Call It Home | Spencer/Brendon | ~ 35000 words | NC-17 | AU | Part 1/4
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four
Spencer hums to himself, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. It's pretty stupid that they still make ships with steering wheels, given that takeoffs and landings are fully automated. Something would have to go seriously fucking wrong before there was cause for Spencer to try to pilot the ship manually.
"Forty-three minutes 'til landing," a smooth female voice tells him.
"Oh, quit it," Spencer says.
"Does the captain have another request?" It's creepy how sexual an automated voice can sound.
"Knock off the pornovoice," Spencer says. "And I'm not even a captain."
"You're the highest ranking officer on the ship, but if there's something you'd rather be called..."
"I'm the only person on the ship," Spencer says.
"Well, in that case." Gabe's using his regular voice again. "Sit down and belt up, motherfucker. We're landing soon."
"Who even programmed you?" Spencer asks. "Seriously?"
"I'm feisty," Gabe says. "It's a feature."
"It is not a feature," Spencer says. "...Is it seriously a feature?"
Spencer's old navigating and control system, Brent, broke about three planets back. He was lucky to find a fully functional and compatible program - his ship is old, and backwards compatible computers are a dying breed - but Gabe is still taking a little getting used to.
Gabe starts laughing. The whole spacecraft vibrates a little with the buzzing bass of his sound waves.
--
It's not until they're within sight of the planet that Spencer realizes anything's wrong.
"Whoa," Spencer says, peering out the window. There are explosions that can be seen from space.
It sounded like an exciting job when Spencer first joined the United Worlds, but most of his missions are pretty boring. Go and supervise the new system of standardized testing on the Coilrim planets. Go and receive all of the weapons on Imdium after they officially declare themselves a peaceful planet. Go and act as a witness when Grepen signs the papers of independence and separates from Carblac. Spencer spends a lot of time traveling, given how little he actually accomplishes.
This mission to Handep seemed like it was going to be boring as well: Spencer is supposed to supervise the signing of a treaty that has... something to do with clean water. Spencer is going to have to read the reports more thoroughly before tomorrow. He's here a day early, but that still doesn't explain why there are explosions. That's not the kind of destruction that can be cleaned up overnight.
"Umm," Spencer says.
"I'm pretty sure we can't land," Gabe tells him.
"Pretty sure?"
"Definitely not in the place we were aiming for."
"Should we just turn around again?" Spencer asks. "Okay, you try and figure out where to land, and I'm going to call my boss."
--
"Yeah, I don't know anything about that," Wentz says. "I guess you should, like, take some pictures or something, and I'll show them to someone who might know."
--
He's been circling the planet for a few hours when Wentz gets back to him.
"Yeah, no one knows," Wentz says.
"What do you want me to do?" asks Spencer.
"What are you there for, anyway? Something about water?"
"I think so," Spencer says. "Those reports are motherfucking dry to read."
"Dude, I know," Wentz says. FBR is a pretty awesome division to work for, mostly because Pete's in charge.
"I'm concerned about all of the explosions," Spencer says. "It seems like more and more of the planet is catching on fire."
"Probably no usable water anymore," Pete says. "You could just head back. Do you need to touch down first?"
"I think I've got enough fuel," Spencer says. "I was supposed to manually change some of the tanks and drop off the old ones. Maybe I'd be able to do that from space. I'm pretty sure I've got a spacesuit somewhere on board."
"I've found somewhere for us to land," Gabe tells him. "Just FYI."
"Well, do what you think is best," Pete says. "Take some pictures from the ground if you do touch down."
Spencer ends the transmission. He looks out of the window again. The planet continues to be on fire.
"Did you really find somewhere safe?" Spencer says.
"Yup," Gabe says.
"How long until we land?" Spencer asks.
"Twelve minutes."
While Gabe is landing the ship, Spencer pulls out the mission report. He's hoping to find some kind of description of the planet, but if the information is there, it's hidden among seventy-five million graphs. Spencer isn't a fucking scientist; what the fuck does he know about water density levels? If people are actually supposed to read these things, then maybe they should be written in plain English.
They land, and Spencer is tempted to put on the spacesuit anyway. The air is thick and bitter with all the smoke. Spencer's eyes water, and it's hard to see what he's doing. He pulls his shirt over his nose, which doesn't really help anything, but it seems like a good idea. There's dry ash floating around; maybe his shirt will stop it from entering his lungs.
Spencer takes all of the empty tanks off of the ship. Some of them are oxygen tanks, and he's worried about the danger of them exploding, given the incredible heat.
He walks around, trying to find somewhere to put them. There aren't any recycling bins, but at least he could hide them behind a rock or something. The ground is blackened, but Gabe did a good job finding this spot. Spencer can see huge trees burning brightly off in the distance. The fire has already passed over this area.
He doesn't find anywhere for the tanks - everywhere within short walking distance is either barren or ignited. Spencer wonders if he should try to put out the small ground fires, but settles on walking around them instead.
He's about ready to head back, when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye.
Spencer spins around, and sees a person, standing a few metres away.
The person doesn't seem surprised that Spencer has noticed him. Spencer wonders how long the guy has been watching him.
Spencer takes a deep breath. His heart is thudding in his throat. He hopes the guy isn't planning on killing him. Spencer doesn't have any weapons, so he's not sure how good his chances will be in a fight. The guy's tiny. He's covered in soot and his hair is matted to his head. Maybe Spencer could take him.
Before Spencer has time to decide a plan of attack, the guy lifts up his arms, spreading his fingers and holding his open palms toward Spencer. He leaves his hands above his head and drops to his knees.
Spencer blinks in surprise. All he'd been doing was glaring at the guy; who knew that would be so effective?
He walks forward, stopping a few feet away from the guy. He shows his palms and asks, "Do you speak English?" Because Spencer works for the government, he's technically supposed to be able to speak all of the official languages, but he's more than a little rusty on the other eight.
Luckily, the guy says, "Yes, sir." He stares straight ahead, keeping his head level and not making eye contact.
Spencer feels weird standing like this, so he crouches down in front of the guy. He'd kneel, but the ground is nasty, and there aren't many other clothes for him on the ship.
"My name is Smith," he says. "I'm with FBR. I was supposed to meet with Chancellor Stepone, and, um. I have noticed that your planet is on fire."
"The Chancellor has been killed, sir," the guy says.
"Killed by who?"
"I think it's rebels from Maromb, sir. That's what their accents sounded like, sir."
"When did you talk with them?" Spencer asks. The guy is wearing very tight pants that are badly ripped, and a few scraps of fabric in place of a shirt. He doesn't look like someone who'd be in the military, but sometimes it's hard to tell.
"They came into the house, and they--" He clears his throat quietly, still staring straight ahead, just over Spencer's shoulder. "And they took the master, sir."
"Are you all right?" Spencer asks.
"Yes, sir," the guy says.
"I've got a ship," Spencer says. "There're some medical supplies, I don't know if you're-- I mean, and probably you should give a report. Something that I can take back to tell people about. Are there others? Are the rebels still here? Are you in danger?" Spencer looks around. "Are we in danger?"
"I don't know, sir," he says. "I haven't seen anyone in a while, but I also don't know what's causing the explosions, sir."
"Oh," Spencer says. "Well." He looks around. "Would you mind if we went back to my ship?"
"No, sir."
"What's your name?" Spencer asks.
The guy pauses.
"You can make something up," says Spencer. It's weird how many people are guarded around him just because he works for the government. It's not like he can arrest people or anything. "I just want something to call you."
The guy looks down, opens his mouth, pauses again before finally saying, "Brendon, sir."
"I'm Spencer," he says. "I'm not like-- I mean, you can call me Spencer."
Brendon smiles. He follows Spencer back to the ship.
--
"Where is everyone?" Spencer asks once they're on the ship again. It's not like his ship is battle-ready, but it's still safer than standing out in the open.
"I don't know, sir," Brendon says.
"You said that you saw the rebels?" Spencer asks. Now that they're on the ship, he can see better. Brendon has a black eye; it's not just the dirt and soot. His pinkie finger seems to be bent at a strange angle.
"Yes, sir."
"Is that, um, are you okay?" Spencer asks. Brendon is sitting very carefully, just on the edge of the chair.
"Yes, sir."
Spencer really doesn't know how to handle situations like this. Usually, all he has to deal with is the headache that comes with levels and levels of bureaucracy.
Spencer says, "Because, ah, it looks like--" He touches his cheek.
Brendon doesn't react when he says, "They wanted to know if I had any information, sir."
"And?"
"And I didn't," Brendon says. "Sir."
"And then they just let you go?" Spencer asks. He wonders if he's being too pushy, asking too many questions, but he's on a strange planet that is under attack, and even now that they're on the ship, he can hear the sounds of explosions, like maybe bombs are being dropped, or something. He thinks it would probably be a good idea to takeoff before too long.
There's a pause before Brendon says, "Yes, sir."
"What?" Spencer asks.
Brendon shakes his head, like he doesn't understand what Spencer is asking. "I convinced them to let me go, sir," he says.
Spencer's about to say something else when there's a loud beeping sound.
"I have to get that," he says. "It'll be my boss."
He clicks on the transmission.
"Still alive, Smith?" Pete asks.
"So far so good," Spencer says.
"You figure out what's going on?" asks Pete.
"Trouble," Spencer says. "I found someone who seems to kind of know."
"Put them on," Pete says.
Spencer walks over to Brendon. "Hey, would you mind talking with my boss for a bit? He might be able to help."
"Yes, sir," Brendon says.
Spencer shows him over to the video monitor, then takes a few steps back.
"Gabe?" Spencer asks in a low voice so as to not interrupt Brendon.
"Yo," Gabe says. "I'm a little concerned that we're going to get blown up."
"Right now?" Spencer asks, alarmed.
"Not like, as we speak," Gabe says. "Well, I don't know. I'm a computer; I'm not psychic."
"Aren't there sensors and shit?" Spencer asks.
"Yeah," Gabe asks.
"... And?"
"And I'm still not a psychic. How am I supposed to know how long we're going to continue talking for?"
"Are," Spencer asks, "there any incoming explosions? Currently."
"We're good," Gabe says.
Spencer exhales slowly.
"I think we should take off soon," Gabe says. "I'd estimate that the fire's going to be close enough for us to feel the heat within the hour."
"We're still good to take off, right?" Spencer asks.
"So far," Gabe says.
"Keep me posted," Spencer says.
He walks back over to Brendon, who's saying, "No, sir, I don't know what firebombing is, but it does seem like there's a lot of fire."
"Smith, you there?" Pete asks.
Spencer walks over so that the camera can pick him up too.
"Yeah," Spencer says.
"So, you should probably leave soon," Pete says.
"I'm starting to get that feeling," says Spencer.
Brendon moves to the side, trying to get out of the way.
"Should I leave, sir?" he asks.
Spencer opens his mouth, but already Brendon is scurrying away.
The video transmission starts to flicker.
"Pete?" Spencer asks. "Can you still hear me?"
"-ind of," Pete says. "The feed's been --ing in and out. I think --re getting interference."
"Pete?" Spencer asks, but the video cuts out. "Gabe?" Spencer calls.
"Nothing I can do, little buddy," Gabe says. "There's a fuckton of debris in the air."
"Ah, shit," Spencer says. "Get us ready for take off, okay?"
"Will do," Gabe says.
"How soon can we leave?" Spencer asks.
"Shouldn't be too long," Gabe says. "It's hot as hell, so it's not like I need to let the engines warm up."
"Yeah," Spencer says, flatly. "Great."
He walks away from the control room to find Brendon. It's not like it's a big ship. There's a long hallway that runs from one end to the other: at one end is the control room, at the other is the engine room.
Spencer finds Brendon sitting about halfway down the hall. If he'd walked any further, he would have found the eating area, and been able to sit down at a table, but instead he's sitting on the floor, his back resting against the wall and his knees pulled up to his chest. He has one hand cradled in his lap.
"Transmission cut out," Spencer says. "I'm going to be taking off soon."
"Yes, sir," Brendon says. He looks up at Spencer, but doesn't rise off the floor.
"Are you-- did you have a plan?" Spencer asks. "Are there other survivors?"
"I-- don't know," Brendon says. He swallows. "Sir."
"How did you know I wasn't one of the rebels?" Spencer asks. "Why didn't you keep out of sight?"
Brendon shrugs. "You looked confused," he says. "You didn't seem like them." He blinks quickly, like he's surprised by what he just said. His face twists, and he says, "Sorry, sir. No disrespect, sir."
"Seriously," Spencer says, "I'm not someone that you have to use titles with. You know way more about what's going on than I do."
