Fic: Fear of Flying 2/4
Brendon turned off his cell phone after it chimed a voice mail notification for the fifth time. He opened his windows to let in a cool evening breeze and curled up on his couch with Bogart tucked to his chest. TMC was having a Jimmy Stewart marathon and he managed to watch the end of It’s a Wonderful Life, then all of Philadelphia Story and most of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington before his landline started ringing.
It was a bit more difficult to ignore the messages being left on his answering machine, mostly because the volume was up loud enough to be heard throughout the entire apartment. The first was Jon, saying, “Quit being a douche bag, pick up your phone.” There was a moment of silence and then a sigh and, “I’m coming over when I get off. I will break in if I have to.”
Brendon wilfully ignored it, burrowing deeper into the couch and rubbing his face against Bogart’s fur. The next message was Pete, babbling and excited over the sounds of the band at Panic! “Dude, I was thinking, you know, that maybe you could play after the dinner rush, you know, because then you could keep waiting tables, too. And I definitely want you to play tomorrow for the party. Spence says he has the waitstaff covered, so you can. You know, if you still wanted to.” He sounded nervous and over-excited, and beneath it all, contrite. “Also, Patrick says I’m a dickhead, and he’s totally right. I’m sorry.”
But that didn’t make Brendon feel any better. If anything, it made him feel worse. He wasn’t that sort of person who liked to flaunt his talent, especially not to get back at someone else. It felt like an empty victory, like when Gabe had invited him to the party because of Jon’s prompting.
At close to midnight, the phone rang again, and Brendon was going to get up and tell Jon not to come over, really, when the answering machine picked up and then Spencer started speaking. “I wanted to make sure you were still coming tomorrow. Pete and I both want you to play; you can play whatever you want that’s classical. And I wanted to apologise again. I don’t know what came over me, and I swear it won’t happen again. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, like you can’t work here anymore.”
There was an awkward silence, then Spencer cleared his throat. “Anyway, I hope we see you tomorrow.” His voice went soft at the end, raising a little like it was a question, and Brendon wanted to pick up the phone and say he was home, just to hear Spencer speak a little longer. Then again, the shame and embarrassment over what he’d done earlier was strong enough that part of him never wanted to step foot in Panic! again.
A knock on the door startled Brendon so badly he actually jumped, confused for a moment, and worried that it was somehow Spencer. Then Jon said, “I was not kidding, Urie, I will break this door down if you don’t answer,” and Brendon sighed and got reluctantly to his feet to unlock the door.
Jon was standing outside with a six-pack in one hand and a bag of snacks in the other, and as soon as Brendon opened the door, Jon attack-hugged him. Brendon would have resisted it a few months ago, but now he forced himself to relax, and when he brought his arms up around Jon’s back, he felt a little better about everything.
“So,” Jon said, when they’d settled on Snakes on a Plane and each had an open beer in hand. “You gonna tell me why you freaked out earlier? And why Spencer was a fucking tyrant all night?”
“He was mad?” Brendon asked, heart plummeting.
“Uh, to put it mildly,” Jon said. “He almost made Sisky cry. Alicia was seriously reading to punch him.”
“Well…um…” Brendon bit his bottom lip and cringed. “Ikissedhim.” But if Spencer was mad about that, why would he have asked Brendon to come perform tomorrow? Maybe he was lulling him into a false sense of security, and was going to fire him in front of everyone, telling them what a freak Brendon was.
Jon just stared. Brendon grew uncomfortable with the silence, shifting in place, and finally demanded, “What?”
“I’m just impressed. And filled with disbelief,” Jon said slowly.
Brendon smacked him on the arm. “Fuck off. There’s nothing impressive about it. He pushed me off and told me to leave, then ran out the back door, and right before you came over, he called to warn me never to let it happen again.”
“Seriously?” Jon asked, and he sounded genuinely confused. Brendon was confused, too, but probably for different reasons. “That is not how I would have expected things to go.”
That was because Jon was stupidly naïve and optimistic about life sometimes, and it was profoundly unfair that people accused Brendon of the same thing, because Brendon knew better. Jon was always telling Brendon he needed to put himself out there more, and Brendon had given up trying to explain that he had put himself out there before. He’d never been any good at it, and it had always ended badly, and it was just easier and less painful not to try anymore.
Also, lonelier.
“Okay, well, Spencer Smith is obviously an asshole. With bad taste,” Jon said.
