A Little Piece with You (3/4)

[foxxcub]

One night, Spencer works a double shift at the hotel, and Brendon and Ryan decide to attend a poetry reading downtown. It's a weeknight, so the club isn't too terribly busy; the patrons are on the high end of the income scale, which means Jon's tips are more than respectable.

Patrick is playing with the house band, and more than once Jon's considered asking him to play with them. They'd do well with a trumpet player like Patrick, who's already played with Jon and Brendon on more than one occasion.

Not surprisingly, Pete slips in halfway through Patrick's set and takes a seat at the far end of the bar, closest to the door in his usual spot. Being a detective in a speakeasy isn't exactly the easiest position in which to be; Pete always keeps his hat down low over his eyes and tries not to draw attention to himself, even though the smiles he sends Patrick whenever the crowd reacts to his solos could practically light all of Chicago.

Jon pours him a shot and slides it across the bar. Pete reaches over and grabs it without taking his eyes away from the stage.

“He’s on tonight,” Jon says, folding his arms on the bar.

"He's got a cold. He didn't want to play, but I talked him into it." He finally looks at Jon and grins. "Guess that makes me a selfish bastard, huh?"

Jon laughs. "Naw, you made him keep his paycheck. And it's not like anyone can tell."

"Patrick could have the plague and still play his fucking ass off." Pete looks ridiculously smitten, and it's during moments like these that Jon wonders just how far Pete would be willing to go to keep Patrick in a job. It's been five months since the two of them started...whatever it is they started, and Bob got so antsy about having a city detective in his club, he told Jon and Gabe never to tell him when Pete was actually in the building.

Like he's reading Jon's mind, Pete says, quietly, "My boss keeps asking about this place. Wants to know for sure that you guys are clean." He sighs and throws back the rest of the shot. "At least I'm a damn good liar."

Jon feels his palms go damp. "Is he - does he trust you?"

"'Course he does." Suddenly, he looks tired, and sort of painfully sad. "He just doesn't know about Patrick, is all." He hands Jon the empty shot glass. "I'm not on the clock anymore, so keep them coming, yeah?"

An hour later, Pete's drunk and a little maudlin. He insists on Jon sharing a drink with him, and since it's nearly closing time, Jon pours them each a tumbler of whiskey.

"I can't help it, you know. It's just - I was never obsessed with mouths before him, and now every time Patrick so much as smiles at me, I want to throw him up against a wall and make him moan." He swirls what's left of his drink around in the glass, oblivious to the way Jon blushes. The band is wrapping up on stage.

"You don't even know, Walker. It's...sometimes you just find someone who just waltzes into your life and says, 'Hey, I'm gorgeous and more than you'll ever deserve, but I'm gonna be with you anyway, and oh by the way, I'm fucking incredible in the sack.'" He points a finger at Jon, eyes slightly glassy. "Some nights? We don't even make it past the living room. I once bit him so hard to keep from screaming, I drew blood."

Jon is trying not to let his entire face go up in flames, especially when Patrick waves to him as he finishes packing up his trumpet. He's only a little tipsy, and while he's talked about sex plenty of times in public (you can't be best friends with Tom Conrad - or Brendon, for that matter - and not talk about sex out in the open), it's never been like this. Now Pete's words are echoing in his brain - I want to throw him up against a wall and make him moan - and Jon has the crystal-clear image of Spencer in his apartment from the week before, standing in front of his window, every line of his body in stark relief against the lights of the street below. It's so clear, Jon closes his eyes and forces himself to take a deep breath, hands gripping the edge of the bar tightly.

"Hey."

Jon's eyes snap open, and Patrick's standing in front of him, leaning against the bar, his shoulder barely brushing Pete's. "Think we're done for the night," he says, lips still imprinted with the ring of his mouthpiece. "You said you had something to ask me?" He swipes Pete's whiskey tumbler and takes a long swig. Pete makes a low noise in his throat.

"Oh. Right." Jon tries to clear the haze from his brain. "You up for playing with me and the guys one night? Nothing formal, just maybe a song or two?"

Patrick beams. "It's about time. I've been waiting for you to ask me since the first night you all played." He slides the empty tumbler over to Jon. "How does next week sound?"

"Perfect." Jon writes his address down on a napkin and hands it to him, carefully avoiding the way Pete's slowly but surely leaning into Patrick, mouthing at his neck. "That's my apartment - we usually practice in the afternoons if Spencer's not working. Stop by and jam with us."

Patrick folds the napkin up neatly and tucks it inside his vest pocket. He's not pushing Pete away; instead, he gives him a small, affectionate smirk. He raises an eyebrow at Jon. "How much has he had?"

"Enough that I'd really like to get you alone somewhere," Pete mumbles into Patrick's skin. Thank God the club is almost empty; it's the only reason Patrick's letting him get away with it, Jon thinks.