Brendon smiles. Or-- the corners of his mouth curl up. The expression looks more like a sign of acknowledgment, like he's showing Spencer that he's listening.
"I'm going to be taking off soon," Spencer says again. He wants to ask if he can see Brendon's hand, because he's pretty sure that one of Brendon's fingers is broken. He doesn't know how to give medical care, beyond what he remembers from the required First Aid class he took when he first got hired, but at least he could help Brendon clean off. He has so many more questions to ask Brendon; he wants to write it down, so that he'll remember for sure what to report when he gets back home, but there isn't time for all that.
"Look," Spencer says. "I'm heading back to Minaid, and I've got enough food for two, and I don't know if it's the best idea for you to go back out there, so if you want to come back with me, then you could tell Pete, that's my boss, about what you saw. That would be a lot more helpful than leaving you here to get scorched. But, if you want to stay, I'll still tell them what happened, and hopefully we'll be able to send help soon, it's just that I'm not sure when, so."
Brendon's still sitting on the floor, staring up at him. He's looking at Spencer from an odd angle, but it looks like one of his eyes is well on the way to swelling shut.
"Do you want to come?" Spencer asks.
Brendon's quiet for a beat, but then he nods and says, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"For real though," Spencer says. "Stop calling me sir."
--
--
--
They have to belt up for takeoff, but after the ship's cruising along Spencer shows Brendon to the eating area. He gestures for Brendon to sit at the table - it's more a bench than a table, but it's better than the floor - while he rummages around for the medical supplies.
"Is your eye okay?" Spencer asks, setting a roll of gauze onto the table.
"Yes, sir," Brendon says.
"Do you want to, you know, wipe it off? I'll see if I can find something cold, though it's probably too late to help the swelling now."
He passes Brendon a cloth and a bottle of antiseptic, then starts looking around for something cold. He finds actual icepacks in the bottom of the supplies closet and cracks one to make it cold.
Brendon's dabbing awkwardly at his face. His eyes are watering badly now, and it seems like he's having more success in getting antiseptic in his eye than in cleaning off the wound.
"I can--" Spencer offers, extending his hand.
Brendon passes him the cloth, then folds his hands in his lap. He looks straight ahead, and doesn't flinch when Spencer starts dabbing gently at his cheek.
Spencer cleans away a layer of dirt. He realizes that he's trying to wipe away scabbed blood, and doesn't know what to do. He doesn't want to start the wound bleeding again. He starts pressing the cloth gently instead of rubbing, cleans around Brendon's eye as best he can without getting too close to his actual eyeball.
Cleaning off the dirt makes the injury look worse.
"What were you hit with?" Spencer asks.
Brendon looks down without moving his head and shrugs.
Spencer picks up the icepack and hands it to Brendon. "Do you want to put this on your face?"
"Sure," Brendon says. "Thank you, sir."
"You're sitting funny," Spencer says. "What else hurts?"
Brendon pauses before saying, "Just tired, sir."
"Is, um, can I see your hand?" Spencer asks. He's been dreading this, but if Brendon can sit here with a broken finger, the least Spencer can do is help as best he can, even if he doesn't have a fucking clue what he's supposed to do about a broken finger.
Brendon holds up his hand. He looks forward pointedly instead of down at his hand.
Brendon's pinkie is badly swollen, but seems to be mostly in a straight line, at least. Spencer stares at his hand for a moment before asking, "Was I seeing things? I could swear that it was--"
Brendon's other fingers twitch, but he doesn't pull his hand away.
"I fixed it," he says. "Sir."
Spencer drops Brendon's hand, and Brendon moves it carefully back to his lap.
"You-- what," Spencer says. "Jesus."
Brendon doesn't say anything.
Spencer grabs the other icepack and breaks it. "For your hand," he says.
Brendon sets the icepack he's holding onto the table and takes the one that Spencer's holding out. He puts it on his lap and rests his hand on top of it, then picks up the other one and holds it to his face.
"I'm going to find you painkillers," Spencer says. The storage closet is in the eating area, but he leaves the room, leaning back against the wall and staring up at the ceiling. His stomach churns, and he tries to calm his breathing down.
He wants to stay out here, but he makes himself push away from the wall, walks back into the eating area.
"Maybe they're in here," he says, even though he's sure that Brendon can see through it.
He finds a bottle of painkillers in the closet. They're heavy duty, and the label on the back says, Take one every twelve hours. He shakes three onto his palm.
He puts the pills on the table in front of Brendon. Brendon pulls the icepack away from his face, and places it on the table beside the pills. Spencer thinks that he should go get something for Brendon to drink, but Brendon just swallows them dry. He lifts the icepack back to his face.
They sit quietly.
Spencer wonders how long it will take for the painkillers to start working. If he hadn't seen Brendon's injuries, he wouldn't have even known that he was in pain. Slowly, though, Brendon's posture starts to relax. He's still sitting up straight, but there's not as much effort in holding himself up, or something.
"Are you feeling a little better?" Spencer asks.
"Yeah," Brendon says, his voice soft and slow. "Thank you, sir." He lowers the icepack and asks, "Where would you like me to put these, sir?"
"Just leave them," Spencer says.
Brendon looks concerned, but when Spencer doesn't offer any further guidance, he piles them neatly on the table.
"Do you want to sleep now?" Spencer asks. "I can show you the bed."
There's this strange moment where Brendon's face is blank, but then he's smiling and saying, "Of course, sir."
The sleeping area is really only some ten steps away from the seating area. Spencer keeps a cloth hanging over the doorway, even though it's usually only him on the ship so it's not as though he has to worry about privacy.
"Do you want to borrow some clothes?" Spencer offers. "What do you usually wear to bed?"
"Umm," Brendon says, looking down. "... Bedsheets. I don't, umm."
"No, it's, ah, it's okay." Spencer tries to figure out how to suggest that Brendon clean himself off first. He feels a little guilty for thinking that way, but they're going to have to take turns sharing the bed, and it's not like there's extra bedding. Brendon really is filthy. "So, there's, just over here, yeah."
He leads Brendon to the bathroom and shows him the soap dispenser. There isn't room on the ship to hold water for bathing.
Brendon stares at him, waiting.
"Umm, see," Spencer says. He holds his hand under the dispenser and some soap shoots out onto his hand. It's starting to foam already. Spencer still can't believe how many bubbles can come from such a small amount of liquid. Maybe Brendon hasn't ever seen this kind of shower before; he's been on a planet and he's probably used to bathing with water.
"You can use it for shampoo, too," Spencer says. "The bubbles just evaporate afterwards, so you don't have to rinse off or anything."
Spencer rubs his hands together, and a mountain of white foam forms. He lifts his hands to his mouth and blows the bubbles off with a big puff of breath. They float over and land on the floor of the shower. He wipes his palm together, feeling his skin start to dry already.
Brendon's still watching him, like he's waiting for more direction. Spencer tries to think of something else to say, and fails. He blinks, then realizes what Brendon's probably waiting for.
"Sorry," he says, backing out of the room. "I will leave you to it. You call if you need help or, well, why would you need help showering? But if you need me you can call, and, okay, I'm going to give you privacy now."
"I'll get clean," Brendon says in this very serious voice.
Spencer gives him an awkward thumbs up, then closes the door quickly.
He searches around the ship while Brendon's cleaning off, and actually manages to find something that looks like a finger splint. It isn't labeled, but it looks finger-sized; what else could it be for? For all he knows it's an extra piece of the ship, but he thinks Brendon needs it more than the ship does at this point.
He grabs a roll of bandages and waits for Brendon in the eating area. The door out of the bathroom leads into the hallway, but the bedroom is before the eating area. Spencer pulled back the curtains and left his other set of pyjamas on the bed, hoping that Brendon would notice them on the way.
Eventually, he hears the sound of footsteps. It sounds like Brendon has just stopped though, not like he's actually walked into the sleeping area.
Spencer pokes his head out, and sees Brendon standing in the centre of the hall, naked.
Brendon's bruised all down one side of his torso, a couple of large bruises spread across the tops of his thighs and then down his legs. Both of his nipples are pierced. Spencer looks away quickly.
"Where would you like me to go, sir?" Brendon asks.
"I've, ah, I've got something for you," Spencer says. He holds up the splint, looking steadily at the floor.
"Yes, sir," Brendon says. "What would you like me to do, sir?"
"You can just, I mean, I can help you with it," Spencer says.
"Of course, sir," Brendon says. He walks to Spencer.
Spencer retreats into the eating area to grab the bandages, and Brendon follows him inside.
"See," Spencer says, holding the splint to the finger of his other hand to demonstrate. "I think it will work."
"Oh," Brendon says, sounding surprised. He lifts his hand for Spencer though, and helps hold the splint in place while Spencer wraps bandages around it. Brendon's finger is so swollen that the splint fits Spencer's finger better than it does Brendon's, but still it must be better than nothing.
"Do you think that'll stay on?" Spencer asks. "I don't want to wrap it too tightly."
Brendon gives his hand a little shake, and says, "Yes, sir. I think so, sir."
"I'll get you to a doctor," Spencer promises. "I don't know this area of space at all, so it might be a few days before I can figure out where to take you, but I promise I'll get you help."
"Thank you, sir," Brendon says, staring at his hand.
"You want to go to bed now?" Spencer asks.
Brendon drops his hand to his side, pulls his shoulders back, and takes a breath before saying, "Yes, sir."
Spencer thinks that he must be missing some cultural cues. Brendon's so respectful, but he doesn't seem to have any feelings of awkwardness to be standing naked in front of Spencer. It's hard for Spencer not to look at him, just because his eyes are constantly drawn to the patches of darkly bruising skin. He wants to give Brendon more painkillers, but he's already had way more than the required dose. Brendon doesn't show any outward signs of pain, but Spencer aches just looking at him.
"So, it's this way," Spencer says, nodding toward the door.
There isn't a lot of room on the ship, but because it's meant for one person, the sleeping area is more like a bedroom and less like a room lined with bunks.
"You can sleep on the bed," Spencer says. He's about to mention how he left pyjamas out, but Brendon's already climbing onto the bed, crawling into the centre of the mattress. Spencer can see everything, Brendon's hips rolling smoothly as he moves forward.
Brendon lies down, his arms at his sides, his legs bent at the knee and spread open.
Spencer can feel his face heating up. He knows it must just be a cultural thing - in some places people don't think anything of nudity.
"So, goodnight," he says. His voice is higher than normal, which makes him cringe a little. He doesn't want to make Brendon self-conscious. "Call me if you need anything."
Spencer turns and starts walking to the door.
"Aren't you coming?" Brendon asks in a small voice.
"I'll get some stuff done," Spencer says. "We can figure out a sleeping schedule later."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Brendon says. Brendon sounds relieved and exhausted, and as Spencer walks out of the room, he can hear the sheets rustling. Brendon must have decided to cover himself up after all.
--
Spencer walks back to the control room and starts scrolling through the report about Brendon's planet. There still isn't any culture information; just graphs.
"Fuck," Spencer says.
"I love it when you talk dirty," Gabe says.
"You have a virus, don't you?" Spencer asks.
"No glove, no love, baby," says Gabe.
"Who programmed you?" Spencer asks. "Seriously."
"I told you," Gabe says. "It's a feature."
"Uh huh," Spencer says. "Hey, so, speaking of features, are you able to pull up information for me?"
"What kind of information would you like me to pull up?" Gabe asks.
Spencer ignores the inflection in his voice and says, "The history of Handep."
His screen floods with information, most of the fonts too tiny to read.
"A brief history," Spencer corrects.
The text moves around the screen, piling itself neatly in the corner for Spencer to start clicking through.
By the time he gets to, under investigation for reports of violations to the Decency to All Humans Act, section vii 1.456, Spencer's head is pounding.
--
Spencer finishes reading and clicks twice on the corner of the screen to clear off the data.
"Well, shit," he says.
--
Spencer's sitting and staring into space, trying to come up with a plan, even though his brain is still stuck on well, shit. He's not quite asleep, but he startles badly at the sound of screaming.
He runs to the sleeping area and finds Brendon on the floor. He's folding himself into the corner of the room, crouched into a little ball, his arms wrapped around his legs.
When he hears Spencer, he raises his head. He tries to stand, but doesn't make it to his feet. His face is wet and it seems like he's still crying, and at first Spencer thinks that he's having a nightmare, but Brendon says, "Sir, sorry, sir, I have to go back, I'm sorry, please, I have to go back."
"What's wrong?" Spencer asks. "What? Why? Go back?"
"Please," Brendon says. He's about to say something else when his whole body seizes. He starts screaming again, grabbing his head with both hands.