Brendon twisted his lips in a half-frown half-smile. “Stop it, Jon. Just because he doesn’t want me-”
“Fucking crazy,” Jon interrupted. “Anyway, fuck him. Are you gonna go play tomorrow? You have to, Brendon.”
Brendon really really didn’t want to, but he knew that would just make him look like a spoiled brat-asking to be allowed, shoving his talent in their faces, then refusing the job. Spencer wanted Ryan’s party to go well. He’d probably wait until afterwards to fire Brendon.
He nodded. Jon knocked their shoulders together, looking at Brendon’s music wall-he was going to get a bigger apartment someday, but with the tiny size of his current one-bedroom, all his instruments were crammed in the living room, many hung alongside his framed diplomas and favourite scores.
Jon got up and browsed the bookshelf overflowing with sheet music and song books. “We should go through these and pick out what you’re gonna play,” Jon said. He picked up one and smirked. “It would be seriously awesome if you busted out, like, the viola or the cello or the guitar or something.”
Brendon grinned. “You know,” he said, “I’m really glad you did friend-stalk me.”
Jon hid a smile in his shoulder, ears going red. “Me too.”
~*~
As nervous as Brendon was about what was going to happen later in the day, he didn’t let it distract him at the centre. He packed his bag with his work uniform and brought along his classical guitar, just in case Ross was amenable to him playing it. Jon had picked some of Brendon’s favourite Giuliani and Carulli pieces appropriate to the Tuscan theme.
Everyone on the train was in a pissy mood anyway because of the stifling heat of the morning, and Brendon got nasty looks for all the shit he was carrying during the rush hour. Now that he was working at Panic!, he was making enough to afford car payments, but he still couldn’t justify it when the mass transit system served his needs just fine.
The Rebecca L. Hale Centre was a four-block walk from the train station, set back from the street with a wide lawn. Just seeing it every day he came in gave Brendon a rush of pleasure; no matter how much hell his parents gave him, and no matter what else happened at Panic!, he had this.
There was group therapy in the morning when he arrived, then he had his individual appointments with the children and his occasional adult. Wednesdays he saw one of his favourite children, Ashley, just after morning snack.
Ashley was eight, and until she’d begun therapy with Brendon, she would only respond to her video games. The children rotated between group and private sessions in the different disciplines-art, dance, drama, music, and chess-but Ashley hadn’t shown any progress or interest in the other sessions until she’d started working with Brendon. Now, she was eager to join Brendon in playing the piano, and her parents thanked Brendon every day when they picked her up, because she had begun to initiate physical contact with them.
Growing up in his family, with their religion, Brendon had often felt isolated and alone, and oftentimes music had been his only refuge. He knew, with his talent and education, that there were many other careers available to him, and when he was younger, he’d wanted the spotlight. He’d spent so long being bullied and put down at school, and often forgotten as the youngest child at home, and he’d just wanted to stand out in the open and show them all what he was capable of.
Only now Brendon couldn’t imagine anything else fitting him as well as the centre did. Helping the children make a connection where nothing else could gave him more gratification than performing on stage ever had.
Brendon’s mother liked to drop passive-aggressive insinuations into their conversations, about how psychologists were often just as messed-up as their patients, which is why they’d chosen to study psychology in the first place. Brendon was still too invested in that relationship to tell her, yes, and thanks for all the issues, Mom.
Normally on Wednesdays after work Brendon would take Bogart to the dog park, and he made a mental note to pick up a special treat for Bogart on the way home to make up for it. It was a bit of work, talking himself into getting on the train going east to Panic! rather than the one going north to home.
~*~
There was still decorating to be done when Brendon arrived, and Spencer was in the back, so Brendon forced himself to relax and pitch in. He and Adam hung the lights while Andrew finished arranging the flowers and Jon, Alicia, and Cass did the place settings.
Ryan, his fiancée (who Jon had said was named Elaina), and Spencer came in a half-hour before the party was to start. Spencer had done all the purchasing and prep work for the party, but Ross had insisted that he allow Greta, Andrew, and Jason do the cooking so Spencer could dine with the rest of the group. He was out of his uniform again, this time in an expensive-looking dark grey suit and a sapphire blue tie that made his eyes seem even brighter than usual.
Brendon made himself look away before Spencer could see him staring, but not before Ryan caught it, smirking a little. “So I hear you’re a musical genius,” he said, looking over Brendon’s guitar case with playful eyes.