"And that means you're drunk as a skunk." Patrick laughs as he finally nudges Pete upright again and starts to pull him to his feet. He tips his hat at Jon. "I'm gonna get him home. I'll see you later, Walker."

Jon nods, and he watches as the two of them stagger out the front door, Patrick holding Pete close.

===

By some small miracle they all end up off work on the same night. Ryan suggests practicing, but is completely outvoted.

"We could go to Tom's," Jon suggests. "He's always good for free booze, and you can see that Theremin thing he picked up in Germany, Brendon."

"Then Tom's gets my vote," Brendon answers immediately, already grabbing his hat.

Later, Ryan is looking over some of Tom's books when Tom comes in and plops down on the floor next to him.

"Jonny tells me you want to be a writer," he says, taking a long drag off his hand-rolled cigarette.

"I don't know. Maybe," Ryan shrugs. "But the music thing is working out for now, so."

"If you really want something to write about, go to Paris. Spend a month sitting in cafes and bars, just watching the people there. It'll give you a lifetime of stories." Tom exhales slowly, and the smoke is sweet, not like tobacco smoke at all. Ryan has smelled it at the club a couple of times, back near Bob's office when Jesse is working.

"Have you ever smoked before, Ryan?" Tom asks, a predatory gleam in his eye.

"Of course I have," Ryan says, a little indignant. But Tom laughs.

"Not tobacco. Marijuana, I mean." He starts to offer Ryan the joint, but pulls it back. "On second thought. I'll give you your first hit the same way I got mine. Just remember, hold it in before you exhale, okay?"

"All right." Tom takes another deep drag, leans in and presses his mouth to Ryan's. Instinctively, Ryan opens his mouth and inhales the smoke Tom is passing him. It's heavy in his lungs, but he holds it for a while before leaning back and exhaling. Ryan feels a low burn working its way out from his chest, smooth and languid. The corner of Tom's mouth quirks up and he comes in again, pressing their mouths together. There's only a little smoke left, but Tom licks at Ryan's lower lip before he pulls back. Ryan starts to follow him, but behind him, someone coughs. He turns to see Brendon standing in the doorway.

"Am I interrupting?" Brendon asks. His smile looks tight.

Tom stretches before he gets up off the floor. "Not at all. In fact, we were on our way out of here." He offers Ryan his hand and helps him up. Brendon's face is schooled into a polite expression, but Ryan can tell he's upset about something. He starts to ask, but Brendon's already back in the living room with Jon and Spencer. Tom winks and lets him have the last hit off the joint before they follow him into the other room.

===

"Don't be so naïve, Spencer. Everyone is inherently bisexual," Tom says lazily from his perch on the couch. Ryan has no idea what time it is or how they got on this subject in the first place. Oh, right – Tom and Giselle and the bullfighter. "In Europe, no one looks twice at two men or two women together."

"And just how do you know that?" Jon asks, smirking. "How many men have you kissed? I mean really kissed when there wasn't at least one woman involved?"

Tom sits up and jostles Ryan's head from its place on his thigh. "More that you ever will, believe me."

Jon snorts in disbelief. "No way. You'd never."

"Is that a challenge, Jonny Walker? You know how I feel about those," Tom says, and Ryan pushes himself into a sitting position, grinning slightly. This is going to be too good. "And because the amount of men you've kissed amounts to a big, fat zero."

If Ryan were in his right mind, he might have already noticed that both Spencer and Brendon are looking distinctly uncomfortable. But Tom and Jon's bickering is far more entertaining.

"What would you know? You were gone for a year. I could've kissed every man at The Charleston and you wouldn't have been the wiser," Jon replies, words slurring as he almost falls out of his chair. His cheeks are bright pink, and he keeps glancing over at Spencer as he speaks, eyes wide.

"I don't believe you," Tom says, taking another drink.

"Well, I don't believe you either, so I guess we're square," Jon replies, topping off the whiskey in his glass. He gets the glass halfway to his mouth before Tom is on him, kissing him hot and messy. Ryan leans around and takes Jon's glass before he drops it, and catches a hint of Tom's tongue sliding into Jon's mouth. Jon lets out a little moan when Tom pulls away.

"Okay, clearly I was wrong," Jon says, a little dazed and Tom sits back down next to Ryan with a satisfied smirk. Across the room, Ryan sees something dark and angry flash across Spencer's face before he excuses himself to the bathroom.

Brendon is strangely silent until Tom tugs Ryan in close, whispering, "I think I can find one of those for you, too, if you want," against Ryan's cheek.

And then all Ryan hears is the door slamming in Brendon's wake.

===

Practice at Jon's apartment is rough the next day. Everyone's bleary-eyed and hungover, but more than that, Brendon is tight-lipped and not looking Ryan in the eyes, and Spencer has this look of cool indifference that makes Jon uneasy.

