hindsywrites

[hindsywrites]

Hey Baby, They’re Playing Our Song (The One We Used To Hear When We Used To Get Along)

Of all the first meetings Gabe’s ever had with someone in the music industry, the one he would forever remember was the first time he met with Panic at the Disco. To be completely accurate, he would never forget meeting Brendon. Outside a venue in some city that Gabe wouldn’t remember the name of later if he tried, Gabe went outside for a cigarette and tried to remember whether or not he’d bought a fresh pack that day. Against a red-bricked wall, Brendon Urie was crouched over his sidekick, furiously sending text-messages. The familiarity of the situation pole-axed Gabe right as he was approaching Brendon to see if he had a lighter. He recognized the face from pictures Pete had shown him while raving about his latest find. The face in front of him wasn’t what was troublesome at all. Gabe’s head spun with the sickest sense of déjà vu. This expanse of red, this endless sidewalk; Gabe had been here before, many, many times. Upon looking down, Gabe realized he was in his purple hoodie and Brendon was in one just the masculine side of lilac. The cigarette dropped from Gabe’s mouth and he carefully took a few steps back. He wasn’t ready for this sort of confrontation. The sick feeling in Gabe's stomach didn't go away every single time he saw Brendon. If anything, it got a whole lot worse. They toured together a few months after their initial meeting and each day Brendon managed to disappear before Gabe could even attempt to drag him off to talk to him. It really didn't help that Spencer seemed to be totally onto Gabe’s various plots and plans to get time alone with Brendon and thwarted them with an ease that had Gabe questioning his mortality. It was entirely possible that Spencer had some sort of superhuman powers that allowed him to sense Gabe's intentions before they were even turned into actions. If that was the case, it was incredibly unfair and basically disproved the existence of a god. He still hadn't quite figured out what the dreams meant, other than he potentially tortured someone in an alternate universe and did it while wearing the clothes from his current universe. So, he was some sort of stylish tormentor to Brendon in another dimension that was a never-ending venue sidewalk. Gabe preferred not to think about why he might’ve stopped having the dream now that they had met. None of this would’ve really bothered Gabe if it weren’t for the fact that Brendon was cute. Short, but cute as all hell and kind of impossible to not think about all day, every day. The more time Gabe spent around him, the more Gabe realized Brendon was kind of amazing and someone that Gabe wanted to get to know better in a biblical sense and in a relationship sense. Gabe figured it was kind of serious at that point. He never had interest in relationships. When he finally figured it out, he made mention of it. Unfortunately he made the mistake of mentioning it in front of Spencer. "No. Not at all. Absolutely not," Spencer hissed, his face instantly souring. He pulled Gabe off to the side and shook his head up at him. "No. You are staying away from Brendon, absolutely a hundred and ten percent away from him." "Where did you even come from? How do you appear like that?" Gabe pulled his arm back, trying to keep from getting it pulled off. "Not really your biggest concern here. You're not going after Brendon. I don't need my lead singer dragged down with the likes of you." Spencer shook his head and pulled out his BlackBerry. "The only way I would ever consider telling him to go for you is if you somehow became a really awesome person who, like, rescued puppies from shelters." "Rescued puppies from shelters." Gabe began programming this into his phone. "What else would I have to do?" "What? No, that was an example! I don't mean you actually have to do that. You'd just have to become a better person. Like. Laying off the drugs? Maybe not fucking everything that has a hole?" Spencer furiously clicked at the buttons on his phone, returning an email with force. "I don't fuck everything with a hole. I stayed away from your Mom, didn't I?" Gabe looked around for someone to high-five. Finding no one, Gabe's shoulders slumped. "Okay, you actually pretty much need to become an entirely different person. I don't think better is going to cover it." Spencer looked at Gabe in disbelief. "An entirely different person?" Gabe's eyes widened and he slipped his phone into his pocket. "So. I should change my name or something? I could become some sort of exotic dancer." "I think the goal was to become a better person. And I'm not sure if you realized this, but exotic dancers are sort of a dime a dozen in Vegas. It's probably actually really easy to become a different person than you are." Spencer sat down on a counter and laughed at a new message received. "Ha. Ryan says you'll be a better person somewhere around the time Pete decides to join a monastery and devote his life to the search for enlightenment from a higher power." "That's not fair. We already know that won't happen because Pete won't give up sex!" Gabe flailed and Spencer ducked for cover. Seriously, those limbs could go for weeks. "Okay, okay. So. I become a better person and then I have your permission, which I totally don't need, to declare my intentions to Brendon?" "I'm sorry, did you just say my permission wasn't needed in this situation?" Spencer's facial expression shifted slightly, and only because Gabe had spent a large portion of his time observing Panic at the Disco in their natural habitat was he able to recognize the emotion on it as smug self-satisfaction. "Gabe, in twenty minutes I want you to come to our dressing room and ask Brendon if he wants to go with you to the store to pick up the re-release of The Fox and The Hound." "Excuse me?" "Twenty minutes, Saporta. Ten should be enough, but twenty gives me plenty of time." Spencer turned and before Gabe could even register the movement, Spencer was gone. Spencer, Gabe decided, was a ninja in another life. * Nineteen minutes later, Gabe knocked on Panic’s dressing room door. He squared his shoulders and attempted to look like a moral and upstanding person. Jon opened the door and immediately began laughing. "Oh, man. You do not want to be here right now." "What?" Gabe was seriously confused. He hadn't taken anything all day; everything was staying right side up and this was a world Gabe wasn't entirely used to. Nothing was shifting, hissing around his ankles, up his jeans. "Just trust me." Jon reached up to squeeze Gabe's shoulder. "Can I just talk to Brendon or something?" Gabe leaned against the door. This tiny band of wee scene boys was proving to be too much for him. "It's not a good idea." Jon shook his head and tried to close the door and walk into the hall at the same time. "Look, I just need to talk to Brendon for a minute. I heard about this rad music store that I think he'd probably really like." Gabe looked easily over Jon's head and spotted Brendon sitting on the couch, curled around Spencer's thigh while Spencer patted his head. "Spencer, make him go away. He doesn't believe." Brendon buried his face in Spencer's stomach and tried to make himself invisible by curling up into a smaller ball. "Brendon? I just wanted to see if you wanted to come to the store. I thought maybe you were getting cooped up in here," Gabe called over Jon's shoulder and watched as Brendon looked up, his eyes narrowing. "This is not a dressing room for disbelievers. You're not welcome here," Brendon said in a clipped voice. "What?" Gabe wrapped an arm around Jon and moved him out of place so he could walk in. "What are you even talking about?" "Don't you take one step further." Brendon stood and placed his hands on his hips. "You get the hell out of this room and don't even think about coming back. Not believing in Hobbes, who does that? Just because you can't see him doesn't mean he isn't completely real to Calvin." "I. Wait, what? Calvin and Hobbes? That's what. You're upset because I know Hobbes is Calvin's imaginary animal friend?" Gabe took a step closer before flinching back at the look on Brendon's face. "You get out, and you get out now before I decide that you shouldn't be on this tour! I reject you and your willingness to disbelieve in something just because there's no proof in it. I mean, you probably don't even think the Loch Ness monster is really there." Brendon's voice sounded screechy and Gabe, really having no desire for Panic to have to cancel that night’s show because their singer couldn't sing, began to walk backward out of the room. "Um." Gabe raised his eyebrows. "Oh, God. You actually don't! That's it, you're off the tour!" Brendon crossed his arms and attempted to give Gabe a scathing look. "Uh, Bren, you can't really make that decision on your own. And. I mean, they're good openers." Ryan shrugged and started ushering Gabe out of the room even as he defended him. "Ryan Ross, you filthy traitor. You and I are no longer friends." Gabe heard the door close behind him and what sounded like a make-up bag hitting the door. Yeah, okay, Spencer's permission was completely necessary. * "Gabe's List of Betterness?" Ryland was sitting on the couch on the bus and throwing out ideas for the name of Gabe's list of ways to make himself a completely different person. "The Difficult Voyage of Gabriel Eduardo Saporta to the Destination Good Person Land," Nate offered from the floor. He'd maybe already had a few drinks when they started playing the name game. "Steps on the Straight and Narrow Path to Spencer James Smith the Fifth's Permission to Declare My Intentions to One Brendon Boyd Urie." Alex looked up from reading 'The Alchemist' and possibly playing a drinking game with himself. "I. I actually really like that." Gabe nodded and carefully printed it at the top of the page in block letters. "Okay, so I have to become a different person. But I don't think he means giving up my identity. Or identifying characteristics. Or I'd be totally screwed." Gabe made a note of that under the title. He thought about his daily routine and tried to think of which things Spencer would consider bad. The conclusion he came to was that everything Spencer considered bad was everything Gabe considered to be fun. With the same careful block letters, Gabe listed the first three items on his list. Wake up before 10 a.m. Go to bed before midnight. Start eating breakfast. They were simple and they were the first tasks recorded. He would've made the bedtime earlier but he was fairly certain that Spencer was often up much later than midnight. Still, better safe than sorry. * The first thing Gabe crossed off the list was Start eating breakfast. The joint he'd smoked with Jon and Tom first thing in the morning helped with that. As he sat in the diner, enjoying his third plate of waffles, he waved happily to Spencer across the room. There was a look of disapproval on his face but it wasn't entirely aimed at Gabe. Jon and Tom were making obscene noises over their own plates of hash browns and sausage links. "Why does Spencer look so pissy, guys?" Gabe asked, kicking their legs under the table to get their attention. "Hm? Oh, he hates when we smoke first thing in the morning to get over a hangover." Tom moaned around a particularly greasy hash brown before swallowing a bit of orange juice. "Actually, he kind of hates when we smoke first thing in the morning. Or at night. Or in the afternoon." "What? Seriously, he hates you guys smoking? How do you work up an appetite after drinking all night?" Gabe raised his hands, not sure how that even worked. "He doesn't like when you drink all night either." Jon looked up, his eyes glassy. "Does he like anything?" Gabe asked around a mouthful of waffles. "Well, he definitely doesn't like a lot of what you do. Or anything of what you do, actually. I think the exact phrase he used was that your life was a joke without a punch line." Jon turned to Tom for confirmation on the phrasing. "No, that's what you said the movie Superstar was. Spencer said that Gabe was the reason the world couldn't have nice things." Tom nodded and slurped down a drink of his orange juice. "That's so not true, guys. I gave the world the phrase 'Fangs up.' If that isn't a contribution to humanity, then I've been doing it wrong." Gabe shook his head and stood up, tossing some money down to cover his breakfast. His waffles suddenly tasted like sawdust. * Gabe realized he was going to have to give up his nighttime parties with the rest of his band. There couldn't be any more drinking if he wanted to have an appetite for breakfast and if he wanted to be up at a reasonable hour in the morning. Don't have more than two drinks in one day, unless you see Spencer drinking, which you won't so don't be stupid. Gabe had his suspicions that his list had been found and potentially edited by the tour ninja because the careful script writing of that last bit of his next goal looked nothing like his own. The first night was the hardest. Nate brought out a large handle of Limoncello and if there was one thing Gabe loved his alcohol to be, it was fruity. He mixed one glass carefully with orange juice and took a sip. He nursed the drink while Nate went onto his third, fourth, fifth, and sixth. Before long, Nate was rolling on the floor laughing with Alex about how funny the name Limoncello was. Gabe, not finding the conversation particularly humorous or enjoyable, went to his bunk. When he checked his watch, it was only ten minutes to eleven. He really had no idea how people were supposed to stay sober if nothing was funny. After a while, he managed to drift off, and he was surprised to find that he was awake at nine the next morning. In college, nine had only existed once a day and it had never included the sun being so high in the sky. The bus was quiet and he was able to use the time to look around and survey the damage. The glass he had been drinking from but hadn't finished was sitting on the counter, now a sickly purple color. Gabe emptied it into the toilet and figured it was better not to ask questions. Nate was asleep under the table, arm curled protectively around the bottle. He only shifted slightly when Gabe kicked him to make sure he was still alive. Better safe than sorry. As they approached a gas station, Gabe realized he had begun work on two of his other goals. He wouldn't cross them off because that could've just been a fluke, but still, it was nice to feel at least a little accomplished. Stepping off the bus, Gabe shaded his eyes. He'd forgotten where his latest pair of sunglasses was, but he figured he could find some at the truck stop. He approached the gas station with a sense of wonder at the people who were out. It was like there was another culture that lived during the day. He never got to see these people. There was a woman with two small children in line to pay for gas, and the kids looked up at him in amazement. Neither could've been more than four feet tall. Gabe just smiled cheerfully at them and went over to the food section. He needed a breakfast that was both nutritional and tasty. Spencer would have to see then that he was being responsible and completely unlike the old Gabe. "Part of a balanced breakfast," Gabe read the back of a box of Lucky Charms and decided to take it. He was sure they had the other parts to the balanced breakfast somewhere on the bus. If not, well, at least he'd had one part. * When Gabe sat down with the list again, he realized that somewhere along the line he'd added Cut back on recreational drug use, even though stopping altogether would be a better idea. Underneath that were three other points: Tell Ryland who really broke his new headphones; Buy Ryland new headphones; and Apologize to Nate for framing him so well for breaking Ryland's headphones. It had been a stroke of genius, really. Gabe had been used Ryland's headphones in the back lounge one day and instead of putting them back where he had found them, Gabe had accidentally left them on the floor. It wasn't that they were particularly nice headphones, but they were Ryland's, and he was particular about which brand and model he used. On the floor, they'd gotten mixed up with a blanket and some dirty laundry. When Gabe had walked back there to collect the laundry one day, he'd stepped on the headphones and snapped the earpiece off one end. Rather than admit the truth, he'd stuffed the broken headphones in Nate's laundry bag, knowing that Nate just dumped everything into the washer and pressed wash. Someone truly should have taught him about separating colors from whites and darks. While Gabe was on that thought, he added Teach Nate how to properly do laundry. When Ryland had seen his headphones come out of Nate's laundry, he was furious and hadn't spoken to Nate for the rest of the day. It was difficult since it was their day to act out a Friends episode for their tourmates. Ryland, ever the thinker, had chosen the one where Chandler was in the box on Thanksgiving. Hilarious for Gabe to get to see Nate stuffed in a box because Ryland was angry at him, but certainly damaging to their band dynamic. Gabe knew he would have to buy Ryland another pair of headphones and probably make it up to Nate by buying him something to drink. He was probably going to have to add Stop contributing to the delinquency of minors to his list. But that was definitely going to have to be later. He was a musician, after all. The next day they were stopped in a city large enough for him to go to a store and buy Ryland a new set of headphones, Gabe was in a taxi on his way to the store. He'd refused offers of company from Elisa, Alex, and Ryan. He couldn't let any of them spoil the surprise. When Gabe returned to the bus, he was holding tightly to two different shopping bags. It was never easy being seen buying Disarono; Nate's drink of choice, but even harder was picking up the ridiculous pink Skull Candy headphones Ryland liked so much. As he was already in a sour mood from shopping when he returned to the bus, he essentially threw both bags at the intended recipients and walked back to his bunk. "Nate, I'm sorry I got you in trouble for breaking Ryland's headphones, enjoy your girly booze. Ryland, I'm sorry I broke your headphones and let Nate take the fall for it. Enjoy your girly headphones." Gabe opened the list and crossed off the three points related to Ryland's headphones. When he realized he didn't feel good about crossing them off, which was probably something he should feel, Gabe uncapped his pen again to write a new line. Stop being an asshole about fixing the things on the list because they wouldn't be on here if you weren't such a giant douchebag sometimes. * One of the worst things Gabe had to put on the list, even worse than Stop peeing in public pools just to gross out other people, was Apologize to Heath, Tyler, and Rob for being such a fuck-up and ruining a really good thing, even though other good things came from it. That one made Gabe's head hurt just to think about. He didn't want them to remember him as the asshole that ruined it for them. Even though he knew he wasn't the only one responsible for Midtown’s demise, he knew he was the one most responsible. It was hard to write a record when you were strung out half the time and high out of your mind the other half. He had to time it right. There was no room for error on that item on his list. It wasn't something he wanted to do face to face, but it was something he knew he needed to do in person. Gabe hated apologizing in general. He was good at it, could make it sound as sincere as he wanted it to, but he hated to admit he was wrong. Gabe thought about what everyone was up to now that Midtown was over. Heath was in Senses Fail, enjoying his time with a band that partied but never to the extreme that he'd partied. Rob, ever the business-minded individual, had decided to form a record label. Tyler had struggled for a few months before hooking up with a new band. Gabe knew that none of them were enjoying even the novelty type of success he was having, and it twisted at the pit of his stomach, making him nauseated. Finally, he decided he'd have to call each one of them. After calling in multiple favors from people, he managed to track down their cell phone numbers. Heath and Rob weren't terrible. They agreed to meet with him when they were both in the same place at the same time. Tyler, for some reason, had taken the band’s break up the hardest. If Gabe had to guess, and he really had to because he couldn't really remember the dissolution of the band, he'd say Tyler took it the hardest because he was the one who had finally said, "Fuck it, guys, I don't think we should be a band anymore if we want to stay friends with each other." Gabe remembered that phrase clearly. Tyler had been the one for a pre-emptive action. Ultimately, Tyler had been wrong. There was no love lost between the guys. There were no calls from different tours updating the other friends on current statuses. Christ, even calling to discuss what should be done about the old website had required a few drinks and more than a few pills on Gabe's part. They'd ended their band to remain friends, but they hadn't even ended up casual acquaintances. "Hello?" Tyler answered the phone in a cautious tone. Gabe checked the time to make sure he hadn't accidentally waited until it was far too late in the day to politely call someone. "Tyler? It's um. It's Gabe." Gabe cleared his throat and dug his fingers into his phone. His other hand was holding a cigarette and it was shakier than Gabe liked to admit. "Gabe. Hi." If there was surprise in Tyler's voice, it was faint and only noticeable from the years Gabe had spent with him. "How are you?" Gabe tried to go the polite route. He knew this would be the hardest call because they'd been the closest. "I mean, how have you been?" "I'm good. Things have been going good." Even from just his voice, Gabe could see Tyler leaning up against the wall and chewing the inside of his cheek. "What about you? I mean, I saw your video. It looks like things are going really well for you." "Yeah, well. Yeah, things are going okay. I kind of wanted to ask you for sort of like, half a favor, maybe?" Gabe flicked off a half-inch of ash on his cigarette and then flicked again even though there was nothing new collected. He'd hardly even smoked any of the cigarette; it was more a comfort thing. "Oh. Okay." Tyler's voice had immediately stiffened, blocked any of his real emotion from Gabe. "It's nothing bad. I'm not in any trouble. I don't need you to come bail me out again. Well, you know, not in the traditional sense of the phrase. I just kind of want to. Look, when I'm in town again, would it be cool if we met up or something? I don't know. Went for a drink? Maybe caught a show?" Gabe babbled the words before he could give them any actual thought. "You want to hang out when you're back in the city." Tyler exhaled softly, sounding as though he was giving the matter a great deal of thought. "Gabe, I don't really know if that's such a good idea. I mean. Look, you're. I'm happy for you, man. I am. I just don't know if we've got anything left to talk about." He'd never been one to mince words. He genuinely thought there was nothing that could be salvaged from their friendship. Gabe dropped his cigarette and stubbed it out with his big toe. "There is. I'm trying this thing, like, I'm trying to write down all these things that I have to change and one of the things is this. You and the guys. I want to make up for what happened there." "That isn't just something you can make up. I mean, it happened, it's in the past, so if you're going to AA and you want my support or you want to talk through whatever messed-up shit you were going through, that's great. I mean, really, it's awesome. I'm happy you're getting clean or whatever, but you don't need to make up for this. It happened and we all moved on." Tyler exhaled loudly again. "No, it's not AA. It's not one of those religious experience things. I just. I want to make things okay because what I did really sucked…" "It did, okay? You know it and we know it and this would've happened eventually anyway. There's no way we could've kept recording and touring and doing everything we were doing. You weren't the only one responsible. The band would've ended one day regardless. We're all culpable, all right?" Tyler's voice was almost unnaturally calm as he cut Gabe off. "It's not that I don't think you mean well, because I know you do, man. I just don't think this is something you should be trying to do." "Change my life?" Gabe turned his lighter over in his hand. "No, this. The band. Me. I mean, we tried to help you. We tried so hard, man. We took the time off, we switched labels. We did everything we could and you just. It's like you took a giant shit on it. I walked away, and maybe that was wrong, but you can only help someone who doesn't want to be helped for so long. And maybe it's petty, maybe it's vindictive, but I don't want to help you anymore, Gabe. So just. Move on from this. Lose my number, man." Gabe heard the distinctive click of being hung up on before his phone indicated the call had ended. He stared at the phone for a moment. He had no idea how to react to what Tyler had just told him. Thinking back, Tyler had tried to help him. Everyone had. Gabe always knew there was a soft landing waiting at one of their places. He gritted his teeth and pulled his list out of his front pocket. In black Sharpie, he wrote Apologize to the people who genuinely tried to help me that I turned my back ondirectly under the point about his old bandmates. * As Gabe continued to cross things off his list (Stop smoking where the secondhand smoke can affect other people; Leave a penny; and Make a donation to a homeless shelter, you've had enough come downs in them), he noticed Spencer watching him. Instead of smiling and waving as he had on that first day when he was so proud of his one accomplishment, Gabe ducked his head and looked away. Spencer was no saint; Gabe had seen him duck off into dark corners of bars and venues with Tom and come back looking suitably rumpled, but he seemed to have it together. He wasn't constantly at the whims of his addictions or desires. He seemed to be holding some sort of relationship together with Tom. When Gabe thought neither of them were paying attention, he watched them. He tried not to do it in a creepy way or in a way that made either of them notice he was watching. There were little things like Tom bringing Spencer coffee the way he liked it, or Spencer making sure to grab a cheese Danish rather than a cherry Danish for Tom. Think of others more often than I think of myself was added to his list after he saw Spencer come back to the venue with a pack of black and white film for Tom. * "Okay, I have to ask, what's with the list?" Demar asked, walking up to Gabe one day and flicking the piece of paper Gabe was scribbling on. Learn one new thing about everyone on tour. "How do you know it's a list?" Gabe immediately folded it up and placed it down the front of his pants. "Because I always see you crossing things off on it." Demar shrugged and took a step back. Gabe had been counting on Demar’s curiosity only taking him so far. "It's just this thing I'm trying to do." Gabe tried to play it off as no big deal. He knew to everyone else it wasn't a big deal. "All right, it's cool. You keep your secrets, Gabe." Demar grinned and began walking away. "Demar? Hold up a second. Did you ever have a dog growing up?" Gabe saw Demar internally try to process what Gabe was talking about. Lists one second, dogs the next. "Yeah, I had two. Chocolate labs. Minnie and Mickey. Are you high, man? You want me to stay here and talk with you?" It was common knowledge among Gabe’s many acquaintances that he was chatty when he was high. "No, I'm flying straight today." He knew Demar wouldn't believe him about not having taken anything for a week, so he kept quiet about that. Gabe did point to his pupils as proof, though. He wanted to at least be believed. "All right, cool. I gotta soundcheck, but we'll hang later, okay?" And just like that, Demar was gone again. Spencer was clearly teaching the rest of the tour that ninja thing he did so well. After a moment of consideration, Gabe took the list back out and looked around before adding Be nicer to Spencer because he's smart and had to grow up way too fucking fast, not just because he's a ninja and might one day teach you his secrets. * Gabe's list had proven itself useful time and again. Because he definitely had the world's worst memory, he was constantly writing things down or typing them into his Sidekick. That was how he'd come to have everyone's Starbucks order in his phone. Having everyone's order in his phone led to his trying to balance three trays of drinks. He had a sneaking suspicion that Starbucks had shorted him a drink, but he had no way of checking until he got into the venue and was able to open his phone again. Gabe would have demanded that Tom come with him, but he was still trying to get on Spencer's good side. The best way to get on Spencer's good side probably had nothing to do with taking his boyfriend away from him during his limited free time. Gabe arrived at the backstage area in time to see everyone congregate in the room. "Okay, I've got a ton of really hot coffee. Please don't attack me." They allowed him to set the trays down before swarming them, removing the beverages they'd ordered. "Bren, you know you shouldn't have dairy before the show." Ryan took Brendon's large frappucino from him. "No, no. He's fine to have it. It's soy. I made sure to get his with soy so he could drink it." Gabe plucked the drink from Ryan's hand and turned it back over to Brendon. He leaned in close to Spencer and spoke softly. "It's also decaf." For the first time in a long time, Spencer smiled at Gabe and it was almost as nice as the smile that flickered over Brendon’s cheeks as he took a drink from his soy, decaf frappucino. * Gabe crossed a few more things off his list as the tour progressed. Delete numbers of all my dealers happened the week after the worst of his cravings. He could feel the dirty itch building up under his skin, and he only had to look around to see people using. Even if they weren't using anything hard, they were still escaping. The first night of withdrawal, Gabe sat in a hotel room watching Alex sleep. It would've been so easy to flip open his phone and make a few calls. He could've had something to him in less than half an hour. Rather than do that, Gabe had turned on the lights, the TV, his laptop, and his iPod. When Alex woke up in the morning, Gabe was staring at a blank laptop with headphones on his head and a televangelist playing on the TV. To his credit, Alex had talked to Gabe and made sure he was all right. After being reassured that the cobra hadn't come back and that the world was nowhere near ending, Alex had disappeared into the shower and Gabe had gone down to the hotel’s continental breakfast. He had no appetite and no desire to be around food, but he needed to reassure himself there were other people in the world. Rather than sitting a few tables over with Tom, Spencer dragged Tom over with their trays full of food. "You look like hell." Spencer hadn't bothered with pleasantries. "I feel like hell. I didn't sleep last night." Gabe's hands shook as he tried to smooth out the tablecloth. "I couldn't sleep." "What did you take?" Spencer asked it while spreading cream cheese over a bagel, deliberately casual. "Nothing. I haven't had anything in a day or two. I just couldn't sleep. You know? It's like, you take the uppers and then you take the downers and without the uppers there shouldn't be a reason for the downers but there is. Sort of. I don't know if I can do this, Spencer." Gabe tried to pour himself a cup of coffee from the carafe in the middle of the table, but he couldn't hold the mug steady. "Wait, do what?" Spencer raised his eyebrows and set down the bagel. “Make myself a different person for Brendon. I mean, I'm trying and I've got the no drinking down and the waking up. I mean, if I actually went to sleep. But I can't sleep and I don't really know how long this will last." Gabe rested his head on the table, ignoring the fact that he was likely drawing the attention of other patrons now. "Oh, Christ. You're actually. Gabe, did you actually take what I said to heart?" Spencer cocked his head to the side and looked carefully at Gabe as he spoke. "Well, yeah. I mean. You were right, weren't you? Brendon, he's not a saint or anything, but he deserves someone good. Like, a really good person who doesn't have to go through coke withdrawals or set their phone to go off three different times so they can wake up at 9:59 a.m." Gabe lifted his head to look at Spencer. “I didn’t know you had brown eyes. I honestly think this might be the first I’ve seen you without your pupils totally blown.” Spencer shook his head in what appeared to be disbelief. “I really want this. I kind of thought it was going to go away, you know? But I mean. I watch him. Not in a creepy way, don’t worry. Just like backstage and stuff. He doesn’t talk down to the techs. I guess it looks like he’s grateful and I really like that about him.” Gabe ducked his head for just a moment. "You're actually serious about this," Spencer said, his voice softening. "I made a list. There's like. I've crossed some things off." Gabe reached into his pocket and fidgeted with it before handing it over. "You made a list." Tom also seemed impressed. "And don't worry, you're on there." Gabe pointed to the bottom of the sheet. Accidentally exposed a roll of Tom's film. "I haven't figured out how to make up for that. I mean. I apologized, I think. I was really high, man." "You apologized, profusely. But then you called me your favourite queermo photographer." Tom looked as though he vividly recalled the incident. "The only thing wrecked on that roll was the soundtrack release party. You screwed yourself out of some promo shots." "Would you have sold the pictures?" Gabe scratched at his inner thigh to try to occupy his hands. Tom looked supremely offended at the question. "No." The word was short, clipped, and Tom couldn't have looked colder saying it if he'd tried. Gabe tried to think back to the release party. He remembered most of it, and remembered how Tom had watched Mike at the side of the stage. More accurately, Gabe remembered how Tom had watched Mike watch William onstage. Gabe swallowed the lump forming in his throat. "Right. I should just. I'll go back to my room. I'll see you guys when it's bus call." He excused himself from the table and stumbled out of the dining hall. * "Hey, Tom, can I talk to you?" Gabe waited until Spencer had gone onstage before tugging at the sleeve of Tom's hoodie. Since their conversation in the dining room, Gabe had been frozen out by Tom. He wasn't sure if he'd somehow insulted Tom by asking if he'd sell his pictures, or if he'd simply brought up memories Tom would rather not deal with. "What do you want?" Tom seemed distracted as they stood backstage, just slightly away from the hustle and bustle of everyone packing up. "I want to apologize. For whatever I did that insulted you. I really never meant to. Or if I brought something up I shouldn't have." Gabe looked down at his feet in embarrassment. "I'm happier out here, okay? I don't feel like I felt back then. I feel really good about myself right now and I don't want that to change anytime soon. I don't want." Tom paused for a moment. "I don't want Spencer to remember what I was like back then and change his mind. Because I really couldn't take that." "Was he the reason you turned it all around?" Gabe had never heard Tom speak this freely without the aid of drugs or alcohol. "One of them. Look, I want to catch the set but tomorrow we'll get coffee or something. This isn't the time or place to have this conversation." Tom reached up and squeezed Gabe's shoulder before turning around and walking back to the side of the stage. Gabe stood in the same position and nodded at Tom's words. True to his word, Tom brought coffee over to Gabe's bus during the drive and dragged him into the back, balancing two large coffees in a tray as he guided Gabe onto the couch. "Okay. So. You're going to do this." "Just so we're clear 'this' means…" Gabe trailed off and looked over at Tom before pulling the flap back on his coffee and taking a sip. "Trying to woo Brendon or however you refer to it. Do you actually use the word ‘woo’?" Tom raised his eyebrows. "Because seriously, that's the gayest thing I've ever heard. And I mean, I have sex with another guy. So." "I don't refer to it as wooing! I'm not from some British novel. I refer to it as enticing him into the warm embrace of my love." Gabe shook his head and huffed. Tom just gaped for a moment as he popped open the lid on his own coffee. "I. Oh, my God. I can't even. I don't have words for this, Gabe." Tom set down his cup to keep from dropping it when he fell off the couch laughing. After a moment he had to clutch at his side. "Hey, asshole, you said you were going to have a talk. Can we not discuss what I may or may not call my plan on how to get Brendon to agree to be my one and only?" Gabe was starting to look pouty, and that was never a good look for him. Tom attempted to calm himself down and lift his body back onto the couch. It took three tries and Gabe threatening to pants him the next time Tom was taking pictures at the side of the stage. "Fine. Fine, okay. So. You want to entice Brendon. And you think the best way to do this is to get clean." Tom reached for the list in a cautious manner, trying to keep from laughing. "Well. No, not just get clean. Like. Be a really good person. Because I've been watching him and he's one of those people who everyone seems to really like and I know I probably won’t get everyone to love me the way they do him but maybe but maybe I could be a really good person and then together we'd average out to being two awesome people." Gabe ran his fingers through his hair and took another sip of coffee as he tried to explain. “I still don’t get it. What is it about him that has you so up in arms?” Tom kept the list folded as he took another drink from his coffee cup. “I can’t even really explain it. I feel like I know him and I feel like there’s something I’m supposed to do. There’s something I know about him.” Gabe shook his head. He couldn’t explain the dream to Tom, not without making himself look completely insane. “But I won’t be able to do it until I work through all of this. Even I can feel there’s something holding me back.” "So you think that by apologizing to Stephanie for telling her to fuck off when she tried to tell you that you had a problem, you'll suddenly become a better person and you’ll magically be able to sweep Brendon off his feet?" Tom scanned down the list. As Gabe listened to Tom read, Gabe realized there were points on there that wouldn't necessarily make him a better person, but they'd help. "I think the fact that I want to do it makes me a better person and if being a better person is what it takes to finally get past this block, then I’ll do it. I should anyway because that was probably the worst thing I’ve ever done. There was a time when I wouldn't listen to her and it just about cost me everything. I could've died. I really, honestly could have and that would've been fucked up because I would've been just a footnote in Drive Thru's history." Gabe stared down at the carpet in the lounge. "I think you and I have more in common than we realized." Tom let out a small laugh. "Look. Just know this. You're happier, right? You get to dance every night. And you want to get better. It wasn't easy for me, and it won't be easy for you but if Spencer's permission is what it takes for you to do this, I'm behind you. I want to see you get better as much as the next person does. If you need help or anything, I'm here for you." Gabe looked back up with a curious expression on his face. "You really mean that?" "I do. Okay, I've been through it. Fuck it, I've done it, okay? I had to tell my parents that I was going to school plastered when I was seventeen. I went through the rock bottom and I'm kind of amazed that I even came through it. I don't want you to lose another band over this. Everyone deserves another chance." Tom's voice was quiet, his tone serious. An emotion rushed through Gabe he hadn't felt for a long time. He didn't want to let go of it. "Spencer doesn't think this is…" "Spencer has his own issues with what you do. Did. Okay? He's seen it all firsthand. It's totally normal that he doesn't want Brendon to go through any of that. It's not really my place to say anything else. If you really want to know what's going on with that, you've gotta talk to him." Tom shook his head and took another drink of his coffee. "But I will tell him what I know. You've got my word on that one." Gabe just nodded in response. He trusted Tom. He could trust him with this. Even as Gabe continued drinking his coffee, he could feel himself getting lighter, feeling freer. He was no longer in this alone. * There were easier things to cross off his list. Stop stealing Nate's coffee; Be nicer to Elisa when she gets sensitive about being the only girl on the tour; and Only play horror movies on my laptop in my bunk because Ryland has nightmares. He stayed out longer with fans because it gave him an excuse to not do any of his old nightly activities. Tom was as good as his word. When everyone was in a hotel for the night, Tom stayed in a room with him and they watched whatever movie happened to be on that night. They chainsmoked pack after pack of cigarettes, just talking and not talking about what they were both missing more than they admitted. On the hotel nights Tom wanted to spend with Spencer, Gabe took to texting people on his Sidekick. There were plenty of people more than willing to talk to him and keep him from trying to recover any of the numbers he had deleted. Had he decided to tempt fate, he would’ve looked for Brendon. After their last meeting, which had ended with Brendon shrieking about how Gabe didn’t appreciate pulp in his orange juice and how it was good for you. Sometimes, not often, Gabe wondered what exactly Spencer was telling Brendon about him. More often than not, he ended up texting Travis, who didn't understand, but was willing to talk to keep Gabe talking. "This kid must be something, if you're going through all this trouble and you aren't even sure it's going to turn into something." Gabe could tell Travis was smoking in his bathtub at the moment. "He is, man. I know he is. And even if he wasn't. There's this. I don't even know. I used to dream about him, you know? Those fucked up dreams I had, he was in them. When I met him, it was like I knew right away that he was it. He was that little shit that used to drive me fucking nuts all the time." Gabe sat on the bed, holding the phone to his ear while he clipped his toenails. There was something unnatural about the way they grew so fast. "No shit. Man, sometimes when you did the wake and bake, you'd tell me about those dreams, you know? I asked you about them once when you slept over but you had no idea what I was talking about." Travis began to laugh his wheezy little laugh. "You told me once that in your dream you told him he wasn't worth the jail time. Guess you must've at least known something about him." "You're a sick man, Travie. All right, I'll let you go while you smoke. Call if you get bored, I'll be in all night." Gabe hung up and began flipping channels. He'd been at it for a few minutes, aimlessly surfing when he heard a knock on the hotel room door. Anxious for the pizza he'd ordered half an hour earlier, Gabe opened it. "Hi." Rather than the pizza he'd been hoping for, Spencer and Tom stood outside, Tom looking suitably frustrated. "You really aren't in Alex's room." Spencer sounded impressed. "No. Not uh. Not for a while now." Gabe stood at the door of the room, immobile. He had no idea what they wanted, and it hadn't occurred to him they might want in to visit him. "So. You're just going to stand in the door or are you going to invite us in? The word around our bus is that you know the best place to order pizza from." Spencer nudged Gabe to the side and walked in. Sprawling across the bed as if it were his own, Spencer grabbed the remote and began flipping through channels. "Tom, come on." And as simple as that, Gabe had Spencer on his side. * The very next day, Gabe got a gift he never expected. Brendon approached him with caution. For a moment, Gabe was sure he was dreaming. When he rubbed his eyes and looked again, Brendon was three feet closer. “What are you doing?” “Hi?” Brendon maintained a distance of four feet. Gabe could respect that; if Brendon had a personal bubble, Gabe could totally respect it. “Oh, right. Hi. What are you doing?” Gabe shoved his hands in his pocket. If they were out, they were likely to get him in trouble. One of his plans, pre-deleting dealer’s numbers, had been to carry Brendon off to Uruguay, where he didn’t speak the language and would be easily hidden away. “I don’t even know. Spencer told me to come talk to you. He says we should go out for coffee.” Brendon shrugged, taking an additional step back. “Coffee? That’s great! I can take you out for coffee! I’m great with picking coffee places!” Gabe was trying to hold back from doing a Toyota jump and hollering to the rest of the tour that Brendon wanted to go out for coffee with him. “Right. Um. Well, we have coffee in our dressing room. I was thinking we could just grab that and maybe go outside? You can smoke or. Do whatever it is you do.” Brendon adjusted his glasses and seriously, Gabe was going to die from that if he ever did it again. “Smoke. No! No, being around smoke is bad for your throat. I don’t want to do anything that’ll hurt your performance.” Gabe shook his head and quickly closed the distance between them to lock his hand around Brendon’s wrist. “Come on, we’ll get coffee and go outside, though.” “Okay?” Brendon sounded completely unsure about their plans. Gabe concentrated on not being too forward. Too forward included not sticking his hand down the front or back of Brendon’s pants, not giving him an article of clothing, not linking their fingers, and not texting Pete to announce his engagement to Brendon. Those were things that would come with time. Spencer had sent Brendon to Gabe, he was definitely doing something right. Though his gait was calm and composed, Gabe was dancing on the inside. * “So. You’re enjoying this tour?” Brendon seemed to be grasping at things they could talk about. Gabe didn’t want to mention too many of his past experiences, in case they scared Brendon off. “Yeah, well, it’s nice to be on a tour with so many friendly faces.” Gabe nodded and leaned against the wall. It was taking a lot of concentration to keep his eyes on Brendon’s face and not let them sink any lower. “That’s good. I don’t know. This tour’s kind of weird for me, you know? It’s like, we’re headlining and I kind of don’t feel like we should be. The album is selling well, which is great, and even though we say we don’t give a shit about people saying we haven’t paid our dues, it feels like we should.” Brendon took a sip of his coffee and sighed over it. “Maybe it’s where you’re supposed to be. You’re a Mormon, but you believe in fate, right?” Gabe cocked his head curiously. He’d only recently been made aware of Brendon’s upbringing. “Kind of. It’s. I don’t want to do a theological debate with you, but yeah. I think there’s a reason for everything that happens.” Brendon shrugged slightly. “I totally believe in fate. I think there’s always a reason for what happens and that where you are is exactly where you’re supposed to be. Right here for example.” Gabe considered making eyes at Brendon but held off on them. Appropriate, he had to be appropriate. “Here in this moment or here on tour or here in life?” “All three. You’re supposed to be a musician, you were meant for tour, and we’re supposed to be having this conversation.” Gabe watched as all the blood drained from Brendon’s face. “Do you ever have déjà vu, Gabe?” Brendon peeled the rim of his coffee cup up. “Lately I feel like everything that I’m doing, I’ve done before. Everything I’m seeing, I’ve seen before. This conversation, we’ve had it before.” That was when recognition hit Brendon’s face and his hands shook to the point he dropped the coffee cup. “You’re. I’m sorry, I have to go now. We have an interview.” * Gabe held off on adding the last item to the list. Find a way to make Brendon's adolescence and childhood up to him because you were, no doubt, intimidating as fuck. The list spanned the majority of two pages and while a lot of things had been crossed off, there were certain ones Gabe had never planned on crossing off because, while he'd made the change, he didn't want to ever forget to keep making up for it. He called his mother as the tour was drawing to a close. He didn't get an answer but that wasn't unusual. Gabe had taught his mother how to screen calls and not to answer private numbers. "Mama? It's Gabriel. I have some time off for Hanukkah and I was thinking I'd come spend it with you and Papa. Call me back to let me know what you think about that idea. Te quiero, Mama." After hanging up, Gabe looked at his list. It never left him and he was pleased to see the number of objects on the list left to be crossed off was almost down to nothing. All that was left were the items he refused to cross off and the ones he wished he could. Brendon still avoided his eyes, even when Gabe brought everyone their coffee. He wasn’t sure what it would take to fix that. Every other day, Gabe would send a movie to the Panic bus through Ryan. It was usually something he thought Brendon would enjoy. Brendon never sent them back and gradually, he started looking at Gabe again. Once, Gabe even thought he caught a hint of a smile. The second to last show, Spencer approached Gabe after the Cobra set. "Gabe, can I talk to you really quickly?" Since the night in the hotel and Spencer seeing the list, there'd been more open communication between the two of them. "Yeah, of course." Gabe nodded and followed as Spencer led the way into a back hallway unused by the rest of the crew. "What's up? I already told Ryan I wasn't letting him paint on my face." For the first time in Gabe's memory, Spencer smiled directly at him. He was fairly certain ninjas weren't allowed to smile like that. "No. No, that isn't it." Spencer was actually laughing and shaking his head. "No. I wanted to tell you that I think you should go for it tonight. We've got some time off coming up, and you know we'll all be in New York for New Year’s Eve, right?" Gabe's heart stopped beating for a moment. "You are serious, aren't you? You think I've changed enough." "I think there was not nearly as much to change as I thought because you have a lot of good in you. And if Brendon brings it out. Look, I don't know what he is to you or anything. I don't know why you seem to think this has to happen but you've. You've shown a lot of dedication to this and he needs that now." Spencer didn't elaborate on his statement and his face indicated he wasn't going to give any more away. "Tonight, after the show. I'll make sure he knows you don't really think Hobbes is imaginary and you know that Vitamin C is good for your immune system. Oh, and that you don’t actually go out of your way to kill caterpillars. You deserve at least that bit of help." "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were warming up to me, Spencer." Gabe folded him in a hug. "And as soon as I've gotten Brendon to fall in love with me, you can teach me your stealthy ninja secrets." Spencer laughed again and broke the embrace. "Let's go, then." * "How am I supposed to make some sort of move? Coffee was a complete fucking disaster" Gabe was pacing the length of the dressing room and staring at his bandmates. They weren't providing any sort of help. Alex was at least attempting, Ryland was just laughing hysterically and suggesting that Gabe just slide his hand into Brendon's pants and give him a friendly hello. "Maybe you should try talking to him. See if he wants to go out for food or something." Alex placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it. "I mean. Have you even talked to him since you started that stupid list? Other than to get coffee and to get told that you’re a horrible person who probably kicks puppies in their spare time?" "He didn’t say I kicked puppies and the list isn't stupid! It's my path to a better life! A life with Brendon phone calls, maybe." Gabe looked hurt as he stood. Really, he didn't have to take this. He was leaving. Outside his door, he ran smack into the object of his affection. "Brendon! You're just who I was looking for." "Oh, why?" Brendon began backing away from Gabe until he realized he was pressed against the wall. "I don't want to argue more about Hobbes." "No, no. Spencer and I had a misunderstanding about that. I know that Hobbes is Calvin's best friend and that if he's real to Calvin that doesn't make him any less real to us." Gabe twisted his hands in his hoodie sleeves and looked down at Brendon. "Okay." Brendon didn't move. He had the look of someone being hunted. “I don’t want to get philosophical, either.” “No, it’s not that.” Gabe didn’t know how to apologize for what he’d done to Brendon without even knowing. He could never explain attacking Brendon in their dreams. The only explanation he had was that somehow their fates were intertwined, in a way far too big for either one of them to comprehend just yet. “Okay, so?” Brendon just looked confused. “Oh. Um, thank you for the movies. They’re nice. I mean, it’s nice to have something new to watch.” “Oh, hey. Don’t worry about them. It’s fine.” Gabe was frustrated at his own inability to speak. All he wanted to do was ask Brendon to go get food with him. It shouldn’t have been this hard. "Um, you know what? Never mind. It's not a big deal." Gabe turned on his heel and began speed walking away from Brendon. He didn't expect to be followed, so it was no surprise when he ended up alone outside the venue. It was almost a welcome moment. Sitting against the side of the venue, Gabe lit a cigarette and thought. There were the usual avenues. Mixtape, flowers, clothing. None of it seemed right. He wanted this to be different. Brendon had to be so wowed that he would think nothing of saying yes to Gabe and then jumping into his arms for a hot night of making out in a bunk with Gabe's legs dangling out. Okay, maybe not that last part. But it would be nice for Brendon to not be so wary around him. Gabe was so ready for non-wary. After a moment, Gabe pulled out his phone and looked through his contacts. Selecting Tom's number, Gabe dialed quickly. He waited as the phone connected and Tom's voice came through. "Gabe?" "Yeah, you want to come out back for a smoke? I want to run an idea by you and then I'm going to need your help." Gabe flicked away the ash that had built up on the end of his cigarette. Tom appeared at the door almost before Gabe had disconnected the call. They looked at each other. "Spencer told me he told you to make your move tonight." "Yeah. I kind of want to send Brendon a voicemail. And I want you to let me know if it's a good idea." He stood up and walked closer to Tom. "I want to pick a song and play it on guitar and send it to him. And then ask him if he wants to meet me for hot chocolate when we get to the hotel." "What song?" Tom shoved a hand into his pocket while he smoked. "I don't really know. It feels really fucking cheesy to do one of my own songs. And obviously I can't really do one of their songs." Gabe shrugged and looked sheepishly at Tom. "You really want this to happen. Holy shit." Tom nodded his approval, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "All right. I think you should go with something that appeals to him." "I know it's kind of lame. Like, really lame. But I was thinking of ‘Nose Over Tail’, you know? It's. There's the really obvious reference to the proving something but. I really think he saved me, even if he doesn't know it yet. Or ‘Blue in the Face.’" Gabe kicked his feet. "They both kind of fit." "I think when the time comes, you're going to know what song you should sing." Tom's face broke into a full-fledged smile. "I'll make sure he listens to the whole voicemail if you want to leave it while they're on stage." "Thanks, man. I know I've said it but I really need to say it again." Reaching forward, Gabe wrapped Tom in a large hug. "For everything, really." He tossed away his cigarette and watched as it landed in a puddle in the gutter. He couldn't waste his time smoking anymore -- he had work to do. The first thing he did was find Elisa, who was busy vamping in front of her computer , taking webcam pictures of herself. Shaking his head, Gabe tapped her shoulder. "'Lisa, I need your help. Do you think you could keytar a song for me?" The look she shot him gave him his answer, and he slowly backed out of the room. Gabe didn't trust Ryland to not, like, completely ruin the song, so he realized he'd have to do it himself. Acoustic. Which meant he had to find tabs. Ten minutes later, Gabe strummed his guitar quietly and tried to figure out if this was even possible. Tom was trying to watch him while at the same time trying to seem as if he wasn't watching him. It was going reasonably well. "Okay, I need you to hold the phone close enough to my mouth that he can hear me singing but not so close that he can't hear me playing guitar. I'm not as talented as he is, but I've got fucking soul." Tom stifled a laugh as he nodded in agreement. "Whatever you say, big man." He dutifully held up the phone as Gabe continued to warm up. It ended up only taking them three tries to get the song onto Brendon's voicemail without Gabe laughing or his fingers slipping on one of the chords. He wanted to do Stevie Wonder the justice he deserved. "I guess. I guess I wait." Gabe flipped his phone open and closed before grabbing his cigarettes. "Hey, you'll make sure he hears it, right?" Tom nodded and ushered Gabe out the door. "Relax, man. You won't be any good to Brendon if you have some sort of stroke before he can even hear the message. Go have a cigarette and just, lower your stress or something." Tom practically kicked him out of the room. * Gabe sat outside the venue, hidden between the buses and the walls. He'd already made his way through three cigarettes and had sent so many text messages to William that even he was no longer answering them. Fans had been rushing out of the venue and behind the fence for the last half hour. Just thirty seconds after sending Tom a message that said, "asshole, did he listen to it?" Gabe's phone vibrated and indicated a voicemail waiting for him. As he hadn't missed a call, he tried to think who other than Brendon could be leaving him a voicemail. Gabe almost never left messages on the phone and replying to a voicemail was the only way someone could leave him a message without calling him. His other option was Mama. Gabe didn't want to allow himself to get excited over something that might not even be true, but, as he dialed, his fingers shook so badly that he had to throw away his cigarette. Punching in his access code, Gabe skipped through his saved voicemails to get to the new one. Throughout his life, he'd never understood when people talked about having their hearts in their throats, but suddenly he understood. Of course his heart had relocated. Other major organs had decided to move north as well. His stomach felt like it might have been fighting with his heart for all the real estate in his throat. He swallowed hard and pressed play for the message. Brendon's voice, always surprisingly deep, came through clear. He skipped the verses and went straight into the chorus, altering the words Gabe had sang only a short while earlier. I just called to say I like you I just called to say how curious I am I just called to say I like you And I mean it from the bottom of my heart. The message ended there and nearby, someone cleared their throat. Gabe nearly dropped his phone in shock when he looked up and Brendon was standing over him. Scrambling to his feet, Gabe brushed himself off and stood in front of Brendon, their knuckles brushing. “Under any other circumstances, I wouldn’t stand for the butchering of Stevie Wonder’s genius.” Gabe’s hands moved, brushing his fingertips over the back of Brendon’s hands. The featherlight touches left Brendon’s eyes fluttering closed. “I guess I’m just kind of hoping that we can eventually get to the real lyrics.” He stopped the movement of his hands, waiting for a response. Brendon opened his eyes as if waking from a pleasant dream and smiled.