It was bad enough when people praised him sincerely, and much worse when they teased him about his talent. He ducked his head, wanting nothing more than to melt into the floor. “If you want me to play a bit, before the party-”
Spencer interrupted him, giving Ryan a sharp look, “That isn’t necessary, Brendon,” and Brendon fell silent immediately, chastened.
Elaina ignored all of them, going to coo over Brendon’s guitar. “Is this an original?” she asked, not quite touching.
Brendon spared a quick look at Ryan and Spencer, who seemed to be having an intense conversation with their eyebrows, and turned his attention back to her. “It’s just a replica. I can’t really afford a restoration yet. Someday.”
“It’s gorgeous,” she said, “may I?”
Brendon was always happy to share his love of music with others who were just as enthusiastic. He nodded and she picked it up gingerly, turning it over in her hands a few times before adjusting her hold and strumming a few notes.
“I thought. Well, Pete said classical music, and with the theme you wanted, there are some guitar pieces I could do,” Brendon said.
“Piano and guitar. You’re practically a prodigy, hmm?” Ryan sneered.
Brendon drew further into himself, crossing his arms over his chest. He opened his mouth to respond, not even entirely sure what he was going to say, but Spencer beat him to it.
“Maybe you should get set up, Brendon,” he said and Brendon flinched and nodded, turning away from them.
Elaina gave him a sympathetic look and passed him back his guitar. “I look forward to hearing you play,” she told him, and he tried to smile at her in thanks, but it came out wrong, he was sure.
Spencer gave him a weird look from across the room and Brendon busied himself at the piano, vowing not to pay attention to anything else until after this whole party was done. He played around a bit before the guests began to arrive, running through a few quick etudes and when Jon requested it jokingly, Piano Man.
As soon as the door opened to admit the guests, Brendon began playing from the list of songs he and Jon had selected, softly so as not to draw attention away from conversation. The first to arrive were two young girls, one with bright blonde hair and the other with red, but who were otherwise very much alike. Brendon was sort of surprised by how attractive he found them, but it all made sense a second later when Spencer swept them into a tight hug, one under each arm, and Brendon realised they must be the twins.
After that there was a crowd of hipsters who stood around making inappropriate jokes, and okay, Brendon wasn’t exactly a prude when it came to cursing, but it was practically every other word with them. Though it was silly to still care, he hoped they weren’t Spencer’s friends, because they were so pretentious it hurt. And Brendon spent a lot of time around Pete Wentz, so he had a high tolerance for pretension.
Eventually an older couple came in, dressed like they’d stepped out of an ad in a very expensive fashion magazine. She was beautiful with copper-red hair twisted up on her head, a golden dress with a red floral pattern and impeccable makeup. The man with her was wearing a suit obviously custom-made for him, and had blue eyes just like Spencer’s.
They hugged Spencer and the twins, and then the woman wrapped Ryan in her arms like he was another of her children, and it was really strange, seeing Ryan smile in real pleasure and hug her back tightly. Brendon wanted that. It was stupid, and childish, and never going to happen, but he wanted Spencer’s picture-perfect parents to wrap him in their arms. Welcome him into their family.
Brendon straightened his back, looked away, and focussed his attention on the music to distract himself from ridiculous and impossible fantasies. It worked throughout most of the dinner. He caught snippets of conversation, stories the twins were telling Elaina about Ryan and Spencer when they were boys. Maybe Brendon’s heart ached just a little to hear them.
His sisters and brothers didn’t have any stories like that about Brendon. Not that it really mattered, because even if he ever found a guy he wanted to settle down with, he doubted his family would come to celebrate the occasion.
It took him a few moments to realise he was playing a nocturne, 19 in E minor, at an exaggeratedly slow pace. He glanced up to see if anyone had noticed, and of course Spencer was watching him, eyes dark, a pensive frown on his lips. Brendon made what he hoped was a not very obvious segue to into Liszt etude. Spencer caught himself staring and blinked, looking away.
The party went on for a few hours, Brendon switching from piano to guitar and back again a couple times. The food was served slowly and drinks flowed all throughout. Jon kept sneaking Brendon flutes of champagne, which was nice, but also started making him feel fuzzy in the head and less cautious with his emotions. That was always a bad thing, so he cut himself off after the fourth one.
By nine-thirty, most of the guests had gone, leaving two tables full of expensive gifts. It was down to the family and friends, and Spencer waved Brendon over mid-Giuliani. “You don’t have to keep playing,” he said. “It’s late. Aren’t you tired?”
