A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square (2/3)
Headers and Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Three cont.
CHAPTER TWO
DECEMBER 2007 - APRIL 2008
Jonathan Walker joins their team on December 1st. He’s from Chicago, which means he shares Brendon’s views on things like seasons (Brendon misses the way fall looks in Seattle; Vegas is kind of... too sunny all the time) and how a perfect cup of hot chocolate should taste. On top of that, Jon is laid-back and fun, really good at his job and generally just kind of awesome.
Brendon loves him.
So does Spencer, as it turns out.
“Smith and Walker seem to be hitting it off,” Pete says with a grin, nodding his head towards the other end of the room.
Brendon looks up from his clipboard and watches Spencer laugh at something Jon just said. They are setting up infrared light to mimic the trajectories of bullets, Spencer showing Jon how to work the settings of the central control.
“This is awesome,” Jon says as three of the twenty or so beams turn a few degrees to the left. “We had equipment like this in Edmonton, but the beams had to be configured manually. I should email one of my colleagues up there, tell them to get one of these babies. What make is it?”
“It’s not on the market,” Spencer says. “I had a friend who works in electronics help me put it together.”
“You’re kidding,” Jon says. “You made this?”
“I was a Physics major in college,” Spencer says, shrugging. “And sure, this is handy, but it’s nothing to be impressed by. You should see some of Ryan’s stuff.”
“Is that a blush?” Pete whispers, leaning closer to Brendon. He looks absolutely delighted. Brendon scoffs.
“It’s not a blush,” he says, though when he looks closer, Spencer’s neck and cheeks do look a little redder than normal.
“You should stop teasing Spencer every chance you get,” he adds. “Did you know that one of the first things he showed me when I started here were the complaint forms for unprofessional conduct? He’s got a whole stack, pre-filled in for stuff you do.”
Pete laughs. “Can’t, it’s too much fun,” he says. “No one gets pissy like he does. Not even Zack. Besides, Walker’s been straight as a rod for as long as I’ve known him, so it’s not like messing with them would risk fucking something up and ruin anyone’s chances.”
“If you say so,” Brendon says, filing away the new information. It’s not a surprise. Jon reminds him a lot of his older brothers, easy-going and very much a traditional all-American guy. He also smiles a lot at the cute girl in the reception. Brendon assumed they weren’t batting for the same team. “Maybe he just hasn’t met the right boy yet.”
Pete chokes on another laugh, which turns into a coughing fit, and then looks back up.
“Yeah,” he says, “maybe so.” He looks content, almost a little smug. Brendon gets a weird feeling that Pete’s not talking about Jon anymore. “See you later, Urie.”
At the other end of the room, there’s another laugh. Jon’s this time, loud and happy. Brendon watches Spencer’s face brighten in response and bites his lip, wondering.
***
Brendon spends most of January and February in a state of constant confusion. Spencer definitely likes Jon; Brendon has never seen anyone try so hard to appear unaffected by another person before in his life. Brendon hasn’t seen Spencer flirt with anyone but Ryan since the weird moment at the airport where Spencer tried to flirt with him, and what he’s doing with Ryan is more of an old-married-people kind of flirting than anything else. The kind Brendon’s parents would get into around their anniversary, where there’d be a lot of bad jokes that only got told half-way through, mixed with smiles and eye-rolling.
This is very different from how Spencer is flirting with Jon. Nothing is open or acknowledged. Spencer is... showing off, for lack of better words. He gets wittier around Jon, more confident, more provoking. Brendon’s never thought of Spencer as a bitchy person before, but when Jon and he get into one of their discussions-ones that make Brendon think of mating dances on Animal Planet-Spencer is pretty fierce.
Ryan is very, very quiet about the whole thing. Brendon spends a lot of his time watching him, learning to read the signs of hurt and confusion and flat-out jealousy in the way he moves around. Ryan has a fantastic poker face, but there are tells in his hands, little twitches sometimes that Brendon would probably never have noticed if he hadn’t had an embarrassing weakness for watching them when Ryan talks.
Spencer is flirting with Jon, and it is hurting Ryan. That part is easy enough. What Brendon doesn’t understand is why. Why Spencer is doing it. Why Ryan lets him. What all the guilty and hurt looks between the two of them are about, seeing as they go in both directions. And why they both keep looking at Brendon when they think he isn’t aware of it.
Brendon has tried really hard to keep his distance from both of them. One reason being that he likes to think that he has some pride, another that he still doesn’t know just what their deal is. And if they are together, or getting back together, or having a dysfunctional version of an open relationship or whatever else they’re doing, Brendon is probably not supposed to know about it. One of the first things the people from HR went through with him was the paragraph in his contract where he had to declare himself free of family or romantic ties to any of his colleagues. It’s a standard policy. The Seattle lab had it too, and of course it doesn’t stop relationships from happening, or gossip from flying around. But there’s a difference between innuendo and openly acknowledging that the shift supervisor is obviously married to the guy who is second in command. Brendon gets that.
Also, Brendon just hasn’t wanted to ask. As long as Ryan and Spencer don’t officially confirm it and Brendon doesn’t catch them making out in the DNA Lab, he can sort of keep that happy, dreamy place inside his head where things went differently when he and Ryan met and there are vague hopes of maybe.
Ignorance is bliss, after all.
So Brendon waits. Another month, two. And things find a way back to normal on their own. Spencer doesn’t stop flirting with Jon, but the way it’s done turns from mating dance to a comfortable-looking friendship that reminds Brendon of two lion cubs wrestling in tall grass. There’s obvious tension lingering between Ryan and Spencer, but they still find their way back to sitting with their foreheads too close together, smiling and talking with their eyes. And Brendon-
Brendon takes a deep breath and decides to let the fantasy go. It’s been almost eight months, and even though he’s pretty sure that Ryan is interested, and even though it took Brendon very little time to confirm that, yes, he’s fucking in love with the guy, he doesn’t want to be in second place. Not with Ryan.
So.
Brendon goes into his bedroom and pulls the tightest pair of jeans that he owns out of the closet. He finds a black and sparkly baby tee, puts on a little bit of eyeliner and makes sure to pass the pharmacy on his way to the Strip.
Time to get back on the horse.
MAY 2008
“I need another idea for a perfect date,” Pete declares towards the end of May, walking into Ryan’s office without knocking and dropping into his usual chair. “And if you can somehow incorporate cotton into it, I will buy you an extra beer next time we go out.”
Ryan has had a really bad night. It started with two teenage bodies found in the trunk of a car and got worse from there, to the low point where Brendon stretched his arms over his head to get a kink out of his shoulders and Ryan noticed a purple hickey right above his hip bone.
He really doesn’t want to talk to anyone. Least of all Pete, especially not about dates.
“Sorry, can’t help you,” he says, not caring that his voice comes out tired and dejected. “Come back when you need ideas for how to completely fuck up your life.”
“Wow,” Pete says. “You know, Travis asked me the other day where all my melodrama and self-loathing had disappeared to. I’ll let him know you have them so he can get a dose from time to time.”
“No problem,” Ryan says. “I’ll keep them on a shelf next to your intelligence and wit.”
Pete leans back in his chair, watching Ryan through narrowed eyes.
“You know, just because you think you have yourself figured out, it doesn’t mean that someone amazing can’t come along and pull the rug out from under your feet,” he says. “Remember Lizzy?”
Ryan does. Everyone at LVPD remembers Lizzy. She was Pete’s girlfriend when he joined the force, and their breakup some four and a half years ago was dysfunctional and fucked up enough to bring about three policy changes with regards to visitors, filing procedures and handling of department property. As far as Ryan knows, Pete hasn’t dated anyone for longer than a weekend since then.
“Losing her fucked with my head,” Pete says. “I had it all figured out. She’d been the fucking One, and we still couldn’t make each other happy. So I gave up on love. Any of this ring a bell?”
“No,” Ryan says. “Maybe because Spencer never broke into my office in a jealous rage and set my desk on fire. Sorry.”
“No, he just made you so scared of hurting someone again that you haven’t dated anyone who was even remotely interested in any part of you other than your dick or a free dinner since I started here,” Pete says. “You broke his heart, he broke yours back, and the two of you are in each other’s faces all day, every day, reminding yourselves of that. I kind of think that’s more fucked up than me slashing Liz’s tyres. Or her posting pictures of my dick on the Internet.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Ryan says. “Isn’t. Whatever.” On some level, Ryan almost wishes it were. Then at least he would know where to start in order to work his way through it.