[hindsywrites]

Like A Baileys Commercial

From the moment Tom walked into the shelter, Bear could smell the need for ownership all around him. When he stopped in front of Bear's cage and just looked down at him, Bear knew. "How old is he?" "We don't really know. He's an exceptionally well behaved dog, though. He hardly ever barks." The lady with the clipboard spoke softly, in a soothing manner. It was the way she always spoke when someone with this smell came into the shelter. She seemed to think it did some good in keeping the other dogs calm. Two fingers made their way through the chainlink fence, inviting Bear to confirm that Tom was indeed going to be his owner. Bear just nuzzled his nose into the fingers. Let Tom think he actually made this decision. Tom looked up at the lady with the clipboard and nodded. "I'll take him." Immediately Bear wagged his tail to show Tom he'd made the right decision. "Sean's going to kill me for picking you, mutt. But at least you're happy about it." Bear yipped very quietly and continued wagging his tail. The smell in the room was different now. There was relief coming from the lady with the clipboard and something undefineable coming from Tom. Bear got used to Tom's ever-changing, never-constant scent. There were phone calls that turned his scent dark, sour. Bear would try to escape it by hiding his face in the couch cushions or by hiding under Tom's bed. Sean, the other boy in the apartment, his scent changed after the phone calls as well. It was sweet, almost sickeningly so, and it reminded bear of the lady with the clipboard. He waited until both scents evened out into a softer scent, one that Bear couldn't identify off hand. Once the scents were level, Bear came back out of hiding and jumped into Tom's lap. Sometimes, not very often, but sometimes Bear would smell something heady and strong coming from the room Tom slept in. When he went to investigate it, the door was always closed and he wasn't allowed in, no matter how much he whined and no matter how badly Tom obviously wanted out of the room, judging by the sounds he was making. Bear usually caught a glimpse of the person keeping Tom locked up in the room, after he'd gone to sleep for awhile. If he sat long enough at his food dish after Sean had filled it, he could watch the other person leave. The smell coming off the other person was always the same, cool and musty. As soon as the door closed, Bear was climbing onto Tom’s bed and nuzzling him. “Out, Bear. S’too early.” Tom wouldn’t rouse until Bear sniffed at the center of his back. “Okay, cold nose.” On mornings when it wasn’t too bright and Tom didn’t smell too much like the cans on the counter, Bear was able to drag Tom out to the streets for a walk. Bear loved the walks, it was a chance to smell everything going on in the world. On the occasions that they were out walking, Jon frequently joined them. Bear loved Jon and barked whenever he could smell the other boy. One morning after being locked out of Tom’s bedroom for the night, Bear realized he could smell Jon. He wasn’t on the couch but Bear knew he was in the apartment. He started barking at Tom’s door. Didn’t he know Jon was there? He needed to be awake. “Bear, sh, it’s too early in the day.” Jon opened the door and Bear ran in, jumping onto the bed. He smelled both Jon and Tom in the sheets and wriggled around happily, licking at Tom’s cheek before settling down. Jon snuck out like the others and Bear watched him go, the smell of confusion thick in the air. For some reason, Jon wasn’t around so often after that. Sean tried to talk to Tom about it but it just resulted in the sour smell that Bear didn’t understand. Bear had no idea how many days went by before the new boy arrived at the apartment. He didn’t smell like anyone Bear had ever come in contact with. In fact, he smelled spicy and warm. Dry heat radiated from his body. Bear couldn’t hear the words but he could smell their meaning. The new boy had been there once before, with Jon. Bear remembered that he answered to Spencer. The last time he’d been there, Tom’s scent was the same as the lady with the clipboards. Relief had washed over him and flooded the apartment. Bear could smell the same scent when Spencer sat down on the couch with Tom. He’d been waiting for that smell to come back, not realizing the source. Awhile later, when they were both in bed, their scents lingering together, Bear nosed the door open and climbed to the end of the bed. For once, he wasn’t kicked out.

[hindsywrites]

Or Have Your Already Forgotten It

Brendon tried to walk around the backstage area that MTV had graciously provided for them. Saying he was a bundle of nerves would be a complete understatement. He was a bundle of nerves that had the skin scraped off of them and were exposed to all the elements. “If you don’t stop walking around and doing whatever it is you’re doing that’s working you up so much, I’m going to kill you and then you’re going to have nothing to be nervous about. Your nervousness is making me nervous and I really, really think that I’m already going to throw up.” Ryan turned and glared at Brendon, his eyeliner pencil pointed in a threatening manner. Brendon pushed out his lower lip and walked over to where Spencer was sitting and typing rapidly on his Blackberry. “Spence, he’s being an asshole.” He leaned in and wrapped himself around Spencer. “I know. But he’s right. If you don’t calm down, we’re going to have to kill you and it’ll be sad when we have to replace you.” Spencer looked up and Brendon turned on his heel. Fucking MTV. Fucking New Years. Stepping outside of the dressing room, Brendon reached for his own phone. There were several text messages from Gabe and each one was more bizarre than the last. Gabe wanted Brendon’s opinion on everything from the zebra pants and whether Brendon wanted a pair to what kind of shampoo would work best for him to tame his curls. Brendon smiled and answered each one in sequence. More came as he was answering and Brendon was shocked to read that Gabe was planning on coming to see the ball drop. Gabe had always said no New Yorkers ever went to that and that it was strictly for tourists. Brendon’s fingers flew over the keys as he messaged back that he didn’t have to and that they were still going to see each other in the morning. Gabe’s message was short and simple, “already on my way about 2 go 2 subway, will lose signal. Cant talk me out of it.” Brendon couldn’t help his smile, though he did try to hide it behind his hand. Strangely, he found these words weren’t any easier on his nerves than finding out they were going to be ringing in the New Year for the nation. He kind of wanted to go throw up, or possibly take Spencer and Ryan up on their offers of sweet, sweet death. Jon joined him in the hallway a moment later, chewing on a peanut butter cup. “So, you’re nervous.” Jon offered him one of the remaining peanut butter cups in his package. Brendon shook his head. “I guess.” Brendon really didn’t know how Jon could’ve missed that, but sometimes Jon was a pretty uncomplicated guy. “Just do what I do, picture you in your underwear.” Jon stood up and wiped at his mouth. “And make sure you don’t get chocolate on your suit. It’ll show up like crazy against that black.” “Okay. Back up. Picture me in my underwear? How does that sound like it would make me less nervous?” Sometimes Brendon had trouble believing that he didn’t make Jon up in his mind and hallucinate him into the band as a way of repressing his own guilt about the Brent situation. “I’m just saying it’s what I do.” Jon laughed and disappeared back into the dressing room. Brendon followed him in and looked at Spencer. “Did you send him out there to check up on me?” Brendon cocked out his hip the way Spencer did when he was trying to prove a point. “Do you honestly think if I was worried, I’d send Jon out there? That’d be like the blind leading the visually challenged.” Spencer scoffed before turning back to his phone. “By the way, Tom says you’re freaking out over nothing. You’ve played on TV before. You’ve sung live before. Now you’re doing both at the same time.” “Did you warm up, Brendon?” Keltie sat in front of Ryan; her eyes focused on the ceiling as he carefully lined her lower lids for her. “Of course I warmed up.” Brendon hadn’t yet, but he totally didn’t need to tell her that. “Then you don’t need to worry. We’re not at a high altitude. There are going to be heaters on the stage.” Keltie groped out a hand to try to take Brendon’s to squeeze. Brendon just sighed and walked out of the dressing room again. Now he had to freak out in private and find a dressing room to warm up in. He really had to start thinking his white lies through before spreading them. Brendon managed to find a small room where he was able to pace around and warm up his voice at the same time. It was nice, being able to move and warm up at the same time. It reminded him of being on tour, which made him think of Gabe, which made him nervous all over again. Gabe had seen him perform, obviously, but never in front of a crowd like this. This was something special, a once in a lifetime opportunity. It was maybe a twice in a lifetime thing if you ended up being bigger than Jesus. Not that the Beatles had ever played Times Square, but they would have. If they hadn’t broken up. When Brendon felt a hand on his shoulder, he whirled around and almost punched Spencer right in the teeth. Spencer probably wouldn’t have appreciated that, so Brendon’s glad he didn’t. Spencer tugs a headphone out and Brendon waits for instruction. “We’re about half an hour away from playing and you haven’t been answering your phone. Gabe’s here.” The look on Spencer’s face was the same one he got whenever he told Brendon not to stay up too late playing video games because they actually had a show the next day. “I know. He told me he was coming. I’m a little surprised he’s here already.” Brendon followed closely and kept a lookout for Gabe. “He said you weren’t answering for him either.” Spencer spoke casually but in a deliberately casual manner and Brendon realized what he’d thought. “Hey. Don’t ever worry that I’m not going to show, okay?” Brendon shook his head and pressed his face to Spencer’s neck, inhaling deeply. “I’m going to let my boyfriend steal me for a few minutes while he can, okay?” Spencer nodded, relief relaxing his features. “Hey, Saporta, stop eating all our cheese and crackers and go see your boyfriend or something,” Spencer called as he opened the door. “Ooh, boyfriend,” Jon catcalled from his spot on the couch. Gabe just flipped Jon off and walked out into the hallway with Brendon. “And what were you off doing, boyfriend?” Gabe brushed his hand against Brendon’s, not taking it just yet. “Warming up in this maze MTV likes to call their studios.” Brendon led Gabe to the room he’d been using to warm up, taking a seat on the makeup table. “What made you decide to come in here and do the whole ball dropping thing?” “Honestly?” Gabe walked over and leaned against the make-up table, his hip pressing against the edge of the counter. “I kind of just wanted to see you before you go on to calm you down. I know you’re nervous. And I know part of what you’re nervous about is playing on TV. And I know the other part is that it’s New Years and sometimes people expect certain things on New Years.” “Whoa, hey. I really. I wasn’t nervous about that. I really didn’t think we were going to be doing that.” Brendon’s mind jumped to flashes of skin, slick with sweat and his stomach tightened. “What? Oh! Oh, God, no. No, definitely not. No, I wasn’t thinking about that. I just. Hold still?” Gabe touched Brendon’s knee lightly, both of their eyes locked onto the point of contact. Brendon looked up at Gabe with curiosity before he realized that Gabe was leaning in and all of a sudden their lips were touching. Brendon nodded at the turn of events, even though the kiss was over practically as soon as it started. “Uh, what was that?” “I just figured we wouldn’t be able to kiss when the ball dropped and besides, I’d rather have it over with than get all freaked out about the pressure of the first kiss later.” Gabe grinned and pulled Brendon down from the make-up counter. “So,” Brendon tried to speak before stopping. “Hey, it’s still no pressure. But you should know that I live by one rule when it comes to kissing. Either give one or take one and none of that asking bullshit.” Gabe shrugged and slipped his hand into Brendon’s for the first time, giving it a squeeze. “And besides, at least now you aren’t nervous about our first kiss being the midnight New Year’s kiss, so that’s one less thing.” There was a knock on the door before Spencer burst in. “I don’t care if you’re. Oh. Okay, good. You’re not naked. Brendon, we’re going to check sound levels and we kind of need you.” “Okay, go.” Brendon saw Gabe’s eyebrows go up before he grinned and leaned in to whisper directly into Brendon’s ear, “Go so we can have our second kiss and third kiss and a whole bunch of kisses after that.” Brendon followed Spencer out, flipping open to send a message to Gabe before he actually had to disappear for an hour or so. There was already a message waiting for him and it was enough to keep him grinning through the rest of the night. “Just so u no, that rule 4 kisses is 4 u 2.”

[hindsywrites]

‘It Can’t Get Much Worse’ versus ‘No One Should Ever Feel Like...’