At one point, Brendon goes over Ryan's latest set of lyrics, and huffs, "I can't sing these - who the hell puts surreptitious into a song?" He rolls his eyes at Jon, and yeah, that's not doing much to alleviate the tension in the air.

"It fits the mood of the piece," Ryan says quietly, "You don't have to sing it if you don't want to - "

"It just doesn't make any sense, and I'm tired of singing shit that doesn't make sense."

Brendon's never expressed anything of the sort to Jon in the past, but he has a feeling it's not important. They're not talking about music.

Ryan glares him for a long moment. "Fine. Then don't," he says, enunciating each word sharply. He gets up and grabs his jacket and hat off the couch, guitar in hand. "I'll see you at home, Spence."

The door slams behind him before Brendon swears under his breath. "Goddamn it." He shoves a hand through his hair, then grabs his own hat before disappearing out the door as well. Jon wants to think he's chasing after Ryan, but he doubts it. Brendon doesn't chase people; people chase him.

Jon leans his bass against the wall and sighs. "Well, that's great."

"Yeah, give our regards to Tom," Spencer says darkly, and it's almost like a slap in the face, it's so sudden. It's the first sentence he's spoken since they got to the apartment.

Jon gapes at him. "And what the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I don't know." He taps his sticks against the edge of his snare, and his lips are twisted up, like a sneer. "How 'bout the fact that he was throwing himself at you and Ryan last night, and the two of you weren't doing much to avoid it?"

Jon blinks, totally baffled. "I don't...Tom's my best friend, Spence, we were just having a laugh. We've known each other since we were kids, it's nothing we haven't - "

"Maybe Tom should stop and think about what he's fucking doing sometimes. Life's not some Parisian vaudeville show, Jon." Spencer flings a stick against the wall, wincing. "In case you didn't realize, Brendon likes Ryan. But it's kind of hard for him to deal with it when Tom's got his goddamn mouth all over Ryan."

"So that's who this is about?" Jon folds his arms over his chest and plants himself right in front of Spencer's kit, staring him down. "Ryan and Brendon?" He flashes to the hazy memory of Tom's tongue in his mouth, and he wonders, suddenly, how much of that Spencer had been paying attention to.

Spencer's eyes are wide, dark blue, and his cheeks are flushed. "Who else would it be about?" he asks in a low voice, and Jon's heart sort of jerks.

"In case you didn't realize, I don't control what my friends do, which you should know by now."

"Then don't antagonize them!"

"Fuck you, you don't tell me what to do, either!" Jon feels a rush of heat flood his face; it's the first time he's ever raised his voice to Spencer, let alone sworn at him.

Something flickers over Spencer's face; he rolls his shoulders and looks down at his snare for a moment, jaw clenched. Then he tosses his other stick on the floor and mutters, "I'm going home."

He pushes past Jon on his way out, and Jon makes no move to stop him.

===

After he leaves Jon's, Ryan walks near the pier to clear his head; between Tom and Brendon, his head is swimming. And he knows he shouldn't have lost his cool at practice, but he couldn't help it. The look on Brendon's face every time Ryan came into his line of vision was hard enough to face without having to navigate the frosty glares Spencer was sending Jon.

His stomach growls, so he stops into a diner and eats a quick dinner before looking over the lyrics they'd fought over. Brendon might have a point about surreptitious, and caricature was a little much, too. But after some tweaking and rewriting, there was something there. Something they could work with, at least.

Brendon's not home, so Ryan heads for the club. Jon's not behind the bar, but Jesse is.

"Have you seen Brendon?" Ryan asks.

"I think I saw him head to the back a bit ago. You can check there," Jesse replies, pouring a drink.

"Thanks."

Ryan winds his way through the tables and goes through the door marked Employees Only. There's a small upright in the dressing room and Ryan assumes that's where Brendon's gone to hide. The door isn't shut all the way and he's about to go in without knocking when he hears a groan. He opens it just a little and almost bites his tongue when he sees who's inside.

Brendon is leaning against the counter, shirt unbuttoned with Alex Suarez on his knees in front of him. Alex's head is moving back and forth and Ryan can only imagine where his hands must be. Brendon's eyes are closed and he's talking, low and filthy.

"Fuck, Alex. Yes, just like that. God, so good."

Ryan knows he should leave. He should walk out of the club and go home and forget he saw any of this. But he can't. His eyes are glued to the way Brendon is swallowing back the noises he wants to make and the way his hand is anchored in Alex's dark hair.

"Alex, Alex, stop. Too close, I'm gonna come..."

With a laugh, Alex pulls off. "Can't have that, can we?" He stands and kisses Brendon hard. Ryan wants to burst in and do…something. There's an awful burning his chest; he knew Brendon flirted and touched, but he never cared. Not until now.