“Come on, Ross,” Pete says. “It’s exactly like that. You even explained it to me in detail that time we went out drinking after you’d been on one of your conferences. The one where you managed to fall in love with a student or some shit? How did that turn out, by the way?”
Ryan closes his eyes and breathes in. He told Pete about Seattle because he couldn’t bring himself to tell Spencer back then. That doesn’t mean that Pete actually understood what he was saying or that Ryan is going to tell him the other half of the story now. And fuck Pete for twisting Ryan’s words around and exaggerating things, anyway.
“Point is,” Pete says slowly. “Even if you’ve never loved anyone even a fraction of how much you loved the one you fucked up, it doesn’t mean that there won’t be someone else one day, who you’ll love even more. And who will fit you better. And make you want to do the fairytale thing instead of just tearing everything apart. So there. Think about that.”
Pete walks out the door, leaving Ryan at his desk, staring after him. He doesn’t want to think about it. Even if Brendon’s workspace wasn’t decorated in pictures of his nephews and nieces and he didn’t spend most of his free time playing guitar for sick kids at the local hospital, it’s obvious to anyone who’s known him for more than an hour that Brendon wants a family of his own more than anything. And Ryan can’t want that. Not when he wasn’t able to want it with Spencer. And not with the guilt of knowing that he’s clinging to his place in Spencer’s family while getting increasingly unsure about his actual feeling for Spencer himself. He just can’t.
For a minute, he feels like lying down and giving up altogether. Then he takes a deep breath, reaches for his files and forces himself to go back to work.
JUNE 2008
Brendon is approaching the end of a double shift and has been working the same crime scene for seven hours straight. Triple murder in a hotel suite during a very busy party. Everything is trashed, dirtied up, spilled on, touched; gathering evidence is like looking for a needle in a haystack.
“Got anything for a poor reporter?”
Brendon looks back over his shoulder and sees a familiar guy with dark hair and a press pass around his neck. Shane Valdés. They’ve been running into each other a lot lately.
“How the hell did you sneak in here?” he asks, grinning. “I thought McCoy and Marshall were immune to your charms.”
“Nope,” Shane says lightly. “So what have you got? Looks like quite a party.”
“You know I can’t talk about a case,” Brendon says, bagging another hair sample. “And I know that you know that I know that you know that, so what are you really after?”
“Well,” Shane says. “I was kind of hoping to do this in a much smoother and more romantic way, but, um, would you like to go out for a drink?”
Brendon takes a moment to look him up and down, considering. Shane’s got a dorky grin that Brendon kind of loves, expressive eyes, nice body. Slightly unfortunate hair, it’s true, but the fact that he’s giving Brendon a wink that hints at a ton of humour behind it more than makes up for that. Shane is hot, no question about it, and the offer is straight-forward enough. Brendon could use a distraction. “I don’t know,” he says slowly, even as a smile spreads across his face. “Fraternising with the press? I might get my fingers slapped.”
“I could kiss them better afterwards,” Shane offers with such an innocent look on his face that Brendon chokes on a laugh. “Jackson’s Pub on Emerson?”
Brendon checks his watch. “Two hours okay?” he asks. “I need to finish up here and get everything back to the lab. And, well, shower and doll myself up for my big date, obviously.”
“Fine by me,” Shane says, smiling back. “See you then.”
He leaves the room, and Brendon turns his attention back to work, wrapping up the scene as quickly as he can without neglecting anything. Ryan’s still at the lab when he gets back, deeply immersed in a thick file that takes up most of his desk. He’s wearing the same shirt as the day before, and Brendon hates himself for noticing, not to mention for the fact that his brain immediately jumps into wondering if that means that Ryan spent the night with someone or if he just forgot to do his laundry again.
He hits the showers and does his best to put everything related to Ryan and work out of his mind. He’s meeting a hot reporter for drinks. A real date, with clear intent and simple enough rules to follow. Brendon picks out a clean shirt, looks in the mirror and takes it off again, realising that it’s one he got about a month back because Ryan made an off-hand comment about blue being his favourite colour.
He picks out another one and thanks the universe for making him lazy enough to keep a fairly big chunk of his wardrobe at work to avoid having to go back home and change when something gets dirty or damaged in the field. It’s bright red, and while the colour might be a bit cliché for a first-date-slash-hook-up, at least the message is easy to read.
Brendon sighs and throws his locker shut, takes the back exit to the parking garage instead of passing through the lab again. He could do with more easy things in his life.
JULY 2008
Ryan doesn’t believe in jealousy. It’s irrational and petty and implies a need to control another person’s feelings. Actions. Both-whatever.
“You know, if you want to kill the guy, there are more effective ways than staring,” Spencer says from the opposite side of the table.
Ryan quickly looks away from where Brendon and the the reporter he’s been dating for a fucking month grind up against each other on the club’s dance floor.
“I just don’t trust him. There’s something wrong, and Brendon isn’t seeing it.”
“No,” Spencer says evenly. “You don’t like Shane-there’s a difference. And the thing that’s wrong is the fact that you were a moron. A slow moron. Do something about it or get over yourself.”
Ryan glares. Spencer rolls his eyes and gets to his feet. “Jon, you want another drink?”
“Sure,” Jon says, looking up from the house of cards he’s trying to build out of coasters, giving Spencer an easy smile.
Spencer looks at Ryan. “You good?”
“I’m fine,” Ryan says pointedly, stabbing at the ice in his almost full glass with the end of his straw. On the dance floor, Brendon’s hands disappear up the back of Reporter Guy’s shirt.
“Uh-huh,” Spencer says, sounding entirely unconvinced. “Jon, remind him not to use anything that shows up on trace, will you?”
“I’m not sure what to be more offended by,” Ryan throws back. “The fact that you believe me capable of pre-meditated murder or that you doubt my abilities to do a perfect cover up.”
“I need more alcohol to deal with this shit,” Spencer says flatly. He stalks off towards the bar. Ryan turns to Jon and raises an eyebrow. Jon pretends to be absorbed in the building of his awesome coaster structure, trying and failing to hide a grin.
AUGUST 2008
“You look like you’re in a good mood,” Jon says, reaching past Brendon to get a cup down from one of the break room shelves.
Brendon sips his coffee and nods. “I had a good weekend.”
“Yeah?” Jon says, grinning. “You and Shane get up to something fun?”
Brendon can’t help but smile. “Oh, things were definitely up,” he says, feeling even happier when Jon laughs.
He’s got friends who’ll laugh at corny jokes, a steady hookup who enjoys watching movies in bed and a job he really likes. Brendon’s life is fucking good.
Or it would be, if his heart could just decide to get with the program.
“Hey,” Spencer says, stepping into the room. He looks tired, Brendon thinks. Jon obviously agrees, because he takes one look at Spencer and then hands him the coffee he just poured for himself.
“What’s up?” Spencer asks, accepting the cup with a grateful nod.
“Brendon was just about to tell me about all the dirty sex he’s been having,” Jon says. “It sounded promising. I was gonna take notes.”
“Sounds good,” Spencer says. Normally, a comment like Jon’s would have sparked something wittier in response. Brendon and Jon share a puzzled look over Spencer’s shoulder.
“You okay, dude?”
“Fine,” Spencer says, yawning. “Just tired. We had Jackie’s baby over last night. He’s loud. And he got mashed banana on one of Ryan’s books. Is there any more coffee?”
“Do you think Spencer’s been acting weird lately?” Jon asks once Spencer leaves. “He hasn’t been over at my house to watch a game for almost three weeks, just tells me he’s busy. And he and Ryan are so closed off. Like, more than usual, you know? I hope no one in Spencer’s family is sick or anything.”
“I don’t know,” Brendon says, feeling vaguely guilty. He’s been doing his best not to notice, actually, telling himself that whatever is making Ryan and Spencer behave even more like an isolated unit is none of his business. “I haven’t, um-Spencer and I don’t talk that much. And, you know, there’s Shane, and...”
“Yeah, but they’re our team,” Jon says. “Shouldn’t we, you know, try to talk to them or something?”
Brendon shrugs. “I need to get back to work.”
“But,” Jon says, “Brendon. Come on, don’t you-”
Brendon closes the break room door behind him and escapes to one of the labs. There is a hollow feeling in his stomach telling him he knows what’s different about Ryan and Spencer recently, and he doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s probably wrong, anyway. And even if he’s not, well.