So maybe if it had escalated, it could have started like this. "This is Katie Couric reporting live from Washington, DC where Pete Wentz has just taken over the White House. Early reports say that the building didn't stand a chance. Wentz and his followers have barricaded themselves inside. Stayed tuned for updates as they come." Or maybe it actually did start like this. "I'd make a better president than this troglodyte." Pete threw a soda can at his television. In fact, it could've started like this. "Relax, I'll be gone for the week. I left you a map of where I'm going to be camping and I'll be back next weekend." Ryan pulled his car, packed with startlingly few supplies, out of the garage and drove away from his roommate. But in reality, it started like this. Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III was not an ordinary boy. That was the easiest way to describe his existence in the world. Born into great wealth and even greater privilege, he was never denied a whim or passing fancy. And that's where the trouble really started. Absentee parents and a butler named Alfred were really a horrible mix for a child with a slight Batman fixation. Well, less Batman, more supervillains that Batman tried to destroy. An example of dialogue with young Peter might have gone something like this: Pete: Well, The Joker couldn't have been very smart if a stupid orphan was able to beat him. Alfred: Master Peter, the point is that good wins over evil. Pete: Shut up, Alfred, or I'll have you sacked as I did Alfred. Alfred: Master Peter, my name is Nicholas. Pete: Your name is whatever I say it is, you incompetent imbecile. In truth, Pete hadn't had his last butler sacked, merely deported. But he was fond of Alfred, in his own way, and he had no desire to see him thrown out of the country. Pete had been reading Batman comic books for as long as he could remember, and he was noticing a very distinctive pattern. Aside from the obvious homosexuality in the comic, there was a lot of sexual tension between Batman and the female villains. These were women who knew how to use their wiles to get what they wanted. Pete didn't have wiles, not as far as he could tell, anyway. But really, what did he know? He was seven years old and the only companions he really had were the animals in his menagerie, and they didn't really respond so well when he asked things like, "Do my wiles drive you insane with lust?" Generally the marmosets were the only ones to respond, but they didn't speak English. He had no other friends around to ask. Alfred had a solution, but it was another one that almost got him fired. "Master Peter, if you'd like, I could arrange for a gorilla that is fluently versed in American Sign Language." For a moment Pete just stared at him blankly. "Who the hell do you think you're speaking with? I'm not going to learn another language so my pet can speak with me. No, you find me a pet that speaks English or I'll make sure you're sacked and that your reference will ensure that you never find another position in any household." "Master Peter…" Alfred sighed, unsure of how to handle this situation. "Or worse, I won't let you come when I blow up the world. Then all the other children will be gone and it won't matter that they don't come to play with me." "Master Peter, I shall do my very best to find a pet for you. One which is fluent in English." Yes, that was really where it started. A week or so later, which happened to be Pete's birthday, Alfred entered the room and presented Pete with a small bundle in a blue blanket. "Happy Birthday, Master Peter." Just then the bundle gave a small, sleepy yawn. "You've made me the happiest boy today, Alfred. Thank you." Pete knew what was inside. He carefully set the bundle down on couch next to him so he could stand up and give Alfred a hug. "What shall I name him?" "He already has a name, it's Brendon." Alfred had seen all of the documentation for this baby and thought it best to pick him. And he did love when Pete smiled the way he did when he saw the baby, teeth far too big for his mouth. "That's the perfect name for my most exotic pet." Pete was already holding the baby in his arms again. "Brendon, you shall be favored among my menagerie." He touched his finger to the baby's nose and laughed when it gurgled at him. Yes, Brendon would do quite nicely. He served as Pete's constant companion, staying by his side through everything in his life. Brendon had gurgled through the news that Pete's parents had passed away in a car accident. Everyone on the compound claimed to not know anything about the cut brake lines and Alfred quietly disposed of all mechanical books in Pete's personal library. As Brendon grew up, Pete even fancied that Brendon looked a little like him. He began teaching him at a young age how to use his eyebrows. "They should never move together, two separate movements." Pete demonstrated again, smiling when Brendon was able to imitate the move. He no longer needed Brendon to answer his questions on wiles. He generally used the small boy as a sounding board for ideas. Fortunately, Brendon loved Pete's ideas almost as much as he loved the kangaroo that Pete had bought for him. He would sit and watch for hours as Pete detailed various plots in a room in the basement. There were maps and toy soldiers and Pete only tapped his wrist gently when he tried to play with them. "These are important, Brendon. We mustn't touch them until it's time." Pete never explained when it would be time, only that it was approaching. Brendon, knowing little of the outside world, happily agreed as long as it didn't interrupt with Power Puff Girls time. Brendon spent most of his time with Pete's menagerie, letting the marmosets crawl over him and the sloths curl up to his sides when they wanted a nap. He would never admit it to anyone, but he liked their company better than Pete's. Pete was always making veiled comments that seemed ominous to Brendon, even though he wasn't quite sure why. As he got closer to eighteen, or at least when Pete told him he was probably almost eighteen, Brendon was sent on special missions to further help the room in the basement. "If anyone asks, this is called a topograph." Pete pushed the hardhat further down on Brendon's hair, squishing the bowl-cut under it. "No one should ask you any questions, but if they do, what do you say?" "I'm a student practicing land surveying because my Dad wants me to work with him this summer to save money for school," Brendon said in a quiet voice. He was slightly nervous about leaving the compound, even with Alfred driving him. He'd been out on a handful of occasions, but nothing good had ever happened on them. The last time he could remember, Pete had said they were going to Best Buy to pick up The Power Puff Girls on DVD for Brendon. Pete had asked Brendon to go in and buy it without him. By the time Brendon had exited the store, Pete was slumped, unconscious against the window. Naturally, Brendon had called Alfred and he'd taken care of the entire situation. Though Pete had apologized for scaring Brendon, things hadn't been the same since. Brendon didn't understand why Pete had done it and Pete couldn't explain his fear of failure to the monkey-faced boy. So they orbited each other at a distance, occasionally passing in the hallways of the house, or meeting on the grounds of the compound. "Sir, there's a boy to see you." Alfred went into Pete's chambers and stood beside the computer desk. He caught a glimpse of the words "My name is a four letter word synonymous with failure" before Pete closed the laptop and turned. "Show him into the sitting room. I'll take a meeting with him while you drive Brendon to the location. When you two return, alert me at once." Pete waved a hand dismissively and walked over to the mirror, looking at the slight bags under his eyes. After applying another layer of kohl, he walked down a different hallway to the sitting room. He wanted a moment to compose himself before going into this meeting. It was his experience that visitors were almost never a good thing. His last visitor had been Christopher, his oldest and dearest servant, telling Pete that he was retiring and that he was going to be leaving the compound. If another one was going to be leaving, Pete was not going to be impressed. To his surprise, a boy around Brendon's age turned around as he entered the library. "Mr. Wentz?" Pete flinched at the formality and shook his head. "It's cliché to say that's my father, but he is. You can call me Pete." Pete held his hand out, indicating that the boy should take a seat in one of the tall-backed leather chairs. "Pete. I'm Ryan Ross." Ryan extended his hand to shake Pete's but didn't appear all that surprised when Pete didn't offer his in return. "It's nice to meet you, Ryan." Pete's tone was only slightly tinged with curiosity. Of course he wanted to know what this boy wanted from him, but he wasn't prepared to appear eager to get the information. Showing your cards too soon meant a lower payout. "Yes. You probably want to know why I'm here?" Ryan's own eyes were lightly lined with kohl and Pete couldn't dismiss the way they seemed infinitely larger when Ryan tilted his head and looked at him. "If you wish to share it." Pete waved his hand as if granting permission. Again, he left the decision entirely up to Ryan, who appeared only too eager to share with Pete his reasons for coming to the compound. "I want to help you." Those five words intrigued Pete. He'd heard them many times in his life, many times from lovers who had turned out to be leavers. "Help me," Pete repeated, clearly amused with the notion. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but on the southern tip of the compound, there's a lot of camo-netting. And I've done my research on what you've been buying over in Russia. Pete, I'd like to help." Ryan emphasized the word "help" slightly. "Whatever you believe you know, you don't." Pete's tone turned flat. It was a shame, really; he didn't want to have to take this one out but he had to do what was best for the plan. "I do. Just. Look, maybe I'm not enough to convince you, but maybe my friend is." Ryan opened his bag and for a moment, Pete was sure he caught sight of a bio-hazardous sign. Another bit of rooting and he pulled out a binder, handing it over to Pete. "A sign of good faith. I made a pit stop before coming to see you. It's a copy of all the information they have on you and your movements thus far." Pete immediately began leafing through it, figuring he knew what misinformation had been picked up by the military. He wasn't prepared to see pictures of Brendon dressed as a land surveyor. That was never supposed to have been picked up. The pictures were all recent, so Pete knew that they were watching with a renewed interest. "You want to help." Pete nodded, closing the binder and looking up at the young boy in front of him. An eager nod was answer enough for him. "All right." He didn't trust this boy but the time would come when he would be useful. He'd already proven himself to be useful. "You understand, then, that the compound is now your home. You're not to leave it. Anyone you knew before is just that, someone you knew, not someone you know any longer." As soon as Ryan joined Team Off Wentz His Pants (really, Pete should've known not to let Brendon name the organization. Never again would he make that mistake.), he began his training with small, close range weaponry. His favourite place to practice was the garden. The only person who was surprised when Nick Scimeca took several rounds to the back of his head was Brendon. He'd loved the gardener. Nick had always planted daisies in a small patch of the back garden for him. After Nick's shuffling loose of the mortal coil, Brendon tended to stick to the menagerie, listlessly watching his pet kangaroo, Maria, hop around. All in all, the days grew rather similar. One thing led to another, and everyone swore they had no idea how it happened, but Belgium just stopped existing one day. "But! I loved their chocolate!" Brendon was inconsolable, landing in a heap after leaping from one of the trees in the menagerie. "Pete, is this part of the plan?" "It's the start." Pete simply nodded and continued to stroke the sloth that lay curled in his lap. "Don't worry, pet, you'll be as safe as ever." "But I won't have chocolate!" He wailed for such a length of time that all the animals, save for a tiny lemur, left him alone. Even Maria wouldn't hop near him until he'd worn himself out. It was then that he decided Alfred would take him for a drive the next day. He'd pack his backpack, kiss the animals goodbye and find out what life was really like on the outside of the compound. Secretly, Brendon suspected that Belgium hadn't been blown up. Ryan just liked to complain that Brendon couldn't keep still after eating any chocolate. Ryan was turning out to be nothing like Pete. Ryan was mean. The worst part was there was no telling if he meant whatever he was saying. That darn monotone. That evening, after Pete had retired for the evening and Ryan had powered down, or whatever it was that robots like him did at night, Brendon began packing his backpack. There were all sorts of things to back. Sweatbands, just in case it got warm and he needed to keep the sweat out of his eyebrows; socks, because you really never knew; a towel, because it could get you out of any sort of situation; a Tupperware container full of cheerios, to sustain him until he found a convenience store and could pick up some real food; and Bob the stuffed lemur, because he knew Pete would miss the real one and he would need something to cuddle until he could liberate Bob the real lemur. As the final object he placed in his bag, he carefully set Eunice into her case and then in his backpack. Eunice was the 9mm Pete had bought for Brendon on the anniversary of Brendon's tenth year on the compound. He'd had Alfred and Chris teach Brendon how to shoot at targets and according to the official FBI tester that Pete had kidnapped and executed, Brendon shot better than half his men. Pete was so proud that he'd bought Maria, the kangaroo, as another present for Brendon. Maria was what Brendon had initially asked for his birthday, but Pete said there were enough animals in the menagerie. After Brendon had become so adept at the use of firearms, well, he couldn't bring himself to say no. Brendon made his way around the house silently, pilfering a few bottles of Gatorade and touching things that he'd never been allowed to touch. He even took Pete's secondary copy of The Plan. He'd leafed through the binder on many boring afternoons while Pete was in Russia, but he'd never really cared about it. It went inside his backpack, covering Eunice. That would teach Pete to go around listening to people who had no inflection. He was going to have to spend an entire day photocopying all his documents again for another secondary copy of The Plan. Shouldering his backpack, Brendon went to the servants' wing of the house and tried to walk quietly. He still knew the location of most of the squeaky floorboards from when he snuck down as a much smaller child. There was a chef, one who took care to make sure that Brendon's meals were always vegetarian, and he would help Brendon. He was sure of it. After three rapid knocks, which was the code for late night pie, Brendon waited for Tom Conrad to answer the door. The door opened cautiously and Tom poked his head out. "Master Brendon, what are you doing still up?" Apparently it had taken Brendon a little too long to choose between bringing Clarence the stuffed frog or Bob the stuffed lemur. By Tom's clock, it was quarter to four in the morning. "Master Brendon, I know you're used to the house being yours to wander but you can't do that anymore. It isn't safe." Tom said nothing more than that, quietly slipping into his robe. "What kind of pie would you like today? I think we have apple and chocolate crème in the freezer. Would you like some ice cream?" "Tom. I. I need a favor. Can you." Brendon toed the ground, chewing his lip. "I need to get out of here. I don't think Pete needs me anymore now that he has Ryan. And. I don't know. I want to see what's out there." He looked up and tried to smile at Tom but it wouldn't quite meet his eyes. Tom looked down at the ground and shook his head. "You know I can't do that. Pete would have my head for it." Both of them knew the statement wasn't an exaggeration. "I just." Brendon nudged Tom back into the room, looking down the hallway. He had no idea if Pete really had ears everywhere on the compound. "I don't trust this Ryan guy. He rubs me the wrong way. And this Plan. I don't know what it is, but Ryan said that Belgium got blown up and I really think that might be a bad thing. And I'm pretty sure it's all Ryan's fault." "I know. He isn't anyone's favourite here." Tom moved over to his bedside table and turned on the stereo so it emitted a low, steady stream of music. "All right. Here's what I can do. Every morning, Brent comes and delivers fresh produce for us. I can help you sneak into the van. You can get out of the compound and sneak off the van at the first stop after. I'll give you an address. Don't program it into your phone, I'll write it down and you go to it. Jon will be able to help you if you tell him about the Plan. And when you get there. When you get there, tell them to tell Sean I'm all right." That was how, two hours later, Brendon came to be sitting in the back of a large truck carrying vegetables and fruits. He helped himself to a nice snack, justifying that no one would notice if two mangoes and a head of cauliflower went missing. By the time Brent made his first delivery, Brendon had gorged himself on mangoes, kiwis, oranges, and blueberries. His stomach hurt but he was full in case he had to wander around looking for Jon Walker, 312 Cherrywood Lane. There was no phone number on the piece of paper that Tom provided him and Brendon really hadn't needed to pay attention when Alfred drove him into the city, so it was difficult for Brendon to know where to begin. He'd watched enough movies to know that he could simply take a taxi there. Once he was within range of one, he began waving his arms wildly. "Hi. I'm. Not really from around here. My name is Brendon and I need to get to Jon Walker's house. It's at 312 Cherrywood Lane. Apparently it's in the Evanston neighborhood?" He smiled in what he hoped was a winning fashion at the surly cab driver in the front seat. "That's in the 'burbs. I'm going to have to charge you meter and a half, are you okay with that?" His voice was ashy from years of smoking, the same as Tom's voice early in the morning when Brendon woke him to ask if he could have chocolate chips on his pancakes. "Uh. Yeah, that's fine. Do you take credit cards?" Brendon looked through his wallet. He had the credit card Pete had provided him to use in case of emergencies. He was fairly certain this constituted an emergency. "Nah, it's too early in the day. I've got no one to verify the card. I can stop at an ATM for you." The driver indicated a shop a block up. "You can take out cash. It'll be sixty, minimum." Brendon thought for a moment. It seemed reasonable enough. After all, Pete routinely took out hundreds of dollars from the ATM when they went to restaurants. Brendon nodded and the taxi was on its way. "Hey. I can take out a lot of money from the ATM, right? Like, more than just the cab fare?" "Uh. Yeah, you can probably take out five hundred dollars." The cabbie looked in the rearview mirror at Brendon. "You ever used a credit card, kid?" "No, this has only been for emergencies." Brendon looked at the black American Express. He liked the way it shone in his wallet. The cab driver remained silent for the rest of the ride to 312 Cherrywood Lane. The brief stop at the ATM was made longer by Brendon's inability to remember if the pin number 5683 or 4283. Eventually he emerged with five hundred dollars in crisp twenties. "Okay, to the house!" Brendon pointed in the direction he assumed Jon Walker's house was. The cabbie drove him to the front of an apartment building. "This is the building. It'll be seventy dollars." Brendon counted out eighty dollars and handed it over. It took him a moment to figure out how to buzz up to Jon Walker's apartment. "Mmm, too early, Patrick." A sleepy voice mumbled on the other end of the intercom. "Jon Walker?" Brendon leaned close to the speaker and whispered. "Patrick?" "No. Is this Jon Walker?" Brendon asked again. "This is Brendon. Tom sent me to you. Can you buzz me up?" "Tom?" The voice sounded like it was waking up a little more. "Tom sent you and your name is Brendon." Fifteen minutes later Brendon was sitting in the kitchen of the apartment Jon Walker shared with some girl named Spencer. Jon and Spencer were both nursing cups of hot coffee. "So. You're Brendon and Tom sent you." "You've been saying that for the last ten minutes. Isn't coffee supposed to wake you up?" Brendon was staring longingly at the mugs nestled in both of their hands. He hadn't been allowed coffee at the compound since That Time Brendon Accidentally Shot Off Two Million Dollars Worth Of Explosives. It hadn't been his fault, either. Pete should've known not to leave Brendon alone after letting him down a quad-shot of espresso. "Since he's the one that's hiding you, or whatever, I wouldn't be so picky about what he says." Spencer's voice was very masculine. And she was awfully flat. Brendon cocked his head to the side and tried to determine if the two were somehow related. He shook his head and reached for his backpack. "Look. Tom helped me get off the compound so that I could see the world. But I want to see the world before it all gets blown up. And I looked at The Plan, so I'm pretty sure it's all going to get blown up." Brendon began digging through his backpack, producing the binder. It had been shifted during his adventure on the fruit truck. "He said you'd know what to do with this." He slid the binder across the table to Jon. "I. The compound. You." Jon seemed at a loss for words but Spencer perked up immediately. "Is this what I think it is?" She began looking through the binder, fingers drawing across the words as she read. "Where did you get this?" "From Pete. I kind of stole it. Hey, you aren't going to send me back and get me in trouble for this, are you?" Brendon instantly grew worried. He wanted nothing to do with the compound now that Ryan Ross had taken over. There had been a time before when he'd tried to run away. Brendon had gotten as far as the southern wing of the house before Mike Carden, the team coordinator, had found him. Pete had taken Maria away from him for a month. "No, no. I. We need to get you to Patrick's. Does anyone know you're here?" Spencer started moving around the kitchen in a hurry, dumping the last of her coffee down the drain. Brendon whimpered at the sight. All that good coffee gone to waste. "Just Tom. Alfred probably knows I'm gone by now. But stupid Pete doesn't notice anything now that stupid Ryan is at the stupid compound." Brendon kicked at the kitchen floor, thinking of the way Pete looked at Ryan. The favourite was clearly chosen. "When you snuck off the truck, how did you get here?" Spencer's questions were rapid, the gears in her brain obviously spinning wildly. "I took a cab. I hailed it and everything." Brendon looked immensely proud of himself. It took a moment before he realized that it might not be something to be proud of. Maybe people out here hailed cabs every day. "How did you pay?" Spencer slipped on a hoodie and stuck The Plan back in Brendon's backpack. "With cash." Brendon saw Spencer standing up and gasped. Spencer wasn't a girl at all! Spencer was a boy! And his hips, God! Pete had wanted hips like those forever. Brendon was made to judge Pete's various attempts at walking like that for as long as he could remember. "Okay, I'm getting you to Patrick's. He's going to want to know about this. Jon, see if you can find a way to get a hold of Tom. If you can't. Well. Just call me in an hour so I know that you're safe." Spencer leaned in and touched his lips to Jon's. Jon still looked rather tired but seemed to wake up at the brush of lips. "Who's Patrick?" Brendon finally asked. "Patrick is the motherfucking man." Jon answered. * "What do you mean he doesn't know anything? How did he know to bring the binder?" Patrick was talking about Brendon with Spencer as if Brendon wasn't even in the room. "He kept babbling about Belgium. I don't know. He knows a little, but I don't think he really knows what he knows. He took the binder to waste Pete's time with photocopying." Spencer was poring over the binder with Patrick while Brendon sat on the counter behind them. Brendon was totally down with this Patrick guy. He'd answered the door in a trucker hat and he was really awesome in general. He'd seemed excited about the binder until he'd started reading it. That was when the doubt came. "Fuck! Do you see what he bought from Korea?" Patrick practically tore a leaf from the binder. "No, this. We can't do this. There's no way we can stop him." "Don't even say that. You've worked too long, too hard for this to not amount to something. It was you that wanted to stop him in the first place. You were the one who told me that he needed to be stopped. Jon's probably lost Tom. We all heard about what happened to Nick. Pete Wentz has to be stopped or it'll happen to everyone." Brendon was impressed by the calm tone Spencer was taking with Patrick. "I know. I just. That's a fucking reactor. This isn't something we can just ask him to get rid of." Patrick scrubbed a hand over his face and looked at Spencer. "I'm aware of what it is. But at least we're not going into this blind anymore. We've got all the steps. Everything." Spencer patted the binder before nodding in Brendon's direction. "Not only that, we've got Brendon." "Are you hiding him here?" Patrick looked over his shoulder at Brendon. He just waved cheerfully in return and continued drinking his juicebox. "Because I really don't think he should be staying with you guys. Not if anyone on the compound has even the slightest idea of where he went." "Yeah, I want to hide him here. Maybe at Gabe's." Spencer turned around and looked Brendon over. "Gabe could say he's a cousin or something. He looks a little bit Latin." "Right. You really want to send him to Gabe's place? He can stay here." Patrick sighed and turned to look at Brendon. "Just don't touch anything, okay?" Brendon nodded while slurping up the last of his juicebox. "Great. This is whose shoulders humanity's fate is resting on. I hope you know what you're doing, Spencer." "Shut up. We'll meet tonight at Soma coffee shop and we'll go over everything there." Spencer raised his eyebrows significantly at the name of the coffee shop. Brendon caught the look but didn't ask any questions. "All right. We're going to just be here for the rest of the afternoon. Maybe say seven o'clock?" Patrick closed the binder and slid it into his lap. "I'll need that time to look through this, maybe give Andy a call and see what he thinks." Spencer's snort was unmistakable. "Yeah, good luck with that." * It wasn't so much that nobody liked visiting Andy. He was fascinating, and Patrick loved sitting with him and shooting the shit. Spencer loved visiting and finding new recipes for Jon to try out. There was only one drawback to visiting, and it was tiny, miniscule even. Andy liked greeting visitors with his shotgun, Denise. "Andy, it's just me, Patrick!" Patrick held his hands up in the air, smacking Brendon's chest in order to get him to do the same. "Prove it! Who is my favourite Laguna Beach character?" Andy cocked the shotgun, pointing it at Patrick's chest. He obviously didn't deem Brendon much of a threat as he hadn't even acknowledged his existence. "Laguna Beach promotes capitalism and meaningless consumer-driven lives." Patrick whimpered and turned his face from the gun. "But secretly you like Trey because you feel he thinks in a manner that shows progress given his poor upbringing." "Okay, Patrick. But next time, it'll change to Morgan because of her dedication to her own personal cause of chastity and morality. She shows strong character for that. I suggest you remember it if you don't want to take one to the chest." Andy bared his teeth for Brendon's benefit. Brendon just smiled at him and clutched his backpack tighter to his chest. All things considered, Andy lived in a fairly nice place. The things you had to consider were that the place was a bomb shelter and that it was in the middle of the Wisconsin forests. And that he'd named his bomb shelter Ms. Monroe. "I can't really stay here for long, we have to be back to Soma by seven but we need to show you something." Patrick nudged Brendon again, urging him to produce the stolen binder from the depths of his backpack. Andy kept the shotgun in his hand as he took the binder from Brendon. It sat on the table as he leafed through it. With each page turn, Andy's eyes grew wider. "Holy shit! Does he really have this stuff?" He looked up from the binder at Brendon. "Oh, the reactor? Yeah, he went on a trip to India a few years ago and came back with it. It was pretty cool." Brendon shrugged and attempted to look around the bomb shelter. Pete had never let Brendon into his bomb shelter, worried that he'd accidentally eat a year's worth of dehydrated meals or something. "Shit." Patrick hadn't been able to bring himself to ask Brendon about everything in his binder. He wasn't sure how much Brendon knew, but he realized that he'd have to find out if he wanted to stand any sort of chance against Pete. "It's motherfucking apocalypse! Just like I told you assholes. Get off my property! It's everyone for themselves!" Andy cocked his shotgun and pointed it at Patrick. In a flash of inspiration, Brendon snatched the binder from the table as they made their way out of Ms. Monroe. After hotfooting it across several hundred yards of forest to get to Patrick's parked car, they pulled out as quickly as they could. "I thought he was supposed to have some ideas!" Brendon was antsy after almost being shot. He could've totally defended himself with Eunice, but he'd accidentally forgotten to pack bullets for her. "No, not necessarily. Look, we'll head back to the city and we can wait for everyone." Patrick sighed and merged onto the main highway. "We're going to have to let everyone know that Andy's not with us anymore." Even from the corner of his eye, Brendon could see the tenseness in Patrick's wrists as he gripped the steering wheel. "Will you explain this whole thing to me? I'm a little bit confused. What exactly is going on? I know Pete has a lot of stuff on the compound and I know he's been doing a lot of stuff in other countries. And sometimes the news talks about him but I always have to leave the room while he watches it. So, I'm pretty sure it's nothing good or I'd be allowed to hear it." Brendon fidgeted with the sleeves of his hoodie. "I can't explain it in here, okay? We don't really entirely know where he can hear and where he can't. We'll be safe once we get to Soma." He continued on the highway, turning the music up as loud as he could. For once, Brendon remained silent through the car ride. He was taking in all the sights he'd missed when he was stuck in Brent's fruit truck. There were so many different things he'd never seen on the compound. Different trees, different views. For a few moments Brendon allowed himself to think about the menagerie, the animals he'd had to leave behind. "Patrick, are we going to rescue the animals from the compound eventually?" Brendon's voice was as soft as it ever got, which meant that it cut through the sound of the stereo completely. He couldn't just leave his animals behind. They were the only friends he had. "I. I can't tell you yes or no, Brendon. I just don't really know." He reached out and took Brendon's hand. If Patrick knew Pete at all, and he liked to think he did after years studying profiles of him, Pete had instructed the baby never be held to keep it from getting attached to anyone or anything other than the animals in the menagerie. Physical contact would be foreign, but it would bond them. Brendon stood the contact for only a moment before moving away. "If we get the chance. When the time comes, I want to rescue them. I have to rescue them." Brendon had a quiet determination about him. He would rescue the only things in the world he cared about; he wouldn't lose them. "Okay." Patrick squeezed Brendon's knee and continued the drive in silence. * "Okay, so. How do we know he's not some little spy planted by Pete?" Jon watched as Brendon stood at a videogame with Gabe, eyes wide at how cool Pac-Man really was on an actual stand up videogame console. "If he is, he's the worst one ever. His intel matches and adds onto the intel we have. And we still have an alive spy on the inside; we already know he's got nothing on ours. He doesn't know anything about us." Patrick kept his voice low, his cap lower. "Because he doesn't think we're a threat. He doesn't think we'll mobilize. And as far as he's concerned, we've got nothing." Joe stretched in his chair, taking large bites from a slice of pizza. He was paying careful attention to the conversation, despite the appearance of his attention being only on his pizza. "We've got everything. We've got Brendon, the pet, and we've got this." Patrick patted his messenger bag, the binder safely inside. "We've got a room tonight at a hotel. You guys'll follow me, and we'll meet there. This is going to be a long meeting." He stood up, indicating they were all to leave. There was no discussing as to where they would meet for directions to the hotel; everyone knew where to go. There was a parking garage in Wicker Park, ideal for the situation they found themselves in. Gabe arrived first, always taking the most obscure back roads and yet always beating everyone. He sat on the hood of his car, waiting for Patrick to arrive. Everyone tried to take different routes and to stagger their arrivals, allowing them to maintain at least a tiny bit of discretion. So far they'd been lucky when it came to not being detected but they knew it was nothing more than luck. "Our room is at the Holiday Inn, Wicker Park. You guys can see what's in the binder then. Death before dishonor, guys." Patrick spoke quietly and quickly. They dispersed, each taking a different route to the inn. Hayley, the girl at the desk, was familiar with the group and knew the protocol. There were keys issued for each guest and each guest checked in with a false identity. Once they were all gathered in the hotel room, Patrick opened the binder and sat Brendon down at the TV with reruns of Alvin and the Chipmunks playing for him. After they'd carefully leafed through it, it was Gabe who cleared his throat and looked up at the rest of them. "We're fucked." * While Brendon was getting introduced to the outside world, William Beckett, an assassin from the Midwest, was trying to talk Pete out of the pantry in the kitchen. "Pete, he was a pet. Pets run away." There was no response, just the sound of a package of food being opened. "You need to come out; you can't let this ruin your plans. There's so much left to accomplish. And you'd be throwing away everything you've worked so hard for. Everything you've done for the past seven years. You don't want that. Not over someone stupid enough to leave the compound, where it's safe." William was practically cooing as he crouched near the door. Everyone else was watching at a safe distance. One of the only things that placated Pete when he was in a mood was William. Ryan just tented his fingers in a far corner of the expansive kitchen. "It's all coming together, just as I foresaw it in the wilderness." The quirk of his lips could almost be mistaken for a sneer, but anyone close by who saw would know that was as close as he got to a smile. "What?" Greta, one of the very few females in Pete's crew, looked over at Ryan and raised one eyebrow. She, along with three friends, formed a subset of Pete's team. Though they jokingly called themselves the Viper Assassin Squad, they actually were referred to as The Hush Sound. Pete had given them the moniker because they were the best at hushing people up. "Nothing." Ryan met her eyes without wavering. She looked away first. No one had forgotten the look of Nick Scimeca laid out on the lawn he'd so lovingly cared for, and no one pretended it was an accident unless they were in the presence of Ryan and Pete. "All right." Greta tossed her hair over her shoulders and began walking away. She gave a sympathetic look at Pete before going to one of the other rooms. Chris, Darren, and Bob were due back later in the day from a mission. There had been a rival group in Florida they'd been called to dispose of and the job had required infiltration, not seduction. Greta was amazing at both, but not when the group could only be infiltrated by boys. "When's the rest of the team in? Pete will want a complete debriefing." Mike Carden hardly looked up from his Blackberry as he spoke with Greta. He was responsible for team coordination. He knew everyone's whereabouts and was constantly asking for status reports from everyone. "They're due back in at three p.m. The last transmission I got from them said they were about twenty miles outside of Joplin. They're taking the scenic route; apparently it looked like they were being tailed for awhile." Greta pulled out her own phone to see if any new information had been received. "And any chance of me debriefing you later?" Mike looked up from his phone and wriggled his eyebrows. "Not even if you paid me, Carden." Greta didn't bother looking up from her phone, choosing to leave the room instead. "One day." Mike turned to Adam Siska, Armory, and nodded confidently. Adam just shrugged in return and turned back to Pete. He looked distraught. Though Brendon had only been a pet, everyone knew how long Brendon had been with him. It wasn't impossible for them to believe that Pete had actually cared for someone other than himself. Ryan had taken a seat next to Pete on the couch, his hand wrapping around the back of his neck. He leaned into Pete, murmuring something into his ear that had Pete's head shooting up after a moment. "Really?" Pete was already standing and leading Ryan away by the hand. "I gotta say, I really don't trust him." One of the team members on general assignment watched Pete disappear into his private quarters with Ryan. It was the last thing he ever said in the company of the group. The next morning, he was found with his throat slit from ear to ear. It was Tom who announced it to the rest of the crew. "So. I." He kept running his fingers through his hair and fidgeting as he approached the dining room table. "Nate's dead, guys. Someone." Tom leaned against the walls, William sliding up to his side and pulling him close. "Don't say anything else, Tom. I saw Ryan leaving his room last night. I don't want to see that happen to you." He cradled Tom close to his chest, stroking his hair to disguise the speaking. "Just keep quiet." Tom looked up and backed away from William. "Are you. What?" Tom's heart was pounding both with fear and excitement. This team would take down itself before the team was a serious threat, especially if Ryan was killing off everyone who got in his way. Unfortunately, Tom didn't live to see how wrong he was. * Because it was Jon who Tom communicated with, it was Jon who figured out something was wrong. There hadn't been any point of contact for three weeks, not even a message relayed from Brent. At most, there was a week lapse between communications. This was unheard of. "He should've sent something. Anything. An email. Sean's about to strangle me." Jon spoke of Tom's roommate and sometimes paramour. Sean was the reason Tom had hesitated so long in going to Pete's compound. In the end, Sean had talked him into it, explaining he'd still be there when Tom got back and they wouldn't have to worry anymore. Jon paced the living room while Spencer brewed coffee for the four of them. Gabe had been assigned to be Brendon's guide that day and he needed coffee more than anyone else. "Three weeks and it's fucking radio silence. There's nothing." "Maybe we can negotiate for him. We have a pretty good bargaining chip and maybe he's just unstable enough that we can bring him out of hiding, arrange a trade, and nab the fucker. Then we bypass all this bullshit." Spencer watched the coffee drip with eerie calm. "Spencer, you know that Patrick won't even consider that. This might. This might be a situation where we. Look, we all knew what could happen. He knew what he was getting into going in there." Gabe tried to speak reason to the other two. "If he's. The fact that he even agreed to go in, that says a lot. He wouldn't want us to just give up like that. Because you've read that binder. Even agreeing to try to negotiate with him? You've already fucking lost, dude. At this point, it's recovery, not a search and rescue." "Maybe Brendon knows if Tom pissed someone off. Maybe Pete somehow found out Tom smuggled Brendon out of the compound. Brendon is his pet, his oldest and dearest pet." Spencer poured coffee into each of the four mugs. "Don't say that about him." Gabe wrapped his hands around two mugs of coffee, ready to take one into the other room for Brendon. "What?" Spencer lost his train of thought for a moment. "Don't refer to him as Pete's pet. He's a person. He was kidnapped," Gabe said. His face was firm on the point. "I don't ever want to hear that again." "Okay. Okay." Spencer held up his hands in a peace effort. "I can ask him if he knows something. About Tom, I mean. He would be completely willing to help. From what I've heard about Tom from Brendon, he was one of the only ones who genuinely cared for Brendon. Aside from Alfred." Gabe smiled as he looked off to the side. He could hear Brendon laughing at cartoons in the other room. "Just don't take him anywhere else so public, okay? Not without some sort of cover." Jon frowned at Gabe. It looked as though the expression strained his muscles. Displeasure was really out of his range as an actor. "Don't worry about it, okay? I'll make sure we're covered next time." Gabe nodded, ducking his head as he walked back into the other room. "Do you honestly think he'll know something?" Spencer spoke in a more hushed tone of voice. He didn't want Brendon hearing just yet. He was still somewhat leery of Brendon. God only knows what Pete had brainwashed him to do, had programmed him to do. "I think he's our best shot without sending another man in there. And I'm not prepared to do that, and I doubt Patrick is either. We need to get another meeting together." They'd met a few days earlier but no one discussed the lack of communication from Tom. Everyone knew what it must have meant and no one wanted to bring it up with Jon around. "I'll see what I can do about setting one up tonight. In the meantime, why don't we clear out and see if Brendon will talk to Gabe when he knows no one is listening? We'll tell Gabe where to meet us." Spencer leaned over and dropped a kiss on top of Jon's head. "We'll find whoever did this to him, and we'll make it right. I promise." * "Well. There were a lot of people who didn't like Tom. Pete, William, Mike, and the Hushies were the only ones who did seem to like him," Brendon slurped away at a frozen coffee drink from Starbucks. He was smiling widely at Gabe, who kept placing a hand on his knee as they were talking. "Hushies?" Brendon laughed at Gabe's confused face and tone. "What the fuck are the Hushies?" "The Hush Sound. They're the elite team. Like. Okay. Um, you know Bonnie Bakely? That woman they said Robert Blake offed? That was like, their audition piece. All three of them come from huge families of this stuff. Greta's grandfather was the shooter on the grassy knoll." Brendon shook his head and leaned back against the couch. "Wait. They. They're assassins?" Gabe's eyes widened considerably. "Brendon, you don't really expect me to believe this, do you?" Brendon slurped at the bottom inch of his drink before looking back up at Gabe. "Who do you think taught me how to shoot? They would never have gotten rid of Tom, though. I think Greta really liked him. Like, you know, like-liked him? Well. Him and Adam, anyway." A snicker escaped his lips before he curled up to Gabe's side and closed his eyes. "Tom's probably dead. It's happened before, to someone who opposed Pete or did something Pete didn't like. There was this guy, Mikey, he used to come and go all the time and then one day he just stopped coming." "Did you know what happened to him?" Gabe had to remember not to squeeze Brendon's side too tightly or he'd get skittish and run off. It had happened many times over the past few days as Brendon stayed with him. Brendon pulled away and nodded, his face instantly closing off. There were certain subjects he wouldn't discuss and most of them had to do with people disappearing. He pulled his hood over his head. "Why did Spencer tell me to stay out of hand-reach of you?" "He thinks I'm some sort of perverted lech. Don't worry, I'm not a lech." Gabe lowered his hat over his eyes and continued trying to move his hand up Brendon's thigh. "You should probably stop trying to touch between my legs. I'm saving myself for true love." Brendon smiled serenely and reached for Gabe's iced drink. "You're not going to finish this, are you?" "No, no, you suck away all you want." That look was back on Gabe's face, the one that said Brendon looked like a very delicious and very exotic dessert. "Uh. Right." The only sound in the apartment for the rest of the afternoon was Brendon sucking noisily on the last of the drink and walking around as he got his bearings. Later in the day, Brendon approached Gabe as he pored over take-out menus. "Gabe, when am I going back to Patrick's?" "Do you like Patrick's place better than here?" Gabe asked. He looked up, stricken. "Well, yeah, it doesn't smell like my socks do if I forget to change them for a few days and then decide to sleep in the menagerie." Brendon hoisted himself up on the counter and looked over at Gabe. "And he doesn't ask me things I don't really understand." "All I did was offer a demonstration of Hide the Cobra!" Gabe held his hands up and backed away from Brendon. The look he got in return said his comments weren't appreciated. "And that's the other thing, you keep mentioning this cobra, this Ron. I'm not really sure what this cobra told you or whatever, but I'm pretty sure you imagined him. Cobras don't talk." Brendon pulled his knees to his chest and spoke with some regret. "I mean, it's cool if you imagined him and everything but. Pete used to imagine monsters and then he went to. Look, I just think I'd rather stay with Patrick." "It's only for a short time. We're not really supposed to say anything, but we're going to be moving in a few days." Gabe walked over and rested a hand on Brendon's knee. "So. You said everything was fine until Ryan came?" "Ryan. He came and all of a sudden Pete didn't have time for me anymore. It's stupid. I mean. He didn't buy Ryan a menagerie. He didn't pick Ryan. Alfred didn't take Ryan from a supermarket for him." Brendon had no delusions about where he came from. "Did Ryan ever say where he was from? Why he came?" Since Brendon wasn't flinching away, Gabe held his position. "Sometimes he talked about it. Like, when he thought no one was listening, he'd tent his fingers and mumble something about his vision and how it was all coming together as it was revealed to him in the wilderness. I think he went into the desert and hallucinated something and was convinced it was a sign from above." Brendon rested his chin on the knee Gabe wasn't currently molesting. "He had a vision?" Gabe's eyes widened and he backed a few steps away. "No. Okay. No. Did you tell Patrick about the vision?" "No? It's a load of phooey anyway. There's no such thing as visions unless you take drugs or get sick. Besides, sometimes he'd do ridiculous things like go into the menagerie and say 'Where my bitches at?' in his stupid monotone. A vision hardly sounds out of the ordinary for someone as weird as him." Brendon dropped his feet back over this counter. "No. If he had a vision about it, it's legit and nothing we do is going to stop it. Andy was right. It's the motherfucking Armageddon! I'm out. I'm so out." Gabe turned on his heel and went to his bedroom. A few moments later, Brendon smelled the usual sweet smoke coming from Gabe's room. Rather than wait for Gabe to come back out to make his usual three boxes of Kraft Dinner, Brendon walked toward Gabe's door. "Gabe, I'm coming in." He walked in, his vision obscured by thick smoke. "You think this is the Armageddon." "Don't you? This is some seriously fucked-up shit here." Gabe brought his pipe back up to his lips and lit it again. "And if the world is ending, fuck that, I'm not staying sober." Brendon rolled his eyes. It was like dealing with a tall, more paranoid version of Pete. He knelt down and took the pipe from Gabe's hand. "The world isn't ending. Ryan's vision isn't going to come true. He probably didn't even have a vision. He probably lied about that." "Seriously, seriously. I had a vision and it led me to Patrick. And the cobra told me that I was going to be involved in the battle at the end of the world." Gabe shook his head and snatched the pipe back. "And now that I know it's fucking happening, I know that I am way too fucking sober to deal with it. So, I'll smoke and then go rescue Mama and Papa and get to an island or something." "Gabe? Listen. Okay, I want you to seriously listen. I trust Tom. I trust that he sent me to the right group of people to make sure that the world doesn't end." Brendon knelt down in front of Gabe and took his hand. "Because if you don't help, if all of us don't help and pull it together? Your mom? Your dad? Your nephews that keep calling and leaving voicemail messages about your brother? They're all going to be dead. And it'll be on your hands." "How do you know that?" "Because, I've seen what Pete and Ryan can do, what they don't even hesitate to do. And I know that I don't want that to happen because he still has the menagerie and Alfred. And I'm not letting Alfred get killed like that." Brendon hadn't told any of them much about Alfred, but Gabe had picked up enough to know that Alfred was the only one Brendon missed on the compound. "So if you just give up on this, it affects more than just you. It affects everyone." Gabe held the pipe against his lips as he considered what Brendon had to say. "All right. We'll do this. But just so you know, we're completely fucked." * "So. Do you guys just sit around all day, trying to figure out how you're going to save the world?" Brendon furrowed his brows in the mirror. He had a pair of tweezers in his fingers, plucking at every stray hair. "No, who the fuck do you think we are? The Justice League? I mean, if we were any superhero group, we'd be The X-Men. I'd be Cyclops and you'd be Marvel Girl. Maybe The Fantastic Four. Reid Richards and Susan Storm." Gabe nodded at his own reflection in the mirror, where he was also plucking his eyebrows. "I'd rather be able to be invisible than be able to move things with my mind." Brendon shook his head and wiped discreetly at his eyes. They were starting to water from all the grooming but Gabe had said that unibrow had to go. There were no ugly people allowed on the side of good. "You're already moving something in me." Gabe smiled brightly at Brendon and rejoiced inwardly when Brendon only moved six inches as opposed to the normal foot. "No, but really. What do you guys do?" Brendon insisted, gripping another hair. "We've all got day jobs. Spencer, you've heard of him. He's Spencer Smith, that kid who graduated from MIT when he was thirteen and went to work for NASA when he was sixteen?" Gabe looked over at Brendon and closed the six inches again. "How did he get in on this?" Brendon moved another six inches away, looking as though he was calculating the amount of time it would take him to get to the wall and whether or not Gabe would stop moving closer by then. "I don't really know. I guess someone he knew growing up kind of got sucked into this whole thing. He started checking his shit. He found Jon and the rest, you'd really have to ask him about." Gabe shrugged, spanning his hand over the six inches. "Patrick?" Brendon couldn't imagine Patrick doing something that wasn't incredibly awesome, like driving around, rescuing kittens from trees or something. "Patrick is actually an elementary school music teacher. Guy's incredible at mechanics and electronics but he says sometimes it's nice to work with something you didn't invent." Gabe shrugged and wiped at his eyes. They were starting to water in the same manner Brendon's were. "And Jon?" Brendon wanted to know the people he was going to be working with. He needed to know they were good people and weren't secretly the kind of people who were going to turn on the team the moment things got hard. "Jon owns a lot of real estate. He inherited a shitload of it from his parents. And now, he works with a non-profit organization that tries to council teens against violence." Gabe shifted over an inch while Brendon wasn't looking. "What about you?" Brendon looked at Gabe from the corner of his eye, watching for any sudden movements. "What about me?" "What do you do when you're not babysitting the bargaining chip." Brendon made a face at the term. "Where did you hear that?" Gabe withdrew his hand and stared hard at Brendon. "Spencer isn't exactly quiet when he talks, you know. I mean. It's cool that you think Pete's sentimental enough to give up world domination for his pet." Brendon tried to sound neutral. "I. He's not supposed to call you that. I told him not to call you that ever again." Gabe tried to reach over and wrap an arm around Brendon's shoulders. "I know. But is that what you guys think? I mean. I know it wasn't normal. It isn't the way most people grew up. Nobody on TV ever grew up like that." Brendon jerked away from Gabe, closing his eyes for a moment. "Whatever. I don't care." And just like that, Brendon's walls were up. "Hey, it doesn't matter. It really doesn't. We know you're not a pet. I know you're not." Gabe kept his hands to himself, not wanting to make Brendon anymore uncomfortable than he clearly already was. "So you grew up differently. Big deal. It's like being the kid with the divorced parents." "If it wasn't for Ryan, I could still be there. I'd be on the compound and Pete and I would be testing the molecular reorganizer on the aloe plants." Brendon set his mirror down and pulled his knees to his chest. "Pete wasn't always all bad. He fired one of the butlers because he didn't think the butler was paying enough attention to me." Gabe mentally went through the list of butlers Pete had gone through. Poor Tony. There hadn't even been enough left to identify the poor son of a bitch. "But he's always been planning to take over the world, to end it." Gabe had to make Brendon realize that fact if they were ever going to get anywhere in this. "He wasn't always going to end it. I think he wanted to end a lot of what was going on. We used to watch the news sometimes and he'd see news reports about Africa and he'd tell me that he was going to change it all, to make it all better than it had ever been before." Gabe was cautious of Brendon speaking like this. It was one thing for him to miss Pete, the only family he'd ever known, but it was another thing entirely for him to start agreeing with Pete. Another entirely dangerous thing. Gabe needed to change the topic. "When I'm not out trying to save the world, one applebottom at a time? I design rooms for Ikea. Like, the showrooms that you see in the stores and catalogues. And sometimes I teach dance lessons. Mostly the salsa and tango, but sometimes the samba." Gabe set his mirror down. "What about you? What did you do at Pete's?" "I was a land surveyor. I went and took pictures for him. You know that." Brendon rolled his eyes. The pictures he took were in the binder. How could Gabe have missed them? "No, that's what you did for him. What did you do for you?" "Oh. I. Well. Sometimes I'd read the stuff that Pete had in the library. Usually I'd go read out loud to the menagerie." Brendon set down his tweezers and began to examine his groomed brows. Gabe was right, they did look much better when they were thinned and separated. "Did you have a real menagerie?" Gabe had heard Brendon mention it several times, but still couldn't figure out if it was an actual menagerie or just what Brendon liked to call the animals on the compound. "Yeah, there was this hot house. I liked to keep smaller animals, but Pete had some big ones. There was a tiger, but he was really gentle. The tiger would sometimes come in and sit down with me when I was in there reading. Pete raised it from when it was just a cub." Brendon trailed off and bit at his lip. He knew there was no way he'd be allowed to leave the side of good for the compound but he was really starting to regret his decision to leave and see the world. With the exception of Ryan Ross, Brendon had been happy on the compound. He had been taken care of and he hadn't had to worry about Pete's intentions. The outside world was severely changing his perception of his own world. Standing up, Brendon wiped at his eyes. When Gabe looked up at him questioningly, Brendon just faked a smile and said, "It stings. All the plucking? Anyway. I'm getting tired. I think I'm going to go to bed." Gabe had been told explicitly that he was not to bother Brendon if Brendon went to bed. It was his time to reflect on what was going on. He'd been made to understand that Brendon was going through a lot and he didn't need someone coming in and offering the guidance of the cobra. He needed someone to make sure he stayed there and didn't decide to leave in the middle of the night because of what he was discovering about the one person who was supposed to love him.