To his surprise, Brendon moves behind Alex, bending him over with his hands on the edge of the counter. He gets Alex's trousers down around his knees and is about to sink inside him when Brendon looks up into the mirror.

And sees Ryan in the doorway.

Their eyes meet for a brief second before Ryan drops the lyrics on the floor and runs out of the club.

===

They have another practice scheduled the following day, and Ryan goes to Jon's with dread sitting in his stomach like lead. He doesn't know what to say to Brendon or if he even should say anything; they aren't anything but friends, Brendon can do what he likes with whoever he likes, right?

No, he can't, a traitorous little voice pipes up in his mind, but he steadfastly ignores it. Just like he ignored the dreams he'd had about what he'd seen – himself in Alex's place, on his knees in front of Brendon. The lean cut of Brendon's torso and the flex of his fingers when he pulls Ryan's hair just this side of too hard. And he is most emphatically not thinking about the sheets he'd taken to the laundry that afternoon. He's going to walk into practice ready to work.

Brendon is at the piano, a sheaf of papers on the ledge in front of him. He's humming something and making notes in pencil.

"Hey." Ryan says, getting out his guitar and starting to tune it. Brendon hasn't turned around yet. "Spencer's going to be late. He's covering until six or so."

"All right. Jon went out for cigarettes," Brendon answers distractedly. He's playing around with different chords in his right hand, moving from major to minor and back again. When Ryan comes to look at what he's doing, he recognizes the lyrics he'd dropped on the floor last night.

"These are good, really solid," Brendon comments, making arrows and notes to himself.

"Oh yeah?" Ryan answers carefully.

"But I want to move a couple of these stanzas around. Here, look." He gestures and Ryan leans over him to look at what he's done, deliberately not touching him at all. The changes are good, makes the meaning the stronger.

"I like it," Ryan says and he feels Brendon relax a little bit, his shoulder brushing Ryan's collarbone. He turns his head, and suddenly they're in each other's space again. Ryan thinks about the night in the club the first time he saw Brendon play. Unconsciously, he moves in just a little closer.

"I'm sorry," Brendon whispers before he leans in and kisses the corner of Ryan's mouth.

"Me too."

Ryan doesn't have time to say anything more before Jon comes in the door. They spring away from each other and Brendon turns back to the piano.

"Everything all right?" Jon asks tentatively.

"Hunky dory, Jonny Walker," Brendon replies and Ryan just touches his lips and smiles to himself.

===

Spencer is sitting at the table when Ryan gets home from work a few days later. He's not supposed to be there, he's on until at least ten o'clock.

"What are you doing here?" And that's when he sees there are two glasses and a yellow sheet of telegram paper in front of him.

"Sit down," Spencer says quietly.

"Oh my God, is it your father? Your mother, what?" Ryan asks frantically.

"No, my family's fine," Spencer says, taking Ryan's hand. He slides the telegram toward him.

DEAR SPENCER – STOP – RYAN'S FATHER HAS PASSED AWAY – STOP – SENDING MONEY FOR TRAIN TICKETS – STOP – PLEASE COME HOME AS SOON AS POSSIBLE – STOP.

He has to read it three times before it sinks in.

His father is dead.

Spencer is talking to him, so he tries to focus on what he's saying.

"...booked tickets for the day after tomorrow. I told the hotel I needed a leave of absence and they were fine about it - I might have to start at the bottom when I get back, but I don't care about that." He takes a deep breath and his words grow faster. "You need to tell Mr. Parker first thing in the morning. I think it would be best to have Brendon stay here; his lease is up at the end of the week and we don't know how long we'll be gone. Jon can take care of Bob and the club, maybe he can have Patrick fill in for a few shows and maybe Ryland and Greta as well."

Ryan can't think about anything but the word dead. Dead. His father is dead.

"Ryan? Are you all right?" Spencer snaps his fingers in front of Ryan's face. Ryan reaches up and catches his hand.

"Spencer, yes. I'm fine. I'm fine," he answers. And the funny thing is, he's not even really lying. He's upset, but not like he thought; in fact he's strangely relieved. "Having Brendon stay is a good idea. And Jon will figure everything out." He reaches for the whiskey, drinks it down in one swallow and shoves Spencer's glass toward him. "I think you need this more than I do."

That gets a weak smile as Spencer settles back into his chair. "This isn't a good time to be going away. The band is a mess, you and Brendon are, well, I don't know what's going on with the two of you. And Jon and I..." He trails off, sighing as he rubs a hand over his face.

"It'll be fine, Spencer. We'll go home, get this settled and be back in a week. Two, at the most," Ryan says. Spencer takes a drink of whiskey and laughs.

"Shouldn't I be the one reassuring you?"

