secret lines (and bound so tight), 2/3
He slept fitfully after that, tossing and turning until well after dawn. He looked awful, but he was an old hand when it came to making himself look better than he should. Ryan dug out his old box of cosmetics, lined his eyes and covered up the dark circles beneath. He dressed quickly, mindlessly putting on the clothes his father had consented to purchase for the wedding, and he wondered how much longer he had to get ready. Time was passing strangely that morning; it seemed to drag on, no end in sight, but at the same time he felt like he was running out of time, his freedom slipping away.
He was almost ready when he spotted the flower Brendon had given him. He picked it up and it immediately curled its stem around his wrist, its petals unfolding happily. It was strangely comforting, and he decided to leave it on, even if it didn't quite go with the rest of his outfit.
His father had arranged for a carriage to take them to the church, and they were mostly silent the whole way over; Ryan shot down every attempt at conversation his father made. He almost felt bad before he remembered exactly why he shouldn't.
Rev. Urie was waiting for them outside the church and smiled brightly when they arrived, though Ryan noticed with a certain petty satisfaction that her smile waned a little when she saw the kohl lining his eyes. "So good to see you," she said, ushering them in and leading them down a twisting staircase just inside the door. "We've arranged a few of the rooms in the catacombs for the wedding party to get ready," she explained. "Brendon's been down there since early this morning. I think he's a little nervous," she said, a conspiratorial tone to her voice, as if she was just sharing gossip rather than talking about her own son's misgivings about the marriage he was being pushed into.
"Can I talk to him?" Ryan asked. His father and Rev. Urie exchanged a concerned glance, and he shook his head in annoyance. "I'm not going to try to talk him out of it or anything, if that's what you're worried about. I'd just like to see him beforehand."
"Of course," Rev. Urie said, and they continued on in silence until she stopped just outside of one of the first doors they came to. "You can get ready in the room across the hall when you're finished talking, if you'd like."
Ryan nodded and rapped on the door. "Come in," Brendon said, and he slipped in, shutting the door quickly behind him.
"Hey," Brendon said. He looked like Ryan felt, and Ryan was grateful not to be in this alone, even if not being in this alone was the whole problem. "Nice eyeliner."
"Want me to do yours?"
"Is that your way of saying I look like crap?"
"It's my way of saying I know an easy way to piss off your mom," he replied, and Brendon laughed.
"Go for it, then," he said, and Ryan got to work.
It wasn't anything fancy, not like the birds and branches he always used to do, but it still meant that Ryan had to crowd into Brendon's space for a few minutes. It was a job to keep his hand steady, but he managed, and if either of them seemed shaky after, neither was about to comment.
"There," Ryan said, ready to step back, but Brendon caught hold of his wrist before he can move.
"You wore it," he said quietly, tapping his finger against the petals of the iron flower when Ryan shot him an inquiring look.
"Oh," Ryan said. "Yeah, I thought it would match."
"It doesn't," Brendon said, but he let go of Ryan's wrist and backed off. "But hey, it's not like you ever knew anything about fashion, right?"
Ryan felt like he was back on familiar ground, even if Brendon looked a little pleased, not to mention there was a joking tone to his voice - three years ago he would have spit out something similar as an insult, anything to push Ryan, make him push back. "Fuck you," he said. "It's not my fault you don't follow the trends."
"Rosevests, Ross. Vests with roses on them."
"I only had one," he protested, smiling a little when Brendon rolled his eyes. "I should go, I guess. Get ready and find Jon and make sure he's ready for all his duties as best man."
"By which you mean, what, catching you if you pass out?"
"Or rubbing my back if I get up there in front of everyone and throw up," he said, only half-joking. "I'll, um. I'll see you soon," he said, and went off in search of Jon.
*
Jon was nowhere to be found, but Ryan did run into Spencer as he was on his way to the room Rev. Urie had offered him. "Hey," he said, smiling weakly.
"You always said I'd be best man at your wedding," Spencer said, sounding conversational, and Ryan shrugged.
"You will be, technically." He rolled his eyes, and Ryan added, feeling sheepish, "I would have asked you if Brendon hadn't asked you first."
"Yeah?" Spencer asked, looking pleased when Ryan nodded.
"Really," he said. "I'm glad you're going to be there, though."
"Oh, fuck you," Spencer said, and Ryan bristled, ready to go on the defensive before Spencer added, "It's too hard to guilt-trip you when you're saying things like that."
"I did as I intended," Ryan said, deadpan, but he couldn't quite hide his smile. "Have you seen Jon anywhere? You might have to do a double-duty shift as best man if he doesn't turn up soon."
"I think I saw him upstairs," Spencer said. "Do you want me to get him for you?"
"He'll find me soon enough," Ryan said. "What have you been up to lately?"
Spencer looked caught off-guard, but he was grinning. "Wow," he said. "Of course you want to catch up at the exact moment I need to find Brendon."
"Oh," Ryan said. "Right, yeah, we should catch up later, then? If you have time."
"Hey," he hears before Spencer can answer, and he turns to see Jon running down the stairs. "I'm not late, am I?"
"No," Ryan said, and Jon came to a stop in front of them, looking winded.
"Hi, Jon," Spencer said, smiling, and Jon nodded, still trying to catch his breath.
"Hey, Spencer. It's been awhile." And it had been; Jon hadn't spoken to Spencer since Ryan had, or maybe even before that, he wasn't sure. It wasn't fair, Ryan thought, that Jon could ignore Spencer for that long and still get a warm reception from him. Then again, it wasn't like they'd known each other for approximately forever.
"I've got to go," Spencer said. "I'll see you guys later." Ryan nodded and led Jon to the room he'd been getting ready in.
"How are you doing?" Jon asked, once the door was closed behind them.
"I think I'm going to throw up," Ryan said. "Or possibly combust. One of the two."
Jon laughed, but he looked sympathetic. "It won't be so bad."
"You're not the one getting married," Ryan said, glaring mutinously.
"No, but I have to say that. It's in the job description. It won't be so bad, I'm sure you'll be very happy together, all that stuff."
"Asshole," Ryan muttered, but he couldn't keep from smiling.
Someone knocked on the door and opened it before Ryan could answer. His father was standing there, looking cheery. "It's time," he said, and the smile vanished from Ryan's face.
*
The wedding itself passed by in a blur. Brendon's mother officiated; she spoke for awhile, and then Ryan and Brendon recited their vows and exchanged rings, and then Rev. Urie announced that they were married. Ryan felt a little unsteady, and Brendon must have seen it, because he reached out and squeezed his hand. Then he leaned in, and Ryan thought oh, right, fuck, we're supposed to kiss now, and he ducked his head down. Brendon's lips pressed against his, chaste and steady and a little reassuring, and they were married, what the fuck.
There was no reception - both families had wanted one, but Ryan and Brendon had both shot down that idea. This wasn't something they wanted to be celebrating, after all. They were planning to leave for the countryside as soon as possible; they were expected to go on a honeymoon, and Ryan's great-uncle had owned a small house there, which under the terms of his will had passed to Ryan at the moment of his marriage. It seemed as good a place as any to go, since they could easily come back to the city if they needed to. Ryan was almost looking forward to seeing the place where he'd spent so many summers as a child, though he'd much rather be seeing it in other circumstances.
They had to wait for the carriage that was meant to take them to the village, and Ryan got trapped in a conversation with one of Brendon's sisters. She chatted happily about how it was just so great that he and her brother had been married, since it had been such a bad year for Brendon. He mostly tuned her out as she talked about Brendon's troubles, though he caught something about "his trouble with flowers." He smiled to himself, thinking of the way Brendon's creations seemed to like other people better than him, imagining the mechanical flowers getting annoyed and wandering away somehow, or maybe starting up a floral rebellion and forming elaborate plans to escape from the shop.
His father signalled him when the carriage arrived. He excused himself hastily, searching through the crowd in front of the church that still hadn't quite dissipated. Jon was nowhere in sight, but he spotted Alex near the stairs and hurried over. "Hey," he said.
"Congratulations," Alex said, grinning. "Z said to tell you the same, and that she's sorry she couldn't make it but she didn't want to risk bursting into flame."
"Right," Ryan said. "Damn, I should have had the wedding in the middle of the night. That would have been cool."