After a few days, Brendon got used to life with Gabe. It meant waking up to the sound of Gabe belting out the lyrics to "I Think I'm Turning Japanese" and "Birdhouse in Your Soul" and having to make a lot more ramen than one person should consume in one sitting. It continued like that until a boy Brendon knew only as Joe knocked on the door to the apartment and Gabe let him in. "Fuck, man. It's confirmed. Like. Tom's been confirmed." Joe was pacing around the room and patting down his jacket, producing a cigarette and lighting it up immediately. "They found the body. Look, Sean's a fucking mess over it. He left the dog with his parents and no one's heard from him since. He's got one of the long-range communicators but he isn't answering it. And one of the BFGs is missing from the armory." "Oh fuck. So it's on." Gabe dashed to his bedroom and pulled out a suitcase. Apparently it had been pre-packed and waiting for some time. "Brendon, there's no time for you to get clean clothes. Just pack everything into your backpack and we'll deal with clothes when we get the fuck out of here." "Oh, it's fine, I can just order more clothes off the Internet and get them delivered to wherever we're staying." Brendon pulled out his wallet and handed the black card over to Gabe without a second thought. "Brendon. Please tell me you haven't been using this card while we've been staying here." Gabe's voice was dangerously even. "I used it to get to Jon's. Well, I took cash out. And then the other day…" He trailed off when he realized both Gabe and Joe were staring at him. "What?" "Okay, we're getting out of here now. Joe. Please tell me you didn't see anyone?" Gabe immediately dropped to the ground. He tugged on Brendon's pant leg. "Get the fuck down, right now." Brendon dropped to the floor with Joe. "We're sneaking out of here, okay? Pete's probably had a trace put on the card, which means he knows you're in this neighborhood, staying here. And the best idea when your enemy is looking for you is to not be in the place where they're going to be looking for you." Cursing a few times under his breath, Gabe began to head to the door. "Joe, I want you to get to a payphone and get in touch with Patrick. We need to move the plan ahead to now. There's no time to wait. Brendon and I are heading there now, okay?" "If there are people out there?" Joe swallowed, still holding onto his cigarette. "Call me and try to get a description. We'll see if Brendon knows them." Gabe looked over at Brendon, whose face had gone blank. The carefully empty expression tugged at Gabe's heart. He knew it was a defense mechanism and it worried him. "All right. I'll go out first? If I don't call in two minutes, call Patrick, fuck the security of the lines." Joe turned to Brendon and wrapped an arm around him. "I know this is fucked up right now but it'll get better when we get to the place. You're saving all our asses so hard right now, Urie." It was the first comment someone had made about asses in Brendon's presence that hadn't ended in a not so subtle attempt to grope him. He nearly cried from relief. "Remember, Joe, good waffles." Gabe knocked fists with him before standing just out of range of any of the windows in the apartment. "Good waffles?" Brendon looked at Gabe as soon as Joe had departed. Gabe didn't answer for a moment, seeming content to stare at his phone in anticipation of Joe's call. Relief flooded his face as the phone vibrated in his hand a minute and a half after Joe left the apartment. Before thumbing it on and speaking into it, Gabe met eyes with Brendon and nodded. "Good waffles, it's what we say before shit really hits the fan. Because good waffles stick together." * At the base, Spencer paced the length of the room. "Patrick's not here yet, guys. This isn't. We can't do this without him." Brendon's eyes followed him as he stalked back and forth. This was at least something he was a little used to seeing. "Oooh, cool. You guys buy the same beakers as Shaant used to." Brendon picked up a beaker of green sludge and began swishing it around. "It was really sad when he blew himself up. I mean, he'd had a ton of accidents like it, so no one was surprised. Well. They were surprised when Shaant bits came flying up the stairs. It was kind of incredible." He set the beaker down and began to walk across the length of the room with Spencer. "So. We're waiting for Patrick?" "We are waiting for Patrick, because contrary to what some assholes think, he is the plan." Spencer shot a look at Victoria, who just scowled in return. "He's the one who knows, can just fucking guess, Pete's plans. He knew about India. He knew that Pete wanted you badly enough that we all had to move out here in the interest of the team. Look, he just knows shit and I don't know if we have another guy out there or if this is something I'm not supposed to know about and I don't know if maybe we're going to have another Tom on our hands and to be honest, I don't know if I can live with that. So, yes. Yes, we're waiting for Patrick." Spencer nodded and abruptly stopped pacing the room. As if on cue, Spencer's phone began ringing with the tone "Damn It Feels Good to Be a Gangster." "Do you really have that as a ring tone?" Brendon covered his mouth to muffle the laughter but it wasn't enough. His entire body shook with what he was trying to hold in. "Seriously. It's lame. Mine is 'Soulja Boy' and it's completely awesome." Gabe began to demonstrate the dance in question before realizing that he was completely alone in it. On occasion, he could convince Ryland to join in. "Shut up." Spencer, who had spent the last few seconds trying to get his phone to answer, snapped. "Patrick? Are you there?" He paused for confirmation before heaving a sigh of relief. "Yeah, we're all here." Another pause and Spencer even brightened. "Good, we'll see you in twenty minutes, then." After hanging up, Spencer nodded at the assembled group of people. "We're in it again." When Patrick showed up, he was dragging three fairly young boys behind him and trying to explain something to them. "Guys, these are Marshall, Singer, and Cash. Sean had been working with them on trying to get some sort of surveillance into Pete's place and since. Well, we can't get a hold of Sean, we're going to have to go with these three and the information they have." Brendon narrowed his eyes. These three looked familiar and he tried to recall where he had seen them. Almost without thinking about it, Brendon blurted out, "Pete knows about them." Everyone looked over at him and took in his exclamation. The other three seemed to notice him for the first time. "What do you mean Pete knows about them?" Spencer asked, voice full of caution. "I mean he has information on them." Brendon went to the table, where the binder with The Plan was sitting. After flipping through the binder for a moment, Brendon stopped on one of the pages and held it open for everyone else to see. "Look. Alex Marshall, Alex 'Singer' DeLeon, and Cash Colligan. He knows all about them. He knew they were onto something." He holds up a picture of the three of them with two other boys. The two other boys had larges Xs over their faces. "Ryan took the other two out." "That. Is that what happened to Johnson?" The color drained from Cash's face. Brendon nodded and for a moment seemed to go blank. Gabe walked up behind him and pressed a hand to the small of his back. "Hey, do you guys want to maybe talk about this later?" Joe looked down at the ground and kicked his feet before agreeing with Gabe. "We all knew the risks going in. Johnson and Ian knew. They didn't have to agree to it." "Those were our friends. Teammates." Cash clenched his fists and looked over at Joe with anger. "Do you see Tom anywhere? No, you don't. We don't know where the hell he is but we're going forward with this. He knew the risks, especially the risks of actually going in. If we can continue without him, you three can sure as hell deal without…" "Can all of you just shut up? If we don't do this, that's it. Game over. I didn't get out of there for that to happen." Brendon seemed to get strength from Gabe's hand rubbing across his back. "I'll tell you what I know if you swear that you guys are in this." "And why should we trust you? I know who you are. I know what you are." Marshall shook his head and looked over at Brendon. "You're his pet." Both Brendon and Gabe tensed but Brendon took Gabe's hand rather than let him lunge forward at Marshall. "Let me make one thing very, very clear to you. Brendon is not someone's pet. He was a child, a kidnapped child. If I ever hear you refer to him as that again, I'll turn you over to Pete. And I won't feel at all bad about it because you have no idea what you're talking about." Gabe's entire body was shaking as he tried to keep calm. "Am I understood?" The three boys exchanged a sheepish look. Finally, Singer nodded. "Brendon, will you really tell us what happened?" "In as much detail as you'd like." Brendon promised, trying not to flush when Gabe squeezed his hand. "We're in." Cash nodded and stuck out his hand to shake Patrick's. "And. I'm sorry, I didn't. I don't know what happened to you there." Brendon nodded by way of accepting the apology. After the rest of the introductions were made, The Plan was pulled out and Brendon once again went through it. "His next move is scheduled to be a terrorist action within Macy's. He plans on doing it at night, when there isn't anyone there." Brendon held up a page from the binder. "We need to be there." "It's too dangerous for you to be there," Spencer shook his head and tried to shake Jon's hands from his shoulders. "We can't have you there. If he knows we have you, we're on the move again." "It's the only way to stop him. If he's there, he won't be able to keep away from me." Brendon shrugged. "I know if he catches me, I have to go back. And. It'll mean a lot of dealing with the police. I might even have to meet my parents. But if I'm willing to do that to help, shouldn't you let me?" Brendon's calves flexed as he stood up on his tiptoes. "Brendon…" Spencer started. "No, I think we should let him." Patrick spoke up. Aside from Gabe, Patrick had the most contact with Brendon and knew the extent of the damage that Pete had done. "So. Macy's?" "Mhm. He's. He always planned on having it blown up at night, to remove a large consumerist center. I think if he had his way, he'd probably get rid of all of the locations in the Northeast. He always said he just wanted to start over." Brendon flipped a few pages further in and pointed to a schematic. "He said he'd set off charges in here. They'd blow up a pack of thermals on the main level. He consulted a few engineers to make sure that it would implode the building rather than explode it." "How kind. Do we know which one and when?" Jon bit at his lower lip and looked down at the schematic. "I mean. I don't really like the idea of having to monitor all Macy's for the rest of time." "No, it's the one in midtown Manhattan. And he said. It was going to be for his birthday. His birthday present to himself." Brendon shook his head and covered his mouth with his hand, stifling a yawn. "Hey, if you're getting tired, you can probably go to sleep." Gabe looked to the others for confirmation. "Um. Do you mind if we come talk to you? You know, about Johnson and Ian?" Marshall asked Brendon quietly, not wanting another outburst from him. "I don't know if that's such a…" Gabe shook his head until Brendon cut him off. "It's fine. I'll. We'll go talk." Brendon met Gabe's eyes. Gabe nodded, trying to convey with his eyes that he'd be in after to check on Brendon. All that came through was a leer that made everyone else in the room grimace. "O-Okay. So, let's go." Marshall took Brendon's arm and guided him out of the room. The converted warehouse had several antechambers that everyone had called for bunk rooms. Patrick, Joe, Gabe, and Brendon were using one, Jon and Spencer were using another, several operatives who had yet to arrive were set up in a few of the other rooms and Marshall, Singer, and Cash had been instructed to take another. Exposed pipes lined the ceilings and the walls, letting off sounds whenever liquids passed through them. Brendon settled on his small cot and looked at the three boys who had followed him. "How much do you…" "All of it. Whatever you saw, whatever rumors you heard, anything." Cash hadn't bothered to get confirmation from his other friends so Brendon waited to hear what they had to say. "All of it," Marshall confirmed after looking at Singer. "Okay. Well. Pete was having cameras planted inside the governor's office and the White House. He dug around and found your guys' business. It didn't take much research for him to find out you were the best of the best." Brendon curled his fingers into the hem of his blanket. The story didn't end well and Brendon had always hated telling those stories. "So. He hired you guys and you sent Johnson and Ian, right? Well. Pete researched them a little more, and he found out about their connection to Sean. I didn't know who it was at the time. So. He told Ryan, and Ryan promised he would take care of it." "And you didn't think to tell someone? You knew what that meant, didn't you?" Cash had to be restrained by Singer and Marshall. "I did! But who was I supposed to tell? Everyone there is on his side! Everyone there except Alfred thinks this is okay. I did what I could by getting the hell out of there." Brendon got defensive and once Marshall had calmed Cash down, he continued. "Okay, so. I. I was on my way to the menagerie and I looked into the garage to see if Greta was in there because she actually really likes the animals, and sometimes she likes to hang out in the garage to watch Adam without his shirt on, putting away the guns." "Point, Brendon," Marshall said through clenched teeth. "Get there." "Right, right. Okay. I looked in the garage and. Ryan had Johnson and Ian on their knees and he killed them execution-style. There was so much blood everywhere. I remember watching Alfred come out from the garage and his hands were just covered in it. And then I went into the garage and I saw them. They were just laying there. I couldn't even look at their faces." Brendon stops just before saying they didn't have faces any longer. "Did they die right away?" Singer pressed. "They did. Ryan is always efficient." Brendon could feel his stomach turn and he was a short moment away from vomiting. "I. No more, please." "You said as much detail…" "He said no more. I think it's time for you guys to go to bed." Gabe appeared in the doorway and looked down at the three boys sharing his cot. "We just want to know what happened to our friends." Singer looked a little more relaxed than before. "I don't care, okay? I don't want him getting freaked out. You're already making him picture some fucked-up shit. They're dead. And Pete probably had the bodies destroyed. I didn't say anything when Brent suddenly went missing, okay? Never let him know what can hurt you." Gabe sat down next to Brendon and touched his knee. Brendon didn't flinch and Gabe counted the move as a win. "I just want to go to sleep." Brendon mumbled, trying to climb under the covers. "I'll make sure no one bothers you, okay?" Gabe stood and patted the top of Brendon's head. "Out, guys." One by one, the three boys exited the room and Gabe settled in on his cot. "If they bother you again, just let me know. I don't want you getting upset." "Why are you being so nice to me?" Brendon still hadn't grasped that occasionally people didn't just blurt out whatever was on their minds. "I guess I kind of know what you're going through." Gabe shrugged and sat up a little. "I came here from another country and it was a whole other thing to get used to. And I'm not saying that I saw what you saw or anything, but I remember what it's like to feel out of place and like your ideals don't match up with everyone else's. You probably don't think that everything Pete is doing is terrible, right?" "It isn't. He doesn't want to kill anyone. I think he just wants. Like. If you look at it, look at the log book and everything, the only people he's killed are the people trying to stop him and the people he genuinely believes are bad people. It's Ryan that kills indiscriminately. And I can't handle that. Pete even. He has an island, you know? Anyone he's kidnapped to help with the plan who actually helped? They're on that island right now. They aren't dead." Brendon rolled onto his side to look at Gabe. "He just wants people to be nicer to each other. And I think we can all get on board with that." "I guess. But. And I know this is where we lose you, but what makes it his choice? How come he gets to be the one to make these decisions for everyone in the world? The ends really don't justify the means here." Gabe was tempted to move his cot closer but he wasn't willing to push his luck. He'd already gotten to actually put his arm around Brendon without Brendon flinching or looking pale. "I think he thinks he can do it because nobody else is doing it. We're just watching all of this happen and we're watching it so passively." Brendon propped his chin on his palm and shrugged after a moment. "I don't know, I just want to rescue my menagerie and Alfred. Maybe Greta. The rest of the people, they aren't bad people, you know? Well, some of them were. Some of them really were. But by and large, they were good people with these amazing talents. Greta could shoot a nickel off Chris's head at a hundred feet. She could calculate wind and how it would affect the bullet's path. I mean, I've been trained, but even I can't do that." "Brendon, they also kidnapped you. They kept you on a compound and didn't educate you, didn't give you a chance to see anything for yourself." "I've been educated. Alfred taught me everything. I'm kind of crappy at English, but I'm really kind of awesome at calculus and physics." Brendon grins at the thought of his textbooks in his bedroom. "Did they ever give you a choice about what you were going to be doing with that education? Did you ever get to say 'Hey, I want to be a doctor and work in South America' or 'You know, it'd be kind of cool to be a kindergarten teacher?'" Gabe was getting frustrated with Brendon's inability to see his point. They'd stifled him. It was worse than kidnapping him; they'd never taught him anything about the real world. "You don't get it, Gabe. That stuff wasn't real to me. Jobs didn't exist. Until I started leaving the compound to do recon? I didn't even really think about what was out there. I saw movies and thought that the people in them were weird for working for a magazine. If you don't know about something, it doesn't occur to you to ask why you don't do it. I didn't even think about kindergarten teaching because there were no other kids as far as I knew." Brendon tugged the covers up to his chin. "So. If you're only being nice because you feel bad for me, then forget it. I don't need that." "I just. I wish you could see my point, Brendon. I'm. You get some rest, and I'll stay awake until Joe and Patrick come in here for the night." Outside of the antechamber, Spencer and Patrick were whispering furiously to each other. "No, you know what that thing is capable of. Even if it sees you, it isn't going to stop." "Shut up, Patrick. I just need to get close enough to rewire it." Spencer shook his head, linking his fingers with Jon's. "That's not going to work. It'll kill you before you even get close enough to look at the latch to the circuit panel." Patrick leaned against the wall and tugged his hat lower. "I will. I know its weaknesses. You never, ever design something without a flaw to take it down. I know what it is." Spencer cracked the knuckles on one hand and Joe winced. "I know you were trying to prove a point right there, but seriously that is going to give you so much arthritis when you're older." As usual, Joe was trying to keep the mood light for everyone else's sake. "And I probably can't kiss swollen, arthritic knuckles when we're in bed. I'd feel like I was doing my grandmother." Had Jon said that in the tone Joe had, everyone else might have been able to dismiss it. "Okay, when did you even have time to sneak off and smoke?" Spencer's irritation with Patrick was momentarily forgetten when he looked over at Jon. "When I said I was going to the bathroom. I mean, I did go to the bathroom, but I didn't do number two like I said I did. I smoked." Jon sort of laughed and leaned into Spencer's neck. "Does this mean I can't do guard duty tonight?" "Yes, Jon, that's exactly what it means. It also means you're going to bed lonely and unsatisfied, okay?" Spencer moved away from Jon and crossed his arms. "Okay, get to bed. I'm going to take first watch. If Alex and Ryland show up, I'm going to send them in to Patrick." "Why not me?" "The fuck? Seriously? Go eat Cheetos in the cot or something; I'll deal with you in the morning." Spencer rolled his eyes and went to the warehouse entrance as everyone else trudged to bed. * In the middle of the evening, Ryland and Alex showed up at the warehouse, fresh from recon in Antarctica. Spencer debriefed them and brought them up to speed on what was going on. "Do we really have the pet?" "We have Brendon; don't let Gabe hear you call him a pet." Spencer had taken Gabe's words to heart, trying to remember that it was like leaving home and going to work for NASA at sixteen. He'd been lucky enough to get away after only a few years, but he knew Brendon had been at the compound for longer. "He's. Just try to understand what he's been through. We don't need him shutting down for a week because one of you said the wrong thing. He's our best link to Pete and how Pete's mind works." "When can we meet him?" Ryland looked around as if he expected Brendon to walk out at any moment. "In the morning. Get some rest; Patrick is going to want to talk to you guys in the morning, find out everything you found out." Spencer waved them through the room toward their antechamber. "Who else is due in?" Alex looked around at the various bags and whatnot that people had left around the warehouse. "It looks like almost everyone is here." "The word is still out to get Nick and Tyson in here. Travis' team isn't coming here; they're currently monitoring Macy's." Spencer shook his head. "Macy's?" Alex's face changed to one of confusion. "We've got some information that's led us to believe Pete's targeting it for demolition within the next 48 hours. I don't want to see that happen." Spencer reached for the binder, determined to comb through it again. "Just go to bed. You're going to need your rest for tomorrow." Alex nodded to Spencer and then exchanged a look with Ryland. "All right, we'll go to bed." They stood up in unison and ducked out of the main room. Once out of sight, Alex slipped his hand into Ryland's and spoke quietly into his ear. "They know what we know now; we'll be fine." "I just want to see if Patrick's up. I don't know what to think about us having Brendon here. For all we know, he's got some sort of trigger and he's going to kill us." Ryland looked down at Alex and pecked the corner of his mouth. "I don't think that he's something to worry about. You know Patrick wouldn't do anything he didn't think was the best. You trusted him before, so just trust him again." Alex squeezed Ryland's hand and led him away from the entrance to the antechamber closest to the main room. He knew Patrick was in there and he needed to sleep. Ryland considered that for a moment and nodded. "Do you think Brendon knows about Victoria?" "If he does, we're not asking him about it. You heard what Spencer said. If he shuts down, we know that he's useless to us." Alex dropped his bags at the foot of his cot and sat down on it. "You've heard the stories, and we all heard the stories from Tom's communications. That's what Tom saw as a newly hired chef. Imagine what Brendon's seen." Ryland sat down on his cot before looking over at Alex. "You really think we have a chance in this?" "No. I really don't. But I think I'd rather go out fighting." Alex dropped back against the thin mattress. * "All right, we have word from Travis that the charges were installed last night." Spencer pulled up pictures from a server they were all trained to use. There were several shots of people only Brendon seemed to recognize, entering and exiting the building through a service entrance. Halfway through the pictures, Brendon stood up and started pacing while Spencer spoke. "As you can see, we don't have details on exactly what was put in. Brendon, do you have any idea who these people are?" It took him a moment to nod and scrub a hand over his face. "Yeah, yeah, that's Michael and Butcher. Like. I don't know what to even tell you. Butcher knows everything about chemicals. We're dealing with some really, really powerful explosives right now." He looked over at Gabe, fear evident in his voice. "And they're going to be going off tonight?" Patrick spoke in a calm manner, trying to get Brendon to calm down with him. He saw the way Brendon looked over at Gabe and made a mental note to ask Gabe on the way to Macy's tonight. "Tonight, it's his birthday. His thirtieth. He always wanted it to start going down then." Brendon flexed his fingers the way Spencer did right before cracking them but chose instead to stuff them in his pockets. "And you're sure he won't do it during business hours." Gabe reached over and touched Brendon's arm, trying to ground him and remind him what they were doing, why they were doing it. "He won't. He wouldn't want to hurt all those innocent people." Brendon shook his head, knowing that he was telling the truth. "But he's willing to destroy that piece of history." Ryland spoke up. "People cling to the past and don't think enough about the future." Brendon parroted without thinking. When he realized everyone was staring at him, his cheeks went red. "Sorry. I. That's what he used to say." Everyone stayed silent for a moment before Patrick spoke up. "Okay, well, at least we have the why and the when. We can work from there. Tonight, we'll deploy. Ryland, you and Alex are going to check Grand Central. Disashi will be able to fill you in on everything they know about locations of the charges." Brendon was staring over at Patrick with something akin to hearts in his eyes. "Jon, you're going to stay here with Brendon. We're going to need to use the long-range communicators. And Brendon, we're going to get you to walk us through what you know before and then again on the communicators." Spencer was still glaring at Jon, who had the decency to look down at his information package. "No. I'm going," Brendon said. "I already told you. I'm going to be there. I want to be there when he sees that I helped with this. That I know what he did was wrong now." He looked away from Patrick with difficulty and stared at Spencer. "I need to be there." "I don't really think that's such a good idea…" Spencer began. "I won't tell you a thing, then." Brendon shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "I know you think it's a risk but remember, you only get one shot at this. I wouldn't want you to screw it up. Like you guys keep saying, this isn't just about us. Please, okay? If I didn't think that I belonged there, I wouldn't ask to go." Brendon chewed on his bottom lip. "I wouldn't. I'd stay here, but I know that I can help more by being there. I can help so much. I know how he'll react and if he's there, I'll be able to help you get him." "I think we should all be there. Or if not on site, then definitely nearby. If it goes pear-shaped and anyone is back here, they're no safer than anyone at the site." Cash spoke up from his spot. He looked over at Brendon and nodded. "It's like I keep saying, good waffles, you know?" Joe leaned over his coffee cup, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "I'd feel better if Brendon were there." "Then consider him your responsibility while we're there," Spencer spoke shortly. "We're leaving in an hour. Take only what you need for tonight. If it does go to shit tonight, we won't be needing anything we're leaving behind here anyway." * Brendon was sitting on his cot, looking at his stuffed lemur, when Gabe walked in. "How are you holding up?" "I'm worried. If this goes badly, it's all my fault." Brendon wrapped himself around the stuffed animal before looking up at Gabe. "Promise me that he deserves this. Aside from kidnapping me, promise me that he has the wrong idea about everything else." "Hey, you know he's got the wrong idea. Even if he doesn't want to destroy the planet, he doesn't have the right to make these decisions for everyone else. And if he does want to blow this all up, you don't want to see the world destroyed. That's why you escaped." Gabe crouched in front of Brendon and pressed a hand to his knee. "Besides that, there's no way the cobra would allow an applebottom that fine to be taken out." Brendon rolled his eyes and collapsed on his back. "I'm still not even sure why you keep mentioning my butt, but it's so weird, Gabe." "Mostly because one day I'm going to get my hands on it. I'd like to make sure it's still around when I get to." Gabe grinned and kissed the top of Brendon's head. "Remember, pack only what you need." When Gabe exited the room, he physically ran into Spencer. "We need to talk," Spencer said. He took a hold of Gabe's arm and dragged him to a corner of the main room. "Whoa, Smith, what's going on?" Gabe rubbed his arm where Spencer's fingers had dug in. "This thing with you and Brendon. You keep your distance from him when we move out. I don't need to lose a man because they couldn't keep their head where it was supposed to be." Spencer cocked out one hip and crossed his arms. "I don't want to see anyone get hurt who doesn't have to. And Pete doesn't need to know that Brendon might have bonded with people on the outside. The more Pete believes that Brendon is on his side, the better chance we have of getting him." "He was right. You are just using him as bait." Gabe took a step back to look at Spencer. "You're planning on using him to draw Pete out of hiding." "As far as we know, this is the only person Pete has ever loved in his life. I don't think I'm being ridiculous in assuming that he'll try to rescue Brendon and take him back to the compound. As soon as we get a clear shot of Pete, we're taking it." Spencer tried to keep any inflection out of his voice. He'd gotten attached to Brendon, but their plan had always had 'By any means necessary' as a post-script. "If you think you're going to use him as bait, and that you're going to take him out if you have to take him out to get to Pete, you have another thing coming. Don't ever forget that he's a human life or you're no better than him." Gabe imitated Spencer's position and stared down at him. "The second you do start thinking that way, I want you to think of Jon getting taken out as collateral damage." "That's not the same situation at all." "Not yet. And it won't ever be if we let him die tonight. Even if you're only thinking of it in your terms, if he gets lost tonight, you lose your biggest bargaining chip and I know how much you'd hate that." Gabe sneered at the last phrase and took a step back. "We're going to be successful tonight, okay? I can feel it. We're not going to have to worry any longer." "I hope you're right." Spencer's face remained the same. He no longer allowed himself to get his hopes up, not when it came to Pete. * "I know I shouldn't get excited about this, but this is. It's kind of amazing." Brendon's eyes shone as they traveled down the highway. "I'm just. The only thing I'm nervous about is Pete. When I see him. I mean, I've never wanted him to get hurt and I've read about reactions in situations like this. Stockholm Syndrome and everything. I don't want him hurt because I've come to care about my kidnapper." "We're going to do everything we can so he doesn't get hurt, okay?" Patrick wrapped a comforting arm around Brendon's shoulder, not noticing the way Gabe was watching them carefully from the bench behind. "I know you guys think it's wrong and everything, but. He really is the only family I have." Brendon shrugged and turned only his head to look at Patrick. "I mean. He's crazy and he's trying to do something that's bad, but he's mine. Sometimes I have a lot of trouble with that." "When this is over, if you want, we can try to find your real family." Patrick leaned in and murmured straight into Brendon's ear. "We can try to find them and if you want, you can meet them again. But it's all up to you." "Can. Would it be possible to find them and maybe not meet them right away?" Brendon chewed on his lower lip. It was difficult for him to imagine meeting a mother and a father and maybe siblings. It was possible there were other children who looked like him, who had the same crooked teeth he had when he was younger. "If that's what you want, then that's what we'll do. Or we can go in and pre-screen them or something." Patrick nodded and squeezed Brendon's shoulder, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how Gabe was watching him. He turned around and saw the look of anger in Gabe's eyes. He saw him mouth the words 'my applebottom.' Patrick raised his eyebrows and carefully removed his arm from around Brendon's shoulders. "I think that's how I'd like to do it." Brendon nodded and played with the zipper on his hoodie before lifting his head to look at Patrick. "We're really going to do this, then, aren't we?" "It's on tonight." Gabe reached around and hugged Brendon from behind. "But you're staying with Jon." "Wait, with Jon? He. Is that going to be safe?" Brendon tried to think of a tactful way to say he thought Jon was maybe a little differently abled than everyone else on the team. Patrick fought a grin; he'd heard of their first meeting. "Trust me, that's probably going to be the safest place for you while Nick and Tyson go in and look at the charges." "We're sending in Wheeler and Ritter to look at the charges?" Joe, who was in the driver's seat, kept his eyes on the road. "Look, you and I have both seen what Nick and Tyson did to that one bomb in London. Sykes didn't have a fucking chance. If there's something and we don't know what it is, you're damn right I'm going to send them in." Patrick did his best to avoid looking at the way Gabe was nuzzling Brendon and how Brendon seemed to be of the opinion that Gabe was the type of animal who couldn't see him if he didn't move. "Okay, if you trust them with this." Joe turned into a parking lot not quite in the city. "We're taking the train from here." "Wouldn't it be faster to drive?" Brendon tried to worm from Gabe's arms. "Not that far into the city. Look, just trust us on this." Gabe kept his arms tight around Brendon. "You and Jon are going to wait until we have contact from Pete. You're the one that's actually going to be talking to him." "And we're going to be there with you. Me, Spencer, Gabe, Jon, Joe. Anyone you want in there." Patrick looked over at Brendon and slipped a hand into his. Thankfully, Gabe was too busy trying to tie Brendon's hoodie strings to his own to notice. * It wasn't quite the scene any of them had imagined, not when they really thought about it. In everyone's mind, Pete was the tyrannical force that stood taller than the Empire State Building and had the craziest eyes anyone had ever seen. Nobody really expected the short dude with bags under his eyes and a weary expression on his face. Patrick was frantically shouting orders through the communicators to Nick and Tyson while they relayed exactly what they were dealing with. Plastic explosives were nothing new to them and they were trying to keep Patrick calm as he scouted from a window in a neighboring building. Really, they weren't concerned. It was a matter of disassembling the triggers and removing the plastic explosives. Whoever built the bombs were total amateurs; they hadn't even bothered with slip triggers. When Brendon heard that over the communicators, he couldn't help but smirk. Butcher was going to be pissed if he ever found out they'd said that. The moment the row of black SUVs pulled up, Patrick knew this was really it. There was no going back. For all his nerves and anxiety, Brendon was surprisingly calm. It was as though he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment. Cracking his knuckles and earning a reproachful look from Joe, Brendon picked up the disposable cell phone they'd built and dialed Pete's cell phone number. "A1 Accountemps, Greta speaking, to whom may I deliver your call?" Greta chirped on the other end of the phone. "Greta, it's Brendon." He didn't get any further than that before she was speaking again. "Brendon? What the fuck? Where are you?" Greta hissed. "Don't draw any attention to this call. I just want to talk to Pete." Brendon watched through the window as she stepped out of her vehicle and walked to the one second from the end. "Nobody else should know who is on the phone, okay?" "Okay, okay, Jesus. Where have you been? Where are you? Pete's been a fucking basketcase without you. Even Bill hasn't been able to calm him down." The SUV door opened and Brendon saw Greta hand the phone over to the person inside. "Alfred, I don't have time for phone calls right now." Pete's voice sounded tired, even to Brendon, who had heard him immediately after he got out of the hospital. "Pete? It's…" "Brendon? Where are you? Who has you? Are you all right?" Pete's voice instantly perked up. If Brendon hadn't been aware of everything Pete had done, he might almost mistake the tone as care for him. "I'm fine. I'm not being unnecessarily harmed or frightened." Brendon began, trying to keep the tone light. "Don't Patty Hearst me, okay? If you can't talk freely, I want you to say you like Moz better than The Smiths." "I can talk freely. I just want to talk to you for a minute." Brendon sat on the window ledge and looked down at Pete's vehicle. "What happened then? Why did you go?" Pete sounded so small, so young for a moment that Brendon almost forgot who was the master and who was the pet. "I can't talk about that right now. I just want you to know it was something I had to do. I didn't have a choice." Brendon wasn't lying, per se. He didn't have a choice, but he could have told Pete he was leaving. "Where are you right now? I know you're not in that apartment you were staying in anymore. Can I come to you?" Pete stepped out of the car and Brendon watched Ryan follow him out. There was a gasp beside him and Brendon was almost shocked to hear it come from Spencer. His entire face had gone pale. "Hold on." Brendon covered the mouthpiece of the phone and turned to look at Spencer. "Are you okay?" Spencer just shook his head and covered his mouth with his hand. "Does he want to meet? Try to set up a meeting and make sure he brings Ryan." Brendon raised his eyebrows because Ryan was still too new to be in the binder; there was no way Spencer could know who he was if Tom was really dead. "You don't want Ryan here." "I do, though." Spencer nodded, still looking down at the boy standing with Pete. "No, you don't. He killed Nick, and I'm pretty sure he killed Tom, and I don't even know who else because this is out of hand. He can't. I don't think he can feel things for anyone." Brendon made sure his hand was tightly over the mouthpiece, not allowing any of the sound in. "He can feel things, trust me." Spencer crossed his arms and gave Brendon the look that Brendon had come to associate with Jon and Gabe disappearing into the bathroom right before they had an important meeting. After the important meetings, Spencer would usually join them. "Yes, we want to meet. I mean, I want to meet you. And Ryan. Can you bring Ryan?" Brendon still wasn't sure about this. Brendon had no doubt that it would lead to certain death for all of them. "Yes, I can bring Ryan. Where are we meeting? I'll go anywhere." Pete began pacing on the sidewalk. "Where?" Brendon turned and whispered to Spencer. "The pizza place on the dining concourse of Grand Central." Spencer set his jaw. "Tell him if I so much as see anyone else on his team in there, he's dead where he stands." "Okay, Pete? There's a pizza place on the dining concourse of Grand Central Station. We're going to meet there and it's going to just be you and Ryan, right?" Brendon tried to take a deep breath but he found that his chest was tight. "Are you coming with someone?" Pete began making hand signals to the rest of the convoy of vehicles. "Yes, I'll have people with me." Brendon looked around the room. He knew it was going to be time soon and he knew he was likely going to have to make some concessions. "I'll have two people with me. You can bring Ryan and anyone but a Hushie. I don't want someone getting trigger-happy." "That's all I can bring?" Pete looked around, probably trying to determine who could go with him for this. "I'm bringing two people and neither of them are sharpshooters." Brendon folded his arms. It was time for him to take his stand. "I don't want to see this end badly for anyone, Pete." "All right. I'm going to bring Bill and Ryan." Pete turned to face the building Brendon was in, momentarily worrying Brendon that he'd somehow found out their position. "I. You'll explain it to me then?" "I'll explain as much as I can. You have twenty minutes to get there." Brendon flipped the phone shut and looked back at Spencer and Patrick. "We're going in." "What about me?" Gabe piped up from his spot at the other window. "You're not going in there without me." "Yes, Gabe, we are. I don't want to break my word to Pete and I don't." Brendon stopped there, chewing his lower lip before walking over. He hesitated a moment before touching his lips to Gabe's. "I don't want you doing something stupid to try to save my applebottom." Anything anyone said after that was lost on Gabe, who was staring at Brendon, making actual fingerhearts. "Jon, you stay here with him and Joe. You let us know right away if anyone, and I mean anyone, steps out of those cars." Patrick tuned their transmitters to the same frequency as the receivers while Spencer wrapped a hand around the back of Jon's neck and pulled him in for a harsh kiss. "Patrick? Any chance of you letting me send you into battle that way?" Joe wriggled his eyebrows and Brendon couldn't do anything but laugh. Patrick joined in and Joe frowned slightly. "Man, I was just trying to give you some good luck." "They don't need luck." Jon shook his head and kissed Spencer once more. "I want to know everything from the time you enter Grand Central, to the time you meet up with Pete." He slid his fingers through Spencer's belt loops and Brendon had to look away. Private moments were private moments no matter how you dressed them up. "We've got Cash and Marshall checking out the perimeter of the building and we're getting reports back from them every five minutes. Singer is inside at the Starbucks by 37. He's going to keep an eye on the entrance to the dining concourse on that end." Joe recovered quickly from his pouting to pull out his phone and check the status. "You guys should be getting out there anyway. I don't want him getting suspicious." "All right, guys. Good waffles." It was the first time Brendon got a chance to say it and he smiled at the sound of it. "I've got a good feeling about this, too." Brendon willed the good feeling to last with him when he found out they had to take the stairs down fifteen flights. He recognized the lobby of the building and tried to figure out the best way to get into Grand Central. Avoidance of detection was key. "Okay, we're going in." Brendon went to the entrance and walked in. It wasn't as crowded as he would've liked for cover but it would have to do. He walked down the concourse and held his breath. As long as Spencer and Patrick were with him, he'd be safe. "The pizza place," Brendon mumbled, under his breath. "We have to get there." "We're not that far from it. I promise," Spencer said, leading Brendon down the hall and pulling him down a ramp. All of a sudden, Brendon found himself in front of the pizza place and he saw Pete sitting with Bill and Ryan. For a moment, Brendon wasn't sure what was going on. He saw Ryan's eyes widen and the way Spencer took a step back from the group. "Brendon?" Pete stood up and wrapped his arms around Brendon, crushing him into a hug. "I've missed you." Pete buried his face in Brendon's neck, inhaling deeply. "Pete, we." Brendon paused and took a step back. He had no idea how to tell Pete that they had to talk about how Brendon wasn't going to go back to Pete's compound. "Maria's missed you, too. She just keeps looking at the door to the hothouse like she keeps expecting you back." Pete seemed like he was about to say something else but he noticed Patrick at that point. "Who did you bring with you?" "This is Patrick and Spencer." Brendon pointed over his shoulder at them. "Spencer?" Everyone turned to look at Ryan when he spoke. "Spencer, are you really here?" "Hi, Ryan." Spencer looked as blank as Brendon had during the questioning about Pete's actual motives. "I thought it was you when Brendon started talking about you." "Wait, what?" Brendon turned to look at Spencer, managing to tear his gaze from Ryan. "Spencer, you didn't tell them?" Ryan cocked his head to the side, inflection not changing. "I didn't know what to tell them, how to tell them." Spencer shook his head and took a step toward Ryan. He reached out for his hand but Ryan moved back. "Tell them that you're not in this the way they are." Ryan arched an eyebrow. "Spence, what is he saying?" Nobody could help but notice the two of them and the way they seemed to orbit each other, but it was Patrick who chose to comment about it. "He. Guys, this is Ryan. When I was in school, my parents were concerned because I wasn't making a lot of friends because of my advanced work and everything. They wanted me to make friends." Spencer twisted his hands behind his back and tried to approach Ryan. "So you made friends with Ryan and he's the friend you had who got too deep into Pete's shit?" Patrick looked as though he was trying to wrap his head around this fact. "This is the friend I made who got too deep into Pete's shit." Spencer managed to dart a hand out and catch Ryan's wrist. From there, he managed to do something no one had realized was possible, he popped open a panel on Ryan's wrist and exposed wiring. "Holy shit. This is the friend you made who got too deep into Pete's shit." Patrick took a step back and looked at Ryan. "You're a fucking robot?" "He programmed me to care about him, you know? He programmed me as best he could." Ryan tried to pull his wrist back. "I did, Ryan. I didn't realize you would know that I was gone." Spencer touched a few of the wires before looking up at Ryan. "I didn't think I'd managed to work out the kinks with the time sensors. And I didn't really have a choice about leaving." "Spencer, you left. I was in that closet forever. And I got out and I didn't know what to do because you weren't there." Ryan continued in the same monotone. Only then did Brendon realize he'd never heard Ryan speak with any sort of emotion in his voice. "I powered you down. You weren't supposed to be able to turn back on." Spencer's voice was soft and he almost sounded ashamed of himself. "You only punched in the evening power down. I waited in that closet for years. I waited for 1825 days. When it was 1826, I waited for your parents to be gone at work and your sisters to be gone at school and I gathered my stuff and left. I wanted to look for you. You didn't tell me you were going." Ryan took his arm back and closed the wiring panel. "Ryan. I didn't know. I wouldn't have done that." Spencer reached for him again. "I really wouldn't have. You know? I did everything I could to make you real." Brendon watched the exchange in awe, as did Patrick. In actuality, Brendon wasn't surprised. It certainly explained a lot more of Ryan's behavior. "Did you really kill those people?" Spencer asked, flipping open Ryan's wiring again, studying the circuits. "I didn't know how else to handle it. Spencer, you programmed me to care and then you left." "You don't need to do this. You didn't need to try to end the world to find me." Spencer made a wiring adjustment and looked up at Ryan. "End the world?" Pete finally looked away from Patrick. "Why would we even dream of doing that now that I know this divine creature is in it?" He took a step forward and smiled widely at Patrick. "I'm Pete; I don't think we've been formally introduced. Would you like to get coffee in Portland right before we get married in the Church of Elvis? I've always wanted to get married in the church of Elvis." "Um?" Patrick looked to Brendon for a cue on how to react. Crazy Pete who wanted to destroy the world was something he could handle. Crazy Pete who suddenly wanted to take Patrick as his husband was something he could not. "You are absolutely stunning, you know. I can't help but notice you're small like I am. How do you feel about the Garbage Pail Kids?" Pete had attached himself to Patrick's side. "Um." Patrick just looked back at Bill, who was practically doubled over laughing. "Is that really all it's going to take to keep Pete from wanting to blow this shit out of the city?" Bill turned to Brendon, who contemplated this for a moment. "Patrick is kind of like that. Patrick is the motherfucking man." Brendon nodded sagely and looked over at where Ryan was following Spencer around as Spencer tried to speak through the communicator to Jon. "Is anybody else going to try to take over Pete's place?" Brendon sat down at a table and kicked out a chair for Bill. "Nah, I doubt it. Siska's been talking about maybe asking Greta to go out with him. He's got his heart set on opening a veterinarian clinic and I honestly think he wants to settle down. Mike's going to have his hands full getting rid of half the shit Pete managed to get a hold of." Bill opened his jacket and sat down as well. "It was getting kind of sad, too. I mean, the world ends, there's no more Armani." He gestured at the suit he was wearing. "Why even bother with this, then?" Brendon furrowed his brows and leaned forward. "It's better than sitting home at night. Besides, how many times do you get to say you saw the world almost end?" Bill shook hair from his face and Brendon realized he was right. Brendon nodded and looked over at Patrick trying to keep Pete from invading his personal bubble. "I guess it's time to go tell our respective teams that the shit has hit the fan and for some reason, it rained down brownies." "Hey, yeah. I guess it is. But uh, now that most of this shit is sorted out, don't be a stranger. We missed you at the compound, you know." Bill allowed his generally aloof features to soften for a moment. Brendon broke into a grin and launched himself across the table to wrap Bill in a tight, brief hug. "I promise I'll visit. I still have to get the menagerie, you know." After dusting himself off, Brendon walked over to Spencer and Ryan, one trying to speak into the communicator, the other trying to make sure there was no more than two inches of space between them. "Hey, I'm going to go back, I." "You want to see Gabe. It's fine. Go." For the first time in Brendon's memory, Spencer smiled as wide as he possibly could. Brendon felt a little lightheaded from the sheer brightness of it. Things were shaping up to be just fine. Brendon walked through the appropriate tunnels and took the elevator up to the floor they'd been observing from. Gabe was waiting for him at the door and scooped him up into his arms, holding onto him as tightly as he could. "Hey, hey, what's going on?" Brendon tried to twist and look at his captors. "Fuck, fuck, okay, the signal has been jammed since you guys got in there. What the hell is going on?" Jon approached Brendon. He tilted Brendon's face toward the light as if looking for physical evidence of trauma. "Guys, it's fine." Brendon wriggled, trying to get down from Gabe. "It's going to be totally fine." He launched into an explanation of what had happened, leaving out the parts about Pete's proposal and newfound infatuation with Patrick. Leave that for them to discover when Patrick came back with Pete attached to him. "So. No shit is actually going down?" Gabe looked equal parts delighted and disappointed. "None." Brendon grinned and again tried to slip down from Gabe's arms. He just held on tighter. "Hey, you have to let me down so we can go tell everyone else." "No, not yet. You remember how you said you really just wanted to see the whole world?" Gabe sounded uncharacteristically quiet as he spoke in Brendon's ear. "Yeah, it's why I left. And now I get to! It's not going to be blown up." Brendon looked ecstatic at the turn of events. "Okay, so I'm not like, I can't promise that it'll be fast or anything. But now that this is over, do you maybe want to go see the world with me? We can take our time and see everything." Gabe looked at the ground and Brendon could feel him shaking a little. "Oh, Gabe. You're no kangaroo, but you're a pretty awesome second choice." Brendon wrapped his arms around Gabe's neck and pressed a kiss to his lips. "We're going to get to see everything and it'll be there. I really have you guys to thank for that." Brendon gave Gabe another enthusiastic kiss and pulled back with a grin. Yeah, things were going to be perfectly fine.