“You should have something to eat,” Ryan said, before Brendon could say anything. He pulled out a chair between him and Spencer and said, “Sit. Everyone, this is Brendon.”
“Oh,” the twin with the blonde hair said, and shared a look with her mother and sister. Brendon felt something heavy settle in his stomach.
“Brendon,” Elaina said, reaching across the table to touch his wrist. “Settle this silly argument we’re having, won’t you?”
Ryan rolled his eyes skyward. “I don’t see what the problem is with the Dylan song.”
“It’s sexist, for a start,” Elaina said, going red in her cheeks.
Ryan scoffed. “If she has her way, we’re going to end up dancing our first dance to fucking Savage Garden.”
“I don’t know,” Brendon mused, thinking about it. Really he just wanted to disagree with Ryan, and Elaina seemed nice. But also, Brendon liked Savage Garden. So what? He strummed a few notes and Ryan just arched a brow as if to say continue, so he did.
The song began to take form after a couple notes and Elaina laughed. Ryan sat back in his seat with a smirk. Brendon took a breath and wetted his lips and sang, “Maybe it’s intuition, but some things you just don’t question.” By the time he reached the first chorus everyone was chuckling and clapping, and Jon even whistled from the bar. Brendon let himself get into it. As much as he loved the piano and the guitar, singing gave him a different sort of freedom of expression.
He didn’t know what possessed him to lift his gaze and set it on Spencer, but he did so only to find him already watching Brendon. Spencer was the only one who didn’t seem very amused by Brendon’s performance, and Brendon cut off abruptly, slapping his palm against the strings and smiling playfully. “It could work,” he said.
Ryan leaned forward again, bracing his elbows on the table and leaning his chin in his palm. “You play all these instruments and you have such an impressive voice, albeit questionable taste in popular music.”
“Hey,” Brendon interjected, but Ryan went on.
“I’m just curious, because you have such talent and potential, and Spencer tells me you have some,” here Ryan waved his hand vaguely in the air, “charity day job, yet you’re working here to subsidise your income. What’s up with that?”
He said it in such a casually derisive way that Brendon felt his jaw tightening and his eyes stinging painfully. He cast a quick look at Spencer, who was glaring daggers at Ryan. “You said I-” Brendon began, then made himself stop, swallowing hard. Of course Spencer had said something about Brendon’s insignificant job. He really hadn’t expected any better.
“You know what?” He got to his feet, grabbed his guitar case, and turned to face Ryan and Spencer again. “Fuck you. Some people have to work to get anywhere in their lives, we don’t all have it handed to us on a silver fucking platter. I busted my ass for my Ph. D., and I don’t see why it should matter to anyone else if I want to use it to help people who don’t have the money to get help anywhere else, instead of milking rich people so I can have some huge apartment or a fancy car. I don’t need this shit.”
His legs felt like rubber and he thought he might puke, or cry, but he managed to make it outside without collapsing. The night was sultry and Brendon felt gritty and dirty, like he needed to shower forever.
Jon came running out after him, catching up at the flashing don’t-walk sign on the corner. He looked contrite, which was stupid, because it wasn’t Jon’s fault. Brendon thought about how Jon could say something like I told you so. Like how if Brendon had just been more open about himself earlier, maybe this could have been avoided.
But Jon just pulled Brendon into a tight hug and said, “I’m sorry,” against the skin of his neck. Brendon clung back for a brief second before straightening and pulling away.
“You should get back,” Brendon said. “No sense in you getting in trouble over me.”
“Brendon,” Jon said.
“It’s okay, Jon,” Brendon reassured, and told himself, very firmly, to believe it. He did. A little. “It was just a stupid job and a stupid crush. What the fuck ever? Ryan Ross is right. I’m so much better than all of that.”
Jon nodded sadly and said, “You really are,” and Brendon got the impression that they weren’t talking about the same thing.
~*~
It was weird, going to work without expecting to go into Panic! in the evening. He didn’t have to pack a bag with his costume, or worry about leaving work in a rush, which was for the best. Splitting his time between two jobs wasn’t fair to his patients, and even though he’d managed okay, this was probably for the best.
On Thursday he had individual meetings with some of the live-in patients on the third floor, and a staff meeting that took up most of the afternoon. They discussed courses of treatment for various patients, putting together their assorted observations.