"Marriage under cover of darkness," Alex mused. "I like it. A nice poetic headline for the Observer." He glanced over to where Ryan's father was waiting by the carriage. "Your dad looks pretty impatient. You should probably get moving."
"Don't make me," he replied, only partially joking.
"Oh, come on. You're only going for, what, a month? And it's not like you're going far. You could always come back for a weekend."
"I guess," Ryan said. "See you later, man."
He bid a curt farewell to his father and avoided the rest of the well-wishers, hurrying into the carriage and getting comfortable. Brendon took a little longer, saying goodbye to various family members and friends. "About time," Ryan muttered when Brendon got into the carriage.
"Forgive me if I'm not exactly in a hurry to go on our honeymoon," he shot back.
Ryan was too tired to bicker. "Sorry," he muttered, closing his eyes and resting his head against the side of the car as they began to move. He wanted to sleep, but the carriage kept bouncing on the cobblestones, jolting him awake every time he started to drift off. Annoyed, he finally opened his eyes and watched the scenery they passed by as they got further and further out of the city, doing his best to ignore Brendon.
*
"We should have flown," Brendon remarked after they'd spent a half hour in uncomfortable silence. "Spencer wouldn't have minded taking us, and we'd be there by now."
"I don't fly," Ryan said. He thought of his dreams; there were so many of them where he was falling, slipping away, and he suddenly remembered Pete's warning. It felt ridiculous to bring it up, but if Brendon thought it was stupid, well, it was just something Pete said, after all, nothing important. "Hey," he said. "You know, um, you know the night of the spring festival?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Brendon said quickly, and Ryan blinked. Had Pete already told him - oh, he thought, remembering what else had happened that night.
"Okay," Ryan said. "No, that's fine. I was just going to say that I ran into Pete that night and he told me something weird."
"Oh," Brendon said, biting his lip and looking away. "Um, sorry. I just thought -" He laughed, one hand coming up to rub tiredly at his eyes. "Sorry, what was Pete saying?"
"He said he'd been having dreams about you being in danger, and that I had to look out for you." And it was stupid, so stupid to even bring it up, but even it was just Pete being deluded, if Brendon was the one in danger he should know about it. It wasn't like Ryan could be around all the time, after all.
Brendon's laugh sounded more natural this time. "Seriously? No offence, Ross, but what are you supposed to do if I'm in mortal danger or something?"
Ryan shrugged, his own lips twitching. "My point exactly. I don't know, he seemed serious about it. It's probably nothing, but I figured you should know. Weirder things have happened, right?"
"Right," Brendon said. He looked thoughtful for a moment; Ryan turned his attention back to the scenery outside the window. He recognized a farm they passed by - it had been years, but the farmer had the same old, dilapidated, vaguely terrifying scarecrow - and if he remembered correctly, it wasn't far from Little Cereidum.
"We'll be there soon," he announced, and Brendon made a noncommittal noise. Ryan leaned back against the seat of his carriage, closing his eyes again. He felt nauseated, and with his eyes closed it was easier to pretend it was because of the jolting motions of the carriage rather than anything to do with Brendon.
*
Ryan hadn't been to Little Cereidum since he was a child; his uncle's house there seemed larger then, big enough to get lost in, almost as bad as his father's offices. He was almost disappointed when the carriage stopped on the cobblestone path in front of a rather small house . There were worse places to spend a month, though; it had a guest house and sizable grounds, and Ryan reminded himself that it was just for a few weeks anyway. Besides, like Z had said, he would be able to get back to Lanverne for a weekend or two if he wanted.
"This is nice," Brendon said, peering out from the window. "You grew up here?"
"I used to spend summers here with my uncle," he said. "No one's lived here for ten years, though. I hope my father thought to arrange for someone to come in to clean."
"I just hope our stuff actually made it here," Brendon said. Their parents had sent their luggage ahead for them prior to the wedding. Packing had been strange for Ryan; he'd tucked everything into his suitcase knowing that he wouldn't see it again until after he was married, and it made everything seem far more immediate than it should have been.
Their luggage had indeed arrived, they discovered when Ryan had paid the driver and unlocked the front door. "And I thought I was a heavy packer," he said, looking a little bemused; he'd brought three suitcases, but Brendon had the same number, as well as a huge trunk.
"I didn't want to fall behind on my work," Brendon said, gesturing to the trunk. "I've got some custom orders that need to be finished, and there's something I'm working on that I just can't get right."
"Anything exciting?"
"Maybe," Brendon said, casting him a sidelong glance. "You're interested?"
He shrugged. "You make interesting things."
"Thanks," he said. "So, uh, what's the plan now?"
"We should unpack," Ryan said. "And then go into town for some food."
"Right," Brendon said, looking uncomfortable. "So, um, where should I put my stuff?"
"There's only one bedroom," Ryan said, feeling just as ill at ease as Brendon looked. "I always stayed in the guest house when I was a kid. I wouldn't mind sleeping out there, if you'd rather..."
"I'll sleep out there," Brendon said. "It's your house, after all."
"Ours, technically," Ryan pointed out, and Brendon flinched.
"Right," he said. "If it's all the same to you, though, I'll stay out there."
"That's fine," he said. "Let's get settled, then."
He changed out of his wedding clothes and unpacked. It took him quite a while, hanging his clothes carefully to make sure that none of them got wrinkled, but Brendon was still setting up his things in the guest house when he'd finished.
"Do you want any help?" Ryan asked, ducking his head into the bedroom of the guest house. He managed to trip over the rug and narrowly avoided falling over the suitcase that was open on the floor, and Brendon chuckled, not quite unkindly.
"That's all right," he said. "If you're done, I can stop for now and we can go down to the city. Or you can go on without me and I'll meet you there?"
"I'll wait," Ryan said. "I'd kind of like to walk around for a bit and see if everything's like I remembered."
"I'll find you when I'm done," he said, and Ryan wandered off to walk around the grounds. They'd been neglected since his great-uncle's death. The gardens were overgrown; they were almost prettier that way. There was something beautiful about how wild and unkempt they looked.
He walked down near the river and found himself at the huge apple tree he remembered climbing as a child. It was in full bloom; the ground beneath it looked as inviting as ever. He sat down, leaning against the trunk and stretching out in a patch of sun. Within a few moments he was fast asleep.
In his dream he was himself, except he was Brendon at the same time, resting under the apple tree; the flowers snaked up from the ground, growing longer and longer, and he was paralyzed, helpless as they wrapped themselves around him and pulled him down into the ground, dirt flooding his mouth.
He woke up gasping, Brendon kneeling over him. "Are you okay?" he asked, looking worried, and after a moment Ryan nodded, his breathing laboured.
"Just a dream," he said slowly. He could still taste the soil in his mouth. "Did you finish unpacking?"
"I figured I'd save my work stuff until later," Brendon said. "Did you still want to go into town?"
"Yeah, let's do that," Ryan answered, standing on shaky feet. Brendon reached out to steady him, holding his arm until Ryan took a deep breath and pulled away to lead the way into the town.
*
Salpeter's Tavern was the only place in town to get food, aside from the grocer's. The last time Ryan had been in town, the tavern had been run by an old man, but in the time since, his granddaughter had apparently taken it over. Ryan remembered Greta well, having spent a lot of time playing together as children, before Ryan's uncle died and he'd had little reason to come back to Little Cereidum.
"Ryan Ross," Greta said. " I'm so disappointed in you. My oldest friend becomes a notorious celebrity and you've never so much as sent me your autograph."
"You'd only sell it to the highest bidder," he said loftily, and they grinned at each other. "Brendon, this is Greta. Greta, this is Brendon, my -"
"Husband," Greta finished, rolling her eyes when they looked surprised. "Honestly," she said, "you'd swear we never got the papers here. It's nice to meet you, Brendon. What can I get for you two?"
"Food," Ryan said, his stomach growling painfully, and she laughed.
"How about I bring you two house specials?"
"I don't eat meat," Brendon said.
Ryan recognized the look she gave him as a leer, though it was mostly disguised by her pretty smile. "I can work around that," she promised. "Go on, sit down and I'll have something for you in a few minutes."