Brendon’s moved on. It’s none of his business.
***
“Are you coming to bed?”
Ryan looks up from the report he’s working on. Spencer is leaning against the doorway, wrapped only in Ryan’s favourite dressing gown. Ryan manages a smile and tries to will his pulse to speed up at the sight.
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
Spencer nods and goes to bed. No argument, no real disappointment. Ryan presses the pen he’s holding more firmly agains his notepad and hates the sense of relief that trickles through him.
Their current relationship is strange. They’re not exactly back together, and apart from agreeing that whatever they’ve been doing for the past month or so is a stupid idea, they don’t talk about it. They’re closer than they have been in a long time, though, and Ryan likes that. Being with Spencer on a physical level again is bittersweet and familiar. The sex is good-they know each other’s bodies far too well for it not to be-and Ryan sleeps better than he has in years.
It’s different than it was, though. Ryan misses the feeling of walking through the door, seeing Spencer and having his heart miss a beat. Misses being caught up in the moment and wanting Spencer so much he can barely breathe.
They’re not in love. Ryan wonders if they could be again if they tried hard enough. He and Spencer are a good match. Best friends and practically family. Already tangled up in each other enough not to give up and change the game the second someone tall, dark and handsome walks by with a press pass and a smile.
So maybe Ryan just needs to get over the stupid ache in his chest that longs for something more and be fucking grateful for what he already has.
He goes to bed an hour later, slips between the sheets carefully and spoons up against Spencer’s back. Spencer mumbles something in his sleep and pulls Ryan closer, tilting his head forwards to give Ryan better access to the back of his neck.
Ryan soaks up the warmth and presses a couple of kisses to Spencer’s shoulder before settling in to sleep, matching his breathing to Spencer’s and drifting off to the feeling of Spencer’s heart beating slow and steady under the palm of his right hand.
This part, at least, still feels the way it’s supposed to.
***
“Check this out,” Jon says, sliding up to Brendon and holding up a pair of tickets. He’s looking ridiculously pleased with himself. Brendon pulls off his gloves and protective goggles and takes a closer look.
“You got tickets for Cirque du Soleil?” he says, turning them over in his hands. “With... a Le Tapis Rouge VIP package! That’s awesome, man. Did you meet someone special?”
“Sadly not,” Jon says, grinning. “A friend offered them to me. I was thinking we could give them to Ryan and Spencer. They both have birthdays coming up in about a week, right? It’d probably be good for them to get out of the lab for a night.”
Brendon does his best not to let the automatic spark of jealousy he feels show on his face. He looks back down at the tickets. The show in question is the one playing at the MGM Grand; critics have been raving about it for weeks, calling it ‘a sensual adventure’ and ‘an intimate wave of colour’. Ryan would probably love it.
Brendon should want to see him happy.
He wonders if the idea of a combined gift and the way Jon worded it means that he has the same suspicions as Brendon about why Ryan and Spencer seem to be sharing a lot of clothes these days-if this is Jon’s way of asking how Brendon feels about it. Looking at Jon’s open face, he doubts it.
Maybe Brendon should tell him anyway.
“Do you think-” he says, biting his lip and trying to figure out how to start.
Jon’s pager beeps.
“Shit. 419 from Pete,” Jon says. “I have to go. Wanna meet up for pizza later?”
“Sure.” Brendon puts his goggles back on, feeling torn between wanting to tell Jon about the mess inside his head and being relieved that he doesn’t have to, at least not now. “Call me when you’re done. I can pick it up on my way over.”
SEPTEMBER 2008
“Is this a bad time?”
Ryan looks up. Brendon is standing in the doorway, clutching a stack of papers to his chest. Ryan shrugs and nods at the chair in front of his desk.
Brendon sits down, giving him an uncertain look. Ryan turns his focus back his hands. He’s playing with a striped carnation that Spencer left him earlier, rolling it slowly between his fingers. It’s too pretty, he thinks, all white and pink.
Rejection should be represented by an uglier flower.
“Are you okay?” Brendon asks. Ryan closes his eyes and moves the carnation closer to his face. It smells wonderful.
Ryan nods. “Was there anything I could help you with?”
“I don’t-um. It’s not important,” Brendon says. “Some paperwork. We can do it later, when-are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”
“Is it Spencer?” Brendon asks, sounding worried. “He’s okay, isn’t he? Nothing’s-”
“Spencer’s fine too.”
Brendon is silent for a minute. Ryan can feel him watching, probably wondering what’s going on and whether there’s anything he can do to fix it. Ryan wishes he would leave.
“Okay, well,” Brendon says as last. “If you, you know, want to talk to someone? I’m-I mean, me and Jon both, we’re, um. Here. So.”
He pushes out of the chair and moves towards the door. Ryan raises his head and manages a smile, hoping it conveys some sort of thank you.
Right before he leaves the lab the following morning, he passes by his office and finds a Tupperware container waiting for him on his desk. It’s filled to the brim with red ants (Ryan’s favourite seasoning on scrambled eggs) and comes with a note saying, Breakfast makes everything better! :).
Ryan can’t help but smile.
OCTOBER 2008
“So, I was thinking,” Shane says. Brendon snuggles close and bites lightly at Shane’s shoulder until he gets the hint and starts carding his fingers through Brendon’s hair. “Maybe next time you have a night off, we could try something new?”
“Yeah?” Brendon says, mustering up the energy to open his eyes. “Like bondage?”
“Like dinner,” Shane says, grinning. “You know, go out on an actual date. I hear it’s the new cool thing.”
He says it casually, but the underlying question is there. Brendon takes a moment to think about how to answer. He’s not really surprised. It’s been four months, and with the kind of relationship they have, he figured they would hit a fork in the road sooner or later. He just hoped it wouldn’t happen yet. And that he wouldn’t be the one who had to pick a path.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says, deciding to just go with the truth. “This thing we have? I can do that, and it’s totally awesome. But emotionally, I’d be a really shitty boyfriend.”
Shane is quiet for a moment. Then he turns half-way around and uses the hand in Brendon’s hair to tilt his face up, pulling him in for a long, deep kiss.
“Damn,” he says, a little wistfully, once he draws back again. “I was kind of hoping that the last few months would have just fucked Ross right out of your head.”
Brendon shakes his head and tries to smile. If he’s completely honest about it, so was he.
“Okay,” Shane says eventually, once the silence has gone on for quite a while. Brendon wraps his arms closer around Shane’s body, trying to somehow make up for his lack of romantic feelings with really tight hugs.
“I’m sorry.”
Shane hugs him back. “Don’t be. I get it. Kind of sucks, but yeah.”
“So what now?” Brendon asks. The question has made steady rounds in his head for quite some time. He doesn’t really know how these things are supposed to go. Usually, with him, people just stop answering their phones one day. (Brendon hates that.)
“Well,” Shane says, moving one of his hands down to rest lightly on Brendon’s hip. “Bondage sounded kind of fun.”
Brendon looks up, surprised. Shane laughs. “What? You think the only reason I was sleeping with you was so that I’d get you to marry me one day?” he says, leaning in to kiss a path down the length of Brendon’s neck. “I just wanted to know where we stood. It’s fine.” He says it like it’s that simple, and Brendon thinks that maybe it could be. They kiss. It feels good. Maybe that’s all it needs to be.
“Also, there’s another thing,” Shane says, drawing Brendon’s attention back to his eyes. “I got a job offer from a magazine in New York.”
Brendon blinks.
“And I’m not saying I’m madly in love with you and would have turned it down in a heartbeat if you had wanted to take our thing further,” Shane adds quickly. “But that’s one reason I asked. I figured it was good to have all cards on the table. Eliminate the unknowns, you know?”
Brendon nods. Even through the light spinning of his head, Shane’s words make a lot of sense. Brendon wishes that he had the balls to do the same for himself a lot of the time. “When would you be leaving?”
“In about a month,” Shane says. “Nothing is decided yet, though. The guy I would be replacing is retiring, and he’s flexible about how long he stays on. I could start next month or in another four. Or I could stay here. I haven’t really made up my mind yet.”
“Okay.” It seems like the thing to say.
“So,” Shane says, hands starting to move again. “Until then, or as long as we still feel it’s a good idea, you wanna keep doing this?” His hand is stroking its way over Brendon’s hip, down the outside of a thigh and around the knee, inching closer in small circles.