Spencer hurries over to him, kneels beside him on the floor.
"What?" he asks. "Brendon, tell me, please, what's wrong, are you okay?"
Brendon isn't screaming anymore, but he's still crying, these great big shuddering sobs that shake his whole body. He grimaces, holding his head tightly.
"Are you in pain?" Spencer asks.
Brendon starts to nod, but catches himself mid-motion, and grits out, "Yes," instead.
"What is it?" Spencer says. "I'll find you help, it's okay."
"I have to go back," Brendon says.
"Why?" Spencer asks. "What's happening?"
Brendon pushes away from the wall, moving slowly, carefully, and turns his head around. He pushes away the hair on the back of his head until Spencer can see the thick, white line of scar tissue.
"Is there--" Spencer swallows, trying to loosen the muscles squeezing his throat closed. "Did they put something in your head?"
Brendon turns back around, slumping against the wall. His mouth is shut, and it seems like he's holding his breath as tears continue to pour down his cheeks. He moves his head in a tiny nod.
Spencer's heart pounds. He doesn't know what to do. He reaches out and touches Brendon's elbow, just gently with his fingertips.
Brendon inhales loudly, then forces out, "So I can't leave."
"They put it in your head so you couldn't run away?" Spencer asks.
Brendon moves his head a fraction.
"So you, so it's hurting because we're a certain distance away from the planet now?" Spencer asks, thinking quickly.
Brendon gives a slight shrug. "Thought maybe they were lying," he mutters. "Sorry. Shouldn't have come."
"Okay," Spencer says to himself, taking a deep breath. "Okay, it's okay." He gives Brendon's arm a tiny squeeze and says, "I'm going to get painkillers, okay? I'll be right back."
He runs over to the eating area, and finds the bottle of pills where he left it. Brendon took three less than six hours ago, and Spencer doesn't know if he should give him more. Brendon's in pain, though. Can someone overdose and still be in pain?
His hands shake as he fumbles with the lid. He almost spills them onto the floor and dumps half the bottle into his hand by accident. He manages to put them back, leaving two out. He sets the bottle down, but thinks twice and grabs it again to take with him.
"Hey," he says, once he's crouching in front of Brendon again. "Do you want to take these? I don't know how many you're supposed to take. I don't want to give you too many, but I know you're in pain, so if you want some more--?" He trails off.
Brendon says, "Yes. Please." He tries to reach for the pills, but it's the hand with the splint. He forgets to be careful and bangs it into his knee, but he doesn't even flinch. Spencer doesn't want to think about how badly everything else must hurt for that pain not to even register.
"I'll just-- open your mouth, okay? I'll give you two?"
Brendon opens his mouth immediately. Spencer carefully puts one pill into his mouth, gives him a moment to swallow it, then drops the other one in when Brendon opens his mouth again.
Brendon has pressed himself right into the corner of the room. Spencer sits to one side of him. He moves so that he's leaning against the wall, sitting on the floor, his leg just brushing Brendon's.
He doesn't know what else he can do to help, but if Brendon's grabbing his head, maybe that means his head hurts, and probably talking isn't a good idea. He sits and listens to Brendon cry, and thinks about how he's completely the wrong person for this, how unfortunate it is for Brendon that he's stuck here with Spencer instead of with someone who knows what he's doing.
Finally, Brendon lifts his hands and starts wiping at his face, trying to clean himself off.
He says, "Sorry, sir," in a quiet, rough voice.
"Is it helping?" Spencer asks.
"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," Brendon says.
"Do you want to sleep some more? Or to eat something? Or, what would you like to do?"
"I have to go back," Brendon says. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have tried to--" He takes a deep breath, wincing a little. Spencer doesn't think that the painkillers are taking away all of the pain.
"I can take you back," Spencer says, even though he's not sure how true that is. He knows they'll have to refuel before long, and from what Gabe said, they're three days away from a safe planet. "Or we can try to figure out something else."
Brendon shakes his head in confusion.
"They put it in, right? So we should be able to find someone who'll take it out."
"It's connected to the master," Brendon says. "There's no way to take it out, sir."
"Maybe we can," Spencer says. "We can try, anyway. I've got a friend -- he knows a lot of people. I can get in contact with him, and he can ask around, at least. We can try."
Brendon doesn't say anything.
Spencer can only guess at how much pain he must be in - even now with the painkillers, he has to keep wiping at his eyes - and it's not fair to ask Brendon to hold out on a long shot. He doesn't want to take Brendon back, not there, not to the people who did this in the first place, but, "I'll take you back if you want," he says. "You don't have to stay here. We can go back if you want."
"I know you have to get back to your planet, sir," Brendon says. "You can just, if you could just drop me somewhere, I could try and find my own way back, sir."
"If you want to go back, I will take you," Spencer says. "I'm not dropping you anywhere. I need to get home so that we can try and send some help for your people, but we can talk to my boss as soon as we're away from the debris. It's not like I'd be leading the mission or anything. So. There's time."
"Do you really think your friend might know how to get it out?" Brendon asks. "Sir."
"Gabe says it's four hours until we're out of the debris," Spencer says. "I can find out then."
Brendon sags back against the wall.
"So, do you, should we keep moving forward?" Spencer asks, trying not to sound hopeful.
Brendon says, "Okay. Yes, sir."
"Let's get you to bed," Spencer says, pushing himself to his feet and leaning down to help Brendon stand as well.
"I'm not very good like this," Brendon says as he staggers back to bed, leaning heavily on Spencer. "I'm sorry, sir."
"I think you're pretty good to sleep," Spencer assures him. He pulls back the blankets and Brendon climbs into bed. He's naked still, and he lies back like he did the first time, even though it seems to take a considerable effort for him to convince his legs to pull apart.
Spencer says, "I'll leave the pills on the table," then rushes out of the room and straight to the bathroom, where he vomits into the sink.
--
--
--
"So illegal," Ryan says, for what's got to be the tenth time. Spencer spent hours waiting, but the transmission finally went through.
"Dude," Spencer says.
"It's just--"
"So illegal," Spencer finishes. "Yes, I know. Do you think it's removable?"
"Well," Ryan says. "Probably? I would think it would be. Unless they twisted it into his brain or something. Does it seem like his brain might be damaged?"
"No," Spencer says.
"So probably it's just firing off... electric... things, I don't know exactly how brains work," Ryan says. "Neurons."
"I'm not asking you to remove it," Spencer says. "But do you know someone who might be able to?"
"So illegal," Ryan says. Then, "I'll make some calls."
--
--
--
Spencer goes to check on Brendon.
Brendon's sleeping face down, the blanket fisted in his hand, tucked under his chin, high on one side and revealing his other shoulder. Spencer can see the discolouration of new bruises layered on top of old scars. He tugs up the blanket so that it's covering Brendon more evenly.
Brendon's not moving and Spencer stares at his form for a long while, watching to see if the blankets move, for some sign that he's still breathing. The bottle of painkillers are beside the bed, and it doesn't look like Brendon has taken any more, but Spencer isn't sure. He still doesn't know how many is too many, and how many is enough.
He walks back to the control room and sits down.
"We need to change over to O2-Tank Number Five," Gabe tells him.
Spencer shakes his head, trying to clear his mind.
"Right," he says. "I'm on it."
--
--
--
"Okay," Ryan says. It takes him a few hours to call back. Spencer's been leaning back in his chair, trying to catch a quick nap but failing. 'Trying to nap' sounds better than 'sitting and fretting,' anyway.
Spencer raises his eyebrows.
"So, because it's really fucking illegal," Ryan says, "it's not like people are going to advertise that they know anything about anything, right?"
"Yeah, right," Spencer says. "So--"
"So, there might be a guy who could figure something out, but I don't know how to get in contact with him."
"How do you not know?" Spencer asks. "Fuck. I thought this is what you were good at: knowing who to fucking call."
Ryan's been his best friend for nearly twenty years, so he just lets it slide, though there is an edge to his voice when he says, "Right, so, like I was saying, you're going to want to call Pete and ask him how to get in touch with Mikey."
"I'm supposed to call my boss about how to get in touch with someone who you don't know how to find because he doesn't want to advertise about knowing how to take illegal fucking brain fucker-up-ers out of people's heads?"
Ryan gives him a mild look. "Well, you could also bring him over here and let me have a crack at it."
Spencer stares at the monitor for a long minute. His cheek starts to twitch, and then his eye, and then he's smiling, and it turns into a laugh, and he laughs and he can't stop.
"Just breathe," Ryan's voice comes through the speakers, faint in comparison to Spencer's ragged breathing.
Spencer covers his mouth with his hand, and holds it there until he can breathe again.
"His finger's broken," he says. "I know there's like, a million things wrong right now, and he was in a ball on the floor because of the thing they put in his head, but his finger is broken and I can't stop thinking about it."
"Call Pete," Ryan says. "Make sure that his brain doesn't explode. It'll be a lot easier to find someone who can fix his finger."
"Okay," Spencer says. "Okay. Thanks."
"Call me when you've got some good news," Ryan says. "Soon, hopefully."
"Thanks," Spencer says again, and ends the transmission.
--
"Well, shit," Pete says.
"My thoughts exactly," Spencer says. "So, Ryan said that you might be able to, that there's a guy, Mikey?"
"Aww, shit," Pete says.
"Is that a no?" Spencer asks.
Pete sighs. "No, I can tell you where to find him." He gives the coordinates, which Spencer types into the navigating system. "You can tell him-- tell him that Pete said you were a SLD."
"SLD?" Spencer asks.
"Sweet little dude," Pete says. "Just-- he'll understand."
"Okay," Spencer says. "Thanks, Pete."
"I hope he can help," Pete says.
"Yeah, me, too," says Spencer.
--
--
--
Spencer wakes suddenly, jerking upright. He nearly falls out of the chair, but manages to catch himself with a hand to the control panel, luckily avoiding any of the actual controls.
He spins around and sees Brendon standing in the doorway, his weight resting against the door frame.
"Wha-t'is?" Spencer asks. "W-a's wrong?"
"Nothing, sir," Brendon says quickly. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to wake you, sir."
Spencer shakes his head. What time is it? How far along are they? What has he forgotten to do?
"I heard a beeping, sir," Brendon says. "I was trying to see what it was, sir. Should I have stayed in the room? I'm sorry to wake you, sir."
Now that Brendon's mentioned it, Spencer can hear the low beeping noise. He's surprised it didn't wake him.
"I have to go, I have to go check the sensors," Spencer says. "It just means something needs to be recalibrated. It's okay."
He stands up, rubbing his hand over his eyes. Fuck, how long was he sleeping for?
He walks down the hallway to the engine room and switches over to fuel source C so that tank A can cool down.
He walks back and finds Brendon exactly where he left him. Brendon is slumped against the door frame, but he tries to stand up straight when he sees Spencer coming toward him.
"Need help getting back to bed?" Spencer offers.
"No, sir," Brendon says. "I mean, yes, sir, if it pleases. I mean, I don't, what would you--"
"How's the pain?" Spencer asks, cutting him off.
Brendon opens his mouth, but seems unsure of how to respond. He settles on, "It's fine, thank you, sir. Would it please you to go to bed now?"
"Do I look that tired?" Spencer asks.
Brendon doesn't respond, his gaze fixed at a point somewhere around Spencer's feet. If it weren't for the crease in his brow, his face would be blank.
"How long has it been?" Spencer asks. "What time is it? Do you want more pills?"
"Yes, please," Brendon says, quietly. "Sir."
Spencer tilts his head, gesturing for Brendon to come with him. Brendon pushes away from the wall, but stumbles immediately.
Spencer rushes over to him, catching Brendon around the waist.
"Hey, whoa, okay, here we go."
"Sorry," Brendon mutters. It sounds like his teeth are clenched tightly together.
"We'll get you back to bed," Spencer says.
"Of course, sir," Brendon says.
"Spencer," Spencer says. "I'm really not a sir." He tightens his arm and helps Brendon back to the bed.
Brendon is less graceful climbing onto the mattress this time, but still just as naked. He moves to the far side of the bed, reaching for Spencer as if to pull him down as well.
"I'm good," Spencer assures him, but Brendon keeps trying to pull him down.
Spencer hesitates, then moves onto the bed as well, stretching out carefully on top of the blankets, sticking as far to his own side as possible. The bed is large for one person and there's room for him and Brendon to lie without touching, though mostly just because Brendon is half-sized.
"Just a nap," Spencer says. He can hear Brendon moving, but the pillow is soft, and Spencer hasn't been to bed in over twenty-four hours, and he falls asleep before he can figure out what Brendon's trying to do.