They sat, and Greta brought them each a pint before hurrying off to the kitchen behind the bar. They made small talk for a few minutes before falling into silence again; Ryan just didn't know what to say to Brendon. In some ways, it had been easier to talk when they were fighting, all sharp words and callous insults that he never even had to think about. Trying to be civil was difficult, given that everything he could think to bring up had the potential to start an argument.
Luckily, Greta was true to her word and the food arrived shortly. She was setting their plates down when the door to the back stairs opened and a vaguely familiar man walked in. He was short, dressed in a police officer's uniform, and didn't look to be much older than Ryan.
"Be with you in a moment, Patrick," Greta called out. " You remember the constable, don't you?" she asked Ryan, and he did a double-take. He did, in fact, remember Patrick, but in his memories Patrick was an awkward, talented kid with a headful of hair. It was strange to think of him all grown up and in a proper career, while Ryan did absolutely nothing of consequence.
"Of course," he said, standing and offering his hand as Patrick approached. "I'm Ryan Ross. We used to steal my uncle's guitar and play songs down by the river."
"And we were terrible," Patrick said, laughing. "Have you improved any since then?"
"Not really," he said honestly. Guitar-playing had been something of a phase for him, though every now and then his fingers itched for their strings. "You?"
"A little." He looked at Brendon, who was looking at Patrick curiously, and Ryan hastened to introduce them.
"This is Brendon Urie," he said, and Brendon stood, leaning over to shake hands. "My husband."
"Oh," Patrick said, looking surprised; he was clearly someone who didn't follow the gossip pages. "Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise," Brendon said politely. "Would you like to join us?"
Patrick accepted, and a few moments later Greta was returning with an extra plate of food and a pint, setting them down in front of Patrick before hurrying back to the bar, where an red-cheeked man was impatiently waiting to be served.
"So, you're with the police force?"
"These days I am the police force," he said glumly. "I've got two other officers, but they're new recruits, so the brunt of the work goes to me. And you? What have you been up to?"
"Not much," he said honestly. "I was writing for awhile, but not so much anymore."
"That's too bad," Patrick said. "How about you, Brendon? What do you do?"
"I don't do much either," he said. "I own a shop in Lanverne. I'm sure it's nowhere nearly as interesting as police work."
"Don't sell yourself short," Ryan said. "He's an inventor, and he makes some really amazing things." Brendon flushed, looking pleased by the unexpected compliment.
"Like what?" Patrick asked, interested. Brendon mentioned a guitar he'd designed once, and just like that, Ryan had lost them both to musical talk. It was good, though; he knew enough to follow along, and he was just glad Patrick was there to save them both from yet another uncomfortable silence.
They finished up their meals, and as Greta brought them each a piece of cake and refilled their glasses, the talk turned to back to Patrick's job. "I've had at least seven busybodies file reports about Maja," he said wearily. "She's new in town. She rents one of the apartments upstairs and tells fortunes."
"Is she a charlatan or something?" Ryan asked, and Patrick shook his head.
"It wouldn't be a problem if she were," he said. "No one would bother complaining if she were telling them things they wanted to hear. She's the real thing, as far as I can tell."
"Too honest?" Brendon asked, and Patrick nodded, looking glum.
"I should go see her," Ryan said, adding in an undertone to Brendon, "You know, about the Pete thing."
"Do what you want, I don't care. Go, if it'll make you feel better," Brendon said. "I'm sure Patrick won't mind keeping me company." He smiled, and Patrick's face heated up a little; Ryan looked away quickly, excusing himself and heading up the stairs.
There were four doors in the hallway. One of them had a makeshift sign stuck on it, typewritten paper crumpled and hung unevenly. MAJA IVARSSON: PSYCHIC, he read, and he knocked lightly on the door. He was expecting someone adorned in scarves and baubles, patronizing and infuriatingly vague. Instead he got Maja, decked out in the latest styles and introducing herself with a firm handshake, informing him that it must be his lucky day, since she didn't have any appointments booked for the evening and could tell his fortune right away. "Now," she added, sitting down at a small table and gesturing for him to sit across from her. "You have a problem, or just a curiosity?"
"I'm not really sure what I have," he answered honestly. He told her about Pete's warning and she nodded, pursing her lips before reaching for a battered deck of Tarot cards.
"Let me look at your cards," she said, shuffling them expertly. She began to flip them over, laying them out in a pattern that looked something like a cross.
"Aren't I supposed to cut them or something?" he asked, earning him a withering stare.
"I suppose you'd also have me leave out the Death card," she said.
"That just means change, doesn't it?" he asked, and she nodded. "Either way, I'd rather it be honest than what I want it to be."
"Not one for parlour tricks, are you? You're smarter than you look," she said approvingly, and before he had time to decide if he should be insulted, she flipped over the final card.
"This," she said, pointing to the first card she'd put down, "is you, and next to it, a young man, dark and talented and kind."
"Sounds about right," Ryan said, and she smiled, pointing to the next.
"The Chariot," she said. "And the Tower in ruin."
"Is that bad?"
"Yes and no," she answered. "Very good and then very bad. The Chariot names you the victor in your struggles, but the Tower says otherwise." She glanced down again, fingers smoothing over the next card. "The World usually means good things, though its closeness to The Tower means there could be danger by air," she said, her eyebrows narrowing as she looked at the next card, the Page of Swords. "This one could be good or bad. Someone is watching you, though I can't say whether for good reasons or bad. And the last two," she said, her features relaxing a little, "mean romance and inheritance, so it's certainly not all bad."
"So what should I do?"
"Do what your friend said," Maja advised. "Look out for your young man. You'll know what to do when it happens. Here, give me your palm," she instructed. He held out his hand obligingly and she ran her fingers along the lines, nodding as if they were telling her something. "You're smarter than you look," she said again. "You've got a good heart, too. You'll do all right."
*
Patrick was gone when Ryan returned, but business had slowed down a little. Greta was sitting across from Brendon, talking animatedly about something. As Ryan sat down next to Brendon, he noticed a man sitting in the corner watching them, his hat pulled down low and a newspaper blocking most of his face. When he noticed Ryan looking over, he raised the paper higher.
"Do you know that guy in the corner?" he asked, interrupting Greta, and she glanced over, shaking her head when she looked back.
"Oh, him. He came in a few minutes ago and ordered a drink. First time I've seen him."
"Huh," Ryan said. "He's staring at us."
"Well, we are all devastatingly attractive," Greta said lightly, standing up. "I've got to clear up some of the dishes. It's been nice chatting with you."
"You too," Brendon said; Ryan echoed the statement a little absently, watching the man in the corner, who kept peering out from behind his paper every now and then. His attempts at covertness were ridiculous, and Ryan would be amused if it weren't for the fact that his encounter with Maja had left him a little on edge, suspicious of everything.
"What's up with you?" Brendon asked.
"I don't know," Ryan answered, frowning. "Are you done? We should go."
"Okay," he answered. "I've got to get the things from my workshop unpacked anyway." Ryan nodded, preoccupied, and went to pay Greta.
Brendon was waiting by the door when Ryan returned, frowning a little as he looked over at the corner where the stranger was, newspaper still hiding his face. "Everything okay?" Ryan asked, and Brendon nodded.
"Yeah. Come on, let's go home," he said, and Ryan was too anxious to pay much attention to the little pang of want that shot through him when Brendon said home.
*
It wasn't a long walk home, but Ryan kept glancing back over his shoulder to make sure the man from the tavern wasn't following them. "That guy has you freaked out, huh?" Brendon commented. "Or was it the psychic?"
"Both," Ryan admitted. "I know it sounds stupid, but I think she was the real thing, and she told me to look out for you."
"Since when do you give a shit about me?" Brendon asked, sounding like he genuinely wanted to know.
"That's not the point," he said as they headed up the path to the house, but Brendon wasn't listening anymore.
"Did you leave the door to the guest house open?" he asked, and Ryan shook his head.
"You were the last one in there," he pointed out. When he looked over he saw that the door was wide open, a faint light trickling out. "Shit. Do you think someone broke in?"
"Looks that way," Brendon said, stepping inside cautiously. Ryan followed, keeping close in case there was still someone inside, but the intruder was nowhere in sight.