"Sometimes it's nice to be the one getting taken care of. You should try it some time, Spencer."

But Spencer just rolls his eyes. "Save it for someone who doesn't know you as well as I do, Ryan Ross." He gets up and takes their glasses to the sink. "You go get packed, I'm going to see Brendon."

Spencer closes the door behind him and once he hears the locks click, Ryan finally lets himself breathe.

===

It's almost closing time, and against his better judgment, Jon let Gabe talk him into sampling the new inventory he'd received the day before out of Detroit. One drink eventually became three, and now Jon's past the point of just tipsy. But the club is dead tonight; it's an election day, and people are staying home with their radios to hear the latest polls.

He's yelling something profane about Jesse's mother ("shut it, Walker, she's a classy dame, and those aren't your style" - "she seemed to like my style last night!") when he looks up from the bar and sees Spencer standing at the far end, mouth in a tight line.

Jon instantly goes tense and loses some of his buzz. It's been a week since Spencer blew up at him for no reason during practice, and since then they've been carefully avoiding one another. Well, avoiding in the sense that Spencer keeps looking at him when he thinks Jon's not paying attention, and Jon does the same in retaliation, like a weird game of tug-o-war. He knows Ryan watches them and never says a word; a part of him wishes Ryan would, and then maybe they could get over this and move on - whatever "this" may be.

But now Jon's drunk and not in the mood to deal with Spencer's practiced looks of indifference, looks he hates more than anything. He didn't do anything, and he's not about to apologize for someone else's actions.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Jon drawls, swirling the leftover whiskey in his glass as he saunters down the bar to Spencer. He smirks at him and adds, "Must've been a slow night at the hotel if you've got nothing better to do than come down here and glare at me some more." There's less bite to it than Jon intends, making him wince internally.

Spencer sighs and doesn't meet his eyes. Not that this surprises Jon, but he also sees the way Spencer's shoulders are rounded in too much, how he just looks tired. And as much as Jon hates himself for it, he can feel himself leaning in closer, sliding his hand over the bar until his fingertips are just shy of touching Spencer's.

Softly, he asks, "Hey, is everything - ?"

Spencer seems to catch himself, and he straightens and clears his throat. He doesn't pull his hand back, but he also makes no move to take the touch further. "Ryan's father died. We're going back home," he says, every word sharp and even. He's still not looking at Jon.

It's like a fist sort of punches its way into Jon's chest. "You're...you're leaving?" His heart starts racing, and the whiskey left in his glass is completely forgotten. Brendon had told him about Ryan's father, about the drinking and all that, but he never thought something like this would happen.

"Yeah." Spencer doesn't say anything else for a moment, and then he shoves his hair back and chews at his lip. It's a tell, he's not a composed as he looks, and Jon wants to touch him so badly, even if it's nothing more than a hand on Spencer's wrist.

"Is Ryan all right?"

"He's doing as well as can be expected."

"What about - " Jon swallows. "What about the band? Your jobs?"

Spencer shrugs. "I don't know. I guess we'll figure it out later, but right we've got a funeral to worry about." His voice wavers, just a little, on the word funeral. "So...now you know." He nods and starts to back away from the bar.

"Spence, wait." Before he can stop himself, Jon grabs Spencer's arm and pulls him back. "So that's it? You're just gonna leave like this, without - " Without fixing us is on the tip of his tongue, but he's not about to say it. Instead, he shakes his head, feeling a little desperate suddenly. "We haven't talked in a week, you barely even look at me, and I - I don't know what you want to me to do, but you can't just - "

"I don't have a choice. It's Ryan, and I'm not about to let him go back alone." Spencer carefully slips his arm free of Jon's grasp and takes a step back. Then he says, his voice less confident, "You could've said something, too, you know."

He wishes he weren't drunk, that Gabe hadn't talked him into that last drink, because then he could think of something to say to all of this, rather than feeling a blurred sense of helplessness. It's his pride that makes him bite back, "I could say all sorts of things, but it's not as if you'd ever listen."

"I might." Spencer blinks and finally meets Jon's eyes. "Depends on what you have to say."

It's unfair, completely unfair for Spencer to pin him with those eyes of his. He could take the easy route and say he's sorry, but Jon knows Spencer, and sorry or not, an apology isn't going to make him stay. Spencer's mind is made up, and he's never going to choose Jon over his best friend and his family waiting in Vegas.

Jon takes a deep breath and says, "I say you should make sure Ryan makes it home okay." But he doesn't look away, even when he knows it's wrong to take comfort in the way Spencer flinches slightly.

"Our train leaves the day after tomorrow." Spencer takes another step away as he slides his hands into his pockets, hair falling in his eyes when he ducks his head and glances at the empty stage.

"When..." Jon licks his lips. "I mean, you're coming back, right?"