--
--
--
Spencer wakes up warm on one side and cold on the other, but still feeling comfortable over all. He stretches a little, flexing his toes.
He can feel a hand sliding down his chest. He's still wearing his shirt, so it's just a pressure, really, someone smoothing their hand over his belly. It goes lower, and it almost tickles. He squirms a little. The hand goes lower yet, starts working on the fastenings to his pants, and Spencer wakes up the rest of the way, sitting upright in a rush.
He squints and makes out Brendon, pressed close beside him, still reaching for Spencer.
"Bssaah," Spencer says. He licks his lips, trying to work away the thick feeling of sleep.
Brendon pushes up, moving slowly, a little awkwardly, trying to crawl down the bed to settle in between Spencer's legs and, "Whoa," Spencer says. "Hey. Whoa, okay, so. What?"
Brendon's hair is sticking to his forehead and standing up in little tufts all over the back of his head. His hands shake, but he reaches again for Spencer's pants, trying to get them open.
"So, okay, maybe we could just, just, ah, just not do that," Spencer stammers. When that doesn't work, he grabs for Brendon's wrists, trying to pull him away.
Brendon immediately moves back. He lies on the bed, face down this time, reaching behind himself to -- to -- to hold himself open.
Spencer scrambles off the bed, standing a good number of feet away from the mattress.
"Hey," he says, staring at the floor. "Hey, so, like. No sex, please."
He hears movement and risks a glance at the bed. Brendon is on his knees now, at the edge of the bed, staring at Spencer. His body is bruised and his dick isn't hard, and Spencer hasn't eaten in a while, but still he feels nauseated.
"I don't want to be," Spencer stammers, "I'm not trying to be insulting, but that's not, not, we don't, I don't, I would never."
Brendon gets off the bed and crawls forward, kneels just in front of Spencer and bows forward until his forehead is touching Spencer's foot.
He says, "Sorry, sir. I did not mean to cause offense, sir."
"It's... okay," Spencer says. He wants to shuffle backwards until Brendon's head isn't on his foot any longer, but he doesn't know how to do that without seeming rude. This is what Brendon knows, and it's not his fault, and he doesn't understand, and Spencer doesn't know what the fuck to do.
"I am very grateful, sir," Brendon says. He doesn't move, stays where he is at Spencer's feet. "I could show you. Whatever you wanted, sir."
Spencer's skin is crawling and he drops to the ground, touching Brendon's shoulder until he sits upright again.
"What was-- happening," Spencer says, "on your planet. That's not how we-- it's not, we don't think it's right to treat people like that. That's never, never, something I'm going to ask from you."
Brendon doesn't look relieved. It's hard to tell-- because ultimately Brendon looks pained, even though Spencer can tell he's trying not to show it-- but Spencer thinks he looks distressed in a new way now, too.
"I've gone too far," Brendon says. "I'm sorry, sir. I did not mean to disrespect."
"No, hey, look, it's me who'd-- that would be my disrespect. You're just-- I know you're just trying."
"Yes, sir," Brendon says. His face twitches and Spencer can see his eyes starting to water as his shoulders curl in.
"Is the pain bad?" asks Spencer.
"Yes," Brendon gasps.
"Okay," Spencer says. "It's okay. I'll help you up, here, here, back into bed, it's okay. Do you want some more painkillers?"
"Yes, please, sir," Brendon says.
"We'll find someone to help you," Spencer says. "Someone to get it out of your head."
Brendon doesn't look convinced, but his, "Thank you, sir," sounds genuine.
"And no one's going to-- that's not something you're going to have to do for anyone anymore," Spencer promises, even though he can tell the words don't mean anything to Brendon.
"Try to sleep," he says. "It'll help the time go faster."
--
--
--
"How long is it going to take us to get there?"
"If we keep making this kind of time, maybe 150 hours," Gabe says. "We don't have enough fuel to get us all the way there, though."
"That's days," Spencer says. "Shit. Okay, can you bring up the directory for registered medical facilities, listed by planet? I'm going to try and find something on the way. How far can we get without refueling?"
"We're at about 10%," Gabe says. "So, fifty hours? Less than that, maybe."
"I'll try to find somewhere close," Spencer says.
--
--
--
"Hey," Spencer says, pushing back the curtain in the door to the sleeping area. He just wanted to check on Brendon, but when he poked his head through he found Brendon sitting up, awake on the bed. "How are you feeling? I've found a doctor who'll look at your finger. We should get there sometime tomorrow."
Brendon looks down at his hand, like he'd forgotten about it. "Doesn't hurt, sir," he says.
"What does hurt?" Spencer asks.
"Everything else," Brendon says, smiling a little.
"At least it won't heal all bent out of shape," Spencer says. At least there's one thing he can help with right now.
"That would be good," Brendon says. "Thank you, sir."
"'m not a sir," Spencer says. "Especially when we land: if you call me sir it's going to bring up a whole lot of questions. I'm pretty obviously not a military commander."
Brendon frowns.
"I know you think you're supposed to," Spencer says. "I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable."
Brendon's sitting cross-legged on the bed, his back in a straight line and his hands resting on his lap. He nods his head in acknowledgment.
"You know how they put that in your head so that you wouldn't run away? It's partly because-- not on your planet? People don't really think it's okay to, to make people, to force people into, to take away someone's ability to choose," Spencer finally decides on. "So, you're trying to be respectful, right? But if you talk like that in front of a doctor, they're going to be worried about you, and they're going to think that you're afraid of me, or that, or that something's wrong, I don't know."
Spencer looks at Brendon, wanting to make eye contact, but Brendon is staring steadily at his shoulder.
"It's not that you can't tell people what they, what was happening to you. If you want to tell someone when we stop, or if you want to stay there, or whatever, you can. But if we're going to try and find Mikey - that's the guy Ryan thinks might be able to help with the thing in your head - if we want to get there soon, it's probably best if we don't draw attention to ourselves."
"I won't cause trouble, sir," Brendon promises. He takes a breath and then blurts out, "Thank you for telling me, because I don't really, I don't think I understand some things, and I know I've offended you, and I really just-- after everything you've done, I'm not trying to, I don't want to, so if there's ever -- if you just tell me, and then I'll know. You could just, sometimes you could just, and then I'd know what I was supposed to do." His voice is louder than Spencer's ever heard it get by the end, and once he finishes, Brendon grabs for his head with his uninjured hand, digging his fingers into his forehead.
"Okay," Spencer says quickly, walking over to stand by the side of the bed. "Okay, it's okay." He sits down on the very edge of the bed so that he's not towering over Brendon. "It's weird for you with all the different expectations, and it's weird for me too. Neither of us know what we're doing, but we can figure it out."
Spencer looks sideways and sees that Brendon is holding himself completely still, except that his body has started to tremble.
"It's okay," Spencer says. He pushes further onto the bed so that he's sitting beside Brendon, just close enough that their shoulders brush. "Hey, just breathe slowly. It'll hurt worse if you don't breathe."
Brendon holds his breath for a moment longer before forcing out a loud, shaky exhale. He breathes in sharply, and Spencer says, "Yeah, just like that. We can just sit here. Breathe with me, it's going to be okay, we'll get help, it won't hurt forever."
Spencer breathes slowly and loudly, and eventually he can hear Brendon trying to match the rhythm of Spencer's breathing.
Brendon leans over, resting more of his weight against Spencer's shoulder. He freezes immediately after making contact, like he's waiting to see if he'll be pushed away. Spencer keeps breathing, and eventually Brendon settles in.
A long while passes. Spencer wonders if Brendon has fallen asleep, but when he looks sideways, he can see that Brendon's eyes are still open.
"Is it a little better?" Spencer asks.
"Yeah," Brendon says. He can hear Brendon biting his tongue, holding back what would likely be another yes, sir, thank you, sir.
"How much longer do you want to wait before taking more painkillers?" Spencer asks.
"I'm okay for now," Brendon says.
"When did you last take them?" asks Spencer.
"I'm not sure of the time," Brendon says.
"There's a clock here," Spencer says. He touched the side of the little table beside the bed and the LSD panel lights up. "See, so you can check whenever."
"Thank you, sir," Brendon says.
"I was probably in here... four hours ago?" Spencer estimates. "Maybe five or six. How long do you think it was after I'd left."
Brendon says, "That's how long it's been then, sir."
"You haven't taken any since?"
"No, s--," Brendon says.
"You can take them whenever you want. You know that, right?" Spencer asks.
"Okay," Brendon says. "Thanks. I think I'll be okay for a little while."
"Do you think you might be more comfortable if you weren't, ah. If I found some clothes for you?" Spencer asks.
Brendon shrugs.
Spencer goes to the small closet and starts searching for something for Brendon to wear.
"You can just help yourself," Spencer says. "Maybe try these for now."
Brendon changes in front of Spencer, and he almost seems more naked in the process, like putting on clothes makes his body seem more bare than lying in bed did, which doesn't make any sense.
The shirt is a bit big, but Spencer wears his pants pretty small so while they're long in the leg, they stay up on Brendon's hips all right.
"Is that okay?" Spencer asks.
Brendon nods.
"Do you want to sleep some more?" Spencer asks.
"I think the pills make me sleepy," Brendon says. "I'm sure I will fall asleep again once I take some more."
"So that's a no on the sleeping now?" Spencer clarifies.
Brendon starts stammering.
"Do you want me to find you something to read?" Spencer asks, and then immediately winces. "Shit, I mean. Can you read? Fuck, is it offensive that I asked that? I'm sorry for asking if you can, or ... if you can't, it really doesn't matter either way." Spencer clamps his mouth shut to stop himself from talking.
"I can read," Brendon says. Spencer can't tell from his tone whether or not he's offended.
"Look," Spencer says, "let's just--. I grew up on Sumerist, and that's where I went to school. I spent like... sixteen years in school, and then I started working for the universal government, and I take these... global diversity sensitivity classes, which are supposed to help us for when we go on missions to other planets, but basically I don't know shit about what's going on. I just faked my way through the language requirement when I was getting hired. Petty much the only reason why I got hired anyway is because Ryan -- we grew up together -- he knows my boss, Pete, and he put in a good word for me. So, I'm sorry that I keep putting my foot in my mouth."
"I've never even left my planet," Brendon says. "You know a lot more than me."
"But I'm the one who keeps coming across like an asshole," Spencer says. He feels off balance and exhausted. He's not even sure how long they've been flying for now, but he hasn't slept more than a few hours, and he hasn't eaten in...
"Shit," Spencer says. "Shit, fuck, I'm sorry. You must be starving. I can't believe I haven't offered you food. You should have said something."
Brendon shakes his head quickly, but Spencer is already standing up.
"Come on," he says.
"I don't need--" Brendon starts saying.
"Come on," Spencer repeats.
Brendon follows behind him, standing awkwardly as Spencer starts pulling packages out of the cupboards.
"What do you like?" he asks. "Sit, sit down. What would you like to eat?"
Brendon sits down at the table and says, "I like everything."
"Most of this stuff is pretty gross," Spencer warns. Not being able to eat real meals is Spencer's least favourite part of being in space. He empties a random assortment of packages into different bowls and adds boiled water to hydrate them, then sets them out on the table. He passes Brendon a plate and carries one over for himself.
"So, I think this is supposed to be pasta," Spencer says, gesturing to the bowl of white mush. "This one is... vegetables, I don't know. Green usually means vegetables. The brown one is meat, I guess."
Brendon sits, gripping the edge of the table with his fingers.
"You don't have to eat anything you don't want to eat," Spencer says. "I'm sorry that none of this looks like actual food."
Spencer dishes food onto his plate, then passes Brendon the spoon, saying, "Help yourself to whatever."
Brendon hesitates before carefully putting small portions on his plate.
They eat quietly and Spencer has started to zone out when Brendon says, "I never eat meat."
"No?" Spencer asks. "Why not? You don't have to, if you don't want to."
"Meat was just for-- there wasn't a lot of room to raise livestock, so meat was just for the master," Brendon says.
"Well, whatever there is on the ship is for both of us," Spencer says.
--
Brendon seems to be feeling a little better after eating, so Spencer shows him around the ship. He's in the process of explaining how to change the antifreeze on the thrusters when Brendon slumps over, bending in half.
"Whoa," Spencer says, trying to catch Brendon with an arm around his waist.
"Sorry," Brendon gasps.
"Dude, if you're not feeling well you've got to tell me," Spencer says, as he half-supports and half-carries Brendon back to bed.
Brendon crumbles forward, moving his body onto the bed with some difficulty. He takes the pills that Spencer holds out, and Spencer sits with him and waits until the pills kick in and Brendon passes out. He sits a while longer, feeling stupid for having thought that things might just get better.
