too much-Ryan’s neck is sensitive and it feels like there’s a line straight from the place Spencer’s sucking to his cock, making it throb. He’s so hard already that it hurts and he needs Spencer to touch him.
Spencer’s always been good at knowing just what Ryan needs, even before Ryan does sometimes. This is no exception, his hand sliding down Ryan’s chest, fingers tickling over his stomach. He makes quick work of the fastenings of Ryan’s borrowed pants, easing his hand inside.
The first touch makes Ryan bite his lip against crying out. Spencer’s fist closes around him, stroking slowly. He brushes his mouth over Ryan’s, easing his lip from between his teeth. “No one can hear you but me,” Spencer murmurs, eyes flicking over Ryan’s face.
“Spencer,” he whines, thrusting his hips up, trying to make Spencer go faster.
Spencer grins and licks his lips. “How did I know you wouldn’t have any patience in bed?” he asks.
Ryan opens his mouth to protest and Spencer tightens his grip, jerking up roughly. Ryan’s mouth closes on a groan, lids fluttering shut. He reaches out blindly, head spinning, and digs his fingers into Spencer’s arms, holding on.
“A week,” Spencer says, voice lower than Ryan’s ever heard it. “A week to do to you all the things I’ve thought about lying in the dark alone in my bunk.”
“Things?” Ryan echoes. He’s already embarrassingly close.
Spencer’s breath stirs Ryan’s hair as he leans closer to his ear. His stroke quickens and his voice is urgent when he speaks, “I’ve thought about sucking you off.” He presses his thumb just under the head of Ryan’s cock, where it’s most sensitive and Ryan draws a sharp breath through his teeth.
“About you fucking me,” Spencer says, with a moan in his voice. Ryan’s cock jumps at the suggestion and Spencer’s fingers trace over the head, smearing the precome, making everything slicker and better.
“Me fucking you,” Spencer says. “First with my fingers, spreading you open, making you beg me to fuck you, and then lining up, pushing inside of you, and you’re so tight-”
Ryan’s orgasm shudders through him, mouth falling open on a wordless cry. Spencer strokes him through it, lips pressing against his temple. Ryan can feel his smile, and the way Spencer is hard, erection tucked against Ryan’s thigh.
“That was pretty hot,” Spencer says. He trails kisses down Ryan’s cheek and catches his mouth in quick, happy kiss.
Ryan smiles and strains his neck up for another, longer kiss. He’s boneless with pleasure, and tired, but he manages to reach between them, unbuttoning Spencer’s pants and tugging down the zipper. Spencer’s cock is hot and so hard in his hand, and every time Ryan’s ever thought about this, he’s been terrified by the possibility. He still is, heart fluttering wildly and mind racing, but it feels exhilarating.
Spencer’s head drops to rest against Ryan’s shoulder. He thrusts into Ryan’s fist, and Ryan can feel him trembling with the effort to hold back. His imaginings have always been vague, but hearing Spencer put it into words makes Ryan want it all the more. He can’t help but think of Spencer thrusting into him. Spencer’s arms quaver where he’s holding himself up and he sets his teeth against Ryan’s skin, biting down when he comes over Ryan’s hand. Ryan wants to see his face, and it hits him that he will. He can have this whenever he wants.
Ryan wraps his arms around Spencer’s back, pulls him down until Spencer rests against him, pinning him down to the bed. He feels so full and safe, trapped under Spencer’s solid weight, and somehow, nothing feels as though it has changed between them.
*
Over the past seven years, Spencer has travelled all throughout the Verse and visited almost every distant planet and moon. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed the Core until they pass Pelorum. Suddenly there are mass transports, taxis, and dozens upon dozens of private crafts zipping through space.
They touch down at Eavesdown Docks in mid-afternoon. It’s summer on the planet, dry and miserably hot in the slums. The crew of the Cobra part with them there, wishing them well, and Spencer is still slightly bemused by how easily they went along with having their ship absconded with, but they’ve more than proven themselves to him.
Mikey’s contact meets them in a dingy basement bar themed after a British pub. Bob Bryar is an intimidating looking guy, smart in his blue and grey uniform labelling him as a law enforcement official.
Not for the first time this week, Spencer thinks about what Brendon said, about having friends inside the Alliance. He thinks he could have been more sympathetic to Brendon about the whole thing.
“Minister Ross is having all vessels crossing the orbit of Santo searched for you two,” Bob tells them. “It’s all hush-hush, nothing official of course. But he’s got someone in the Privy feeding him intel, and they know that Mikey plans to present you at a special hearing of the Judicial Committee day after tomorrow.”
After all this time and the events of the past few weeks, it’s hard to believe this is finally happening, and so quickly.