Brendon tilts his head back for a kiss.
NOVEMBER 2008
“They broke up,” Spencer says one night when they’re making dinner in Ryan’s apartment. “Shane’s moving to New York after Christmas.”
Ryan nods. He guessed. Not about New York, obviously, but he noticed how Brendon was growing quieter in the last month or so. How the lazy smile went away gradually, together with occasional mouth-shaped bruises on his throat.
“So,” Spencer says slowly. “What are you gonna do?”
Ryan throws a handful of chopped onion into the frying pan and wonders the same thing.
DECEMBER 2008
Christmas Day is usually very quiet in the lab, since almost everyone is off duty. So when Ryan sees a light on in the break room, he goes to check it out. He finds Brendon there, slumped over the table with his back to the door, trying to put together a small gingerbread house from a million pieces spread out in front of him.
“I thought you were in Salt Lake City?”
Brendon almost jumps out of his skin, turning around with a guilty expression. “Yeah, um. My plane. It got cancelled. Some kind of strike.”
“Really?” Ryan says, brow furrowing. “I didn’t hear anything about that. Was it on the news?”
“Um, not so much,” Brendon says, fiddling with with a small rectangular piece that might be a door. “It was just a local thing. That one airline. With-it was just stupid, okay? It’s fine. I needed to get some paperwork done before the end of the year anyway.”
It’s obviously not the truth. Brendon is a terrible liar, and the gingerbread house in front of him is half-way done, glued together with sugar that Brendon has to have melted on the break room burner before he placed the structure on a tray filled with cotton balls to simulate snow. Brendon must have been working on it for hours.
Ryan wants to ask, but doesn’t know how to start. Before he can figure out a way to broach the subject, his phone rings. Spencer. Ryan takes it.
“I found Crystal’s present. It was lying in your kitchen,” Spencer says at the other end of the line, sounding like he’s equal parts amused and exasperated. “You want me to come pick you up or do we meet over there, because, seriously, we’re really fucking late now. Mom’s called me, like, four times.”
“I’ll meet you there,” Ryan says, trying to suppress the surge of guilt he feels when Brendon’s shoulders slump. “Make sure Jackie doesn’t eat all the yams, okay?”
“Deal,” Spencer says. “See you in a bit.”
The call disconnects, and Ryan puts his phone back in his pocket. Brendon has turned his attention back to his gingerbread house, trying to fit the four parts that make up the chimney together.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ryan asks. “I could call Spencer back. His family’s the best, I’m sure they’d be happy to set an extra plate.”
Brendon shakes his head. For a moment, it looks like he’s about to say something else, but then he presses his lips tightly together, following the expression with an unconvincing smile. “Thanks, but it’s fine,” he says. “I don’t want to mess up your plans. And I really should get some work done.”
Ryan wants to argue. Brendon’s hands are practically shaking-he’s clearly not fine. At the same time, Ryan knows what it’s like to hide from other people’s pity, and if Brendon needs him to pretend that everything is fine, then Ryan should be able to handle that.
“Okay,” he says, attempting a smile of his own. “Well, Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” Brendon says. “Give my best to Smith, okay?”
“Sure.”
Ryan leaves. He makes it roughly half-way to Summerlin before turning his car around.
“Hi,” he says when Spencer picks up his phone. “Um. I’m really sorry, but something’s come up. I won’t be able to make it.”
“Ryan, what are you talking about?” Spencer says. “It’s Christmas. I just got here, and we’re all waiting for you.”
“I know,” Ryan says carefully, a lump in his throat. “But, Spence. I-I just ran into Brendon down at the lab. And he’s all alone, and it’s-he shouldn’t be. So I’m going to go back there, and, I don’t know, get pizza or something.”
“What?” Spencer says. “Didn’t he say he was flying out last night? What about his family?”
“I don’t know,” Ryan says. “He said something about his plane being cancelled, but... Just, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Wish the family a Merry Christmas for me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Spencer snaps. “Invite him here. I’m sure mom wouldn’t mind. Or if he doesn’t want to, I can be there with you in thirty minutes. We’ll go out tonight and then have dinner here tomorrow. It’s fine.”
“No,” Ryan says softly. “No, I think-Spence, you didn’t see him. He’s really torn up about something, and I don’t. I don’t want to push. Or make him feel awkward. Just. Please? Stay? Spend Christmas with everyone, and I’ll handle this. Please.”
Spencer is quiet for a really long time.
“Okay,” he says finally. “I guess. If you’re really sure. But call me if you need me, okay?”
“I will,” Ryan says gratefully. “Thank you. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” Spencer says quietly. “And seriously, call. I mean, I love you, you know?”
“Yeah,” Ryan says, swallowing hard against the increasing tightness in his throat. “Love you too.”
They end the call. Ryan can’t help but feel like something significant just happened. He stops by a restaurant and gets take-out. An Italian one, because he doesn’t know what Brendon likes apart from the fact that he’s a vegetarian, and he doesn’t want to come back to the lab with a whole set of Christmas food.
Brendon is still in the break room when he arrives. The house is finished, with frosting and M&M’s decorating the roof and powdered sugar dusted all over to look like more snow. Ryan clears his throat.
“You hungry?”
Brendon twists around, startled. “What are you doing here?”
Ryan shrugs, holds out the take-out bag. “Having dinner. You wanna join me?”
Brendon stares at him as though Ryan’s speaking Chinese. Ryan walks to the other side of the table and starts unpacking boxes of food, along with some bread and a bottle of red wine. He gets plates from the cupboards next, along with cutlery and glasses, and starts scooping out wild mushroom papardelle in two equal serves. Brendon keeps staring.
“What-what about your Christmas?” he says at last. “I don’t want you to-what about-You didn’t have to do this.”
Ryan arranges some salad next to the pasta on the plates. “I wanted to,” he says quietly. He looks up, meets Brendon’s eyes. “Brendon, will you have dinner with me? Please?”
Brendon opens his mouth and closes it again. Then he ducks his head, and Ryan can see him blink several times. “Um, yeah, sure. Thanks,” he says, pushing out of his chair. “Let me just go wash my hands. The sugar got them all-I’ll be right back.”
He’s gone for over five minutes, even though the bathroom is just down the hall. Ryan carefully doesn’t mention it when he gets back, and after another ten minutes of awkward silence, Brendon looks up from his plate and smiles at him. Ryan smiles back.
“I passed Ceasar’s on the way back,” he says, fumbling for a conversation starter. “Decorations are even tackier than last year’s. They put elf costumes on all their statues.”
“For real?” Brendon says, giving him another small smile. Ryan nods. “I think the Bellagio is the worst, though. They’ve turned their main fountain into a cranberry bog. With floating stars in it. I mean, you can’t beat that.”
“I don’t know, I think elf costumes still wins,” Ryan says. “Especially when they have blinking lights on them.”
Brendon play-argues the point for a while, segueing into a discussion about the North Pole and how many toy-making elves would reasonably have to exist per one thousand human children. Before they reach dessert, the mood has lifted completely, and Brendon is lying against the table, gasping for breath as Ryan launches into an impersonation of the Evil Singing Santa he saw performing at the art museum last time he went there for coffee. Brendon one-ups him by performing a Cinderella’s-mice-sing-Liza-Minelli routine-complete with jazz hands-followed by a pretty disturbing limerick about Christmas stockings that he claims the kids at the hospital are responsible for.
It’s a really great night, and Ryan doesn’t want it to end. Eventually, they have finished the last of the food, wine and excuses, though, and have no choice but to head out to their cars. They end up standing awkwardly opposite each other in the dimly lit parking lot for another forty minutes, pretending like they’re not trying to draw the moment out.
“Thank you,” Brendon says finally, stepping close to Ryan and pulling him into a hug. “This was really awesome. Best Christmas in a long time.”
It feels like an opening, like Ryan could ask about Salt Lake City if he wanted to. He chooses to wrap his arms tightly around Brendon’s back instead, breathing in the smell of him. Brendon is beaming at him when they let go, and Ryan feels the smile connect somewhere deep in his chest.
He almost leans in. Stops himself at the last minute and settles for sending Brendon a shaky smile back. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Ross,” Brendon says, stepping back easily and walking around his car to the driver’s side. “See you in a couple of days.”
He drives off, and Ryan gets into his own car, leaning his head back heavily against the head rest and wishing that his life wasn’t so fucking complicated.