--
--
--
Part Two
Spencer hums to himself, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. It's pretty stupid that they still make ships with steering wheels, given that takeoffs and landings are fully automated. Something would have to go seriously fucking wrong before there was cause for Spencer to try to pilot the ship manually.
"Forty-three minutes 'til landing," a smooth female voice tells him.
"Oh, quit it," Spencer says.
"Does the captain have another request?" It's creepy how sexual an automated voice can sound.
"Knock off the pornovoice," Spencer says. "And I'm not even a captain."
"You're the highest ranking officer on the ship, but if there's something you'd rather be called..."
"I'm the only person on the ship," Spencer says.
"Well, in that case." Gabe's using his regular voice again. "Sit down and belt up, motherfucker. We're landing soon."
"Who even programmed you?" Spencer asks. "Seriously?"
"I'm feisty," Gabe says. "It's a feature."
"It is not a feature," Spencer says. "...Is it seriously a feature?"
Spencer's old navigating and control system, Brent, broke about three planets back. He was lucky to find a fully functional and compatible program - his ship is old, and backwards compatible computers are a dying breed - but Gabe is still taking a little getting used to.
Gabe starts laughing. The whole spacecraft vibrates a little with the buzzing bass of his sound waves.
--
It's not until they're within sight of the planet that Spencer realizes anything's wrong.
"Whoa," Spencer says, peering out the window. There are explosions that can be seen from space.
It sounded like an exciting job when Spencer first joined the United Worlds, but most of his missions are pretty boring. Go and supervise the new system of standardized testing on the Coilrim planets. Go and receive all of the weapons on Imdium after they officially declare themselves a peaceful planet. Go and act as a witness when Grepen signs the papers of independence and separates from Carblac. Spencer spends a lot of time traveling, given how little he actually accomplishes.
This mission to Handep seemed like it was going to be boring as well: Spencer is supposed to supervise the signing of a treaty that has... something to do with clean water. Spencer is going to have to read the reports more thoroughly before tomorrow. He's here a day early, but that still doesn't explain why there are explosions. That's not the kind of destruction that can be cleaned up overnight.
"Umm," Spencer says.
"I'm pretty sure we can't land," Gabe tells him.
"Pretty sure?"
"Definitely not in the place we were aiming for."
"Should we just turn around again?" Spencer asks. "Okay, you try and figure out where to land, and I'm going to call my boss."
--
"Yeah, I don't know anything about that," Wentz says. "I guess you should, like, take some pictures or something, and I'll show them to someone who might know."
--
He's been circling the planet for a few hours when Wentz gets back to him.
"Yeah, no one knows," Wentz says.
"What do you want me to do?" asks Spencer.
"What are you there for, anyway? Something about water?"
"I think so," Spencer says. "Those reports are motherfucking dry to read."
"Dude, I know," Wentz says. FBR is a pretty awesome division to work for, mostly because Pete's in charge.
"I'm concerned about all of the explosions," Spencer says. "It seems like more and more of the planet is catching on fire."
"Probably no usable water anymore," Pete says. "You could just head back. Do you need to touch down first?"
"I think I've got enough fuel," Spencer says. "I was supposed to manually change some of the tanks and drop off the old ones. Maybe I'd be able to do that from space. I'm pretty sure I've got a spacesuit somewhere on board."
"I've found somewhere for us to land," Gabe tells him. "Just FYI."
"Well, do what you think is best," Pete says. "Take some pictures from the ground if you do touch down."
Spencer ends the transmission. He looks out of the window again. The planet continues to be on fire.
"Did you really find somewhere safe?" Spencer says.
"Yup," Gabe says.
"How long until we land?" Spencer asks.
"Twelve minutes."
While Gabe is landing the ship, Spencer pulls out the mission report. He's hoping to find some kind of description of the planet, but if the information is there, it's hidden among seventy-five million graphs. Spencer isn't a fucking scientist; what the fuck does he know about water density levels? If people are actually supposed to read these things, then maybe they should be written in plain English.
They land, and Spencer is tempted to put on the spacesuit anyway. The air is thick and bitter with all the smoke. Spencer's eyes water, and it's hard to see what he's doing. He pulls his shirt over his nose, which doesn't really help anything, but it seems like a good idea. There's dry ash floating around; maybe his shirt will stop it from entering his lungs.
Spencer takes all of the empty tanks off of the ship. Some of them are oxygen tanks, and he's worried about the danger of them exploding, given the incredible heat.
He walks around, trying to find somewhere to put them. There aren't any recycling bins, but at least he could hide them behind a rock or something. The ground is blackened, but Gabe did a good job finding this spot. Spencer can see huge trees burning brightly off in the distance. The fire has already passed over this area.
He doesn't find anywhere for the tanks - everywhere within short walking distance is either barren or ignited. Spencer wonders if he should try to put out the small ground fires, but settles on walking around them instead.
He's about ready to head back, when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye.
Spencer spins around, and sees a person, standing a few metres away.
The person doesn't seem surprised that Spencer has noticed him. Spencer wonders how long the guy has been watching him.
Spencer takes a deep breath. His heart is thudding in his throat. He hopes the guy isn't planning on killing him. Spencer doesn't have any weapons, so he's not sure how good his chances will be in a fight. The guy's tiny. He's covered in soot and his hair is matted to his head. Maybe Spencer could take him.
Before Spencer has time to decide a plan of attack, the guy lifts up his arms, spreading his fingers and holding his open palms toward Spencer. He leaves his hands above his head and drops to his knees.
Spencer blinks in surprise. All he'd been doing was glaring at the guy; who knew that would be so effective?
He walks forward, stopping a few feet away from the guy. He shows his palms and asks, "Do you speak English?" Because Spencer works for the government, he's technically supposed to be able to speak all of the official languages, but he's more than a little rusty on the other eight.
Luckily, the guy says, "Yes, sir." He stares straight ahead, keeping his head level and not making eye contact.
Spencer feels weird standing like this, so he crouches down in front of the guy. He'd kneel, but the ground is nasty, and there aren't many other clothes for him on the ship.
"My name is Smith," he says. "I'm with FBR. I was supposed to meet with Chancellor Stepone, and, um. I have noticed that your planet is on fire."
"The Chancellor has been killed, sir," the guy says.
"Killed by who?"
"I think it's rebels from Maromb, sir. That's what their accents sounded like, sir."
"When did you talk with them?" Spencer asks. The guy is wearing very tight pants that are badly ripped, and a few scraps of fabric in place of a shirt. He doesn't look like someone who'd be in the military, but sometimes it's hard to tell.
"They came into the house, and they--" He clears his throat quietly, still staring straight ahead, just over Spencer's shoulder. "And they took the master, sir."
"Are you all right?" Spencer asks.
"Yes, sir," the guy says.
"I've got a ship," Spencer says. "There're some medical supplies, I don't know if you're-- I mean, and probably you should give a report. Something that I can take back to tell people about. Are there others? Are the rebels still here? Are you in danger?" Spencer looks around. "Are we in danger?"
"I don't know, sir," he says. "I haven't seen anyone in a while, but I also don't know what's causing the explosions, sir."
"Oh," Spencer says. "Well." He looks around. "Would you mind if we went back to my ship?"
"No, sir."
"What's your name?" Spencer asks.
The guy pauses.
"You can make something up," says Spencer. It's weird how many people are guarded around him just because he works for the government. It's not like he can arrest people or anything. "I just want something to call you."
The guy looks down, opens his mouth, pauses again before finally saying, "Brendon, sir."
"I'm Spencer," he says. "I'm not like-- I mean, you can call me Spencer."
Brendon smiles. He follows Spencer back to the ship.
--
"Where is everyone?" Spencer asks once they're on the ship again. It's not like his ship is battle-ready, but it's still safer than standing out in the open.
"I don't know, sir," Brendon says.
"You said that you saw the rebels?" Spencer asks. Now that they're on the ship, he can see better. Brendon has a black eye; it's not just the dirt and soot. His pinkie finger seems to be bent at a strange angle.
"Yes, sir."
"Is that, um, are you okay?" Spencer asks. Brendon is sitting very carefully, just on the edge of the chair.
"Yes, sir."
Spencer really doesn't know how to handle situations like this. Usually, all he has to deal with is the headache that comes with levels and levels of bureaucracy.
Spencer says, "Because, ah, it looks like--" He touches his cheek.
Brendon doesn't react when he says, "They wanted to know if I had any information, sir."
"And?"
"And I didn't," Brendon says. "Sir."
"And then they just let you go?" Spencer asks. He wonders if he's being too pushy, asking too many questions, but he's on a strange planet that is under attack, and even now that they're on the ship, he can hear the sounds of explosions, like maybe bombs are being dropped, or something. He thinks it would probably be a good idea to takeoff before too long.
There's a pause before Brendon says, "Yes, sir."
"What?" Spencer asks.
Brendon shakes his head, like he doesn't understand what Spencer is asking. "I convinced them to let me go, sir," he says.
Spencer's about to say something else when there's a loud beeping sound.
"I have to get that," he says. "It'll be my boss."
He clicks on the transmission.
"Still alive, Smith?" Pete asks.
"So far so good," Spencer says.
"You figure out what's going on?" asks Pete.
"Trouble," Spencer says. "I found someone who seems to kind of know."
"Put them on," Pete says.
Spencer walks over to Brendon. "Hey, would you mind talking with my boss for a bit? He might be able to help."
"Yes, sir," Brendon says.
Spencer shows him over to the video monitor, then takes a few steps back.
"Gabe?" Spencer asks in a low voice so as to not interrupt Brendon.
"Yo," Gabe says. "I'm a little concerned that we're going to get blown up."
"Right now?" Spencer asks, alarmed.
"Not like, as we speak," Gabe says. "Well, I don't know. I'm a computer; I'm not psychic."
"Aren't there sensors and shit?" Spencer asks.
"Yeah," Gabe asks.
"... And?"
"And I'm still not a psychic. How am I supposed to know how long we're going to continue talking for?"
"Are," Spencer asks, "there any incoming explosions? Currently."
"We're good," Gabe says.
Spencer exhales slowly.
"I think we should take off soon," Gabe says. "I'd estimate that the fire's going to be close enough for us to feel the heat within the hour."
"We're still good to take off, right?" Spencer asks.
"So far," Gabe says.
"Keep me posted," Spencer says.
He walks back over to Brendon, who's saying, "No, sir, I don't know what firebombing is, but it does seem like there's a lot of fire."
"Smith, you there?" Pete asks.
Spencer walks over so that the camera can pick him up too.
"Yeah," Spencer says.
"So, you should probably leave soon," Pete says.
"I'm starting to get that feeling," says Spencer.
Brendon moves to the side, trying to get out of the way.
"Should I leave, sir?" he asks.
Spencer opens his mouth, but already Brendon is scurrying away.
The video transmission starts to flicker.
"Pete?" Spencer asks. "Can you still hear me?"
"-ind of," Pete says. "The feed's been --ing in and out. I think --re getting interference."
"Pete?" Spencer asks, but the video cuts out. "Gabe?" Spencer calls.
"Nothing I can do, little buddy," Gabe says. "There's a fuckton of debris in the air."
"Ah, shit," Spencer says. "Get us ready for take off, okay?"
"Will do," Gabe says.
"How soon can we leave?" Spencer asks.
"Shouldn't be too long," Gabe says. "It's hot as hell, so it's not like I need to let the engines warm up."
"Yeah," Spencer says, flatly. "Great."
He walks away from the control room to find Brendon. It's not like it's a big ship. There's a long hallway that runs from one end to the other: at one end is the control room, at the other is the engine room.
Spencer finds Brendon sitting about halfway down the hall. If he'd walked any further, he would have found the eating area, and been able to sit down at a table, but instead he's sitting on the floor, his back resting against the wall and his knees pulled up to his chest. He has one hand cradled in his lap.
"Transmission cut out," Spencer says. "I'm going to be taking off soon."
"Yes, sir," Brendon says. He looks up at Spencer, but doesn't rise off the floor.
"Are you-- did you have a plan?" Spencer asks. "Are there other survivors?"
"I-- don't know," Brendon says. He swallows. "Sir."
"How did you know I wasn't one of the rebels?" Spencer asks. "Why didn't you keep out of sight?"
Brendon shrugs. "You looked confused," he says. "You didn't seem like them." He blinks quickly, like he's surprised by what he just said. His face twists, and he says, "Sorry, sir. No disrespect, sir."
"Seriously," Spencer says, "I'm not someone that you have to use titles with. You know way more about what's going on than I do."