[hindsywrites]

I Heard There Was A Secret Chord

Gabe doesn't notice the age difference, really, until he visits Brendon in Vegas. They both have a few days off and even though Gabe could spend it at home, relaxing and trying to convince his mother that he hasn't lost his mind and Brendon could be spending it doing whatever Brendon does on his days off. (Gabe learns that on Brendon's days off, he sleeps in until one in the afternoon, wakes up, drinks something with a lot of caffeine, and then wanders around his apartment in boxers, looking for things he's sure he lost on tour but always turn up in the couch cushions.) There are certain things Gabe loves about every state. Gabe loves the way the Grand Canyon makes him remember that he's tiny and insignificant in the universe. Gabe loves the way that the Space Needle makes him laugh and make inappropriate penis jokes. In Nevada, Gabe loves the sound of a C major chord because it makes him happy. He knows that's why the chord is chosen as the jackpot sound, it's to make everyone happy, but he sometimes feels like they did it for him. When Gabe asks if Brendon wants to go to the casino and listen to people win, Brendon's cheeks color a bit. "I can't." "What do you mean, you can't?" As soon as the question leaves Gabe's mouth, he realizes why. "Oh, shit, right. Are they really going to care? I mean, you can get served at almost any bar here." "Yeah, but that doesn't mean that any casinos want to lose their gaming license." Brendon shrugs and hops on the counter, his hands grabbing for Gabe. "You know, that's kind of fucked up. You can be living on your own, smoking and voting and watching all the porn you want, but you can't go and put a dollar in a slot machine." Gabe rests his hands on Brendon's sides and sighs. "Nope, but if you want to go listen to that major chord, you can go. I can't find that white belt I was wearing a few weeks ago and I think Spencer stole it and left it on the bus." Brendon pushes his glasses up his nose and yawns. "Fat chance I'm going to go to a casino so you can sneak off and run away with Spencer to Vermont and get married." "We wouldn't do that, we're too young. We're just dating you and Tom until you stop buying us shiny things, maybe then we'll get married." Brendon will sometimes humor Gabe when he concocts theories about what Brendon does when he isn't around. "Well, then I'll just keep buying you shiny things so you stick with me in our sham relationship." Gabe noses behind Brendon's ear, nipping the skin softly. "How long until you're twenty-one again?" "Year and a half," Brendon sighs, tipping his head back. Gabe thinks for a moment, his voice turning soft when he squeezes Brendon's sides and pulls him a little closer. "Well, then in a year and a half when you aren't so young, I'm taking you to a casino, and we're going to hear that winning chord."

[hindsywrites]

Team Building or How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Start Trusting Gabe Saporta

"So, remind me why we're here again?" Brendon looks around the obstacle course. There are a lot of things that look like they could trip him up. But, as Jon had reminded him with red eyes and a goofy grin, there was a reason they didn't call it a "Happy Walk through a Sun-Drenched Honeysuckle Field" course. "Team-building," Spencer sighs. "Spence, I know this is a foreign concept to you, but we're not a team, we're a band." Brendon looks around the course again. The whole thing is strangely reminiscent of high school phys ed. There was a reason Brendon hadn't really been down with running through tires. Spencer turns his glare on Brendon and Brendon holds up his hands. He's not going to argue with that face. That face can result in death and Brendon is anti-death before ten at night. Instead, he wanders to where Jon and Gabe are smoking at the side of the course. "Jon, you feel like a part of the band, right? We don't have to band-build by running through tires and climbing a wall, right?" "Not gonna lie, I'm pretty sure this is more divisive to us as a band than unifying." Gabe and Brendon turn to look at Jon. "What? Team building is supposed to be like 'here's a rope, a box of matches, and three sticks. Build a bridge.' It's like some serious MacGuyver shit. This is basic training or something and Pete's totally building an army and I'm going to have to be the general, while you guys are stuck with something shitty that dies in the first battle." "Did you smoke up before this without me, Jon Walker?" Brendon crosses his arms and attempts to recreate Spencer's bitchface. He thinks it's maybe not so successful when Jon responds. "Well, even if I did, it's not like I have any left." And then Jon sticks his tongue out at Brendon, laughing to himself as he walks away. Brendon just narrows his eyes and curls up to Gabe's side. It's taken some getting used to cuddling with Gabe, largely because he has the arms similar to a giant squid both in span and number. "Jon Walker has broken my heart. I can't trust the scurvy cur." "Cur? It's not September, Bren." Gabe just chuckles and kisses the top of Brendon's head while trying to work a hand down the back of his pants. Brendon squirms away and fixes Gabe with a look. "I can talk like a pirate if I want to talk like a pirate. I don't think I should only get to do it once a year. And I'm not sure if I trust you either, with your tentacles and your trusting of Jon." Brendon starts taking slow, cautious steps away from Gabe. The more distance between them, the harder it was for Gabe to reach out and touch him in a manner that was totally inappropriate considering that Brendon had not yet let Gabe get to second base. "Okay, you talk like a pirate and I'll prove that I'm totally your teammate and you can trust me." Gabe starts inching forward, watching the space between them diminish. "And how d'ye propose t'do that, matey?" Brendon closed one and made the index finger of his left hand into a hook. "Easy, Keltie wrote Ryan a note to get him out of this, right? He doesn't have to do it? You're hardly a team without Ryan. Plus, his excuse was that he doesn't get any quality time with Keltie. I really don't think I get enough time with you, quality or otherwise." Gabe closes the distance and hoists Brendon up, throwing him over his shoulder. "I'm kidnapping you and leaving a ransom note. If Spencer and Jon know what's good for them, they'll be bringing over the biggest cheese pizza they can find to my apartment so we can team build in my bathroom with my new pipe and then they can leave so we can team build on my couch. Do you trust me now?" Brendon's reply took a moment, and he could hardly contain his voice when he said, "aye, teammatey."

[hindsywrites]

Bill and Gabe’s Excellent Adventure: A Gen Story

Some people say there was bound to be at least friendly competition. Two famous babies born so close together, it was going to happen. Look at Suri Cruise and Violet Affleck. By the time they were four, they were exchanging insults in the tabloids. The real surprise was that Pete and William were such close friends and it still turned out the way it did. When Ashlee finished peeing on the stick, the first person Pete called after Patrick was William. "So, how did you keep Gen a secret for so long?" People talked, especially in Chicago, but anything surrounding Gen had been mum until well after her birth. "Hello, Pete, it's nice to talk to you as well. Things are going fine here, thank you for asking." William always had to do the polite portion of the conversation. Pete was too busy being his own muse, biggest fan, and harshest critic. "Hey, Bill. Always good to talk to you. How's tricks? Now, how did you keep Gen a secret?" "Oh my God! You knocked her up!" William almost dropped the phone from between his ear and shoulder. "Dude, shut up! There are five people in South Africa who didn't hear you say that." The rest of the conversation was more of the same, William trying to keep from dropping either Gen or the phone while talking to Pete about making an honest woman out of Ashlee. It was a cute little convesation and Pete promised that as soon as little Wentzbryo was hatched, it could have a playdate with Gen. The screeching from Ashlee over the name of her unborn and unplanned miracle halted the conversation before it went any further. * The wedding came and went and so did spring. By mid-summer, Pete was back to making emo blog posts, often talking about how no man was an island but that he'd fight the tide to prove the poets wrong. When no one could figure out what the posts meant, they turned to the one person they knew would be able to help them. "What do you mean you don't understand the post? No man is an island. How were you in AP English, Bill?" Patrick balanced Gen on one hip and let her touch the soundboard in front of him. He looked almost as bad as Pete these days, dark bags under his eyes and hair falling lank beside his face. "All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language blah blah blah. I know all about the interconnectedness of mankind, Patrick, I just want to know what the H-E-double-hockey-sticks he's quoting John Donne for. Especially in relation to proving the tide wrong." Bill pursed his lips and reached for his daughter. He was fairly certain he'd just seen her pull off a knob and put it in her mouth. Patrick just held Gen closer and blew a raspberry on her stomach until she dropped the knob she had indeed taken off the soundboard. "Haven't you ever made a mistake, Bill?" "Well, of course." Bill just rolled his eyes and sat down on Patrick's seat. "Okay, but the difference is that you didn't marry yours." Patrick raised his eyebrows in a way Bill was sure was meant to be significant. "So. OH! You're saying he didn't want to. Whoa. You don't think he'd be with her if it wasn't for the baby?" Bill had not been prepared for that conversation when he went to see Patrick. All he'd wanted was reassurance that Pete wasn't going for another drive in the suburbs. "Come on, do you really think this is someone he really thought he'd spend the rest of his life with?" The look Patrick accompanied the question with was designed to make William feel about two inches tall. "Well. I mean. He talked about her the same way he talked about Jeanae." Bill shrugged off the look. He wasn't Pete's best friend in the entire world, it wasn't up to him to know the inner workings of his mind. "Jesus, Christine lets you out of the house alone with Gen?" Patrick sets the aforementioned baby in Bill's lap and shook his head at him. "Yes, exactly. He talks about her the same way he used to talk about Jeanae. And who did he end up not marrying?" He knelt down in front of Bill and tickled Gen's stomach as she sat on his knee. "Oh. Oh! I get it, all right. So. They're only together because of the baby. That's. Wow." Bill rubbed his hand up and down Gen's back when she started to fuss. "Very good, Bill." Patrick did the unthinkable and removed his hat to allow Gen to play with it. "Gen, when you get older, I want you to start telling your dad that it’s a good thing he’s pretty. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you how to say it." He kissed the top of her head before she burbled and tried to put the hat on her head. "Hey, don’t go corrupting my daughter. That’s not kosher." Bill stood and cradled Gen to his chest, trying to keep her from reaching out and grabbing at Patrick, or worse, the knobs. "Right, that’s Uncle Gabe’s job." Patrick rolled his eyes and turned his back to Bill. "You two are off to see him, right?" "No, we’re off to see Uncle Travis first. It’s almost naptime and she likes when he raps Public Enemy for her." Bill returned the roll of eyes for an entirely different reason. "And then we’ll go back home and see what Mommy did all day, right Gen?" Bill cooed at his daughter and couldn’t help but to smile when she smiled at him. "Never thought I’d see the day when you were whipped for a kid." Patrick just smiled fondly and ushered the two out of the studio, choosing to ignore the fact that a baby was walking out with his hat. * Nobody blamed Bill. That’s what everyone told him, "we don’t blame you." Christine had wanted to leave, had always wanted to. Even when she and Bill had started dating, she had always said she wanted to leave Illinois, leave the states. The only shock was that she’d done it so quietly and that she hadn’t taken Gen. For the first few weeks after, Bill’s mother had decided to stay with them. She had only wanted to help Bill get on his feet and learn how to properly take care of a baby without someone there to pick up the slack. When that seemed to be failing, she didn’t know who to call but Patrick. "Mrs. Beckett, with all due respect, I’m not sure that him having the baby is the best idea. I mean, he loves her but…" "I know, Patrick, I know. I just don’t know what else I can do. He misses Christine, it’s obvious, but he’s not pulling himself together for the baby." Berniece looked over at her son, sitting in front of the Game Show Network and watching a Bob Barker tell someone to come on down. There was a half-empty bottle of whiskey next to him. He hadn’t touched it in a few hours, but he was still only bordering sobriety. "What he needs is to sober up and realize there’s a kid who is depending on him. Gen shouldn’t be raised by her grandparents, no offense. She’s Bill’s responsibility now and he needs to own up to it." Patrick thought of the visit a few months earlier and shook his head. "You know, you’re right. And I think I know the right way to do that." Berniece nodded to herself and quickly said her goodbyes to Patrick. That night, while Bill slept the deep sleep of the drunk, Berniece went through the apartment and gathered up all the liquor bottles and any questionable baggies she could find. The morning found a sink that smelled like alcohol and thirty dollars of recycling money on the counter, along with a note that read: William, I’ve dumped your liquor out and gone home. It’s time for you to be responsible for this child. She loves you and you won’t even look at her. Christine will be back when she finds what she was looking for and until then, you need to be the strong one for Gen’s sake. I’ve left some formula in the fridge and there are instructions for food taped onto the door. I love you, but I can’t watch this and I won’t take a child away from both of her parents. Mom After a moment, Bill recognized the noise that was filtering through his ear as Gen crying in her crib. He walked into the nursery and looked down at Gen as she wailed up at him. The stench in the room made it clear what her problem was and Bill tried as hard as he could to remember where the new diapers were kept. It had been more than two weeks since he’d even been in the same room as Gen. She looked too much like Christine, all wide smiles and soft blonde hair. After feeding her some formula, Bill rooted under the couch for his cell phone; it was vibrating and Bill couldn't be sure it wasn't his mother calling. There were several messages from Gabe from the past week. bilbo, heard about christine, sorry man. if u need n e thing, txt me. hey, havent heard back, u doing ok? beckett answer ur msgs, jfc. if i dont hear from u 2morrow, im coming there. im @ the airport, b there in 20 mns. The last message had a time stamp of five minutes earlier and Bill nearly dropped Gen again. Gabe was going to be there in a matter of minutes. Thanks in large part to his mother, the apartment wasn't too much of a mess. In fact, the only mess was the nest of a couch Bill had spent the last few weeks on. "Gen, Uncle Gabe is coming. I'm going to put you back in your crib with a bottle and as soon as I figure out why he's here, I'll come get you." Bill wasn't entirely sure why he was instructing her like she could actually understand him but a memory hit him hard for a moment. Gen was in her crib and Bill was babbling at her when Christine had told him not to do that, it was damaging to a child's development. She needed to be spoken to like she was fully cognizant of what she was hearing. Gen just burbled back at him and tugged on his hair before he set her down in her crib. She made the universal sign for 'pick me up!' but Bill had too many other things to worry about. He couldn't understand why Gabe was going to show up. Had he really cut off that much contact with the outside world. He scrolled through the missed calls on his phone. Some time in the past two weeks, he'd found time to answer a call from his mother, a call from the Butcher, and a call from Spencer. He didn't even know how Spencer got the number. Eventually there was a knock on the door. Bill was still looking at his phone, looking at the texts he'd ignored, even one from Tom that said "mike says u wnt answr his msgs. dnt know y u wud answr mine. call him, hes worried." The knock startled him out of his reverie and he walked over to the door. A quick check of the peephole showed him Gabe on the other side practicing some dance moves. Bill had a few choices. He could open the door and allow Gabe in, resulting in some horrible nursing back to health. He could keep the door closed, resulting in Gabe calling his mother and yelling at Bill through the door that he knew he was in there and if he didn't answer, he was calling the cops! After a moment of debate, and Gabe saying 'I know you're in there, Bills, I can hear you moving around', Bill decided to open the door. The worst that could happen was Gabe deciding that he couldn't leave Bill alone for five minutes and then handcuffing him to the bed while he left for groceries. It used to frighten Bill how well he knew Gabe's thought processes. Eventualy, he just chalked it up to having spent too much time around him during a specific period of his life. "William Eugene Beckett, if you ever disappear like that again, I will cut your balls off and feed them to a snake at the zoo." Gabe threw down his bags and wrapped his arms tightly around Bill. Stumbling slightly, Bill took a step back and tried to worm out of Gabe's grip. The physical contact after so long without was almost too much and it made Bill's limbs feel atrophied. Gabe didn't let go and it was all Bill could do to not have a panic attack right there. "I'm sorry." He didn't offer any more of an explanation than that. Gabe could draw his own conclusions when he saw Christine's half of the closet, empty save for the bag containing her prom dress. Gabe just nodded and kept a hand on the small of Bill's back as they walked into the apartment. "And where is the littlest cobra right now?" Gabe looked around the living room, trying not to let himself be distressed when he saw the state of the house. It was like Bill didn't want to clean it up, like if it got messy enough, Christine would have to come back not because this was the apartment she'd left in Bill's charge but because this was the home she'd tried to build with him. "She's in her crib. I-I wanted to talk to you first, before she saw you. I wanted to find out why you were here." Bill didn't meet Gabe's eyes, looking down at the ground instead. There were baskets of clean laundry, something he was left to assume his mother did before she left. Even so, looking at it now with Gabe next to him, Bill realized how much he'd actually let the place go. DVDs were strewn around the TV, out of their cases and just waiting to be scratched. All in all, it looked like Christine had jumped ship and left Bill to fend for himself. "Bills, I'm here because you need me here. Like you invented me in your mind and here I am." Gabe was trying for levity, he was, but he couldn't quite lift the corners of Bill's mouth high enough. "I'm here because you didn't answer and I figured that maybe I could help out around here while you needed it." Gabe shrugged and let go of Bill as they approached Gen's room. Bill just nodded and opened the door, looking at Gen trying to hoist herself up and stand. She grinned at Gabe and looked between the two of them, falling back down and reaching her hands out to them. "She needs a bottle, I think." Bill disappeared into the kitchen as Gabe crossed the room and hoisted her up. Cradling the small child close to him, Gabe paced the room and let her press her ear to his heartbeat. "Don't worry, Gen, we're going to fix this." "Did you say something?" Bill reappeared with a bottle, handing it to Gabe, who recoiled back from it. "What's wrong?" "You have to test it on your wrist." Gabe used his free hand to turn Bill's arm over and tap some of the milk onto it. "Her mouth is sensitive." It was almost as though Bill had forgotten everything about how to take care of a child. He knew all of this, Gabe was aware of how Bill had attended parenting classes. Gabe let Gen curl up to him and rocked her slowly back and forth, allowing her to nod off. "Bill, you can't just let this swallow you up. You have a kid." "Everyone keeps saying that! Everyone keeps saying that but they don't understand what this feels like. Nobody understands what it's like to see a child and think the worst things imaginable. To wish that she wasn't here. That she hadn't been born." Even as Bill was talking, he was reaching out to stroke Gen's hair. "You don't think that. You can't think that." Gabe wrapped a protective arm around Gen. "Come on, you need to sleep or something. I'll clean up around here, just take a nap or something." Gabe continued to hold the sleeping baby as he led Bill to the bedroom. His place in New York is too minimalist to be messy, so he needs to organize the clutter of Bill's apartment. "Do you have a back or chest carrier for her?" Bill was already out like a light. "Okay, Gen. It's time you learn about how to keep an apartment clean." Gabe looked around the living room and settled on putting Gen in a baby romper while he tidied up. * If anyone could've predicted Bill's reaction to Gabe staying there, everyone else would've laughed in his or her face. With someone watching Gen again, Bill returned to his trusty bottle and steady diet of The Price is Right and Wheel of Fortune. Gabe did his best to keep Gen away from it. He had nothing scheduled coming up, so he didn't feel bad about staying there longer than he initially said he was going to stay. A few weeks turned into a few months and before long, he had set up a cot in the living room, and he'd taken the baby monitor with him. No one in Bill's band could say anything because they didn't know what to say. He'd been heartbroken before, but he'd bounced back stronger and better than ever. While Gabe was at home having tea parties with Gen and listening to her babble in a mixture of Baby and English, Mike and Johnny took turns picking Bill up from bars around the city. It wasn't long before everyone was called to a meeting at Bill's place. Even Pete was there, as distracted as he was by the messages constantly coming in on his Blackberry. They'd conferenced in Victoria, Alex, and Nate. Ryland was out buying groceries when the call actually came, but he said he'd be back in half an hour. "Look, guys, we're just going to have to put things on hold for a few months. I want to make sure he- Gen is okay. I mean, she already had Christine leave, I can't just go now. She's used to me." As he spoke into the speakerphone with Mike and Siska at his side, Pete still pacing the kitchen, Gabe clutched Gen protectively. "He'll snap out of it soon, he wasn't ready before and I don't think it's going to be a slap and then he's fine. He just needs a little more time." "Are you sure this isn't you just wanting to be the hero?" Alex's voice sounded very far away through the speakerphone. "No, it is. But. I can't just leave them, okay? I'm sorry and I'll explain it all. Or you guys can come out and visit, but I can't just leave Gen here until I know Bill is okay." Gen was starting to babble in more words now. Pete and Patrick were no longer interchangeable, she'd developed enough of a vocabulary to call Pete "Monkey" and Patrick "Lunch." Needless to say, Patrick still didn't find his nickname amusing. "I'll come out there and I'll check the situation out." Victoria hadn't had much to add to the conversation, but she felt that it was important that she add this. "It's really admirable what you're doing right now, Gabe. I'll back it as long as it doesn't put me out on the streets." "It won't." Gabe felt relief rush through them. As long as she knew what was going on, she'd understand enough to pass the message along to the rest of the band. When he'd hung up, Gabe turned to Mike and Siska. "I'm sorry, I'm doing the best I can with him." "We know, man. It'll take some time. Maybe you should go pick him up tonight and we'll watch Gen." Mike extended his arms to the sleepy baby and grinned when she reached for him in return. BLAHBLAHBLAH Gabe and Bill get together and raise an awesome daughter.

[hindsywrites]