Next chapter
CHAPTER TWO
DECEMBER 2007 - APRIL 2008
Jonathan Walker joins their team on December 1st. He’s from Chicago, which means he shares Brendon’s views on things like seasons (Brendon misses the way fall looks in Seattle; Vegas is kind of... too sunny all the time) and how a perfect cup of hot chocolate should taste. On top of that, Jon is laid-back and fun, really good at his job and generally just kind of awesome.
Brendon loves him.
So does Spencer, as it turns out.
“Smith and Walker seem to be hitting it off,” Pete says with a grin, nodding his head towards the other end of the room.
Brendon looks up from his clipboard and watches Spencer laugh at something Jon just said. They are setting up infrared light to mimic the trajectories of bullets, Spencer showing Jon how to work the settings of the central control.
“This is awesome,” Jon says as three of the twenty or so beams turn a few degrees to the left. “We had equipment like this in Edmonton, but the beams had to be configured manually. I should email one of my colleagues up there, tell them to get one of these babies. What make is it?”
“It’s not on the market,” Spencer says. “I had a friend who works in electronics help me put it together.”
“You’re kidding,” Jon says. “You made this?”
“I was a Physics major in college,” Spencer says, shrugging. “And sure, this is handy, but it’s nothing to be impressed by. You should see some of Ryan’s stuff.”
“Is that a blush?” Pete whispers, leaning closer to Brendon. He looks absolutely delighted. Brendon scoffs.
“It’s not a blush,” he says, though when he looks closer, Spencer’s neck and cheeks do look a little redder than normal.
“You should stop teasing Spencer every chance you get,” he adds. “Did you know that one of the first things he showed me when I started here were the complaint forms for unprofessional conduct? He’s got a whole stack, pre-filled in for stuff you do.”
Pete laughs. “Can’t, it’s too much fun,” he says. “No one gets pissy like he does. Not even Zack. Besides, Walker’s been straight as a rod for as long as I’ve known him, so it’s not like messing with them would risk fucking something up and ruin anyone’s chances.”
“If you say so,” Brendon says, filing away the new information. It’s not a surprise. Jon reminds him a lot of his older brothers, easy-going and very much a traditional all-American guy. He also smiles a lot at the cute girl in the reception. Brendon assumed they weren’t batting for the same team. “Maybe he just hasn’t met the right boy yet.”
Pete chokes on another laugh, which turns into a coughing fit, and then looks back up.
“Yeah,” he says, “maybe so.” He looks content, almost a little smug. Brendon gets a weird feeling that Pete’s not talking about Jon anymore. “See you later, Urie.”
At the other end of the room, there’s another laugh. Jon’s this time, loud and happy. Brendon watches Spencer’s face brighten in response and bites his lip, wondering.
***
Brendon spends most of January and February in a state of constant confusion. Spencer definitely likes Jon; Brendon has never seen anyone try so hard to appear unaffected by another person before in his life. Brendon hasn’t seen Spencer flirt with anyone but Ryan since the weird moment at the airport where Spencer tried to flirt with him, and what he’s doing with Ryan is more of an old-married-people kind of flirting than anything else. The kind Brendon’s parents would get into around their anniversary, where there’d be a lot of bad jokes that only got told half-way through, mixed with smiles and eye-rolling.
This is very different from how Spencer is flirting with Jon. Nothing is open or acknowledged. Spencer is... showing off, for lack of better words. He gets wittier around Jon, more confident, more provoking. Brendon’s never thought of Spencer as a bitchy person before, but when Jon and he get into one of their discussions-ones that make Brendon think of mating dances on Animal Planet-Spencer is pretty fierce.
Ryan is very, very quiet about the whole thing. Brendon spends a lot of his time watching him, learning to read the signs of hurt and confusion and flat-out jealousy in the way he moves around. Ryan has a fantastic poker face, but there are tells in his hands, little twitches sometimes that Brendon would probably never have noticed if he hadn’t had an embarrassing weakness for watching them when Ryan talks.
Spencer is flirting with Jon, and it is hurting Ryan. That part is easy enough. What Brendon doesn’t understand is why. Why Spencer is doing it. Why Ryan lets him. What all the guilty and hurt looks between the two of them are about, seeing as they go in both directions. And why they both keep looking at Brendon when they think he isn’t aware of it.
Brendon has tried really hard to keep his distance from both of them. One reason being that he likes to think that he has some pride, another that he still doesn’t know just what their deal is. And if they are together, or getting back together, or having a dysfunctional version of an open relationship or whatever else they’re doing, Brendon is probably not supposed to know about it. One of the first things the people from HR went through with him was the paragraph in his contract where he had to declare himself free of family or romantic ties to any of his colleagues. It’s a standard policy. The Seattle lab had it too, and of course it doesn’t stop relationships from happening, or gossip from flying around. But there’s a difference between innuendo and openly acknowledging that the shift supervisor is obviously married to the guy who is second in command. Brendon gets that.
Also, Brendon just hasn’t wanted to ask. As long as Ryan and Spencer don’t officially confirm it and Brendon doesn’t catch them making out in the DNA Lab, he can sort of keep that happy, dreamy place inside his head where things went differently when he and Ryan met and there are vague hopes of maybe.
Ignorance is bliss, after all.
So Brendon waits. Another month, two. And things find a way back to normal on their own. Spencer doesn’t stop flirting with Jon, but the way it’s done turns from mating dance to a comfortable-looking friendship that reminds Brendon of two lion cubs wrestling in tall grass. There’s obvious tension lingering between Ryan and Spencer, but they still find their way back to sitting with their foreheads too close together, smiling and talking with their eyes. And Brendon-
Brendon takes a deep breath and decides to let the fantasy go. It’s been almost eight months, and even though he’s pretty sure that Ryan is interested, and even though it took Brendon very little time to confirm that, yes, he’s fucking in love with the guy, he doesn’t want to be in second place. Not with Ryan.
So.
Brendon goes into his bedroom and pulls the tightest pair of jeans that he owns out of the closet. He finds a black and sparkly baby tee, puts on a little bit of eyeliner and makes sure to pass the pharmacy on his way to the Strip.
Time to get back on the horse.
MAY 2008
“I need another idea for a perfect date,” Pete declares towards the end of May, walking into Ryan’s office without knocking and dropping into his usual chair. “And if you can somehow incorporate cotton into it, I will buy you an extra beer next time we go out.”
Ryan has had a really bad night. It started with two teenage bodies found in the trunk of a car and got worse from there, to the low point where Brendon stretched his arms over his head to get a kink out of his shoulders and Ryan noticed a purple hickey right above his hip bone.
He really doesn’t want to talk to anyone. Least of all Pete, especially not about dates.
“Sorry, can’t help you,” he says, not caring that his voice comes out tired and dejected. “Come back when you need ideas for how to completely fuck up your life.”
“Wow,” Pete says. “You know, Travis asked me the other day where all my melodrama and self-loathing had disappeared to. I’ll let him know you have them so he can get a dose from time to time.”
“No problem,” Ryan says. “I’ll keep them on a shelf next to your intelligence and wit.”
Pete leans back in his chair, watching Ryan through narrowed eyes.
“You know, just because you think you have yourself figured out, it doesn’t mean that someone amazing can’t come along and pull the rug out from under your feet,” he says. “Remember Lizzy?”
Ryan does. Everyone at LVPD remembers Lizzy. She was Pete’s girlfriend when he joined the force, and their breakup some four and a half years ago was dysfunctional and fucked up enough to bring about three policy changes with regards to visitors, filing procedures and handling of department property. As far as Ryan knows, Pete hasn’t dated anyone for longer than a weekend since then.
“Losing her fucked with my head,” Pete says. “I had it all figured out. She’d been the fucking One, and we still couldn’t make each other happy. So I gave up on love. Any of this ring a bell?”
“No,” Ryan says. “Maybe because Spencer never broke into my office in a jealous rage and set my desk on fire. Sorry.”
“No, he just made you so scared of hurting someone again that you haven’t dated anyone who was even remotely interested in any part of you other than your dick or a free dinner since I started here,” Pete says. “You broke his heart, he broke yours back, and the two of you are in each other’s faces all day, every day, reminding yourselves of that. I kind of think that’s more fucked up than me slashing Liz’s tyres. Or her posting pictures of my dick on the Internet.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Ryan says. “Isn’t. Whatever.” On some level, Ryan almost wishes it were. Then at least he would know where to start in order to work his way through it.