A candle had been lit in the bedroom, nearly burned down by now, and Brendon's carefully-unpacked belongings were now strewn all over the room. "Someone's been into my stuff," he said. "Fuck, I hope they didn't take anything."
"Look at your trunk," Ryan said. His suitcases had all been unpacked, contents emptied into the drawers and cupboards that had since been rifled through, but the trunk was still locked; whoever had broken in had hacked at the lock, judging by the scratches that marred its surface.
"At least they didn't get into it. That's the one with all my work things."
"Do you think it could have been that guy at Greta's? He didn't come in until late, and he was doing that whole staring-and-hiding thing."
"That was weird," Brendon agreed. "It doesn't mean he's a criminal, though. Anyway, whoever it was, they're long gone. Maybe we can tell Patrick about it in the morning."
"Yeah," Ryan agreed. "Hey, um. Maybe you should stay in the house with me," he suggested, unsettled by the idea of Brendon sleeping alone in a building that had already been broken into.
"I don't think that's a good plan," Brendon said.
"It's a better idea than you staying out here by yourself," he countered.
"Fine," Brendon said reluctantly. "Will you help me move the trunk into the house? I don't want to leave it out here."
They left the rest of the mess, figuring it would be best to leave it until morning, and lugged the trunk into the house, struggling to get it up the stairs. "I'd better get some of my clothes," Brendon said, disappearing back outside, and Ryan changed quickly into his sleep clothes while he was gone, a little nervous at how long it took for him to return.
He came back a few minutes later and Ryan excused himself to go wash up. He made a detour before returning to the bedroom, going through the house to make sure all the windows and doors were closed and locked. Brendon was already in bed when Ryan came back, and he stood nearby for a moment, feeling even more out of his depth than he had since this whole thing began.
Brendon sighed, sounding exhausted, and reached over to tug him into the bed. "Stop overthinking things," he said.
Ryan pulled the covers up. Before he could say anything, Brendon leaned over and pressed his lips to Ryan's cheek. "Get some sleep, Ross, and stop being freaked out by everything."
"Right, because it's not a big deal that someone broke in and that guy in the tavern was up to something and Pete and a psychic told me that bad things were going to happen to you and, oh yeah, we just got fucking married."
"It's nice that you care," Brendon said, and it would have sounded teasing if he weren't a little flushed. "Now seriously, get some sleep."
Ryan nodded, blowing out the candle by the bed, and settled down. Despite his worries, he fell asleep within moments.
*
He dreamed that they were flying on Spencer's dirigible, except that Ryan had never been on Spencer's dirigible, or on any airship, for that matter. He had no idea what they looked like, and this just kind of looked like a room that was entirely non-descript, except for the way its walls were shifting, flickering in and out of sight. "That's because they can't keep us from falling," Brendon said calmly when Ryan commented on it, and suddenly they were falling, plummeting closer and closer to the ground below.
He jolted awake, and Brendon grumbled something that Ryan couldn't make out. "Sorry", he whispered, lying back down again.
"Nightmare?" Brendon asked quietly, sounding as if he was halfway back to sleep already.
"Yeah," he said. "Dreams are weird." Brendon made an agreeing sound and shut his eyes again; Ryan followed suit, letting the sound of Brendon's breath lull him back into a relatively peaceful sleep.
*
It was bright and sunny in the morning, and Ryan felt a lot less worried. The previous night's events seemed far away; he and Brendon decided not to bother Patrick about it, since it had probably just been local kids breaking in on a dare. Still, when Brendon offered to move back to the guest cottage, Ryan shook his head and insisted he stay.
"You could use the attic as a workshop," Ryan suggested. "I can't imagine it's very clean, but it could work."
Brendon shrugged. "It would probably be safer there," he said, and they spent the better part of the morning moving his belongings inside and getting everything set up. The attic wasn't as bad as Ryan thought - there was a lot of clutter and it definitely needed dusting, but there was a huge desk by the window that would make a good workspace.
"What's that?" Ryan asked as Brendon unlocked his trunk and took out something large that was wrapped in cloth.
"Take a look," he answered, unwrapping it. It didn't look like anything in particular, but when Brendon pushed a button on the side it unfolded itself, and Ryan saw that Brendon was holding a pair of intricately-wrought wings.
"What are they for?" Ryan asked, touching them carefully, and Brendon rolled his eyes.
"For flying, obviously," he said, and Ryan laughed.
"That's impossible," he said.
"Not really," Brendon said, sounding excited. "I mean, I still haven't got it quite right, but if I can work out the problems I've been having with the springs, I think it's going to work. I'm going to do a test flight with them later this week."
Danger, possibly by air, Ryan remembered Maja saying just the night before, and his stomach sank. "I don't think you should," he said. "I mean, it's not safe."
"Seriously?" Brendon asked, raising his eyebrow. "You've got to give all that doom and disaster stuff a rest."
"It could be true," Ryan groused, feeling silly for believing Pete's story in the first place. "Besides, that flower you gave to me likes me better than you, and you said yourself that Sophie only does what Pete tells her to. What if your wings don't like you either?"
Brendon laughed. "I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. Besides, Sophie likes me just fine." Sophie, who was perched on the windowsill, let out a tiny peep and then shifted so her back was turned to Brendon.
"Right," Ryan said. "She totally loves you."
*
They went into town around lunchtime, both of them famished. Greta's wasn't open yet, so they stocked up on food at the grocer's and ate lunch in the village square. They split up after that - Brendon wanted to explore the town, and Ryan had a few things he wanted to pick up at the general store.
He was less worried about Brendon now that it was daylight and everything seemed safe. Despite that, when he bumped into Patrick just outside of the police station, he found himself worriedly telling him about the break-in.
Patrick looked concerned, promising to look into the matter, though he didn't think there was much he could do. "It was probably just a few kids messing around," he said, and Ryan nodded, reassured that Patrick had reached the same conclusion he had. "All the same, I'll see if I can find anything out about the man you saw at Greta's," he said.
"Thanks," Ryan said. "I appreciate it."
"And if anything like this happens again, you come to me first, before you destroy any evidence," he added.
"Oh, hey, that makes sense," Ryan said, and Patrick rolled his eyes.
"I doubt there's any point in looking at the scene now that you two have moved everything, but if you do happen to see anything out of the ordinary, let me know," he said. "Anyway, I'm off to solve the mystery of Mrs. Ogilvie's vanishing hair creams, so I'll talk to you later."
"Her hair creams vanished?" Ryan asked, interested.
He shook his head, looking tired. "No, her hair. I'm not sure what she expects me to do about it, but she wrote for help, so I have to at least look into it."
"Good luck," Ryan said, suppressing his smile as Patrick waved and headed off down the path.
*
Brendon was already home when Ryan got back, sitting on the porch and looking bored. "About time," he said. "I don't have a key."
"Right," Ryan said. "Sorry. I'll find the spare for you later." He set his parcels from the shop down and unlocked the door. "So I was talking to Patrick earlier."
"Cool," Brendon said. "Did he mention if he had time to stop by? He wants me to make him a new guitar, and I have some ideas I think he'll like."
"We didn't get around to talking about that," Ryan said. "I told him about the break-in."
"I thought we weren't going to," Brendon said, looking suddenly annoyed. "You seriously told him?"
"Yeah, so? He's the police, he should know if there's burglaries happening in his town."
"You should have asked me first," Brendon said. "You heard Patrick say how busy he is. He's probably got enough work to do without us making a big deal over something so small."
"And what if -" Ryan started, but the only thing he could think to finish with was someone is trying to kill you, and that was just so ludicrously melodramatic that he bit it back. He thought for a moment. "What if it happens again?"
"I wish Pete had never told you about his stupid fucking dreams," Brendon said. "I'm sick of you acting like the ground is going to open up underneath me."
"So, what, I should just pretend like I'm not dreaming about you dying every night?"
"It's not like you'd actually give a shit if something happened to me," Brendon said, turning on his heel and heading up the stairs.
Ryan thought about following, but he had nothing else to add to the argument. He shouldn't care, though he did, despite what Brendon thought, and he was worried. He hated this situation. Being stuck here in the middle of nowhere with a husband who couldn't stand him was bad enough without adding in Ryan's growing paranoia.