He raises one shoulder, a half-committed shrug. "Maybe. We'll see how things go." Spencer's tone is suddenly bored, blase', like he could care less about the outcome. Jon wants to punch him and grab onto him again, all at once.

"Okay, well. I guess I'll see you at the train station. I'm sure Brendon will want to be there." He drains the rest of his whiskey and slams the tumbler down hard onto the bar.

Spencer shrugs again. "Ryan will want to see you, too." He closes his eyes for a moment before turning toward the door. "I'll see you later," he says over his shoulder.

Jon barely resists throwing his glass at door as it closes behind Spencer.

===

Everyone is quiet at the station. It's early and there's a chilly breeze whipping down the platform. Ryan goes to turn up his collar, but Brendon's hand is already there.

"Don't want you to catch a cold," Brendon murmurs.

"Thanks."

Ryan looks over at Spencer. He's standing as far away from Jon as possible without trying to make it obvious. Ryan's still not sure what happened, he only knows Spencer came home and slammed his bedroom door shut and didn't come out again until they were ready to leave.

"7:08 to Des Moines, Omaha, Denver, and all points west departing in ten minutes!"

As if on cue, they all turn in toward each other. Spencer picks up their bags, holding them in front of him like a shield before handing them over to the porter. Ryan narrows his eyes, but Spencer steadfastly ignores him.

"I guess this is it," Jon says. He sounds like he spent the night chain smoking. Maybe he did.

"Yeah, I guess so," Ryan answers as Jon hugs him.

"You two take care. We'll see you in a few weeks, right?"

Ryan nods against his shoulder. "Be back before you can miss us."

Brendon is there as soon as Jon steps back, wrapping his arms around Ryan tightly. He buries his face in Ryan's neck, snuffling a little.

"Write to me," he says into Ryan's collar. "I won't have anyone to argue with if you don't."

"Sure," Ryan says distractedly. He realizes his pocket is too light. He lets go of Brendon to check to make sure his journal is in his bag. When he stands back up, he catches the tail end of something in Brendon's expression, but then Brendon's smiling again. Ryan thinks he must have imagined it.

Next to him, Jon reaches for Spencer. They hug too, but it's stiff and awkward. "You write too, okay, Spence? Let us know everything's all right." He holds onto Spencer a little too long, his hand lingering on Spencer's arm. Ryan wants to scream at them to knock it off, but Spencer moves his hand and grabs Jon's, giving it a little squeeze.

"My letters won't be as interesting as Ryan's, but I'll do my best."

"That's all I ask for," Jon says, looking down at their clasped hands before Spencer takes a step back.

The train whistles pierces the air. "All aboard that are coming aboard."

Spencer shoulders his satchel. "We should go."

Brendon grabs Spencer and hugs him hard and fast. "Don't leave us for too long, Spencer Smith." Finally, Spencer cracks a smile.

"We'll do our best."

They get on the train and Ryan takes the seat near the window. Outside, he can see Brendon and Jon still on the platform. He waves, even though he knows they can't see him and he watches until the train pulls out and he can't see them anymore.

===

Dear Brendon,

Things in Vegas aren't that much different from when we left. I'm staying with Spencer's family while I figure out what is happening with my father's estate. That's the lawyer talking, not me. He died of natural causes and Dr. Smith confirmed it for me. His heart just gave out. I thought the irony of a heartless man dying of a heart condition was unbelievable, but Spencer didn't think it was all that funny. You would have though.

Spencer's sister is getting married in a few days, so the entire house has been turned upside down. Ginger is reminding me to thank you for teaching Spencer and me how to make those rolls. We've been baking them for days now.

I found an old brass harmonica at my father's house. It was still in the case, so I thought I'd send it to you. I expect you'll have it mastered by the time we get back. Also, Spencer and I went out to see a few bands play downtown here and you can tell Jon they have nothing on Chicago.

I've had a lot of time to think and when I get back, we should talk about some things.

I miss you, Brendon.

Yours,
Ryan

===

Ryan -

Chicago is the same too. Same bakery, same bar, same Jon. I even started re-reading Gatsby so I can try and see your side of the argument, but I don't know that I ever will.

I was reading this week and came across this quote: "Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them." It's from The Picture of Dorian Grey, but you probably already know that. It just made me think of you.

I've left the green light on for you.

Always,
B

===

Dr. Smith offers to go out to the house with him. Ryan spent years wishing Spencer's father was his father, too, and now, in a way, he supposes he is. It's an easy silence on the way there. But he does ask one question.

"Are you boys doing all right up there? Ginger worries, but I know you both are too smart to get into any real trouble." Ryan wonders what they would say if they knew Spencer works in a hotel that's frequented by Al Capone and six nights a week they hang out in a speakeasy full of illegal liquor and drugs. And that doesn't even cover the people they know.