Ryan was raised to be a politician and Spencer has no doubt he’ll be an excellent Prime Minister. Already he’s behaving differently, as if re-entering the Core has reminded him of who he is. His eyes are colder, posture straighter, and his face gives away nothing. He is polite to Bob and his crew, but distant.
The trip to Londinium is uneventful thanks to their cover. Bob keeps them locked in the Brig under false names, and no one looks twice at the prisoners on their way past Santo.
It’s a fourteen-hour trip and the others sleep most of the way. Ryan and Spencer stay awake, huddled together in a corner of their cell.
“I’m not sure they’ll like who I am, on Londinium,” Ryan says, looking at their sleeping crew. “I’m not sure I will. Who I was, before the war-I was spoiled and arrogant, and I wasn’t really that different from my father.”
“Hey,” Spencer says, shaking his knee. “You’re talking about my best friend.”
Ryan cracks a sad smile and lays his hand over Spencer’s. “Don’t leave me.”
“Yeah,” Spencer says, and leans over to kiss him. Ryan makes a soft sound against his mouth. “That’s never gonna happen.”
Ryan rests their foreheads together and takes a deep breath. “I know you’re angry at him-I mean, I am too-but I miss Brendon,” he whispers. “I know he lied about being a Companion, but I don’t think he was lying about the other stuff. About all his siblings, or the way he grew up, or how he felt about the Alliance. And you know, a lot of lords do give their youngest to the Guild for the reason he said.”
Spencer knows, and it still makes his stomach turn to think of Brendon, twelve-years-old and never having gotten into any mischief, being sent off to the training house.
If not for him, Spencer isn’t sure he and Ryan would be where they are now with one another. Ryan isn’t saying it, but Spencer knows what he’s thinking. Once things have settled down, it wouldn’t be too difficult to track Brendon down on Sihnon.
Spencer knows Companions are taught to entice their clients. He knows it’s possible that Brendon was just using their attraction towards him to keep them blind to his charade. But Spencer saw the honest fear in Brendon’s eyes that night in bed, like he was close to losing himself. Spencer’s never been one to believe in fate and he doesn’t trust easily, but something about Brendon felt familiar. It made Spencer want to know him. Even now he still does.
“I am angry,” Spencer says. “But I miss him too.”
*
The Way Manor was modelled after the Tudor-style Montacute House of Earth-That-Was, complete with stone animals and mullioned windows, and the statues of the Nine Worthies. It sits on several hundred acres of beautifully manicured and maintained gardens and forest.
Spencer’s family’s land abuts the Way land in the south, and when they were children, Ryan and Spencer liked to play in the woods. Oftentimes, Gerard would join them and tell them stories that were probably too old for them, but Gerard never discriminated against them for being so much younger than him.
Back then, the manor had been a welcome sight, a place where they could escape their parents. Now, walking through the great hall, Spencer is filled with a curious sensation of dread. It’s plain ridiculous given all that he’s seen and experienced in the past seven years, but this moment feels like the turning point he’s been waiting for his entire life.
The rest of the crew is shown to their rooms and Spencer and Ryan are led to Mikey’s home office. Mikey’s mouth quirks up at one side when he sees them, and he rises to give them both quick, perfunctory hugs. “Glad you made it,” he says, like they’ve come for afternoon tea rather than crossing half the system to stage a coup.
“Your father hasn’t learned of your arrival, yet,” Mikey tells Ryan, cutting straight to business. “Apparently some Magistrate’s vessel reported a Reaver attack on a trading ship outside of station five, which, according to General Valdés of the Regan, was the last place you were known to be alive. I think the Minister is taking it as some sort of divine intervention on his behalf. But as soon as I present you to the Judicial Committee, he’s going to know.
“After speaking to you, the Committee is going to go into deliberation. The House of Commons has already moved for impeachment, but it’s up to the Lords, now. Gee, Frank, and Ray are working on securing the necessary votes, but there are a number of peers in the Minister’s pocket, and quite a few others who are afraid of what will happen if they vote against him and he isn’t impeached.”
Ryan nods, all cool, easy confidence. This is the Ryan that Spencer knew would come out to play, even when Ryan doubted himself. “The Lords will convict him,” he says, as though the vote has already been passed.
Mikey looks as pleased as he ever does with his mouth set in a straight line. “There are going to be a lot of questions about where you’ve been, and your participation in the war, on the side of the Independents.”
“Yes. And if Parliament wishes to avoid another war, I’m certain they’ll see the appeal of having a Prime Minister with whom all the angry Independents can identify,” Ryan says. “You don’t need to test me, Mikey. I’m ready.”
“I know,” Mikey says. “I wouldn’t be risking everything on you if I didn’t believe you could do it.”