When he finally went upstairs, he could hear Brendon stomping around in the attic. He thought about apologizing but ultimately decided it would probably be better to give him some space. They didn't speak again that night, and Ryan wondered if Brendon was mad enough to sleep out in the guest house, but that night he woke up to Brendon crawling into bed with him, leaning over to kiss his cheek before settling down.
*
Part Three
Master Post
He was almost ready when he spotted the flower Brendon had given him. He picked it up and it immediately curled its stem around his wrist, its petals unfolding happily. It was strangely comforting, and he decided to leave it on, even if it didn't quite go with the rest of his outfit.
His father had arranged for a carriage to take them to the church, and they were mostly silent the whole way over; Ryan shot down every attempt at conversation his father made. He almost felt bad before he remembered exactly why he shouldn't.
Rev. Urie was waiting for them outside the church and smiled brightly when they arrived, though Ryan noticed with a certain petty satisfaction that her smile waned a little when she saw the kohl lining his eyes. "So good to see you," she said, ushering them in and leading them down a twisting staircase just inside the door. "We've arranged a few of the rooms in the catacombs for the wedding party to get ready," she explained. "Brendon's been down there since early this morning. I think he's a little nervous," she said, a conspiratorial tone to her voice, as if she was just sharing gossip rather than talking about her own son's misgivings about the marriage he was being pushed into.
"Can I talk to him?" Ryan asked. His father and Rev. Urie exchanged a concerned glance, and he shook his head in annoyance. "I'm not going to try to talk him out of it or anything, if that's what you're worried about. I'd just like to see him beforehand."
"Of course," Rev. Urie said, and they continued on in silence until she stopped just outside of one of the first doors they came to. "You can get ready in the room across the hall when you're finished talking, if you'd like."
Ryan nodded and rapped on the door. "Come in," Brendon said, and he slipped in, shutting the door quickly behind him.
"Hey," Brendon said. He looked like Ryan felt, and Ryan was grateful not to be in this alone, even if not being in this alone was the whole problem. "Nice eyeliner."
"Want me to do yours?"
"Is that your way of saying I look like crap?"
"It's my way of saying I know an easy way to piss off your mom," he replied, and Brendon laughed.
"Go for it, then," he said, and Ryan got to work.
It wasn't anything fancy, not like the birds and branches he always used to do, but it still meant that Ryan had to crowd into Brendon's space for a few minutes. It was a job to keep his hand steady, but he managed, and if either of them seemed shaky after, neither was about to comment.
"There," Ryan said, ready to step back, but Brendon caught hold of his wrist before he can move.
"You wore it," he said quietly, tapping his finger against the petals of the iron flower when Ryan shot him an inquiring look.
"Oh," Ryan said. "Yeah, I thought it would match."
"It doesn't," Brendon said, but he let go of Ryan's wrist and backed off. "But hey, it's not like you ever knew anything about fashion, right?"
Ryan felt like he was back on familiar ground, even if Brendon looked a little pleased, not to mention there was a joking tone to his voice - three years ago he would have spit out something similar as an insult, anything to push Ryan, make him push back. "Fuck you," he said. "It's not my fault you don't follow the trends."
"Rosevests, Ross. Vests with roses on them."
"I only had one," he protested, smiling a little when Brendon rolled his eyes. "I should go, I guess. Get ready and find Jon and make sure he's ready for all his duties as best man."
"By which you mean, what, catching you if you pass out?"
"Or rubbing my back if I get up there in front of everyone and throw up," he said, only half-joking. "I'll, um. I'll see you soon," he said, and went off in search of Jon.
*
Jon was nowhere to be found, but Ryan did run into Spencer as he was on his way to the room Rev. Urie had offered him. "Hey," he said, smiling weakly.
"You always said I'd be best man at your wedding," Spencer said, sounding conversational, and Ryan shrugged.
"You will be, technically." He rolled his eyes, and Ryan added, feeling sheepish, "I would have asked you if Brendon hadn't asked you first."
"Yeah?" Spencer asked, looking pleased when Ryan nodded.
"Really," he said. "I'm glad you're going to be there, though."
"Oh, fuck you," Spencer said, and Ryan bristled, ready to go on the defensive before Spencer added, "It's too hard to guilt-trip you when you're saying things like that."
"I did as I intended," Ryan said, deadpan, but he couldn't quite hide his smile. "Have you seen Jon anywhere? You might have to do a double-duty shift as best man if he doesn't turn up soon."
"I think I saw him upstairs," Spencer said. "Do you want me to get him for you?"
"He'll find me soon enough," Ryan said. "What have you been up to lately?"
Spencer looked caught off-guard, but he was grinning. "Wow," he said. "Of course you want to catch up at the exact moment I need to find Brendon."
"Oh," Ryan said. "Right, yeah, we should catch up later, then? If you have time."
"Hey," he hears before Spencer can answer, and he turns to see Jon running down the stairs. "I'm not late, am I?"
"No," Ryan said, and Jon came to a stop in front of them, looking winded.
"Hi, Jon," Spencer said, smiling, and Jon nodded, still trying to catch his breath.
"Hey, Spencer. It's been awhile." And it had been; Jon hadn't spoken to Spencer since Ryan had, or maybe even before that, he wasn't sure. It wasn't fair, Ryan thought, that Jon could ignore Spencer for that long and still get a warm reception from him. Then again, it wasn't like they'd known each other for approximately forever.
"I've got to go," Spencer said. "I'll see you guys later." Ryan nodded and led Jon to the room he'd been getting ready in.
"How are you doing?" Jon asked, once the door was closed behind them.
"I think I'm going to throw up," Ryan said. "Or possibly combust. One of the two."
Jon laughed, but he looked sympathetic. "It won't be so bad."
"You're not the one getting married," Ryan said, glaring mutinously.
"No, but I have to say that. It's in the job description. It won't be so bad, I'm sure you'll be very happy together, all that stuff."
"Asshole," Ryan muttered, but he couldn't keep from smiling.
Someone knocked on the door and opened it before Ryan could answer. His father was standing there, looking cheery. "It's time," he said, and the smile vanished from Ryan's face.
*
The wedding itself passed by in a blur. Brendon's mother officiated; she spoke for awhile, and then Ryan and Brendon recited their vows and exchanged rings, and then Rev. Urie announced that they were married. Ryan felt a little unsteady, and Brendon must have seen it, because he reached out and squeezed his hand. Then he leaned in, and Ryan thought oh, right, fuck, we're supposed to kiss now, and he ducked his head down. Brendon's lips pressed against his, chaste and steady and a little reassuring, and they were married, what the fuck.
There was no reception - both families had wanted one, but Ryan and Brendon had both shot down that idea. This wasn't something they wanted to be celebrating, after all. They were planning to leave for the countryside as soon as possible; they were expected to go on a honeymoon, and Ryan's great-uncle had owned a small house there, which under the terms of his will had passed to Ryan at the moment of his marriage. It seemed as good a place as any to go, since they could easily come back to the city if they needed to. Ryan was almost looking forward to seeing the place where he'd spent so many summers as a child, though he'd much rather be seeing it in other circumstances.
They had to wait for the carriage that was meant to take them to the village, and Ryan got trapped in a conversation with one of Brendon's sisters. She chatted happily about how it was just so great that he and her brother had been married, since it had been such a bad year for Brendon. He mostly tuned her out as she talked about Brendon's troubles, though he caught something about "his trouble with flowers." He smiled to himself, thinking of the way Brendon's creations seemed to like other people better than him, imagining the mechanical flowers getting annoyed and wandering away somehow, or maybe starting up a floral rebellion and forming elaborate plans to escape from the shop.
His father signalled him when the carriage arrived. He excused himself hastily, searching through the crowd in front of the church that still hadn't quite dissipated. Jon was nowhere in sight, but he spotted Alex near the stairs and hurried over. "Hey," he said.
"Congratulations," Alex said, grinning. "Z said to tell you the same, and that she's sorry she couldn't make it but she didn't want to risk bursting into flame."
"Right," Ryan said. "Damn, I should have had the wedding in the middle of the night. That would have been cool."
"Marriage under cover of darkness," Alex mused. "I like it. A nice poetic headline for the Observer." He glanced over to where Ryan's father was waiting by the carriage. "Your dad looks pretty impatient. You should probably get moving."
"Don't make me," he replied, only partially joking.