"We're doing fine. Spencer is thinking of taking a bookkeeping course at night and I've got a line on a job at the newspaper. It's hard sometimes, but we've made some good friends, so we keep ourselves out of trouble," Ryan answers.

When they get there, Dr. Smith hands him the keys. "I'll be out here. You take as long as you need."

Ryan's hand shakes, but he gets the door open. Someone's been here to clean, he can smell the same powder Spencer's mother uses in their house. Everything is exactly the same as the day he left it. Tables, chairs, right down to the green towel at the sink. It's eerie, and he keeps expecting his father to burst in the door any minute.

His room is musty. The drawers are still hanging open and the bed isn't made. Apparently, in the entire time he's been gone, his father didn't come in. He should be upset, but he's not.

He thinks about Spencer and his family and everything they've done for him. He thinks about Chicago and Jon and The Charleston and the bookstore and everyone he's met there. He thinks about his and Spencer's apartment and Jon's basement and playing music with his three best friends in the world.

He thinks about Brendon. He thinks about the way Brendon will argue with him, just for argument's sake. Brendon is tactile, always touching Ryan's wrist or knee or something when he's making a point. It's not that Ryan doesn't like to be touched, but Brendon has no boundaries; he'll jump on Jon and wrestle with him, or run a hand through Spencer's messy, too-long hair. But he touches Ryan with a little more care, more deliberately. Like Ryan means more, like maybe he's trying to say something without really knowing how to say it.

Once he thinks about all of those things, his decisions seem pretty clear. Dr. Smith is sitting on the porch swing, making notes in a medical journal. Ryan comes outside and uses the key to pry the brass ROSS nameplate off the door and shuts it behind him.

"Ready, son?" Dr. Smith asks.

"Yes, definitely."

As they leave, Ryan doesn't look back.

===

Jackie's wedding is beautiful. She looks happy and not at all like the little girl with whom he and Spencer used to have mud fights in the yard. And Ryan doesn't even tease Spencer when he gets choked up; he just hands him a handkerchief and goes back to listening to the preacher speak about devotion and love.

Spencer's family has gone all out for the party. The house is full of everyone they've ever known - family, friends, schoolmates, even patients of Spencer's father. The women are over the moon over Jackie's gown and Ginger has more requests for dresses than she knows what to do with. But Jackie is quick to point out to all her friends, and their mothers, that her big brother sent the gorgeous buttons, all the way from Chicago.

"He got them at a notions store. It's the same one all those vaudeville dancers go to, right, Spence?" Jackie says, a gaggle of girls hanging on her every word. Ryan hides his laughter in a glass of punch as Spencer struggles under all the attention.

"Yeah, sort of. I mean, it had other things, too. Maybe it was more like a general store," Spencer answers politely.

Another friend of Jackie's sidles up to Spencer and hooks her arm in his. "So, Spencer, you got a girl waiting on you back in Chicago?"

Spencer turns to Ryan for help, so Ryan answers for him. "He does have someone in Chicago. It's at that delicate place, you know, right before anything really starts, but you know it's going to. It's all flirting and heated glances across crowded rooms," Ryan says to the girls with a wink. Spencer just looks scandalized.

"Wow, she must be pretty special," Jackie says carefully.

"You have no idea," Ryan says, giving Spencer a pointed look. Right then, Ginger calls Jackie and all the unmarried girls to the stairs to try and catch the bouquet, saving them from any more interrogation.

"What was all that about?" Spencer hisses under his breath as they sit down. "There's no girl in Chicago."

"No, there's not a girl, you're right."

"Then what did you say all that for?"

Ryan shakes his head. "I thought you were supposed to be the smart one here. Think about it, Spencer. You'll figure it out."

Spencer doesn't have time to say anything back, because Jackie's bouquet lands squarely in his lap.

===

Jon gets two letters in one week. It means Spencer mailed them within a few days of each other, but Jon tries not to read too much into that.

The first letter is a recap of the funeral, how Ryan's doing, and also his own family and preparations for his little sister Jackie's wedding, how much she loves the buttons Spencer found, how much he's missed his two dogs.

It ends with I miss you and Brendon. Ryan says hello.

The second letter is more melancholy, more introspective. It's what Jon expected to read - Spencer's missed his home.

It's like nothing's changed at all, Spencer writes. I know we've only been gone six months, but I expected things to be different. It's funny how life moves on without you, only not. And family is somehow always stationary. Jackie's getting married soon, and I feel old, but I knew this day was coming. Time away doesn't change the fact that I am and will always be her big brother.

But this time, the letter ends with I'm sorry about the fight. I miss you, and nothing more.

Jon doesn't write back for a few days; he doesn't know what to say, how to tell him he's sorry as well and that he's happy Spencer's back where he needs to be. Except he's not happy - he's terrified that all of this is Spencer's way of telling him he's not coming back to Chicago.