Dangerous Li(v)es of Altar Boys

The first time Tom sees Spencer, it's the kind of raining that Tom likes to blame on global warming. It should be freezing but there's sweat dripping over his shoulders, attempting to cool him. The sun is shining and there's no escaping it. Tom looks over and talking animatedly to Pete is the most attractive boy he's ever seen in his life. He is a boy, despite the soft curves of his body. That thought isn't particularly new to Tom, finding a male attractive; there was something about Mike and no one could deny that they wanted to curl their hands over Bill's hips and just pull him close. Without realizing exactly what he's doing, Tom walks over to Pete. He's not an idiot. He knows this boy is part of Pete's new pet project and that he's from Vegas. It explains why the boy is hardly breaking a sweat, even with the humidity. "Thomas Conrad. If it isn't my favourite fucker ever." Pete pulls him in for a kiss and almost throws Tom off-balance. He can choose to blame that instead of the four shots of jag he had half an hour ago. "Tom, this is Spencer Smith. I've told you about him, right?" Tom has to think about it for a moment before he nods and looks between the two of them. Spencer is squinting and it looks like the corners of his mouth are turned down just the tiniest bit. "I think so. Hi, I'm Tom Conrad." Tom extends his hand and watches Spencer examine it for a moment before taking it and gripping it firmly. "So Pete said," Spencer lifts an eyebrow, clearly not all that interested in extending the conversation if his tone is anything to go by. He lets go of Tom's hand and turns back to Pete. Tom can’t quite look away just yet. "As I was saying..." "No more business today, not if these fuckers showed up." Pete claps a hand on Spencer's shoulder and either doesn't notice the way Spencer freezes or does a damn good job of pretending. "Come on, we'll introduce you guys around. It'll be good for you to meet them, especially if we want to get you on the road with them next year." Spencer backs away an inch and Tom feels voyeuristic for watching this exchange as closely as he does. There's an itch in his palms for the weight of his camera, something to capture the tension with. If he took a picture, would there be a physical manifestation of the walls Spencer has around himself? "Let me find everyone else and we'll meet you guys in the venue, yeah?" Spencer says as he backs away from Tom's close examination and like that, the itch is gone. Pete nods and Spencer turns without another word. When Tom's eyes follow Spencer, Pete smacks his shoulder lightly. "You leave your boys somewhere?" Tom breaks his stare to consider Pete's question. "I think everyone but Sisky is here. He's getting dropped off by Jason before the show. Something about packing. I don't know." "Good idea, definitely." When Pete meets Tom's eyes, it feels like he is holding back from saying something. He opens his mouth but is cut off. "Tom Fuck! Beer bong!" And just like that, Dirty saves Tom from any awkward conversation. The next time Tom sees Spencer, it's as he is being pointed to the bathroom after a few too many beer shots. It wasn't the first three that screwed him up, but the ten after definitely didn't mix well with the Jagermeister. Or the whiskey. Spencer ends up being the one with an arm wrapped around his waist and guiding him. "Ugh, you're fucking heavy." Spencer grunts, trying to adjust Tom's weight. Everything is pleasantly fuzzy, even the way Spencer is holding tightly to him. "Smell good," Tom's vaguely aware of speaking but he finds that it distracts him from the smell of Spencer's hair. "Come to my place. Make it smell good." "I think you need to go to the bathroom and puke until you're human enough that I can look at you." Spencer deposits him on the floor in front of the toilet. Tom looks up a half second later and Mike is standing over him, looking a little more than upset. "It's 2 a.m., we need to get the fuck out of here. You've been in here for three hours." Mike's hands feel rough against his sides and it's probably because they are as they haul him up. "Where is everyone?" Tom tries to reconcile the almost empty lot with the full one he saw earlier. The Fall Out Boy bus is still there, but it's the only one. "Wanted to say sorry to Spencer. I think I puked on his shoes." "You did. And you can say you're sorry when we're on tour with them. And you can say sorry to everyone else for making us miss the train." The tension is coming off Mike and twisting Tom's stomach again. He feels it flip over and he can't help it. There's not much left in Tom's stomach but it ends up all over his own feet. Tom doesn't see Spencer before the tour to apologize, which he didn't think he would, but it's the furthest thing from his mind when there's Mike and vans and hotel rooms and venue bathrooms to deal with. It happens by accident the first time but each successive time it becomes less and less accidental. Mike seeks him out, sits next to him in interviews, twines their fingers during long van rides. That they're rooming is a forgone conclusion by the end of tour, except for the part where it isn't when they get back to Chicago for the holidays. Tom is an idiot ninety percent of the time, but even he isn't dumb enough to believe Mike's explanation that it was just an experiment thing. People who experiment don't generally bottom the first time. It doesn't escape Tom's notice that immediately after their conversation, Bill pretty well stopped seeking him out for conversation. Putting two and two together isn't particularly difficult. Tom alternates his time off between bottles of wine while editing pictures, and cups of coffee while shaking on his couch. He plays the same records on loop until even he can tell where the hisses and crackles are on the vinyl, to the exact second. Everyone stops by at some point, everyone except Bill and Mike, until the day Mike does stop by. He's got a package under his arm and it's wrapped in the Sunday comics. Some things are never going to change, and Mike being too much of a lazy bastard to go to the store to get wrapping paper is one of them. Tom has been smoking since he woke up in the afternoon, and it's late evening right now; the apartment holds the smell of stale smoke. "Hey, Merry Christmas." Mike tries to smile but it doesn't quite go all the way to his eyes. "Right. Merry Christmas." Tom doesn't want to sneer, but he thinks it might come out anyway. "What are you doing here?" "Well, I came to wish you a Merry Christmas and to bring you your present." Mike holds the gift out helpfully, as if that will illustrate his point, the reason he chose to come over rather than call. "Okay." Tom stares at Mike, as if that will make his hidden motive easier to determine. Mike kicks a bit at the ground before looking up at Tom. "Look, I'm sorry about the way shit went down. I am." Mike looks up at Tom, his eyes softer than they normally are. One thing people didn't notice often enough about Mike is his fucking eyes. Tom always says that. "If you came over to do that, just save your breath. I'm over it. You were trying to sort your shirt out. So what the fuck ever." Tom purses his lips together, deliberately avoiding looking at Mike. His eyes would suck Tom in, and there was no way he was falling for that again. "Tom, I mean it." Mike stands in place, wringing his hands slightly. Tom focuses on his hands because it's looking at Mike without really looking at Mike. "So do I. You were a great fuck and I'm sorry if you thought you owed me anymore explanation than you gave me." Tom turns and walks to the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge. Sure, family dinner is tomorrow, but that's no reason not to have drinks tonight. "Do you want a beer?" "Yeah, sure." Mike's face tightens, the soft look replaced with something far less easy to read. Really, Tom doesn't know what he's supposed to say to Mike's apology. 'It's cool, stomp on my heart all you want. It's not like I use it anyway,' somehow doesn't sound quite right. Tom grabs them both tall cans of PBR from the back of the fridge and settles on the couch. It takes a several more beers before Mike says, "it wasn't my idea, you know? I mean. Shit has to go through the proper channels and apparently shit was not going through the proper channels. I mean shit." Mike laughs softly for a few moments before looking over at Tom. "Shit, you are hot, if I wasn't fucking Bill, I'd be all over you." "Shut up, Mike, you're fucking loaded." All Tom can hear is Mike's drunken laughter, admitting that he's fucking Bill. "No, I'm totally fucking loaded, but you're still really, ridiculously hot. Do you even know what you look like?" Mike doesn't stop looking Tom up and down. It gets to the point that even Tom has to laugh about it, because Mike isn't even subtle about it at all and the situation is too ridiculous for words. The laughter comes out wrong and it's the kind of laughing that sounds like crying, because that's what Tom feels like doing at the moment. "I know I'm not the best looking or the smartest and I don't have a lot to offer, but you have these eyes that just sucked me in. I'm such a sucker for your eyes, Mike. I don't care how much of a chick that makes me." Tom's maybe feeling lightheaded. Maybe. It's not like anyone has conclusive evidence stating this. "And like. The way you look at me sometimes. It kind of made me think it could actually work, you know?" "I know, man. I know, but Bill." Mike sprawls over the couch and half in Tom's lap. "What he wants, he gets and he wants what he shouldn't want because it's already taken, but he'll take it again because he's never happy unless he's got it all." Mike snorts and looks up at Tom. "And he wants me because he doesn't want you to have me. It's fucking ridiculous." "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." It's stupid, but Tom can hear the truth in it. Bill has always wanted what's just out of reach. "He should want you for you, and that thing you can do with your tongue." Mike turns a dark red and laughs so hard he falls off the couch and pops back up to grin at Tom. "I haven't done that thing I do with my tongue to Bill. He's not into kissing. I wish he'd kiss like you kiss." "You decided you wanted to stop kissing me. You're an asshole," Tom points this out helpfully. He slips down to the ground and gets eye-level with Mike, grinning lazily. "I'm very mad at you." "Don't be mad. You can't be mad. You'd do the same thing. It's fucking Bill. You know how he is, I don't even know what to say." Mike's chewing on his lips, a sure sign of his level of intoxication. "I think I'll get another beer. That would be good right now." "Hey, hey, hey, wait! Stop." Tom sets his beer on the coffee table, bottle on its side. "Look, my beer is broken. Can you bring me a good one?" Mike snorts and leans against the wall for support as he laughs silently into his hands. "Oh man, that was lame, dude, that was so fucking lame. For that, you get another beer." "Two beers! Two! I want to two-fist!" Tom makes the appropriate hand-motion before checking to see that his beer is really empty. It is and he leans against the couch, scrubbing his face with the back of his wrist. This isn't the situation he imagined himself in when he began his day. He'd had his evening all planned out and it involved a lot more beer and several holiday specials and the list of drinking rules to go with each one. "Two fisting? Man. You. Fucking, you can't do that on Christmas! That's for like, Halloween or something." Mike reappears with four beers all the same and looks down at Tom. "I'm sorry. If you want to drink on Christmas, you drink on Christmas." Mike grins as he flops across Tom's lap before sitting up to open his beer on his belt buckle. "I fucking want to drink on Christmas. It's like, it's the only thing that's going to plan, you know?" After the words are out of his mouth, Tom regrets speaking them. Immediately after regretting them, he shakes his head. Regret is pretty pointless. "I didn't plan on this either, Tom, it just sort of fucking happened." Mike leans against Tom's shoulder and his breath comes out hot and damp against Tom's neck. The ensuing silence is broken only at the sound of both of them chugging from their bottles of beer. "I don't want to talk about this anymore, I'm too drunk to talk about this." "Fuck talking, then." Tom turns his head and presses his lips against Mike's. It's natural still, even after a month of not kissing Mike. It's almost too easy to slip back into the easy touches and meandering kisses. "Mmm, we shouldn't." Mike's words are full of protest but his tone and actions don't match up. He's making no real effort to stop Tom from undoing his jeans, from tugging down his boxers, from doing anything they were familiar with as recently as a month ago. It has lost some of its finesse, but the ease is still there. After, as Mike is slipping back into his jeans, boxers long since lost to the dark corners of the room, he avoids meeting Tom's eyes. "That can't happen again. I'm sorry." He swallows and tries to exit the room without looking up. "Are you. You're fucking serious? You're going to sit there and tell me that means nothing to you? I mean nothing to you?" Tom looks at Mike, tries to force him to make eye contact. He directly blocks Mike's path, reaching out and pushing at his shoulders. "Answer me, jackass. You really want to sit here and lie to me like that?" Tom almost can't believe that Mike would really think he could get away with something like that. "It's not a lie." "Bullshit it's not a lie. Maybe Bill fucking knew that you'd do something like this if given the chance. Maybe he's not the one wanting what he isn't supposed to want, hm? It's not like he held a fucking gun to your head and made you do what you did." Tom just shakes his head and moves to the side. Mike's eyes immediately go down to the ground and he keeps them trained on a stain at the foot of the bed. "You know what would've happened. You saw what happened to AJ. I don't want to be the next AJ because this? This isn't really my thing. This is his thing and it's always going to be his thing and there's not a fucking thing either one of us can do about it. If he wanted either of us out after this, he could do it and we couldn't change it." Mike doesn't say anything else before walking out, leaving his scarf draped over the back of the couch in his haste to vacate the suddenly suffocating apartment. Turning the package over in his hands, Tom tries to figure out what the present is that Mike had gotten for him. What did he need so badly that Mike couldn't wait to give it to him until the next time they were conveniently near each other? Tom opens the wrapping paper, taking care not to wreck Garfield, and runs his fingers over a small gift box. Inside is a small medal, silver in color. It figures, Mike would play to Tom's religion, knowing what a sensitive subject that still is for him. Delicately carved into the solid silver is an image of Saint Christopher, the patron saint of bachelors and travellers. Rather than thinking about what a gift like that would set someone back, Tom sets box down to the ground and turns back to his room. There's an angry text somewhere inside him but he can't be bothered to send it to someone who won't read it and won't understand it even if they do. Stale smoke has been pushed out by stale sex in his bedroom. Tom has never in his entire life been as nauseous as he is right now. It takes all the energy he can muster to open the window and breathe in crisp winter air until his lungs feel like exploding. Once the tightness is gone, there's only emptiness and Tom can't do this, he's far too sober for this. There are only three more beers in the fridge and the liquor store is too far in the current weather, so Tom does the only thing he can think of. Tom calls Jon. Jon has a home and other friends and other family to be visiting on Christmas Eve, but he shows up with a bottle of red wine he'd pilfered from his parents and a plate full of Christmas cookies. He's got his backpack, which means he has his camera equipment and a two-six of something the two of them can share. "You, Jonny Reb, are my savior, my comrade in arms. One day I'll be able to thank you properly and then we'll be even." Tom drapes an arm around Jon's shoulders as much for balance as for anything else. "Hey, none of that. You don't owe me shit and you never will." Jon laughs and tugs Tom over to the couch. Tom-the-emotional-drunk is not an unheard of visitor, but he's a rare guest to the parties these days. Tom's pout turns into a somewhat affectionate grin when he looks up at Jon. "If I could ever repay you, I would; but I'm hard up for cash and memory lacks initiative. Goddamn, the liquor store's closed. We were so close to scoring. It hurts; it destroys 'til it kills. I'm afraid I'm alone and entirely useless… in this department." He rolls from the couch without singing any of the rest of the lyrics. Tom knows that with the way his voice sounds, Jon probably considers that a blessing. "Listen, shithead, if I ever hear you talking about getting fucked up and dying, I'm probably going to have to kill you and that would suck. I'm way too fucking babyfaced for prison." Jon rubs at his cheeks. Tom knows he's trying to lighten the mood, so he runs with it. He's sent pictures to Jon while he was drunk, those pictures of Mike. Thankfully, Jon has never asked Tom about them or the stream of consciousness captions he's added. "Man, if I went to prison and you were with me? I'd never run out of cigarettes." Tom wants to pout and yell and kick and punch until he can't remember the feeling of Mike's lips on his. That's not really an option, so the banter with his best friend will have to suffice. "If you sold me for cigarettes, I'd bite and you'd get the worst reputation. You'd have to smoke fucking Parliaments or something." Jon reaches for the pack Tom has on the coffee table and pulls two out. "Come on, we'll smoke and you can try to sober up a little before we drink the rest of what I brought." "Fuck that noise, man." Tom shakes his head and tries to stand up before collapsing down against the couch. "Jonny Walker, you must bring the alcohol to me. You shall be favored among my servants and when I ascend, you'll take my place." Tom smiles, attempting to look like Christ in the picture of the Last Supper. "Jesus fuck, Tom, if you're going to get biblical on me I'll get your alcohol." Jon ruffles Tom's hair as he stands and walks to the kitchen. "Chaser or no?" "Do I look like your mother? Just. Bring the bottle over and I'm gonna start the movie." Tom manages to roll off the couch and crawl to the DVD player to press play. He really had been planning to spend the evening getting shit-faced while watching Christmas specials. "Okay, I brought more beer out, because I'm not as manly as you. My mangina requires a beer chaser." Jon flops down on the couch just in time for Randy to start whining in A Christmas Story and the first drink to be taken. * "A bus, man. An honest-to-God bus." Siska is bouncing up and down directly in front of Tom. Personally, Tom doesn't see what the huge deal is. Yes, they have a bus and it'll be nice to travel in but it's not like they really need one. They could be doing so many more things with the money the bus is costing them. He's not going to say that and ruin the general good mood. Everyone is happy about the bus. They now have the illusion of privacy when they go to bed. Even Bill seems to be in a good mood as they board the bus and begin to drive away from the parking lot. "The babies are meeting us in the first city?" Tom settles onto the couch, a cold beer in hand. He's got nothing else to do on this trip, Jon is busy editing photos in the back and the understanding he feels for the act prevents him from even occupying the same room as Jon while he does it. "If they're babies, then Sisky's a fetus, so be careful." Butcher settles across from Tom with a beer in hand as well. "I'm pretty sure Brendon emailed me with how excited he was to be on this tour and to thank us for this opportunity. They're pretty much fresh from the womb. He ended it with regards and his full name." Bill looks up from fiddling with the DVD player. They're trying to decide what their first DVD as a band on their very own bus should be and it's been decided that they're going to watch Before Sunrise. Sometimes Tom thinks Bill gets off on his own pretension. After a while, the movie has gotten dull and everyone has wandered off. Bill is in his bunk, writing something that just came to him. Mike is off reading. Butcher and Siska are playing a very involved game of Go Fish, which seems to involve losing clothing. Tom looks down at his half-empty beer and goes to the back to see Jon. Jon looks up when the door opens, as if his concentration has been broken. At first he glares, but when he sees Tom standing in the doorway, his face softens. "Hey man, movie getting boring?" "Yeah, everyone's off doing their own thing. Figured I'd come back here and see what you're doing." Tom knows full well what Jon is doing, but he never feels quite right when he's up having a beer and no one else is. "Hey, you're playing tonight, right?" Jon looks up from his laptop long enough to look pointedly at Tom's beer. "Relax. You're sounding like Mike, I'll be fine." Tom shrugs and makes a mental limit to only have one or two more on the drive. "All right, chill." Jon waves his hand in a careless fashion and looks back to the screen. The next few hours drag on and Tom hates that he can't find something to do. The point of a bus was that they were supposed to always be able to find something to do. By the time they arrive at the venue, Tom is feeling lightheaded and pleasant. It makes unloading the gear a little more of a pain than it should, so he does the bare minimum he can get away with before ducking out the back for a cigarette. He's alternating between messaging Danielle and Nick on AIM when he hears someone come around the corner. "Hey, Bill's looking for you. You're doing soundcheck soon and I guess he wants to try to initiate the Panic kids." Jon ducks his head around and reaches for Tom's cigarette. Placing it between his lips and taking a drag, Jon walks off. Tom rolls his eyes and follows back toward the venue. He'd be lying if he said he was in the mood to take instructions from Bill right now but he knows that as soon as the first show is over, Bill will be in a better mood. First shows have always gotten to Bill, as much as he'll never admit it. Everyone's sitting on the stage when it comes time to actually soundcheck, drinks balanced by their feet. It's painful to hear all their instruments together after the few weeks they had off. Relearning the proper levels takes longer than it will for the rest of the tour and by the end, Tom's head hurts with a mid-day hangover. He shrugs and goes to the backstage area, hoping another beer will take the edge off. Forrest is inspecting a large hot dog costume and Tom has to shake his head again. Sometimes he wonders when things like this became normal. He takes his beer and heads in the direction of outside again, waiting to actually light his cigarette. He takes his time with this beer, feeling his headache dissipate until even the memory of it is gone. Tom smokes only one cigarette before going in search of another beer. When he finds the dressing room this time, everyone has a beer and there's laughter spilling from under the door cracks. "Fuck, where is everyone? We need the babies in here." Bill stands up to make this grand announcement. He walks from the room, head held high as he searches the hallways for traces of their new tour mates. When they're back, Tom wishes they were still in their own closet of a dressing room. Ryan and Spencer are shooting disapproving glances at everyone in the room while Brendon looks longingly at the bottles of beer. Given his age, and his upbringing, Tom doubts Brendon's ever even had a drink, let alone enjoys the taste of beer. To be honest, he's surprised the answer to his unspoken questions haven't just spilled out of Brendon's mouth. Brendon seems to be a nervous talker and now Tom knows a lot more about Brent's porn collection and Brendon's own love of The Simpsons than he would've thought possible to find out in fifteen minutes. Spencer and Ryan are huddled in a corner, talking quietly. They're not being anti-social per se, because they're in the room, but they're not making an effort to be friendly or to make conversation outside the two of them. "Oh, they're like that sometimes. When I first met them…" Brendon launches into a story about the first time he met them and how he was sure they weren't going to like him and how it would've made his life so miserable that he would've had to drown himself in one of the fountains at the Bellagio. Tom tunes it out halfway through to look at Spencer and Ryan, still talking so quietly and so intently to each other. It's clear that this is still new to them. They haven't even been signed for a year and they already have a bus and a spot opening for a band they were fans of not that long ago. Tom takes his beer and heads for the exit again. He doesn't like smoking in enclosed spaces when it's warm enough that he can be outside. While it isn't overly warm, it's still warm enough that he can be outside without having to bundle up. Butcher decides to come out with Tom this time. It's a sight, this skinny guy leaning against the building, exhaling the most elegant smoke rings Tom has ever seen. "I've never really known how to do that," Tom admits. Butcher makes it look almost elegant and Tom thinks about watching it backward, thinks that must be what smoking looks from the inside. "It's hard to do in the wind, I'm lucky any of them are even working." Butcher grins, wide and easy, and Tom forgets his train of thought about smoke rings. "I think the guys are going out tonight, celebrating the start of tour. You going?" Tom tries to think of the words to express the feeling of not being invited, despite the obvious invitation. "I don't know, probably." He'll feel like an intruder, like he always does. One day, he'll ask Butcher how he keeps from feeling like that but he knows that whatever Butcher answers, it won't quite work for him. From the beginning, Butcher hadn't felt like an outsider, like no matter what he did, it wasn't quite the direction they wanted to go. "Cool. Well, I'm heading back in. Do you want me to see if anyone else will come out here?" Butcher nods down toward Tom's half-finished cigarette. Tom shrugs. "I'll see you when I get in there." Tom brings his beer back up to his lips. It's gone slightly warm and it almost seems like it's lost a bit of the flavor, but it'll do until after the show. No one else appears to keep him company, so he goes back inside to find the groupings have changed slightly. Brendon appears to be discussing something with Butcher, his hands swooping in large arcs to illustrate his story. Bill and Ryan are now tucked in a corner, discussing something that looks like it's of utmost importance. There's a game of Mario going on in the corner that has drawn the attention of the remaining people. From the back, Tom can easily pick out Jon and the way he and Spencer are seated together on the couch, Mike on one of the arms. "Tombo! Spencer says you owe him a pair of shoes." Mike looks over his shoulder and grins; Tom hates that grin. He hates how it's nothing but fake and anyone who knows Mike at all knows that. He throws on his own grin and settles on the other arm of the couch, right next to Spencer. "Is that so, Smith?" He can put on his flirting face if he wants to, he doesn't need Mike to make him feel like a complete person again. "You, uh, you kind of wrecked a pair of mine last time we saw you guys. When you guys came to the Chicago show." Spencer seems almost embarrassed to be speaking about it in front of everyone. "You know, I remember thinking that I was going to have to apologize to you for something. I'm just sorry it turned out to be that and not something better." His smile turns genuine when he realizes the tips of Spencer's ears have gone red. "It's fine, whatever." Spencer turns back to watch the game of Mario just as Chad somehow manages to get killed by the slowest moving enemy in the game. His ears are still red and Mike's look the same. Tom grins to himself, taking a longer drink of his beer. * After the show, Tom is still riding his earlier buzz and it's only being added to by the adrenaline coursing through him. "Hey, hey, Xbox on our bus, I'm getting the kids," Bill calls over his shoulder as he runs by Tom. Tom nods in acknowledgement before shaking out another cigarette. Despite the drinks before, he'd played a good set. Better than good, really. The only complaint anyone had was that about a quarter of the audience had left after Panic's set to go try to meet them by the buses. Jason was griping about it backstage, loud enough for everyone to hear. All Tom could do was shake his head. People wanted to hear what they wanted to hear. Mike walks up to him from behind. There are few people who drag their feet while walking the way Mike does, and the gravel does nothing to hide the noise. "Hey," Mike mutters, shaking out a cigarette as well. His hands are trembling the way they only ever do from nerves and Tom rolls his eyes. Bill will get nervous before a show but only Mike gets nervous about actually having to meet people. He's always saying he didn't sign on for that part, he just wanted to play. "Relax, we did good. No one's going to be telling you that you sucked donkey dick tonight." Tom avoids reaching over and taking Mike's hands between his own and forcing them to stop trembling. It's almost painful to watch Mike with his matches, hands shaking too hard for him to even light one. If this were three months ago, Tom would've already had an arm around Mike's waist and been holding on to remind him that this was something real. No one was taking it away. Tom knew better than anyone now how fast a dream could evaporate into thin air. "I know, I know. It's just." Mike shrugs and flicks ash away from himself, almost without thinking about it. "I don't want this to be the peak, you know? I don't want this to be the best show. And I really don't want kids not sticking around to watch us. That really sucks." Mike leans against the venue wall, shirt riding up a little in the back. "I'll be honest, I'd rather have them leave than them stick around if they don't want to see us. No one should feel obligated to do that." Tom doesn't want to argue this with Mike. There's no way things will even end civilly given the current feelings between the two of them. "Look, finish your cigarette, go on the bus, have a beer and just calm the fuck down." "Yeah, I think that's a good idea." Mike nods and pushes off the wall. He flicks ash in the direction of Tom's feet and begins walking toward the buses and vans parked a dozen yards away. "I'm just going to be out here for another few minutes." Tom waves as Mike turns to look at him before walking onto the bus. "Don't worry, I have the code in my phone." Tom's memory for numbers and facts and codes is legendary. It just doesn't exist. On a good day, he can remember his own number. On a bad day, he's grateful for the information section on his phone. He's never claimed to be good at remembering things, but he doesn't like that people call him on it. "If you can't get in, just call one of us." Mike calls over to him before closing the door. Tom's left by himself for another minute before Bill comes back, one long arm wound around Ryan's shoulder and another around Brent's. Brendon walks over to Tom and looks longingly at the cigarette. Tom doesn't bother to hide his confusion. Brendon is a singer and a Mormon. There's little to no chance he's a smoker. Spencer follows Brendon over and looks down at Tom's cigarette. "Marlboros? Isn't that the cigarette that'll pretty much have you coughing up tar?" Spencer wrinkles his nose and looks up at Tom. "Probably, but everything good will kill you eventually." Tom's been put in a sour mood by the thought of Mike on the bus, waiting for Bill to come back with a small harem of small boys. "Not everything," Spencer shakes his head and looks at the door of the bus. "We should go in, Bren. They're probably going to start playing without us." "So? They'll be playing all night, it doesn't matter if we miss the first game or not." Brendon leans against the venue in the same manner Tom does. Tom just does his best not to smirk, it is clear these kids have been taught safety in numbers and they aren't about to split up for anything. "Fine, you're almost done that cigarette, right?" Spencer looks at the cigarette that has almost completely burned to the filter. Tom nods and raises it up to his lips one last time. "Done," Tom mutters as he tosses the butt off to the side, giving no care as to where it lands. He looks over at Spencer and Brendon to indicate he's ready to let them onto the bus and into the joyous party that awaits. Brendon grins and walks in as confident as he's ever walked into any situation. Tom just rolls his eyes and follows before looking over at Spencer. There's a carefully blank look on Spencer's face the second Tom looks over at him. Tom meets his eyes for only a moment before brushing past him and walking to his bunk. There are always good pictures to be had from Academy parties. When he returns, people have settled, though Ryan is no longer anywhere to be seen. Spencer's lips are set in a thin line as he sits on the couch. Tom isn't sure what to blame the difference on until he sees Brent and Brendon both holding onto bottles of beer, not even sipping from them. That's when Tom makes the decision he knows is going to change his life forever. Or for tonight. Whatever. He takes the bottle of Jack he could've sworn was fuller when he left the bus that morning and takes Spencer's wrist. "Come on, they're just going to play Halo all night. We've got a back lounge. We'll put on a movie and they'll start drifting back." Spencer nods, seeming to find it better to watch Tom drink than his own bandmates. Apparently since Tom isn't his responsibility, it isn't as bad. Spencer clutches his pop as if it's the only thing keeping him together at that moment. "Want to tell me why you look like that?" Tom looks him up and down as he pours the whiskey into bottle of pop, swirling it to mix it around enough that he can drink it. That seems to be when Spencer notices he's in the back lounge with Tom. "It's just, Brendon knows, you know? He shouldn't. I mean, we're all underage, you guys know that, and Brendon's such a fucking lightweight. Brent shouldn't have said yes, because then there's no way Brendon's going to say no and we have a fucking show tomorrow and this." Spencer cuts himself off there, looking carefully at Tom. He seems to realize he might have said too much. "Sorry, it's nothing." "Well that, that didn't sound like nothing. If you need to let it out, it's cool." Tom gets the sense that his first impression of Spencer, uptight and needing to have a firm grasp on every situation before he enters it, was a correct impression. "No, it's fine. We don't have to stay back here. There's nothing wrong." Spencer stands and opens the door to go back to where the hoots and hollers are coming from. Tom stands just as quickly and follows him out. "Hey, it wasn't just for your sanity that we're back here." Tom holds the door closed quickly. "I'm not really in for a party tonight. I just don't want to bring everyone else down and you kind of look like you're already down, so…" Tom trails off and removes his hand from the door. "For a drunk, you're observant." Tom's surprised with the speed the comeback comes out at. "For a drummer, you're actually pretty smart." They both crack a smile at that and move back to the couch. "Okay, we've got three choices back here and surprisingly only one of them is porn. So. Do you want A Bug's Life or do you want Die Hard?" Tom crouches in front of the DVD player and holds up two DVD cases. "I think I'll take my chances with Die Hard. The fewer animated children's shows I have to watch, the better." Spencer rolls his eyes and takes a drink from his bottle of pop. "Not a Disney fan, I take it." Tom nods and sets up the movie, skipping through the advertisements that seem to be becoming more common in DVDs. "Well, I've just had my fill of them." Spencer doesn't explain and Tom doesn't ask him to. Once the movie starts, they sit in companionable silence, snorting occasionally at some of the onscreen violence. Tom looks over once to see Spencer tapping out a message on his sidekick. Instead of commenting, Tom just turns back to the film. The second time he sees it, he can't help it. "You know, you're missing landmark American cinema right here. It's got everything, explosions, car chases, and guns." Tom takes another drink from his bottle, swishing it around to try to taste the whiskey. "Tom, I wasn't even a year old when this movie came out." Spencer obviously feels the need to point this out. "So? All the more reason to appreciate it now. I wasn't born when The Sting was released, but you can't tell me that movie wasn't badass." Tom fumbles for his cigarettes and debates opening one of the windows to the screen. Oddly enough, it's the driver that complains about the smell of smoke. Bill will occasionally come back while someone is smoking and steal drags of their cigarettes. "Paul Newman is different, he's classic. Bruce Willis is a fucking joke now." Right there, Tom hits the pause button. "Wait, wait. I'm sorry. Did you just say that? Did you honestly? My God, you did say that." Tom looks around the room for something soft enough to hit Spencer with. "Are you defending his honor? Dude, you're so gay for Bruce Willis right now. I should go back up front. I don't think there's room for you, me, and your boner for Bruce Willis. Do you keep a lock of his chest hair in your necklace?" Spencer snickers and doesn't make a move to get up and leave. "I can't believe you… The Sixth Sense? The Whole Nine Yards? Fuckin' Twelve Monkeys?" Tom is still staring at Spencer in disbelief. "Have a drink, watch him kill his first terrorist again, and tell me he's not the motherfuckin' man. And for the record, this isn't a love necklace for Bruce Willis." Tom holds out the medal for Spencer to examine carefully. Spencer rolls his eyes and, despite his earlier apprehension, reaches for the bottle of whiskey, moving away from Tom and the medal. It's late enough that Tom assumes everyone is on this bus for the night. They can make their way back in the morning. "This didn't happen." Spencer motions to the bottle before pouring a generous amount into his bottle of pop. Tom nods and goes back to the proper point in the film and prepares to start it again. "I would just like to point a few things out before you put this back on." Spencer stops Tom and motions to the TV before taking a swig from his bottle. "Point away." "Well, first off Bandits, The Kid, and Beavis and Butthead Do America. Second of all, that's totally a girl's necklace. Now press play." Spencer is grinning and Tom can't help but grin back before stealing the whiskey to freshen his own drink. Tom frowns and tries to watch the level on Spencer's pop, but it doesn't seem to go down, even though he does offer a small amount of respect for Bruce Willis after he kills his first terrorist. "See? Classic American cinema." "I'm gonna have to disagree with you there, Tom. Classic American cinema would be like, Casablanca, or the original Ocean's Eleven. Not this. This is…" Spencer trails off, looking for the right word. "This is modern in the worst way possible." "What the fuck? Modern in the worst way?" Tom almost chokes on his drink. "This is meant to be a total America movie. Yay, look at us beat the terrorists. In reality, it just makes us sick for wanting to watch other people get blown up, shot, killed, and what have you. It makes us these voyeurs on the worst days of people's lives. And obviously he had two bad days after this, right? There were two more Die Hards? Anyway, classic American cinema had sad endings, but we didn't have to see people's guts in our faces. Now even our love stories don't always end happily and we eat them up. We do it not because we want them to be unhappy, but because we don't think they should be happy if we're not happy. We've turned into a culture that feeds off other people's sorrows." Spencer seems to realize he's been rambling and he turns a soft pink. Tom pauses for a moment before he speaks, choosing his words carefully. "I don't think that makes us sick. I don't think we feed off it. I think we're just tired of being lied to and Disney movies setting unrealistic explanations of love for us. Love sucks sometimes and you don't always get the guy-girl." Tom covers his slip of the tongue by taking another drink. "And I think we revolted against that and got movies with sad endings. Because sad endings, they give you hope that the next time will be better." "I don't think you're talking just about movies anymore." Spencer looks toward the TV, not meeting Tom's eyes. "So what if I'm not? Bruce Willis, man, he's awesome and yeah, I'm watching a guy kill a shit ton of other guys. And yeah, I watched Saw and saw the guy cutting his own foot off. But you know what? I don't think that makes me a sick person. Well, maybe Saw does. But Bruce Willis doesn't. When was the last time you saw acting as fucking awesome as that?" Tom tries to bring the point back to the movie, but all he can think about now is sad endings and how he needs Mike and how this tour is going to kill him. "I think the last time I saw acting that good was in the dressing room this afternoon when you were talking to Mike." Spencer's wry grin shows, even in the flickering light of the television. "Wow. I was right, smart." Tom's voice has fallen flat and he lacks the energy to make it sound normal. "What? You think people don't notice? You're not the only one who's observant, rummy." Spencer takes a small sip of his pop, still not turning to Tom. "No, but I was kind of hoping no one else was observant enough to catch that." Tom taps out a cigarette, opening the back window and hearing things roll by along the highway. "Look, you want to be more conservative about who knows you're in love with your guitarist? Try not looking at him with baby cow eyes, or putting all those fucking pictures of him on your website." Spencer huffs and his bangs fly up just slightly. "Oh, I'm not fucking in love with him." "Right, right. You just always happen to catch your bandmates who don't photograph well and make them look fucking spectacular." Spencer's voice is going as flat as Tom's. "It's really, really not what you think." Tom's fingers shake as he tries to hold his lighter steady. "You don't know what I think it is." Spencer takes the lighter, their fingers brushing, and holds it steady for Tom. Exhaling a stream of smoke, Tom mutters a thanks. "Look, straight up? We were sort of a thing. And now we're not a thing." "Ah, that does explain it." Spencer doesn't elaborate on his statement and that pisses Tom off. It's said in that smug tone that suggests Spencer knows everything about that situation, when he really knows nothing. No one knows what they're talking about when it comes to how Tom feels about Mike. And of course, because Tom's life is a fucking movie, Mike opens the back lounge as soon as Tom turns to look at Spencer, about to give him a piece of his mind. "Oh, hey, you guys are back here." Mike looks between the two of them with a contemplative look. To Tom it looks like he's trying to figure something out and Tom is having none of that. He throws his arm around Spencer's shoulder and squeezes him tightly. "Yeah, we're watching Die Hard." Tom knows it's one of Mike's favourite movies, it's the reason it's even back here to begin with. "Don't worry, we'll put it back when we're done." Mike doesn't say anything else before leaving and the only thing that makes Tom freeze up is the way Spencer is suddenly tense, hardly moving to breathe beside him. "Sorry," Tom mutters, removing his arm from around Spencer. "Don't apologize. Just tell me what the fuck that was about?" Spencer's rubbing at his upper arm and maybe Tom did grab Spencer's arm harder than he thought. "I thought. You said it made sense." Tom looks over at Spencer, confused and not bothering to hide it. "You can be as hung up on him as you want, but you're not dragging me into it, okay? You're both co-workers, sort of, and I'm not getting in the middle of whatever weird shit you two are doing around each other." Spencer shakes his head and it looks like he's going to stand up again. If Spencer leaves the back now, Mike will know that nothing was going on back here and he'll lord that over Tom for the rest of the tour. Tom decides that thinking is overrated anyway, so he stands and blocks the door again, watching as Spencer tries to work out what's going on. When Spencer seems to have concluded that Tom isn't behaving logically, he speaks. "I don't know what you think is going to happen if I go out there. It's not like I'm going to run over and tell Mike that the second he walked in the door, you turned into someone else completely." "I didn't." Tom argues only to argue at this point. "You did, you threw your arm around me and you did the same thing in the dressing room. Like I said, Tom, I'm not getting in the middle of this thing." Spencer sits back down on the couch, face no longer open and laughing like it was before. Tom considers this for a moment before sitting down on the couch and taking another drink from his bottle of pop. It's gone flat and the whiskey taste is still there. "Then don't get in the middle, but don't leave me to get drunk on my own. That's just sad, dude." * Tom notices a pattern as the tour progresses. Headliner invites openers to bus to drink. Openers come. Opener Guitarist leaves when booze is pulled out. Headliner Guitarist gets drunk while talking the ear off Opener Drummer. Opener Drummer does not get drunk. "Spencer Smith, you never let your hair down with us!" Tom exclaims as he and Spencer walk to the convenience store the desk clerk swore was a block from the hotel. Five blocks back they decided he was a liar. There's very little beer left in the hotel room the Academy is currently trashing with the help of Brendon and Brent. More so Brendon than Brent. "Did you actually use the phrase 'let your hair down?' Are you my grandfather?" Spencer can only laugh and switch sides with Tom as Tom switches the hand he's holding his cigarette in. "Fuck you, it's an acceptable phrase! Well. It's a phrase, anyway." Tom shakes his head and tries to tap ash so the wind won't pick it up and carry it to Spencer's eyes. "Yes, it's a phrase that people used when girls still pinned their hair up all the time and letting your hair down meant relaxing at home where you didn't have to impress anyone." "Well, then it's still an acceptable phrase, because you're awfully pretty, Spencer." Tom grins over at Spencer and receives an elbow to the side for his effort. "Hear me out! Okay, so you don't let your hair down. You never get drunk with us, you hardly even laugh except to laugh at me while I'm drunk and yet you're the only one who'll be with me while I'm drunk and not actually laugh at me." "For a drunk, you're pretty observant." "And for a drummer, you're pretty smart. So, why don't you just relax, take a load off?" Tom looks Spencer up and down after a moment and takes in the line of his jaw, the set of his shoulders. "Whatever shit you're carrying around isn't healthy." "You're not one to lecture about carrying around unhealthy baggage." Maybe Spencer doesn't mean the words to sound as sharp as they do but they come out sharp as hell and all Tom can do is flinch. "Maybe I'm not, but—" "Look, we're doing a beer run, okay? Then I'll go to my room and relax and you don't have to worry about what I'm carrying around." Spencer's voice indicates the topic is closed. "No, look. I. I just want you to talk about it, okay? I want to know why the hell you look like sometimes you want to kill someone and other times you watch me with that look of complete concern, because I've seen you do it." Tom stands in front of Spencer, blocking his path and crossing his arms. "Did it ever occur to you that the concern might be because I don't want the tour to get cancelled because you choke on your own vomit? I don't want to lose this because you couldn't put down the bottle of Jack." Spencer took his own defensive stance, albeit much less effectively. "But you've never told me to put down the bottle, or the pipe, or anything. Spencer, if you're so concerned, why are you just being on the outside of this? You're watching all the time and I don't know what to think about that." "Okay, you're seriously dense. You're really fucking idiotic. You didn't even think about the fact that I'm here preventing that. I'm here, hanging out with you when no one else will sometimes. I come out for cigarettes when it's cold and I'm tired because I don't want something bad to happen to you and know that I could've helped just by being there and I wasn't. Tom, you don't get so drunk that you pass out in your own vomit anymore. You don't drink enough to get alcohol poisoning now." Spencer takes the cigarette from between Tom's lips and drops it to the ground, stepping on it. "I've been there, having to watch a friend deal with someone having alcohol poisoning, someone so drunk they can barely even walk without falling over. I don't want to see someone else get to that point." Tom starts to speak, starts to protest that he isn't that bad, but Spencer cuts him off. "No, I've watched it happen and I know the signs and I know the slippery slope you're on right now and I'm not going to let you go through that and I don't know how to help except just being here because I don't want you to turn into someone like him. If you do… I don't know what, Tom, but I know it isn't good." Tom stands there for a moment, mouth opening and closing as he tries to comprehend how Spencer Smith just told him off on a street corner. The more he thinks about it, he's not even sure it was entirely about him. "Come on, they're going to run out of beer if we're not back soon." Tom looks down at the ground, for once not even attempting to look at Spencer. They're silent during the interaction with the clerk, silent when they get their change back, silent on the walk back, and silent during the too-long elevator ride up to the floor they're all staying on. "I'm going to my room." Spencer pulls out his card key and, for the first time since the tour began, Tom is drunk and alone. He returns with the beer and everybody cheers but nobody notices when he slips out with a six-pack and goes to the stairwell of the hotel, popping open a can and drinking it while sitting on the stairs. After awhile, Tom texts Jon and asks him to come outside for a cigarette. Jon obliges and says he'll meet him outside. Jon comes with Brendon in tow, like a tiny monkey that will cling onto any limb if he's given an opening. "Wow. Wow, you guys are so awesome." Brendon grins blearily at Tom and then at Jon. "I'd hug Tom but Jon says that's a bad idea. He says that you don't hug unless you initiate it, otherwise it's like hugging a really, really soft tree." Brendon snickers. "A really soft tree." Tom muses over the thought and takes a drink from the can of beer he brought outside with him. "Hey, I might hit the hay early tonight—" "What does that expression even mean? Hit the hay? We're not pioneers, Tom." Brendon seems like he's choosing to only drift in and out of the conversation, so Tom humors him. "We're definitely pioneers, Bren. We just have better wagons." He ruffles the Brendon's carefully sculpted hair. "Watch the ‘do! I spent time on it today! It's going to get me laid one day!" Brendon pouts with both lips pushed out as far as they can go. "Anyway, I'm going to bed early, who has the keys to the other room?" Normally Tom will take the room with the party going on, because he'll stick out a party until the last drop has been drunk from the last bottle but there's something in the way Spencer said what he said that's sticking. At least, Tom tells himself it's the way Spencer spoke and not what he said that's sticking into him like a knife. "Tommy Conrad, ducking out of a party early?" Jon makes a surprised face and reaches for Tom's forehead. They both know it's a joke for the sake of Brendon. He doesn't really need to know how unusual this is. "Ducking out early to bang your Mom," Tom reaches into Jon's back pocket to take the key for himself. "No way, dude, that's why I'm ducking out early! My mom, though, not yours." Jon takes it in stride, the way he takes all jokes of this nature. "Aw, phew, at least I know I don't have to worry about there being any competition." Tom turns to Brendon and speaks in as serious a tone as he can manage. "Jon's hung like a baby." "Yeah, dude. Nine pounds and twenty-two inches!" Jon high-fives an imaginary peanut gallery and Brendon actually falls over laughing. "Nah, Bren, in all honesty, it's only six inches," Jon pauses, "from the floor!" "You're a sick man, Jonny Walker. A sick, sick man. Take care of this key, I'm off to eat crackers and do other unmentionable things between your sheets." Tom hands Jon the other key-card and walks toward the stairwell, ready to let himself in and grab the rest of his beer. There are still four cans there, the same number he left, but for some reason they look off to Tom. He chalks it up to the swirling thoughts in his head and returns to his floor, looking for the correct room. Siska's in the room as well, excused from the festivities because he's coming down with something and when Siska gets sick it's enough to make anyone else get sick just from looking at him. Even his hair looks sick, it just lays there. He's asleep when Tom enters the room and Tom is grateful for that. It means no questioning looks about what he's doing there when the party is still clearly going on a few doors down. Under his breath, Tom starts humming the song about the party two doors down where they're laughing and singing. He's pretty sure anyone but Siska waking up to him humming Dolly Parton would be the most humiliating thing in the world. Siska named his cats Baby, Little Girl, and Little Boy. He isn't allowed to laugh at anyone about anything, ever. Looking down at the beer in his hand, Tom decides to save the remaining for morning when they'll all need a hair of the dog that bit them in order for them to feel human again. His jeans stay crumpled on the floor after he steps out of them and unbuttons his shirt. The day feels longer than the standard twenty-four hours and Tom falls asleep without even pulling his arms from his shirt or slipping under the covers.