*
Frank and Gerard’s penthouse on Sihnon overlooks an ocean of lights in the Great City. The sight is unlike any other Brendon has had the privilege of viewing, in all the Verse. A part of him would like to remain here, sipping tea on the balcony, removed from the bustle below.
Through Mikey, Brendon has learned of Spencer and Ryan’s safe arrival on Londinium, which allows him to sigh in relief. Still, there are many steps between now and Ryan’s appointment as Prime Minister, and it’s partially up to Brendon to ensure that everything goes smoothly.
Since arriving on Sihnon, Brendon has been inundated with requests for his company, invitations to grand parties, and offers for a role as Personal Companion. It’s as if he hasn’t been gone any time at all, let alone two whole years.
“You’re going to have to see them,” Gerard tells him gently, when Frank is busy distracting Alex in the game room.
“It’s no problem,” Brendon says dismissively. “I have other concerns to deal with, first.”
“Brendon,” Gerard says, with a fond look, “you aren’t fooling me. Two weeks ago you were eager about your return to Sihnon, and to companioning.”
“And I still am,” Brendon persists. “Only I have to deal with things at the company, first.”
“Well, I’ve spoken to Ray and to Mikey. They and Frank have transferred ownership to you. The transaction will be finalised in the morning. You’ve taken care of the others?”
“Lady Palmer and Baroness Ivarsson have transferred their shares as well, and Eric has been purchasing small amounts under various aliases.” Brendon should be pleased by this turn of events-he is, in fact, though distantly. Most of his thoughts are occupied with what Ryan is doing to prepare for his own appearance tomorrow, before the Privy.
“Honestly, Brendon, you must know that I wouldn’t judge you for falling in love,” Gerard says.
“Lo-who-what do you mean, falling in love?” Brendon sputters, standing and pacing to the edge of the balcony, staring, unseeing, at the sunset.
Gerard laughs his endearingly ridiculous laugh. “And everyone at the house thought my affair with Frank was so scandalous. What will they say when they learn you’ve fallen for some smuggler.”
“Don’t go spinning ridiculous yarns about me, Gerard Way,” Brendon warns. “I’ve not fallen in love with anyone. Least of all some smuggler.”
Brendon doesn’t like the knowing smirk on Gerard’s face. Even more, he doesn’t like the way he wonders what Ryan and Spencer are doing at this moment, mid-morning in London City.
*
Ryan doesn’t sleep for the two nights between their arrival and his presentation at Parliament. He spends every moment studying the court documents from his father’s hearing and working on his own speech.
Spencer tries to be supportive in the ways he knows how. He’s never had a head for politics, much to Jack’s dismay. Rather than attempting to keep up with what’s going on, he keeps everyone out of Ryan’s hair and makes sure he eats a couple of times a day, for which Ryan is stupidly grateful.
In the end, Ryan knows that the decision will have less to do with him than with all the bribery and behind-the-scenes machinations on Gerard’s part. No matter how much he prepares for this meeting, he can’t control the outcome.
It’s early morning on Monday when he finally gives up and goes to Spencer’s bedroom, climbing between the sheets. He’s done this a million times in search of comfort, but never before has Spencer searched out his mouth for a sleep-laced kiss.
Ryan tries to will his muscles to relax, but they only keep tensing back again. Spencer’s hand soothes up his arm, digging into his shoulder. “I’ve heard blow jobs do wonders for releasing tension,” he mutters sleepily.
It shocks a laugh out of Ryan. “I just might take you up on that, after,” he says. “Spence. I love you.”
“Love you too,” Spencer says immediately, like he always does, and things haven’t changed, except for how they have. Then Spencer draws him in for another, longer kiss, and Ryan’s heart is beating fast when they part. Spencer opens his eyes and he looks surprisingly alert and knowing.
“Good,” Ryan says, and nods. He kisses Spencer again, whispering good against his lips.
He still doesn’t sleep, but he’d much rather be awake in bed with Spencer spooned up behind him, breath puffing on Ryan’s shoulder with every exhalation than alone in the study, accomplishing nothing except the formation of an ulcer.
It is a suitably grey, rainy morning in London City when Mikey takes them to the Halls of Parliament. Ryan feels like an impostor stepping into the building, aware of the gazes falling on him, the whispers of the Peers. His stomach knots and sours, and he’s glad he had nothing other than tea for breakfast; he isn’t sure he could keep anything else down. Though Gerard had his tailor from Sihnon come to make Ryan’s suit, Ryan can’t help but feel like a little boy dressing in his father’s clothes.
Thinking of Gerard and Sihnon makes Ryan think of Brendon, which does nothing to settle his nerves for the meeting. No doubt Brendon would be much better at this sort of thing, with his charisma and skills at manipulation.