“Come on, Ross,” Pete says. “It’s exactly like that. You even explained it to me in detail that time we went out drinking after you’d been on one of your conferences. The one where you managed to fall in love with a student or some shit? How did that turn out, by the way?”
Ryan closes his eyes and breathes in. He told Pete about Seattle because he couldn’t bring himself to tell Spencer back then. That doesn’t mean that Pete actually understood what he was saying or that Ryan is going to tell him the other half of the story now. And fuck Pete for twisting Ryan’s words around and exaggerating things, anyway.
“Point is,” Pete says slowly. “Even if you’ve never loved anyone even a fraction of how much you loved the one you fucked up, it doesn’t mean that there won’t be someone else one day, who you’ll love even more. And who will fit you better. And make you want to do the fairytale thing instead of just tearing everything apart. So there. Think about that.”
Pete walks out the door, leaving Ryan at his desk, staring after him. He doesn’t want to think about it. Even if Brendon’s workspace wasn’t decorated in pictures of his nephews and nieces and he didn’t spend most of his free time playing guitar for sick kids at the local hospital, it’s obvious to anyone who’s known him for more than an hour that Brendon wants a family of his own more than anything. And Ryan can’t want that. Not when he wasn’t able to want it with Spencer. And not with the guilt of knowing that he’s clinging to his place in Spencer’s family while getting increasingly unsure about his actual feeling for Spencer himself. He just can’t.
For a minute, he feels like lying down and giving up altogether. Then he takes a deep breath, reaches for his files and forces himself to go back to work.
JUNE 2008
Brendon is approaching the end of a double shift and has been working the same crime scene for seven hours straight. Triple murder in a hotel suite during a very busy party. Everything is trashed, dirtied up, spilled on, touched; gathering evidence is like looking for a needle in a haystack.
“Got anything for a poor reporter?”
Brendon looks back over his shoulder and sees a familiar guy with dark hair and a press pass around his neck. Shane Valdés. They’ve been running into each other a lot lately.
“How the hell did you sneak in here?” he asks, grinning. “I thought McCoy and Marshall were immune to your charms.”
“Nope,” Shane says lightly. “So what have you got? Looks like quite a party.”
“You know I can’t talk about a case,” Brendon says, bagging another hair sample. “And I know that you know that I know that you know that, so what are you really after?”
“Well,” Shane says. “I was kind of hoping to do this in a much smoother and more romantic way, but, um, would you like to go out for a drink?”
Brendon takes a moment to look him up and down, considering. Shane’s got a dorky grin that Brendon kind of loves, expressive eyes, nice body. Slightly unfortunate hair, it’s true, but the fact that he’s giving Brendon a wink that hints at a ton of humour behind it more than makes up for that. Shane is hot, no question about it, and the offer is straight-forward enough. Brendon could use a distraction. “I don’t know,” he says slowly, even as a smile spreads across his face. “Fraternising with the press? I might get my fingers slapped.”
“I could kiss them better afterwards,” Shane offers with such an innocent look on his face that Brendon chokes on a laugh. “Jackson’s Pub on Emerson?”
Brendon checks his watch. “Two hours okay?” he asks. “I need to finish up here and get everything back to the lab. And, well, shower and doll myself up for my big date, obviously.”
“Fine by me,” Shane says, smiling back. “See you then.”
He leaves the room, and Brendon turns his attention back to work, wrapping up the scene as quickly as he can without neglecting anything. Ryan’s still at the lab when he gets back, deeply immersed in a thick file that takes up most of his desk. He’s wearing the same shirt as the day before, and Brendon hates himself for noticing, not to mention for the fact that his brain immediately jumps into wondering if that means that Ryan spent the night with someone or if he just forgot to do his laundry again.
He hits the showers and does his best to put everything related to Ryan and work out of his mind. He’s meeting a hot reporter for drinks. A real date, with clear intent and simple enough rules to follow. Brendon picks out a clean shirt, looks in the mirror and takes it off again, realising that it’s one he got about a month back because Ryan made an off-hand comment about blue being his favourite colour.
He picks out another one and thanks the universe for making him lazy enough to keep a fairly big chunk of his wardrobe at work to avoid having to go back home and change when something gets dirty or damaged in the field. It’s bright red, and while the colour might be a bit cliché for a first-date-slash-hook-up, at least the message is easy to read.
Brendon sighs and throws his locker shut, takes the back exit to the parking garage instead of passing through the lab again. He could do with more easy things in his life.
JULY 2008
Ryan doesn’t believe in jealousy. It’s irrational and petty and implies a need to control another person’s feelings. Actions. Both-whatever.
“You know, if you want to kill the guy, there are more effective ways than staring,” Spencer says from the opposite side of the table.
Ryan quickly looks away from where Brendon and the the reporter he’s been dating for a fucking month grind up against each other on the club’s dance floor.
“I just don’t trust him. There’s something wrong, and Brendon isn’t seeing it.”
“No,” Spencer says evenly. “You don’t like Shane-there’s a difference. And the thing that’s wrong is the fact that you were a moron. A slow moron. Do something about it or get over yourself.”
Ryan glares. Spencer rolls his eyes and gets to his feet. “Jon, you want another drink?”
“Sure,” Jon says, looking up from the house of cards he’s trying to build out of coasters, giving Spencer an easy smile.
Spencer looks at Ryan. “You good?”
“I’m fine,” Ryan says pointedly, stabbing at the ice in his almost full glass with the end of his straw. On the dance floor, Brendon’s hands disappear up the back of Reporter Guy’s shirt.
“Uh-huh,” Spencer says, sounding entirely unconvinced. “Jon, remind him not to use anything that shows up on trace, will you?”
“I’m not sure what to be more offended by,” Ryan throws back. “The fact that you believe me capable of pre-meditated murder or that you doubt my abilities to do a perfect cover up.”
“I need more alcohol to deal with this shit,” Spencer says flatly. He stalks off towards the bar. Ryan turns to Jon and raises an eyebrow. Jon pretends to be absorbed in the building of his awesome coaster structure, trying and failing to hide a grin.
AUGUST 2008
“You look like you’re in a good mood,” Jon says, reaching past Brendon to get a cup down from one of the break room shelves.
Brendon sips his coffee and nods. “I had a good weekend.”
“Yeah?” Jon says, grinning. “You and Shane get up to something fun?”
Brendon can’t help but smile. “Oh, things were definitely up,” he says, feeling even happier when Jon laughs.
He’s got friends who’ll laugh at corny jokes, a steady hookup who enjoys watching movies in bed and a job he really likes. Brendon’s life is fucking good.
Or it would be, if his heart could just decide to get with the program.
“Hey,” Spencer says, stepping into the room. He looks tired, Brendon thinks. Jon obviously agrees, because he takes one look at Spencer and then hands him the coffee he just poured for himself.
“What’s up?” Spencer asks, accepting the cup with a grateful nod.
“Brendon was just about to tell me about all the dirty sex he’s been having,” Jon says. “It sounded promising. I was gonna take notes.”
“Sounds good,” Spencer says. Normally, a comment like Jon’s would have sparked something wittier in response. Brendon and Jon share a puzzled look over Spencer’s shoulder.
“You okay, dude?”
“Fine,” Spencer says, yawning. “Just tired. We had Jackie’s baby over last night. He’s loud. And he got mashed banana on one of Ryan’s books. Is there any more coffee?”
“Do you think Spencer’s been acting weird lately?” Jon asks once Spencer leaves. “He hasn’t been over at my house to watch a game for almost three weeks, just tells me he’s busy. And he and Ryan are so closed off. Like, more than usual, you know? I hope no one in Spencer’s family is sick or anything.”
“I don’t know,” Brendon says, feeling vaguely guilty. He’s been doing his best not to notice, actually, telling himself that whatever is making Ryan and Spencer behave even more like an isolated unit is none of his business. “I haven’t, um-Spencer and I don’t talk that much. And, you know, there’s Shane, and...”
“Yeah, but they’re our team,” Jon says. “Shouldn’t we, you know, try to talk to them or something?”
Brendon shrugs. “I need to get back to work.”
“But,” Jon says, “Brendon. Come on, don’t you-”
Brendon closes the break room door behind him and escapes to one of the labs. There is a hollow feeling in his stomach telling him he knows what’s different about Ryan and Spencer recently, and he doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s probably wrong, anyway. And even if he’s not, well.