"Oh, come on. You're only going for, what, a month? And it's not like you're going far. You could always come back for a weekend."
"I guess," Ryan said. "See you later, man."
He bid a curt farewell to his father and avoided the rest of the well-wishers, hurrying into the carriage and getting comfortable. Brendon took a little longer, saying goodbye to various family members and friends. "About time," Ryan muttered when Brendon got into the carriage.
"Forgive me if I'm not exactly in a hurry to go on our honeymoon," he shot back.
Ryan was too tired to bicker. "Sorry," he muttered, closing his eyes and resting his head against the side of the car as they began to move. He wanted to sleep, but the carriage kept bouncing on the cobblestones, jolting him awake every time he started to drift off. Annoyed, he finally opened his eyes and watched the scenery they passed by as they got further and further out of the city, doing his best to ignore Brendon.
*
"We should have flown," Brendon remarked after they'd spent a half hour in uncomfortable silence. "Spencer wouldn't have minded taking us, and we'd be there by now."
"I don't fly," Ryan said. He thought of his dreams; there were so many of them where he was falling, slipping away, and he suddenly remembered Pete's warning. It felt ridiculous to bring it up, but if Brendon thought it was stupid, well, it was just something Pete said, after all, nothing important. "Hey," he said. "You know, um, you know the night of the spring festival?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Brendon said quickly, and Ryan blinked. Had Pete already told him - oh, he thought, remembering what else had happened that night.
"Okay," Ryan said. "No, that's fine. I was just going to say that I ran into Pete that night and he told me something weird."
"Oh," Brendon said, biting his lip and looking away. "Um, sorry. I just thought -" He laughed, one hand coming up to rub tiredly at his eyes. "Sorry, what was Pete saying?"
"He said he'd been having dreams about you being in danger, and that I had to look out for you." And it was stupid, so stupid to even bring it up, but even it was just Pete being deluded, if Brendon was the one in danger he should know about it. It wasn't like Ryan could be around all the time, after all.
Brendon's laugh sounded more natural this time. "Seriously? No offence, Ross, but what are you supposed to do if I'm in mortal danger or something?"
Ryan shrugged, his own lips twitching. "My point exactly. I don't know, he seemed serious about it. It's probably nothing, but I figured you should know. Weirder things have happened, right?"
"Right," Brendon said. He looked thoughtful for a moment; Ryan turned his attention back to the scenery outside the window. He recognized a farm they passed by - it had been years, but the farmer had the same old, dilapidated, vaguely terrifying scarecrow - and if he remembered correctly, it wasn't far from Little Cereidum.
"We'll be there soon," he announced, and Brendon made a noncommittal noise. Ryan leaned back against the seat of his carriage, closing his eyes again. He felt nauseated, and with his eyes closed it was easier to pretend it was because of the jolting motions of the carriage rather than anything to do with Brendon.
*
Ryan hadn't been to Little Cereidum since he was a child; his uncle's house there seemed larger then, big enough to get lost in, almost as bad as his father's offices. He was almost disappointed when the carriage stopped on the cobblestone path in front of a rather small house . There were worse places to spend a month, though; it had a guest house and sizable grounds, and Ryan reminded himself that it was just for a few weeks anyway. Besides, like Z had said, he would be able to get back to Lanverne for a weekend or two if he wanted.
"This is nice," Brendon said, peering out from the window. "You grew up here?"
"I used to spend summers here with my uncle," he said. "No one's lived here for ten years, though. I hope my father thought to arrange for someone to come in to clean."
"I just hope our stuff actually made it here," Brendon said. Their parents had sent their luggage ahead for them prior to the wedding. Packing had been strange for Ryan; he'd tucked everything into his suitcase knowing that he wouldn't see it again until after he was married, and it made everything seem far more immediate than it should have been.
Their luggage had indeed arrived, they discovered when Ryan had paid the driver and unlocked the front door. "And I thought I was a heavy packer," he said, looking a little bemused; he'd brought three suitcases, but Brendon had the same number, as well as a huge trunk.
"I didn't want to fall behind on my work," Brendon said, gesturing to the trunk. "I've got some custom orders that need to be finished, and there's something I'm working on that I just can't get right."
"Anything exciting?"
"Maybe," Brendon said, casting him a sidelong glance. "You're interested?"
He shrugged. "You make interesting things."
"Thanks," he said. "So, uh, what's the plan now?"
"We should unpack," Ryan said. "And then go into town for some food."
"Right," Brendon said, looking uncomfortable. "So, um, where should I put my stuff?"
"There's only one bedroom," Ryan said, feeling just as ill at ease as Brendon looked. "I always stayed in the guest house when I was a kid. I wouldn't mind sleeping out there, if you'd rather..."
"I'll sleep out there," Brendon said. "It's your house, after all."
"Ours, technically," Ryan pointed out, and Brendon flinched.
"Right," he said. "If it's all the same to you, though, I'll stay out there."
"That's fine," he said. "Let's get settled, then."
He changed out of his wedding clothes and unpacked. It took him quite a while, hanging his clothes carefully to make sure that none of them got wrinkled, but Brendon was still setting up his things in the guest house when he'd finished.
"Do you want any help?" Ryan asked, ducking his head into the bedroom of the guest house. He managed to trip over the rug and narrowly avoided falling over the suitcase that was open on the floor, and Brendon chuckled, not quite unkindly.
"That's all right," he said. "If you're done, I can stop for now and we can go down to the city. Or you can go on without me and I'll meet you there?"
"I'll wait," Ryan said. "I'd kind of like to walk around for a bit and see if everything's like I remembered."
"I'll find you when I'm done," he said, and Ryan wandered off to walk around the grounds. They'd been neglected since his great-uncle's death. The gardens were overgrown; they were almost prettier that way. There was something beautiful about how wild and unkempt they looked.
He walked down near the river and found himself at the huge apple tree he remembered climbing as a child. It was in full bloom; the ground beneath it looked as inviting as ever. He sat down, leaning against the trunk and stretching out in a patch of sun. Within a few moments he was fast asleep.
In his dream he was himself, except he was Brendon at the same time, resting under the apple tree; the flowers snaked up from the ground, growing longer and longer, and he was paralyzed, helpless as they wrapped themselves around him and pulled him down into the ground, dirt flooding his mouth.
He woke up gasping, Brendon kneeling over him. "Are you okay?" he asked, looking worried, and after a moment Ryan nodded, his breathing laboured.
"Just a dream," he said slowly. He could still taste the soil in his mouth. "Did you finish unpacking?"
"I figured I'd save my work stuff until later," Brendon said. "Did you still want to go into town?"
"Yeah, let's do that," Ryan answered, standing on shaky feet. Brendon reached out to steady him, holding his arm until Ryan took a deep breath and pulled away to lead the way into the town.
*
Salpeter's Tavern was the only place in town to get food, aside from the grocer's. The last time Ryan had been in town, the tavern had been run by an old man, but in the time since, his granddaughter had apparently taken it over. Ryan remembered Greta well, having spent a lot of time playing together as children, before Ryan's uncle died and he'd had little reason to come back to Little Cereidum.
"Ryan Ross," Greta said. " I'm so disappointed in you. My oldest friend becomes a notorious celebrity and you've never so much as sent me your autograph."
"You'd only sell it to the highest bidder," he said loftily, and they grinned at each other. "Brendon, this is Greta. Greta, this is Brendon, my -"
"Husband," Greta finished, rolling her eyes when they looked surprised. "Honestly," she said, "you'd swear we never got the papers here. It's nice to meet you, Brendon. What can I get for you two?"
"Food," Ryan said, his stomach growling painfully, and she laughed.
"How about I bring you two house specials?"
"I don't eat meat," Brendon said.
Ryan recognized the look she gave him as a leer, though it was mostly disguised by her pretty smile. "I can work around that," she promised. "Go on, sit down and I'll have something for you in a few minutes."
They sat, and Greta brought them each a pint before hurrying off to the kitchen behind the bar. They made small talk for a few minutes before falling into silence again; Ryan just didn't know what to say to Brendon. In some ways, it had been easier to talk when they were fighting, all sharp words and callous insults that he never even had to think about. Trying to be civil was difficult, given that everything he could think to bring up had the potential to start an argument.