Brendon smiles. Or-- the corners of his mouth curl up. The expression looks more like a sign of acknowledgment, like he's showing Spencer that he's listening.
"I'm going to be taking off soon," Spencer says again. He wants to ask if he can see Brendon's hand, because he's pretty sure that one of Brendon's fingers is broken. He doesn't know how to give medical care, beyond what he remembers from the required First Aid class he took when he first got hired, but at least he could help Brendon clean off. He has so many more questions to ask Brendon; he wants to write it down, so that he'll remember for sure what to report when he gets back home, but there isn't time for all that.
"Look," Spencer says. "I'm heading back to Minaid, and I've got enough food for two, and I don't know if it's the best idea for you to go back out there, so if you want to come back with me, then you could tell Pete, that's my boss, about what you saw. That would be a lot more helpful than leaving you here to get scorched. But, if you want to stay, I'll still tell them what happened, and hopefully we'll be able to send help soon, it's just that I'm not sure when, so."
Brendon's still sitting on the floor, staring up at him. He's looking at Spencer from an odd angle, but it looks like one of his eyes is well on the way to swelling shut.
"Do you want to come?" Spencer asks.
Brendon's quiet for a beat, but then he nods and says, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"For real though," Spencer says. "Stop calling me sir."
--
--
--
They have to belt up for takeoff, but after the ship's cruising along Spencer shows Brendon to the eating area. He gestures for Brendon to sit at the table - it's more a bench than a table, but it's better than the floor - while he rummages around for the medical supplies.
"Is your eye okay?" Spencer asks, setting a roll of gauze onto the table.
"Yes, sir," Brendon says.
"Do you want to, you know, wipe it off? I'll see if I can find something cold, though it's probably too late to help the swelling now."
He passes Brendon a cloth and a bottle of antiseptic, then starts looking around for something cold. He finds actual icepacks in the bottom of the supplies closet and cracks one to make it cold.
Brendon's dabbing awkwardly at his face. His eyes are watering badly now, and it seems like he's having more success in getting antiseptic in his eye than in cleaning off the wound.
"I can--" Spencer offers, extending his hand.
Brendon passes him the cloth, then folds his hands in his lap. He looks straight ahead, and doesn't flinch when Spencer starts dabbing gently at his cheek.
Spencer cleans away a layer of dirt. He realizes that he's trying to wipe away scabbed blood, and doesn't know what to do. He doesn't want to start the wound bleeding again. He starts pressing the cloth gently instead of rubbing, cleans around Brendon's eye as best he can without getting too close to his actual eyeball.
Cleaning off the dirt makes the injury look worse.
"What were you hit with?" Spencer asks.
Brendon looks down without moving his head and shrugs.
Spencer picks up the icepack and hands it to Brendon. "Do you want to put this on your face?"
"Sure," Brendon says. "Thank you, sir."
"You're sitting funny," Spencer says. "What else hurts?"
Brendon pauses before saying, "Just tired, sir."
"Is, um, can I see your hand?" Spencer asks. He's been dreading this, but if Brendon can sit here with a broken finger, the least Spencer can do is help as best he can, even if he doesn't have a fucking clue what he's supposed to do about a broken finger.
Brendon holds up his hand. He looks forward pointedly instead of down at his hand.
Brendon's pinkie is badly swollen, but seems to be mostly in a straight line, at least. Spencer stares at his hand for a moment before asking, "Was I seeing things? I could swear that it was--"
Brendon's other fingers twitch, but he doesn't pull his hand away.
"I fixed it," he says. "Sir."
Spencer drops Brendon's hand, and Brendon moves it carefully back to his lap.
"You-- what," Spencer says. "Jesus."
Brendon doesn't say anything.
Spencer grabs the other icepack and breaks it. "For your hand," he says.
Brendon sets the icepack he's holding onto the table and takes the one that Spencer's holding out. He puts it on his lap and rests his hand on top of it, then picks up the other one and holds it to his face.
"I'm going to find you painkillers," Spencer says. The storage closet is in the eating area, but he leaves the room, leaning back against the wall and staring up at the ceiling. His stomach churns, and he tries to calm his breathing down.
He wants to stay out here, but he makes himself push away from the wall, walks back into the eating area.
"Maybe they're in here," he says, even though he's sure that Brendon can see through it.
He finds a bottle of painkillers in the closet. They're heavy duty, and the label on the back says, Take one every twelve hours. He shakes three onto his palm.
He puts the pills on the table in front of Brendon. Brendon pulls the icepack away from his face, and places it on the table beside the pills. Spencer thinks that he should go get something for Brendon to drink, but Brendon just swallows them dry. He lifts the icepack back to his face.
They sit quietly.
Spencer wonders how long it will take for the painkillers to start working. If he hadn't seen Brendon's injuries, he wouldn't have even known that he was in pain. Slowly, though, Brendon's posture starts to relax. He's still sitting up straight, but there's not as much effort in holding himself up, or something.
"Are you feeling a little better?" Spencer asks.
"Yeah," Brendon says, his voice soft and slow. "Thank you, sir." He lowers the icepack and asks, "Where would you like me to put these, sir?"
"Just leave them," Spencer says.
Brendon looks concerned, but when Spencer doesn't offer any further guidance, he piles them neatly on the table.
"Do you want to sleep now?" Spencer asks. "I can show you the bed."
There's this strange moment where Brendon's face is blank, but then he's smiling and saying, "Of course, sir."
The sleeping area is really only some ten steps away from the seating area. Spencer keeps a cloth hanging over the doorway, even though it's usually only him on the ship so it's not as though he has to worry about privacy.
"Do you want to borrow some clothes?" Spencer offers. "What do you usually wear to bed?"
"Umm," Brendon says, looking down. "... Bedsheets. I don't, umm."
"No, it's, ah, it's okay." Spencer tries to figure out how to suggest that Brendon clean himself off first. He feels a little guilty for thinking that way, but they're going to have to take turns sharing the bed, and it's not like there's extra bedding. Brendon really is filthy. "So, there's, just over here, yeah."
He leads Brendon to the bathroom and shows him the soap dispenser. There isn't room on the ship to hold water for bathing.
Brendon stares at him, waiting.
"Umm, see," Spencer says. He holds his hand under the dispenser and some soap shoots out onto his hand. It's starting to foam already. Spencer still can't believe how many bubbles can come from such a small amount of liquid. Maybe Brendon hasn't ever seen this kind of shower before; he's been on a planet and he's probably used to bathing with water.
"You can use it for shampoo, too," Spencer says. "The bubbles just evaporate afterwards, so you don't have to rinse off or anything."
Spencer rubs his hands together, and a mountain of white foam forms. He lifts his hands to his mouth and blows the bubbles off with a big puff of breath. They float over and land on the floor of the shower. He wipes his palm together, feeling his skin start to dry already.
Brendon's still watching him, like he's waiting for more direction. Spencer tries to think of something else to say, and fails. He blinks, then realizes what Brendon's probably waiting for.
"Sorry," he says, backing out of the room. "I will leave you to it. You call if you need help or, well, why would you need help showering? But if you need me you can call, and, okay, I'm going to give you privacy now."
"I'll get clean," Brendon says in this very serious voice.
Spencer gives him an awkward thumbs up, then closes the door quickly.
He searches around the ship while Brendon's cleaning off, and actually manages to find something that looks like a finger splint. It isn't labeled, but it looks finger-sized; what else could it be for? For all he knows it's an extra piece of the ship, but he thinks Brendon needs it more than the ship does at this point.
He grabs a roll of bandages and waits for Brendon in the eating area. The door out of the bathroom leads into the hallway, but the bedroom is before the eating area. Spencer pulled back the curtains and left his other set of pyjamas on the bed, hoping that Brendon would notice them on the way.
Eventually, he hears the sound of footsteps. It sounds like Brendon has just stopped though, not like he's actually walked into the sleeping area.
Spencer pokes his head out, and sees Brendon standing in the centre of the hall, naked.
Brendon's bruised all down one side of his torso, a couple of large bruises spread across the tops of his thighs and then down his legs. Both of his nipples are pierced. Spencer looks away quickly.
"Where would you like me to go, sir?" Brendon asks.
"I've, ah, I've got something for you," Spencer says. He holds up the splint, looking steadily at the floor.
"Yes, sir," Brendon says. "What would you like me to do, sir?"
"You can just, I mean, I can help you with it," Spencer says.
"Of course, sir," Brendon says. He walks to Spencer.
Spencer retreats into the eating area to grab the bandages, and Brendon follows him inside.
"See," Spencer says, holding the splint to the finger of his other hand to demonstrate. "I think it will work."
"Oh," Brendon says, sounding surprised. He lifts his hand for Spencer though, and helps hold the splint in place while Spencer wraps bandages around it. Brendon's finger is so swollen that the splint fits Spencer's finger better than it does Brendon's, but still it must be better than nothing.
"Do you think that'll stay on?" Spencer asks. "I don't want to wrap it too tightly."
Brendon gives his hand a little shake, and says, "Yes, sir. I think so, sir."
"I'll get you to a doctor," Spencer promises. "I don't know this area of space at all, so it might be a few days before I can figure out where to take you, but I promise I'll get you help."
"Thank you, sir," Brendon says, staring at his hand.
"You want to go to bed now?" Spencer asks.
Brendon drops his hand to his side, pulls his shoulders back, and takes a breath before saying, "Yes, sir."
Spencer thinks that he must be missing some cultural cues. Brendon's so respectful, but he doesn't seem to have any feelings of awkwardness to be standing naked in front of Spencer. It's hard for Spencer not to look at him, just because his eyes are constantly drawn to the patches of darkly bruising skin. He wants to give Brendon more painkillers, but he's already had way more than the required dose. Brendon doesn't show any outward signs of pain, but Spencer aches just looking at him.
"So, it's this way," Spencer says, nodding toward the door.
There isn't a lot of room on the ship, but because it's meant for one person, the sleeping area is more like a bedroom and less like a room lined with bunks.
"You can sleep on the bed," Spencer says. He's about to mention how he left pyjamas out, but Brendon's already climbing onto the bed, crawling into the centre of the mattress. Spencer can see everything, Brendon's hips rolling smoothly as he moves forward.
Brendon lies down, his arms at his sides, his legs bent at the knee and spread open.
Spencer can feel his face heating up. He knows it must just be a cultural thing - in some places people don't think anything of nudity.
"So, goodnight," he says. His voice is higher than normal, which makes him cringe a little. He doesn't want to make Brendon self-conscious. "Call me if you need anything."
Spencer turns and starts walking to the door.
"Aren't you coming?" Brendon asks in a small voice.
"I'll get some stuff done," Spencer says. "We can figure out a sleeping schedule later."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Brendon says. Brendon sounds relieved and exhausted, and as Spencer walks out of the room, he can hear the sheets rustling. Brendon must have decided to cover himself up after all.
--
Spencer walks back to the control room and starts scrolling through the report about Brendon's planet. There still isn't any culture information; just graphs.
"Fuck," Spencer says.
"I love it when you talk dirty," Gabe says.
"You have a virus, don't you?" Spencer asks.
"No glove, no love, baby," says Gabe.
"Who programmed you?" Spencer asks. "Seriously."
"I told you," Gabe says. "It's a feature."
"Uh huh," Spencer says. "Hey, so, speaking of features, are you able to pull up information for me?"
"What kind of information would you like me to pull up?" Gabe asks.
Spencer ignores the inflection in his voice and says, "The history of Handep."
His screen floods with information, most of the fonts too tiny to read.
"A brief history," Spencer corrects.
The text moves around the screen, piling itself neatly in the corner for Spencer to start clicking through.
By the time he gets to, under investigation for reports of violations to the Decency to All Humans Act, section vii 1.456, Spencer's head is pounding.
--
Spencer finishes reading and clicks twice on the corner of the screen to clear off the data.
"Well, shit," he says.
--
Spencer's sitting and staring into space, trying to come up with a plan, even though his brain is still stuck on well, shit. He's not quite asleep, but he startles badly at the sound of screaming.
He runs to the sleeping area and finds Brendon on the floor. He's folding himself into the corner of the room, crouched into a little ball, his arms wrapped around his legs.
When he hears Spencer, he raises his head. He tries to stand, but doesn't make it to his feet. His face is wet and it seems like he's still crying, and at first Spencer thinks that he's having a nightmare, but Brendon says, "Sir, sorry, sir, I have to go back, I'm sorry, please, I have to go back."
"What's wrong?" Spencer asks. "What? Why? Go back?"
"Please," Brendon says. He's about to say something else when his whole body seizes. He starts screaming again, grabbing his head with both hands.
Spencer hurries over to him, kneels beside him on the floor.