Eventually he curls up on his couch with a few sheets of stationary and writes until his hand begins to cramp. He tells him about the gigs he and Brendon have played with Patrick, about the rumor that Al Capone is interested in stopping by The Charleston (and thereby raising Bob's blood pressure through the roof), about the guy he beat up the night before who was trying to take advantage of Cassie. He tells him all this and never once mentions how much he misses him, misses just having Spencer keep his beat.

I'm sure Vegas missed you. You deserve to be back home with your family. Besides, winters in Chicago are hell.

He does, however, end with I'm sorry, too.

Spencer keeps writing, but after a month the letters start to taper off, and he eventually stops signing his letters with I miss you and just writes Spence.

Jon goes to the club that night (his night off, no less) and drags Brendon with him, wanting something to do other than play music that makes him think of Spencer. Not that The Charleston itself doesn't make him think of Spencer and Ryan, but at least he can drink on the house.

The two of them sit nudged up against each other at the bar, shot glasses piled up and a bottle of whiskey between them. Brendon lays his head on Jon's shoulder and sighs, long and pitiful.

"I don't get it, Jon. There's this pain in my chest all the time and it just won't stop." The words are slightly muffled whenever he turns his face into Jon's shirt. "It's right where my heart is, which doesn't make any sense at all."

Jon's once again hit with the memory of his fight with Spencer, and he has a moment of (drunken) clarity. "Christ, Urie, you're in love. Stupid, stinking love." He grabs another shot and downs it fast. "And it's not enough that he has to be smart and talented - no, he's gotta smile. That's what's not fucking fair. The smiling."

Brendon lifts his head, blinking in confusion. Then his eyes go wide, and he beams as he buries his face back into Jon's shoulder.

He whispers, "You love Spencer, don't you?"

Jon sighs and rubs his cheek against Brendon's hair. A part of him hates the thought of an answer, because saying it out loud just makes it real. When it's real, it hurts more. "I...might?" he mumbles, spinning the empty shot glass on the bar. "It's not like it matters, anyway, because he's not coming back."

Brendon makes a pffft sound. "At least he's not in love with someone else. Like fucking Tom."

Jon leans back and frowns. "Ryan's not in love with Tom, what the hell?"

"Yes, he is. You've seen the way he moons over him, always talking about the things Tom's seen and people he's met in his 'worldwide adventures.'" Brendon does sloppy air quotes as he pours them both another shot. "He even let Tom read some of his poetry."

"Um." Jon rolls his eyes before he takes another drink. "He's really not in love with him, Bren. When he gets back, he'll tell you that himself. And those lyrics you've been singing are Ryan's poems, too, you know."

"Quiet, Jon Walker, you're too drunk to be logical." Then he suddenly slaps Jon's arm. "What the hell makes you think Ryan would come back without Spencer? There's absolutely no way."

"He belongs there, Bren. His family loves him, and he should be with them. Why would he give all that up for a dump of an apartment, a job he's too good for, and our stupid little band?" Jon knows he sounds pathetic, but that's kind of the whole point. Jon needs to get this out now, once and for all, so he can move on when Spencer sends that last letter. "He deserves better than that. Better than me." He rubs a hand over his face and digs his thumbs into his eyes, hard enough to see stars.

"There's no one better than you." Brendon hugs his arm, practically sitting in Jon's lap. Gabe eventually brings them another set of clean shot glasses, smirking as he takes the used ones away. "And if Spencer can't see that, then..."

"You have to say that because no one else will." Jon kisses Brendon's temple.

Brendon snorts, indignant. "When have you ever known me to tell a lie?"

Jon's pity party slowly dissolves as he grins. "Never."

"Exactly. I'm never wrong about matters of the heart - um, at least, other people's hearts." He hugs Jon's arm tighter. "It'll work out in the end. One way or another."

"Except I'm older and wiser and know how the world works. Hearts don't always factor in." If he had a sheet of paper in front of right now, he'd write miss you a thousand times and mail it off. Luckily, there's not a scrap of paper in sight.

"You need more faith, is all."

"I know," Jon whispers. "I just know better." He's not going to get his hopes up. Not when he knows the right thing to do for once when it comes to Spencer.

He takes Brendon back to Ryan and Spencer's apartment; Jon sometimes stays with him and sleeps in Spencer's bed, claiming it's because he's too drunk to make it the rest of the way home. Brendon sheds his clothes and collapses into Ryan's bed, humming into the feather pillows with satisfaction as he fades quickly into sleep, while Jon stands in the doorway of Spencer's room. He'd slept there the night before, and the sheets are still mussed.

He shakes his head, mumbles, "No." He's done torturing himself.

Jon goes home, to his own bed, and tries not to imagine Spencer's scent on his extra pillow.




part four