Luckily, Greta was true to her word and the food arrived shortly. She was setting their plates down when the door to the back stairs opened and a vaguely familiar man walked in. He was short, dressed in a police officer's uniform, and didn't look to be much older than Ryan.
"Be with you in a moment, Patrick," Greta called out. " You remember the constable, don't you?" she asked Ryan, and he did a double-take. He did, in fact, remember Patrick, but in his memories Patrick was an awkward, talented kid with a headful of hair. It was strange to think of him all grown up and in a proper career, while Ryan did absolutely nothing of consequence.
"Of course," he said, standing and offering his hand as Patrick approached. "I'm Ryan Ross. We used to steal my uncle's guitar and play songs down by the river."
"And we were terrible," Patrick said, laughing. "Have you improved any since then?"
"Not really," he said honestly. Guitar-playing had been something of a phase for him, though every now and then his fingers itched for their strings. "You?"
"A little." He looked at Brendon, who was looking at Patrick curiously, and Ryan hastened to introduce them.
"This is Brendon Urie," he said, and Brendon stood, leaning over to shake hands. "My husband."
"Oh," Patrick said, looking surprised; he was clearly someone who didn't follow the gossip pages. "Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise," Brendon said politely. "Would you like to join us?"
Patrick accepted, and a few moments later Greta was returning with an extra plate of food and a pint, setting them down in front of Patrick before hurrying back to the bar, where an red-cheeked man was impatiently waiting to be served.
"So, you're with the police force?"
"These days I am the police force," he said glumly. "I've got two other officers, but they're new recruits, so the brunt of the work goes to me. And you? What have you been up to?"
"Not much," he said honestly. "I was writing for awhile, but not so much anymore."
"That's too bad," Patrick said. "How about you, Brendon? What do you do?"
"I don't do much either," he said. "I own a shop in Lanverne. I'm sure it's nowhere nearly as interesting as police work."
"Don't sell yourself short," Ryan said. "He's an inventor, and he makes some really amazing things." Brendon flushed, looking pleased by the unexpected compliment.
"Like what?" Patrick asked, interested. Brendon mentioned a guitar he'd designed once, and just like that, Ryan had lost them both to musical talk. It was good, though; he knew enough to follow along, and he was just glad Patrick was there to save them both from yet another uncomfortable silence.
They finished up their meals, and as Greta brought them each a piece of cake and refilled their glasses, the talk turned to back to Patrick's job. "I've had at least seven busybodies file reports about Maja," he said wearily. "She's new in town. She rents one of the apartments upstairs and tells fortunes."
"Is she a charlatan or something?" Ryan asked, and Patrick shook his head.
"It wouldn't be a problem if she were," he said. "No one would bother complaining if she were telling them things they wanted to hear. She's the real thing, as far as I can tell."
"Too honest?" Brendon asked, and Patrick nodded, looking glum.
"I should go see her," Ryan said, adding in an undertone to Brendon, "You know, about the Pete thing."
"Do what you want, I don't care. Go, if it'll make you feel better," Brendon said. "I'm sure Patrick won't mind keeping me company." He smiled, and Patrick's face heated up a little; Ryan looked away quickly, excusing himself and heading up the stairs.
There were four doors in the hallway. One of them had a makeshift sign stuck on it, typewritten paper crumpled and hung unevenly. MAJA IVARSSON: PSYCHIC, he read, and he knocked lightly on the door. He was expecting someone adorned in scarves and baubles, patronizing and infuriatingly vague. Instead he got Maja, decked out in the latest styles and introducing herself with a firm handshake, informing him that it must be his lucky day, since she didn't have any appointments booked for the evening and could tell his fortune right away. "Now," she added, sitting down at a small table and gesturing for him to sit across from her. "You have a problem, or just a curiosity?"
"I'm not really sure what I have," he answered honestly. He told her about Pete's warning and she nodded, pursing her lips before reaching for a battered deck of Tarot cards.
"Let me look at your cards," she said, shuffling them expertly. She began to flip them over, laying them out in a pattern that looked something like a cross.
"Aren't I supposed to cut them or something?" he asked, earning him a withering stare.
"I suppose you'd also have me leave out the Death card," she said.
"That just means change, doesn't it?" he asked, and she nodded. "Either way, I'd rather it be honest than what I want it to be."
"Not one for parlour tricks, are you? You're smarter than you look," she said approvingly, and before he had time to decide if he should be insulted, she flipped over the final card.
"This," she said, pointing to the first card she'd put down, "is you, and next to it, a young man, dark and talented and kind."
"Sounds about right," Ryan said, and she smiled, pointing to the next.
"The Chariot," she said. "And the Tower in ruin."
"Is that bad?"
"Yes and no," she answered. "Very good and then very bad. The Chariot names you the victor in your struggles, but the Tower says otherwise." She glanced down again, fingers smoothing over the next card. "The World usually means good things, though its closeness to The Tower means there could be danger by air," she said, her eyebrows narrowing as she looked at the next card, the Page of Swords. "This one could be good or bad. Someone is watching you, though I can't say whether for good reasons or bad. And the last two," she said, her features relaxing a little, "mean romance and inheritance, so it's certainly not all bad."
"So what should I do?"
"Do what your friend said," Maja advised. "Look out for your young man. You'll know what to do when it happens. Here, give me your palm," she instructed. He held out his hand obligingly and she ran her fingers along the lines, nodding as if they were telling her something. "You're smarter than you look," she said again. "You've got a good heart, too. You'll do all right."
*
Patrick was gone when Ryan returned, but business had slowed down a little. Greta was sitting across from Brendon, talking animatedly about something. As Ryan sat down next to Brendon, he noticed a man sitting in the corner watching them, his hat pulled down low and a newspaper blocking most of his face. When he noticed Ryan looking over, he raised the paper higher.
"Do you know that guy in the corner?" he asked, interrupting Greta, and she glanced over, shaking her head when she looked back.
"Oh, him. He came in a few minutes ago and ordered a drink. First time I've seen him."
"Huh," Ryan said. "He's staring at us."
"Well, we are all devastatingly attractive," Greta said lightly, standing up. "I've got to clear up some of the dishes. It's been nice chatting with you."
"You too," Brendon said; Ryan echoed the statement a little absently, watching the man in the corner, who kept peering out from behind his paper every now and then. His attempts at covertness were ridiculous, and Ryan would be amused if it weren't for the fact that his encounter with Maja had left him a little on edge, suspicious of everything.
"What's up with you?" Brendon asked.
"I don't know," Ryan answered, frowning. "Are you done? We should go."
"Okay," he answered. "I've got to get the things from my workshop unpacked anyway." Ryan nodded, preoccupied, and went to pay Greta.
Brendon was waiting by the door when Ryan returned, frowning a little as he looked over at the corner where the stranger was, newspaper still hiding his face. "Everything okay?" Ryan asked, and Brendon nodded.
"Yeah. Come on, let's go home," he said, and Ryan was too anxious to pay much attention to the little pang of want that shot through him when Brendon said home.
*
It wasn't a long walk home, but Ryan kept glancing back over his shoulder to make sure the man from the tavern wasn't following them. "That guy has you freaked out, huh?" Brendon commented. "Or was it the psychic?"
"Both," Ryan admitted. "I know it sounds stupid, but I think she was the real thing, and she told me to look out for you."
"Since when do you give a shit about me?" Brendon asked, sounding like he genuinely wanted to know.
"That's not the point," he said as they headed up the path to the house, but Brendon wasn't listening anymore.
"Did you leave the door to the guest house open?" he asked, and Ryan shook his head.
"You were the last one in there," he pointed out. When he looked over he saw that the door was wide open, a faint light trickling out. "Shit. Do you think someone broke in?"
"Looks that way," Brendon said, stepping inside cautiously. Ryan followed, keeping close in case there was still someone inside, but the intruder was nowhere in sight.
A candle had been lit in the bedroom, nearly burned down by now, and Brendon's carefully-unpacked belongings were now strewn all over the room. "Someone's been into my stuff," he said. "Fuck, I hope they didn't take anything."
"Look at your trunk," Ryan said. His suitcases had all been unpacked, contents emptied into the drawers and cupboards that had since been rifled through, but the trunk was still locked; whoever had broken in had hacked at the lock, judging by the scratches that marred its surface.