"What?" he asks. "Brendon, tell me, please, what's wrong, are you okay?"
Brendon isn't screaming anymore, but he's still crying, these great big shuddering sobs that shake his whole body. He grimaces, holding his head tightly.
"Are you in pain?" Spencer asks.
Brendon starts to nod, but catches himself mid-motion, and grits out, "Yes," instead.
"What is it?" Spencer says. "I'll find you help, it's okay."
"I have to go back," Brendon says.
"Why?" Spencer asks. "What's happening?"
Brendon pushes away from the wall, moving slowly, carefully, and turns his head around. He pushes away the hair on the back of his head until Spencer can see the thick, white line of scar tissue.
"Is there--" Spencer swallows, trying to loosen the muscles squeezing his throat closed. "Did they put something in your head?"
Brendon turns back around, slumping against the wall. His mouth is shut, and it seems like he's holding his breath as tears continue to pour down his cheeks. He moves his head in a tiny nod.
Spencer's heart pounds. He doesn't know what to do. He reaches out and touches Brendon's elbow, just gently with his fingertips.
Brendon inhales loudly, then forces out, "So I can't leave."
"They put it in your head so you couldn't run away?" Spencer asks.
Brendon moves his head a fraction.
"So you, so it's hurting because we're a certain distance away from the planet now?" Spencer asks, thinking quickly.
Brendon gives a slight shrug. "Thought maybe they were lying," he mutters. "Sorry. Shouldn't have come."
"Okay," Spencer says to himself, taking a deep breath. "Okay, it's okay." He gives Brendon's arm a tiny squeeze and says, "I'm going to get painkillers, okay? I'll be right back."
He runs over to the eating area, and finds the bottle of pills where he left it. Brendon took three less than six hours ago, and Spencer doesn't know if he should give him more. Brendon's in pain, though. Can someone overdose and still be in pain?
His hands shake as he fumbles with the lid. He almost spills them onto the floor and dumps half the bottle into his hand by accident. He manages to put them back, leaving two out. He sets the bottle down, but thinks twice and grabs it again to take with him.
"Hey," he says, once he's crouching in front of Brendon again. "Do you want to take these? I don't know how many you're supposed to take. I don't want to give you too many, but I know you're in pain, so if you want some more--?" He trails off.
Brendon says, "Yes. Please." He tries to reach for the pills, but it's the hand with the splint. He forgets to be careful and bangs it into his knee, but he doesn't even flinch. Spencer doesn't want to think about how badly everything else must hurt for that pain not to even register.
"I'll just-- open your mouth, okay? I'll give you two?"
Brendon opens his mouth immediately. Spencer carefully puts one pill into his mouth, gives him a moment to swallow it, then drops the other one in when Brendon opens his mouth again.
Brendon has pressed himself right into the corner of the room. Spencer sits to one side of him. He moves so that he's leaning against the wall, sitting on the floor, his leg just brushing Brendon's.
He doesn't know what else he can do to help, but if Brendon's grabbing his head, maybe that means his head hurts, and probably talking isn't a good idea. He sits and listens to Brendon cry, and thinks about how he's completely the wrong person for this, how unfortunate it is for Brendon that he's stuck here with Spencer instead of with someone who knows what he's doing.
Finally, Brendon lifts his hands and starts wiping at his face, trying to clean himself off.
He says, "Sorry, sir," in a quiet, rough voice.
"Is it helping?" Spencer asks.
"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," Brendon says.
"Do you want to sleep some more? Or to eat something? Or, what would you like to do?"
"I have to go back," Brendon says. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have tried to--" He takes a deep breath, wincing a little. Spencer doesn't think that the painkillers are taking away all of the pain.
"I can take you back," Spencer says, even though he's not sure how true that is. He knows they'll have to refuel before long, and from what Gabe said, they're three days away from a safe planet. "Or we can try to figure out something else."
Brendon shakes his head in confusion.
"They put it in, right? So we should be able to find someone who'll take it out."
"It's connected to the master," Brendon says. "There's no way to take it out, sir."
"Maybe we can," Spencer says. "We can try, anyway. I've got a friend -- he knows a lot of people. I can get in contact with him, and he can ask around, at least. We can try."
Brendon doesn't say anything.
Spencer can only guess at how much pain he must be in - even now with the painkillers, he has to keep wiping at his eyes - and it's not fair to ask Brendon to hold out on a long shot. He doesn't want to take Brendon back, not there, not to the people who did this in the first place, but, "I'll take you back if you want," he says. "You don't have to stay here. We can go back if you want."
"I know you have to get back to your planet, sir," Brendon says. "You can just, if you could just drop me somewhere, I could try and find my own way back, sir."
"If you want to go back, I will take you," Spencer says. "I'm not dropping you anywhere. I need to get home so that we can try and send some help for your people, but we can talk to my boss as soon as we're away from the debris. It's not like I'd be leading the mission or anything. So. There's time."
"Do you really think your friend might know how to get it out?" Brendon asks. "Sir."
"Gabe says it's four hours until we're out of the debris," Spencer says. "I can find out then."
Brendon sags back against the wall.
"So, do you, should we keep moving forward?" Spencer asks, trying not to sound hopeful.
Brendon says, "Okay. Yes, sir."
"Let's get you to bed," Spencer says, pushing himself to his feet and leaning down to help Brendon stand as well.
"I'm not very good like this," Brendon says as he staggers back to bed, leaning heavily on Spencer. "I'm sorry, sir."
"I think you're pretty good to sleep," Spencer assures him. He pulls back the blankets and Brendon climbs into bed. He's naked still, and he lies back like he did the first time, even though it seems to take a considerable effort for him to convince his legs to pull apart.
Spencer says, "I'll leave the pills on the table," then rushes out of the room and straight to the bathroom, where he vomits into the sink.
--
--
--
"So illegal," Ryan says, for what's got to be the tenth time. Spencer spent hours waiting, but the transmission finally went through.
"Dude," Spencer says.
"It's just--"
"So illegal," Spencer finishes. "Yes, I know. Do you think it's removable?"
"Well," Ryan says. "Probably? I would think it would be. Unless they twisted it into his brain or something. Does it seem like his brain might be damaged?"
"No," Spencer says.
"So probably it's just firing off... electric... things, I don't know exactly how brains work," Ryan says. "Neurons."
"I'm not asking you to remove it," Spencer says. "But do you know someone who might be able to?"
"So illegal," Ryan says. Then, "I'll make some calls."
--
--
--
Spencer goes to check on Brendon.
Brendon's sleeping face down, the blanket fisted in his hand, tucked under his chin, high on one side and revealing his other shoulder. Spencer can see the discolouration of new bruises layered on top of old scars. He tugs up the blanket so that it's covering Brendon more evenly.
Brendon's not moving and Spencer stares at his form for a long while, watching to see if the blankets move, for some sign that he's still breathing. The bottle of painkillers are beside the bed, and it doesn't look like Brendon has taken any more, but Spencer isn't sure. He still doesn't know how many is too many, and how many is enough.
He walks back to the control room and sits down.
"We need to change over to O2-Tank Number Five," Gabe tells him.
Spencer shakes his head, trying to clear his mind.
"Right," he says. "I'm on it."
--
--
--
"Okay," Ryan says. It takes him a few hours to call back. Spencer's been leaning back in his chair, trying to catch a quick nap but failing. 'Trying to nap' sounds better than 'sitting and fretting,' anyway.
Spencer raises his eyebrows.
"So, because it's really fucking illegal," Ryan says, "it's not like people are going to advertise that they know anything about anything, right?"
"Yeah, right," Spencer says. "So--"
"So, there might be a guy who could figure something out, but I don't know how to get in contact with him."
"How do you not know?" Spencer asks. "Fuck. I thought this is what you were good at: knowing who to fucking call."
Ryan's been his best friend for nearly twenty years, so he just lets it slide, though there is an edge to his voice when he says, "Right, so, like I was saying, you're going to want to call Pete and ask him how to get in touch with Mikey."
"I'm supposed to call my boss about how to get in touch with someone who you don't know how to find because he doesn't want to advertise about knowing how to take illegal fucking brain fucker-up-ers out of people's heads?"
Ryan gives him a mild look. "Well, you could also bring him over here and let me have a crack at it."
Spencer stares at the monitor for a long minute. His cheek starts to twitch, and then his eye, and then he's smiling, and it turns into a laugh, and he laughs and he can't stop.
"Just breathe," Ryan's voice comes through the speakers, faint in comparison to Spencer's ragged breathing.
Spencer covers his mouth with his hand, and holds it there until he can breathe again.
"His finger's broken," he says. "I know there's like, a million things wrong right now, and he was in a ball on the floor because of the thing they put in his head, but his finger is broken and I can't stop thinking about it."
"Call Pete," Ryan says. "Make sure that his brain doesn't explode. It'll be a lot easier to find someone who can fix his finger."
"Okay," Spencer says. "Okay. Thanks."
"Call me when you've got some good news," Ryan says. "Soon, hopefully."
"Thanks," Spencer says again, and ends the transmission.
--
"Well, shit," Pete says.
"My thoughts exactly," Spencer says. "So, Ryan said that you might be able to, that there's a guy, Mikey?"
"Aww, shit," Pete says.
"Is that a no?" Spencer asks.
Pete sighs. "No, I can tell you where to find him." He gives the coordinates, which Spencer types into the navigating system. "You can tell him-- tell him that Pete said you were a SLD."
"SLD?" Spencer asks.
"Sweet little dude," Pete says. "Just-- he'll understand."
"Okay," Spencer says. "Thanks, Pete."
"I hope he can help," Pete says.
"Yeah, me, too," says Spencer.
--
--
--
Spencer wakes suddenly, jerking upright. He nearly falls out of the chair, but manages to catch himself with a hand to the control panel, luckily avoiding any of the actual controls.
He spins around and sees Brendon standing in the doorway, his weight resting against the door frame.
"Wha-t'is?" Spencer asks. "W-a's wrong?"
"Nothing, sir," Brendon says quickly. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to wake you, sir."
Spencer shakes his head. What time is it? How far along are they? What has he forgotten to do?
"I heard a beeping, sir," Brendon says. "I was trying to see what it was, sir. Should I have stayed in the room? I'm sorry to wake you, sir."
Now that Brendon's mentioned it, Spencer can hear the low beeping noise. He's surprised it didn't wake him.
"I have to go, I have to go check the sensors," Spencer says. "It just means something needs to be recalibrated. It's okay."
He stands up, rubbing his hand over his eyes. Fuck, how long was he sleeping for?
He walks down the hallway to the engine room and switches over to fuel source C so that tank A can cool down.
He walks back and finds Brendon exactly where he left him. Brendon is slumped against the door frame, but he tries to stand up straight when he sees Spencer coming toward him.
"Need help getting back to bed?" Spencer offers.
"No, sir," Brendon says. "I mean, yes, sir, if it pleases. I mean, I don't, what would you--"
"How's the pain?" Spencer asks, cutting him off.
Brendon opens his mouth, but seems unsure of how to respond. He settles on, "It's fine, thank you, sir. Would it please you to go to bed now?"
"Do I look that tired?" Spencer asks.
Brendon doesn't respond, his gaze fixed at a point somewhere around Spencer's feet. If it weren't for the crease in his brow, his face would be blank.
"How long has it been?" Spencer asks. "What time is it? Do you want more pills?"
"Yes, please," Brendon says, quietly. "Sir."
Spencer tilts his head, gesturing for Brendon to come with him. Brendon pushes away from the wall, but stumbles immediately.
Spencer rushes over to him, catching Brendon around the waist.
"Hey, whoa, okay, here we go."
"Sorry," Brendon mutters. It sounds like his teeth are clenched tightly together.
"We'll get you back to bed," Spencer says.
"Of course, sir," Brendon says.
"Spencer," Spencer says. "I'm really not a sir." He tightens his arm and helps Brendon back to the bed.
Brendon is less graceful climbing onto the mattress this time, but still just as naked. He moves to the far side of the bed, reaching for Spencer as if to pull him down as well.
"I'm good," Spencer assures him, but Brendon keeps trying to pull him down.
Spencer hesitates, then moves onto the bed as well, stretching out carefully on top of the blankets, sticking as far to his own side as possible. The bed is large for one person and there's room for him and Brendon to lie without touching, though mostly just because Brendon is half-sized.
"Just a nap," Spencer says. He can hear Brendon moving, but the pillow is soft, and Spencer hasn't been to bed in over twenty-four hours, and he falls asleep before he can figure out what Brendon's trying to do.
--
--
--
Spencer wakes up warm on one side and cold on the other, but still feeling comfortable over all. He stretches a little, flexing his toes.