Brendon’s moved on. It’s none of his business.
***
“Are you coming to bed?”
Ryan looks up from the report he’s working on. Spencer is leaning against the doorway, wrapped only in Ryan’s favourite dressing gown. Ryan manages a smile and tries to will his pulse to speed up at the sight.
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
Spencer nods and goes to bed. No argument, no real disappointment. Ryan presses the pen he’s holding more firmly agains his notepad and hates the sense of relief that trickles through him.
Their current relationship is strange. They’re not exactly back together, and apart from agreeing that whatever they’ve been doing for the past month or so is a stupid idea, they don’t talk about it. They’re closer than they have been in a long time, though, and Ryan likes that. Being with Spencer on a physical level again is bittersweet and familiar. The sex is good-they know each other’s bodies far too well for it not to be-and Ryan sleeps better than he has in years.
It’s different than it was, though. Ryan misses the feeling of walking through the door, seeing Spencer and having his heart miss a beat. Misses being caught up in the moment and wanting Spencer so much he can barely breathe.
They’re not in love. Ryan wonders if they could be again if they tried hard enough. He and Spencer are a good match. Best friends and practically family. Already tangled up in each other enough not to give up and change the game the second someone tall, dark and handsome walks by with a press pass and a smile.
So maybe Ryan just needs to get over the stupid ache in his chest that longs for something more and be fucking grateful for what he already has.
He goes to bed an hour later, slips between the sheets carefully and spoons up against Spencer’s back. Spencer mumbles something in his sleep and pulls Ryan closer, tilting his head forwards to give Ryan better access to the back of his neck.
Ryan soaks up the warmth and presses a couple of kisses to Spencer’s shoulder before settling in to sleep, matching his breathing to Spencer’s and drifting off to the feeling of Spencer’s heart beating slow and steady under the palm of his right hand.
This part, at least, still feels the way it’s supposed to.
***
“Check this out,” Jon says, sliding up to Brendon and holding up a pair of tickets. He’s looking ridiculously pleased with himself. Brendon pulls off his gloves and protective goggles and takes a closer look.
“You got tickets for Cirque du Soleil?” he says, turning them over in his hands. “With... a Le Tapis Rouge VIP package! That’s awesome, man. Did you meet someone special?”
“Sadly not,” Jon says, grinning. “A friend offered them to me. I was thinking we could give them to Ryan and Spencer. They both have birthdays coming up in about a week, right? It’d probably be good for them to get out of the lab for a night.”
Brendon does his best not to let the automatic spark of jealousy he feels show on his face. He looks back down at the tickets. The show in question is the one playing at the MGM Grand; critics have been raving about it for weeks, calling it ‘a sensual adventure’ and ‘an intimate wave of colour’. Ryan would probably love it.
Brendon should want to see him happy.
He wonders if the idea of a combined gift and the way Jon worded it means that he has the same suspicions as Brendon about why Ryan and Spencer seem to be sharing a lot of clothes these days-if this is Jon’s way of asking how Brendon feels about it. Looking at Jon’s open face, he doubts it.
Maybe Brendon should tell him anyway.
“Do you think-” he says, biting his lip and trying to figure out how to start.
Jon’s pager beeps.
“Shit. 419 from Pete,” Jon says. “I have to go. Wanna meet up for pizza later?”
“Sure.” Brendon puts his goggles back on, feeling torn between wanting to tell Jon about the mess inside his head and being relieved that he doesn’t have to, at least not now. “Call me when you’re done. I can pick it up on my way over.”
SEPTEMBER 2008
“Is this a bad time?”
Ryan looks up. Brendon is standing in the doorway, clutching a stack of papers to his chest. Ryan shrugs and nods at the chair in front of his desk.
Brendon sits down, giving him an uncertain look. Ryan turns his focus back his hands. He’s playing with a striped carnation that Spencer left him earlier, rolling it slowly between his fingers. It’s too pretty, he thinks, all white and pink.
Rejection should be represented by an uglier flower.
“Are you okay?” Brendon asks. Ryan closes his eyes and moves the carnation closer to his face. It smells wonderful.
Ryan nods. “Was there anything I could help you with?”
“I don’t-um. It’s not important,” Brendon says. “Some paperwork. We can do it later, when-are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”
“Is it Spencer?” Brendon asks, sounding worried. “He’s okay, isn’t he? Nothing’s-”
“Spencer’s fine too.”
Brendon is silent for a minute. Ryan can feel him watching, probably wondering what’s going on and whether there’s anything he can do to fix it. Ryan wishes he would leave.
“Okay, well,” Brendon says as last. “If you, you know, want to talk to someone? I’m-I mean, me and Jon both, we’re, um. Here. So.”
He pushes out of the chair and moves towards the door. Ryan raises his head and manages a smile, hoping it conveys some sort of thank you.
Right before he leaves the lab the following morning, he passes by his office and finds a Tupperware container waiting for him on his desk. It’s filled to the brim with red ants (Ryan’s favourite seasoning on scrambled eggs) and comes with a note saying, Breakfast makes everything better! :).
Ryan can’t help but smile.
OCTOBER 2008
“So, I was thinking,” Shane says. Brendon snuggles close and bites lightly at Shane’s shoulder until he gets the hint and starts carding his fingers through Brendon’s hair. “Maybe next time you have a night off, we could try something new?”
“Yeah?” Brendon says, mustering up the energy to open his eyes. “Like bondage?”
“Like dinner,” Shane says, grinning. “You know, go out on an actual date. I hear it’s the new cool thing.”
He says it casually, but the underlying question is there. Brendon takes a moment to think about how to answer. He’s not really surprised. It’s been four months, and with the kind of relationship they have, he figured they would hit a fork in the road sooner or later. He just hoped it wouldn’t happen yet. And that he wouldn’t be the one who had to pick a path.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says, deciding to just go with the truth. “This thing we have? I can do that, and it’s totally awesome. But emotionally, I’d be a really shitty boyfriend.”
Shane is quiet for a moment. Then he turns half-way around and uses the hand in Brendon’s hair to tilt his face up, pulling him in for a long, deep kiss.
“Damn,” he says, a little wistfully, once he draws back again. “I was kind of hoping that the last few months would have just fucked Ross right out of your head.”
Brendon shakes his head and tries to smile. If he’s completely honest about it, so was he.
“Okay,” Shane says eventually, once the silence has gone on for quite a while. Brendon wraps his arms closer around Shane’s body, trying to somehow make up for his lack of romantic feelings with really tight hugs.
“I’m sorry.”
Shane hugs him back. “Don’t be. I get it. Kind of sucks, but yeah.”
“So what now?” Brendon asks. The question has made steady rounds in his head for quite some time. He doesn’t really know how these things are supposed to go. Usually, with him, people just stop answering their phones one day. (Brendon hates that.)
“Well,” Shane says, moving one of his hands down to rest lightly on Brendon’s hip. “Bondage sounded kind of fun.”
Brendon looks up, surprised. Shane laughs. “What? You think the only reason I was sleeping with you was so that I’d get you to marry me one day?” he says, leaning in to kiss a path down the length of Brendon’s neck. “I just wanted to know where we stood. It’s fine.” He says it like it’s that simple, and Brendon thinks that maybe it could be. They kiss. It feels good. Maybe that’s all it needs to be.
“Also, there’s another thing,” Shane says, drawing Brendon’s attention back to his eyes. “I got a job offer from a magazine in New York.”
Brendon blinks.
“And I’m not saying I’m madly in love with you and would have turned it down in a heartbeat if you had wanted to take our thing further,” Shane adds quickly. “But that’s one reason I asked. I figured it was good to have all cards on the table. Eliminate the unknowns, you know?”
Brendon nods. Even through the light spinning of his head, Shane’s words make a lot of sense. Brendon wishes that he had the balls to do the same for himself a lot of the time. “When would you be leaving?”
“In about a month,” Shane says. “Nothing is decided yet, though. The guy I would be replacing is retiring, and he’s flexible about how long he stays on. I could start next month or in another four. Or I could stay here. I haven’t really made up my mind yet.”
“Okay.” It seems like the thing to say.
“So,” Shane says, hands starting to move again. “Until then, or as long as we still feel it’s a good idea, you wanna keep doing this?” His hand is stroking its way over Brendon’s hip, down the outside of a thigh and around the knee, inching closer in small circles.