"At least they didn't get into it. That's the one with all my work things."
"Do you think it could have been that guy at Greta's? He didn't come in until late, and he was doing that whole staring-and-hiding thing."
"That was weird," Brendon agreed. "It doesn't mean he's a criminal, though. Anyway, whoever it was, they're long gone. Maybe we can tell Patrick about it in the morning."
"Yeah," Ryan agreed. "Hey, um. Maybe you should stay in the house with me," he suggested, unsettled by the idea of Brendon sleeping alone in a building that had already been broken into.
"I don't think that's a good plan," Brendon said.
"It's a better idea than you staying out here by yourself," he countered.
"Fine," Brendon said reluctantly. "Will you help me move the trunk into the house? I don't want to leave it out here."
They left the rest of the mess, figuring it would be best to leave it until morning, and lugged the trunk into the house, struggling to get it up the stairs. "I'd better get some of my clothes," Brendon said, disappearing back outside, and Ryan changed quickly into his sleep clothes while he was gone, a little nervous at how long it took for him to return.
He came back a few minutes later and Ryan excused himself to go wash up. He made a detour before returning to the bedroom, going through the house to make sure all the windows and doors were closed and locked. Brendon was already in bed when Ryan came back, and he stood nearby for a moment, feeling even more out of his depth than he had since this whole thing began.
Brendon sighed, sounding exhausted, and reached over to tug him into the bed. "Stop overthinking things," he said.
Ryan pulled the covers up. Before he could say anything, Brendon leaned over and pressed his lips to Ryan's cheek. "Get some sleep, Ross, and stop being freaked out by everything."
"Right, because it's not a big deal that someone broke in and that guy in the tavern was up to something and Pete and a psychic told me that bad things were going to happen to you and, oh yeah, we just got fucking married."
"It's nice that you care," Brendon said, and it would have sounded teasing if he weren't a little flushed. "Now seriously, get some sleep."
Ryan nodded, blowing out the candle by the bed, and settled down. Despite his worries, he fell asleep within moments.
*
He dreamed that they were flying on Spencer's dirigible, except that Ryan had never been on Spencer's dirigible, or on any airship, for that matter. He had no idea what they looked like, and this just kind of looked like a room that was entirely non-descript, except for the way its walls were shifting, flickering in and out of sight. "That's because they can't keep us from falling," Brendon said calmly when Ryan commented on it, and suddenly they were falling, plummeting closer and closer to the ground below.
He jolted awake, and Brendon grumbled something that Ryan couldn't make out. "Sorry", he whispered, lying back down again.
"Nightmare?" Brendon asked quietly, sounding as if he was halfway back to sleep already.
"Yeah," he said. "Dreams are weird." Brendon made an agreeing sound and shut his eyes again; Ryan followed suit, letting the sound of Brendon's breath lull him back into a relatively peaceful sleep.
*
It was bright and sunny in the morning, and Ryan felt a lot less worried. The previous night's events seemed far away; he and Brendon decided not to bother Patrick about it, since it had probably just been local kids breaking in on a dare. Still, when Brendon offered to move back to the guest cottage, Ryan shook his head and insisted he stay.
"You could use the attic as a workshop," Ryan suggested. "I can't imagine it's very clean, but it could work."
Brendon shrugged. "It would probably be safer there," he said, and they spent the better part of the morning moving his belongings inside and getting everything set up. The attic wasn't as bad as Ryan thought - there was a lot of clutter and it definitely needed dusting, but there was a huge desk by the window that would make a good workspace.
"What's that?" Ryan asked as Brendon unlocked his trunk and took out something large that was wrapped in cloth.
"Take a look," he answered, unwrapping it. It didn't look like anything in particular, but when Brendon pushed a button on the side it unfolded itself, and Ryan saw that Brendon was holding a pair of intricately-wrought wings.
"What are they for?" Ryan asked, touching them carefully, and Brendon rolled his eyes.
"For flying, obviously," he said, and Ryan laughed.
"That's impossible," he said.
"Not really," Brendon said, sounding excited. "I mean, I still haven't got it quite right, but if I can work out the problems I've been having with the springs, I think it's going to work. I'm going to do a test flight with them later this week."
Danger, possibly by air, Ryan remembered Maja saying just the night before, and his stomach sank. "I don't think you should," he said. "I mean, it's not safe."
"Seriously?" Brendon asked, raising his eyebrow. "You've got to give all that doom and disaster stuff a rest."
"It could be true," Ryan groused, feeling silly for believing Pete's story in the first place. "Besides, that flower you gave to me likes me better than you, and you said yourself that Sophie only does what Pete tells her to. What if your wings don't like you either?"
Brendon laughed. "I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. Besides, Sophie likes me just fine." Sophie, who was perched on the windowsill, let out a tiny peep and then shifted so her back was turned to Brendon.
"Right," Ryan said. "She totally loves you."
*
They went into town around lunchtime, both of them famished. Greta's wasn't open yet, so they stocked up on food at the grocer's and ate lunch in the village square. They split up after that - Brendon wanted to explore the town, and Ryan had a few things he wanted to pick up at the general store.
He was less worried about Brendon now that it was daylight and everything seemed safe. Despite that, when he bumped into Patrick just outside of the police station, he found himself worriedly telling him about the break-in.
Patrick looked concerned, promising to look into the matter, though he didn't think there was much he could do. "It was probably just a few kids messing around," he said, and Ryan nodded, reassured that Patrick had reached the same conclusion he had. "All the same, I'll see if I can find anything out about the man you saw at Greta's," he said.
"Thanks," Ryan said. "I appreciate it."
"And if anything like this happens again, you come to me first, before you destroy any evidence," he added.
"Oh, hey, that makes sense," Ryan said, and Patrick rolled his eyes.
"I doubt there's any point in looking at the scene now that you two have moved everything, but if you do happen to see anything out of the ordinary, let me know," he said. "Anyway, I'm off to solve the mystery of Mrs. Ogilvie's vanishing hair creams, so I'll talk to you later."
"Her hair creams vanished?" Ryan asked, interested.
He shook his head, looking tired. "No, her hair. I'm not sure what she expects me to do about it, but she wrote for help, so I have to at least look into it."
"Good luck," Ryan said, suppressing his smile as Patrick waved and headed off down the path.
*
Brendon was already home when Ryan got back, sitting on the porch and looking bored. "About time," he said. "I don't have a key."
"Right," Ryan said. "Sorry. I'll find the spare for you later." He set his parcels from the shop down and unlocked the door. "So I was talking to Patrick earlier."
"Cool," Brendon said. "Did he mention if he had time to stop by? He wants me to make him a new guitar, and I have some ideas I think he'll like."
"We didn't get around to talking about that," Ryan said. "I told him about the break-in."
"I thought we weren't going to," Brendon said, looking suddenly annoyed. "You seriously told him?"
"Yeah, so? He's the police, he should know if there's burglaries happening in his town."
"You should have asked me first," Brendon said. "You heard Patrick say how busy he is. He's probably got enough work to do without us making a big deal over something so small."
"And what if -" Ryan started, but the only thing he could think to finish with was someone is trying to kill you, and that was just so ludicrously melodramatic that he bit it back. He thought for a moment. "What if it happens again?"
"I wish Pete had never told you about his stupid fucking dreams," Brendon said. "I'm sick of you acting like the ground is going to open up underneath me."
"So, what, I should just pretend like I'm not dreaming about you dying every night?"
"It's not like you'd actually give a shit if something happened to me," Brendon said, turning on his heel and heading up the stairs.
Ryan thought about following, but he had nothing else to add to the argument. He shouldn't care, though he did, despite what Brendon thought, and he was worried. He hated this situation. Being stuck here in the middle of nowhere with a husband who couldn't stand him was bad enough without adding in Ryan's growing paranoia.
When he finally went upstairs, he could hear Brendon stomping around in the attic. He thought about apologizing but ultimately decided it would probably be better to give him some space. They didn't speak again that night, and Ryan wondered if Brendon was mad enough to sleep out in the guest house, but that night he woke up to Brendon crawling into bed with him, leaning over to kiss his cheek before settling down.
*
Part Three
Master Post