Brendon honestly adored his colleagues at the centre, and wished he could know them better. Gerard, head art therapist, was so sincere in his desire to help his patients, and probably the kindest person Brendon had ever met. His boyfriend, Frank, worked with the drama programme and could manage to draw even the most reluctant child out of a shell in this completely effortless way. And Keltie, one of the dance therapists, would literally bend over backwards for the children, and never failed to make Brendon smile when he was down.
Even Brian, the director of the centre, was fair and committed to helping the patients, and when they all came together, Brendon felt a real sense of camaraderie and accomplishment. The only disagreements that ever arose were how to best benefit the patients, and that came out of concern rather than any desire towards self-promotion.
Usually Brendon couldn’t join the others after work; he’d only been at the centre six months, and it had taken a while for him to warm up to them, and by then he’d been working at Panic!. Today when Gerard invited him out for Chinese, Brendon readily agreed, thinking it would be good to distract himself from the fact that he’d otherwise be at the restaurant.
The thing was, they were all super nice and funny and cool, but Brendon couldn’t relax around them. He wanted to so badly, but he just couldn’t find the words, and he was worried if he even tried, they’d see how awkward he was in a social setting and wonder how the hell he’d ever gotten a job at the centre.
So he kept his mouth occupied with food and drink, nodding and laughing at all the appropriate moments, trying not to look sullen and uncomfortable. Apparently it didn’t work, because when Katie Kay got up, Gerard slid into the booth beside Brendon, giving him a disarming smile. Brendon blinked up at him from where he’d been fascinated by the patterns in the condensation on his glass.
“There’s rumours going around about you,” Gerard told him.
“I’m sorry?” Brendon asked, bewildered.
Gerard nodded and began ticking off his fingers as he listed, “You got dumped, you’ve been diagnosed with some incurable disease, a family member died of some incurable disease, your dog ran away…”
Brendon could only stare in a sort of horrified fascination.
“They don’t mean it in a bad way,” Gerard was quick to assure him. “You’re so quiet all the time. No one knows anything about you. You’re a mystery.”
“There’s nothing mysterious about me,” Brendon said morosely.
Gerard gave him a pointed look. “Mysterious,” he said.
Brendon cracked a smile because he couldn’t not when Gerard was giving him crazy face. “You know, before I came to work at the centre, I was an alcoholic,” Gerard said, very casually. “I very nearly lost my license, and even once I got cleaned up, Brian was the only person who’d hire me.”
“I’m…sorry,” Brendon said, uncertain what else there was to say.
Gerard waved a dismissive hand. “Are you kidding, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I met Frankie, and these kids. Fuck. I mean, I feel guilty when their parents thank me, because, you know, these kids saved me.”
“Oh,” Brendon said. Because really, he had no idea what he was supposed to say. He had no idea why Gerard was telling him this. This was a prime example at why Brendon sucked at relationships with adults. “That’s good,” he tried out.
Gerard gave Brendon a knowing look. “We’re all crazy and we’re all freaks, Brendon. No one’s going to judge you for that.”
“Oh,” Brendon said, almost a whisper around the sudden lump in his throat. “Thanks.”
“Me and Frankie are having a barbeque on Saturday. Wanna come?” Gerard offered, just like that.
And Brendon. He wanted to say no. He meant to say no. Because Gerard could give all the odd speeches about acceptance and friendship that he wanted, but it wouldn’t ever change who Brendon was.
But he was lonely, and the fear of being by himself for the rest of forever was worse than the fear of being discovered for what he was. He was nodding before he realised it, saying, “That would be nice.”
Gerard gave him one of his wide smiles, so bright it seemed to light up the whole room, and clapped a hand on Brendon’s shoulder. “Awesome. You can bring the dessert.”
He didn’t know what came over him, but Brendon smiled wryly and said, “Oh, I see. Now your motives become clear.”
And Gerard just gave him a sly look. “You’ll learn, yet, Urie,” he said.
When he got home that night and plugged his dead phone in, he saw a missed call and message from Jon and only hesitated briefly before playing it. “So, I guess you aren’t coming in tonight?” Jon paused and sighed. “I uh. I just thought you should know, Spencer and Ross got into a big fight after you left. They were in the back, so I couldn’t really hear what was going on, but. I just think that maybe Spencer was really fucking pissed about the way Ross treated you.”
Brendon snorted. It’s not like I care what Spencer Smith thinks about the whole thing, he told himself.
He almost believed it, too.
Part Three