Brendon tilts his head back for a kiss.
NOVEMBER 2008
“They broke up,” Spencer says one night when they’re making dinner in Ryan’s apartment. “Shane’s moving to New York after Christmas.”
Ryan nods. He guessed. Not about New York, obviously, but he noticed how Brendon was growing quieter in the last month or so. How the lazy smile went away gradually, together with occasional mouth-shaped bruises on his throat.
“So,” Spencer says slowly. “What are you gonna do?”
Ryan throws a handful of chopped onion into the frying pan and wonders the same thing.
DECEMBER 2008
Christmas Day is usually very quiet in the lab, since almost everyone is off duty. So when Ryan sees a light on in the break room, he goes to check it out. He finds Brendon there, slumped over the table with his back to the door, trying to put together a small gingerbread house from a million pieces spread out in front of him.
“I thought you were in Salt Lake City?”
Brendon almost jumps out of his skin, turning around with a guilty expression. “Yeah, um. My plane. It got cancelled. Some kind of strike.”
“Really?” Ryan says, brow furrowing. “I didn’t hear anything about that. Was it on the news?”
“Um, not so much,” Brendon says, fiddling with with a small rectangular piece that might be a door. “It was just a local thing. That one airline. With-it was just stupid, okay? It’s fine. I needed to get some paperwork done before the end of the year anyway.”
It’s obviously not the truth. Brendon is a terrible liar, and the gingerbread house in front of him is half-way done, glued together with sugar that Brendon has to have melted on the break room burner before he placed the structure on a tray filled with cotton balls to simulate snow. Brendon must have been working on it for hours.
Ryan wants to ask, but doesn’t know how to start. Before he can figure out a way to broach the subject, his phone rings. Spencer. Ryan takes it.
“I found Crystal’s present. It was lying in your kitchen,” Spencer says at the other end of the line, sounding like he’s equal parts amused and exasperated. “You want me to come pick you up or do we meet over there, because, seriously, we’re really fucking late now. Mom’s called me, like, four times.”
“I’ll meet you there,” Ryan says, trying to suppress the surge of guilt he feels when Brendon’s shoulders slump. “Make sure Jackie doesn’t eat all the yams, okay?”
“Deal,” Spencer says. “See you in a bit.”
The call disconnects, and Ryan puts his phone back in his pocket. Brendon has turned his attention back to his gingerbread house, trying to fit the four parts that make up the chimney together.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ryan asks. “I could call Spencer back. His family’s the best, I’m sure they’d be happy to set an extra plate.”
Brendon shakes his head. For a moment, it looks like he’s about to say something else, but then he presses his lips tightly together, following the expression with an unconvincing smile. “Thanks, but it’s fine,” he says. “I don’t want to mess up your plans. And I really should get some work done.”
Ryan wants to argue. Brendon’s hands are practically shaking-he’s clearly not fine. At the same time, Ryan knows what it’s like to hide from other people’s pity, and if Brendon needs him to pretend that everything is fine, then Ryan should be able to handle that.
“Okay,” he says, attempting a smile of his own. “Well, Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” Brendon says. “Give my best to Smith, okay?”
“Sure.”
Ryan leaves. He makes it roughly half-way to Summerlin before turning his car around.
“Hi,” he says when Spencer picks up his phone. “Um. I’m really sorry, but something’s come up. I won’t be able to make it.”
“Ryan, what are you talking about?” Spencer says. “It’s Christmas. I just got here, and we’re all waiting for you.”
“I know,” Ryan says carefully, a lump in his throat. “But, Spence. I-I just ran into Brendon down at the lab. And he’s all alone, and it’s-he shouldn’t be. So I’m going to go back there, and, I don’t know, get pizza or something.”
“What?” Spencer says. “Didn’t he say he was flying out last night? What about his family?”
“I don’t know,” Ryan says. “He said something about his plane being cancelled, but... Just, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Wish the family a Merry Christmas for me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Spencer snaps. “Invite him here. I’m sure mom wouldn’t mind. Or if he doesn’t want to, I can be there with you in thirty minutes. We’ll go out tonight and then have dinner here tomorrow. It’s fine.”
“No,” Ryan says softly. “No, I think-Spence, you didn’t see him. He’s really torn up about something, and I don’t. I don’t want to push. Or make him feel awkward. Just. Please? Stay? Spend Christmas with everyone, and I’ll handle this. Please.”
Spencer is quiet for a really long time.
“Okay,” he says finally. “I guess. If you’re really sure. But call me if you need me, okay?”
“I will,” Ryan says gratefully. “Thank you. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” Spencer says quietly. “And seriously, call. I mean, I love you, you know?”
“Yeah,” Ryan says, swallowing hard against the increasing tightness in his throat. “Love you too.”
They end the call. Ryan can’t help but feel like something significant just happened. He stops by a restaurant and gets take-out. An Italian one, because he doesn’t know what Brendon likes apart from the fact that he’s a vegetarian, and he doesn’t want to come back to the lab with a whole set of Christmas food.
Brendon is still in the break room when he arrives. The house is finished, with frosting and M&M’s decorating the roof and powdered sugar dusted all over to look like more snow. Ryan clears his throat.
“You hungry?”
Brendon twists around, startled. “What are you doing here?”
Ryan shrugs, holds out the take-out bag. “Having dinner. You wanna join me?”
Brendon stares at him as though Ryan’s speaking Chinese. Ryan walks to the other side of the table and starts unpacking boxes of food, along with some bread and a bottle of red wine. He gets plates from the cupboards next, along with cutlery and glasses, and starts scooping out wild mushroom papardelle in two equal serves. Brendon keeps staring.
“What-what about your Christmas?” he says at last. “I don’t want you to-what about-You didn’t have to do this.”
Ryan arranges some salad next to the pasta on the plates. “I wanted to,” he says quietly. He looks up, meets Brendon’s eyes. “Brendon, will you have dinner with me? Please?”
Brendon opens his mouth and closes it again. Then he ducks his head, and Ryan can see him blink several times. “Um, yeah, sure. Thanks,” he says, pushing out of his chair. “Let me just go wash my hands. The sugar got them all-I’ll be right back.”
He’s gone for over five minutes, even though the bathroom is just down the hall. Ryan carefully doesn’t mention it when he gets back, and after another ten minutes of awkward silence, Brendon looks up from his plate and smiles at him. Ryan smiles back.
“I passed Ceasar’s on the way back,” he says, fumbling for a conversation starter. “Decorations are even tackier than last year’s. They put elf costumes on all their statues.”
“For real?” Brendon says, giving him another small smile. Ryan nods. “I think the Bellagio is the worst, though. They’ve turned their main fountain into a cranberry bog. With floating stars in it. I mean, you can’t beat that.”
“I don’t know, I think elf costumes still wins,” Ryan says. “Especially when they have blinking lights on them.”
Brendon play-argues the point for a while, segueing into a discussion about the North Pole and how many toy-making elves would reasonably have to exist per one thousand human children. Before they reach dessert, the mood has lifted completely, and Brendon is lying against the table, gasping for breath as Ryan launches into an impersonation of the Evil Singing Santa he saw performing at the art museum last time he went there for coffee. Brendon one-ups him by performing a Cinderella’s-mice-sing-Liza-Minelli routine-complete with jazz hands-followed by a pretty disturbing limerick about Christmas stockings that he claims the kids at the hospital are responsible for.
It’s a really great night, and Ryan doesn’t want it to end. Eventually, they have finished the last of the food, wine and excuses, though, and have no choice but to head out to their cars. They end up standing awkwardly opposite each other in the dimly lit parking lot for another forty minutes, pretending like they’re not trying to draw the moment out.
“Thank you,” Brendon says finally, stepping close to Ryan and pulling him into a hug. “This was really awesome. Best Christmas in a long time.”
It feels like an opening, like Ryan could ask about Salt Lake City if he wanted to. He chooses to wrap his arms tightly around Brendon’s back instead, breathing in the smell of him. Brendon is beaming at him when they let go, and Ryan feels the smile connect somewhere deep in his chest.
He almost leans in. Stops himself at the last minute and settles for sending Brendon a shaky smile back. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Ross,” Brendon says, stepping back easily and walking around his car to the driver’s side. “See you in a couple of days.”
He drives off, and Ryan gets into his own car, leaning his head back heavily against the head rest and wishing that his life wasn’t so fucking complicated.
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