Tom looks over at Spencer, in the corner of the room and talking to Butcher while Butcher smokes from a small pipe and blows out the window. No one is watching Butcher as he proceeds to get higher and higher. Tom decides to stumble over and talk to Spencer. What's the worst that could happen? Spencer could tell him off again and Tom already lived through that. "Butcher, Butchski, I'm stealing your friend for a few minutes." "Give 'er! I'm hungry and I'm totally raiding the vending machine." Tom rolls his eyes as Butcher disappears from the room. Spencer holds his hands on his hips and looks at Tom. "I'm sorry, why did you decide to steal me?" He's not giving an inch and Tom can't help but let his hands go to his sides. "I'm here to steal you because you're right." Tom leans his forehead on Spencer's shoulder and wraps an arm around his waist. "I'm right. And what did you finally realize I was right about? It's obviously not shaving." Spencer allows his hand to graze over Tom's cheek for an all too brief moment before he pulls it back. "No, but you were the one who said you were worried about me and you wanted me to be safe. You were right about being safe and so I'm doing what I need to do to be safe." Tom looks up at Spencer, smiling with half-lidded eyes. "Forgive me for assuming anything, but it doesn't look like you're safe right now." Spencer shakes Tom off him and moves back. "It looks like you're drunk." "Ah, but you're forgetting the most important part. I'm drunk and with you. Which means I'm safe." Tom tries to close the distance between the two of them again. "Tom, I don't know what you're thinking, but it isn't right. So just go back to your band of merry men and keep drinking with them." Spencer turns, probably to look for some escape for this conversation. Instead of letting him escape, Tom leans in and presses his lips to the juncture between Spencer's neck and shoulder. "Let's get out of here, then. You can make sure I'm safe and maybe I can do the same for you." He wraps a hand around Spencer's waist. "Jesus, Tom. I don't know what you think you're up to, but I told you once. I won't be with someone who thinks it's fine to use me to get over someone else. And remember, for a drummer, I'm pretty smart." Spencer takes a step back and crosses his arms. "For a drunk, I'm pretty observant and I observe that you don't go keep anyone else company. Not even Brendon!" Tom takes Spencer's wrist in his hand and tugs him out of the room. "Come outside, I want to smoke." Without waiting for an affirmative from Spencer, Tom tugs Spencer to the open stairwell and looks out at the sky. "I like stairwells like this. I fuckin' love California." "That's nice, if you brought me out here to talk about how much you love California, I'm going back in." Spencer looks back toward the door to the hall. "No, I didn't. I swear, I didn't. I brought you out here because I miss you." Tom reaches forward with his free hand and touches Spencer's cheek. "I miss your face." Spencer backs away and looks at Tom with disgust. "Fuck! Were you even in there? I told you, I'm not going to be your rebound fuck, okay?" This circular conversation is hurting Tom's head and it's way too early for him to be hungover, not to mention the fact that he's still drunk. Shaking his head to try to clear a path for his thoughts to come out, Tom exhales smoke. "No, no, not a rebound. I like you for you, like the fuckin' song said. You're fat with a p-h, like Cindy Crawford." When Spencer stares blankly at Tom, he knows he has to try again. "It's like, there's Mike and he was but you are. You're present tense, he's past tense. In the present tense, there's you." "I think you're trying to tell me you like me, but you could just be singing obscure nineties rock at me." "Not obscure, it was top forty." Tom flicks ash from his cigarette, already trying to remember which album it had come from and how high it had reached on the charts. "That's not the point, you were right the first time. I like you, I just kind of suck at showing it. And at life." Tom lets out a loud sigh and rests his forehead against the railing of the stairwell. "So, this isn't just you singing songs about Leonardo DiCaprio at me." Spencer still seems a little overly cautious, so Tom lifts his head and tosses his cigarette away before pressing his lips to Spencer's. "No, not so much about that." Tom's voice is muffled by Spencer's lips and he really wishes he could sound like that onstage. He wouldn't dread the stage nearly as much as he does. Tom pushes the thought of Spencer being eighteen out of his mind as soon as Spencer threads his fingers through his hair. He finds that it's easier to forget about Spencer's age when their hips are pressed together and Spencer isn't pushing him away for once. "Hey, hey, let's. Why don't we go back to one of the rooms? Everyone's going to be at the party for a while." Spencer doesn't meet his eyes as he winds his fingers through Tom's belt loops. It happens in a bit of a blur, the alcohol taking the edge off everything, and it doesn't take long before Spencer is under Tom on the bed, desperately pressing up to get friction and some sort of relief. Spencer's a teenager, Tom does pause himself long enough to remember that, but it's when Spencer's jeans are open and Tom's hand is inside, palming him through his boxers. "We, fuck, Spence, we don't have to hurry this. We have time." Tom's words are lost against Spencer's skin. There's so much of it exposed that Tom can't ever touch enough of it at once. Spencer mutters something that sounds a lot like "drunk" but Tom can't make it out. He won't ask Spencer to repeat it but he also won't pressure Spencer. If Spencer wants something more, he can take the next step. Spencer seems reluctant to take that step and it seems like just minutes since they stepped into the room but the clock says it's been an hour and Spencer is struggling to zip his jeans up and adjust them so nothing shows. "I'm. I'll just be a minute in the bathroom." Even Spencer's voice sounds fucked out and there's nothing Tom wants more at that moment than to press Spencer back down to the bed and take his jeans completely off. Fuck, having morals is so overrated. It's the thought Tom falls asleep to, curled on his side with his own jeans still open, in Spencer's bed. * There's no shit in the morning from his band or from Spencer's, but he feels like he has a sign hanging over his head warning everyone to tread lightly. Jon can't even meet his eyes when they wander off to film for the website. "What? I fell asleep in his bed, I didn't want to go back into the party. It was getting too loud and nobody wants to hear Mike ramble on and on about being the naked guy." "Tombo, if that's all that happened, then I want to sleep in his bed because the bite marks on your neck say he's an awesome drinking bed buddy." Jon can't help but snort as he reaches for the cigarettes in Tom's shirt pocket. "Oh, fuck you very much. Nothing happened. He's a kid." Still, Tom pulls his own scarf tighter around his neck. "With teeth like a vampire. Jesus, I didn't know biting was your thing; unless that's just payback for what you did to him. I didn't even stop to look at his neck. We can go back, you know." Jon looks down the street in the direction they came. "You're an asshole. All that happened is that he got hot and bothered but clearly didn't want to take it any further because he went to the bathroom to rub one out. I left it up to him because I'm not a complete skeeze." Tom shrugs and lights up his cigarette. "Oh my God! You're totally into him! You're so into him. What the fuck?" Jon doesn't even sound like he's confused, just amused and ready to rib the shit out of Tom. "Shut up, just shut the hell up." Tom looks around the block to try to find an escape from this conversation. "We're not talking about this." "Sure, not talking about it." Jon fiddles with the lens on the camera before looking up at Tom and grinning slyly. "It goes without saying that I'm the best man at the wedding, right?" "Oh, you're an ass." Tom throws his lighter at Jon's head and begins walking back to the buses. He doesn't get far, Spencer and Brendon are on their way out and from the flush on Spencer's face, he's getting it as bad as Tom would be if he'd stayed for Jon's harassment. "Oh, hey Tom!" Brendon grins at Tom and doesn't even bother to be discreet when he looks between the two of them. "I guess you two have a lot to talk about, huh." Apparently he spots Jon and decides to run off to join him. "Don't have the talk or anything else in my bunk! I sleep there!" "So, Brendon's borderline retarded, I'm sorry you had to see that. And I'm really sorry that the tour will be cancelled when he turns up dead and I have to go to prison." Spencer's cheeks are still tinted pink as he takes a step back from Tom. "Oh. Uh. No, he's fine. Don't kill him trying to protect my honor." Tom feels too sober for this conversation, like the words will mess themselves up without any help from him. "Is he right, though? Do we need to talk about this?" Spencer kicks at the ground and then curses under his breath at the scuff it creates on the toe of his shoe. "Uh, no? I don't think we need to talk anything through." Tom shrugs and looks at Spencer, crouched down and rubbing at the slight mark on the white leather. "Oh. Um, okay. Nothing to talk about?" Spencer's tone has shifted slightly and Tom can't quite catch with the subtle change means. Spencer almost sounds like not talking about this is a negative thing. "I mean, I'm pretty sure I said what I had to say last night?" Tom suddenly wonders if there's a portion he doesn't remember from last night. If he did something ridiculous like tell Spencer he's in love with him. It wouldn't be the first time that's landed him in hot water the next day. It's almost never been with someone he likes, though, just someone he wanted to fuck. "So. Are you going to explain what happened in the hotel room?" Spencer looks up and for the first time, Tom notices the faint dusting of freckles on the end of Spencer's nose. "I fell asleep? I don't know, it seemed like you were taking about ten years in the bathroom. I must have dozed off." Tom doesn't know why he feels defensive about this. He really doesn't need to apologize. It wasn’t like he fell asleep in the middle of sex. "I meant about why I was in the bathroom and not in bed with you." Spencer's cheeks are now flaming and it clicks in. Tom can't help but bark out a laugh because Spencer is serious. "Wait, did you think that…" Tom trails off, laughing again before managing to calm himself down. "Okay, tell me why you think you were in the bathroom." Spencer blinks his eyes wide a few times before turning on his heel and walking straight back to the door of his bus. By the time Tom registers the movement, Spencer is inside and the lock is clicked into place. Tom hardly knows the code for his own bus, let alone any of the other buses on tour so he can't open it up to follow Spencer inside. This is something that will have to be cleared up later. * "I can't fucking win with this kid. I tell him I like him and he just shits on it. It's so stupid." Tom exhales acrid smoke out the open bus window while Butcher sits with a notepad and a pair of Bill's glasses on. Every so often, Tom wonders if his band really is made up of short bus kids, but then he remembers that he doesn't care as long as it pays the bills. "And how does that make you feel?" Butcher can barely keep a straight face while he asks this. "You know, I could take you more seriously as a therapist if you weren't naked." Tom hates to bring it up, but Butcher's junk is something he really doesn't enjoy looking at. It's a nice dick and all, but it's kind of like seeing Brad Pitt on another magazine cover. It's just overkill at this point. "Be that as it may, this is how I do my best work." Butcher scratches at his thigh and Tom focuses on the skyline from the bus window. "Okay, whatever. The whole thing makes me feel sick. I don't even know what to do. I can't fix it because he won't even talk to me right now." Tom sets down the pipe and picks up his pack of cigarettes. "Okay, now, I don't normally interfere in patient's lives, but you're a serious fucking buzzkill when you're making mooney eyes over Spencer. So, I'm going to go talk to him on your behalf. I'm going to tell him that you're retarded over him." Butcher taps his pencil against the paper and looks up at Tom. "No, you fuckwad, you can't do that! I actually like him. It's like. Okay, you know how when you're in a good thing, you both care about each other and you both want things to be good for the other person. And it feels like that. I mean, I want good things for him. It's why I didn't fuck him into the mattress springs the other night." Tom's eyes widen when he realizes what he said. "Whoa! Wait! You hooked up with him? Actually hooked up? What, did you blow him or something? Did he blow you?" Butcher suddenly looks far too interested in this conversation for Tom's taste. "Oh fuck. Really? Butcher, that's between me and him." Tom shakes his head and flicks ash haphazardly in Butcher's direction. "Oooh. Nothing happened, but not for lack of wanting it. You totally want him. But nothing happened. Who made sure nothing happened?" Butcher leans forward and actually appears to make an effort to cover himself to keep from grossing Tom out. "It was kind of a decision we didn't talk about? I don't know, he's a kid? I didn't want to rush him. Like, yeah, I want to fuck him but he doesn't deserve a shitty first time." Tom shrugs and closes his eyes. This isn't the conversation he wanted to have with Butcher at all. "Okay, you calling him a kid is not going to make him like you. He's an adult, probably more than you are and definitely more than I am." "Well, yeah, you're naked and playing therapist." Tom rolls his eyes. No one can see it, his eyes are still closed, but he does it. "Hey, I may not have a lot of credentials, or a degree, or even any experience, but there's one thing I do know. And it's not that I look good naked, even though I know that. I know that you probably made Spencer feel really fucking ugly and like you didn't want him because you didn't take it further." Butcher reaches for Tom's pack and steals a cigarette. "How do you ever get laid? Jesus. Okay, this conversation didn't happen and you don't know anything about this." Tom shakes his head and leaves the lounge of the bus feeling like quite possibly the worst person ever. He has no idea how he could've thought Butcher would be a helpful person. Sitting in the front of the bus, Tom's leg jiggles as he tries to see how long it'll be until they get to stop and he gets to see someone who isn't naked and who isn't a complete asshole. Siska doesn't count, he'll get naked as soon as he sees someone else is naked. That's a whole other can of worms. "Jon? Do you know when we're stopping?" Tom shouts to the back of the bus. He's there somewhere. He's always there somewhere. "Um, half an hour?" Jon ducks his head out of the bunk. He spots Tom slumped on the couch, leg jiggling. "Uh oh, wedding planning happening in your head? I gotta say, I think you need to be the one in the suit. I know you've got a hot ass and everything, but I'm pretty sure he gets mistaken for a girl at least twice a day." "What does Cassie even see in you?" Tom covers his own face with a pillow. He doesn't know how he could've agreed to something like this. His best friend on tour with him? That's the worst idea he's ever had. "She's seen my dick. Trust me. If you were straight, it'd be enough to turn you gay." Jon pats his crotch gently. "Good boy." "Oh my God. I need off this bus and I need off it now. Do I really have to wait half an hour to get the hell away from you guys?" Tom pulls the pillow down and throws it at Jon's head. It's three feet wide, but he feels slightly better. "Look, you're pissy, he's pissy, so you two better work this the fuck out or we're going to have to have some words." Jon looks at Tom and crosses his arms. "You've got it bad for him and we can all see it, okay? Just, try staying sober and telling him you want in his girljeans." "I tried that! I fucked it up without even trying to fuck it up." Tom shuts his mouth. "Whatever, I'll get over him. I'm already over him." Tom decides those are going to be the last words on the subject. Unfortunately, they're not. They never are when his friends decide to meddle. That's how Spencer and Tom end up having to go to the corner store to pick up mix for the hotel party. Tom regards Spencer with caution. He doesn't want Spencer to explode on him or worse, walk away. "You know, you can stop looking at me like I'm going to break, okay?" "I-" "And I don't know what you were thinking, having Butcher and Jon try to talk to me about this? Are you really that fucking stupid?" Spencer looks at Tom as though he's a complete moron. "Did you not realize that it's completely obvious? What you're trying to do?" "What I'm trying to do?" Tom manages a full sentence before Spencer turns and rests his hands on his hips. "Yes, if you really wanted in my pants, you would've done it at the hotel that night instead of sending your little… gaggle of geese! That's what they're acting like, you know. Gossipy fucking geese!" Spencer seems to be working himself up to yell at Tom for the rest of the walk to the store. "And I don't need geese, I've got shit that I need to do and if you're too much a pussy to just admit you like someone and-" Tom cuts Spencer off by pushing him into an alley just off the street and pressing him to the wall. Spencer stops talking quite as much when he's busy sucking Tom's tongue into his own mouth. Tom is grateful for the peace, but even more grateful that Spencer isn't pushing him away. "Fuck you, this doesn't just make everything okay." Spencer pants when they pull apart, wiping at his lips as if the taste of Tom is somehow equal to that of vomit. "No, but it's a start. You think I wanted you to have a shitty first time when I was drunk out of my mind?" Tom shrugs and tugs Spencer out of the alley. As far as he's concerned that's all the talking they're going to have to do on the subject. Spencer seems to agree because he just walks in silence to the store with Tom, letting their arms brush occasionally. When they return, people are still drinking despite the lack of mix. Sometimes Tom's friends are total assholes. Sometimes meaning whenever they feel like meddling in Tom's life, which was going fine and was going to be fine as soon as he got over Spencer Smith. He grudgingly gives Butcher a smile when Butcher nudges his side hard enough to bruise. "The Captain and I give great advice!" Jon pats his crotch again and grins at Tom. "It's all a matter of what you're thinking with, Tombo." Immediately after Tom sees that, he reaches for the bottle of Jack Daniels and one of the cans of Coke. * Tom may or may not be drunk. He's not trying to deny it, he's just in the floaty state that's a little too drunk to be sober but a little too sober to be drunk. Tom may or may not be whispering this against Spencer's neck as he fumbles with the card key to Tom and Jon's room. Jon proudly announced to everyone at the party that he was going to take one for the team so Spencer could take one for Tom. Fortunately for Tom and Tom's Captain, Ryan had already left and Brendon was too engrossed in Siska's hair to notice that Spencer and Tom were on their way to another room. "Thought you didn't want my first time to be when you were drunk?" Spencer's tone is teasing, Tom knows enough to know that now. "I might be drunk, but I might also not be. And anyway, you totally won't notice, I'm an awesome lay." Tom is already trying to work his hand into the front of Spencer's jeans but they're so tight that it isn't going over well at all. "Fuck, how do you get these off?" "Practice." Spencer manages to open the door and they both tumble into the room, quickly latching the door. Jon still has his key and a fuckton of cameras. Tom wouldn't put it past him to try to get photographic evidence of Tom "getting over himself and getting a piece of ass." "Fine, how about practice getting them off while I make sure that this door is Jon-proof?" Tom looks around the room for something he can push against the door. Jon is a man that isn't to be trusted any further than Tom can throw him, and Tom can't throw anything very far. Once he's satisfied that the chair will at least give them ample time to throw clothes back on or find something to bludgeon Jon with, Tom turns back to the bed and sees Spencer sitting on the edge of the bed and watching him with an amused smile on his face. "See something funny?" Tom looks at the room around him and maybe it is just a little funny. The door is locked with the chain and the deadbolt in addition to the chair pushed against it. "I see you not nearly as close as you should be?" Spencer says it as more of a question. Tom takes it as an invitation to kick off his flip-flops and walk toward Spencer. He's anxious for that first press of lips, the exploration of Spencer's skin. It scares him for a moment. He's never wanted anything as badly as he's wanted this for the last two months. Months? Has it really been that long? Tom has to stop to think about this. He pauses just before he reaches Spencer and thinks about the time they have left together. It's a week or two at best and he's just getting into this with Spencer? He swallows when Spencer makes an impatient noise and reaches out for him. The contact draws him back and he leans in, touching their lips together. It's a chaste kiss compared to every other kiss they've shared but for some reason it settles in Tom's stomach the way the others haven’t. When Tom tries to reflect on the reason for the butterflies, it's only natural to assume that it's because Spencer has taken it upon himself to unthread Tom's belt. "You know what would make this go a lot smoother? If you maybe helped. Or took some clothes off me?" Spencer remains so calm through all of this that Tom has to wonder if he could've avoided the last few weeks of misery just by noticing how ready Spencer seemed for everything in the last hotel room. Tom nods in response to Spencer's statement and reaches down to push Spencer's t-shirt up, feeling his fingers touch skin too smooth to resist. Spencer shivers in response and looks up at Tom, his pupils larger than they were half an hour earlier. Instead of slowing down or stopping to see if Spencer is okay with this, Tom leans down and presses a harsh kiss to Spencer's lips, nipping and biting until they part. Their legs are tangled together to the point where it's difficult to tell which limb belongs to which person. Spencer has a thigh wedged between Tom's and they're both moving together, too hard to have any finesse. Tom manages to pull Spencer's t-shirt over his head and toss it somewhere in the direction of the window. Though neither had remembered the air conditioning when they entered the room, it is obvious now with the way Spencer shivers and goosebumps raise all over. Tom slips a little further down, pressing his mouth to the curve of Spencer's neck. "Your jeans, how am I supposed to get them off?" "Fuck, Tom, you're talking like they're Ryan's jeans." Spencer hooks his thumbs into the waistband and wriggles them down so his hips are further exposed. "Okay, unbutton, unzip, pull." "Sure, make it sound easy," Tom mutters as he unbuttons Spencer's jeans. He presses his thumb into the tiny sliver of skin revealed. The zipper seems too loud, even amidst their heavy breathing and the dull hum of the air conditioner. When Tom finally tugs the jeans off and tosses them in the same direction as his shirt, he notices that he's still fully dressed. "Hey, maybe you should take some clothes off me? That might be a good idea if you want me to fuck you." Spencer inhales sharply and nods, reaching for the buttons of Tom's shirt. It's easy to slip off, even though Spencer's hands are shaking. They're not shaking hard, just enough that Spencer has to pull back once to clench his hands into fists. "Sorry, I'm not always nervous about things." Tom laughs off the comment and slips his own jeans down, letting Spencer's hands rest for a moment. "It's cool. I'd be worried if you weren't at all nervous." He takes a look at Spencer's eyes and wonders if it's possible that they went from blue to black in the three seconds Tom wasn't looking at Spencer. "You're leering," Spencer whispers as he slides a hand into Tom's boxer shorts, palming him easily. "I was looking at the change in your eye color. It changed." Tom touches his thumb under Spencer's eye and rubs along the cheekbone. "For a drunk, you're pretty observant." Spencer says the words without any venom. "And for a drummer, you're pretty smart." Tom grins, ducking down to press their lips together and end the conversation. * In the morning, Tom kind of rolls and hits someone. For the first moment, he tries to remember what he was doing last night. There was a party and he got drunk. But he didn't get so phenomenally drunk that he didn't end up at home. These are definitely still hotel sheets and hotel paintings and a naked Spencer Smith. Spencer isn't awake yet but Tom's heart is pounding. Why is he in bed with Spencer? He remembers kissing him in the alley, remembers getting back and Jon patting his crotch. He doesn't remember going to a room that would've resulted in a naked Spencer. But he's here, and there are chairs pressed against the door, like they'd keep anything out. Tom looks at Spencer's neck and spots the trail of bite marks leading down to his collarbone. "Fuck." Tom tries to slip out of one side of the bed without disturbing Spencer. This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to be when he was drunk. He was supposed to wait and make it good for Spencer, as good as possible for Spencer. Tom wipes his face with his palm and swallows down the nauseous feeling building in his stomach. "Mmm, Tom?" Spencer stirs and opens one eye, reaching out for him. "S'early, come back to bed. Nowhere to be today." Spencer double-checks his statement by flipping open his phone. Once he closes it, he reaches for Tom again. "C'mon, you're making the bed cold." Wrapped tight in the covers, Spencer doesn't crowd Tom, just rests his head against Tom's shoulder as he starts to drift back into sleep. "Had a good night, Tom, thanks." The last thing Tom feels before drifting back into sleep is Spencer's lips, ghosting over his shoulder. * When Tom wakes again, he can smell coffee brewing and thinks for a minute that he must've passed out at Jon's. The coffee smells a little off and the bed isn't soft enough to be Jon's, so he forces his eyes open. Once he has, he immediately regrets it. There's so much light coming into the room and far too much of it is natural. Spencer seems to have thrown open the curtains when he got up. Making a noise in the back of his throat, Tom rolls onto his stomach and tries to hide his face in the pillow. The morning after has never been Tom's strong suit. Only one had ever gone well, and it going well hadn't kept the relationship from being over almost immediately after it began. "It's just shitty hotel coffee, but I figured it was better than nothing." Spencer is standing over Tom, a concerned look on his face and a cup of coffee in his hand. "I put Advil and water on the dresser." If Tom didn't know better, he'd say Spencer was nervous. A little slow on the uptake this morning, Tom doesn't realize that Spencer has probably not had a lot of good experiences around drunken people. "Hey, when is bus call?" Tom rubs at his eyes and takes the coffee from Spencer's hand, only to set it on the bedside table. "In a few hours. I just like to wake up early and make sure everything's going to go well for the day and…" Spencer gets cut off when Tom reaches out and tugs him back into bed. "Good, then unless you have any objections, I'm going to go brush my teeth and see if maybe I can't do right by you this morning." Tom rolls over Spencer to go to the bathroom. He returns after swishing toothpaste and mouthwash around in his mouth. He only has a few hours with Spencer, he's not going to waste the precious time he has with hunting down his own toothbrush. Some people can afford to be classy, because they don't have Spencer Smith waiting in their bed. "So you're gonna make an honest boy out of me?" The words would be funny if Spencer's cheeks weren't so rosy and his voice wasn't quite so breathy. Tom pulls the covers back and oh, Spencer took the time to get naked while he was making his breath a little fresher. Tom's voice can't be described as anything but strangled when he says, "Something like that, yeah." * An hour later, Tom is watching Spencer, blinking only as often as he needs to in order to keep his eyes from burning. "You know, it's kind of creepy when you do that." "I'm watching to make sure you're safe. You don't know the hidden dangers of hotel rooms." Tom stretches his hand out to smooth up Spencer's side. He hates doing it because it reminds him how young Spencer really is, but he can't stop. It's worse than a craving for a cigarette, because that he can have whenever he wants, but this? It's for a few more weeks at best. Whenever the thought hits him, Tom gets short of breath and he wants to mark Spencer. Since it's early in the day and Tom isn't thinking much beyond needwanttouchspencer, he leans forward and nips Spencer's collarbone. "See, that? Not so much safe." Spencer doesn’t exactly try to stop Tom, just tilts his head back. Tom’s hit with a sense of urgency. There are only so many more hotel nights on the tour, only so many nights of tour, period. There isn’t enough time. Tom reaches around his own neck and unhooks the medal he'd had for so long. The weight is heavy in his hands. "Hey, Spence. Spencer, I want you to have something that'll keep you safe when I'm not here." The words come out too fast, tripped over. Tom doesn't know how to say this without it sounding cheesy, so he just goes for it. "St. Christopher. He's the patron saint of travelers." Tom feels his chest go tight again and he forces himself to continue. "If you wear it, he'll watch out for you when you're not with me." He presses the medal into Spencer's hand, sealing the fumbled words with a kiss. Spencer clasps his hands tight around the warm metal and looks at Tom. The expression on his face isn't easily read, especially not by Tom. The kisses, however, can't be mistaken for anything but what they are. "I got it just before I went away on my first tour and I've carried it ever since. I don't know if you believe or don't believe or whatever, but, I want you to take it now." Tom mumbles each word between the kisses Spencer is planting on his lips. "Okay," and Spencer sounds as breathless as he had this morning. "You'll take it? You like it?" Tom tries to pull back from Spencer's kiss. "Are you still trying to talk?" Spencer might sound more stern if he stopped trying to lean in and press his lips to Tom's again. Tom just laughs and gives up holding a conversation as he shifts close to Spencer under the covers. * It's not a huge thing to ride on another bus. Sometimes people get sick of completely familiar places and want to see something that's at least a little out of the ordinary. Panic's bus is completely out of the ordinary. For one, there are no empty bottles lining the counter, like some bizarre trophy display. Another thing? Ryan Ross is on this bus and he's watching Tom closely, like Tom is going to steal something and run back to his own bus. "So, Spencer spent the night in your room last night." Ryan's always seemed a bit off to Tom and this is doing nothing to help his case. Spencer is napping, his feet resting in Tom's lap, when Ryan chooses to speak. "Um, yeah, he stayed with me. Sorry, was he supposed to come back to your room last night?" Tom wants to fidget but he thinks that'll wake Spencer up and he doesn't need that right now "I'm onto you, Tom." That's all Ryan says before standing up and going to the back lounge, where sounds of The Parent Trap are quickly replaced with sounds of Moulin Rouge. Tom pretends not to think about what Ryan just said, about the way his stomach knots whenever he looks at Spencer, and most importantly, the way he feels when he's near Spencer. Tom's stomach turns and it has nothing to do with the alcohol from the previous night or the way Spencer looks when he's stretched across the couch. He'd let himself fall for Spencer? That wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to love Spencer. He was in love with Mike. Tom thinks back over the weeks and tries to find that moment of change, where suddenly he didn't want Mike looking at him, but Spencer. It's impossible to find, even as he sifts through every memory he has. Tom's disturbed to discover that when he gets back to the start of tour, he no longer has memories of the way Mike's face looked when he walked in on Spencer and Tom watching a movie in the lounge, but of the way Spencer had felt, pressed up next to him. Drinks in hotel rooms during parties spent watching Mike and Bill have Deep Discussions had faded into drinks in hotel rooms during parties spent stealing Spencer for cigarette breaks outside, even though Spencer didn't smoke and Butcher was always more than willing to light up. Suddenly the oxygen on the bus is gone and Tom finds himself trying to push Spencer's legs off his own. He was definitely not supposed to fall for Spencer. But where along the line did it turn into something more than making Mike jealous? Tom knows there's a rest stop coming soon, there has to be, they've been on the road for more than three hours and everyone will be in need of coffee. When that happens, Tom will slip out of the bus and go back to his own. Suddenly the two weeks from this morning, the ones that seemed so short, are stretching in front of him. Two weeks around Spencer with these feelings clawing at his chest? He can't do that. All he can manage are short, rasping inhales and they aren't enough to keep his head from spinning. He shakes with the effort of getting enough air into his lungs to sustain him. Just to the next rest stop, he repeats over and over in his head. When the bus pulls in, everyone seems to come to the front, though Spencer sleeps through the whole thing. Tom carefully pulls himself free and pulls a blanket over Spencer. It should be enough to keep him warm. As if in a dream, Tom walks down the bus steps and pauses between the two parked buses. There's enough air out here for him to breathe but before he has a chance to enjoy it, he's doubled over and throwing up against the tires. In the distance, below the buzz in his ears, he can hear someone shouting "Gross!" but he can't bring himself to react. There's not a lot to throw up. Water, coffee, a Danish from the hotel breakfast. He wipes his hand over his mouth and grimaces. The buzzing hasn't subsided and he feels like he could throw up again, if there was anything left in his stomach. There isn't and the feeling passes, even though the buzzing doesn't. When Tom enters his own bus, Butcher is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor. "You know, Tombo, meditation will cure what ails you." "Or a drink will cure what ails me." Tom goes to open the fridge, certain to find something in there that will make his thoughts slow down until he can make sense of them. Meditation works for some and while Tom does believe in God and saints, he doesn't really know how much he buys into the idea of a balanced body and mind, especially not when Butcher, the completely balanced body and mind, has been eyeing booty shorts whenever he goes shopping lately. "Aren't you already drunk?" Siska walks onto the bus, eyeing the beer in Tom's hand. "I could've sworn I saw you puking between the buses." The last part is all Mike and Bill hear when they come back on the bus. "Jesus, Tom, it's not even noon." Mike doesn't say anything further, just pushes past him and walks to the back with Bill in tow. Tom swallows another wave of nausea, caused by the fact that he didn't care about Mike's reaction. "I'm not drunk, it wasn't a hangover puke." Tom settles himself onto the couch, still holding the beer. "Well, I'd hope you aren't drinking after a hangover puke. Hair of the dog is before the hangover puke, to avoid the hangover puke." Siska settles himself on the other couch and pulls out his phone, fingers moving rapidly over the keys. "Hey, are you actually going to stick around tonight? Forrest and Jesse are going green and they invited us." Tom considers it for a moment. It'll be a pleasant escape from everything his mind is forcing him to think about and he nods when he realizes he needs that. "Yeah, I think I will." * Tom doesn't. Not for lack of wanting to or lack of trying on Jesse and Forrest's part, but he's curled up over a toilet, emptying an entire bottle of Jagermeister from his stomach. There are snatches of conversation going on all around him. At some point, he's pretty sure that Butcher pees in the shower rather than try to move Tom. All in all, the one thought that sticks with Tom before he passes out against the toilet seat is that Spencer is nowhere to be found. * The next time Tom sees Spencer, the next day, Spencer approaches him. "Hey, so. I heard things got pretty out of hand." He's trying to make light of it, Tom can see it clearly. "I didn't even know you guys were getting up to anything last night." The implication of his words, that Tom hadn't invited Spencer, was obvious. "Yeah, I don't know, it was just a thing, you know?" Tom shrugs, trying not to move too much. He had a hangover puke today and he's not anxious for another one. "Oh," and Spencer's face falls. That's the only way to describe it. Tom bites back a groan at the way his expression turns his stomach. "Well, um, if you want, I can come and you know, do my thing and keep you safe?" Tom's eyes flick to the medal Spencer is wearing around his neck and he shrugs again. He's going to keep himself safe, that's what he's going to do. And that means making sure he doesn't make the same mistakes he made earlier, letting Spencer too far in. "Yeah, sure, maybe. Look, I'm gonna go find Butcher, he said he wanted to go have a cigarette before we get locked in the venue." Tom turns without waiting for Spencer to respond and begins combing the halls for the Butcher. It takes him a few minutes before he manages to track down Butcher and drag him outside. "Hey man, don't take this the wrong way, but you look like shit." "Thanks, that's exactly what I wanted to hear," Tom mutters and lights the cigarette between his lips. He looks at Butcher and tries to convey that he doesn't want to talk about why he was puking into the toilet for the better part of four hours. "Better than Forrest looks today. I don't even know how you green out, but he managed it and he looks like death today." Butcher laughs and launches into a story from the previous evening that Tom should know but doesn't. It gives Tom an excuse to tune out and think about the look on Spencer's face before he walked away. Just picturing it in his memory makes his stomach turn. He's not going to do this, regardless of what his heart is trying to tell him to do. He knows better than to listen to his heart again. When Tom looks over, he realizes Butcher is waiting for a reaction to his story. Tom just laughs and says, "shit, really?" Butcher takes that as a response and continues on with the story. Tom tries to get into it, but all he can hear is Spencer's breathing in his ear. It's ridiculous, he knows he's alone, but he can't seem to relax enough to pay attention to what Butcher is actually telling him. Tom finishes his cigarettes and looks at Butcher. "I'm going to get in there and tune up, okay? I'll meet you back inside." Suddenly, Tom feels like he needs about three more drinks and a lot more time to figure out what he's actually going to say to Spencer. It turns out not to be much of a problem, because Spencer isn't waiting in their dressing room, he's off doing some press with the rest of his band. Tom doesn't actually see him until after the show, almost like their first meeting. "You're drunk." Spencer's arms are crossed when he exits the hotel and sees Tom sitting on a small retaining wall that borders the parking lot. "I think I'm supposed to say you're smart?" Tom wants this playful banter to stretch on, to not have to say what he's going to say next. "Somehow I don't think I'm all that smart." Spencer shrugs and takes a seat next to Tom, pressing the sides of their thighs together. "Oh, you're doing the self-deprecation shit. That's original. God, which crappy teen movie are we in right now?" Tom taps ash away from himself. "I doubt we're in any teen movie right now. You wouldn't be some drunk asshole if we were. You know, I really don't get you." Spencer doesn't move away, but he doesn't move any closer. "I'm a pretty uncomplicated guy, Spencer Smith. It's not like what we did means something huge. It was sex." The words cost Tom a great deal more effort than they should. He looks at Spencer from the corner of his eye. Spencer stiffens up at Tom's words. "Jesus, I said I like you, it's not like I asked you to wear my school pin or my letterman's jacket." Spencer remains silent, looking down at the slightly wet pavement. "Did you think it meant we were going steady or something?" Tom's words are making both of them sick, but only one of them is dangerously close to vomiting on the sidewalk. "Are you done?" Spencer's voice is even, taut as anything Tom has ever heard. It sounds almost the way Siska does when he's talking on the phone to his parents. "Yeah, I'm done." Tom thinks he made his point. They're not in a relationship, the end. "I mean, you keep me safe, but that's hardly enough to build anything on." "I keep you safe. Right." Spencer shakes his head and before Tom knows what's going on, Spencer is taking his hand. "You know, Tom, it's not me, it's you." "You don't get to use that line on someone you aren't dating." Tom likes to think he's the smarter one here. He keeps that delusion only long enough to realize that Spencer didn't take his hand to actually hold it. In the middle of Tom's palm is his St. Christopher medal. "Your faith can't keep me safe. You can't even keep yourself safe, jackass." Spencer doesn't say anything else before looking back at the hotel. "From now on, you just stay away from me, okay? I don't want to waste any more time on you." Before Tom can formulate a response, Spencer is gone and there's only the slightly drizzle to keep him company. If Tom sleeps that night, he doesn't remember it. His throat is sore like he smoked the rest of his pack of cigarettes and his jeans say he was outside in damp weather, so he's assuming he didn't go back to the party. Just as well, he thinks, Spencer might have been there and Spencer wants space. * Spencer gets all the space he wants for the rest of the tour. Tom says exactly four words to him – "Please pass the ketchup" – before it's time for everyone to head their separate ways and not think about this tour and how everyone could see that it was tearing people apart. The tour ends in Chicago and everyone is there, friends, family, enemies. Everyone is there, wishing the bands the best of luck. It feels more like a homecoming than anything else Tom has experienced with the band to date. True to his word, Tom avoids Spencer, playing the show drunker than he's ever played any of the shows on tour. When he wakes up on Nick's couch later, he doesn't remember how he got there. "Nick?" He only knows for sure that it's Nick's place, because he recognizes the pictures on the wall. "Welcome to the land of the living, Tombo." Nick pokes his head in the room, carrying the best cup of coffee Tom has ever smelled in his life. "If you tell me that's for me and that the delicate aroma is a shot of rum to keep my stomach from shooting out of my chest a la Alien, you can have my first born child. And my second born." Tom holds his hands out for the cup of coffee, cradling it close to his chest when Nick hands it over. "You're a good man, Nick, never let anyone tell you any differently." "Crazy night, Tom." Nick looks out the window and grins. "I didn't think that people actually did decide to wear lamp shades on their heads, but apparently after Mike is done being the naked dude, he likes a lampshade hat to hide his shame." "He has no shame," Tom answers on autopilot. "I think you actually told him that before he disappeared into a bedroom with Bill. Then you just laughed and laughed, pulling out your phone to text someone. Didn't get off the damn thing all night." Nick sits down on the arm of the couch and steals the coffee mug from Tom's hands. "Oops. Probably wasn't the life of the party." Tom tries to remember what he felt was so important for him to text, but he knows it was probably just a bunch of gibberish to one number. "I wouldn't say that, you did announce your intention to open your arms and heart to minorities. You said you wanted to be the new Angelina Jolie, and you even let Siska tell you that you already had the lips and the ass." Nick grins, reaching for the remote and flicking on the TV. He switches to the weather channel. "Jesus, Grandpa, the weather channel?" Tom sits up and is amazed to discover that the coffee and it's additive really did keep him from wanting to throw up all over Nick's floor. "Hey, some of us need to know what the weather will be like. We're not going from state to state in a bus that someone else drives." Nick doesn't sound bitter, so Tom knows he's not actually upset about this. "Don't give me that, Nick, you wouldn't trade what you've got here for a life on the road again. You'd miss Steph too much." Tom looks over just fast enough to see a hint of pink on Nick's cheeks. Instead of making him feel warm inside, it just makes his stomach turn. Setting the coffee down, Tom pulls the covers up and looks at Nick. "Anyway, you don't miss it." "Yeah, yeah, just make sure you're taking pictures of everything you can. Us poor souls in Chicago need to know there's a world beyond the border." Nick laughs and looks at Tom, no hint of the blush left on his cheeks. Tom nods in return and looks at the forecast for the day. "I promise I'll take as many pictures as you want." * Warped Tour is everything Tom remembers from being an attendee and so much more. It's hot and there are few hotel nights to wash the grime off himself. He has little time to escape and take pictures, which is just as well, because he hasn't opened his lens cap in a few days. A cold beer is always more of a temptation than beautiful scenery in blistering hot sun. If anybody notices that Bill drapes himself over Tom more and more these days, they don't say anything and Tom just does what he can to stay sane, let alone stay happy. There's pressure on Warped Tour. There's always pressure, they're in a band, but there's more pressure than just that these days. An album needs to be written. Bill's words and Mike's chords need to fit together in a way they haven't before. They need to make this something that will last. Neither of them asks Tom for help and he doesn't offer it. They have their own system worked out and it's all Tom can do to keep from throwing up when he looks at them. They'll sit in the front lounge and throw ideas back and forth. When Bill is too stressed out from the weight of his own genius, he leaves for the Gym Class bus and comes back only when the line of his shoulders isn't so tight. Tom avoids looking at what that does to Mike. For some reason or another, Mike has always needed to care for the people he cares about. It's something he would consider a defect but it's something Tom considers a piece of evidence that under everything Mike is actually a nice guy. When Bill disappears, Mike is a little more on edge, like he can't be enough for Bill, enough to bring that smile back to his cheeks. Eventually, Bill stops leaving to go the Gym Class bus and Tom hears music coming from the back lounge at all hours of the night. It's soothing, almost, that they've regained their musical partnership. Tom puts earphones in as soon as he hears the music stop for the night. He doesn't want to know if they've continued any other sort of partnership. It's easier to lie to himself about the marks on Bill's neck if he doesn't hear what goes on between them at night. Retreating seems easier than talking to anyone, so Tom hides behind his camera, behind his beer, and behind his cigarettes. All three are poisoning him at different rates and it's his camera he gives up first. The camera reminds him of Jon. The same Jon who is currently making his way across the country in a bus with Spencer Smith. Every day Jon sends him pictures, and every day Tom feels a little more miserable that Jon isn't with them. He'd take Jon talking about his own dick over some of the other stuff he has to think about when he's alone. Tom sends him emails that don't make any sense, even to him, and Jon just texts back that he's been spending too much time with William. They call as often as schedules permit but Tom feels guilty about taking Jon from his new bandmates for too long. It isn't official yet, though everyone can see that the one-man Team Jon Walker campaign that Brendon has been putting on is swaying the remaining two judges. Tom thinks about the last tour he was on, how even though Jon was a total idiot and clearly in love with his own dick, he was there. It was easier to breathe with Jon. All he has now is Tony and while Tom loves Tony to death, it isn't quite the same. There's history but less familiarity. By the time Warped Tour draws to a close, Tom is only talking to Butcher for fear that anyone else will upset the delicate balance of his mind. Tom can avoid thinking of Bill and Mike but only so long as he doesn't talk to either one of them or Siska isn't telling Mike something his brother told him. There's no escaping the situation, really, so Tom has to contain it. Tom spends more time alone than ever and he's never been so glad to see Chicago's streets as he is after Warped Tour. They've all agreed to taking some time apart, to regrouping later. There's only so much of each other they can handle, even for people as tight as Butcher and Siska. Cracks were starting to show in every relationship within the band.