He can feel a hand sliding down his chest. He's still wearing his shirt, so it's just a pressure, really, someone smoothing their hand over his belly. It goes lower, and it almost tickles. He squirms a little. The hand goes lower yet, starts working on the fastenings to his pants, and Spencer wakes up the rest of the way, sitting upright in a rush.
He squints and makes out Brendon, pressed close beside him, still reaching for Spencer.
"Bssaah," Spencer says. He licks his lips, trying to work away the thick feeling of sleep.
Brendon pushes up, moving slowly, a little awkwardly, trying to crawl down the bed to settle in between Spencer's legs and, "Whoa," Spencer says. "Hey. Whoa, okay, so. What?"
Brendon's hair is sticking to his forehead and standing up in little tufts all over the back of his head. His hands shake, but he reaches again for Spencer's pants, trying to get them open.
"So, okay, maybe we could just, just, ah, just not do that," Spencer stammers. When that doesn't work, he grabs for Brendon's wrists, trying to pull him away.
Brendon immediately moves back. He lies on the bed, face down this time, reaching behind himself to -- to -- to hold himself open.
Spencer scrambles off the bed, standing a good number of feet away from the mattress.
"Hey," he says, staring at the floor. "Hey, so, like. No sex, please."
He hears movement and risks a glance at the bed. Brendon is on his knees now, at the edge of the bed, staring at Spencer. His body is bruised and his dick isn't hard, and Spencer hasn't eaten in a while, but still he feels nauseated.
"I don't want to be," Spencer stammers, "I'm not trying to be insulting, but that's not, not, we don't, I don't, I would never."
Brendon gets off the bed and crawls forward, kneels just in front of Spencer and bows forward until his forehead is touching Spencer's foot.
He says, "Sorry, sir. I did not mean to cause offense, sir."
"It's... okay," Spencer says. He wants to shuffle backwards until Brendon's head isn't on his foot any longer, but he doesn't know how to do that without seeming rude. This is what Brendon knows, and it's not his fault, and he doesn't understand, and Spencer doesn't know what the fuck to do.
"I am very grateful, sir," Brendon says. He doesn't move, stays where he is at Spencer's feet. "I could show you. Whatever you wanted, sir."
Spencer's skin is crawling and he drops to the ground, touching Brendon's shoulder until he sits upright again.
"What was-- happening," Spencer says, "on your planet. That's not how we-- it's not, we don't think it's right to treat people like that. That's never, never, something I'm going to ask from you."
Brendon doesn't look relieved. It's hard to tell-- because ultimately Brendon looks pained, even though Spencer can tell he's trying not to show it-- but Spencer thinks he looks distressed in a new way now, too.
"I've gone too far," Brendon says. "I'm sorry, sir. I did not mean to disrespect."
"No, hey, look, it's me who'd-- that would be my disrespect. You're just-- I know you're just trying."
"Yes, sir," Brendon says. His face twitches and Spencer can see his eyes starting to water as his shoulders curl in.
"Is the pain bad?" asks Spencer.
"Yes," Brendon gasps.
"Okay," Spencer says. "It's okay. I'll help you up, here, here, back into bed, it's okay. Do you want some more painkillers?"
"Yes, please, sir," Brendon says.
"We'll find someone to help you," Spencer says. "Someone to get it out of your head."
Brendon doesn't look convinced, but his, "Thank you, sir," sounds genuine.
"And no one's going to-- that's not something you're going to have to do for anyone anymore," Spencer promises, even though he can tell the words don't mean anything to Brendon.
"Try to sleep," he says. "It'll help the time go faster."
--
--
--
"How long is it going to take us to get there?"
"If we keep making this kind of time, maybe 150 hours," Gabe says. "We don't have enough fuel to get us all the way there, though."
"That's days," Spencer says. "Shit. Okay, can you bring up the directory for registered medical facilities, listed by planet? I'm going to try and find something on the way. How far can we get without refueling?"
"We're at about 10%," Gabe says. "So, fifty hours? Less than that, maybe."
"I'll try to find somewhere close," Spencer says.
--
--
--
"Hey," Spencer says, pushing back the curtain in the door to the sleeping area. He just wanted to check on Brendon, but when he poked his head through he found Brendon sitting up, awake on the bed. "How are you feeling? I've found a doctor who'll look at your finger. We should get there sometime tomorrow."
Brendon looks down at his hand, like he'd forgotten about it. "Doesn't hurt, sir," he says.
"What does hurt?" Spencer asks.
"Everything else," Brendon says, smiling a little.
"At least it won't heal all bent out of shape," Spencer says. At least there's one thing he can help with right now.
"That would be good," Brendon says. "Thank you, sir."
"'m not a sir," Spencer says. "Especially when we land: if you call me sir it's going to bring up a whole lot of questions. I'm pretty obviously not a military commander."
Brendon frowns.
"I know you think you're supposed to," Spencer says. "I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable."
Brendon's sitting cross-legged on the bed, his back in a straight line and his hands resting on his lap. He nods his head in acknowledgment.
"You know how they put that in your head so that you wouldn't run away? It's partly because-- not on your planet? People don't really think it's okay to, to make people, to force people into, to take away someone's ability to choose," Spencer finally decides on. "So, you're trying to be respectful, right? But if you talk like that in front of a doctor, they're going to be worried about you, and they're going to think that you're afraid of me, or that, or that something's wrong, I don't know."
Spencer looks at Brendon, wanting to make eye contact, but Brendon is staring steadily at his shoulder.
"It's not that you can't tell people what they, what was happening to you. If you want to tell someone when we stop, or if you want to stay there, or whatever, you can. But if we're going to try and find Mikey - that's the guy Ryan thinks might be able to help with the thing in your head - if we want to get there soon, it's probably best if we don't draw attention to ourselves."
"I won't cause trouble, sir," Brendon promises. He takes a breath and then blurts out, "Thank you for telling me, because I don't really, I don't think I understand some things, and I know I've offended you, and I really just-- after everything you've done, I'm not trying to, I don't want to, so if there's ever -- if you just tell me, and then I'll know. You could just, sometimes you could just, and then I'd know what I was supposed to do." His voice is louder than Spencer's ever heard it get by the end, and once he finishes, Brendon grabs for his head with his uninjured hand, digging his fingers into his forehead.
"Okay," Spencer says quickly, walking over to stand by the side of the bed. "Okay, it's okay." He sits down on the very edge of the bed so that he's not towering over Brendon. "It's weird for you with all the different expectations, and it's weird for me too. Neither of us know what we're doing, but we can figure it out."
Spencer looks sideways and sees that Brendon is holding himself completely still, except that his body has started to tremble.
"It's okay," Spencer says. He pushes further onto the bed so that he's sitting beside Brendon, just close enough that their shoulders brush. "Hey, just breathe slowly. It'll hurt worse if you don't breathe."
Brendon holds his breath for a moment longer before forcing out a loud, shaky exhale. He breathes in sharply, and Spencer says, "Yeah, just like that. We can just sit here. Breathe with me, it's going to be okay, we'll get help, it won't hurt forever."
Spencer breathes slowly and loudly, and eventually he can hear Brendon trying to match the rhythm of Spencer's breathing.
Brendon leans over, resting more of his weight against Spencer's shoulder. He freezes immediately after making contact, like he's waiting to see if he'll be pushed away. Spencer keeps breathing, and eventually Brendon settles in.
A long while passes. Spencer wonders if Brendon has fallen asleep, but when he looks sideways, he can see that Brendon's eyes are still open.
"Is it a little better?" Spencer asks.
"Yeah," Brendon says. He can hear Brendon biting his tongue, holding back what would likely be another yes, sir, thank you, sir.
"How much longer do you want to wait before taking more painkillers?" Spencer asks.
"I'm okay for now," Brendon says.
"When did you last take them?" asks Spencer.
"I'm not sure of the time," Brendon says.
"There's a clock here," Spencer says. He touched the side of the little table beside the bed and the LSD panel lights up. "See, so you can check whenever."
"Thank you, sir," Brendon says.
"I was probably in here... four hours ago?" Spencer estimates. "Maybe five or six. How long do you think it was after I'd left."
Brendon says, "That's how long it's been then, sir."
"You haven't taken any since?"
"No, s--," Brendon says.
"You can take them whenever you want. You know that, right?" Spencer asks.
"Okay," Brendon says. "Thanks. I think I'll be okay for a little while."
"Do you think you might be more comfortable if you weren't, ah. If I found some clothes for you?" Spencer asks.
Brendon shrugs.
Spencer goes to the small closet and starts searching for something for Brendon to wear.
"You can just help yourself," Spencer says. "Maybe try these for now."
Brendon changes in front of Spencer, and he almost seems more naked in the process, like putting on clothes makes his body seem more bare than lying in bed did, which doesn't make any sense.
The shirt is a bit big, but Spencer wears his pants pretty small so while they're long in the leg, they stay up on Brendon's hips all right.
"Is that okay?" Spencer asks.
Brendon nods.
"Do you want to sleep some more?" Spencer asks.
"I think the pills make me sleepy," Brendon says. "I'm sure I will fall asleep again once I take some more."
"So that's a no on the sleeping now?" Spencer clarifies.
Brendon starts stammering.
"Do you want me to find you something to read?" Spencer asks, and then immediately winces. "Shit, I mean. Can you read? Fuck, is it offensive that I asked that? I'm sorry for asking if you can, or ... if you can't, it really doesn't matter either way." Spencer clamps his mouth shut to stop himself from talking.
"I can read," Brendon says. Spencer can't tell from his tone whether or not he's offended.
"Look," Spencer says, "let's just--. I grew up on Sumerist, and that's where I went to school. I spent like... sixteen years in school, and then I started working for the universal government, and I take these... global diversity sensitivity classes, which are supposed to help us for when we go on missions to other planets, but basically I don't know shit about what's going on. I just faked my way through the language requirement when I was getting hired. Petty much the only reason why I got hired anyway is because Ryan -- we grew up together -- he knows my boss, Pete, and he put in a good word for me. So, I'm sorry that I keep putting my foot in my mouth."
"I've never even left my planet," Brendon says. "You know a lot more than me."
"But I'm the one who keeps coming across like an asshole," Spencer says. He feels off balance and exhausted. He's not even sure how long they've been flying for now, but he hasn't slept more than a few hours, and he hasn't eaten in...
"Shit," Spencer says. "Shit, fuck, I'm sorry. You must be starving. I can't believe I haven't offered you food. You should have said something."
Brendon shakes his head quickly, but Spencer is already standing up.
"Come on," he says.
"I don't need--" Brendon starts saying.
"Come on," Spencer repeats.
Brendon follows behind him, standing awkwardly as Spencer starts pulling packages out of the cupboards.
"What do you like?" he asks. "Sit, sit down. What would you like to eat?"
Brendon sits down at the table and says, "I like everything."
"Most of this stuff is pretty gross," Spencer warns. Not being able to eat real meals is Spencer's least favourite part of being in space. He empties a random assortment of packages into different bowls and adds boiled water to hydrate them, then sets them out on the table. He passes Brendon a plate and carries one over for himself.
"So, I think this is supposed to be pasta," Spencer says, gesturing to the bowl of white mush. "This one is... vegetables, I don't know. Green usually means vegetables. The brown one is meat, I guess."
Brendon sits, gripping the edge of the table with his fingers.
"You don't have to eat anything you don't want to eat," Spencer says. "I'm sorry that none of this looks like actual food."
Spencer dishes food onto his plate, then passes Brendon the spoon, saying, "Help yourself to whatever."
Brendon hesitates before carefully putting small portions on his plate.
They eat quietly and Spencer has started to zone out when Brendon says, "I never eat meat."
"No?" Spencer asks. "Why not? You don't have to, if you don't want to."
"Meat was just for-- there wasn't a lot of room to raise livestock, so meat was just for the master," Brendon says.
"Well, whatever there is on the ship is for both of us," Spencer says.
--
Brendon seems to be feeling a little better after eating, so Spencer shows him around the ship. He's in the process of explaining how to change the antifreeze on the thrusters when Brendon slumps over, bending in half.
"Whoa," Spencer says, trying to catch Brendon with an arm around his waist.
"Sorry," Brendon gasps.
"Dude, if you're not feeling well you've got to tell me," Spencer says, as he half-supports and half-carries Brendon back to bed.
Brendon crumbles forward, moving his body onto the bed with some difficulty. He takes the pills that Spencer holds out, and Spencer sits with him and waits until the pills kick in and Brendon passes out. He sits a while longer, feeling stupid for having thought that things might just get better.
--
--
--
Part Two