The waiting room off the main chamber of the Judicial Committee is overly ornate and the chairs are stiff and uncomfortable. Ryan can’t stay still anyway. His palms are sweaty, which he’s always before thought wasn’t something that actually happened to people.
Spencer catches him by the wrist as he paces and tugs him close. Mikey, thankfully, pays them no mind. Spencer keeps a hold on him until a knock comes at the door, and Mikey looks pointedly at Ryan.
For a moment, he’s paralysed and dumb, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Then Spencer shakes his hand until Ryan looks him in the eye. “Hey,” Spencer says, and Ryan knows he means I love you.
Ryan swallows and nods decisively. Straightening his back and squaring his shoulders, he follows Mikey into the chamber.
*
It’s been almost twenty minutes since Ryan went before the Privy that the door from the hall opens to admit George Ross. Spencer sits up straight in his seat, forcing his face into a blank mask.
“Spencer,” George greets, his smile sharp and dangerous and reminiscent of Ryan’s when he’s angry. He doesn’t look any different from how Spencer remembers him from seven years ago.
“Prime Minister,” Spencer says, and nods his head. “For now.”
George doesn’t look impressed. “You think my son can take me on? This isn’t the two of you running off to play at being soldiers,” he spits.
“Yeah, because the war was so much fun. All the killing and watching your friends sick and wounded and dying, and practically starving on the Border worlds in the middle of winter.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before dragging my son into it,” George says.
Spencer can’t help the burst of laughter that startles from him. “If either of us drove him off to enlist, it wasn’t me,” he says, with honest amusement. “Though I will never be sorry for fighting for what I believed in, and neither will Ryan.”
George purses his lips and turns his back on Spencer, hands clasped behind his back. “You know, I think I envy your father. He didn’t have to live to see the day when his son returned to help destroy what he built.”
“The difference between my father and you is that he loved his son, no matter their differences,” Spencer says scornfully. “He might not have agreed with what I’d done, but he never would have sunk so low as to send assassins after me.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” George tells him pleasantly.
Spencer rolls his eyes. “And as for what you’ve built…I’m not sure that an empire that causes the death of thirty million of its citizens and covers the whole thing up without so much as blinking an eye is something to be proud of. Ryan couldn’t do more damage if he tried.”
“You shouldn’t talk about things you don’t understand,” George snaps, spinning on him. Spencer knows the look on his face, the one that scared Ryan as a child, made him come running to the Smith house. It doesn’t inspire nearly the same fear as it once did.
“I understand it perfectly,” Spencer says, rising. “You’re the same out there as you are with your private life-always having to control everyone, shape them into the docile puppets you want them to be, first by starting the war and then with Miranda. Just like you did raising Ryan. Only he saw you for what you are, and now so is everyone else in the Verse, and they’re going to turn against you like he did.”
George takes a step towards him, eyes narrowed. “I would watch your tone around me. I’m not out of office yet, boy.”
“You will be, soon enough.” They both turn to see Ryan in the doorway. Ryan steps between Spencer and his father. Mikey takes one look at them all and ducks into the hallway.
“And not just out of office,” Ryan continues. “You’re going to go to prison, and consider yourself lucky.”
“You’re as naïve as your friend,” George says. “You haven’t changed at all, have you? Still the same pathetic little boy who ran off and joined the war to get back at me for not showing you enough affection.”
“I am what you have made me, father,” Ryan says serenely. “And you raised me to be your successor.”
“Do you think you convinced them of anything in there? They’ve all had their minds made up from the moment the broadcast hit the Cortex and it isn’t going to be changed by any impassioned speech by an idealistic child.”
Ryan arches a brow at Spencer that makes some of the tension leave his shoulders. “Interesting, then, that you tried to have me killed,” Ryan remarks.
George looks back and forth between the two of them. “Such strange notions the two of you have. Too bad they have no basis in reality. Anyway, it hardly matters. When the votes are passed, you have no hope for a supermajority, and once this has all blown over, no one will care what the two of you have to say.”
“We’ll see,” Ryan says agreeably. He tosses a look at Spencer that says let’s get out of here, and Spencer agrees emphatically, grabbing his jacket from the chair and following him to the door without so much as a backwards glance.
Ryan pauses with his hand on the doorknob and turns to look over his shoulder. “Oh, and Dad, by the way? Go fuck yourself.”
They don’t wait to hear his response, Ryan closing the door silently behind them. As soon as George is out of sight, Ryan’s face changes from cool composure to panic bordering on terror. Mikey gives them a questioning look and Spencer just shakes his head, hooking his arm through Ryan’s and leading him down the hall.
“Mikey,” Ryan says, with a slight tremor in his determined tone. “We really have to win this.”
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