The first thing Tom does when he gets home is pick up his acoustic and tune it. It's a familiar process, one that requires him to focus on the sounds his fingers produce. He could do it on autopilot, but he feels like everything he does is on autopilot these days and it's the last thing he wants. He wants to feel connected to his music again. He strums softly at first, ignoring the blinking light of his answering machine. His parents know he's home but he doesn't want to see anyone right. Correction, he doesn't want to see just anyone right now. He wants to maybe see Jon, Spencer, even Brendon and Ryan. They were fun. They knew that he was more than just the sum of his parts. Unfortunately, they're winding their way around the country again, another tour for Jon to take pictures on. He's looking at it as an opportunity only while it's there. Once it's over, Jon will be back in school, finishing his degree. Tom quickly scribbles down a chord progression that he likes the sound of. It's got almost a haunting sound to it and it's been in his head since before he got home. He didn't dare try it out on the bus, not while everyone else was writing and doing their own bit for the next album. It was odd, the lack of pressure he felt at home. There was no Bill or Mike telling him not to play a part that way, and then playing it for him to demonstrate. For the first time since joining with Academy, Tom feels free to write whatever he wants. He can try out a riff and if it doesn't fit with the sound Mike and Bill have in their heads, it's okay. Grabbing himself a beer, he decides to continue working on it. The days pass like that, empty 24-packs building around him. Every so often he'll leave. There are still groceries to contend with, but for the most part Tom stays home and receives few visitors. The only person he'd like to see, he isn't allowing himself to think about. The month runs out and Bill starts making noise about getting back together to rehearse and look over the stuff they've written. When Tom gets the first message, he looks down at the sheets of music that surround him. He's not ready to give these up, to have them torn apart by Bill and Mike. Siska and Butcher have picked their sides and it isn't Tom's. Tom completely skips the first band meeting, too involved in working out the finer points of his latest creation. When Mike stops by later, Tom pretends he doesn't hear the buzzer. It's not healthy, is what Butcher tries to tell him when he stops by the next day. Butcher's beard is gone and somehow he thinks that qualifies him to give Tom real advice that should be taken seriously. "Have you even left since we got back?" Butcher looks at the piles of clothes, dishes, everything. "It's not like food brings itself here, Butcher." Tom looks around and wonders when he got to living like this. "Are you sure about that?" Butcher nudges a pizza box with his toe and Tom half-wonders if something's going to come crawling out of there. "Come on, just come out with us tonight, show us what you've got and just. Stop staying in, man, everyone misses you. I get texts from the guys when they're out and they say it isn't the same." "Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do here, but I'm not staying home for a reason, okay? I just haven't felt like going out." Tom shakes his head and looks back down at the pizza box. Butcher looks like he's going to speak for a moment and Tom can hear the words before they're formed. You need to get over Mike. I thought you were over Mike. You were doing so much better. Have you even talked to Spencer? Why did you stop talking to Spencer? Wanting to cut these questions off before they're spoken, Tom says, "I'll come out tonight, fine. Jeez. It's like you missed my pretty face or something." "Or something," Butcher agrees. "Now go shower, you smell like you rolled around in sewage. I'll be here smoking." Butcher is as good as his word. As soon as Tom steps out of the shower, he can smell Butcher's cigarettes. "I hope you opened a window, asshole," Tom shouts down the hallway. "Least of your concerns, good buddy. Wear that grey shirt you have. Bring the ladies to the table," Butcher calls back. "With that cocktail wiener you have between your legs, it wouldn't matter what I wore." Tom enjoys the good-natured ribbing that he and Butcher have always shared. It distracts him momentarily from the fact that he's going to be sharing a table with Bill and Mike. They're never obvious about what's going on between them, but it's always obvious to those who know them. "It's not the size of the ship, Tombo, it's the motion of the ocean." Tom knows that right now Butcher is doing an obscene dance in front of his window and he really should care more about what the neighbors are seeing, but he doesn't. "Okay, do I look hot enough to bring ladies to the table?" Tom enters the living room and he's uncomfortably aware of how he looks. In all honesty, he looks like he's trying too hard, but Butcher gives his thumbs up. Butcher is wearing plaid pants, so he might not be the most qualified judge. It's the first time Tom's worn something that doesn't have a stain in over a month. "You look like the sexiest asshole this side of Bob Barker." Butcher blows Tom a kiss before ashing out his cigarette. Tom just laughs and reaches for his jacket. "Sometimes I don't even know about you." * The bar turns out to be the worst idea they've ever had. Siska barely gets let in; using his brother's ID is never a good idea. It would go a lot better if Siska weighed more than a pre-pubescent girl. Bill insists on Porn Star shots for the table, something that earns a groan from everyone but Butcher. By the end of the fourth round, Tom is ready to settle in with a beer and listen to the goings on around him. After a while, Butcher starts chatting up people he knows, and Siska is still looking around nervously at his surroundings. "I think I'm going to head out, guys. I'll take the El home," Siska says while gathering his jacket in his arms. Bill just nods, fingers of one hand wrapped around the neck of a beer, and fingers of the other under the table on Mike's knee. "So how come you skipped out?" Bill's voice is a little louder than it needs to be, words slurring just slightly. "Just slipped my mind, man. Sorry. I've been doing a lot around the apartment." Tom doesn't know how much Butcher told them about what his place is like, but they accept his words at face value. "Well, you gotta come next time, we want to see what you've got for the new record." Mike looks up and meets Tom's eyes. For the first time all night, Tom flinches and looks away. He doesn't want to be involved in this. He stands abruptly from the table, making some excuse about the bathroom. Instead, he wanders to the bar, settles his tab and sneaks out. He'd been right all along, going out with them was a bad idea. * The band meeting that Tom attends isn't anything like he thought it would be. Though he has all the composed music in a messenger bag, Bill and Mike essentially tell him how the next album is going to sound, what his guitar parts will be like. Tom just nods through the conversation and feels the weight of his bag. They didn't want his contribution, they never did. They just need someone to fill out the sound, the same way the soundboard fills out Bill's voice from time to time. "This stuff looks good to you?" Mike leans over a piece of sheet music with Tom, their shoulders brushing. "Yeah, it's fine. I just don't know why you told us to take some time and work out stuff we liked if you were just going to tell us what to play anyway." Tom knows he's crossing a line, going into something he can't get out of. "Hey, we're just trying to make this sound tight. Make people forget what they saw on Warped and the last tour." Mike's voice is a little too tight for Tom to be comfortable, so he backs off. "Fine, fine. It's cool. I'll take this home and run through it. Saturday, right?" Tom looks up and meets Mike's eyes. Mike nods only once and Tom packs the music in with his own, in need of air that isn't so full of asshole. * Saturday comes and Saturday goes with Tom still in his apartment, more drunk than he's ever been in his life. He hasn't sobered up in more than a week, sleeping and waking drunk. There's a knock on his door and without even thinking to check who it is, he opens it. Mike, Bill, Siska, and Butcher are all there. Tom just has to snort, thinking that it looks like it's so serious, whatever reason they have to be here. Tom is about to tell them they should've called first, but he remembers that sometime the previous week, his phone died. He hasn't bothered charging it since, not wanting to hear from anyone. No one looks at ease, which puts Tom on edge. They're here to deliver some sort of bad news. Tom offers everyone a seat and he's grateful the place looks better than the last time Butcher was here. The cases of empties line the hall to his room and the laundry has been done. All this doesn't change Tom's level of sobriety and he finds himself wishing it did. When the small talk runs out, when the circular talk about drinking runs out, when even Bill looks at a loss for something to say, Butcher speaks up. "Fuck it. Tom, I don't think you should be in the band anymore." For Tom, the moment freezes and he looks between everyone. No one will meet his eyes except Butcher. Tom almost wants to smile at that. The only one who had the guts to say what they were all thinking and the only one who will look him in the eyes after. "You're not happy. Not even just not happy, you're miserable. And you're still our friend. All of us. We want you to be happy and I don't know if everyone agrees on this part, but you're developing a problem. I don't think being in this band is the best way to deal with that problem and I think being out of it will make you happier." When Butcher says this, it isn't unkind, which is perhaps why it hits Tom harder than if anyone else had said it. "Fuck you guys. A problem? I have a problem because I like a drink to unwind?" Tom can't believe the audacity of Bill, telling him that he has a drinking problem. Tom can't even count the number of times he had to hide Bill's drunken ass from his parents. Same goes for Mike. Siska looks just as uncomfortable as Butcher during this, but even so, Tom knows that he's no saint when it comes to drinking. "Tom, we're not trying to judge you, we're just trying to help you. And I'm sorry, but we agreed that you being out of the band is the best way to do that. For you and for us." Butcher looks down at the ground, as if he finally realizes exactly what he's doing. "Fine, I'm out of the band, but you guys are out of my apartment." Tom stands, not wanting to hear the rest of this discussion and how his friends just want to help him. If that were really the case, someone would've been there when Mike tore his heart out. They would've listened when he had new ideas to throw at them. They would've even made a conscious effort to not have booze on the bus at all times. Fuck them and their sanctimonious little ways. As Tom ushers them out of the small apartment, he knows that Butcher wants to stop and say something to him but Tom just holds up his hand. "Just get out. I don't want to hear it." Butcher nods and puts his head down as he leaves. * Tom sobers up the next day. He wasn't in the mood to drink after his bandmates (ex-bandmates, the voice inside his head likes to remind him), left. It feels awful, the awareness creeping back into his brain. It hits him that he no longer has a job, or a band, or even four of his closest friends. In the afternoon, he gets the shakes so badly that he can't even light a cigarette. On his couch, he curls up in a ball and tries to hum to himself. He hums everything from a lullaby he used to know when he was younger to the songs he's been composing for himself. When he charges his phone, there are a dozen messages from his ex-bandmates from the previous week. They get more irate as they come in. They want to know why he isn't answering, why he isn't showing up anywhere. Tom goes into the voicemail and forces himself to listen to each one on speakerphone. For some reason, it's Siska's that hits him the hardest. "Hey Tombo, we're uh. We're at my place. It's me, Sisky, we're having a meeting and you really should be here for this. I miss you, buddy." Siska. He was Bill's best friend, even though the age difference was significant when they were both in high school. Bill collects people like Siska, ones who admire him and who think he can do no wrong. It makes Tom sick, thinking that he could ever be like that. Tom shudders and looks at a crack in the ceiling. He deletes the message and hangs up his phone. He doesn't want to be in this apartment right now. Not with the way the walls are closing in on him. He does the first thing he can think of to keep himself from throwing up. Tom calls Jon. Tom has his own suspicions about Jon having heard the news already, but he doesn't call him on them. Just says, "I can't even be in Chicago right now, but I don't know where I'm going to go." "Don't be an idiot, you're going to come and see me. We both know that." Jon sounds like he can't even fathom any other course of action on Tom's behalf. "You guys are on a new tour. This is the last thing you need." Tom thinks of being in the way, thinks of seeing Spencer with someone new, someone who understands what he needs. "What are you even saying? I think this might actually be my finest idea. You can come out here, spend a week taking pictures of me, and it'll give you something to jerk off over when you're home." Jon sounds way too amused with himself for his own good. "How does everyone else feel about that?" Tom doesn't want to rub anyone the wrong way, especially after the way the last tour with Panic ended. "I think they're going to be pretty okay with it, you know? Brendon says he misses having someone with him who has an ass almost as big as his." Jon's laughter is dopey, slow. "You know, you joined the weirdest band ever. Okay. When should I be out there?" Tom wants the details hammered out before he goes to tell his parents what's happened. They're going to be worried, he knows, but he's going to tell them not to listen to anything they hear about it. "I'll email you the dates and stuff." Jon sounds distracted now and Tom can hear other voices in the room. "Hey, look. Is um. Is Spencer going to care that I'm there?" Tom doesn't want to ask it, but he needs to know. If Spencer doesn't want him there or is going to make some sort of big deal about why he's there, Tom is out. "Lemme check." And like that, Tom remembers why he hates Jon. True, Jon is his brother from another mother, but he's also the least complicated guy Tom knows. Give him a dime bag and a skin mag and he can entertain himself for hours. He also doesn't believe in letting Tom wallow in his own bullshit and he was never one for talking around an issue. "He says he doesn't care what you do, also that I shouldn't stick my nose where it doesn't belong. Not really sure why he said that, since you're my friend and this is clearly where my nose belongs." "Idiot, he's still salty. Forget it, I won't come out there. I'll just harass Nick or something." Tom looks around the room and tries to imagine an eternity here. Maybe he'll die and no one will notice because no one is expecting him to be anywhere. "No, because if you stay home you're just going to stay in your apartment until it becomes a cesspool and your body becomes a leaker and then I'm going to be out a best friend and Nick will kill me and I don't really want to die from Nick killing me. It's always been my biggest fear. Hey, you won't tell him I told you that, right?" Jon suddenly sounds like he's extremely paranoid. "No, no, I won't mention it to him." Tom stores the information away for future blackmail, but only in the event of an emergency. Like Jon being a complete dick. "If you mention it, I'm going to stick my dick in your mouth while you sleep and take pictures." Jon tries to sound threatening, but mostly he sounds high. "That just makes you look like a creep because it's your dick on film and I'm clearly passed out." Tom looks around his room and tries to determine what he needs to be packing. "What can I say, the Captain likes exploring new places. And maybe your mouth isn't completely uncharted territory, but it's certainly unfamiliar." "You know, one day I'm going to record a conversation with you and let Cassie hear it. She needs to know what kind of man she shares a bed with." Tom just shakes his head and cradles his phone between his ear and his shoulder. "And it won't be my fault when she runs screaming in the opposite direction." "Man, you wish you could hear the conversations we have when I'm home." Jon burps loudly into the receiver. "Anyway, are you going to quit being a pussy about coming out here or do I have to fly out there and smack you myself?" "Okay, I'll come out. Just give me some dates and I'll let you know my flight information." Tom clicks off the call, knowing Jon will email him everything he needs to know in order to make his arrangements. He's halfway through picking up the garbage that's been littering his floor since he got home from tour when he feels the email buzz through. The dates don't give him much time to make any plans, but he's fairly certain he can find a good deal on one of those cheapie websites. It's not like he's going to have to pay change fees or anything. Once the email to Jon has been sent, Tom sits down on his kitchen counter and breathes a little easier. He's getting out of Chicago and that's the most important thing right now. He can deal with seeing Spencer as long as he doesn't have to think about his own band and his "friends." At least, that's what Tom tells himself while he's packing and discarding shirt after shirt because he thinks Spencer will think he looks like an idiot. * Jon's waiting in the airport with a large security guard hovering nearby. Tom wants to laugh because he never thought Jon would be in a band that needed security the way these Panic boys apparently did now. "What's with the guard?" Tom whispers into Jon's ear when they hug hello. "He has a name, Tom. It's Zack, and he has protected me and my harem." Jon throws an arm around Tom's shoulder, even though he's taller, and squeezes. "My bevy of beauties must be protected at all times lest they go missing." "Jesus, are you high already?" Tom has just noticed the faint pot smell clinging to Jon and rolls his eyes. Jon crooks a finger to Tom, motioning him to come closer. In a whisper that speaks of extreme secrecy, Jon says, "It makes the make-up easier to deal with." * It's as easy as Tom thought it would be to avoid Spencer because Spencer spends the vast majority of his time avoiding him. Even though Jon has become Spencer's favourite, he never seems to be in the room with Jon when Tom enters. It's some sort of extra sense he seems to have, exiting a room as Tom enters it. "Or it could be that when you're drunk you sound like a herd of elephants stampeding." Jon just shrugs as he looks up from his laptop. They're splitting a bottle of wine because sometime after joining the Panic pile, Jon decided he was classy. Tom has enough photographic evidence disputing this that he's not concerned about it. "Your mom sounds like a stampeding elephant," Tom mutters in return, flipping through pictures on his own laptop. Jon just nods absently in return as he types. Tom is pretty sure he's chatting with Cassie at the moment and he's also pretty sure that he doesn't want to read whatever's going on in that chat window. "No, but seriously, you're not hard to avoid. Especially if someone wants to avoid you." Nine months earlier and that sentence would've sounded like Jon was talking about Mike. Nine months earlier and that's what Tom would've heard. Present tense and with half a bottle of Pinot Noir running through his veins and all Tom can think about is Spencer and the way he'd looked at the end of the last tour. "Fuck it, I don't want to fight with him anymore, you know? He was-" "Please don't talk about your rebound sex with my bandmate? Hearing you and Mike was bad enough. I don't know why you think hotel walls are thicker in England than they are in the states, but they're not. Future reference." Jon cuts Tom off and reaches for his glass of wine, draining the last of it in one gulp. "Future reference? I don't want to hear you and Cass having sex on my couch at the next house party. Just saying." Tom tries to deflect it, like he doesn't want to talk about Spencer anymore. He knows he could count on Brendon if he really wanted to talk about Spencer. For reasons unknown to Tom, Brendon loves talking about Spencer's love life and which male celebrity Spencer would be best with. His personal opinion is that Kevin Spacey and Spencer would make the best couple. Tom tries to argue that two bottoms wouldn't work, but Brendon doesn't seem magnificently concerned with the mechanics of gay sex as he's saving himself for Prince Eric. He's also not magnificently concerned that his life is not Who Framed Roger Rabbit and he can't actually interact with cartoon characters. * "So, no, think about it, Spencer showing up at a red carpet with Kevin Spacey? His hips tilting toward Kevin's? It'd look so perfect." Brendon lets out an audible sigh and Tom has to fight to keep from rolling his eyes. "No, I don't want him with Kevin Spacey! I want him to show up at a red carpet with me, tilting his hips at me!" Tom thinks he's made this point before but after the fourth or fifth Corona, it's kind of hard to be sure. "But you don't look anything like Kevin Spacey! How would that even work?" Brendon doesn't think this is as good a plan as Tom thinks it is and Tom kind of wants to shake Brendon until he agrees that it is a good plan and that Spencer's tilty, tilty hips should be tilted at him. He looks at Brendon to see him resting his eyes and leaning back against the pillows in the hotel bed Tom shakes his head and reaches for his beer, draining it in a few long pulls. Spencer, he needs to find Spencer and apologize. That would be a start. Rather than use his phone, the number to which Spencer has and recognizes, Tom takes Brendon's phone from his hand and scrolls through the contacts. Most are entered as "that guy from Kinkos with the bangin' ass." Spencer is listed under his own name, thank goodness. Tom doesn't think he's sober enough to remember Spencer's number from memory. That should've been his first clue. That should've been what told him this was a bad idea. Instead, he looks over at Brendon and decides that the bathroom will offer more privacy. Jon isn't in the room yet. He's down in the hotel bar with everyone else, probably wishing Cassie was nearby so he could do something disgusting with her. Jon is really disgusting, Tom decides as he locks the door to the bathroom, holding the ringing phone to his ear. When Spencer answers, he sounds tired. He sounds like he could use another two hours of sleep before he even considers waking up for a phone call from Brendon. He sounds like he hasn't even gotten to bed yet. "Brendon, I don't care if you're too drunk to remember calling your parents is a bad idea. It is and you know it is, so go the fuck to bed." Tom snorts because Spencer kind of sounded like a girl at the end of that sentence. "You're so pissed off right now, aren't you?" "Tom?" Spencer's voice takes on a strange quality that Tom doesn't know how to interpret. He rubs at the bridge of his nose, nodding until he remembers that Spencer can't hear a nod. He looks at himself in the mirror and grimaces. Was there always that man in the mirror? Did he always look like that? "Tom? If you're just calling to tell me I'm pissed off, then I'm really not interested in this conversation." That tone is one Tom recognizes. Spencer's cool, frosty tone is one that Tom is now intimately familiar with. Whenever Tom hasn't been able to avoid them, when Jon has insisted that Tom and Spencer are in the same room because he's a meddling bastard, that's the tone Spencer uses with everyone until he's permitted to leave. "Jon is a meddling bastard," Tom announces this to Spencer like it's news, like Spencer hasn't spent the past few months getting to know that on the road. "Okay, if you're calling to tell me that, I'm hanging up." Spencer's voice sounds like it's getting further away from the mouthpiece of his phone. "Wait!" Tom just got up the guts to call Spencer. It can't be over this quickly. "What, Tom?" The voice on the other end of the signal sounds is too open to interpretation. Tom can't figure out what this one means. He looks over at the mirror again and decides that it either needs to be smashed, or he does. After a moment, Tom answers. "Come outside for a cigarette with me?" It's where everything started, it might as well be what helps everything come together, right? "Tom, you're drunk. There's absolutely no way that I'm coming downstairs to go out for a cigarette with you so just go to bed." Spencer's voice is unreadable, something Tom hates. Spencer and Ryan have that uncanny ability to go monotone whenever they have something important that needs to be kept close to their chest. "Spence, I'm drunk and I need to talk to you." "Pardon me for not giving a flying fuck about what you need while you're drunk, you're always drunk when you come to me," Spencer says dryly. "I need to sleep and you need to do the same." Tom doesn't have a chance to say anything else before Spencer clicks off the call. Tom looks at Brendon's phone, glaring when he realizes Spencer isn't on the other end any longer. He shakes his head and sets the phone down on the bathroom counter. His pack of cigarettes is in the other room, so he can't actually just smoke in here, but he does decide to sit in there and think. He's drunk. Spencer thinks he's always drunk. Spencer thinks he's always a douchebag. Is he drunk because he's a douchebag or is he a douchebag because he's drunk? Is Spencer even right? Tom looks in the mirror again and nods; Spencer is right. Once Tom has reached that conclusion, he realizes that he needs to come up with some sort of plan. But a plan much better than his previous plans, because every plan he's had when it comes to Spencer has been complete shit. Spencer deserves more than that, especially after putting up with what Tom put him through. That's the thought that has Tom leaning over the toilet to vomit up the beer churning in his stomach. * In the morning, with the light streaming into the window, Tom wants to die. He doesn't think he's ever been so hungover from so few beers in his life. Of course, he'd been drinking before he came to Brendon's room and the beer probably hadn't helped, but still. Tom Conrad wants to die. He has a vague memory of calling Spencer but has no idea what the conversation could have been about. It takes half an hour of mentally prepping himself before Tom is ready to get off the floor of the bathroom and face the world. Unfortunately, the face in the mirror isn't ready to greet the world. Tom is a pale green color, lips a stark red in contrast. Just the thought of leaving this tiny room has him ready to bend over the toilet again. A pounding on the door stops him. "Tom, if you're dead, I'm moving you because I need to use the bathroom. You can puke in the sink." Tom groans. Brendon's room. Of course that's where he'd pick to pass out. They were talking the previous evening about Kevin Spacey. How had he gone from Kevin Spacey to calling Spencer? Oh, God. Did he tell Spencer not to date Kevin Spacey? Tom hits the redial button on Brendon's phone and steps out of the bathroom, gesturing for Brendon to go on in. There's a balcony attached to the room, so Tom goes out onto it. Patting his pockets produces a pack of half-crushed cigarettes. He rolls one back into shape and places it between his lips, waiting for Spencer to answer. It goes straight to voicemail and the cigarette drops from Tom's lips to the pavement below. He sputters out "Spencer" before disconnecting the call. Not trusting himself not to drop the phone, Tom pockets it. He's only got another day here, another day where he has to face Spencer and not shake him and ask him what he has to do to fix this. He has some pride. Except for the times where he doesn't actually have any. Like today's bus ride, which he spends practically staring at Spencer while Spencer watches episodes of C.S.I. on the television with unwavering focus. He doesn't even answer his phone, probably because he might take his attention away from the episode and accidentally make eye contact with Tom. "Tom, you're staring," Jon tries to mutter casually. Only it comes out in the same voice Jon uses for everything. Brendon and Ryan start snickering to each other and look at Spencer, watching him turn red. "Okay, come on." Jon hauls Tom to the back lounge and closes the door. "Okay, you have to stop staring. Ryan is probably messaging me right now to ask if you're actually retarded. I keep having to tell him that you're not." "I'm not retarded." This distracts Tom long enough for him to look up at Jon, just in time to get slapped in the face. "Then stop mooning like a teenage girl about him! I swear to God, I feel like I'm going to look over at you writing Mrs. Tom Smith in the front cover of your purple unicorn notebook. Pull yourself together before I have to slap you with my dick." "It's not that bad." Tom really doesn't think he's been staring like that. Maybe he let his eyes linger, but it wasn't like he was about to sigh and burst into songs about the two of them being made for each other. "Tom, I love you, you're my best friend in the entire world. Right now, you're being a total idiot. If you want him, you tell him and you do whatever it takes to get him. If that means that you have to grovel, you grovel." "Wait a minute, if I'm your best friend in the entire world, why aren't you yelling at him to treat me better?" Tom catches the discrepancy in Jon's words. "Okay, hold on, I'm going to message Ryan and back and tell him I was wrong." Jon rolls his eyes and opens the door to the back lounge. "He's not the one who screwed this up, Tom. You and I both know that." * That night in the hotel room after the show, Jon's laughter is loose and easy, flowing at the same rate the wine is. "I'm gonna miss you, you know. It's not the same. I have my tiny, tiny boys, but I don't have the men." "Do you miss it, though?" Tom tries to think of any time he hasn't seen Jon completely happy on this tour. "I'd be lying if I said I really missed it. I have my own techs now. Maybe I would've finished school, maybe not, but this chance. Tom, that's one thing you have to learn to do. You have to take chances. That's the Tom I became friends with." Jon is just drunk enough to be soft around the edges he'd usually cover up with comments about his dick. "I take chances," Tom starts to protest. "Not anymore, man. Not really. I don't know what Mike did but it fucked you up. If you ever need to tell someone, you know I'm here for you and I'll listen but it really... Anyway, it fucked you up royally and turned you into this," Jon gestures up and down with his free hand before taking a sip of wine. "You don't take risks anymore, Tom. And that really sucks. Because when you bet big, yeah, you can lose big but you also at least have a chance to win big." "If you tell me to put it all on black, you won't wake up with the Captain still attached to you," Tom's too drunk to actually have a serious conversation where he gets told what to do with his life and his emotions. "If you cut off the Captain, Cass'll have words for you and I promise they won't be of the 'Oh, Tom, that shirt looks good on you' variety," Jon drains his wine glass and stretches before slipping off his jeans. Jon moves to turn down the covers on the large bed they were sharing for the evening. "Okay, come on, you have a flight to catch. I'll be the big spoon and I won't even try to stick it in and swish it around." "I'm never coming to visit you on a tour again." He looks at Jon, shaking his head before climbing into the bed with him. "That's a lie, Tom, and we both know it," Jon mutters before his breathing evens out and sleep overtakes the room. * The flight home is mercifully short and Tom sleeps through most of it. He remembers the seatbelt sign turning off, because that's his everything's okay sign, and then he remembers feeling the plane touch down at O'Hare. There's no one to get him and Tom doesn't feel like blowing money on a cab, so he hauls his bags through the transit system of his beloved city, and walks the last few blocks to his front door. For the first time in months, Tom doesn't want to be drunk. He thinks about the empty bottles in his apartment, the dregs of which are probably fermenting to create a super-alcohol. He doesn't want that in his system. Unfortunately, he doesn't know any other way to be at the moment. Tomorrow, he'll figure that out tomorrow, because right now, all he wants is to forget the way Spencer said goodbye to him. "Well, it's a shame to see you go, Tom." Insincere bastard couldn't even sound like he meant it. Ryan was definitely on Tom's shit list. He's had more than enough of Ryan's opinions swaying Spencer, pretending he was a perfect saint himself. "Yeah, but you'll get over it," Tom shrugged. He wanted to say goodbye to Jon in peace. Even Brendon, not normally a thorn in Tom's side, was grating and far too chipper. When Jon hugged Tom, he muttered, "just hug him. This is how he shows he's actually going to miss you, fuckwad." Tom took Jon's advice and was surprised at the tight grip Brendon had on him and the way he took a moment longer than he should have to let go. "Don't be a stranger, you're welcome on my doorstep any time, Tom." Then Tom turned to Spencer, who was busy tapping out messages on his cell phone to some unknown recipient. "Guys, we should get going. We're running off schedule." When he noticed Tom's shoulders slumped, he pocketed his phone. "Travel safe," he finally said before turning and heading back over to the door of the airport. Jon squeezed Tom's shoulder and tried to manage a smile. "Figure it out, dude. That's all I got for you. I'll see you when I get home." Tom doesn't want to think about Spencer's goodbye, so he focuses on what Jon had said. Jon had told him twice to figure it out. Tom knows this is his fault. That has never been in question. He knows that his reactions in the days after sleeping with Spencer were not the best reactions to have. He looks at himself in the mirror and rubs at his jaw. The conversation from the bathroom of the hotel comes back to him. Drinking. Tom looks at his cases of bottles and shakes his head. Those have to go. * A few days later, Jon calls Tom. "Holy shit, you're never going to guess where we're going after the New Year. Just guess. You won't, but you're going to have to anyway or I won't tell you." "You're going to Barbados," Tom throws out the first location that pops into his head. "I wish!" Tom recognizes the tone Jon uses, the one that says Jon is about to forget the point of his initial story and tell Tom about the many and varied things his dick could do in Barbados. Tom decides immediately to nip that in the bud. "So where are you off to, then?" "We're going to a cabin in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere to write the next album." Jon says it like it's the most incredible thing in the world, like he's actually really excited. Tom tries to muster up the same level of enthusiasm. "Are you sure they aren't taking you out there to kill you and dispose of the body?" "No, but what a way to go. If I don't get cell phone reception, I'll try to figure out how to get a telegraph to you that says I'm in danger." Tom smiles at Jon's words. "But the point is, I want you to come visit for a week or so. Get your head out of Chicago." Jon apparently knows without needing to be told that Tom is still hiding out in his apartment as if all of Chicago, not just his ex-bandmates, consider him persona non grata. "I don't know, I've got a lot going on here." It isn't a lie, not really. Tom has things that are going on. They just don't involve what used to go on for him. "You've got time to think about it, okay? I just." Jon cuts himself off, not letting himself say he's worried about Tom. The thought weighs more than the action to Tom. That's when he decides Jon deserves to know what's really going on. "It's just, I've got these meetings. And they're. I don't know, they seem like they're helping." Tom knows this part, he knows that he needs to admit to Jon he has a problem, but it almost doesn't seem like the conversation for it, miles and wires keeping them apart. "So, you admitted you had a problem?" Jon asks the question as casually as he would ask what Tom had for breakfast that morning. This draws another smile across Tom's face. He nods, even though Jon can't see it, before continuing. "Yeah, I admitted I have a problem." He's careful to use present tense, because if there's one thing he knows, it's that it's on-going and that a few meetings don't just fix it, no matter how much he'd like it to be that simple. "Generally this results in a huge spiritual awakening, Tombo, am I going to come home to a bible salesman for a best friend?" And just like that, Tom knows Jon is okay with it. He won't joke about something he doesn't feel comfortable about. "Yeah, you are. I'm going to drag your heathen ass to church and make you and the Captain repent of all your sins." "Hey, man is responsible for his own sins and not for the fall of Siska. I'm not responsible for the Captain's indulgences, as many and varied as they are. Should've paid better attention when you were studying to be an altar boy." "Fuck you! I was never an altar boy," Tom's voice gets shrill when he thinks about having to wear those robes and have to participate in mass. His knees ache just thinking about the hard wooden floors of his church. "Mmmm, right. Well, look, I'm being called away, but keep me up to date on this stuff, okay? I don't like feeling this out of the loop," Jon goes for indignant but it doesn't come out quite right. "You're the one who picked the harem over the stables, Jonny, just remember that." Tom disconnects the call before having to hear another comment about Jon's perception of religion. When he looks in the mirror, he notices that the smile is still there, even when his eyes travel down to the St. Christopher medal, hanging around his neck as heavy as a millstone. * When Tom decides to go to the cabin, it's because Jon thinks he might kill his bandmates otherwise. "I'm too pretty for prison, Tom. Even you said you'd sell me for cigarettes!" "I would, your ass would fetch a pretty penny," Tom clamps the phone between his ear and his shoulders as he tries to figure out how many pairs of underwear is too many. He hasn't packed for tour in forever and it's enough to have made him forget that the idea is to pack light. He knows he can just steal clothes from Jon if it comes down to it, but there's something comforting in packing clothes and removing them. It gives him a chance to forget about his nerves over seeing Spencer for the first time since starting his meetings. "So, I'm not supposed to say anything because I'm sworn to secrecy in the order of Panic, but it's come to my attention that a certain boy has been asking about when you'll be here." Tom drops his phone at the statement. Dropping a pair of socks and tripping as he scrambles for the phone, Tom manages to sputter, "What?" "Someone has been asking when you were getting here," Jon laughs and it sounds genuine. "No shit. Swear you're not yanking my chain." Tom sits on the floor and tries to think about how he can possibly convince Spencer that he isn't a person with diminished mental capacities. He needs to make that better impression. "Tom, of all the things to yank on you, your chain would be the last thing I'd pick. Brendon's been asking when your fine ass is coming." Jon apparently has no concept of what it means to cup the phone so the person on the other hand doesn't have to listen to him shout, "I'll be right there, Brendon! No, I'm coming, I'm just on the phone!" "The harem calls?" "Bitchy little harem girl wants to play Guitar Hero because he hasn't kicked my ass enough at it this week," Jon huffs and Tom guess it's time to let him go. "Call me when you get to the airport and I'll come get you. By myself, even." "Harems don't need protection in the woods?" "If they want them, they're welcome to them. Did you know Ryan started doing calisthenics at ass o'clock this morning? And then tried to make us join in with him! I don't even know, man. It's too weird here some days. Anyway, I'll talk to you later." Like that, Jon hangs up. The train ride to the airport isn't so bad, not really. It's not as familiar as it once was, but it's by no means terrible. People leave him alone and he boards his flight without thinking about whether or not they'll serve alcohol. His bank account is thanking him for the meetings, for the way it doesn't get drained to the bottom any longer. The flight seems shorter than it is as Tom flips through photos on his laptop, carefully edits some of them. It's only a few minutes, or so it seems, before the captain announces their decent and the local temperature. As promised, Jon is waiting at the airport for him with a sign that says "TOM!!!" and has a few stickers. "Brendon had shit leftover from when he went to go see his nephews. Said it would make you feel more welcome than just me," Jon explains when they've parted. "Well, it worked. Just you? Pfft, give me a sign with Spongebob on it." Tom hefts his bags and follows Jon to the rental car. "We also have to do a grocery run. We're completely out of Cheetos and Funyons. I don't even know who eats the Funyons." Jon is babbling a little nervously, so Tom knows something's up. "What happened? Did someone use someone else's last pair of clean socks?" Tom doesn't particularly want to walk into the middle of one of those fights. They're almost always about something bigger. Even if they aren't about anything bigger, they still get fucking vicious when you're cramped together in a small space. "It's just, I know you're doing really awesome with the meetings and stuff and there's. Well, there's drinking at the cabin." Jon keeps his hands at ten and two as he navigates the roads leading out of the airport. Tom laughs for a moment before he realizes that Jon is truly ill at ease. "Jon, I don't give two shits if you guys drink. It's really okay with me. It's not like I'll always be in situations where there isn't booze. This is real life." "Yeah, I know, I just don't want you to feel uncomfortable or that there's pressure to drink or anything. And if you want me to stay sober with you, I will." "Jesus, no. No way, this is your time to do whatever you need to do to write this next album. It's not like any of you guys are waking up in puddles of your own puke or blacking out and not remembering long sections of a day." Tom is inadvertently admitting to Jon what happened to him. "No, it's not like that. It's usually just a couple of beers while we watch a movie. I don't know. We go green more than anything else." "And that's something I can get on board with." Tom punches Jon's shoulder as lightly as he can. "Hope you remembered how to get back, because I'm not hitchhiking to the gas station when you run out and insist you can't be the hitchhiker because sexual predators would pick you up and I'd never hear from you again." "A valid concern when you look as good as I do. And now, we pick up food," Jon pulls into a convenience store parking lot and pulls his hood up. * The days at the cabin don't pass as quickly as the days on tour. There's no place to go when things get tense but up on the roof. That's where Tom ends up running Spencer most often. At first, Spencer just smokes his joint in silence while Tom puffs away on his own cigarette. The fourth time it happens, Spencer offers his joint to Tom and looks shocked when he turns it down. "Sorry, I'm trying to…" "Yeah, Jon explained it. Sort of." Spencer's voice sounds strained as he holds the smoke in. "I'm guessing that's why you don't drink any of the beer." "Well, that and the beer is Corona. If I'm going to get drunk, you better believe it'll be off something slightly better than that." Tom makes a face at the thought of the beer, thinking instead of the beer from Sam's, the place down the street from his apartment. "Oh, well, I'm sorry our beer isn't up to your refined palate." Spencer's smiling when he says it, so he knows it isn't meant to be mean. "It's okay, you can't be perfect." It slips out without Tom meaning it to. The silence it causes is louder than anything Tom has ever heard. "I mean." "Don't worry about it," Spencer cuts Tom off. "I just meant, you guys, not you in particular," Tom stammers, rubbing at the back of his neck. He looks around at the surrounding woods. "Are we still not talking about that?" Tom freezes with the cigarette halfway to his lips. In all the months that had passed since their last real conversation, Tom had never guessed that Spencer had anything to say he hadn't already said. "I didn't realize there was anything left you wanted to say to me." "You never really asked." Spencer ashes carefully into the lid of a jam jar. "Oh. Well, is there anything left you wanted to say to me?" Tom looks at Spencer from the corner of his eye. "Yes. No. Yes." Spencer looks like he's considering things, judging by the emotions that pass over his face. "What you did really sucked, you know that. You do know that, right?" The tone isn't chastising, it's curious. "I know that." Tom does know. It's in his journal. There are things he needs to make amends for. The sad part is, Spencer is fairly low on that list. "I just don't really understand why you were such a d-bag. You never tried to explain anything to me. I know that part of it was Mike. I don't know what he did that fucked you up so bad, and I don't expect you to tell me. I guess I just want to know if that was what was keeping you back." Spencer doesn't make eye contact the entire time he's speaking. "Yes. No. Yes." Tom tries to remember everything he's spent the last few months sorting through. "I. I have problems. I've acknowledged them, but they're still problems." "I really wish you hadn't dragged me into the middle of them," Spencer mutters. "I wasn't trying to. Well, I was at first. But then I realized some shit and I realized I didn't want to drag you into it. And I," Tom takes a deep breath. He can't believe he's admitting this. "I was trying to protect myself." "Protect yourself?" "If you don't let anyone in, they can't hurt you." "It's a lonely life though." Spencer shifts over on the roof, reaching for Tom's cigarettes, lighting one for himself. "I've seen other people do that, Tom." "I know it's lonely. I was just trying to keep myself safe, the same way you were trying to." Tom's mouth quirks up at the thought of that conversation. "The difference there is that I wasn't hurting someone else to keep you safe. There wasn't really a reason for self-defense, to hurt me." "I know that now. Believe me, I know that." The breeze has turned cold outside and Tom wishes for the other half of Jon's bed, where the covers can be pulled up and the monsters can't get him. It worked when he was little, it should work now. "Maybe it's time to take that knowledge and turn it into action." Again, the words aren't condescending. It's the closest thing that he's had to an invitation from Spencer for a year, at least, and Tom doesn't intend to waste it. "Come visit me in Chicago." "Pardon me?" "I'm taking my knowledge, making it action. Come visit me in Chicago. You can see everything you haven't seen yet." Tom knows Spencer can take that however he wants to and he's praying as hard as he ever has in his life for Spencer to say yes. The only things he's ever prayed for as hard as this was getting out of his parents' house, was for his bands to make it. Those prayers weren't half as important as this one. "No, Tom." Spencer stands, not before pressing his cigarette into the jam jar lid. He doesn't waste a moment before climbing back into the window and leaving it open. Tom knows that he won't be in the room when he climbs back in, so he finishes the rest of his cigarette, trying to keep from putting it out on his palm to feel something. * The rest of the days at the cabin are quite without incident. Ryan breaks Brendon's lucky bong; Jon beats Tom at Guitar Hero; Spencer plays the acoustic guitar one night and Tom recognizes the chords of Kumbaya. The final night at the cabin, Jon decides to barbecue in honor of Tom's visit. There are beers passed around, and as usual Tom waves his off. It's more interesting to watch the dynamic of the group the more alcohol is introduced. "You're not impressing anyone, you know." Ryan has had enough pot to come over and seat himself next to Tom, stealing one of his potato wedges. "I'm not doing this to impress anyone. If that's what you think I'm doing this for, you're sorely mistaken." Tom is a little crabby, he can admit that. He didn't get enough sleep the night before and now he's wishing he could just be in bed, given his early flight out. "Oh, I didn't mean the sobriety. I meant this brooding artist shit you're pulling right now. You're. Well. To be honest, you're not fooling me. You're sure as hell not fooling Spencer." Ryan leans in, stealing another potato wedge. "He'll get over you, everyone does." "Ryan, I know you're trying to look out for your best friend right now. I respect that, I really do, I asked around about you guys when you wanted Jon for your own. Ultimately though, the decision was his. I would do the same thing if Jon decided to dump Cassie and date someone else. But ultimately, you need to remember that this decision isn't yours." Tom is trying as hard as he can not to drive a fist right through Ryan Ross' smirk. "If he does make the wrong decision and you do hurt him again, I'll kill you and they'll never find the body, Tom. Just remember that." Ryan claps Tom on the shoulder and stands up, leaving Tom to ponder whether he'd really just heard Ryan threaten him with bodily harm. Toward the end of the evening, it dwindles down to Jon and Tom passing a joint back and forth. "I'm thinking you got shit done while you were out here, right?" "Is that what you were hoping would happen?" "Fuck no, I just missed your ugly face." Jon shrugs and exhales a slow series of smoke rings. "Are we getting deep? If so, I'm going to need another joint." "No, we're not going to get deep. I got some shit figured out, so I guess we'll see. It's not like I'm not going to text you, whatever I do decide to do." Tom reaches for his cigarettes, anxious to get the taste of pot out of his mouth. "You better. I think you know what'll happen if you don't text me as soon as you get past security. I'm needy, Tom, I don't think you know." Jon throws an arm around Tom's shoulder and squeezes. Tom laughs and leans into Jon briefly. "You're like a phone that vibrates for no reason." "I'm an NRB, Tombo, no reason for me to be there, but I demand attention. Don't you forget it. But seriously, you figured your shit out with Spencer, right? He didn't look like he wanted to murder your ass." Jon steals Tom's cigarette, placing it between his own lips. "I guess you could say we figured it out," Tom thinks that's the right way to phrase their conversation. "Hey, don't worry so much, okay? He'll come around. He always does when it's something worth fighting for." * Tom returns to his apartment, phone pressed to his ear. "No, Sean, trust me, that's not the chord progression you want. No, we'll talk about it when you're done work. You have coffee to be serving." Without waiting for a response from his new bandmate, Tom hangs up his sidekick and tries to place what's off about his apartment. It seems warmer than it did when he left. It isn't that unusual during the spring. He has great windows but the place cooks on sunny days. Ordinarily he's good about closing the curtains, but in the two weeks he's had Jon back in Chicago with him, little things like that have been slipping. He's been attending his meetings, going to work, writing songs. He's been keeping busy so he doesn't have to think about exactly what is missing in his life. Spencer hadn't returned with Jon, nor had he called Tom since he'd been back. At this point, there was nothing Tom wanted more than to be able to write Spencer off as a lost cause, but he still couldn't let go of the memory of waking up next to him in the weak light of morning in a hotel room. Jon has done his best to keep Tom's mind off it, offering endless videogame championships. It isn't the same as falling asleep next to a warm body, but it's close enough. Companionship during the day is enough. Tom sets his bag on the kitchen floor and sets the kettle up to boil. Hot tea will calm him down and it'll help him sleep tonight when his thoughts start to drift. It occurs to him that there's a slight rustling coming from his bedroom and he prays he didn't just walk into a home invasion in progress. He doesn't even know what they would get. Then it occurs to him that his cameras are in there. Grabbing a baseball bat from the front entry, Tom begins to creep toward his bedroom. When he kicks open the unlatched door, bat raised high above his head, he nearly screams at what he sees. Spencer. Spencer stretched across his bed. His eyes are closed but the noise of the bat clattering to the floor opens them at once. He sits up, his hair flying in different directions. "Huh?" "Spencer?" Tom isn't sure this isn't a dream. If he's relapsed and is hallucinating from drinking too much, he'll take this hallucination. "Hi, Tom," Spencer sits up and looks down at the duvet cover on Tom's bed. "You. You're here." "Jon let me in, I hope that's okay. When you left, I started thinking. And I realized that was really putting yourself on the line. Since I made you take action, the least I could do was at least try to meet you half-way." Spencer smiles and Tom realizes he'll stop breathing if he doesn't start kissing him right now. It takes Tom a few attempts at separating from him before he finally manages to tip his forehead against Spencer's and murmur, "best thing he's ever brought into this apartment, and you can tell him that includes himself."